#YES THE THIRD PICTURE IS REED

[uhhatori]

Asides from the mischaracterization, what other things had you seen that left you speechless (like if you seen some cringe, I only see mischaracterizations)

help

[the-apocrypha]

anything related to dream's german accent from "the fourth dimension"? I've been obsessed with that little detail since you first posted that fic ❤️

OMG yes. The original fic, for reference. Also, asking for a friend, does 800 words count as short?

They stand in perfect silence on the forest path, Dream’s phone balanced in the palm of his hand as it records. The sound of the bird's song is made into an aesthetically pleasing series of bars on a line, on the app, and below it an hourglass spins as the song is compared to millions of other stored bird calls around the world.

Pacific wren appears first.

Below it, reed warbler.

Then, at last—sedge wren.

“It must be,” Dream murmurs. He loses patience and pulls the phone back toward himself, tapping at it. “These other two are not native species, they would not be—no. Pacific. And… India. It must be the sedge wren, there is—” He taps some more, and then a recorded bird call plays from the phone. “Yes?”

Dream is looking at Hob.

It sounds the same to Hob, but then, Hob has long proven that he has neither the senses nor the temperament for birding. Why Dream insists on consulting him at these turns is an ongoing mystery.

“Definitely,” Hob says.

Dream's nose scrunches.

"Definitely not?" Hob tries.

“If only—” Dream's brows draw together as he abandons the phone to squint into the bushes where the birdsong has been coming from. The binoculars come up, and then back down again. The squint gains agitation.

There is contention, amongst the birding community, about what constitutes a “rare bird spotting”. Some people hold that the bird must be seen, while others will settle for call identification only. This is to say nothing of the debate regarding rare birds unintentionally captured in the background of photographs, noticed days or weeks later.

“Show yourself,” Dream mutters, with a scowl fit to light the brush on fire.

Hob has a little gander about the path while he waits, like an airplane in a holding pattern. Further down the trail, there’s supposed to be a boardwalk over a wetland that he suspects will take at least an hour to traverse for all the birds expected to be nested there. He’s brought a book for that particular layover. It’s even not in English, at Dream’s insistence that Inkheart was best enjoyed in its original text, and also of an appropriate reading level for Hob’s current faculty with the German language.

He takes a picture, as he waits, of Dream with binoculars to the sky. It matches the other thousand of them on his phone. Binoculars at the beach. Binoculars at the park. Binoculars out the train window.

Eventually, Dream’s shoulders slump, and he lets the binoculars drop. He pockets his phone.

The bird song has gone.

“Sorry, love,” Hob offers, with a consoling hand between Dream’s shoulderblades.

“Such are the trials of ornithology,” Dream sighs.

“There’ll be other birds,” Hob tells him, and with gentle pressure, he gets Dream’s feet moving down the path again. “Maybe you’ll get that, uh, gargagney you wanted instead.”

“Garganey.”

“S’what I said.”

Dream trudges down the path.

They make it approximately a hundred feet before Dream’s head suddenly snaps up, and he has the binoculars up as quick as a flash.

A second later, Hob is unceremoniously yanked closer.

“Look!” Dream hisses, shoving binoculars in front of Hob’s eyes. “Look, look, up there, third branch from the top, just to the right, it’s a peewit.”

“A what.”

The sound of fingers on glass patters away as Hob takes approximately an eon to find the little bird that Dream had somehow spotted out of the corner of his eye perched fifty feet up a tree.

“It is not actually called a peewit,” Hob says.

Dream ignores him.

Hob shakes his head, and lowers the binoculars to watch Dream race through the Merlin menu to find the peewit's dedicated page. He holds out the binoculars in preparation, and sure enough, thirty seconds later Dream snatches them up to verify his identification.

Hob returns to his holding pattern.

“Hey,” he says, at length. “Is that the peewit’s call?”

Dream looks up from his phone. “Mm?”

Hob gestures at thin air. “That?”

There’s a wok wok wok wok wok wok wok overhead.

Dream shakes his head, and returns to his phone. “A squirrel, Hob.” Only, of course, they are speaking German and so it is Eichhörnchen.

“A what?” Hob asks, suppressing a grin.

“Ein Eichhörnchen,” Dream repeats. He glances up briefly.

Hob’s pretend expression of confusion passes muster.

“A squirrel,” Dream translates impatiently, and then switches back to the binoculars.

One of Hob’s greatest sorrows in life is that Dream has learned to minimize his accented English over the last few years. It had been Hob Gatling, and vhatches and seh Dhreaming, every word just a little bit imperfect and all the more wonderful for it. Now, it is only when Dream’s focus slips that Hob is allowed these little gifts from him.

Skuurl.

Hob turns into another holding pattern, and grins to himself.

[elvenbeard]

Long rambly post about Phantom Liberty incoming cause HHHHH

Gonna put it under a read more just in case, also cause it got long, and bc I know people will still wanna avoid spoilers!

So.

Mr. Hands, amirite??

Holy shit, he is so cool XD Different than what I imagined, but so much better. Pure visuals-wise he's giving the biggest Sheogorath vibes, and a little bit of an older Dragon Age Dorian. I'm so here for it. Also the fucking phonecall he was on with his kid I assume when you first enter his office omfg XD The dad-est dad to ever dad, then a political schemer and so fashionable XD Also, he deserves his nickname 100%, his cyberhands are so cool. Also, the first fixer that offered Vince a drink and Vince actually didn't have to decline cause it was tea (and I bet it was really good, high-end shit, and that's how you get Vince xD). Also his gigs are all so good like... so varied, and always with difficult choices or just super interesting and entertaining storylines. "Waiting for Dodger" has gotta be my favourite one so far, and I'm excited for what's to come still!

Sure as hell this is gonna be a profitable business relationship (and I'm also super duper intrigued about his political interests and what he's planning/ where he's seeing Dogtown's future like... he doesn't like Hansen in power, he's affiliated with the VDBs AND Netwatch, and I'm just so.... I'm smelling political change, and I'm a bit sad that V didn't get some more inquisitive dialogue options about it all (but maybe that would've been too much at that point... ooor maybe with a few more gigs done the picture will get clearer).

Then also a bit more lore and hhhhh... I don't think I'll incorporate this bit into Vince's canon as is, but again, with everything Corpo-background-lore stuff in PL so far, I love the overall super dark and grim picture being painted like, gimme the angst!! Imagine being so dependent on your job/ so brainwashed/ under your bosses' control they can manipulate you into killing a guy just a few years older than you at that point with the promise "that's the last one... for a while, at least. Here's your raise". This also again lines up really well though with what I actually do have in Vince's background during his time at Arasaka, looking at the vibes and pressure and everything in general (even though the first guy he killed was someone else 👀 but similarly, it also gave him a raise, his supervisors' trust, and so so so many mental health problems).

BUT THEN FINALLY PARTY TIME!!

Maaan... the whole setup of sneaking into the Black Sapphire was so amazing to begin with. The diving portion gave me the worst claustrophobia and flashbacks to all the cave diving accident videos I've ever watched xD The portion with the sniper nest was also so cool but I failed epically at it repeatedly xD Did pull it off like a pro on my third attempt though xD I wish you could do it without having to kill anyone and I figure maybe it is possible. Definitely gonna play around some more on my second playthrough that is surely to come!

Then V's disguise I actually dig so hard XD Purple and black and gold super fancy suit, hell yes! And a nicely tailored one, too. Although Reed's outfit was also 👀👀👀 The main game was really missing a "infiltrate this party" like quest, and damn, did PL deliver with this one.

Then of course I had to have a look around and all the special guests made me so fucking happy xD I was crying at Hideshi Hino and Johnny pointing him out, he was one I would not have expected to meet XD Then also all the newsanchors!! Month ago I was like "ah, it makes sense that Gillean Jordan and Ziggy Q and whatnot have character models, but still so sad that they don't actually have a physical appearance in game". Phantom Liberty is the gift that gives on giving in that regard with fulfilling my little silly wishes like that XD And of course they're all horrible and awful, and I love it XD Goooood-Morning-Night-City Stanley raging about disowning his daughter cause she's into exotic implants, Holt conspiring with Arasaka, again, of course... And Lizzy Wizzy not really happy to see Vince cause I didn't help her get rid of Liam xDD

Also fucking damn... Songbird. First of all, her chrome is insane o.o I'm so torn about what to think of the whole situation like... I can definitely see what Reed says, that she's playing both sides, using Kurt to get her (and V's) cure, the other way around playing him by not actually wanting the president dead... But idk. I feel like something doesn't quite add up just yet. And that is: why even bring V in the equation? If this all is *really* just about curing herself and freeing herself from Myers' clutches, as Kurt says later on, why bring in a random merc with a ticking timebomb in his head and not the best track record when it comes to breaking into high security locations to steal things? (sorry Vince). Idk. I'm not buying it just yet, neither is Vince. He doesn't trust Songbird still, neither the president, both are still a means to his ends - although he also doesn't wish anything bad on So Mi as such, like, she is fighting just as hard for her cure as he is for his, so he can definitely relate to her struggles and whatnot. Being degraded to a tool for people to use as they see fit.

Reed gained a little trust and sympathy with coming clean about how the FIA got rid of him, that Songbird had to pull the trigger on him, metaphorically speaking and like... Vince is not sure if Reed wants revenge on Songbird or actually help her, or if maybe he wants revenge on the president and the whole "I'm just serving my country" thing is not just a very good act. He wouldn't be surprised at least if in the end this all does turn into a personal vendetta. Also, on a meta level I really loved Reed being like, despite everything they did to him, he still feels loyal to the FIA and wants to work for them, in a "I know my place" vibe - similarly how a Corpo!V can be like "I know where I come from" towards Hanako at Embers, that the FIA, in the end, is not too different from a Corp that still has Reed captured how Arasaka has Vince captured and he also couldn't guarantee to not go back to them if they offered him a deal good enough. So, on that basis, I feel like they can really understand each other.

Then these two omfg. Cackling at some details in their profiles still XD The whole roulette scene stressed me out so much, but it was also so fun and unique, really something new! Although internally dying when Aurore got all touchy feely all of a sudden and just picturing Vince utterly losing it internally and just wanting out of there, and then surpressing a sigh of relief when she's like "it's not like I wanna hop into bed with him" to her brother after being scolded xD Like hhhhhh playing this game with a gay OC is so fucking uncomfortable sometimes xD If I had one wish for a future Cyberpunk game it would be more male characters shamelessly flirting with the MC like this oooor at least giving everyone, regardless of gender etc etc the option to turn sth like that down to begin with, like... "oh, sorry, think you misunderstood, I wasn't actually flirting with you".

Would've preferred to flirt with him though:

aksdfhljkasjfhöasdjfhadsflas He's so. SO.

A little more than how I imagined him than most of the others I met so far, but he is also pretty out there. He sure as hell is a lot more layered than what you would think at first glance and I really really love that. I played Vince a little snappy and straightforward during this convo with him, cause I wanted to see how he would react, if he'd keep his calm or if he'd be aggressive or whatnot and in hindsight I wish I'd been a bit more friendly XD Also something for my second plathrough when I really make my canon choices, this first run is for testing the waters and getting to know everyone. THEN I can think properly about "how would my character even react here, truly" xD

Overall this was such a fucking good mission like, holy fuck. So much to see, so much to do, so many people to speak to, I feel like I've forgotten half of the intel I learned already - another reason why I'm looking forward to a second run xD

I still cannot even remotely guess how the DLC is gonna end too like, I feel like after every main mission everything I knew is off the table and there's a whole new array of options I hadn't even considered before. I do hope we get a lot lot lot more stuff on Kurt, cause he is being pinned as... not quite the bad guy in all of this, but not someone you should wanna side with. But I just know there is a lot more to all of this. I could kinda see that it does end up being something like "Songbird has to stay with the FIA and as Myers' pet, Kurt gets defeated, but we get our cure" versus "Songbird gets freed with Kurt's help but all hell breaks loose in the NUSA and Reed won't be happy about it". I feel like, whatever happens though, there's gonna be a war in a few years time at the latest, be it another corporate war, something with the NUSA and Myers schemings (that I'm 0% surprised about btw, do not trust her one bit still and that won't change anymore XD) but yeah.

YEAH. Next up: identity theft! I'm really fucking scared of that cause I remember one of the first trailers where V is getting that mask-like thing put on their face - I'm guessing exactly what Alex has, and I'm guessing it's cyberware... That would be such a big NOPE for Vince, holy shit XD I prefer my flesh-face, thank you! If this is not something that's reversible I pass.

We shall see... but yes. Damn. What a fucking good story so far, even with my long breaks inbetween playing, I'm still hooked anew every time I get to continue!

And again: if I'm way off with any of this (which is likely) or even if I'm guessing some stuff correctly that will transpire later on (which would also be awesome, cause then they're doing their foreshadowing right), please don't tell me or give me hints about it XD I would love to know how your Vs felt about the party cause damn... fanciest party Vince was ever at and will probably ever go to, but he wishes he could've stayed and just actually forgot about everything and partied properly XD Been too long since he did that at that point!

[plebeiangoth]

Have some Halloween movies in no particular order

The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra is a great time, if you can find it. It's a love letter to so-bad-it's-good horror movies from the 50's and 60's which were all ambition and no talent e.g. Plan 9 from Outer Space and Manos The Hands of Fate. One of the funniest and most quotable movies I've ever seen!

House is as gorgeous as it is spooky and goofy! If you've not seen it, you're missing out. It's made by a director who made advertisements and a lot of the special effects are what would have been common in Japanese ads at the time.

Martyrs goes on the list for that one asshole who needs something extreme. Not that it's a bad movie, of course. But if you're that asshole and have yet to see it, have fun! If you don't know what I'm talking about, this film is not for the faint of heart and I mean it! Look up "French extremism" if you're curious. Again, if you've not seen it and don't like lots of blood and gore and little left to the imagination, this is absolutely not for you.

Valerie and her Week of Wonders is a gorgeous example of Czech new-wave, about a girl becoming a woman in a village of vampires! Strongly recommend this one if you like House, it's super colorful and whimsical!

Tetsuo the Iron Man is my idea of a more fun kind of extreme film. This is one of those movies I've seen several times and can't seem to remember the story, but suffice to say it's a wild ride about a metal fetishist who becomes sort of a metal monster in a similar fashion to Tetsuo in Akira becoming a giant flesh monster. It's got a very goofy tone and is shockingly wet for a movie about rebar.

The Thing is never not fun. I'm sorry to say I don't know my Carpenter as well as I should, I'm just too stuck on how much I love The thing and may never move forward. Yes I've seen Halloween, just I like The Thing better.

The Devils is a movie you can't watch in your home in a legal capacity, Warner Bros is never releasing this one on home video. Rest assured you can find it. It's a Ken Russell film about a whole convent of nuns (the Mother Superior played by Vanessa Redgrave) are so in lust with this priest, played by Oliver Reed, that they all fein demon possession to evade persecution. The complete version of the movie includes a scene in which all the nuns bang a crucifix. It's one of those movies I say the production team went to "the cool face store", because wow there's a lot of cool looking faces!

The Rocky Horror Picture Show, because there will always be virgins

Young Frankenstein was Mel Brooks's only funny movie. Fight me! (men in tights was okay i guess)

Bram Stoker's Dracula. What more need I say?

I can't easily pick any one Jan Svankmajer film, so this is the Svankmajer portion of the list. For the uninitiated, he was a Czech stop-motion animator who made these hyper realistic claymation films, often with a dark context. My favorite feature length films of his are Alice (a telling of Alice in Wonderland), Faust, and Otesanek (his final film and magnum opus, aka Little Otik aka Greedy Guts, based on the fairy tale Otesanek about tree-root baby turned vore-monster). His films aren't necessarily scary, just very unsettling and disturbing.

Hellraiser 2 because I haven't seen it yet and people keep telling me it's the good one, as if the first one wasn't delightfully generous????

The Witches is a movie that upset my very Christian grandmother one time when I was a kid, watching it on TV at her house. I don't think she understood the point that the witches aren't the good guys. I know it's irrelevant, I just thought it was funny. I miss you, Nana.

The Worst Witch. Can someone tell me where to watch this? I never saw it before and I wanna see some tacky Tim Curry schlock

eXistenZ is a movie which I only saw for the first, second, third, and fourth time ever one week last year and I'm ashamed as a Cronenberg fan that it took me so long! Not necessarily his most Halloween-y movie (I'd argue that would be The Fly), it's just a lot of fun.

Think I'll stop there, that's a good sized list.

Add your own recs! What do you watch this time of year?

[janeykath318]

A Happy Misfire (TaserTorch)

“So you’re telling me she’s only tased you twice since you met? Color me skeptical.”

Sue Storm took the opportunity to tease her brother while he was briefly unoccupied.

Darcy was dancing with her father and they were clearly having a fun time with it, showing off their impressive skills to an upbeat song. Johnny was watching them with a very relaxed smile on his face. Sue was thrilled to see him so happy, but she was gonna enjoy poking fun, in true sibling fashion.

“Darcy can’t believe it either,” Johnny said dryly. “The first one I admit I deserved, the second time I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She apologized for that one.”

Darcy winked at them as she whirled past, mouthing, “You drooled so prettily!”

Sue snorted. “You two deserve each other and I mean that in the best possible way. She’s just the right woman for you.”

Darcy swished over a few minutes later, looking flushed and happy. Her white gown sparkled as she moved and she reminded him of a fairytale princess at the ball.

“That was incredible, babe,” Johnny admired, “Looks like dancing skills run in the family.”

“Thank you, and Yup, it’s in our blood,” she confirmed, tucking herself against him. “But I thought I’d take a breather before the cake cutting and tell Sue about the second tazing incident.”

“Yes, please,” Sue urged eagerly.

Johnny sighed. “If you must.”

Darcy chuckled and grabbed his hand.

“It’s okay, babe. You know we both came out looking foolish. So, it was back in the days of my science wrangling and after the third kidnapping attempt, Tony decided I needed some better self defense skills. So, I was required to spend an hour a week training with Natasha and he worked on upgrading my taser to a charge that would hopefully fell even the biggest Hydra baddies. We decided to test it out on stronger dudes and bless his heart, Steve Rogers agreed to be a test subject. Obviously, we were careful about it, but we needed to see what level would start to bother him. Even his nervous system is super. I was all excited about the latest prototype and ran to the gym to test it out. I saw Steve there and I yelled “Hold Still!” and I fired. He dropped like a stone!”

Johnny shuddered at the memory and Sue gave him a sympathetic look, as if she’d already guessed the ending.

“I rushed over, both thrilled and terrified that I’d incapacitated Captain America, and as I got closer, I recognized that it wasn’t Steve at all! The real Steve was standing in the doorway, looking totally shocked.

“I guess it works,” was all he said before he burst out chuckling. I wanted to die of mortification. Poor Johnny, meanwhile, had a tough time of it. His system was not meant to take that kind of charge.”

She squeezed his hand as she shot him a rueful smile.

“That’s for sure,” Johnny agreed. “But I was glad I was not the intended target for once and I thought you looked awfully cute fussing over me.”

“I even refrained from taking pictures for blackmail purposes,” Darcy teased in reply. “And it ended up having a pretty wonderful outcome since I agreed to go on a date with you as an apology. Now here we are.”

She looked up at Johnny lovingly and he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. He was so thrilled to be married to this wonderful woman. They both forgot about Sue, who just smiled and went to find Reed.

[running-on-narrativium]

Little Shop of Horrors Lyric Starters

(Feel free to change to fit your muse.)

“On the twenty-third day of the month of September, in an early year of a decade not too long before our own, the human race suddenly encountered a deadly threat to its very existence.”

“this terrifying enemy surfaced, as such enemies often do, in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places.”

“What a creepy thing to be happening!”

“Stop right where you are. Don't you move a thing.”

“Best believe it something's come to get 'cha.”

“Alarm goes off at seven.”

“Then you go downtown.”

“Uptown you cater to a million jerks.”

“The bosses take your money and they break your hearts.”

“Your morning's tribulation, afternoon's a curse and five o'clock is even worse.”

“Poor! All my life I've always been poor.”

“I keep asking God what I'm for, and he tells me "Gee, I'm not sure.”

“Oh, I started life as an orphan, a child of the street.”

“Someone show me a way to get outta here.”

“Please, won't somebody say I'll get outta here.”

“Someone gimme my shot or I'll rot here.”

“I was walkin' in the wholesale flower district that day I passed by this place where this old man-he sometimes sells me weird and exotic cuttings.”

“He knows, you see, that strange plants are my hobby.”

“Suddenly, and without warning, there was this total eclipse of the sun.”

“And when the light came back this weird plant was just sitting there.”

“You've given me nothing but heartache and hurt.”

“I'm beggin' you sweetly. I'm down on my knees.”

“What do you want from me- Blood?”

“Looks like you're not happy, 'less I open a vein.”

“I know (Name’s) the greatest.”

“I'm dating a semi-sadist.”

“So I've got a black eye and my arm's in a cast.”

“Well, if not, he's got inner beauty.”

“I dream of a place where we could be together at last…”

“I cook like Betty Crocker and I look like Donna Reed.”

“There's plastic on the furniture to keep it neat and clean.”

“A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine.”

“I dream we'll go somewhere that's green.”

“When I was younger, just a bad little kid my mama noticed funny things I did.”

“My boy, I think someday you'll find a way to make your natural tendencies pay.”

“You have a talent for causing things pain!”

“Your temperament's wrong for the priesthood and teaching would suit you still less.

“Son, be a dentist, you'll be a success!”

“Who wants their teeth done by the Marquis de Sade?”

“And though it may cause my patients distress, somewhere in heaven above me, I know that my mama's proud of me.”

“Feed me!”

“Would you like a Cadillac car?”

“Would you like to be a big wheel, dinin' out for every meal?”

“I'm the one that can make it all real!

“You gonna git it!”

“I'm your genie, I'm your friend! I'm your willin' slave...”

“I don't know…I have so... so many strong... reservations…”

“Should I go... and perform... mutilations?”

“If you wanna be profound...If you really gotta justify...take a breath and look around... A lot of folks deserve to die...”

“The guy sure looks like plant food to me!”

“He's so nasty treatin' her rough!”

“You need blood and he's got more than enough!”

“He's got your number now.”

“You've got no place to hide, you've got nowhere to run…”

“I think it's suppertime.”

“Come on, come on, think about all those offers.”

“Ain't no time to turn squeamish.”

“Lift up your head. Wash off your mascara,here, take my Kleenex, wipe that lipstick away.”

“I know things were bad, but now they're okay.”

“Nobody ever treated me kindly.”

“Daddy left early…Mama was poor.”

“I'd meet a man and I'd follow him blindly. He'd snap his fingers, me, I'd say "sure."”

“Tell me this feelin'll last till forever…”

“Please understand that it's still strange and frightening.”

“Suddenly (Name) is standin' beside me.”

“(Name), so finally we meet you!”

“You're gonna host it, you lucky kid, sign.”

“Yes darling, we're sending photographers Thursday, so get the plant ready and wear a clean shirt.”

“They say the meek shall inherit.”

“It's not a question of merit.”

“You’re a meek little guy.”

“You know the meek are gonna get what's comin' to 'em by and by.”

“My future's starting, I've got to let it.”

“I take these offers, that means more killing! Who knew success would come with messy, nasty strings?”

“I sign these contracts, that means I'm willing to keep on doing bloody, awful, evil things.”

“No! No! There's only so far you can bend!”

“No! No! This nightmare must come to an end!”

“It's the only solution. It can't be avoided. The vegetable must be destroyed.”

“But then there's (Name), lovely (Name)…”

“Without my plant, she might not love me anymore.”

“Better wait a minute! Ya better hold the phone!”

“Better mind your manners! Better change your tone!”

“Don't you threaten me, son!”

“We gonna do things my way or we won't do things at all!”

“Ya don't know what you're messin' with. You got no idea.”

“Ya don't know what you're up against, no, no way, no how!”

“I'm just a mean green mother from outer space and I'm bad.”

“You've got me fightin' mad!”

“You think he's the worst, well, you're thinkin' wrong.”

“He got a temper, ha! He ain't got mine.”

“I'm from past the stars and beyond the moon.”

“You can keep The Thing, keep The It,keep The Creature, they don't mean shit.”

“I got the stuff and I think that proves, you better move it out.”

“I'm gonna bust your balls.”

“It's all over, ace.”

“Subsequent to the events you have just witnessed, similar events in cities across America, events which bore a striking resemblance, to the ones you have just seen began occurring.”

“Unsuspecting jerks from Maine to California made the acquaintance of a new breed of flytrap and got sweet-talked into feeding it blood.”

“Thus the plants worked their terrible will...”

“And the plants proceeded to grow and grow, and begin what they came here to do. Which was essentially to eat Cleveland and Des Moines and Peoria and New York… and this theater!”

“They may offer you fortune and fame, love and money and instant acclaim. But whatever they offer you, don't feed the plants!”

“Look out! Here comes (Name)!”

“Here I come for you!”

“Hold your hat and hang on to your soul!”

“Something's coming to eat the world whole!”

“If we fight it we've still got a chance!”

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

🪐Tues 1 Dec ‘20🍌

Harry Styles Reacts to Banana Innuendo by Creating More Banana Innuendo

A little bit of Harry today but packing a big, uh, impact; there were pictures of the DWD set where one of the blurry blobs is distinctively Harold, and a much clearer fan pic of him driving a top down convertible in Palm Springs recently, personifying old Hollywood glamour looks even off the set, and! We see him in the Variety Hitmakers promo vid briefly, like very briefly, I literally blinked and missed it the first time, but the amount of information he gets across in those 4 or 5 frames! WOW. Okay so first of all he's wearing a necklace that is literally A DICK BANANA! It's a penis in a banana peel!! I mean we have always been knew that Harry was a big lover of... bananas... but he really just said no more subtext this time damn. It being Gucci is just the hilarious sprinkle on the sundae, they are really making the content Harry deserves huh? But let's not let that distract us from unpeeling the rest of this iconic look- his shirt says 'waiting for sunset', I see your sun reference there sir, and his sweater, an iconic cardigan first seen 3 years ago (it's the space boy sweater!!!), features daffodils, a heart pierced by an arrow (wait do those two things... go together or something...?), two birds, bugs and butterflies, and fish! Also it's beautiful. Someone make recreating these a tiktok trend please and tell me how to make one!

Comedian Nick Kroll, who is part of Don't Worry Darling, says Harry (er sorry I mean “ethereal demigod of love Harry Styles,” as per Vuture) was the first to know about his engagement, beating out even family by texting for up to the minute updates (“have you done it yet? What's going on?”). “He doesn’t know it yet,” Kroll says, “but he’s gonna be the guardian of all of our children.” Uh huh like that wasn't his play all along, he's even got this guy convinced it was his own idea! I assume Harry's plotting the tattoo space for their names even now, but hopefully he won't also be texting for constant updates on the babymaking process...

Who woke up with Liam today?? Well, if you missed that pleasure, he greeted us to say good morning and that it was “strange being the voice waking you up” but he hoped it wasn't too annoying and that we had a blessed day while Naughty List (#1 tik tok song third week in a row) played gently in the background. Thanks Liam! (Then Roman Kemp does what is I guess a Harry impression? Not his best tbh. Also no bananas or dicks, not convincing at all.) Liam also tells Roman that no, he's never done positive affirmations, what are those-- I was already looking forward to the advent for ME but now I'm excited for it for Liam too! No Liam, may YOU have a blessed day and learn all about saying nice things to yourself. The sleep story content isn't available yet, but lots of people went to sleep last night with Liam on their mind already even so; CelebTM, desperate to cling to their moment of notoriety and retain their directioner readers, published a ziam primer, and apparently their ploy is working cause suddenly everyone was talking about ziam. I mean okay but my dudes are you really letting CELEBTM guide your fandom? That just won't end well. But however suspect the source, ziam trended on twitter throughout the day yesterday, and then Gigi posted a pic of Zayn resting his face on her preggers belly from back in the summer, and then the fandom sort of split into the people trending Ziam harder and the people cooing at the pic for being cute so I guess if Gigi was trying to shush people as was the widespread theory, maybe it half worked? Or maybe it just made people about it talk more, hard to say. But! Either way it gave us an unseen of Zayn, so thats a win.

BBC1 will play Louis' christmas special from last year again this christmas day-- a whole hour of Louis playing great songs and chatting! (Remember how he played the same christmas song that Harry had called a family favorite when he covered it at Jingle Ball a couple weeks before? good times!) I guess you could be sad that it's a rerun, and yes who wouldn't want a new one, but also you could be happy cause it was super good and it's on again! Anyway judging by the influence celebtm is wielding, half of the fandom is new people right now anyway so I'm sure it will be new to many, so enjoy it friends. A registered but unreleased Louis song, One Track Mind, showed minor changes to a listing. Movement behind the scenes? Always, but if it moving closer to us, happy days!

Meanwhile on instagram Harris Reed said "I think the thing that's so beautiful about Harry is the fact that he does what he wants to do because he believes in it,” and “he immediately kind of understood I didn’t want to just make pretty clothes, I had a strong message for providing fluidity,” Louis liked posts from Liam Gallagher (about supporting crew) and Helene, Liam did what the grammys failed to- congratulated The Weeknd on his success (a whole year in the top 100), and Harry and Louis are up against each other-- no not like that, in a fan voted competition for 'Best Male'.  A pretty big hat to fill but better one of them than most anyone else! If you have a strong preference (and boy do some of you) go cast your vote! Let the infighting begin, uh, continue.

[1ddotdhq]

☀️ Mon 26 Oct ‘20 Part 1 💙

Tell us a story about love, Harry, the fans demanded, and give it a happy ending. In a way, he did that, but it isn’t what you’d expect. Instead of creating a standard love story, the Golden video was an ode to joy: goofy and joyful and playful and FUN which is really what a good love story should be - a true love letter to the song! It dropped at 12 pm EST (which was an hour EARLIER than Sony Italia said it would) and was entirely Harry goofing off and running (literally running) around the Italian coast. Earlier today, AP dropped an interview with him talking about Golden, among other things, and he’d said about the song, “it’s one of the first songs when I was making the album and it's always been a source of joy for me. And I wanted to make a video that encapsulated that. I’d like to think it will maybe cheer a couple of people up. Cheered me up!” The video cheered me up immensely, too, and I particularly liked the costumes: alongside the Steven Daley floral pants and fisherman’s hat we saw the other day, he included a blue (yes, that blue) blazer over a striped blue and white shirt, complete with tattered vans on his feet, the flowy shirt we’d seen him wear in filming, and his swim shorts! And don't worry darlings, it is still a Harry video, he IS submerged in water at one point (as is the camera, giving us some nice Eroda!fish POV shots.) Remember those pap shots of him and Molly Hawkins at the pool where everyone was like “we CAN’T TALK ABOUT IT the paps INVADED HIS PRIVACY”? Well, no, actually, it was for the music video - He’s even wearing that blue daffodil Eliou necklace in both the video and the picture! There were no other characters to introduce in the video, it was just him joking around, except for a motorcyclist with a neon green helmet and a few old women at the very end who’d car Harry decided to climb. You can sort of see her waving at him to get off of her car and him just...giggling at her and popping his ankle into the air like the queen he is. What was notably MISSING from the video was: the boat scenes, the purple gown outfit, and the vespa! I wonder what happened to those shots? I’d very much like to see that footage if HSHQ wants to release a director’s cut for the video, but as we know that Ben Winston had a hand in producing this, and given his history of withholding footage, I wouldn’t hold my breath….

Is that it for Harry? *Checks notes* why NO it is NOT! Well, okay, first, let’s talk about the reaction to the video: fans love it! It’s everything we wanted but never expected! Parallels have been made between the outfit he wore in Golden and WMYB wayyy back in the day, and it’s true: semi-longhaired Harry wearing striped shirts HAS made a comeback almost ten years later! It’s like his own little version of the ‘how it started...how it’s going’ memes going around. Harry Lambert posted tons of behind the scenes shots, including one of Harry in a feathered Steven Dayler hat, and Harry himself posted a picture to his instagram of him throwing up the middle finger by biting the lace glove and pulling it off of his hand! He’s in the Louis blue blazer and it's a very funny and cute picture and it reminds us that Louis does NOT have a monopoly on middle finger pictures: Harry can pull them off too THANK YOU VERY MUCH! This picture was a super popular one; it was liked by Helene Horlyck, Gene Gallagher, Sandy Beales, Harry Lambert, and even Micheal Blackwell (Louis’ guitarist!). Harris Reed - who can’t help themselves, they’re as in love with that color blue as we are - “The colour of dreams 💙” . They were not the only blue heart in the comments, lots of people chimed in with their 💙💙 love - MTV even made a (joking) post speculating that it was Louis in car that Harry crawled on, and Eliou was discovered to sell both middle finger candles (suggested color: blue) and peace sign candle (suggested color: green). I...want them both. Helene Pambrun then added to the Harry praise by celebrating her third anniversary with the team (“~ 3 years ago [Harry] opened a new chapter of my life”), thanking him for the opportunity, but also perhaps saying goodbye? She says, “There is still a long way to find who I really am and what I want/need to be...what I know, though is that I certainly miss all of those faces who I’ve been...sharing the last 3 years [with]”. I guess we’ll find out sooner or later if she’s still around, but her pictures have been a joy! 

And now for the news I don’t think anyone was expecting: Harry is investing in a new stadium in Manchester that aims to add jobs to the economy, engage the community, and create a space that musicians would want to play at as well as a welcoming space for fans. He mentions how much he misses live music (hey we have a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert video for you!) and how Manchester was his hometown, which made this a very personal investment for him. Building a new arena may seem highly counterintuitive at a moment when arenas are shut down indefinitely due to contagion concerns, but it seems to us that building new music venues at this time, while not possible for most people or places, might be kind of optimal; a new venue can include conscientious future-looking measures incorporating ventilation and seating innovations for the times we live in in a way that's hard to retrofit to existing spaces. We don't know yet if it WILL, but it COULD! It's being built by Oak View Group, an Irving Azoff enterprise, and we're told that Harry “will take more than just a capital interest, he will also be actively involved in the development of the project.” Getting ahead of the curve and building the first contagion conscious arena sounds very Azoff and like something Harry would throw himself into: we're eager to hear whether it's the case. “As long as everything's in order by 2023, hopefully they’ll let me play there. If I haven’t messed it up yet,” he says: yes we all hope so too!

[meyeselph]

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

--

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

--

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

--

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

--

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

--

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

[tendertenebrosity]

Illiam and Helis on the road! Close sequel to here and here.  Masterpost for these characters is here. Mostly just some conversation and worldbuilding today; stay tuned for part 2!

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi   @thesleepysnapdragon @whump-cravings

Helis knew, from the conversations they had overheard at Illiam’s heel, that today they would pass into the south of Rosdan, the part the Toraldan army hadn’t taken yet. If they hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t have been able to guess; the countryside was the same as it had been for the past few days. Heavily forested hills, a dirt road that wound side-to-side between their peaks like the track made by a snake. The ground was rocky, any snow long since trodden into black sludge peppered liberally with gravel. Helis had an impressive bruise on the underside of their foot from trying to make their way through it, and the little downy feathers on their ankles hadn’t been either white or downy in days.  

“We have quite a large ravine to cross next,”  Illiam commented. “The town is just over the bridge; we should be able to see both once we’re around this next bend in the road.”

Helis made a wordless hum of acknowledgment. They wouldn’t be stopping for the night in this town; they might pause so that people could mill about, make a mess and maybe have another urgent, terse meeting. Or they might not. Helis supposed they’d be glad for a chance to stretch their legs.

The thick pine forest on some of these hills was a lot like the country that they’d spent a few weeks camping in with Reed. Had it been this tiring, going up and down the hills? Not for Helis, but maybe for Reed it had been. He’d never complained.

“I built some bridges, you know,” Illiam remarked.  

Helis blinked, roused from their reverie. “What?”

“Bridges. You know, big structures, usually made of wood or stone, they allow you to get over bodies of water… ”

Helis hunched their shoulders. Yes, very funny. “You… built bridges? Why?” It wasn’t something they’d ever considered him doing. It seemed… beneath him, or at least that he ought to think it was beneath him. They didn’t remember him ever showing the slightest interest in that kind of thing before.

“It’s the kind of thing I’ve been working on, the last few years,” Illiam explained. “Not just bridges, but… large engineering work. Repairing dams, roads. You usually do that with magic in Crestmead, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Helis said. Their friend Diamand had taken a job in that direction; another scholarship student, like them, he’d chosen to go into government service in construction. “It’s usually done with teams of mages…”

“It’s not been used much here,” Illiam said. “Most things like that in the North are built the old-fashioned way. Bricks and mortar and a lot of peasants with shovels. It can be difficult and dangerous work, not to mention slow. I had seen a lot of… interesting things done in the South, and I wanted to try and replicate them. Not just structures, either - I still wonder if I could get some of your irrigation and wind shelter techniques to work with our farms.” He paused. “You came from a farm, didn’t you?”

“Yeees…” Helis wasn’t sure whether to be surprised he remembered, or brace themself for him to say something derogatory. “We didn’t use any magic, though. I think you’re talking about bigger places than ours…”

He barely seemed to be listening. “I imagine the climate to the south is better, so you probably didn’t need much help. The land to the west of our holdings is harsh, and crop failures are common. It would make a big difference if I could increase yield even a little bit.” He sighed. “Bridges proved easier, at least to start with. Of course, I was somewhat hampered by the fact that, as you say, I don’t have a trained team. I only have myself. So a lot of the techniques needed… adjusting.”

Despite themselves, Helis found themself a little interested. “That’s a bit more than just an ‘adjustment’,” they said. “You’re trying to do the work of, what - four to six people by yourself?”

“Mm,” he said, dismissive.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Helis said. They’d had to design the kind of spells Illiam was talking about as part of their course; they couldn’t imagine trying to handle that much magic, in that many different moving parts, at once. It was overambitious to the point of being irresponsible.

Then again, in light of his current project, they shouldn’t be surprised.

“Oh, maybe if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Illiam said, airily. They could practically picture the smug tilt of his chin as he said it. “I had it down pretty well by the third attempt. Besides, it was unavoidable. Even if I’d managed to get four or five mages together, there’s no guarantee they’d have been able to work together in that way. It’s not a common skill here.”

Helis’ brow wrinkled. “But… I’ve seen other mages here, in the army ranks.” Mostly men, a scattering of women, their uniform marked out with a red scarf or sash or hat. The common soldiers deferred to them, but nowhere near as much as they did to Illiam. Helis had seem them performing heat spells, wind spells, stick-fast spells - the kinds of minor workings any large group of people needed.  Are they mages or not? they wanted to ask. Why ‘if’ you get four or five people? Aren’t they trained properly?

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, but the… culture, I suppose you’d say… amongst mages is different here. Much less collaborative. Much less standardised. A Northern sorceror works alone, or maybe with an apprentice or two if they’re inclined to that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“There’s nothing like the Academy here, or even the sort of smaller schools that teach people to read and write in Crestmead,” Illiam explained. “I learned my Northern magic from my master, Karlin, who learned it from his, and so on. I started when I was nine - that’s pretty normal. He didn’t have a second apprentice while teaching me, but I understand he often did. Some masters can get a bit… stingy, paranoid. They don’t like to share their knowledge too freely. Karlin was never like that.”

“Oh. You… always did seem like you knew a bit already, in the first semester,” Helis admitted.

Illiam was silent, just a beat longer than usual. “You could say that,” he said. “You know, I - ”

He cut himself off - the hands that had been fairly slack on the reins in front of Helis were suddenly moving, pulling the horse up to a sudden stop.

They had just rounded the curve of the hillside. As Illiam had said, they could look down and see the bridge - miles ahead of them yet, a squat and sturdy structure made from the same grey stone as the cliffs it straddled. The riverbed was a long way down.

They couldn’t see much of the town, though, because it and the forest to the east were obscured by a thick dark plume of smoke.

The soldiers in front of them were clogging the road, the whole unit that had been ahead of Illiam’s horse, pulled to an unplanned halt. Raised voices and curses reached Helis’ ears; people were pointing at the smoke, barking orders, shoving the people ahead or behind them.

“This town was supposed to be secured!” someone was insisting, harsh and strident. “Lord Garnier sent - ”

As the army milled, disorganised, there was a sharp whistle, thinned out by distance and followed by a crack. The light that flashed in the forest beyond the town was tinged pale blue, obviously magical in origin. People in the army flinched and swore as more clouds of dust and smoke rose up. As they watched, aghast, a wedge of stone split away from the cliff face and tumbled down into the ravine with a crash.

Illiam hissed wordlessly under his breath, and tapped Helis - more of a shove, really - on the shoulder.

"You’re getting off,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“Get off the horse, lackwit, move!”

Helis let go of their grip on the saddle and drew their knees up slightly, uncertain of what to do next. Illiam lifted them unceremoniously around the waist, and they swung their leg awkwardly over the horse’s neck. They made it to the ground in an awkward, flapping fall, their legs nearly giving way under them.

The horse stamped and sidled back and forth, rolling one dark eye as Helis stumbled back. Illiam gathered up his reins. He didn’t even look down at Helis.

“Go back and wait with the rest of the camp followers,” he said, his voice raised over the commotion. “Do not come and find me. Do not cause problems.”

He kicked the horse into motion. Helis shielded their eyes from the dirt he threw up; they could hear him yelling something at the soldiers down the slope. By the time they had collected themself, the crowd of soldiers had parted to allow Illiam and his horse to canter down the hill in the direction of the smoking town.

“Well, now what?” Helis asked aloud, to nobody in particular. They watched the figure of Illiam and his horse, dramatic black cloak flapping, until it was out of sight. Helis didn’t know much about war magic. But they had a hazy, uneasy idea how much damage a single magic-user could wreak against an undefended force. Was he going to fight? Or did he think the battle needed him in command? It still seemed unbelievable to Helis, that men twice their age, generals and leaders, actually took orders from Illiam, who wasn’t any older than Helis themself.

The crowd of soldiers was forming up into some kind of order in his wake, the person who’d been yelling about Lord Garnier unloading a series of profanities and insults on everybody in earshot.

The wagons and the rest of the army had been following Illiam and the advance party, much slower on the hilly ground. Helis had no idea how far away they might be.

They sighed, picked a rock out from between their toes, and set off back the way they’d come.

[13-reasons-ideas]

Once a Serpent? Part 2

The following week, I started school at Liberty. I went to the office for my schedule. There, I was greeted by a very cheerful girl. She had a black bob haircut. She stuck her hand and introduced herself. “Courtney Crimsen.”

“Kennedy Campbell.” I shook her hand awkwardly.

“I’m going to lead your tour.”

“Oh. I gave myself a tour last week?”

“Well, I’ll give you an insider tour.”

“Okay?” I wasn’t sure about her. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she seemed to be overly nice. I followed her around the school as she pointed out various things. I had passed by most things in the main building the week prior. She pointed out where some of my classes were and then we went outside. She showed me some of the other buildings. My biology class was on the third floor of the science and technology building.

“Thank you for the tour.” I smiled.

“Of course. If you have any questions, I’m around. You’ll see me in the halls. Feel free to ask.”

“I will. Thank you again.” The bell rang. We parted ways and I walked to my locker. It took a couple of tries, but I got it to open on my own. As I was filling it up, I heard someone calling my name. I looked up and turned around. The voice called again. I looked in that direction up the hall and saw Montgomery walking towards me. Yup. Still hot. Even in regular clothes and not sweating. I waved. He stopped when he reached my locker.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” I pulled my algebra textbook

“How’s your first day going?”

“It’s okay. I haven’t had any classes or anything yet. Courtney gave me a tour.”

“That must have been fun. She’s pretty….”

“Cheery?”

“I was going to say uptight.”

“I got that impression, yeah.” I pulled out my schedule. “I should probably get going. Try to find my way to algebra.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around.”

“See you around Montgomery.”

As I was walking away, he called out, “If you want you can sit with me and the guys at lunch.”

“I have bio in room 347. Come find me.”

One nice thing about starting school at the beginning of the school year, was that you didn’t have to do the stupid introductions no one cares about. In algebra, I picked a seat near the back. I did fine in math. This made it easier to blend in. A boy with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes sat down next to me. He was wearing a blue and white varsity jacket. He took out his books and arranged them on his desk. He turned towards me. “Hey, can I borrow a pencil?”

“Sure.” I dug one out of my bag.

“Thanks. I’m Scott.”

“Kennedy.”

“You’re new here?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really. If you ignore the way you’re looking around like you aren’t prepared for this at all.” I sighed.

“Says the kid that asked someone for a pencil on the first day of school.”

“Touché.” I laughed.

Class started. We spent some time going over the syllabus for the semester. I circled some dates and points. When the teacher, Mrs. Smith, started teaching, I started to zone out a bit. Nothing too major. But I did miss a couple of operations. I turned to Scott and nodded towards his paper.  He turned it towards me. I copied it down quickly. “Something the two of you would like to share with the class Mr. Reed?”

“No Ma’am. Just class notes here.”

“Sorry.” I said quietly.

“Keep up you two.”

“Yes Ma’am.” We said. The rest of class passed without incident.

When biology ended, Monty was standing across the hall. “You found me.”

“I did. Lunch?”

“Sure.” We walked to the cafeteria making small talk. I hated small talk, but it was better than being stared at. I followed him through the crowded room to a table occupied by several large jocks. I was right. I’m going to guess and say football.

“Guys, Kennedy. Kennedy, Guys.”

“Hey.” The boys nodded.

“Hey. Hey Scott.”

“Kennedy. How was bio?”

“It’s the first day, so boring.” I laughed. Scott laughed too. I sat next to him and reached into my lunch bag. I pulled out my carrot sticks.

“She’s in my algebra class.” He said to the table. They were watching us.

“He saved my ass when I wasn’t paying attention. I also apologize if anyone hates the sound of crunching. We only bought groceries for a few days.”

“Ah.”

While we were eating, I started getting warm. I wasn’t used to the heat here. I took off my sweater, not even thinking twice about the fact that I was wearing a tank top. While I picked at my wrap, sorry, I mean ‘rolled sandwich’, I could feel someone watching me. I had grown used to the feeling, especially in the last couple of years. “Yes?”

“What’s your tattoo supposed to be?” Scott asked.

“It’s personal. I got it a couple of years ago.” I could feel him examining it. “I’m probably not going to answer your questions.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Not really. It felt more strange than painful.” Someone else was looking at it too. I turned around. I caught a boy staring at me. He was wearing a worn in black leather jacket. Not wanting to cause problems on my first day, I ignored it.

“No tattoo questions. Can we ask general questions?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Where are you from?” Bryce asked.

“That’s a loaded question.”

“Oh?”

“My dad is a Major in the Army. Which ‘from’ would you like?”

“Lunch isn’t even half over yet.” Montgomery pointed out. It seemed his friends called him Monty. You aren’t his friend.

“Okay, well. I was born on the base in Germany. We lived there until I was three. Then dad got stationed in Denver. Lived there until I was about six. From there, we moved to Chicago. I was about eight when we moved to New York City. We were there until I was about twelve. Then we moved to Riverdale. My dad had requested to move upstate to have a change of pace. He could still commute. And then we moved here like a week or so ago.”

“So where do you consider home?” Charlie asked. He seemed like he was genuinely nice.

“Riverdale. Not just because we were there the longest. I put down roots there. I actually made friends. I dated. Some relationships were less serious than others.” You mean other. “I grew up there. It’s where I became my own person. It’s home.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Why did you have to move then?”

“I haven’t graduated yet. My parents didn’t want to leave me there alone while I was still going to school.” If I had my way, I wouldn’t be here by now. I could feel someone’s eyes on me again. I looked and caught Monty staring. Maybe here won’t be so bad.

I got a text from Jughead as we were all talking. Hey Kenz. How’s California treating you?

Hot.

You love the heat. :P

I know. It’s the best. :P

Other than that, how’s it going?

It’s going okay. I met some people. My tour guide was… Happy with a capital P.

They made you take a tour?

Yup. And I still got lost looking for my biology class. I chuckled to myself.

“What’s funny?” Bryce asked.

“Nothing.” I put my phone down on the table. That evidently was a bad idea. My phone started buzzing rapidly. I grabbed it quickly and grimaced. “Sorry.” Fangs was texting me. He seemed to be in a great mood for the first day of school.

Kennedy! We have news. Good news. Great news. The best news. Of course, each sentence was a different message.

Oh? What’s happening?

They put soda in the vending machine again. That’s it? That’s the news?

“That’s it?” I asked, out loud.

“What?” A few guys asked.

“Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. So now you have to share the reason.” Scott smiled.

“My friend is freaking out because they out soda in the vending machines at my old school.”

“That’s not a bad reason to freak out.” Monty shrugged.

“I don’t need six individual text messages about it.”

“Well. That’s a lot.” I nodded.

After lunch, I had a free period, so I wandered around the school a little more. My tour wasn’t exactly the greatest after all. Once I mapped out a decent route to my classes, I decided to sit outside. It was nice out. It’s California. It’s usually nice out. I couldn’t help myself while I sat. I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through pictures of Sweetpea and I. A lot of them were candid shots one or the other of us had taken. There were some at various gatherings. One of me the first time I put on his old jacket. IT had felt so foreign to me then. Now it felt like something was missing because I didn’t have it.

Approaching footsteps startled me. Instinctively, my hand flew to my front pocket. Then I remembered that my knife wasn’t there. I had left it at home. I didn’t need it here. It was safe. I wasn’t a target anymore. “Hey.” The voice said above me. I already recognized it as Scott.

“Hey.”

“Can I sit?” He motioned to the ground.

“Free country.” I watched him sit on the bench next to me. He left a respectable distance between us.

“How’s your first day going?”

“It’s okay. How’s your first day of senior year?”

“It’s okay. Doesn’t quite feel real yet.”

“It really doesn’t, no.”

“I’m going to apologize for my friends now. They can be a handful sometimes.”

“I know how to work with that. My friends back home were… a handful and half.”

We sat quietly for a few minutes. “Is Miss Smith always so?” I trailed off, unable to find the right word.

“Intense?”

“Yeah.”

“She can be. Usually at exam time. Nothing too out of the ordinary.”

“Good to know.”

“New York, huh?”

“Yeah. I was pretty young when we lived in the city, so I don’t really have a lot of cool stories.”

“But of Riverdale?”

“I have stories.”

“Like?”

“Can’t talk about them with strangers.”

“I don’t have to be a stranger.” I turned to him and raised my brow. “Oh. Oh

no. I didn’t mean. I have a girlfriend.”

“Is that how you asked all your friends to be friends?”

“No.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

“Friends then. I won’t cheat off you in math by the way.”

“That’s probably a good thing. You wouldn’t do great if you did.” We exchanged numbers. “So, since I’m not a stranger anymore, does that mean I can hear some stories?”

“Soon enough.” I smiled. Scott headed off to meet his girlfriend.

I pulled out my phone again and texted Jughead. I made a friend. My thumb hovered over Sweetpea’s text chain. I couldn’t bring myself to delete it or his contact. I had tried several times over the last two weeks. Something inside of me just kept finding reasons not to. My mind trailed off to the other boy who had caught my attention here. There was something about Montgomery that just made me want to know him. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

It didn’t start feeling like school until the second week of classes. Most of the week prior had been a lot of going over course outlines and review of the previous year’s material. Bryce and his friends had taken a liking to me. It was assumed by my third day that I would be a fixture within their group. Scott’s girlfriend, Melissa, was nice. She didn’t seem to see me as a threat. That’s a relief. I would have hated to have my first real friend here, not be able to be friends with me after all.

In the past couple of weeks, I found myself comparing this group of athletes to my friends back home. Bryce seemed to be the closest to Reggie. He-and everyone else for that matter-considered himself the ringleader of this group. Scott was an observer, much like Jughead. It took me a few days, but I realized that Jeff was pretty similar to Archie. People liked him and he was nice. For the sake of being nice. Charlie, now Charlie was quickly becoming a favourite. He was like a human golden retriever. He reminded me so much of Fangs I wanted to cry. Justin reminded me a lot of Toni. The glue in a way. When I thought of Monty-I was considered his friend now, so I could call him that- I only had one other person in mind. Sweetpea. Well, you can’t say I don’t have a type. I hadn’t assigned roles from my hometown to everyone in the group. Zach, for example was hard to pin down.

By mid-September, I started to get comfortable. Not comfortable enough to let my guard down. I had learned my lesson with Sweetpea. I was hanging out with Scott at lunch. We had both decided we could use a break from being surrounded by jocks all the time. “I don’t know Scott.”

“Come on. You said you didn’t share stories with strangers. I’m not a stranger anymore.”

“I know. Let me think.” I stopped to think about what stories I could share. Ones that didn’t involve outing that I dated a gang member. Or that didn’t involve Sweetpea. That didn’t leave a lot of recent stories. Most of my stories from the last two years involved him or the Serpents in one capacity or another.

“Okay I have one. So my friend, we call him Jughead.” Scott looked at me and shook his head, confused. “It’s better than Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.”

“Yes. That is better.”

“Anyway. He was my first real friend when I moved to Riverdale. We must have barely been thirteen at the time. I had spent the night at his place. we decided we wanted to make pancakes in the morning.” I paused and looked up when Monty sat down with us. What was I saying? I noticed a bruise on his cheek that hadn’t been there yesterday. I wonder what that’s from. No Kennedy. Don’t get involved.

“Hey.”

“Hi. Uh,” I paused.

“Did I interrupt?”

“No. Kennedy was just about to tell me a story about Riverdale.”

“Yeah. Uh, what was I saying?”

“Pancakes.”

“Oh yes! We wanted pancakes. We must have used almost every Tupperware dish in his place. It looked like a tornado had torn through the kitchen. His dad walked out, took one look at the kitchen, and shoo’d us out. We were watching tv until he started a fire in the pan.”

“His dad lit breakfast on fire?”

“Yeah. So, he gave up and took us to the diner for breakfast.”

“How did he set the pancakes on fire?” Monty asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I shrugged. Scott didn’t ask for another story.

“What’s Riverdale like?” Monty asked.

“It’s a small town. I feel like it’s pretty standard for a small town.” I didn’t need to mention the Serpents or the Ghoulies or just how separated the North and South sides of town were. “The woods are nice that surround the town.”

“The woods are nice?”

“Yeah. Very… woodsy.”

“Uh huh. Anything else?”

“Pop’s Diner has the best milkshakes I’ve ever had.”

“You haven’t had the milkshakes at Rosie’s yet.” Scott interjected.

“No, I haven’t.”

“They have the best shakes. No argument.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, Scott.” I smirked.

[ask-spider-man-61610]

The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

ON THE EDGE ~ Pt. 4

Characters: Gavin Reed x fem!Reader; Connor; Hank Anderson;

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2668

Gavin was far away from being 'happy'. But he listened interested in what yn had to say in the briefing. He was impressed how much she had found out within … one day. She had a bunch of files, several papers and she also had prepared a report for each one of them with the important details. If Gavin had a good day, he could do just the half of it. If any.

"So, our guy is Joseph 'The Joker'.", she stopped as she saw Gavin trying to suppress the laughter behind his hand, "Come on, Gavin. Laugh. Or otherwise you will explode.", she said amused.

"That is the stupidest name on earth.", Gavin said chuckling.

Yn watched her partner who was looking so much better when he was grinning, "Yes, that's why I suggest we should call the whole case 'JoJo'.", just as she had said it, Gavin laughed out loud, crying with tears.

Gavin’s amusement was contagious and yn joined him while she pinched the bridge of his nose.

Even Hank started to rumble with laughter, "Yeah, we should take this name. It won't get any better, I guess. Where can we find this guy?"

"Maybe in a circus with clowns?", Gavin suggested still grinning.

Yn chuckled but shook her head to get back on track, "Actually, he deals in Liberty park.

*

Twenty minutes later, all four were sitting in the 'Liberty Park Café' for 'observation'. For normal people, it wasn't that easy to detect a dealer. But for three cops and an android, it shouldn't be that hard. At least, they could disguise their work with some coffee and snacks. Mostly, coffee.

The group took a table near a window to have the park in sight. It was snowing again and therefore, too cold to be outside for too long. Because they had no picture of Joseph, they had to rely on their observation skills.

"Could this be our guy?", Connor asked and pointed at a guy with long hair and a beard. He stood underneath a tree with his hands buried in the pockets of his long coat.

Yn took a grape of the fruit salad and threw it into her mouth before she looked at the guy. It was the third guy Connor had found suspicious, "Well…", yn started, considering the possibility but then, a woman appeared and walked straight to the guy. She hugged and kissed him before they wandered off with linked arms.

Gavin looked annoyed at Connor with crossed arms, "Wow, tin can, you're the best Investigator ever."

“It’s not that I could detect drugs from this distance.”, Connor defended himself.

“Then, I don’t see why you’re even here.”

“Because yn asked me-”

“You asked him?”, Gavin asked exasperatedly and looked at her with a dark expression.

She raised her hands in surrender, “He’s Hank’s partner so, of course, he’s on board. I’m sure he will play a good role in this case.”, she said and once again, she noticed Gavin’s mood. He was on the edge of the next outburst.

Luckily, Hank was this time the one who spotted the next suitable candidate for their suspect and stopped Gavin to say whatever he wanted next, “I guess, this could be our guy.”

The other three of the group looked at a guy in his twenties. He wore some pair of jeans with holes, a t-shirt of an old grunge rock band and a black, well-worn, leather jacket. His long, blonde, greasy looking hair was tied to a ponytail. He leant casually against a street lamp as if he was waiting for someone and at the same time as if he would have all the time in the world.

“It could be JoJo.”, yn said with a slow nod. His appearance coincided with the few details she had found in the statements. The hair, height and surprisingly, the t-shirt were the same.

“It could be just another guy waiting for a hooker.”, Gavin grunted. In his eyes, nothing of this was worth his time.

“Hey, JoJo!”, a guy on a bicycle called out and waved as he passed the grunge guy.

All three pairs of eyes were landing on Gavin who rolled with his eyes, “Oh, please! That can’t be true.”, he said and wiped over his face with his hand.

"So, that's our guy, then.", Connor said with a pleased smile. He was a big fan of having a clear suspect.

The group observed JoJo for a while. Hank ordered new coffee and as their cups were refilled, several people had passed JoJo. Some were just greeting him. Some had talked with him, maybe buying drugs, “Couldn’t we just arrest him?”, Connor asked.

“We could but if yn’s theory is right, he could lead us to his boss.”, Hank explained.

"He has a type.", yn said suddenly.

"A type? A type of what?", Connor asked confused. Somehow, he had the feeling that whenever he was learning one new thing there were two other things coming his way, like these human comments.

Yn looked at Connor with a grin, "A type of woman. He ignores the blondes. But he looks after the brunette."

"No!", Gavin called out and looked serious at yn. His brows were knitted together and yn saw his eyes sparkling darkly. There he was again: her all too protective partner… or at least, he tried to be that.

Her smirk grew bigger, "It's a good idea, I think."

Gavin gritted his teeth, "And I say, no!"

"What is going on?", Connor asked Hank low while he watched the exchange between yn and Gavin.

"I'm not really sure…", Hank answered.

Before Hank could speak out his assumption, Gavin was faster to explain, "She wants to meet him.", he said coldly.

"What?", Connor asked surprised and looked at yn.

"It's the best chance we have. I'll go over to him, flirt a bit and bug him. Then, we will get him and his boss. We will have a chance to get the whole circus. It won't take me more than ten minutes.", yn said smirking, leant back in her seat with crossed arms and watched Gavin almost exploding in front of her eyes.

"And my answer is no!", he called out, which caused the other guests to look at the small group.

Yn looked challenging at Gavin, "Good that I haven't asked you for permission."

"Then, I will go with you.", Gavin demanded, thinking of himself as smart.

Yn’s eyes grew big. She looked at her partner with a confused expression, "Are you nuts? How shall I flirt with him when you're around?", she said and gestured to him and his appearance.

Gavin saw something in her eyes, in the way she was looking at him. Not sure if he was right, if she was giving him a compliment in some way or not. Was it possible that she could see him in a certain way?

"I can go with her.", Connor offered and broke Gavin’s train of thought and the connection he had with yn.

"You?", Gavin asked spitefully and sizesing up the android.

"Yes... I could act as her servant android. Even now, there are still androids out there who are serving humans. It would be no big deal.", Connor explained.

Yn was already hooked, "Best idea!I told you he will play a role in this case. So, we have a plan. Tomorrow, we will bug this fucker."

*

“Gavin, no!”, yn called out. Again and again, Gavin wished he had listened to her instead of being hard headed to stop the crazy guy on his own. Once again, Gavin suffered through the events of the last case in his dream. And once again, he heard the shots from the guy. Then, he shot the guy on his own just to find yn lying on the ground bleeding. Gavin ran over to her, turned her around and tried to wake her up but she was already unconscious. He knelt next to her, pressing his hand on her bleeding wounds to stop the blood until the ambulance was coming. He even drove to the hospital to stay by her side.

Two long hours, he was waiting til the doctor came to him, telling Gavin that she was alright and would be okay. Gavin even waited til he could visit her in the room a few hours later. Slowly, and with shaking knees, Gavin went to her room, opened the door and slipped carefully in.

Gavin’s blood was running cold because of the scene in front of him. Next to yn’s bed sat Connor, holding her hand in his with intertwined fingers. Yn was already awake, looking at the android with a love filled glance. Connor looked from yn at Gavin and back at yn, “Look who’s there. Gavin came to see you.”, Connor said softly.

“Gavin? Who’s Gavin?”, she said without even looking up…

It was three o’clock in the morning and Gavin started up from the dream, from the nightmare, with a racing heart. Once again, he was soaked with sweat. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and without a second thought, he stood up to go into his bathroom. He splashed cold water into his face several times. As he looked up into the mirror, he saw a pale guy with dark shadows under his eyes. Gavin grabbed a bottle of shampoo and threw it violently into the shower, “This god damn, fucking android!”, he yelled out. Within a few days, Connor had been able to get closer to yn. Gavin feared this android would be even able to win her over. Maybe Gavin should gather all his courage to speak with her as long as there was time or otherwise, the android could snatch her from under his nose. But how should he do that without risking their friendship?

*

Yn rummaged through her bag with clothes. She already wore some leather boots, a tight fitting and low cut, black jeans and searched for the blood red tank top. She had made her hair and she even had put makeup on with too much mascara and eyeliner for the most dramatic look. Yn found the tank top and donned it over her head. As she pulled it down, a movement in the mirror caught her attention, "Voyeurism, huh? That's a crime.", she said, smirking.

Gavin closed slowly up to her with his hands stuffed into his front pockets of his jacket, "I know. We worked on some of these cases. Listen-", he said softly, collecting all his courage and searching for the right words.

"I know what you want to say and yes, I will be careful. Connor is by my side. You and Hank on the other side of the street by the café. Nothing will happen. This is easy. You don't have to worry this much.", yn said reassuringly while she donned her leather jacket over the top. The outfit would be a bit too cold for the weather but she wanted to flirt with the suspect and so, she had to show off some skin. She even pulled down the top some more so that her décolleté got more visible.

Gavin’s eyes fell on that view which caused his mind to go blank for a moment. All in all, she was very distracting, dressed up like this and he had difficulties to focus back on what he actually wanted, "Uhm… I… It's just... There's something I have to tell-", he tried insecurely, not sure if this was a good idea at all. If Gavin would go this way there was no going back and he knew that.

The door of the locker room opened once again and Hank took the decision away from Gavin, "Yn, Fowler wants to see you.", the Lieutenant said and left again.

"Coming!”, yn called out as a response and stowed away her bag and stuff before she turned back to Gavin, “Get ready. We will leave soon.", she said with a soft pat on his chest and a smile on her lips.

Gavin looked after her. He huffed out, annoyed about himself as the door opened once again. Yn’s head appeared in the door, "Oh, and, by the way, this shirt you wear? It looks very good. The color suits your eyes.", she said, winked at him and left again. Gavin smiled softly and felt his cheeks getting warmer. He was sure that she had no idea what she was doing to him but he enjoyed these small moments. They were all he got.

*

Then, it was showtime. Hank and Gavin stood across the walkway at a bar table with two cups of coffee to go as a disguise to be able to watch the scene. JoJo was already there, leaning at the same street lamp like the day before. Now and then, he greeted someone. Then, Gavin watched yn coming down the way, still in some distance. She said something to Connor that let the android chuckle. Connor looked down at yn with a huge smile and as she looked up at him, her smile was matching the android’s one. Pain shot through Gavin as he got reminded of his dream from the night before. It was a horrible nightmare with an end that never happened like this but his mind was determined to let him suffer even more. As if it wouldn’t be enough to get reminded of yn being shot all the time. No, now the android had to be in his dreams, as well.

“It’s good that Connor kept his LED ring.”

“W-what?”, Gavin asked. Hank had pulled him out of his thoughts and this time, Gavin was thankful for the old man to be there, even if he would never admit that loudly.

Hank nodded into the direction of Connor and yn, they almost had reached JoJo, “I mean without the LED ring, Connor would look more like her handsome boyfriend than her servant.”, Hank said amused.

Gavin observed the two and wasn’t happy what he saw. Connor was dressed completely in black and with his height he looked like a bodyguard. The way they interacted told that they seemed to be very close to each other. Gavin was looking forward to the end of this bullshit, his nerves were already blank but the case just had started. It would last a bit longer til everything would fall back to normal again without Connor and Hank being around them all the time.

Then, yn passed JoJo and as she had expected, the dealer was looking after her. Much to her delight, he even whistled after her as she swayed her hips a bit more provokingly. Yn stopped and turned around. JoJo was confident, very confident, he smirked at her and wasn’t impressed by Connor as he stepped a bit forward. Yn gave him a sign to stay where he was before she walked over to JoJo with a flirty smirk on her lips.

The longer she was talking to the dealer, the more Gavin became nervous. It got on his nerves to see JoJo coming closer to yn step by step. She was laughing about whatever he said. She leant forward to be closer to him whenever she could. And Connor just stood there, observing the scene, looking out for her - as planned.

Hank noticed that Gavin was annoyed by the scene. Since yn had began to talk with JoJo, Gavin had started to torture his empty cardboard cup. He was drumming on the lid and scratching on the material the longer the whole scene lasted.

As JoJo touched yn on her hip while he leant forward to whisper something into her ear, Gavin squashed the cardboard cup completely with his knuckles turning white.

"You know, Reed, that's the reason why you couldn't do Connor's job.", Hank said and pointed at Gavin's hand.

"Shut the fuck up.", Gavin muttered angrily and just relaxed as yn and Connor left the scene finally.

[gretavanfleetposts]

hey lovie! if you’re still taking them, i’d love to send in my ship request for a male character! (she/her), i’m a sag sun, scorpio rising, and aries moon! I around 5 feet tall, tanned with freckles, I have amber eyes a and full lips (my favorite feature on myself) and long light brown hair. I speak 4 languages! I have a major green thumb, and I have a talent for cooking and baking, and I do it often! I love sharing my creations with friends and family. I’m a very passive person, and I keep a small social circle. I work in a small french boutique and am currently in university studying geography. I love to hike, camp, and backpack and I do it often! I would love to live in a van just exploring whatever I could! I am a cat person, I love a good game of scrabble, and I am not a fan of hot weather! I love the rain and cold weather so much, and I would love nothing more than a rainy day in, with a book and a cup of tea! thanks lovie!

Hey there, friend!

❤: Just want to start off by saying, I love your blog! I get so excited when people send in asks off anon so I can look through their blog. You sound so very talented; I cannot tell you how many plants I've killed so even if your only talent was having a green thumb, I'd be seriously impressed. And you speak four languages and cook. Is there anything you can't do?? And also, can we please be friends???

Ship: Jake

Because: You sound like such a cozy person and I think you'd be perfect for Jake. I can picture the two of practically living outdoors and going camping and hiking constantly. Honestly he'd probably love to live that van life with you. The two of you could just be nomads together; every night you're in a different place. But the one constant you both have is each other. I just think the two of you would go together so well.

Scenario:

Rainy days like this were perfect for wrapping up in a blanket with a cup of tea and sitting down with a good book or a game of scrabble

Today you and your boyfriend Jake had opted for the latter, the mahogany-colored board spinning on the table between the two of you

You were quite the pro and although Jake rarely beat you, he never complained

He always insisted he was just happy to spend time alone with you

That didn't mean he wasn't competitive though

In fact, in true Kiszka fashion, tonight's board featured several words that Jake had made up in an attempt to keep up with your score

You would argue with him when he went to put down words like 'squoze', asking if he meant 'squeezed'

"Well I don't have the letters for that, now do I, love?" he'd say with a smirk, putting on his best Oliver Reed accent

You couldn't help but laugh

How could you argue with that?

Even with his made-up words, you were still winning, which only further spurred his other persona

He gave a less than triumphant hmmm as he laid down his third 'two' for only three points

You were unsuccessful in your attempt not to laugh, finally asking if he'd like help

"Yes, please put me out of my misery," he said, never breaking the thick British accent

You stood from where you were sitting and made your way over to his seat, standing behind him and placing your palm flat against the table as you leaned over his shoulder to get a good look at his tiles

He truly had nothing but you searched anyway

As you looked, you did your best to ignore his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, guiding your freehand to his chest which was exposed beneath his unbuttoned shirt

You whispered his name in warning against his ear

"Take pity on me," he breathed before turning his head toward yours and gently biting your jaw

He always did play dirty

I hope you liked it! Thank you for the request!

-⭐

ships are currently closed

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette Vs Santa: The Final Round

Okay, so it’s 11:38 on Christmas. I promised I would post this today. So I am. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. Enjoy your present.

           The jolly fat man would get his, Marinette swore. She wore a lovely gold, snowflake-embroidered cocktail dress. Her hair was done in a French side braid with voluminous Curls; more than she ever had in her entire life. Honestly, she looked like a princess.

           And it would’ve been a win for her if it wasn’t for the circumstances that made it yet another Tie against Santa.

           Roy has his hand on the small of her back since they step out of the limo. The forced sweet smile on her face was for the paparazzi that had waited outside the restaurant. When they got inside, and as they were shone to their table, Roy's hand slipped south.

Marinette stiffened and leaned close to Roy and whispered in his ear, “If you don’t get your hand off my butt, I’m going to take off one of my five-inch heels and slit your throat with it.”

Roy’s hand was gone in a flash, “Aww babe,” He said, a little loudly, nodding to the table where his parents’ Oliver and Dinah waited; their eyes watching the young couple’s every move. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

           Marinette giggled, as she fought the urge to slam his against a nearby table, “Not in front of your parents. It’s called manners.”

Your lucky homicide is still technically illegal, Marinette thought viciously, and a sure-fire way to get on fat bastard’s naughty list.

           He wouldn’t win. No, Marinette had gone too far; been through too much to lose now.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Dinah stood once the two approached. She pulled Marinette into a hug. “I’ve tried to instill etiquette into Roy for years. His last girlfriends and he nearly in trouble for public indecency. Maybe you’ll do a better job than I did.”

           Marinette laughed, “I will even if I have to cut off his hand.”

           Oliver chuckled, “You’re definitely Bruce’s girl.” The resemblance was uncanny.

           After that the fell into an easy conversation.

“That dress is beautiful,” Dinah said. “Who’s the designer?”

           Marinette beamed, “I am. I love fashion. It’s my dream,” She explained. “I plan on launching my own company. While there’s always room to learn and enhance my designing skills, I feel as if I have that side at least somewhat covered. However, the business angle is something I need to learn. Which is why I plan on getting my MBA at an Ivy League. I was considering Yale or Princeton.”

“Princeton,” Oliver grinned. “Did you hear that Roy?” Roy rolled his eyes, and once again, regretted being born. “Marinette’s considering Princeton. That’s the top school on his list. Queens have gone there for generations.” He pulled his wife into a hug. “It’s where I knew Dinah was the one.”

           Dinah gave Marinette a blank stare, “I couldn’t get rid of him. It was like having bedbugs.” (“Hey!” Oliver cried in protest.) “No matter what I did, he just coming back. The only solution was to burn the entire place down and vanish without a trace. But apparently, that’s illegal or whatever. Stupid.”

“I know, right,” Marinette nodded earnestly. “What’s up with that?”

           They had a wonderful dinner. They watched a paparazzi pretending to be a waiter be escorted out of the restaurant. It was great, amazing even. Oliver and Dinah had been perfectly lovely. Roy had acted like a perfect gentleman. Marinette could’ve almost pretended she was actually meeting her boyfriend’s family. She was about to count the entire night as a win until…

“So how many grandkids should I expect in the future,” Oliver asked, a sincere look on his face, though he was snickering inside.

           Marinette chocked on her chocolate mousse and ended up in a coughing fit that Dinah helped her with. Roy had met his father’s gaze and gave him his most charming smile, “Seven,” He answered.

“Seven!” Marinette barked out and she looked around frantically as if Ashton Kutcher had revived his hit show and was about to pop out.

Oh, gods; please let me be getting punked, Marinette prayed.

            Oliver’s eyebrows went up, “Seven, huh, big family.”

           Roy hummed, “the Wayne-Queens certainly will be.”

“You mean the Queen-Waynes,” Oliver corrected, his hackles rising.

“Well, I figured since we’d be living in Gotham,” Roy didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “We’d go by the Wayne-Queen family. I actually found this great place not too far from Wayne Manor. Plenty of room for the kids, maybe a dog or two; a rose garden. You know how Waynes are about their roses. You can visit whenever.”

           Marinette might have momentarily blacked out during this. It was how Marinette knew she had officially lost that round to Santa.

           Oliver and Dinah just looked at Roy; their entire bodies stiff.

           Dinah took a long drink from her wine glass, “Gotham has such a high crime rate. Have you considered Star City, Marinette?”

“I’ve never been,” Marinette said sweetly. “But I could live anywhere really. I’m pretty open.”

           Roy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Yes, but I figured you’d want to spend as much time with your family as possible. Jason’s my best friend. I love Gotham. It just works. Besides Bruce Wayne would make an amazing grandpa.”

           The grip Oliver had on his dessert fork made Marinette fear for Roy’s life. It was time to step in. “I suppose Robb or Thea would love a big backyard to play in.”

           That got the other three’s attention.

“Robb? Thea?” Oliver whispered. His throat was dry. His brain tried to process what was said.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But Roy and I started talking one day and well,” Marinette trailed off. A soft pink blush appeared on Marinette’s face, enhancing her overall innocent aura. She had done background on the Queen family. “Our firstborn; if it’s a boy Robb as in Robert Thomas; for your father and my grandfather. If it’s a girl, Thea Sabine; for your sister and my mother. It was Roy’s idea. He knows how much you loved them.”

           It was then that Marinette got to check off one more wish off her list. It had been made as a joke in passing to Chloe and Kagami months ago. They had been having a girls’ night. When Chloe, ever prepared, asked what they wanted for Christmas. They had been watching a Justice League fight on the news. Marinette had laughed and said she wanted to show them up one day; make a superhero cry.

           However, watching The Green Arrow tear up while the Black Canary comforted himself, made her think that Santa took her to wish out of context.

           Roy was pulled into a big hug by his parents, and he sent her a vicious glare, and mouthed, “What did you do?”

           Oliver pulled back, wiped his eyes, and said, “You know; there’s nothing like a spring wedding in Star City.”

           Marinette threw down her napkin.

Fuck Santa.

-

           The news had a field day. The picture of Marinette in her dress and Roy in his designer suit was what everyone was talking about. The women of the view talked about her outfit. Wendy Williams talked about her outfit. It was as if Marinette was living in another universe.

           Nothing could bring her down.

“What the hell?” Jason asked as he picked her up for school. “Why the fuck is Roy spamming me with hate texts. Why the fuck is Oliver arguing with B over visitation rights to his grandchildren? Who the Fuck are Robb and Thea? And why the fuck is Dad asking Aquaman if Atlantis really sunk on its own, or if it had a little help?”

           Marinette tiled her head, “Is Papa planning on sinking Star City? And that’s forty dollars for the swear jar.” Her parents had implements after one too many curse words were thrown around.

“Worth it!” Jason said. “And yes, I’ve positive that’s what’s going to happen. It’s gonna be amazing. Also, he’s gonna kill Roy!”

“He deserves it,” Marinette crossed her arms.

“Hey!”

“He put his hand on my butt!”

           Jason paused and narrowed his eyes. “Correction. I’m gonna kill Roy.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes, but then she realized something. “Aren’t they’re usually two of you? Where’s the other one?” It was the routine. She was always escorted into school by two members of the Wayne family.

           Jason smirked, “You’ll see.”

           The paparazzi mostly screamed the usual things at her. At that point, she was used to it. It was the few changes at school that she was used to.

           Damocles had been fired for bribes and severe negligence. He was replaced by Mendeleev. Bustier had been fired for her role in Marinette’s expulsion without proper procedure and basically catering to bullies while blaming the victim. She replaced by a sterner teacher name Miss Reed. She was by the book and not afraid to call in the higher-ups if something smelled fishy.

           The first was any and all forms of bullying in class was no longer tolerated. The school had issued a zero-tolerance policy that the kids in Bustier’s class had felt immediately.

           The second was Lila’s supposed medical history. No doctor’s note, no special treatment. It was also required that Lila present a note from her mother regarding any future absences.

           The third was Adrien’s being pulled randomly out of class. CPS got involved real fast regarding child labor laws.

           The days of her classmates getting away with bloody murder were over. Reed saw everything. Everything.

           Alya, who had returned to class always avoided Marinette at all times. Her parents had given her the biggest talking to about respecting others’ right to privacy. Marinette had agreed to drop any legal charges against her former friend provided she adhere to the cease and desist order. The girl knew too much about Marinette. And Marinette needed to make it clear that she would bury the girl in lawsuits before she’d allowed even one-fourth of it to be made public.

           Jason had walked her to class. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he went directly to the back of the class and took a seat next to Chloe. He pulled out his phone and proceeded to ignore the curious looks from the students.

The blond eyed the ripped jeans, the overly sized red flannel shirt, and the beat-up leather jacket, “Grunge died in the 90s. Like it deserved.”

           Jason, not bothering to look up from his phone, “Paris Hilton said it’s cool that you plagiarized her look.”

           Chloe gasped.

           Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, knowing exactly how this was going to go. Chloe would not forgive this. Jason was an asshole. It would be war.

           Miss Reed walked in and didn’t look twice at Jason.

           Marinette narrowed her eyes; something was up.

           The class went on without a hitch though until just about the end of the first period…

           When Tim and a pretty, brown-haired, tanned skin, an older woman walked in the door. They looked to be having a pleasant conversation.

“Mama,” Lila gasped, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” She looked around frantically.

“Ooohhhh,” Marinette nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” That was what was happening. Operation: Get That Bitch.

“Oh!” Tim feigned surprised. “I didn’t know your daughter was in my sister’s class, Naomi.”

           Naomi had been pleasantly surprised when Tim Drake, the CEO of Wayne Industries reached out to speak to her about potential business ventures in Italy. He was in Paris visiting his sister and wanted an insider perspective on Italy’s economy and tourist information. Her bosses were thrilled. Wayne opening up a site in Italy would do wonders for the overall economic and industrial growth. Then they got to talking about a potential student exchange program that Wayne Industries were willing to fund.

           What Tim hadn’t told the Ambassador was that Wayne Industries had been scouting locations in Italy for their new plant for the last ten months. All the research was done. Everything was primed to go. Still, Tim was kind enough to ensure that Naomi Rossi received the credit for getting Wayne Industries on board.

Mrs. Rossi blinked in surprise, “I had no idea either. Lila, we’re here to discuss a potential international exchange program for kids all over the world. Tim wanted to say hello to his sister. Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Marinette Wayne?”

           Marinette leaned forward in her seat. A slow smile spread across her face.

“I, well, I,” Lila struggled to say.

“We’re not the closest, Mrs. Rossi,” Marinette offered. “She’s always so busy, we haven’t had the time.”

“Ahh,” Tim snapped his fingers. “That Lila Rossi. Marinette told me all about her.” He crossed his arms. “Naomi, how was Achu? I haven’t gone yet. But from what Marinette’s told of Lila’s stories, you two go all the time. You become close to the royal family, yes?”

           Coldness went down to Naomi Rossi’s spine. She stiffened. Her eyes went to her daughter who had a look of dread on her face. Not this again, she nearly groaned. “There’s been some… confusion,” Mrs. Rossi said, gearing up every ounce of diplomacy she learned in her twenty-year career. Lila was so grounded after this. “A miscommunication, I suppose. My ambassadorship has taken my family to England, Spain, and Japan for a little while, and here in France, of course. However, nowhere else. We have never been to Achu. That is a bit above my paygrade, I’m afraid,” She laughed nervously.

           The class was as silent as a library. If Bustier was still there, a few students would’ve started yelling their complaints and cries for explanations. One or two would’ve started screaming at Lila for lying. But Bustier was gone. And the look Reed was giving her class, dared them to try.

           Tim chuckled, “Kids. When I was seven I swore I spent the summer in Greece with my parents. I didn’t find out until I was eleven that I was actually in Rome. What can you do?” He gave her his most charming smile. “England, was that where Lila met Jagged Stone? I think he’s from there.”

“Jagged who now?” Naomi asked. “The Rock Star? No, Lila’s never met him. She’s a huge fan though.”

“But he wrote a song about her!” Alya cried out. “She saved his cat from getting hit by a plane!”

           Miss Reed, “Alya, please raise your hand and keep to a reasonable level while inside. It will be detention if I have to tell you again.”

Miss Reed and Mendeleiev had agreed to The Wayne's suggestion of revealing Lila’s lies to the class. It was the only way they would believe it and that she could lie her way out of. It was unnatural the way the students trailed after the girl, simpering over grand stories and promises of famous connections. They needed to learn to rely on hard work and their own talent, not on how many famous people they might get to the chance to meet.

“A plane?” Mrs. Rossi asked, an affronted look on her face. “You think I would ever allow my child to be in such danger?” She looked at her daughter. “Your grandmother always said you would be a grand writer with all the stories you tell. You could’ve at least come with a sensible lie.”

“I can explain,” Lila said but whether she was talking to her mother or class was anyone’s guess.

           Rose raised her hand, “Lie? Lila can’t be lying. What about all the trips she takes with you? The charity organizations she runs? The famous people she knows like Clara Nightingale who always ask her for help. She’s close friends with Prince Ali. That’s why she’s always away from school. One time she was gone for weeks.”

           Naomi Rossi looked at her daughter, who did everything she could to avoid eye contact with her mother. “You told me that the school was closed due to the Akumas. It was a lie.” She looked at the teacher. “If the school wasn’t closed, Lila should have only missed three days of school this semester due to her being ill with the flu. She should have only missed seven to ten days in total last year. I do apologize, my daughter…” She gave Lila a dark look. “Seems to have a talent for tall tales.”

           Miss Reed stood up, “It’s a matter for the Principle. Her last teacher overlooked many things and wrote off what she couldn’t. Her schoolwork was done the year before; her grades were good enough to pass. She has not missed too many days so far; a few more than the average student but it happens. Any homework missed can still be made up. She is welcome in my class. However, when you get the chance, I would like make an appointment to discuss with you any medical accommodations she has that need to be addressed.”

           Mrs. Rossi crossed her arms, “She never wears her glasses. She has sensitive eyes that prevent her from wearing contacts. Without them, she can’t see more than a few feet ahead of her.” She looked straight at her daughter. “And she knows this.”

           Marinette wanted to bang her head against the desk. Why couldn’t Lila just say that? She’d have understood.

           Mrs. Rossi looked at the class, “I am so sorry for any trouble my daughter may have caused.” She looked at Tim. “I hope this doesn’t cast a negative light on any prospective business relations.”

           Tim shook his head, “Kids will be kids. Let’s continue to speak over lunch.”

“I’ll see you at home, Lila,” Mrs. Rossi said.

           Tim grinned, “Marinette, I’ll see you after school. Jason.”

           Jason got to leave only to stumble nearly down the stairs. He cast a quick glare at Chloe.

           The blond gave him a vicious smirk, “Walk much?”

“Oh it’s on,” Jason hissed.

           Marinette rolled her eyes. Last year, she had wished with all her might that her friends would see Lila for who she really was. Now the truth was out. Lila had been exposed.

           Regrettably, Marinette had already lost all her friends. And those who were still her friends, already knew the truth. So it wouldn’t change much. She’d had already forgiven her ex-friends a long time ago. Marinette just had to intention of being friends with them again. Still, it was a victory.

           Fuck Santa; this round went Marinette.

-

-

           The Justice League had been stunned when they learned that the masked hero Ladybug who was protecting Paris in an adorable bright red suit, who seemed to be made of sunshine, rainbows, and happiness was Batman’s daughter. Like so stunned that as soon as they saw her secret Identity of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and her takedown of monsters twelve times her size; one or two (or twelve) asked Superman to take a DNA test too. Because Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only black-haired Superhero around, and you know things happen.

           …Batman hadn’t been happy when Oracle alerted him that someone in the Watch Tower was running his daughter’s DNA against Superman’s.

“How sure are we?” Hal Jordan asked. “The DNA results never came back. How do we know she’s not Big S’s?”

           The main members of the Justice League were waiting for Batman and his family to arrive. Then they were would officially be introduced to the hero Ladybug.

           Superman glared, “Stop it. Batman already brought out the kryptonite the last time you mentioned it.”

           Wonder man nodded, “Her civilian self is the spitting image of Bruce.”

“All of his kids have dark hair and light eyes,” The Flash reminded them. “One of like seven or twelve, or however many he has now, we know for sure is his.”

“They are all his,” Black Canary stated with a growl. She and Oliver had adopted Roy when he was young but that didn’t make the boy any less hers.

           Just then the light of the zeta beam sounded and Batman and Ladybug appeared in the room. The clear contrast between the two was startling.

           The Dark, brooding, Knight of Gotham dressed in all black with a look on his face that could’ve made Superman wince in fear. Ladybug, dressed in bright red, with a big, cheerful, smile on her face and large blue eyes that looked positively mesmerized by the heroes.

“I brought cookies,” The small girl chirped as she motioned to the goodies in her hands. “And apple pie! It’s a family recipe. I made them myself. I really hope you like them.”

           Batman glared worsen to the point where a few Justice League members feared for their lives. The message was clear; they’d like them. Or else.

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Diana smiled. “Come on, let me show you where we’ll be meeting.

           Marinette tried not to stare in awe at her favorite superhero. “I also brought Vegan. And gluten-free cookies. I wanted to make sure everyone could get some.” She said as she was led away.

           The world-renowned heroes visibly cooed at the young hero. She was the most adorable thing they’d ever laid eyes on.

           The Flash laughed, “What did you bring, Bats?”

“Death,” Batman growled as stalked after his daughter.

           Cyborg swallowed hard. “I’m not saying you’re right,” He told Hal and Barry. “I’m saying for this type of situation; Maury is classier than Jerry Springer.”

           Superman groaned. They were going to get him killed.

“Apple pie!” The flash said. “She brought Apple, Clark; it’s a sign from the gods.”

           Ladybug briefing them on her hero journey had been riveting. The Justice League had always been aware of Ladybug's existence. Once aware of her, Diana had told them all the history of the Miraculous and how her own mother used to be one of the users. Ladybug, with Chat Noir for a time, handled herself and protected the city well. They saw no reason to interfere. The Justice League had strict rules of interfering with another’s heroes’ turf. They figured if Ladybug needs help, the hero would call on them. They never knew she was a child.

           Her age bothered them.

“She can’t protect the city,” Aquaman said. “We’ll need to step in.”

“Excuse me,” Marinette said.

           The Flash nodded, “We’ll need to run Intel. I’ll have Vibe take a look at things.”

“Wait! I don’t think you-” Marinette started but was cut off.

“The magic is ancient and powerful,” Hawkman interrupted. “We should call Constantine. Or Doctor Fate perhaps.”

           Ladybug shook her head, “That wouldn’t be a good idea!”

           Green Lantern waved her off, “It’s fine, kid. We’ll handle it. While we’re at it; consider joining Young Justice or Teen Titans. Get you some training before you call yourself a real hero. Until then stick with the little league team.”

           Marinette froze. What did he just say? White-hot anger coursed through her veins.

           And to think she always dreamed of meeting the Justice League; of standing face to face with the heroes after having proven herself; proven that she was just as much of a superhero as they. However, Marinette knew she was already a hero. And no one would tell her otherwise.

           The round went to Santa. But Marinette would have her due.

           Fuck Santa!

Superman said, “We’ll start having unplaced league members scouting the area. They’ll notify us at the first sign of Hawkmoth.”

“ENOUGH!” Marinette yelled. She growled at the heroes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The silence that followed that question was deafening. “You know nothing of Hawkmoth; saw nothing of what I’ve been through. There is a reason I never called in the league. Superpowered individuals still have emotions; still anger. He can turn any of you into akumas. Get inside your heads; learn who you really are. You’ll be a toy for him. Batman brought me here to meet you; not for you to pretend you know how to do my job.”

           She glared at the room and then zeroed in on the Green Lantern. Within seconds, Ladybug had yanked him out of his seat, pulled the ring off his finger, and held by his collar as the man detransformed. “Real Hero? You think I’m not a real hero? I’ve fought monsters nightmares couldn’t even begin to fathom. You want to see what I’m capable of, Glow Stick? How about I take you to the nearest training room and see if you bleed green?”

           Batman stood up, “My team will be running point on the Paris situation; following Ladybug lead. You’ll refrain from entering the city of Paris until further notice. That is all.” He looked at his daughter and had to fight to keep the smile off his face. “Ladybug let Green Lantern go, and give him back his ring.”

           Ladybug huffed, “I’ll give him back his ring. And then I want ten minutes alone with him.”

           Hal gulped.

“No,” Batman said. “We must leave. You have to get ready for Winter break. Next time.”

           Ladybug glared and then dropped the hero on the ground. “Next time,” She promised.

           Then swiftly the father and daughter duo departed.

           Once the two were gone, Wonder Woman chuckled, “Anyone else want to question Ladybug’s Paternity. Anyone?”

           Barry had to fight the shivers that went through him. Ladybug had Batman’s glare and knew how to use it. “Nope. Never again.”

-

-

           Marinette’s first night in Gotham was memorable. The entire bat family had been waiting for Marinette when she arrived; Bruce, Alfred, Kate, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Stephanie, Luke, and Damian. Alfred, the man her brothers had deemed their grandfather, had welcomed her with open arms and a dinner that was more like a feast than a simple meal.

           On the outside, Wayne manor looked like any home in the neighborhood; quiet, idealistic, and seemingly perfect.

           On the inside, as soon as Bruce and Alfred stepped away for a moment, her siblings took her to the Batcave. It was as grand as she always imagined. Then someone (Tim) brought out lightsabers.

           Marinette thought it was a fancy version of the toy she used to love so much as a kid; her only complaint was that the plastic swords only came in green, red and the occasional blue. She really wanted a pink one and had put it on her Christmas list for two years straight.

           She pressed the button, only for the sword handle to heat up, and a pink laser rises out of it. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“…This is a real lightsaber,” The heat from the sword threated to burn or hand a little. Or worse. She’d seen all the movies. She knew how this usually ended up.

“Yep.”

           Marinette nodded slowly. Because what the heck.

“Just go with it,” Luke shrugged. “Just-just go with it.” He sounded like a defeated man. A tired one at that.

“Don’t be like that!” Dick smiled, “Family bond time is the best time.”

“Jedi versus Sith?” Marinette just asked.

           Tim pointed a bright gold lightsaber at her, “Jedi versus Sith.”

           Marinette looked around at the different colored and very, very dangerous lightsabers. There was no way this could possibly go well. And with the way her Kate, aka Batwoman, was smirking there was no way Alfred would consider her proper adult supervision. Someone was going to lose a hand. Or die. Most likely both.

           But she wouldn’t back down. This was more or less her eight-year-old self’s dream. It was also likely to get her killed.

           …Marinette would take those odds.

“What team am I on?” She asked.

           Cassandra shook her head, “Up to you. Good versus is a chose; just a game though,” She cast Stern looks at Jason, Tim, and Damian, who now sported black robes, clearly, by the Darth Maul make up that had somehow appeared on Damian’s face, were clearly Sith Lords.

           Santa thought this would scare her. That she would be cowed into submission. Finally admit defeat. Well, Marinette only had one thing to say to that. Two things actually.

“Give in to the dark side, sister,” Damian ordered her. His lightsaber was red and had two sides to it much like the character he matched.

           Marinette got into a fighting stance, “Not today.”

           And Fuck Santa.

           …

           Alfred and Bruce were not happy when they finally located the children.

           Or the fact that someone had to get their hand reattached.

--

--

           It was two to two. Christmas day had arrived. Marinette had expected the worst; had geared up for the worst.

           Nothing happened.

           Marinette spent the day with her family.

           Her parents had even arrived from Paris on the day before Christmas eve.

           They shared presents. They sang songs. The entire family was together. It snowed outside. She and all of her siblings had a snowball fight while her parents and Alfred watched from the porch.

           It was a perfect Christmas day.

           Except for one thing…

           Marinette knew the truth.

           The perfect day was the result of one thing…

           Santa was preparing too. He didn’t back down. The fight wasn’t over yet. He was too busy to mess with her on Christmas Eve or Christmas. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean anything.

           Everyone knew the Holiday season didn’t officially end until January 1st.

           After New Year’s eve.

           That was the final round.

           The match to end all matches.

           On New Years’ Eve, it would be war.

-

-

           Roy wore a tailored tux as he walked her down the carpet, passed the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

Marinette never thought she’d fight the most battle of her life in a ballgown. It was a jaw-dropping, off the shoulder, floor length silver dress with lacy unique floral accents. Her hair was in a side-braid with small forget-me-nots on top of her hair like a crown.

            It was her battle armor, and she was ready for anything.

           It was a promise, she made to herself.

           …

           Okay so it turns out, Marinette lied to herself.

           She wasn’t ready for anything. She did not stand a chance against Santa. He was a jerk. And she was six-second from throwing in the towel and running off crying.

           Marinette had known exactly who was attending the ball. She had memorized every guest on the list. Trying to figure out exactly what the fat guy who throws out her. As soon as she saw exactly which celebrities were coming. She knew.

           The first punch had been the man ten-year-old Marinette swore she was going marry. Harry freaking Styles.

           But Marinette had prepared herself.  It would be a quick conversation and then she wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

           When she met the superstar, Marinette had smiled and laughed; had a good conversation, wasn’t even awkward at all. She wasn’t the overly One Direction obsessed 10-year-old anymore.

           It was a hard hit, and the best conversation of her life, but Marinette didn’t go down.

           Santa’s next move was a cheap shot, and she stumbled.

           Marinette had been trying to find a quiet place to think for herself so could get strengthen up a bit but, to avoid one of her brothers (Dick), she collided straight into Nick Jonas and fell on her butt.

           She hadn’t even realized it at first as he helped her up.

“Thank you,” Marinette said kindly, as she brushed off her dress. When she looked up and saw exactly who had collided with, her face turned a bright red. “You’re Nick Jonas,” She squeaked; literally squeaked. She wanted to die.

           Nick Jonas. She loved Nick Jonas. She listen to all his songs; even his old Jonas Brothers ones. She had always wanted to meet the singer; she had dreamed about it.

“Yeah,” Nick smiled. “You alright.”

           No. Marinette was not alright.

           Still, she chirped a quick, “I’m fine.” And introduced herself.

           Then he said, “Love your dress.”

“I made it! I can make you one!” Slipped out before she could stop it.        

           He just laughed though, “How about a suit instead?”

           Yeah, so that happened.

           And the night just got worse from there.

           …

           Santa gave her a combo hit; worthy of a champion.

           Not many knew but Marinette was a huge Harry Potter fangirl. Hermione Granger was her all-time favorite. She was a hardcore Harmony shipper; Harry/Hermione forever.

           Tim knew it though. He was a big-time fan as well. And he thought it would be a great idea to introduce Marinette to the actress who played her favorite character; Emma Watson.

           It was not a good idea. At all.

The first words out of Marinette’s mouth upon seeing Emma Watson were literally, “It's leviOsa, not levioSA!”

And it was at the point that Marinette just wanted to call it a night.

Emma had laughed it off, promising she got it all the time.

…

Marinette met Chris Hemsworth and just wouldn’t stop giggling.

Stephanie had to pull her away.

It was then that she knew Santa had her on the ropes.

…

She met Big Time Rush.

The boy band had become internally famous over the last few years. Not as big as One Direction but they still had their dedicated fans. Marinette was one of them

Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, and Logan Mitchell. They were all eighteen

It should’ve have been easy. She liked their band but not nearly as much as she liked Harry Styles, or Emma Watson, Or Chris Hemsworth.

Still, she hadn’t seen James asking her to dance coming.

However, Marinette had remained calm and cool.

It’s a pity, she was still such a klutz.

Suffice to say, Marinette wouldn’t be listening to Big Time Rush for a while. And James Diamond wouldn’t be asking strange girls to dance any time soon.

Santa gave her a punch right in the face.

…

She ran into Tom Holland the exact moment she got the hiccups. He did his best to help her get rid of them

…

Marinette had just stuffed an entire cupcake in her mouth when she realized Jennifer Lawrence was standing next to her. It wasn’t too bad. As the blond did the same thing a second later.

…

She pointed at Johnny Depp and said, “Jack Sparrow. You’re Jack Sparrow. Oh my god!!!”

           To which he replied, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

           …

           Suffice to say, Santa didn’t have Marinette on the robes anymore.

           No, Marinette was on the floor; waiting for the referee to call it.

           …

           It was an hour until the official New Year. Fifteen minutes until Marinette was supposed to perform. She was backstage. Everyone was waiting for her. She promised Tim.

And she found that she just couldn’t do it.

           The entire night was too much.

          ��It was all too much.

           It was over.

           She had lost.

“Rough night?” Roy, her date and pretend boyfriend asked.

           Marinette was sitting on a chair, her face in her hands, “You have no idea.”

           Roy sat next to her, “Pretty exciting though right?” He didn’t get an answer. “Tim said you met Emma Watson, that had to be awesome.”

“It was embarrassing.”

           Roy frowned, “Sabine told me you used to dress up as Hermione Granger all time. You’re saying meeting the Queen herself wasn’t even a little cool?”

           Yeah, it had been amazing to meet her in person. “A little cool.”

           Roy chuckled, “You met Harry Styles,” He reminded. “And from your blond bestie told me; my only real competition.”

           Marinette giggled. “That had been… awesome.” And everything.

“You met Chris Hemsworth,” He added. “Tom Holland, Big Time Rush, and a bunch of other celebs that I’ve been told you were huge fans of. Yeah, you were a little embarrassed.” He shook his head. “But I don’t get it; I’d be so psyched right now if I were you. So why aren’t you.”

           Marinette paused.

           Why wasn’t she?

           Marinette had met people she never even dared to really hope she’d ever meet one day. She wore the most beautiful dress in her entire life; danced with Roy Queen and James Diamond. Joked with Harry Styles. Talked Emma Watson the actress who played the character she loved most out of all the books, tv shows, and movies she’d ever loved.

           It was all a matter of perspective really. Marinette was so focused on the bad, she never even realized just how great it was. Santa had thrown the worst at her but was still there. She hadn’t run back to Wayne Manor no matter how much she had wanted to. She stayed strong.

           At one point, she knew for certain that she wouldn’t just surrender; after the Chris Hemsworth incident. If Santa wanted to win, he was going to have to knock her out.

“Thanks, Roy,” She said. “I couldn’t wish for a better date.”

           It was the most amazing night of her life.

           And no one was going to make her feel otherwise.

           Marinette stood up, determination on her face.

           She had a song to sing.

           …

           Marinette stood on stage. The crowd looked up at her. Her hands were shaking. Her mouth felt dry. The lights were near blinding.  She had changed the song at the last minute. The music was coming from her phone anyway.

           Marinette knew the lyrics to the song by heart; had sung it a thousand times in her room to herself.

           She could do this.

I will do this, Marinette swore.

           The music started. It was her favorite song. And Marinette was going to sing it so loudly, so proudly; they could hear her in the North Pole.

“What if I told you

It was all meant to be

Would you believe me

Would you agree

It's almost that feelin'

That we've met before

So tell me that you don't think I'm crazy

When I tell you love has come and now.”

           She was doing it. Marinette was really doing it. She always had a good voice. She had taken singing lessons for a long time. And her teachers always praised her talent. But after one terrible incident, she never thought she’d ever get on stage and sing in front of anyone again.

           But there she was.

“A moment like this

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this

Some people search forever…

           Honestly, Marinette could fall right on her face and it would stop the euphoric feeling coursing through. This was her victory song.

           Jolly Saint Nick had thrown at her more than she ever thought she could take. But she was still standing.

           And as long as she was, the big red guy would never win.

For that one special kiss

Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this…”

The music faded. The applause from the audience roared.

…

Marinette and Roy slow danced to something my Celine Dion neither could recognize. The New Year was less than two minutes away.

“You’re looking a lot better,” Roy smirked. He knew he was good at Pep talks to matter what Artemis said.

“I feel better,” Marinette admitted. “It’s been an awesome few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Roy asked as he twirled her around.

           Marinette nodded, “Nearly Every. One. Of. My. Christmas wishes came true.” She tried not to growl. Positive outlook after.

“Santa must be out to get you.”

           Marinette looked up at Roy with appreciation, “You have no idea.”

“Anything he didn’t get to?” The redhead asked. “Something you can do for yourself first?”

“Countdown to New Years in 10!”

           Marinette thought about it for a second but she realized there was. There was one more thing on her list, that she added at the very beginning of Christmas.

“Yeah, there is.” She said. “Do you want to kiss me.”

           Roy nodded earnestly.

           The crowd counted down. “7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” And then Marinette kissed Roy.

           Balloons came from above. Everyone cheered. But Marinette kept kissing Roy.

           She always wanted a New Year’s kiss.

           Take that and stick it up your chimney, Santa.

           Marinette was officially the winner.

           Nevertheless, there was always next year.

           But for now, fuck Santa!

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Be Mine, this Quarantine

"Dude." Dean nervously chuckles, scrubbing his face with his hand. The other one holds the phone to his ear. "I haven't even been able to ask this guy out to dinner. And you're asking me to ask him to go into isolation with me?"

"You're being dramatic again." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly, as if Dean's the one being unreasonable here.

Sam is the one who specifically called him on a Sunday from California to remind him to self-isolate, but "do it with someone like Castiel, okay?" - like he's supposed to be taking care of his older brother from fucking Stanford, like Dean knows anyone else like Cas, and like he's ever going to be able to propose something of that sort to Cas.

"He has a third-floor apartment." Sam points out, revisiting all of his super valid points. "You share a dorm with three other guys. And he just seems like the kind who'd be the correct amount of a germophobe." Dean rolls his eyes - although he also agrees. "Dean, you share so many classes with him that if nothing else, you could revise your entire semester together - and to top it all off, you're like best friends."

Benny comes to Dean's head and he starts to protest.

"You text him, Dean." The eyeroll and bitchface are audible in Sam's voice. "You, who exits all text chains you've ever been added to because quote unquote you're not an adolescent teenager with a celebrity crush, or looking to be catfished - you, Dean Winchester, text Cas."

That - wasn't far from the truth.

He wouldn't call them texting buddies or anything, but Castiel always sends a good morning text, and Dean always sends him a picture of his breakfast (because that's what he's up to by the time Castiel wakes up) and sometimes Dean's late for class because he lost track of time while talking to Cas, and sometimes they stay up all night together discussing the most inconsequential things like why mattresses matter to Dean and bees matter to Cas, and - yeah. He should probably call them texting buddies.

"Whatever, bitch." Dean throws back, taking the small losses his way as long as he wins the final battle. "Fine, we're friends. That doesn't automatically mean we'll be able to live together."

"You cannot actually mean that." Sam scoffs. "You're the best kind of neat freak I know, because you just end up doing all the tidying up by yourself. And you can cook." Dean huffs. "Admit it, jerk. Compatibility in a shared living space shouldn't be your concern."

Sure, Sam makes some good points, but Dean has the biggest card up his sleeve - which will trump all of Sam's meticulously presented arguments.

He's sorta in love with Cas.

But to say out loud to his little brother, it comes out as, "What if Cas doesn't want me there?"

Sam pauses.

Point, Dean Winchester.

"That's exactly why you need to talk to him." He finally says, but he sounds more thoughtful like it finally entered his twenty two year old brain that Cas might not want to shack up with Dean.

"Like hell, I will."

"I swear on your bullshit, Dean," Sam threatens. "I won't hesitate to take a cheap-ass flight, straight to Cas's apartment."

Dean balks. "You're not getting on any planes right now, Sammy -"

"And you're asking him." Sam declares, and if he were in front of Dean, he'd be crossing his arms on his chest which usually implies the end of a debate in Sam-the-to-be-lawyer speak. "Promise me."

"What will I even say?" Dean retorts, indignant. "Like, do I just go up to the guy like 'hey, wanna have me impose on you for a bunch of weeks?'" Sam snickers like Dean's trying to be funny. "'I promise to clean and make you food if you let me live with you during a pandemic'?"

"Something like that." Sam laughs, and Dean has to smile - because that doesn't happen very often and when it does, it reminds him of a past where they were much closer than California and Kansas. "Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"Nothing's going -"

"You promised."

"I didn't fucking promise a thing -"

The line clicks, and Sam is gone. Dean lands back on his bed, and wonders briefly if it'd be easier to die.

*

He calls Cas - because they're not goddamn texting buddies, no matter what Sam says - and asks if he's free for lunch.

Cas says yes and actually sounds excited about it.

*

When Dean reaches their usual diner, he takes longer than usual to park the Impala - all the while thinking about how he's going to frame the question to Cas, because he's fought it out with himself and knows that he's going to do it. He'd also taken longer than usual to drive there from the University apparently, because when he reaches, Cas is already there.

He's sitting on a table for two - probably just because that allows him to have a seat against the wall and Cas is kind of adorable about small things like that - and he's slumping over his phone.

But he puts it down when Dean approaches, and as Dean takes off his jacket, Cas puts his phone back in his jeans and uses his fingers to fidget instead. When Dean sits, a little amused, Cas is the one who speaks up first and in a hurry.

"Would you like to quarantine with me?"

Dean blinks. He takes a moment to think and then asks, "Did Sam get to you?"

"Uh, your brother Sam?" Cas frowns, shaking his head. "No, why would he?"

"Nevermind." Dean believes him. Though he cannot believe what just happened.

"So?"

"Oh." He's supposed to give an answer, because Cas doesn't know how much Dean's been thinking about it. Though, in his defense, most of the time, Cas tends to be so goddamn intuitive that Dean feels like he can read his mind.

Nonetheless, Dean tries to answer as casually as he can. "Yes. I mean, of course. Thank you for asking."

That's Dean Winchester in a sentence.

He tries to shoot for the normal, and ends up in affirmative-response-to-a-promposal territory.

"Are you sure?" Cas asks, sounding slightly less sure than before.

Did you not hear me say 'of course, thank you for asking' after that yes?

"Yeah, buddy." He pulls the menu from Cas's side of the table to his, sliding it on the table. "So what are we eating?"

"I'm not forcing you into this, am I?" Cas interrupts, hand on Dean's wrist jolting his attention back and ruining his complete 'casual' cover, because now Dean's sweating too. "Just because I asked, and just because we're friends - you don't have to say yes to anything, okay?"

"I know that." Dean gives Cas his best reassuring smile, though it's a little non-assured from his own core.

"I wake up late and I'm not sure when I sleep." Cas confesses, eyes worried. "The flat is clean only because I stuff everything in the closets. And I have a neighbor - you remember Balthazar, right? He just returned from France."

"How long ago is 'just'?" Dean repeats, and then adds. "And frankly I'd assumed he was simply being pretentious when we met."

"Two months." Castiel bites his lip. "And he is. The accent is fake."

"We'll survive." Dean announces, grinning broader. "Plus I can't wait to hear that guy minus the accent now."

Castiel makes an exasperated sound.

"Cas, how do I put this?" Dean sighs, knowing that things would eventually come to this. "I would be grateful if you'd let me stay with you, and -"

"Sometimes I wander around the house with my cat past midnight." Cas volunteers, out of the blue.

Naked?

Dean's brain jumps there and then he drags it back from the gutter - or, you know, the land of tempting imaginable scenarios.

"I want to live with you, you dumbass."

Cas pauses like that's at all surprising. "You do?"

"I was literally trying to figure out how to ask." Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. "And then you did, okay? And then I said yes, and I wanted us to not talk about it all lunch because later we're going to have important shit to figure out like food and beer and toilet paper and -"

"When exactly you'll move in." Cas offers, and when he puts it like that, a little bit of Dean melts.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay." Cas smiles, and finally it's that smile - eyes all crinkled, nose all scrunched up, the very definition of gummy - and fuck, Dean's very much in love with him and has just dug himself a huge, apartment-shaped hole, but he'd fucking like to live with him too, and he's a fucking liar if he isn't being a little hopeful about it too.

"We'll not talk about it." Cas declares. "And before, you'd asked me what we were eating?"

Dean nods.

"Well, I asked the waitress for recommendations for something memorable and she offered me the specials menu." Cas says, innocent as though everyone in the city doesn't know not to ask for the specials' menu at Reed's diner.

Dean starts to pray.

"So, kale pecan pesto." Cas announces. "And yes, I had to Google what that is later and no, I'm not showing you."

"God-fucking-dammit, Cas." Dean glares at him. "These might be our last diner meals for the foreseeable future, I don't want to have rabbit food -"

And then Cas winks at him like that's something he's allowed to do, and Dean's suddenly flustered again - and if that isn't an apt summary of how living with Cas is going to be like, he doesn't know what is.