#also this reminds me of when i was a teen and hit a particularly hard patch mentally- so i had to get multiple cavities filled -

[countv0ncunt]

All of these suggestions are really silly for the target audience: teens who are too depressed to care for themselves.

I get where y'all are coming from, but "you just have to do it" is told to mentally ill people all the time and that's. not how it works

to all the depressed teens out there not brushing your teeth FUCKING BRUSH THEM i promise you i promise you i promise you i promise you look at me i promise you my heart my liver my lungs that you’re gonna thank yourself later. Just once a day even. Please

[poorlittleyaoyao]

If you have other thoughts about other mdzs's charac (or again jgy!) in other role, I would love to read them!

Thank you for your patience, anon! I meant to answer this yesterday along with the one about JGY and Edmund. Each of these involves characters from the Henriad--Richard II, the two Henry IV plays, and Henry V.

-Hotspur, my beloved and cherished son who appears briefly in Richard II and is the antagonist (in the "opposes the protagonist" sense, not the "is a villain" sense) of 1 Henry IV, is the midpoint between Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue. Hotspur is essentially a child soldier; his descriptors suggest that he's a young teen when he joins his father in deposing Richard II in favor of Richard's cousin Henry IV. When we see him as a young adult in 1 Henry IV, he's fully immersed in warfare as a way of life, and while he's won great renown, he's... not really doing so great. Some of his lines are alarmingly visceral (ex: "they come like sacrifices in their trim/ and to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war/ all hot and bleeding we will offer them."), and his wife's concerned speech describing his behavior in II.3 reads like a checklist of PTSD symptoms. Hotspur also wholeheartedly believes in his personal code of honor and is clinically incapable of guile in a way that comes off to me as almost childlike. If a cause is just, then it will prevail no matter the odds (spoiler: it does not)! He loves his family and trusts that they have his and the kingdom's best interests in mind (spoiler: they do not)! Basically every line Hotspur speaks in Acts IV and V of the play could be given to Mingjue and you'd only need to replace all the proper nouns.

(Hotspur is also canonically SUCH a horse girl and so is Mingjue in my heart.)

Meanwhile, on the Jiang Cheng side of things, Hotspur also wants SO badly to do a good job. He is so so SO determined to fulfill his roles as a knight and as a son to their fullest extent, and has nothing but contempt for Hal because Hal, despite being heir to the throne, does jack shit and spends all his time drinking and pickpocketing for funsies. For all his impetuousness and general lack of an inside voice (which is NOT a Jiang Cheng problem), he shows flashes of being a strong leader--particularly in his speech outlining his grievances against Henry IV in IV.3. Personality-wise, Hotspur is filled with BIG FEELINGS and most of them manifest as cantankerousness. He is prickly and argumentative by default, which makes him lowkey one of the funniest characters in the play (see: his soliloquy arguing with a letter at the top of II.3, his entire exchange with Owen Glendower in III.1), and also make his moments of genuine vulnerability hit hard (ex: "come, wilt thou see me ride?" in II.3 and his death speech in V.4).

-On the flip side, Huaisang reminds me of Prince Hal. Remember how I said Hal doesn't do jack shit? Hal's flop era is deliberate. He knows he can't run from his responsibilities forever, so he's slacking off to lower people's expectations for him. The first soliloquy we get from him in I.2 is an EXTREME Huaisang mood and I'll try to trim it to the most relevant bits:

I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at... I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time when men think least I will.

His flop era does NOT endear him to his father, who wishes he were an accomplished warrior like Hotspur, and their relationship is rocky. When Hal becomes king upon Henry IV's death, Hal decides to jettison his past friendships, quash the joyful aspects of his identity, and go do war crimes in France. I describe Hal's actions in the play Henry V as "Hal doing his best Hotspur impression," except that whereas Hotspur honest-to-god believed he was fighting for justice, Hal is more calculating. Sure, he gives us the "once more unto the breach, dear friends" and "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers" speeches, but he also cheerfully threatens mass slaughter in response to an insult in I.2 (and ratchets up the threats in gruesome detail III.3).

-Huaisang is also Hamlet, of course, but I don't personally subscribe to the "Huaisang was always sooooo scared of JGY" interpretation of the timeskip. Fear makes you act with urgency, as Hamlet very much does post-Mousetrap and post-return to Denmark. Readers give Hamlet a lot of shit for dithering on killing Claudius, but he does get the job done in just a couple months (much of which he spends offstage with pirates) because all he wants is Claudius to be dead. Huaisang takes his sweet time because he wants JGY utterly destroyed, which is more a Hal vibe.

-Lan Xichen is NOT Richard II at all. I'm not even going to explain why he's not because he's not. However, Richard's big soliloquy when he's imprisoned alone in the penultimate scene of the play is VERY MUCH Lan Xichen in conclusion. It's long--66 lines!--but I will excerpt the relevant portion.

Music do I hear? Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string; But for the concord of my state and time Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.... This music mads me; let it sound no more! For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

I JUST!!!!

[pyrousred]

The dehumanizing, invisible Body Horror of Hamburger Lady...

So recently I 'discovered' the band Throbbing Gristle after hearing about them and having them recommended for a long time. It goes without saying they're shaping up to be a new favorite band of mine. I loved Pink Floyd and Nine Inch Nails as a teen, so hearing 70s psychedelic British rock that is ALSO a predecessor to industrial rock has me fuckin giddy (and terrified).

Right now, though, I am really intrigued by their song Hamburger Lady, and moreso, the poem? Short story? Pre-internet creepypasta? - that it's based on. For those who haven't heard the song - go listen right now! Here's a link to it.

Can you see it? The pristine hospital hallway? The dim room full of moaning and rattling breaths? The rancid smell that hits you when you open the door? The heart monitor confirming this is in fact a living thing lying on the hospital bed in front of you? The blurry fading in and out of consciousness in the grip of unending agony...

For those who don't know the story, here's the lyrics to the song and the original poem, according to Genius:

Sit with it for a sec, if you can. It really tickles modern horror tastes doesn't it? In a way that feels uncannily ahead of its time. I'm tempted to compare it to one of the better creepypastas or posts from r/nosleep, but it reminds me of a bigger phenomenon that encompasses those things. The internet-era Pandora's Box of personal experiences, particularly the ones showcasing the rare and/or hidden away fringes of human society. The extreme and awful things that happened in someone's hometown, at someone's job. Often dubious in their truthfulness, such stories are numerous enough that some HAVE to be real.

In fact, let's give some credit. As many edgy tall tales as there may be on the internet, it's not hard to find completely real descriptions and images of the most shocking things imaginable online, so in that regard its fictitiousness makes it more impressive to me. It's a product of human artistry, made with intent, with a message - perhaps to encapsulate real events, but nonetheless built from the ground up to be an ambassador to some particular corner of the twisted and awful. And indeed, like any good scary story, there really is a grain of truth.

The writer of the work, 'Blaster Al' Ackerman, was a Medivac in the Vietnam War - note the narrator bringing up 'viet napalms' - and, according to Arthur Magazine's 2009 piece on him, did in fact work in burn wards in the late 60s. So undoubtedly the horror is based on very real experiences.

Kim Phuc, a napalm survivor who was famously photographed as a child in the Vietnam War after she was covered with the substance.

Hamburger Lady, then, is not really about a person. It's about the horrible fragility of the human body, and the perhaps even more terrifying ability of modern medicine to keep an utterly ruined body alive. Breathing, eating, shitting, even if with the help of invasive surgeries and tubes and round-the-clock care. And to what end, the story seems to ask, so that the patient can live on in unbearable pain?

And to me, part of the horror of this story is the utter dehumanization of the titular Hamburger Lady. Burned from the waist up, the features we recognize humans by have been reduced to charred meat, with only her legs to remind us that this has happened to a person. The narrator seems disinterested in the plight of the Hamburger Lady, rather she is a terrible thing that happens to our protagonist - a grisly thing he must interact with.

Some might call this callous, but I think it supports the horror much more than any graphic description - that this person who seemingly still has thoughts and internality, has been reduced to just a disgusting task. Some kind of burn ward wraith that showcases suffering and disfigurement perpetually. There is no chance of recovery, only suffering extended by medical innovation, and eventually death. '...thanks to medical advances, there is no end in sight,' the text says.

unrelievedly, the song repeats hauntingly.

Ultimately this is why, to me, Hamburger Lady moreso represents the experience of encountering this horror as an outside observer. Real burn victims recover. Or they die. One way or another, they leave the hospital. Hamburger Lady is an unending visage of suffering, forced to live as a creature who can only frighten and disgust others, while also being hopelessly dependent on these people to continue living. She is not a specific disfigured patient, she is the idea of one. She represents the task of coming in to work day in and day out and seeing all the unspeakable shapes a human being can be twisted into. She is a sort of deity of disfigurement, of the moans and screams of patients and the unbearable sights that lay stretched out in their beds.

And what a horribly mundane inciting event to this nightmare - a car crash? Something that could happen to anyone? The ease with which she was un-personed, turned into a gruesome spectacle without even a real name, only a nickname based on her appearance, leaves the reader or listener with a sort of paranoia that must come with the job of taking care of her. That this thing who the narrator refuses to even treat as a person, could easily be you one day.

---

When I started writing this post, I fully planned to accompany it with my own drawing of Hamburger Lady. Some fanart, I guess you could call it. If you search online, you can find other artists' take on it and they are all pretty impressive and creepy in their own way.

But, I found myself unable to start. I realized that although there is ample inspiration for making terrifying visual art, what inspired me in the first place about both these art pieces is how graphic and scary they are without showing anything at all.

I first heard Hamburger Lady by Throbbing Gristle on my phone. It was scary, and intriguing enough that I listened all the way through, but it was tinny and stripped of its detail. When I listened to it on my headphones, I was in broad daylight, the white midday sun streaming through a window right beside me. And even then I could not shake the feeling that if I dared look to my side, I would see her standing there, gasping for breath, begging to die.

I could have drawn what I thought I'd see if I turned around, but I could never draw the certainty I felt that she was right there watching me.

[thecpdiary]

Mental Health Crisis at Terrifying Levels

Stats in England tell us the UK is lagging behind its European counterpart, when it comes to mental health. My blog stats tell me the same thing.

Writing helps minimise and place some of my thoughts brought about through anxiety, but external influences continue to play their part around my mental health, and I am sure I am not the only one.

The NHS is failing to treat 250,000 children with mental health problems. (Source: the guardian, 2023). 1 in 6 adults experience a mental health issue, such as depression and/or anxiety in England. (Source: myndup.com. 2023)

Mental health is hitting the most vulnerable. It's also hitting teens, the young, the cost-of-living crisis is also adding to our mental health problems. "The Rosena Allin-Khan Interview: "There is a mental health crisis and it’s only going to get worse" - (Source: politicshome)

We're not talking about or dealing with Mental Health

We're not talking about or dealing with mental health. Covid-19 has also changed the way we deal with mental health.

The NHS

The NHS is in crisis. In the last few years, the NHS has seen demand increases, while also coping with over a decade of prolonged underfunding. Earlier this year, many hospitals recorded the worst A&E wait times on record, with the president of the Royal College of Emergency Medicine, Dr Adrian Boyle, saying that up to 500 people were dying each week as a result of delays in emergency care.

NHS Staff Shortages

"Meanwhile, staff shortages within the NHS are increasing. Figures show that 400 workers leave the NHS every week and around 10% of posts are unfilled. I’ve never done a shift with a full team of staff and, often, we’re covering more than just our own job. This results in being overworked while putting patient safety at risk. Within the NHS, I have found that there is little support for those suffering mental health issues.

In the last 12 months, 52% of doctors have reported suffering poor mental health with burnout affecting more than three quarters of hospital doctors, on the frontline. There is now a National Physician Suicide Awareness Day as doctors are up to four times more likely to die by suicide compared to the general population." - Eloise Hart

The Research

Research has found that many struggling doctors do not seek help due to the stigma within the medical profession, feeling shame and guilt to take on the ‘patient’ role.

A 2-year qualified junior doctor, talks openly about her struggles:

"I know I’ve really struggled returning to work due to fear of how I’ll be perceived. I have to remind myself that healthcare workers are human too and it’s OK to admit when you’re struggling. I am due to return to work next month having been for four months. It will be difficult to return to work, but I am determined to speak openly about my mental health issues, particularly as the majority of us are facing the same." - Eloise Hart

Medical Staff signing off work, sick due to mental health

Eloise had to sign off from work due to mental health issues. Although she knew it would be hard for her to return to work, she was determined to speak openly about her mental health issues, understanding the majority will be experiencing the same. The virus isn't gone and many of us are still there. (Source: https://www.metro.co.uk)

Conclusion

The NHS has been in crisis for years now. In Covid-19 it's moved to critical status. I've been talking about mental health on and off my blog now for 13 years and even in the early days of writing, mental health, although it wasn't always being overlooked and people were reading my blog, I'm not sure how many were being proactive enough to deal with their mental health.

The bounce rate on my blog is very low, which means people are reading 'the blog of the day' but nothing else.

Also, in Covid-19 the world changed and mental health took an even bigger tumble. I wonder now what it's going to take for the world to wake up, for each of us to start dealing with our mental health. The stark reality is cancer rates have gone from 1 in 4 to 1 in 2, which means one in two people will get cancer in their lifetime. That has everything to do with mental health. I wonder just how many people will read this blog.

I've talked about mental health throughout my writing career. My blog spans mental health. I can't stress enough how important it is to start taking care of you, to start being proactive and to deal with your mental health. With 13 years of blogs covered, my website would be a good place to start, or check out and buy one of my books. They all deal with mental health. Our mental health, our lives are literally depending on us taking control and being proactive on mental health.

If you are interested in dealing with your mental health, my books are available to purchase on my website here https://www.thecpdiary.com/my-books/

For more inspirational, life-changing blogs, please check out my site https://www.thecpdiary.com

[tomurderornottomurder]

teen dad; steve harrington

pair. steve harrington x ftm!reader

summ. steve gets reader pregnant and when reader needs him, steve's there for reader

gen. angst n fluff

tw. pregnancy, teen pregnancy, ftm pregnancy, mentions of violence, unsupportive family, birth scene (vague), coming out, probably messed up timeline (pretty vague tho)

wc. 1.5k

note. i haven't been able to write just about anything but this came to me last night and it felt good to write out. also like personally pregnancy n birth freak me out so idk where this came from??, expect a part 2, C/n = child name :)

To say things between you and Steve Harrington are complicated is an understatement. Freshman year you two were inseparable, hot on the hips, literally and figuratively. Always kissing in the halls, his arms wrapped around your waist, and your face buried in his neck. You were the 'it' couple of Hawkins High for a while. Then things went downhill. You two had your biggest falling out to date and didn't speak to each other for weeks; scathing stares across the lunchroom sent the message. And then, you discovered by some miracle you were pregnant! Only one man could be responsible and you knew it wasn't going to go well.

Steve was a lot quieter than you expected. You guess you couldn't really blame him, this was a big deal after all. You just expected more of an argument. He had asked if you were going to keep it though, and well, you didn't really know. You felt like he had taken the news a little too well or rather maybe he hadn't fully understood the severity of the situation.

Turns out, you did want the kid. Steve wasn't sure about it at first and you two had gotten into another fight over it. Steve had gotten over the fight at least -the child, his child was still something for him to process- and he came over with some flowers and other gifts, his form of an apology.

You two had tried to rekindle your relationship but it just wasn't there between your differing ideals at the time, your changing view on yourself, and Steve's blossoming feelings for Nancy. You couldn't really blame him, she seemed nice and she was gorgeous, and you, yourself, were starting to fancy someone else. 

You two were pretty distant after that, busy with your own lives among other things. The only thing that did seem to connect you anymore was your child. And Steve's fighting with otherworldly creatures and protecting other children seemed to really set his paternal instincts on fire.

Though you two had stayed distant and as awkward as Steve felt, he broke through it to at least help you buy stuff for the baby. His parents were pissed at the news, he explained to you as you both strolled down the baby aisle of the nearest department store (that was not in Hawkins), but they would help and would force him to as well. You chuckled at that and Steve found the noise quite fond to his ears.

Once (or maybe a few times, actually), he had found you trying to build baby furniture on your own. He would lean against the door frame watching you struggle only for some fleeting moments where you hadn't noticed him yet but then he'd get that ever-eating guilty feeling and he'd announce himself with a chuckle and take whatever you were working on out of your hands. He found himself reminded of why you had been together in the first place when you would endlessly protest about helping him with at least some of it, you had said. These times were few and far in-between.

To Steve's credit though, he was there at the hospital with you the whole time. It was a bit of a pain for him (which you would later laugh at), between dodging his friends' questions of where he was and your family who weren't particularly thrilled about his existence in general, it was a bit of hit or miss experience for him. To his eternal gratefulness, you were actually nice to him even while literally birthing your child, though you had been squeezing his hand so hard that even the nurses thought you might've broken it. (You did not). And it seemed Steve's presence, for you at least, seemed to make the experience better; from just having his hand to hold, to his kind of hilarious reaction to the actual birthing of the baby, he -when you weren't screaming or crying in pain- brought you some calm. Until he was handed the baby and nearly dropped it tripping over a cord. He left the baby-holding to you after that.

Steve had even spent the night much to your family's dismay but your gratitude. He wasn't exactly the best partner nor friend but you hoped, you really did as much as you would never admit it to anyone, that he would at least try to be a decent father. You, of course, understood he was a meathead and a teenager, and that he hadn't been the greatest guy freshman year but it seemed like he was changing. You just hoped it was for the better.

After some months, which had not been full of Steve liked you hoped only for the sake of your child, you had made a discovery about yourself. You had to admit how much sense it made. Alas, your family did not feel the same at all. They went even as far as calling both you and your child "Satan spawn" which later you would be able to laugh about. But for now, you stand outside your house in the middle of winter, your baby bundled up and strapped to your chest, watching as all of your stuff gets thrown out. You stand there for a good few minutes frozen in amazement before, without realizing, a torrent of tears stream down your face. You only had one place to go.

You hate this so so so much. God, your family could handle a pregnant teen but not a trans one? You scoff at the thought before swallowing what pride you had -minuscule now- and knocking on Steve's door. For some reason, you feel guilty like you shouldn't have said anything for your baby's sake and now you're about to lay it on your ex-boyfriend and the father of your kid and who knows how he'll react? Will he take your kid and shun you? Want to kill you both? Take pity on you but ignore your identity? Your impatient foot-tapping stills when the door opens.

If ever you were thankful for Steve's absent parents, it's now. You involuntarily sigh at his sight while he freaks out at yours, mainly cause you and his kid are out in the cold. Before words can be exchanged, he pulls you in by the shoulder. You sigh again at the warmth of the Harrington house.

Steve's hands are now on his hips and you can tell his mind is going a million miles an hour; it's one look of his you'll never forget. He's drawn back into the moment, his mouth moving before he can even speak. "I- What are you doing here? And when did you get a haircut?" He reaches up to touch your hair, "It's so short," He mumbles. It doesn't seem like he hates it, more just like he's surprised.

"Those are two very different questions," You point out and he seems dissatisfied. You look down at your feet before actually explaining yourself. You start out with the whole getting kicked out thing and soon enough he does it; he asks the question.

"Why?" He's bewildered. Your family definitely had been better than his about the pregnancy, so it couldn't be that, right? But what was it?

You sigh and drop your head. "You have to promise to me, no matter what, that after I tell you, you will still take care of C/n, alright?" You look up at him, holding out your pinky.

"A pinky swear, really?" His brows raise, looking at you.

"Just- Steve, please,"

"Alright, alright," He puts his hands up before hooking his pinky with yours, "I promise."

You pretty much guide him into his own kitchen, allowing yourself to sit, and having him sit across from you. You tell him that you're trans and he looks confused, even asks you what that is. You can't help your laugh, "Steve, you're making this-"

"Difficult?" He looks at you expectantly.

"No," You shake your head. "You're making it easy," You assure him. You go on to explain what exactly you being trans entails and he nods along almost too much but you blame that on your nerves. Eventually, you manage to ask, "So...?"

"So, what?" He looks straight back at you.

"Steve, you're not... mad? Or going to take C/n? Call the police? Beat me up?"

His face contorts in confusion, "No.. to all of those." His eyes meet yours and soften.

Silently, you stare at one another. Steve breaks eye contact first, getting out of his chair and walking to your side. This is it, you think, he's going to strangle me or steal C/n away. Some part of you feels like you deserve it and you freeze in place. A strange warmth fills you when Steve awkwardly maneuvers around your baby to wrap his strong arms around you in a gentle but firm embrace. You're so taken aback you don't even hug back until he whispers, "It's okay." He even runs his fingertips over the ends of your much shorter hair and says with a smile that you can just feel, "I like it. It looks really good." And with that ever intact charm of his, he adds, "You look so hot."

You snort and so does he.

[alwaysmarveling]

Call Me Back

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: death, a small sexual innuendo, and lots of commas and long sentences

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You and Wanda promised each other you would always call to check in, and Wanda’s going to do her best to keep that promise, no matter what.

The first time you met Wanda was… well, when was the first time you met Wanda? Was it when wisps of red flashed in front of your eyes, projecting images so horrific and lifelike that you all but collapsed in a heartbeat? Or was it when she stepped forward to shake your hand timidly, grief and determination filling the witch as she promised to make up for it?

“I- I wouldn’t have done it if I… we were just trying…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you had told her with a smile before confiding in her about your own missteps, how you’d wreaked havoc on all of New York with your powers of body modification after your own parents died, how Fury finally got the Avengers to catch you, and how they quickly became your new family.

-

“You mean they really almost burned the kitchen down trying to make you a birthday cake?” The brunette giggled later that night as you recounted the story of your sixteenth birthday, the two of you sitting comfortably beside each other on the living room sofa.

“Yup. And when Nat showed up with an ice cream cake fifteen minutes later to find smoke in the living room, Sam told me she freaked on everyone.”

“Excuse me, Y/N, I did not do any ‘freaking.’ God, is that what you teenagers are calling it now?” The two of you erupted into laughter, and the redhead could do nothing more than shake her head, a smirk playing on her lips no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

---

Much like Nat and Steve predicted, the two of you became fast friends. You sat next to each other on movie nights, sang karaoke in your room when you thought everyone else was asleep (if they weren’t awake when you started, they certainly were once you were thirty seconds into Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”), and, much to Steve’s dismay, when you finally became confident with your ability to grow wings on your back, snuck out regularly for late-night flights around the compound.

But you also insisted on being there for Wanda’s training sessions, even if it meant you had to wake up an hour earlier. You cradled the witch in your arms when she woke up night after night with an aching hole in her heart before you eventually insisted you guys just share a room. And you promised her, above everything else, that when you went out for anything, whether it be a quick grocery run or a month-long mission, you’d let her know you were okay.

You knew the promise she pleaded you to make was a result of the anxiety she suffered. She’d lost everyone she cared about; if a simple text or call was enough to put her at ease, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

---

“Wanda,” you’d whispered, the teen immediately sitting up straight when she’d heard the cracks in your voice. “I- I don’t know what to do. I’m safe, but...” She told you to stay there, don’t move, she’d be there in minutes. And, with your brain unable to function enough to think of any other option, you listened.

Her heart broke at the sight of you, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself and your head hung, you feet occasionally kicking the wet sidewalk. The neon sign of the restaurant your date had promised to meet you at illuminated one side of your face, allowing her to see the tears that you had tried but failed so desperately to hold in. But the witch didn’t let you see her emotions, instead whisking you away from the unfamiliar section of the city, brushing the tears off of your cheeks and bringing you to the twenty-four-hour diner for milkshakes. She made a fool of herself in front of the waitstaff until tears flowed from your eyes once again, but this time, the crystalline drops rolled down your raised cheeks, aching from smiling too hard. 

-

When you had a panic attack during training because you couldn’t get one of your body modification attempts to reverse—”Wanda, I cannot be stuck with claws for hands, I can’t!”—she refused to let you hang up until the steady sounds of her own breathing calmed you down, the sharp nails receding and making way for the soft pads of your very human fingertips.

-

And when she called you after the mission in Lagos, you worked tirelessly to complete your own solo mission as soon as you could. You returned to the tower to find her holed up in the bedroom, news broadcasts playing nonstop on the television to remind her of the horrors she’d committed; accident or not, she told you, she needed to hold herself accountable. You simply shook your head at her, holding out your hand without another word. She didn’t take it at first.

“You can’t fix it, Y/N. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She was expecting you to fight her back on it, yell at her and demand that she take your hand, or perhaps you’d go the complete opposite direction and leave her alone, let her be swallowed by guilt and anguish, rip open old wounds and form new ones as she thought of how she tore apart families that were probably much like her own. You did neither.

Wanda’s green eyes remained fixed on your outstretched hand. You stayed silent, one eyebrow cocked as if daring her to see what would happen should she choose not to take it. It was only then that she realized, for once in her life, the person she most loved wasn’t leaving; the support she so desperately needed wouldn’t be yanked away from her when it was mere centimeters from her grasp.

So she rested her fingers in the palm of your hand, and you pulled her out to the balcony where the two of you had spent night after night watching the stars instead of sleeping, making up funny names for each of them and rolling in fits of laughter that only came to those delirious and sleep-deprived enough to understand just what was so funny. Except, this time, instead of dropping into the oversized beanbag chair that was the usual spot of your stargazing shenanigans, she watched curiously as you removed your shirt. Her mouth dropped as you closed your eyes and allowed the white feathers to emerge from beside the ridges of your spine. Although it was a process she’d seen several times before, your modifications had never ceased to amaze her, and your angel-like wings had always been her favorite. The witch admired the additions as you allowed them to flap slowly, once, twice, before turning back to her.

“Let’s go,” you finally spoke, the order gentle but leaving no room for negotiation.

“Where are we going?”

“Away.” That was enough for the brunette, who squeezed your hand before following your lead. She allowed you to guide her through the maze of clouds and couldn’t help but smile softly as the sun’s rays hit your face at just the right angle. You wore the exhaustion from your recent mission on your face, and streaks of dirt covered the bruises that she was sure littered your body. But she was content, in awe, because you were you. You didn’t put up walls to hide your scars from the world, didn’t use passive-aggressiveness to hide the passion that burned in your heart. At the end of the day, you were good, purely and truly good. You were an angel; even the sun knew it.

What Wanda didn’t realize, but what you taught her that night, as she sat surrounded by sunflowers, the moon, thousands of gleaming stars, and the tickle of your feathers as your wing pulled her close to you, was that she was one too.

“I’m glad you called me,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the open sky as you pointed out a particularly bright spot. “I’m gonna call that one… Philip. He looks regal, real proud. Look at him, so much brighter than the others, and he knows it too.” The witch breathed out a soft chuckle, stroking her fingers over your feathers as she responded.

“I’m glad I called you too. And I think Philip is a good name for him. What about that one?”

“Hmm… Walter? He’s a bit more serious, I think. But you see the one next to him?” You waited until you got a nod from the girl before continuing. “That’s his sister. She makes sure he has fun, even when he says he doesn’t want to. But you name her, Wands. Naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” She squeezed the elbow that you nudged her with before giving in.

“Alright… that’s Delia. And, yeah, she’s the best. The life of the party. Walter keeps her grounded, though,” Wanda added, to which you agreed to with a hum. You two fell quiet after that, enjoying the comfortable silence and looking up at the twinkling lights, some of them gaining names and stories, others waiting to be named another night.

“Wanda?”

“Yeah?”

“You call me if you ever need me, okay? I know we started this with me calling you, but I’m here for you too.” The witch met your eyes with a firm bob of her head, but you continued, desperate to make sure she understood. “And if I don’t pick up at first, you call me back, okay? Call me until I respond, promise?”

“I promise,” Wanda soothed gently. “I will.”

“Okay, good, good. Because,” Wanda felt a brush of your feathers against her upper arm as you fluttered your wings, slightly agitated, “because I think I love you. I mean, um, I know. I know I love you. I love you. Yeah, I-” Wanda shut you up with a kiss, her lips pressed urgently against yours. And if you hadn’t lost your breath from your rambling or your declaration of love to the girl of your dreams, then you most definitely lost it as your lips melted into hers, in the comforting warmth of her palm against your cheek, and in the words that left her mouth as you finally pulled apart, breathless.

“I will, Y/N, I promise. Because I love you too.”

---

People thought you were inseparable before you started dating, but they all realized how wrong they were after that night. The two twin beds quickly became a queen-sized mattress, sideline support during training sessions became fierce yet playful spars, and the private giggles you guys shared grew tenfold. Fury wasn’t exactly happy that his unofficial daughter was now dating, but he was pleased by how efficiently the two of you worked together, which led you to this moment, the two of you covering the Quinjet while waiting for the rest of the Avengers to finish their business inside the massive Hydra base. With Wanda covering the ground and you in the sky, flying with the white-feathered wings that Wanda loved so dearly, the two of you held off the swarms of Hydra agents relatively well. With a small break in between incoming agents, Wanda looked up to check on you, but she was a moment too late. Before she could even think to warn you, the pure feathers she loved to brush her fingers through fell from the sky, the white stained with red, your screams ripping through her eardrums.

No one, including Wanda, had time to think as she exploded with a new rage, one that hadn’t run through her in years. One that she hoped she would never experience again, but here she was. And there you were.

While you were held in the air by her signature red mist, the opposing agents fell to the ground. She didn’t care about their screams, only yours. And with them all dealt with, she could turn to you, rushing you both into the Quinjet and yelling for the other Avengers to get back here, now.

But her efforts were futile. She could press down on the wounds all she wanted, beg for you to come back until her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but nothing would work. You were gone the instant the missile had hit you, and as much as Wanda wanted to deny the truth, she knew it just as much as your other teammates did when they rushed onto the Quinjet. You were gone before you could say a single goodbye.

---

The first time Wanda called was from your shared bedroom. She dialed your number before tracing the pillow where your head would have laid, running her fingers over the cartoon carrots that covered the comforter. The yellow bedding set was a gag gift Tony had gotten the two of you when you got your new bed.

“You know, since I figure the two of you will be going at it like rabbits,” he winked before getting immediately smacked in the back of the head by Steve.

“They will be doing no such thing,” the supersoldier had chastised him with a roll of his eyes. “God, Stark, sometimes I forget you have a brain when you say such stupid things.”

But you loved it, telling Wanda, “The carrots remind me of you, Bunny.” And how could she return the present when you were being so sweet about it? But the sheets didn’t make her smile in the same way they once did because you were gone. No one was there to tease her about the way her nose wiggled much like the little white fluffy creatures or promise to get her carrots from the market the next day.

The call went to voicemail, and as bittersweet as it was, Wanda savored it because it was you. Your voice. But the beep came far too soon, and your turn was done. So she spoke. 

“Y/N, hey, it’s me, Wanda. I, um, I love you. I’ll always love you, yeah?” The witch put the phone down, thinking that was all she could bear to say as the lump in her throat ballooned in size and hot tears filled her eyes. But just before time was up, her hand shot up to press the device against her ear again. “Call me back, milaya.”

---

The second time Wanda called was from the balcony. The brunette eyed the sparkling diamonds that filled the sky, wondering how you could be gone when, the last time she was here, you were right there beside her, laughing over the boys’ latest shenanigans and Ned, the newly named star. 

Now, the beanbag chair felt too big, too empty without another person sitting next to her. Without you. So she dialed your number, the only number she bothered to learn by heart, and waited for the dulcet tones of your voice. As the dial tone rang, she ran one hand over the white feather that laid gingerly in her lap. Natasha had given it to her along with several others a few days after your death. Each of the team members had one to remember you by, but the spy had picked out the biggest and most brilliant ones to give to Wanda.

“I know how much her wings meant to you-” Natasha stiffened as Wanda threw her arms around her. But the witch didn’t care, her tears soaking the redhead’s shirt as she tried to find the words to thank her. She couldn’t, but it was okay. Natasha knew anyway. Wanda had little time to reflect on the memory before her face brightened at the sound of your voice.

“Hi, this is Y/N-

“And her girlfriend, Wanda! She’s taken, so don’t even think about it, you jerk!” Wanda smiled slightly at your jubilant laughter, remembering how you’d pushed her away for interrupting you.

“I’m not available right now, but leave me your name, number, and message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay? Talk to you soon.” The witch’s eyes closed slightly as the greeting ended with a spell of your giggles before it was interrupted by that damn beep. God, how she hated that beep. Nevertheless, she took a breath and spoke out into the clear night sky, looking up at the stars as she did so.

“Hi, lyubov moya, it’s me. Wanda. I’m calling you back, just like you told me to. I’m not okay. I need you. I love you.” Her breath caught in her throat, forcing her to pause for a moment, but she forced herself to keep going a second later. “Sam and Bucky did the stupidest thing today. Nat and Steve were all over their asses. You should’ve seen it. I miss you. Please, call me back. I’ll tell you all about it.”

---

The last time Wanda called was from the sunflower field. The two of you hadn’t been here since the night you told her you loved her. In fact, it took Wanda several hours to find it since she hadn’t been paying much attention to the route the first time you came.

Once again, the night was clear, the stars lighting up the dark canvas with their radiance. She missed the feeling of your wing wrapped around her, of your presence next to her. But she had one of your feathers in her fingers and your voice in her ear, and to ask for more would be greedy, right?

“Hi, angel. It’s Wanda. I’m calling you back to leave a message, but I can’t do it again after this because I don’t want your voicemail to fill up, okay? I’m sorry, I know I’m being selfish, but I need to be able to hear your voice, so I can’t let it fill up. But I haven’t forgotten you, I promise I haven’t. I never will. I’m still-” Wanda swallowed, a fighting effort to calm the waver in her voice. “I’m still not okay, but I’m trying. For you. But I’m not okay, I need you to call me back. I’ve named one up there Halia, but her twin sister needs a name. And naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” The witch sniffed once as the corner of her lip curved up slightly, remembering the playfulness in your voice when you’d first said the line. “Call me back, Y/N, please.”

With the message over, Wanda clutched the phone to her chest, her breaths becoming faster and shallower as she closed her eyes, trying to accept the knowledge that it’d be the last time she’d ever leave a message, the knowledge that she was really losing you… the knowledge that she already lost you.

---

Months went by. Wanda wasn’t sure how they did, but they did. The first sign of it was the first Halloween without you, as she saw the other couples dressing up in matching costumes that you would’ve loved, costumes you would’ve pointed out to Wanda with an excited bounce and told her you’d have to wear next year. The next was Thanksgiving, when Wanda ran through the list of everything she was thankful for and came up short when she thought about the people she still had left. And then it was Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, and the first day of summer.

And while Wanda did her best to move on, she always found herself under the stars, dialing your number. She sat on the balcony, in the sunflower field, wherever she could see the sky, and she listened to your voice telling her that you’d call her back as soon as you could, always forcing herself to hang up a second before the beep could cut you off. Wanda named every other star she saw, leaving the ones in between for you and hoping that you’d approve of the names she chose.

“I’m naming that one Angel for you, Y/N,” Wanda murmured. “It’s even brighter than Philip. It’s the brightest star in the sky. I know you think it’s silly to name things after people, but this one’s just special, so you’re gonna have to make an exception, okay?” The brunette’s lips stopped moving, but her eyes stayed wide open as she watched the star as if, if she watched it long enough, studied it hard enough, you would materialize from its luminescence. As if you would come back to her. But when you didn’t, she finally allowed her watering eyes to rest, her eyelids drooping to surround her in darkness.

“I’m not okay, Y/N.” The witch’s voice was softer than it had ever been, more tired. But this time, there was no one to whisk her off and make her forget the heaviness of it all. “I need you so badly. I love you so much. I always will. But, please, angel, call me back.”

[thursdayschileee]

Favorite K-Pop Releases of 2022 (So Far)

We're already at basically the second half of the year, so I wanted to talk about some K-Pop albums/EPs that I really enjoyed, and some that I enjoyed slightly less.

NOTE: I didn't limit this list entirely to artists I stan, and this is fairly short since it's hard to remember all the kpop releases for this year that I've listened to. I'm mainly posting this so that I can remember by the time the second half of the year is over lol. I'm also not a music critic, so I'm a bit limited in my descriptions here.

Love Dive (IVE)

I absolutely loved this release. Something about the title track reminds me of something that would play in a teen drama, like a big party or club scene. The elevated aesthetic of the music video speaks for itself I think. They made this specifically for me ❤️

Flip That (Loona)

I was worried we were gonna get Paint The Town pt. 2 after Queendom ended, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that Loona is returning to that more dreamy, atmospheric sound that got me into them in the first place.

Fl!p That is insanely catchy, but my favorite tracks were Need U and Playback. I love ballads I'm sorry 😭

Playback in particular did it for me because of the melody and the way it sorta...dips into a minor key before going back to major? Like it was rocking back and forth (I hope that makes sense god). The instrumental of course feels very vast and just washes over you. I hope they continue down this route.

Jack in the Box (J-Hope of BTS

I was a little worried that I wouldn't like this mixtape because it felt so different from Hopeworld, and I honestly felt underwhelmed by 'More'. But this definitely tops Hopeworld for me.

The songs flow seamlessly into each other, and you can hear the 90s hip hop influences throughout. Turns out I actually like 'More', it just made way more sense within the larger context of the album. My favorite track is currently 'Stop'!

We Need Love (StayC)

I watched the video where StayC and their producers discuss what this album would sound like, and you can tell that they were more focused on putting out good music than marketability this time around.

The title track 'Beautiful Monster' is considerably toned down compared to their more energetic ones in the past, but it still has that bright 'StayC' feeling, albeit with an undercurrent of sadness to it to match the lyrics. My favorite song off of this album was definitely 'Love'. It's in a lower key and has cool synths in the chorus, so I'm a bit biased lol. StayC's vocals also noticeably improve with every comeback, so I really enjoyed this one.

Honorable Mentions!

1. Minisode 2: Thursday's Child (TXT)

I think the visual concepts for this mini-album were way more interesting than the music for me. Even though it is exciting that TXT are diving into much darker (and more realistic) themes, this one just didn't go all the way for me.

Though the songs were by no means bad, I personally found some of them to be too repetitive for my taste, including the title track. I did still enjoy GBGB because of the strong guitar, and Yeonjun's verse! Trust Fund Baby is also a really pretty track, and I look forward to more pop ballads in the future 💞

Proof (BTS)

The only reason why I didn't put this album on the list is because it's an anthology album with only 3 new songs. But! I really really think the new songs (particularly 'Run BTS') showcase how their music has become a more evolved version of the sounds they've explored previously. I'm so glad the boys are able to take a break and im excited for when the next chapter arrives.

Copycat (Chobom of Apink)

Again, I'm only putting this here because it's only 2 songs 😭 but Copycat is definitely a summer hit. I love me a twin concept!

[listentothelittlebird]

This was a first draft to Protect Our Own, from my Code Bat series on Ao3! It’s a reimagining of Jason Todd breaking into Titans tower, in a world where Robin is a myth and Tim Drake goes by Alvin, unnamed vigilante, with the Titans. Enjoy!

Shit. Jason was screwed.

Even as he held the tablet in his hands, watching the very concerning stalker-level footage that the League had gathered, he knew. He knew without a doubt that he was watching the new Robin. The target chosen for him was, of all the options the world could give him, Robin.

“This boy is a member of a group of young superheroes known as Young Justice. They recently went under the mentorship of older superheroes, to become the newest team of Teen Titans,” Talia Al Ghul explained passively, and Jason did not like the gleam in her eyes as she watched the young boy fight, “Lady Shiva met the boy, once, and agreed to train him. Even she is unaware of who his previous mentors were.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Then Talia turned to Jason. “You have done an admirable job of controlling your Pit Madness,” she smiled sharply, and Jason was reminded of all the deaths he had caused, all the people who had taught him and were murdered by him, using their own tactics, “And you have learnt fast. As promised, you will complete one contracted kill, and you will be released to exact your own revenge.”

Jason gave himself a mental pat on the shoulder, because even in the early days of crazed anger, not once had he given proper clues towards the fact that his killer - the one he wanted to exact his revenge upon - was the Joker himself. “White-faced asshole” could just be a white man, and “fucking green-haired piece of shit” could still just apply to anyone with green hair.

The Robin secret was still safe, surprisingly. Code Bat was still safe.

The assassin base was in the middle of nowhere, but there was still a little town nearby, with enough reception to surf the internet on a phone he had nicked from a particularly rich-looking traveller. 

Talia did not control what he knew, the League did not control what he knew, so even while he learnt of the Joker still being alive, he also learnt about the helicopter crash, how Batman had purposefully fled empty-handed. Truthfully, he still wanted the Joker dead - but he recognised that there was a chance that no matter how many times they tried, the bastard would come back. He would rather not try than to get stuck in a never-ending loop, something that B- that Bruce must have realised.

There were other stories he found. Jason could not deny destroying several rooms in the base when he read the kid’s story. All the money in the world, and his very-much-alive parents could care less than Jason’s own barely-there mother had. 

He had not known if the boy had taken up the mantle after him, but he was unsurprised at the confirmation in front of him. Robin was as much a part of the Wayne family as champagne, fancy suits and camera smiles.

“The boy is young, and already he is excelling in combat, research, and investigation. In a few years, he will be a real threat to the League. This is your final assignment. Kill the boy, and we will let you go.”

Well, fuck. 

Jason carefully controlled his reaction, turning to meet Talia’s eye with his blue-green eyes. “You want me to kill a minor,” Jason spoke slowly, allowing his incredulity and a tinge of anger to slip into his voice.

“Either you take the job, or you will continue training, until another opportunity arises,” Talia replied evenly. Which meant anything from a week later to never. 

Jason gritted his teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed it all out at once. “When are we leaving?” he questioned. Talia’s grin was sharp, like a predator before their strike.

-

Double shit. This just got way more complicated.

Jason had bargained with Talia for a week of preparation work - a week to scout out the Titans tower, as if he had not memorised the layout of the old one. As if they had not built the new tower in the exact way as the old one had been.

“We will have League members surrounding the building,” Talia announced, a day after they had landed in the city. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. 

“We are curious as to who has trained this boy,” Talia explained, “Subdue the boy’s teammates, and make him vulnerable. Don’t block radio transmissions. If the boy has maintained contact with his mentor, they would come running at their call.”

Jason cursed inwardly, keeping his face carefully blank as he nodded his assent.

He had to play this right. 

-

“I don’t trust this,” Bruce rumbled for the fourth time, in full Batman mode despite being in a casual sweater and sweatpants.

Dick hummed along, casting a concerned glance Tim’s way.

On the table was a note, delivered through an unassuming envelope. 

It stated a date and specific hour, and, Don’t call the Code. 

“The code,” Tim mumbled, “Like, Code Bat? There’s no way they’d know that, though, right?”

The note was written on red paper, flecked with green and yellow. Tim’s tone was wavering, lacking its usual confidence. He was always so sure when it came to cases, but this? 

“What’s happening at this time?” Dick wondered. Bruce pulled up his own schedule for the following week, and Tim mentally went through his own plans. Nothing of note, but-

“I’ll be in Titans tower,” Tim stated aloud, and there were gears turning in his brain. Wild gears that were nearly off their hinges, but they were the same gears that had made the Batman-is-Bruce-Wayne connection, and he had learnt to trust them.

“Is someone trying to warn us?” Tim voiced, “I get a lot of speculation from the public, about what my official superhero name is, but also where I came from, who I trained with. What if it’s not just the internet wondering?”

Bruce pursed his lips in thought. He turned to Tim, his eyes hard and determined in that certain manner that meant he was being overprotective.

“No,” Tim blurted, “I’m not staying at the Manor during that specific timeframe.” Bruce shut his mouth and blinked down at his adopted son.

“Whoever this is, they risk being found out if I don’t show up,” Tim gestured to the note, “It might just escalate from there, anyway, if we prolong whatever is supposed to happen.”

“It could be a trap,” Dick pointed out, and now he too had taken up the overprotective undertones of discomfort. Tim squared his shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, “I’ll stay in the tower. Besides, all my teammates will be there. If anything happens, they’re right there.”

Bruce and Dick exchanged worried glances, but eventually Bruce sighed and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Code Bat has always been for your safety,” Bruce stated firmly, “I don’t care if our enemies find out about us - if it gets out of hand, if it looks like a trap, call us.”

-

The morning of the date stated on the note, Tim found another one in his Teen Titans bedroom.

They want you dead. Play along.

What jolted Tim was the symbol at the bottom right corner of the note - it was one of the made-up symbols that Dick had taught him. The symbol on the note meant “burn after reading”.

The handwriting was not Dick’s, nor was it Bruce’s. It was cursive, almost like Alfred’s, but it was also much more scrawled and uneven, like someone still unpractised in writing. 

The gears in Tim’s brain must have really come unhinged this time, because the only name it could conjure was Jason. Jason was dead.

Tim was quietly uptight right until the hour came. He almost did not realise his teammates were being picked off, meticulously, skillfully, one by one. Almost.

Tim still had yet to press his emergency beacon. He had not activated Code Bat. He wanted to see where this went, before anything else.

Then the mysterious attacker descended on him, a blur of black and the smallest glimpse of white, and Tim was fighting for his life.

The man moved like an assassin - Tim had met some League of Assassins members, back when he had trained with Lady Shiva. He moved like them, but there was also something else to his movements.

Tim dodged a hit, and that was too short to be aiming for his throat, that would have been a non-lethal hit-

The man was not aiming to kill. He fought like Batman. He fought like one of them.

Tim opened his mouth, made to say something, although he was unsure what. He was swept off his feet before he got the chance.

“Who trained you, kid?” the voice growled, and it was a deep voice that should have unnerved him, but something struck him as familiar. The drawl, the barely-there accent.

Jason, his brain screamed.

Real answers, please, Tim pleaded.

The man pulled him by his tunic collar, and he shifted to pull him towards his face. There was a glint of metal on the man’s uniform - a recording device. 

“Who are you?” he growled again, with Tim pulled close. 

Tim got a good look at the man’s face, and while he instinctively bantered back, he was internally reeling. Looks like his gears were working, after all.

“Just a kid with a dream,” Tim smirked, a crooked smile already leaking some blood. 

Jason - because this man was Jason, somehow, how was Jason alive - interrogated Tim while punching him out. His blows hurt for sure, but Tim swore that he was aiming for the areas that would cause the least injuries. He swore that when he grunted as a rib was broken, Jason had paused minutely, cringing slightly, before he barreled on.

Something was placed on his chest. 

“Say goodnight, kid,” Jason sing-songed, and there was the sound of a gun cocking. Tim barely registered that when the gun shot, it had shot at him. There was the hard thump of something near his chest, just above his chest, but it had barely touched his tunic.

Jason tapped a finger-signal, a “stay low and don’t move”, and Tim remained where he was. He waited as footsteps receded, waited for several minutes, with a bag of fake blood leaking from his chest, bruises and other injuries blooming in pain underneath his uniform.

He felt rather than heard the presence appear beside him. The looming figure crouched down and gingerly maneuvered Tim into a firm grasp. 

His “assassin” stared down at him. He had switched out his black assassin get-up for casual clothing. He was… tall. Built like Bruce. His eyes were different, too, and he had a white lock of hair curling just above his eyebrows. Yet…

“Jason?” Tim croaked out, and Jason Todd smirked. Tim knew that smirk - Robin wore it a lot, when he watched him. “You better be damn glad no one can hear you, anymore,” Jason gruffed, and started moving with Tim in his grasp, “Let’s go somewhere else, though, for good measure.”

They ended up in Tim’s room - sound-proofed, and therefore the safest location in the tower for this conversation.

“You’re alive,” Tim blurted out, as Jason dressed his wounds. His hands stuttered before resuming their work. “I died,” Jason stated flatly, “And I dug myself out of my own grave. Talia found me, and threw me into a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason raised his eyes to meet Tim’s, and Tim could see the eerie green glow in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell Bruce about me,” Jason rushed out, and Tim immediately jumped to object, but Jason was faster, “Don’t. Listen, I-” Jason breathed deeply, “I’ve killed, alright? I’ve broken his big rule and all that jazz. I might still find myself going back to the streets of Gotham, but to the Manor? I’m not ready to face that shit.”

Jason paused for real this time, having finished taking care of Tim’s more visible injuries. He cringed. 

“You should get Alfie to check you out, just in case you have internal bleeding or whatever the fuck I gave you,” Jason waved his hand around uselessly, “Lie low for a few days, alright? I need to make myself scarce. They’ll find out I didn’t follow through with the deal, and I’ll need to have disappeared, by then.”

Tim was silent for a few long moments. “Will I see you again?” Tim finally asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “They miss you, you know? We miss you. We all do.”

Jason swallowed, and blinked back the water gathering in his eyes. “How can you miss me?” he chose to ask, “S’not like you knew me very well, before… well, before.”

Tim grinned, bright and eager. 

“You once snuck out for patrol on your own,” Tim informed him, “And got stuck on a rooftop that you flipped onto with your grappling hook, because the other buildings around you were all too far away to grapple towards. You had to slide down the water pipes and run across an empty street to make your way back home.”

Jason sputtered, because that had happened, he did remember that, but when the heck did he hear about it?

“How the hell do you know that?” Jason asked, unable to keep his dismay from leaking into his voice. 

“I’ll tell you when I next see you,” Tim smiled cheekily. Smartass.

Jason checked the time. “Your Superboy buddy will be waking up soon,” Jason reported, “Don’t come looking for me, alright? I’ll… I’ll return to Gotham soon. I just have to make sure the League’s off my back.”

Jason got up and hesitated. “When I return to Gotham,” he warned, “I’ll come in guns blazing. There’ll be deaths. It won’t be pretty. Just- just stay out of my way.”

It would have been more convincing, if Jason had not spent the last thirty minutes treating Tim’s wounds.

“Who are you?” Tim called abruptly, Jason hovering at the door, “You come in and take us all out, one by one. They’d want a name. Who are you?”

Jason smirked sharply. 

“Red Hood,” he droned, “Call me Red Hood.”

He slinked away, and like a true Bat, was out of the tower in seconds.

[midoriyashotos]

Unbreakable

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Kirishima Eijiro/Midoriya Izuku

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Kirishima Eijiro, Bakugo Katsuki; MINOR ROLES - 1-A students

Summary: “Get out of the way, Kirishima,” Katsuki warns him. “I won’t hesitate to break your face in fucking pieces!”

“Then DO IT! I DON’T CARE!” Kirishima roars. He’s never sounded this angry. “I won’t let you break Midoriya EVER AGAIN!”

--

In which someone finally stands up for Izuku.

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: basically I wrote Kirishima being protective of Izuku, because it’s interesting how he hates bullies but never stands up to Bakugo...

I hope this isn’t too OOC. Enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNINGS - minor violence, bullying/abuse and injury.

*NOT BAKUGO/KIRIBAKU/BAKUDEKU FRIENDLY!

--

Izuku is happy, really.

Sure, it can be exhausting. It can be aggravating to live up to what comes with being the Symbol of Peace. And it’s also terrifying the reminder that Katsuki knows about his secret and has a lot more reason to hate him.

Not that Katsuki would ever quit hating Izuku, but still.

In the very least, the explosive boy doesn’t hit Izuku regularly anymore. People in their school don’t take Katsuki seriously like it happened in Middle School, so it’s a relief.

(They constantly call Katsuki and Izuku childhood friends, though.)

(Or rivals. Are they really rivals?)

Regardless, as long as Izuku stays away from Katsuki, he’ll be fine.

So, he’s happy.

--

When they can, 1-A has fun nights that may include eating cake and candies, playing games and watching movies – sometimes all in the same night. His classmates are very united in that sense.

Tonight, they’re sharing a big cake everyone helped Sato with; the teenagers are all separated in groups that fill the common room with life.

Izuku might subconsciously flinch every time a certain voice raises near him. Thankfully, it’s not directed at him – once he looks, he finds Katsuki and his friends messing with him. The greenette sighs in relief.

The boy spends most of the night alongside Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu and Todoroki. At one point, though, Izuku rests alone on the green couch, honestly a little drained by all the energy today, given the yelling and cursing that persists in what should’ve been a good time.

As his head is stuck in his thoughts, Izuku jolts when someone reaches him in the almost untouched spot.

“Hey, Midoriya! What’s up, man?”

Kirishima grins at him. His usually spiky hair is down today (a detail Izuku strives not to stare at for too long, because that’s creepy).

“K-Kirishima-kun! Hi!” Izuku stammers.

“You partied a lot?”

Izuku laughs shyly, “Yeah, had plenty of cake.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kirishima smiles. “Mind if I take a break with you?”

“A-Ah, sure. I mean, you can sit! Feel free to!”

His red-haired friend sits close to him, maybe… a little too close, the other notes. Izuku holds his cup of now-warm soda, playing with it nervously. Kirishima’s enthusiasm and passion honestly still catch him off guard. At first, Izuku thought he’d be… different. Spiky hair, red eyes, sharp teeth…

Instead, Kirishima turned out to be one of the sweetest and brightest people Izuku has ever known. He brings a lot of spirit to their class.

(And now that Izuku knows, Kirishima does look a lot more friendly and… cute.)

“… Midoriya, you’re looking kind of red…”

Izuku’s green eyes enlarge comically, cheeks burning.

“GAH! I-It’s nothing, Kirishima-kun! It’s just- h-hot in here, isn’t it?” Izuku ignores the fact they’re all wearing sweaters in this chilly night; but he supposes Kirishima does it as well, since he doesn’t touch on it.

If anything, the redhead smiles at him fondly.

(For the love of All Might, it’s too breathtaking.)

Izuku finds some ease, though, in his friend’s heat next to him. Kirishima’s presence is solid and stable like his quirk, but soft and gentle all at same. It perfectly encapsulates who Kirishima is, as a hero and a person.

Still, the freckled boy can’t help but wonder why Kirishima has decided to join him. Izuku is not doing anything particularly interesting. They’re not talking… but it’s not awkward, either.

Regardless, Izuku’s peace is disturbed yet again by Katsuki’s yelling bursts, his steaming hands felt from far away. As always, it’s just Sero, Kaminari and Ashido having fun with him.

Before Izuku can dive in his terrified relief, he’s reminded of the fact Kirishima is next to him, and maybe watching him as well.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Yeah… Kacchan’s enthusiasm is…” Izuku gulps, “a little too much sometimes.”

“Oh.” Kirishima sounds a little suspicious, but he quickly resumes his smiley nature. “Man, tell me about it,” he jokes.

Izuku holds his plastic cup tighter, refraining himself from tearing it apart and spilling all the soda on the floor.

“I can tell he’s having fun, at least,” Izuku analyzes. “He really likes you guys.”

“Yeah…” Kirishima pauses, only to laugh nervously, “he doesn’t really know how to show that, though.”

(Izuku recalls all the punches to Kirishima’s stony hair, and the insults Katsuki throws at him on a daily basis.)

“At least he likes you, Kirishima-kun,” Izuku reassures him in a lighthearted tone. “Kacchan was never happy with me.”

Admittedly, he hasn’t quite thought over these words – nor was he expecting Kirishima’s concerned gaze, his fondness of Katsuki gone.

“What do you mean?” The red-haired boy inquires.

“Ah, you know…” Izuku clears his throat, as his other classmates party and pay them no mind. “Kacchan’s called me weak since we were kids. He’s always been competitive, and- since my quirk took a while to show up”— he gulps due to the weight of the lie —“we were never…” he trails off, really not wanting to give more details.

“… you were never friends?” Kirishima completes.

Izuku swallows the bitter taste in his mouth and silently shakes his head.

“B-But it’s okay, though! We’re good now,” he tries to convince his friend (… and himself). “I just have to stay away from him because- you know how he is. But he’s got you guys as friends, so I know he’s happy.”

Kirishima looks away, thoughtful. He doesn’t seem entirely relieved by his words. Izuku suddenly feels the need to escape – what has he done?

“I- I need to go to the restroom!” He jumps from the sofa before Kirishima stops him.

Izuku is in such a rush that he doesn’t realize Katsuki is in his way.

“Oi!” Katsuki snaps. His eyes are immediately spiteful. “Deku…”

“K-KACCHAN! SORRY!!” Izuku runs even faster – how embarrassing.

“Get in my way again and I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Bakugo, chill,” Izuku hears Kaminari say nonchalantly.

This is his reality.

He’s happy with it. He is.

--

Everything was fine. Truly. Izuku has no idea what he did wrong.

(He’s never known, beside having no quirk in the past.)

They were training at the gym, outside of class time. Izuku tends to train on his own, but lately he’s been sparring with Kirishima, whose quirk helps with more physical attacks. It also helps Kirishima’s special technique in return.

Basically, Izuku and some of his classmates were going for a break, to drink water and eat whatever strengthens their quirks (like Sato having to eat more sugar). On his way, Izuku passed by Katsuki, who’s literally never in a good mood.

“Deku.”

“S-Sorry, Kacchan! You can go ahead!”

“As if I’ll fucking do what you say,” Katsuki bumps his arm into Izuku, hard, as he mutters in his breath, “shitty nerd.”

Izuku gulped and said nothing else.

(The freckled teen strived to not let One for All concentrate in his clenched fists.)

So, when everyone is gathered, chatting with one another, Izuku is admittedly distant from them. Katsuki would glare at him every now and then just for existing, no matter how far he was.

That’s the reason Izuku refuses to train with all of them when Kirishima suggests. Izuku tells them he’d be on his own again – his tone maybe too tight and serious. His classmates don’t question it, despite their concerned looks. Izuku tries to avoid Kirishima’s in particular – because he loves spending time with them, with him, he really does but…

“Yeah, leave Deku,” Katsuki voices in opposition, “it’s better than dealing with a dead weight.”

“Yikes, Bakugo! That’s really uncalled for!” Kaminari protests.

“I know you guys are rivals, but that’s too much, don’t you think?” Sero scolds.

Izuku stares at Katsuki, ignoring his classmates’ statements. Izuku stares deep into his red eyes: unlike Kirishima’s, they’re dreadful, have been since they were only five. He has the same superior stance and tone. Katsuki is the exact same person as the senseless bully that told Izuku to kill himself not too long ago.

The green-haired teenager’s look becomes intense. Furious. The kind of fury that doesn’t always show, because everything is bound to fall apart.

Even when his eyes avert from Katsuki, that’s what ultimately happens.

“Oi, fucking look at me!”

Despite Katsuki’s terrifying rage, Izuku defies.

“Why should I?” He mumbles, his voice gradually raising and deepening, “I can’t even exist near you.”

“What did you fucking say?”

Izuku’s hands clench into tight fists, glowing with One for All. His green eyes sparkle with intensity and ferocity.

“You heard me, Katsuki.”

The atmosphere is instantly changed.

“H-Hey guys, come on, don’t fight!...” Sero chuckles nervously, only to be pushed away by powerful hands.

Katsuki rages and advances, raising his arm.

Although he can defend himself, Izuku can only brace for the impact.

(It’s what he can do. The anticipation. The acceptance. He’s always expecting a blast to his face, and the reminder that he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, whether or not he has a quirk; nothing matters to Katsuki, as long as Izuku stops existing.)

Izuku waits.

But it never comes.

No. He hears the explosion blocked by something hard – hard like a rock. And once Izuku looks up, he covers his mouth to contain a gasp.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Kirishima screams, arms together like a shield, the sharp skin scratched by the burnings of Katsuki’s hands.

Katsuki himself is also shocked for a moment. For one, nobody else has ever dared to get in the way of his attacks, either because they’re too scared of him… or they don’t fear him enough to stop him. But most importantly, Kirishima has never stood up to Katsuki. Kirishima has endured his insults, sure, but he’s never defied him in an actual fight.

“Get out of the way, Kirishima,” Katsuki warns him. “I won’t hesitate to break your face in fucking pieces!”

“Then DO IT! I DON’T CARE!” Kirishima roars. He’s never sounded this angry. “I won’t let you break Midoriya EVER AGAIN!”

Izuku can’t move. He can’t say a word.

Katsuki is about to hit Kirishima again without any remorse, only for Sero to hold him back with as many tapes as he can make. Sato, Shoji and Koda help, while Kaminari tries to calm Kirishima down, which has zero effect.

“You’re not a man, Bakugo! You’re a goddamn abuser!” Kirishima points at him. “And abusers ARE NOT MY FRIENDS!”

“Dude, stop! You’re going to make it worse!” Kaminari scolds him, whereas Katsuki has already reduced himself to incomprehensible, enraged noises. Jiro might even rush to call Aizawa-sensei to hold both Katsuki and Kirishima back.

In spite of all the rage he must be feeling, Kirishima still stands protectively in front of Izuku, instinctively approaching him every time Katsuki threatens to break free and come after them.

Regardless, Izuku can still do nothing.

Nothing at all.

--

As expected, Katsuki and Kirishima are suspended for days – similar to when Izuku was forced to fight his classmate a few months ago.

Uraraka and Todoroki stay with Izuku as they wait. Only Kirishima returns to the dorms for now. His friends initially don’t understand why he fought Katsuki, assuming he’d lost his calm for nothing.

Yet Kirishima answers to none of these questionings. The moment he finds Izuku, his look softens, and he rushes to check over him.

“Midoriya,” he whispers in concern, “are you okay?”

Izuku dumbly gazes at him in response, swallowing a gasp when he notices the damage that Katsuki’s explosion did to Kirishima’s face; even with Recovery Girl’s help, the painful scratches can still be seen.

“K-Kirishima-kun…” Izuku chokes with tears welling up in his eyes, and the many feelings and words he’s struggling to understand.

The boy isn’t sure how he should feel. He’s guilty for putting Kirishima in danger, and for ruining his friendship with Katsuki. But Izuku is also angry at Katsuki for not hesitating to hurt someone that cares so much for him. Izuku is furious that Katsuki hasn’t changed at all.

Even so, the freckled teen feels relief. That someone was there, that someone actually stepped up and defended him.

(That someone was his hero, differently from when All Might saved him from the slime monster.)

Izuku launches himself towards Kirishima, wrapping his shaking arms around him. He wants to say all of those things so badly, but he fails. Kirishima’s soft arms hold him back and caress him, fingers running through his messy green hair.

“It’s okay,” Kirishima whispers to him, and says those same words countless times. Izuku’s cries are muffled by his shirt.

It’s like everything else disappears, and it’s only Kirishima and Izuku in this world. Kirishima shields him from every insult, every kick, every punch and slap across his face and his ruptured heart. Kirishima embraces his scars and making sure to be there to tend to them.

Izuku can only cry.

--

Later that night, Kirishima stays with Izuku in his dorm. It’s not like he can sleep with Katsuki’s room right next to his.

Izuku has already dried his eyes out of tears, and flooded Kirishima’s shirt as a result. Regardless, the two boys are glued to one another in Izuku’s bed, Kirishima rubbing his shoulders and the back of his neck. Izuku can’t help melting and clinging to him.

Even so, Izuku only has one question in mind.

“… Why did you do it?”

“He hurts you,” Kirishima answers simply.

Izuku gulps. “But he’s your friend…”

“I don’t think he was ever really my friend, Midoriya.”

Izuku pulls away to face him, the scratches in Kirishima’s face clearer than ever.

“I remember our first class with All Might. Bakugo wanted to kill you,” Kirishima harshly reminds, hands tighter on Izuku. “I knew there was something wrong with him, and yet I still went on to hang out with him. I admired his skills, I called him a man, I sacrificed everything to save his goddamn life because I cared about him. I… thought he was my friend.” He pauses. “Even when he called me Shitty Hair or hit me… I thought I could endure him – and maybe I did. But in the end, I ignored who he really was, and I let him hurt someone I care about for way too long.”

“No…” Izuku protests, “please don’t blame yourself! I was the one who—”

“Midoriya, you’re my friend. I knew Bakugo sucked, and even if he was my friend, I never did anything! And I’m really, really sorry.” Kirishima cups Izuku’s cheek with one of his hands. “I’m so sorry I ignored you. I promise you, I’m not enduring any of his shit anymore.”

Izuku gapes at him. “Kirishima-kun…”

“If he ‘cares’ about me, I don’t give a crap,” the red-eyed boy says firmly. “He sure as hell doesn’t respect me, only when I behave the way he wants. I don’t owe him anything, and I’m not standing around and letting him hurt me or my friends ever again.”

Maybe he should insist. Tell Kirishima that, if it weren’t for Izuku’s pathetic existence, his friendship with Katsuki wouldn’t have ended.

But Izuku doesn’t.

Because Kirishima is right.

Izuku’s hand touches his face, internally flinching when he feels the wounds caused by Katsuki.

“I just don’t want you to hurt because of me,” Izuku admits.

“Midoriya… nothing Bakugo does to me could ever hurt more than knowing he’s abused you for your whole life.”

Abuse. The same word he used for Katsuki earlier today.

“I’ll make sure he never hurts you again, okay?” Kirishima squeezes him. “I promise.”

Although he doesn’t literally say it, it’s clear to Izuku the love in his friend’s words.

The love in Kirishima’s smile whenever Izuku stutters and says a jumbled mess. The love in Kirishima’s concerned eyes when Izuku insists he’s okay when he isn’t. The love in his red eyes and words when Katsuki hurt him. The love in his touches, his soft hands protecting Izuku, understanding his scars.

Kirishima loves him. He really does.

Izuku bursts in tears again and Kirishima lets him, soothing him until the end.

[dropintomanga]

The Evergreen Shonen Story

A short while ago, there were some online conversations about the popularity of shonen stories. Almost all of them are based around the experiences of youth and some adult fans wanted action-oriented stories based around their life experiences as adults. Reading stories centered on teens and kids as the main characters isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I’ll admit that. But sometimes, I think shonen stories are somewhat of a reflection on what adults have been telling kids for years and how some/most of their advice has failed youth.

Life begins in the womb. We come out to a world of many possibilities. As children, we’re immune to bias until adults decide to tell us about the many differences of various people out there. Some adults may not care and have trouble dealing with their own pain, They may resort to substances like drugs and alcohol to cope. Under the influence of drugs or alcohol, these adults may start to abuse children and/or neglect them entirely.

There’s a term that relates to the overwhelming negative experiences of children growing up. It’s called ACE - “adverse childhood experiences.” Examples of such experiences include physical/sexual abuse, parent separation, physical/emotional neglect, and living with an adult with substance addiction. I look at a bunch of shonen flashback stories and many of the traumatic ones revolve around physical and emotional neglect.

Why is this important to acknowledge? Because some adults do a bad job in raising their children or guiding kids to become responsible individuals. We’ve seen examples of bad parenting in anime and manga. There’s also the fact that adults have been full of dreams themselves when they were kids, but have been fed advice on how the “real world” works. They’ve been told that they can’t make their dreams come true and/or they need to behave a certain way to get by. It’s a vicious cycle. A colleague of mine told me that when she sees young people with vision and a desire to smash the status quo end up being a part of the status quo themselves, she wondered if that’s due to those individuals seeing how hard it is and how long it takes to generate the change they want to see.

One of my favorite shonen characters in recent memory is Satoro Gojo of Jujutsu Kaisen. He was a student of Jujutsu High and ends up becoming a teacher there. Gojo is considered to be a prodigy, but he remains humble. He’s also willing to speak up to authority as he has gotten into disputes with upper school management over the fates of cursed students (particularly Yuji Itadori and Yuta Okkutsu) whose potential have yet to be realized. Gojo has once said that he needs to remind himself not to be a bitter old adult as he ages.

A good number of shonen stories drive the point that adults shouldn’t be bitter old ones. Or maybe more importantly, don’t be dismissive about teen experiences. I listened to a podcast a while back about loneliness and how much it affects mental health. There was a discussion point about adults ignoring teens that feel lonely with regards to dating. Here’s a quote from that discussion.

“The number one way that we do this (being dismissive of loneliness) in America is every single 30-year-old up completely dismisses the loneliness that a teenager feels about not having a significant other. Because once we hit 30, we realize that your 16 year old significant other is nonsense. It’s just nonsense. You’re gonna be in love so much in your life. You’re gonna love everybody. You’re going to date a million people. It’s gonna be fine. You’re going to realize how insignificant this relationship is. 

The key word there is you’re gonna realize it. It’s a future thing for them. So when every 30, 40, 50, 60 year old looks at the 16, 17, 18 year old and says, oh, you just broke up with your boyfriend? Yeah, who cares? That’s a meaningless relationship. I don’t care. That exacerbates the loneliness. It exacerbates the disconnected feeling because it really, really, really, really matters to them.”

I honestly think adults being dismissive towards teens’ current experiences is one reason why shonen stories still resonate with many. We’ve all been through those times where adults just shut us down because ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Yes, there comes a point where we have to move forward. But a good amount of emotional pain stems from adolescence and it lingers. Most mental disorders begin to happen around those years. Unfortunately, most of us don’t know how to give back in ways that stop the cycle. I do think mangaka are trying their best to give back the way they know how. 

Yet I think the biggest reason for the enduring popularity of shonen stories is friendship. We all know the Shonen Jump tropes - friendship, hard work and victory. All three are important, but friends are what really keeps us alive. The harsh truths are that hard work doesn’t always get you where you want to go and victories do come at the cost of important relationships. Over the years, I noticed that in my neck of the woods, friendship is frowned upon. When you’re ranking important relationships in life, first is your mother, then maybe your father, then your romantic partner, followed by your children. Friends are last. There was a nice read I found that listed a good amount of studies on the importance of friends (especially for those who are LGBTQ+ and faced stigma from immediate family). 

We don’t live on an island, contrary to what neoliberalism says. Families aren’t enough. Friends are what keeps us alive and helps build our sense of identity. 

Maybe the fans who want more mature/adult-centered stories with shonen action just want to see more nuanced stories about friendships in adult settings. Friendships are so hard to make and maintain as adults. There’s some glimmers of hope for those kinds of stories - in video games. Yakuza: Like a Dragon is a great example of an adult hero in a genre dominated by young protagonists, the Japanese RPG. The story is about a 42-year old ex-yakuza who gets exiled into a unfamiliar city and manages to make something of himself with the help of new friends he made there. It was refreshing because the whole cast were adults who were unemployed and/or stigmatized due to underworld ties. They managed to save Japan from a vicious political alliance with action elements that felt shonen at heart.

I’m all for more adult-centered mainstream shonen stories because seinen material can be a bit too blunt for some tastes, but there’s a lot of focus on the mindset of youth lately than in decades past since there’s concern on how they will manage in a world that continues to disappoint them.

I love shonen because I honestly don’t feel like I’m an adult due to my depression. My development felt stunted. I feel that I have more in common with 20+-year olds than people my age. I want to be around people who are youthful at heart. I wonder about those who still enjoy shonen past the target demographic - what still draws them to it? Is it due to them embracing their inner child more likely than most people? Or do they just like to follow simple action stories that have a lot of heart (something that some people don’t have)?

Looking at shonen’s enduring mainstream status does make me think about the the feedback loops between adults and teenagers. I’ll end this by talking about an incident that happened a couple years ago where a somewhat prominent Anitwitter figure (I am NOT going to mention their name here, but you may know who I’m referring to), who made a lot of friends with people in the anime/manga industry, was outed be a sexual predator who went after young naive anime fans at fan conventions. One of the reactions from someone that was once close with them was how can older anime fans better connect with younger anime fans when needed. I know from personal experience, I sigh on seeing the behavior of teens at conventions at times. But I learned that by saying things like “Kids are so dramatic,” “Boys will be boys,” “She’s being emotional.” gets harmful in a hurry where proper context is warranted. Maybe they are being so-and-so, but it doesn’t hurt to ask and give validation to their concerns. Teens are the lifeblood of anime conventions right now.

Shonen is a gateway introduction for youth on how to process pain in a way that helps themselves and other people with the help of said people. It’s an escape from the distress and trauma of reality. That reality, which has situations like the incident I mentioned, is controlled by adults who don’t always have it together, can’t admit their flaws, and sadly take it out on the world. That’s why shonen is still so powerful today despite all the criticism the genre gets. And that’s the evergreen truth.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Headache Relief

Summary: Alistair Shepard’s got one hell of a headache and the medicine ain’t helping. Lucky for him, he’s got another relief option. Problem is he didn’t expect to see Garrus Vakarian involved with that. Fuck, maybe he should’ve taken a double dose after all...

---

There were times Alistair was glad to be human. This wasn’t one of them.

“Fuck…”

The expletive leaked from between his teeth as he stepped off the elevator and into his private quarters. Right then he was running on instinct, heading towards his desk and the drawer that held his only chance of functioning at a lumbering pace. At least he didn’t hit the wall as he slumped down to dig – that was a nice bonus.

The bottle of pills hidden under some paper was half full. He shook two out, swallowing them with a bit of the water he always kept on his desk for that reason. Then it was straight to his bed. The only thing he remembered to do was click off the light as he collapsed face down into his pillow.

Biotic headaches: L2s might have gotten them the worst, but everyone had to face them eventually. Consider it the cost of doing business.

Colors bloomed behind the man’s eyes as he waited and prayed for the medicine to take effect. Part of him knew his chances were slim – his headache had started on the shuttle, so he was clearly out of the full range of help. Still, even if it took the edge off, he could function in an hour or so. At that point it was all Alistair could hope for as he felt the pain pulse.

Yep… he had definitely overdone it with the biotics. Simple mission, his pale and freckled ass.

“You think Miranda would have reinforced that.” His words came out low as he muttered them into his pillow. No doubt the camera she had planted in his room would pick it up, and frankly he didn’t care. It was another point of data that was going to go on his report of things she had messed up bringing him back to life. Was it petty to have a list of complaints with the person who brought him back from the dead?

Probably, but who cared. She’d left him with a functioning uterus, she could deal with the fallout.

At least it gave him something to focus on as he lay there in the dark, begging for some relief from the little pills. Thanks to his medic training, he knew how long it would take for the medicine to absorb into his system. Experience was an even better teacher, however – his biotics would make it go even faster.

It was weird – they were the reason he was taking the medicine, but they were also the reason it worked faster to relieve the pain. Talk about a catch-22.

Alistair laid there for what felt like an eternity, pain still throbbing against his temples. The soft glow of his omni-tool told him enough time had passed that the pills should have worked. Much to his immense displeasure, he still felt the majority of the pain as he rolled over onto his side.

In times like this, there was only one other hope of relief.

Slowly, the biotic rose to a sitting position, head still pounding. He went for the small table beside his bed, digging through the contents. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, buried towards the back. It took a few seconds more, but he pulled it free into the darkness of his quarters.

“Well… at least I don’t have to clean the one in my toolbox for its intended use.” Alistair grumbled to himself as he flicked his vibrator on to make sure it had enough power. He quietly thanked the universe that it buzzed to life as he clumsily unbuckled his belt, then slid out of his pants and upper layer of boxers. At some point, his packer slipped and hit the ground, but he didn’t care. Right then, it was in the way of pulling down his inner layer of underwear.

He lay back on his pillow, naked from the waist down. Usually, he would pull his blanket over so the Illusive Man didn’t get a show, but right then his brain was overriding whatever sense of shame he had left in him. The bastard could get what he paid for as he flicked the power to a medium setting and then applied it. The vibration soon started to flood through his body as he closed his eyes and waited.

This was always the most boring part. Unlike most people, Alistair didn’t watch porn. He didn’t see anything wrong with it, mind you, he just had no interest. The one time he had tried, he had wound up trying to piece together how it had been edited during one of the more heated moments between the actors on screen. By the time he had realized he had been trying to masturbate, his vibrator had long since died and he was long beyond his occasional need to get off.

Such was the fate of one on the asexual spectrum, he supposed.

“Damn it, can’t this go any faster?”

Alistair grumbled as he flicked the setting a little higher than he normally preferred. Then he shifted positions, pressing it a little harder in the hopes that might do something. The sensation was definitely building in his stomach, but it wasn’t nearly to the point he needed.

He sighed, closing his eyes once more. This was probably the point people made something up if they had nothing to watch. He had certainly tried in the past, particularly in his teens. However, those flimsy fantasies never really held up, and more often than not faded to the blackness of the inside of his eyelids within a few seconds. Whether that was because it didn’t work or he was just really bad at constructing sexy scenarios, he didn’t know.

At least it would be able to distract him while he waited for the vibrator to do its thing…

“Come on, think. You’re surrounded by muscular men literally every day, you have to have something in there to work with.”  

Of course, those people were under him now. It made it a little hard to picture anyone like them… under him. Such was the downside of being a commanding officer: anyone on ship was off limits.

…

Well, technically he WAS still considered dead by the Alliance…

“I am only considering this because I need something to focus on other than the damn ceiling.”

Alistair sighed as he did his best to try and imagine someone based on the people around him. Like always, a body slowly materialized with plenty of muscle underneath him, fully erect and ready to go. It didn’t have a face – it never did, thank God – and something about the skin seemed rather plastic-like. More importantly… they were kind of a dead fish. Even as he imagined himself lowering onto the dick, there was no reaction.

It was because he was still a virgin, wasn’t it? He knew he should’ve paid more attention to that porn, but could you blame him? He just HAD to know what kind of camera they were using to film the climax scenes, it worked so well in low light…

“Damn it, Alistair, fucking focus on the fucking…”

But it was no good – the plastic body remained lukewarm, vaguely thrusting in time with the vibrator pressed against his oft ignored clit.  He was right back to where he had started, and his head still pounded. Sighing, Alistair shut off his vibrator and sat up. As soon as he did, his omni-tool began to beep.

54.

“Great. My head hurts, and I’m hypo.” He didn’t bother with fitting his packer back into his underwear. Instead, the Spectre grabbed his boxers and padded over to his emergency sugar supply. A small pile of pixie stick wrappers soon formed as he tried not to mope too much about his inability to fix his headache. At least the sugar made his lips stop feeling numb, but it wasn’t like he had to use them right then.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and dislodging the rubber band holding it back in the process. “Guess I’ll just try to sleep it off without the added headache relief.”

That was the great thing about being on the ace side of life – no lingering horniness thanks to his inept abilities.

With another sigh, Alistair made his way back to his bed. This time, he slid under the covers and closed his eyes. His head still pounded, but in the quiet of his quarters he found it a little easier to slip into sleep.

---

“Commander…”

“Vakarian, keep on. That’s an order.”

The body beneath him was hot, almost uncomfortably so. Without skin, the surface was hard and a little rocky where plates joined together. It was a little slick too, and not just because of the lube – carapaces were a fucking slip and slide in the bedroom if you weren’t ready for the angles. It was a little uncomfortable, but with positioning - and a little flexibility - things went where they needed to go.

The turian’s eyes were cloudy with blown pupils. He was breathing hard, grasping at the sheets. His erection had long since shown itself, now buried deep.  When he rubbed against it, the collision of their hips made him whimper.

“I can’t hold it much longer…”

He smirked and leaned closed to the strange neck ahead of him, lips barely ghosting against the hard skin. “Are you giving out on me, Vakarian?”

“N-no, sir…” He was panting, trying to rub. But there would be none of that. Alistair shifted his position to make sure he couldn’t find the relief. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again, and his mandibles fluttered once more.

It was here that he took his time, carefully biting at the sensitive parts of the turian’s neck. The whimpering got so high pitched that the translator couldn’t work with it anymore, and his natural voice broke through. There was something primal about it, and even though he didn’t have full command of the words, it was enough to get him to smirk as he stopped biting and ran a carful finger between two plates.

“What was that?”

Garrus’ voice was breathy when the translator finally kicked in. “N-nothing, sir…”

His grip was iron on the sheets, and his entire body was trembling. There was the point of climax, and then there it was past it. Clearly, he was edging towards the latter. Alistair nodded as he shifted his position, lowering a bit more. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again.

“You know what you have to say, Vakarian.”

The turian took a shaky breath, eyes so wide they reminded him of a cat. “Yes, Commander…”

Another shaky breath. “Permission to come aboard?”

It was at this point that Alistair shifted again, fully lowering himself against the turian’s sensitive member, nudging his head close to where he heard best. “Permission granted, Vakarian.”

With that, he rubbed the space between plates one last time, working a nail into right where it was the most sensitive. Beneath him, Garrus shuddered as he finally climaxed, his entire body shaking from the force. All the while, he held on, feeling the vibrations and pulse of the turian’s orgasm.

It was at this point he rolled off to protect himself from the withdrawal. The bad thing about turians was that their anatomy was all internal, regardless of gender. That meant Garrus needed to remove the condom before things got stuck and required an embarrassing visit to a doctor for removal.

“Sir… I…”

Alistair carefully removed the condom for the shaking turian, tossing it to the trash. “Can’t have you out of service, Vakarian.”

“Thank you…” Garrus’ voice was still shaky and going in and out of the translator, but his eyes were more focused. “And you, sir?”

This was the point the turian’s careful hand reached toward him, pausing. He knew better. But right then, Alistair allowed it with a nod. Cautious talons soon found his clit, already slick from a combination of the lube and his own heat.

Here it was faster. Garrus was a pro at getting him off with careful strokes that avoided the sharp side of his clipped talons. The heat was beginning to pool in Alistair’s stomach once more, but he fought back a grunt.

After all, it wouldn’t do to show that in front of his men.

---

Alistair’s eyes snapped open as he sat up. His head still ached, but it wasn’t really his focus then.  A familiar sensation of heat was growing in his stomach as his consciousness slowly filtered in. Without pause, he peeled off both the blanket and his boxers. Just like he thought, he was already wet and close to the point.

Barely breathing, he reached for his vibrator and flicked it on. Garrus’ strained voice and shaking hands were still in his mind as he leaned back and let it work. Just the thought of the turian so close to orgasm and unable to do anything about it caused him to shiver, and it was at that point that it kicked into high gear.

After a few seconds, he climaxed with a shudder and a quiet squeak of a moan. Sweating a little, he turned off the vibrations and just lay there in bed, staring up at the covered ceiling. Someone – probably his sister – had stuck glow in the dark stickers to the dark fabric stretched across the skylight. It looked like Orion’s Belt to him, not that he had ever seen it in person.

…

Yeah, he was definitely trying to avoid this.

“Man, fuck me…”

He sighed. On the bright side, the orgasm had done its job – combined with the medicine, it was easier to think now, and his pounding headache had reduced itself to a dull throb that he could work with. However, now he had a new headache as he sat up to head to the shower.

Garrus’ face was still in his head as he stripped and let the hot water hit his back. Just imagining it made his hand want to wander down from its spot pressed against the wall towards his clit. But he resisted the urge as he shook his head, water flying thanks to his wet hair.

“I can’t believe I went there with him. What the hell am I thinking?”

Alistair rested his forehead against the wall, groaning. This wasn’t the first time he’d had thoughts like this, though it was the first with someone he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, something about that kind of control excited him.

Which, given he was a fucking commanding officer, was a nightmare. It wasn’t like he got off to ordering people around, though; that was business, and he took no pleasure in it. These thoughts just popped up in his private life, in the rare internet searches he did in incognito and made sure his omni-tool was blocking everything out.

“And with Garrus… fuck.”

That was probably the worst part of all as he watched the water circle the drain. Things were better with the turian since they had met up on Omega, but there was being civil and… that. Honestly, it felt awful to him as he played it over again in his mind, closing his eyes tightly.

Awful… but also awfully hot.

His free hand brushed against his thigh, fingers finding his clit. As the water poured down, he rubbed slowly, playing the memory over in his brain. His mind kept focusing on the look on Garrus’ face, on his breathy voice breaking translation. Just imagining him whimpering on the edge of climax with nowhere to go made the heat pool in his stomach. Did the real turian look and sound like that when he was so close to the edge?

“Damn it, Vakarian…”

It came out under his breath in an octave he normally couldn’t hit unless he strained at the bottom of his range. Yet at the moment, it was almost effortless as he replayed the turian underneath him, writhing and unable to do anything about it.

Well, nothing except beg anyway.

Of course, there was a downside to jacking off in the shower. Given the fact he was just standing there, the motion activated lights stopped activating, and he was suddenly in the dark. The quick loss of light was enough to snap him out of the dream and take too quick a step back.

And then on his ass he went.

“Fuck!”

Alistair’s vision swam as he winced, reaching up to turn the water off as his ass throbbed from the force of 140 pounds falling onto it. Nothing felt broken, but there was definitely going to be a bruise once he dried off. Lucky for him, nobody was looking there anyway.

“Shepard, I detected a fall. Are you experiencing hypoglycemic shock?”

EDI’s electronic voice made the whole thing worse as he finally stood, soaking wet and feeling rather stupid. He grabbed for a towel and dried off, wincing as he reached his backside. That one was going to be spectacular.

“I don’t have my omni-tool on, EDI. I’ll let you know in a second.”

A few moments later, with a happy CGM, Alistair sat gingerly at his desk. Now he had two dull throbs to keep him company, along with the reminder of just what the fuck he had been doing a few moments prior. His cheeks colored as he rubbed the towel over his wet hair, trying to block it out.

“Shepard?”

Right, EDI…

“It’s fine, EDI. I just was in there too long and I slipped.” He paused, looking out from under the towel towards the blur orb. “Er, thank you for checking on me.”

What could he say, apart from jacking off to the submissive version of his crewmate, he was a polite man.

The orb clicked off, leaving him to his brooding. Alistair groaned a little as he felt the bruise throb once more. Maybe it was the universe punishing him. Didn’t matter, still fucking hurt as he finished drying off.

“I’m probably going to have to avoid Garrus for a little bit.” He frowned. “Can’t have that happen again. It’d be too awkward…”

But then his eye went to his schedule. His stomach dropped at the sight. Thanks to his headache, he had totally forgotten that he was supposed to check the turian’s new implants to make sure everything was ok. As a matter of fact, he had an hour at best.

He could go to Chakwas for that, right? Right?

“I’m so fucked.”

The human rested his soggy forehead on the deck, mentally willing wherever his dream had come from back to whatever hell it had generated. Lucky for him, he was good at repressing things. With any luck, he wouldn’t even think about it by the time the turian got there for the implant check.

After, though? Well… he was pretty sure he was fucked. Next time he was just going to take a double dose of pain pills. After all, with that new stomach and liver he was pretty sure his body could take that kind of beating. It would be better than the other kind, to say the least.

[weathergirl8]

Master of Deflection - Part 5

LOOK!!!! AN UPDATE!!

My muse has finally cooperated in small helpings and I was finally able to finish this chapter. Here's to hoping it continues. I don't need any more WIPs hanging out in the dark depths of my brain waiting for attention. Also, the dark part of my mind doesn't need any help.

This is for you @ak47stylegirl and anyone else who enjoys Alan whump/smothering. Of course, there will be some extra Virgil in there too, because I just love the big guy.

@misssquidtracy - LOOK SQUIDDY!! AN UPDATE!

@gumnut-logic - Not much Virg, but still Virg :)

@willow-salix - Some smothering John if you'd like (also no beta on this one, 'twas a late night impulse post)

As a friendly reminder, I originally came from the TOS and TB 2004 era. I’ve tried to write a few TAG point of views, but my comfort zone is the previous. This will take place with Gordon as the redhead, and Virgil as the middle bro. Sorry!

Summary: Being the youngest of five is always hard, especially when they pounce at the slightest hair out of line. Sometimes the art of deflection can sting.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John quietly pushed open the door to his youngest brother’s bedroom. Alan laid fast asleep under the strewn covers. The poor kid had clearly been restless. John laid the fresh glass of water on the nightstand and gently checked his baby brother’s forehead. Heat radiated from the eighteen year old’s skin, making the older blonde frown in concern. Pulling his hand away, he pushed a few stray strands of hair that stuck to Alan’s sweaty forehead.

The younger blonde began to stir, letting out a quiet moan as a cough erupted from him. John turned on the light from Alan’s ensuite and wet a washcloth. Returning to his baby brother’s side, John laid the cool cloth along his brother’s forehead.

Alan coughed once more and opened his eyes to the blurry figure leaning over him.

“Hey, Allie,” John smiled as Alan’s eyes slowly focused on him.

“Aww, man, Dad’s overreacting,” Alan groaned. “He pulled you from the station?”.

“Nice to see you too, Squirt,” John chuckled. “No, he didn’t pull me. Brains insisted I come down to give an extra hand while you’re laid up.”

Alan pushed himself up against his headboard, pulling the wet washcloth from his forehead. He reached for a kleenex to blow his nose. “It’ll be nice to have you around. Even if I am sick.”

“How are you feeling?” John asked as he handed his brother a glass of water.

Alan coughed as the water tickled his already irritated throat. “Like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

“You sound like it, kiddo. Anything I can do for you?” John asked as he took the water from Alan and laid it back on the nightstand. He didn’t like how congested Alan sounded. “Are you up to eating anything?”

Alan groaned at the thought of food as he let his head lean against his headboard. “Food doesn’t even sound appealing.”

“You’ve got to eat something, Allie. It’ll keep your strength up to fight this bug. How about some soup?”

“Okay, fine,” Alan agreed as he tried to move out of bed.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going? I’ll bring it to you. You stay here and rest,” John ordered as he pushed Alan back down.

“Okay,” Alan sighed, only causing another coughing fit to erupt. He moaned as he rubbed his chest.

“You okay?” John asked worriedly.

“Peachy,” Alan croaked. “Chest hurts a little. Can you ask Virgil where the humidifiers are? Maybe that’ll help me breathe.”

“Sure,” John smiled in sympathy. “Maybe he can give you something that’ll help with that cough too, along with the congestion.”

“Yea, maybe,” Alan said as he laid his aching head back against his pillow and pulled a blanket back over him as a sudden chill filled his achy body.

“I’ll be right back,” John said, heading for the door.

“Mmm,” Alan muttered and closed his eyes as John left the room.

John quickly made his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, his eyes set on exactly what he was looking for. Kyrano’s homemade soup generally cured any sickness that filled the Island.

Grabbing a tray, John waited for the soup to warm in the microwave. His mind wandered to the day's events. To the rogue Captain and how close two of his brothers came to being hurt.

A beeping sound erupted from the microwave interrupting his thoughts. Turning, the astronaut heard the sound of whistling. John immediately recognized the tune and smiled as Virgil entered the kitchen.

“Hey, John,” the middle Tracy greeted. “How’s the adjustment to Earth? Feeling okay?”

“I’m all good,” John replied, taking the soup out of the microwave and placing it on the tray. “I’m not the one we need to worry about.”

“Alan?” Virgil asked, concerned.

“I just checked on the kid,” John sighed. “He agreed to try some soup, but he complained of his chest hurting and having trouble breathing. He wanted me to check with you for a humidifier. I think he thought it would help.”

Virgil frowned. “Try and see if you can get him to eat, and I’ll meet you in Alan’s room. I’m going to stop in the infirmary and grab a few things.”

“Okay,” John nodded and headed back toward his baby brother’s bedroom.

Entering Alan’s room, the older blonde smirked as he noticed Alan had fallen asleep once more. Turning on the light on Alan’s nightstand, John frowned at how pale his baby brother looked. Rubbing Alan’s arm, John noticed a bruise had formed along the younger astronaut’s arm. Exactly where Captain Stern’s had grabbed him. Anger filled the second oldest but quickly dissipated as Alan’s groggy eyes peered open. “Hey, kiddo. How about we try that soup?”

“Okay,” Alan croaked as he pushed himself up. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he nearly smacked his head against his headboard before John steadied him.

“You okay?” John asked with worry as he helped Alan lean against his headboard.

“I’m fine,” Alan reassured hoarsely, coughing once more. The eighteen year old rubbed his chest in discomfort. Looking down at the soup on the tray John laid in front of him, he smiled. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Sure is, Sprout. Let’s hope it does the trick!”

Alan took a couple of spoonfuls of Kryano’s soup while John rewet the washcloth. A chill shivered its way throughout his whole achy body. Grabbing a blanket from the floor, Alan wrapped it around his body. “This sucks,” he muttered to himself.

“I would have to agree with you,” Virgil grinned as he entered the room. “Lucky for you, I come with presents.”

Alan rolled his eyes as John laid the cold washcloth against the back of his neck. “How the heck can I be freezing, but my body on fire?” he grumbled.

“Let’s check that fever, shall we?” Virgil smirked as he ran the thermometer across his baby brother’s forehead. As the machine beeped, the medic’s smirk dropped.

John peered over Virgil’s shoulder as 101.2 shined across the device, causing both brothers to meet each other with an uneasy gaze. A deep cough erupted from the youngest Tracy, causing him to hold his chest as several coughs followed.

“Alan, does your chest hurt every time you cough?” Virgil asked as he grabbed his stethoscope.

“Just about,” the teen wheezed.

“Okay,” Virgil nodded. “Take a few deep breathes for me if you can.”

Alan did as his brother asked but was quickly overtaken by another coughing fit. “Easy, Allie,” Virgil coaxed, trying not to let his concern show. “I don’t like the sound of that cough. Let’s try another round of meds, and I’ll get the humidifier hooked up to help with your congestion.”

“Whatever you say,” Alan moaned as he closed his eyes and leaned his aching head against his headboard once more.

John looked at him with sympathy. “Do you want to try to eat any more soup?”

“No, I just want to sleep,” Alan said, as John took the tray away and he collapsed back against his bed.

“Get some more rest, Sprout. I’ll come back and check on you in a couple of hours to see how you’re doing,” Virgil said, handing Alan his meds.

The teen gladly took the meds as he watched his older brother start the humidifier, the vapor mist filling the room. “Thanks, Virg.”

“Don’t mention it,” Virgil smiled as he ruffled Alan’s hair. “If you need anything, just reach out, okay?”

“Mmm,” Alan mumbled as he closed his eyes once more.

Virgil turned off the lights and followed John into the hallway, closing Alan’s door behind him. “Should we be worried?” John asked as he turned to meet his closest older brother.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck as he noted the time on his watch. “Viruses are quick-change artists, Johnny. You know this. I’m concerned about that cough and the discomfort in his chest. I’ll check on him in a couple of hours and decide whether we should start him on a round of antibiotics. I’m hoping his body will start to fight it before we get to that.”

John nodded in understanding, his knowledge of medicine filtering in. “Should I loop Dad in?”

Virgil smirked, recognizing John’s need to play communicator even on Earth. “No, not yet. He worries enough as it is. Let’s not give him another reason. I’m hoping to keep him out of Allie’s room as much as possible before he sets up camp. I don’t want to impose the caffeine restrictions unless absolutely necessary.”

John chuckled. Jeff’s consumption of caffeine was well known across the Island in stressful situations. Something Virgil and Jeff’s cardiologist were particularly strict about. “Agreed, let’s not poke the bear.”

“Well, it’s nearly midnight. We better get some sleep before the next mission interrupts us. I’ll be up in two hours to check on the kid,” Virgil said as he headed toward his room.

“Keep me updated, will you? Don’t worry about waking me.”

“F.A.B,” Virgil replied and entered his room. The medic couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry creep its way into his mind. All they could do was wait. After all, it was just a simple virus, right?

TBC...

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 10 - Extinguished

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2060

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: Start of Act 2 of this fic ;3

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

<START OF ACT 2>

The world is hazy and hot, as if the heat is distorting the world around him. And yet Red Son feels ice in his heart, reaching out from his center like slowly forming cracks on a frozen lake. He looks up to see his father, looking at him with disappointment. He shakes his head and turns his back to him. Red Son reaches out his hand and calls to his father. He made a mistake, messed everything up, but that doesn’t mean that his father would leave him. Would he? A desperate ache takes hold of his chest and squeezes the words forming in his throat as he tries to call out. The distorted world blurs into something unrecognizable and covers Red Son in darkness.

Red Son slowly becomes aware of things little by little at first - the scent of something herbal, something soft and fuzzy brushing against his cheek. But a sting of pain or shiver running up his spine wipes the sensations away like smudged marker on a whiteboard.

Eventually he gets frustrated at the lack of coherency that his surroundings are giving him. There’s an itch tickling the area where his ear meets his neck, so he focuses on that and tries to pull himself into consciousness. A pounding headache greets him, and a feeling of being weighed down makes the process slow. He might’ve fallen asleep and woken up again in his attempts. It’s hard to tell. He tries to move his head, and both the headache and the tickling sensation becomes stronger. He focuses on the latter sensation, its annoyance being the fuel he needs to wake him up further. He tries to move to scratch the itch, but something stops his left arm. It feels tied down and won’t move from its position on his chest. A throb stabs at him in both his arm and his sides when he tries to force it to move.

He lets out a pained groan and finally opens his eyes. Though the room he is in is not particularly lit, the light that shines through some windows causes him to squint at the glint of sun. A shiver trembles through his body and despite the light hurting his eyes, he wishes the sun would cast its rays on him more directly because he realizes he is freezing. That is despite the heavy blankets that are pulled over him, which he now understands to be the cause of the weighed down sensation he was feeling. He is laying down in a bed in an unknown location. He blinks and looks around the room he is in. It’s bathed in blues, with some green plants dotted around the place giving it an almost sea-garden feel. And it is filled with cats. A couple bold ones that were laying on the edge of the bed he is in get up and inch towards him.

The feeling of being observed by the cats and the dawning that he does not know where he is jolts him awake suddenly and he shifts to sit up. A vicegrip squeezes around his arm and chest in this motion. He’s hurt. He groans loudly and hunches over slightly holding his middle with his free hand. He notices that his right hand is bandaged, and the left arm is wrapped in something stiff with a secondary cloth strapping it to his body, making his left arm and shoulder practically immobile. Most of his exposed skin seems to have bandages as well. What happened? Flashes of the confrontation he had with The Monkey King and then his father sweep across his vision. His father attacked him. Hurt him. No, it wasn’t his father’s fault, it was his own fault. His father had been overcome by the very fire he wielded. He tugs at his shirt with his free hand, anxiously. The fabric feels wrong and he further notices that he is not in his usual clothes and is instead in what looks like a loose pinkish-red robe. He was put in different clothes?

A curious meow snaps Red Son’s attention away from his thoughts. One of the cats, a blueish one with a red tuft of fur on its head, had gotten very close to him. He pulls away and yelps, partially in surprise, and partially in pain. The cat, likewise does a little jump, and walks back a few steps before yowling much more loudly behind its shoulder.

Its call seemingly summons someone, as a booming voice yells from another room, “Coming, Mo! Is he awake?!”

Red Son sucks a breath in as a very large, blue-skinned man with a bright orange mohawk steps into view. He recognizes him as one of the Noodle Boy’s companions. It’s the giant blue one, who is very muscular, with hands that look like they could easily wrap around his head and crush him. He’d never come up against this man in a close fight and didn’t know what he was capable of, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Instinct pushes him to bolt.

He scrambles the best he can with one free arm and a stiff and injured body to the side of the bed farthest away from the man. He can hear him saying something about ‘Don’t move or you’ll make your injuries worse,’ but he paid them no attention. He hears the large footsteps come closer and he desperately tries to get out of bed. His bare feet touch a too cold floor and another shiver wracks through his body, hitting every sore spot on the way. When he tries to put weight on his legs, they jiggle, and between that and what feels like a knife stabbing at his right ankle it causes his knees to buckle and he falls to the floor in a painful heap.

“Oh dear,” comes the voice of the Blue One as Red Son hears him shift around the bed.

He has to get up! Red Son ignores the pounding in his head and grits his teeth, as he uses the leverage of the bed to right himself. But his feet do not listen to him, and all he can do is push himself farther into the small space between the bed and the wall. The only escape on the end of the bed has been filled in by the hulking form of his enemy. “Let me help.” The large blue skinned man reaches out to Red Son, who shrinks back.

He’s hurt and can’t stand, can barely move, and being backed up between the bed and the wall, he has the distinct feeling of being cornered. His whole body is trembling in a way that he can’t stop as the world seems to box him in. He pushes his back against the wall, wishing he could just disappear into it, and squints his eyes shut.  With as much strength he can muster he yells, trying to keep the fear and desperation out of his voice, “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

A moment passes. When no presence is felt, he cautiously opens his eyes and looks up. He is surprised to see that his shout was heeded and that the large man has pulled his hands away. The man has a look of almost hurt, and a bit of pity on his face. Red Son appreciates neither.

“I’m sorry,” says the Blue One. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not hurt.”

Red Son breathes for a moment, looking the large man up and down. He has knelt down in the gap between the bed and the wall, still blocking Red Son’s exit, but leaving him ample space so that the room feels less oppressive.

“H-hurt…?” Red Son says around a tremble. “O-of course I’m hurt! Don’t you see the bandages, you buffoon!” He tugs absently at the blanket that is hanging part-way off the bed.

“Well, yes I suppose that is a given. I-uh I’m the one who bandaged you. Your other shirt was kinda ripped up so I gave you a spare robe. I hope that’s okay…?” the Blue One says, almost sheepishly.

Red Son manages to tug the blanket off of the bed and pulls it around himself as best he can in the somewhat cramped space. “Well, you could’ve given me something warmer, do you always keep your little shack so freezing cold?!” he says with a sneer, while trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

The man looks almost surprised and looks like he’s about to contradict, but instead says, “Are you cold? I could get you some warm tea to drink!”

Before Red Son can respond, the man sweeps out of the room leaving him to sit there, with his mouth partially hanging open.

Red Son wonders what his plan is. What was the big guy up to? He supposes he could just leave if he wanted. If he could actually stand that is. He looks around and some other curious cats have started crowding around him.

“Go away!” he yells at them angrily. At his yell, he notices something is off. Normally during his outbursts, his hair would flair up. That reminded him of the tickling sensation from earlier. He moves his hand to the itchy spot and finds that his hair is there. Lying flat against his head and draped over his shoulders and down his back. No longer in its usual pony-tail and flickering with his emotions. Before he can dwell on that, the Blue One has entered the room again.

“Now now, kitties, he doesn’t like it when you get too close, so give him space,” the Blue One admonishes the cats. They weave in between his legs, and the man gracefully balances his form around them while carrying a teapot and mug. He places the mug on a tray, and scoots the tray across the floor to Red Son, careful to not get close.

Red Son eyes the green liquid and the blue man, and cautiously picks up the mug. But instead of taking a sip, he holds it close to him, greedily trying to embrace the warmth.

And that’s when he notices something strange again.

 Red Son can’t feel it.

Yes, he can physically feel the cup and the heat on his skin with his hands wrapped around it. But he can’t feel the warmth. Not really. Not with his powers. Not with his whole self. He can’t feel the ebb and flow of the steam that wafts out of the tea. Nor the pulsing of the energy from the warm liquid.

He tries to reach out with his powers and interact with the heat. Pull it in, make it stronger, do something, but he realizes that he can’t. Nothing happens. Shakily taking in a breath, he tries to activate his flames. He commands sparks to dance on his fingers. They do not. He squints his eyes and tries to make his hair flare up like it usually does with his abilities. But instead it continues to lay limply on his shoulders. He attempts to conjure heat from his center in hopes of warming himself up. But it doesn’t work.

He is cold. He feels empty. And it is as if a part of him is cut off from a section of the world that he used to participate in.

He can’t do anything.

He swallows thickly and grinds his teeth. His breaths pick up and his shoulders shudder. He holds the cup in a white-knuckled grip, before angrily throwing it across the floor. Even that motion has no real power behind it, and the mug thunks anticlimactically on the ground, chipping the edge slightly and causing the still warm liquid inside to dribble out lazily across the floor. He sees the steam and is reminded that that is all he can do. Only watch. Not control.

The blue stranger fusses about the spilt liquid and goes about cleaning it up, but Red Son pays him no mind. Instead, he pulls at the blankets around him and buries his face in the covers. It’s too much. The cold. The pain. The deep loss suddenly consuming him. His head feels fuzzy, and his chest is stabbed with pain with each shuddering, fast-paced breath. These sensations buzz together until they take over his entire being and everything becomes void.

start || <– previous // next –>

[monofpoke4life]

Datr Week 2020 Day One: Missing You

(Totally forgot yo upload this last year. I think I was unhappy with it, but I can’t remember why. Anyway, please enjoy)!

"So how'd you know to do that thing to Chunk earlier?" His young voice squeaked, echoing into the dark, shapeless abyss.

"Any enemy can be felled with the right jab. It's just a matter of knowing where to hit. Most are susceptible to major and vulnerable organs like the kidneys or liver. I am particularly fond of throat punches. They're ideal for stunning an opponent while leaving them alive for questioning." Replied a feminine and distinctly accented voice.

A frown tugged at the corner of his lips, yet all it did was morph a frown briefly into a pout and back.

He felt his brow furrow, as the world suddenly came into view. It was like turning on your phone in the middle of the night. Blinding and full of color at its sudden appearance, but it didn't strain his eyes as they continued on their walk. A set path expanding in front of them far beyond their view, but materializing in front of them with each new step. One he walked what felt like a million times before. No different than all of the other times he walked it. Just the same old sidewalk with the same old cracks that were on his way from the school to his house.

Certainly nothing looked out of the ordinary, and yet, this walk was entirely different. It would be one thing if it were just the electrified thrum in his veins or the ecstatic beat of his heart from the idea of catching Zim in one of his alien schemes or running home to watch a new episode of Mysterious Mysteries. However, it was neither of those things, and had everything to do with the young lady walking beside him.

There was a tingle in his leg, but he paid it no mind as he chuckled, "I'll keep that in mind the next time those bullies try to stuff me in the trash again." He shook his head at the memory from earlier that day, before he pointed out, "But you still never answered my question." Her steely gaze of rare, purple eyes flicked over to meet his own bespectacled gaze as he elaborated, "I know you're British, but come on, "keep them alive for questioning?" You sound like you're from MI6 or something. I mean, where do you learn techniques like that?"

"Girly Rangers," came her little too clipped reply as she turned her head, giving him her full, narrow eyed attention.

At that, his heart suddenly jumped into throat. He could easily get lost in her eyes. His breath quickened just a tad as a wave of nerves crashed into him. Both the expected good kind, and unexpectedly bad kind, settling sourly in his stomach.

They stared a moment later before he called her bluff, and she quipped, "If I didn't find the idea ludicrous myself I'd have swatted at you." She shook her head as a genuine smile graced her lips, before she looked up to the bare branches of the trees that lined their walk, as she continued, "My mother was in the military. You pick up a thing or two with those you live with."

He felt the pin prickling feeling of a chill run down his spine, starting at his neck, yet his body lacked the telltale twitch as he excitedly murmured, "That's so cool!" At that remark, the corner of her lips twitched into a proud smirk at his unsubtle praise. Realizing she heard him, his face grew hot. He wanted to turn away, crawl into a hole, but the sight of her amused, gentle smile kept his eyes riveted to hers. 

"S-so what else did she teach you? Anything useful I could use on my paranormal investigations?"

The anxiety in his gut increased, and a familiar dread set in, waiting patiently for his world to shatter. The kind of dread that makes somebody want to hide under a blanket from the world. Yet he heeded it no mind as his lips parted into a shy yet ecstatic smile.

"Sure, one more tip couldn't hurt," she said, murmuring the last part more to herself. "Well, body language is always telling. When someone is lying their eyes will look up and to the right because they’re tapping into the imaginative part of the brain.”

“Wow, so you’re like a walking, talking lie detector?”

“You can if you train yourself enough,” she said nonchalantly.

“Could you teach me?” He inquired as a fluttery feeling in his gut returned. His arm nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he continued, a little too quickly, “Maybe you come over my house some time and-”

“I beg your pardon?” She inquired quizzically, yet something in her voice had an edge to it. Ice filled his veins at that, and he stammered and scrambled to recover, “I mean or your place is fine. Of course, only if you wanted to, but nobody ever usually wants to. Actually, no place is fine then. Look let’s just pretend this never happened and-”

His heart dropped from his chest only to roar within his ears as he felt a delicate finger lightly touch his lips. He froze. He didn’t dare to breathe let alone talk; meanwhile his eyes fixated upon the dainty appendage touching him. If he didn’t know better, a spark spread from her to him, electrifying him from the inside out. His whole body grew hot, and he felt like his brain would melt from the radiant blush that was surely upon his cheeks.

“Hm, so that’s where you’re off button is,” she mused aloud as she pulled her hand away. Her eyes shined with silent mirth. He gulped and could practically hear himself audibly swallow. Gawd she had to have known what that clever smile did to him! Forget his brain melting, he was going to melt into a puddle at her feet.

Dazed, he saw her lips move, yet didn’t hear a word she said.

“Sorry, I spaced out. What was that?”

“You shouldn’t apologize. It’s a sign of weakness,” she chided. He felt confused and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she continued, “I said that’s very kind of you, but unfortunately my parents and I are still adjusting from the move; however, once we’re settled, I’d love to come over.”

He blinked owlishly behind his round glasses. His flushed face cooling down within the time it took to sink in. However, when it did finally sink in, he grinned so hard his face felt like it could split in half.

“That’s great! I can’t wait until then! How long do you think that will take? Maybe a week? Oh I need time to prepare and clean my room-er-not that it’s not clean, I-” He abruptly cut off his ramble as he saw her finger raise once more. He skittered backwards with his trench coat flapping with his rapid movements. The usually heavy yet oddly light feeling backpack nearly threw him off balance, but he managed not to fall.

She snickered. His heart skipped a beat, and a warmth coalesced in his chest, emboldening him.

“How does this Saturday sound,” He asked with all of the courage and grace a socially outcast boy, like himself, could with his first real friend. The first person who made him feel secure and supported since...gawd, he couldn’t remember! He couldn’t think!

By that point they started walking again, and that dread came back tenfold. His untrained eyes followed her right hand as she tucked a dark blue strand of hair behind her ear. A gust of forceless wind slammed into them, and it appeared as though she turned her head to shield it from the winter wind. She was always honest with him up until that point, so he had no reason to doubt her. No reason to notice how the motion drew his attention away from her eyes.

But he knew to look for it now, and all of the other times his mind replayed it over and over again within his head. On this night, as it had so many times before, that dread feeling his gut finally crashed to the forefront as everything went dark, and squealing, victorious laughter surrounded him like a stereo system. 

He went to scream, to shout, warn her, anything! Yet nothing came out. In fact, she was gone. He whipped around in an attempt to find her. As he looked behind himself, he went to turn back around, and there she was in all of her green, alien, Irken glory as she rushed at him with pak leg raised. When she was so close he could see the darker, barely discernible, purple of her pupils did he finally gasp and rocket himself into an upright position. Eyes shooting open as he nearly fell out of bed.

His stomach roiled as a brief wave of vertigo hit him from moving too quickly, especially without his glasses. With the grace of a lean yet gangly teen, he leaned on his side towards the edge of the bed. His arm flopped onto the end table beside his bed, and he hung his head between the space that separated the two as he let the wave pass. He also took the time to catch his breath.

Once recovered, he raised his head to blearily look for his glasses in the dark. After a few near misses of lightly brushing against them, Dib finally managed to snag them. As he placed them upon his face, he frowned at the sight of the slight tremble of his hand.

At the reminder of his memory, that nightmare, Dib growled at himself as he flopped onto his back. He yelped and flinched as a sharp pain shot up his leg, having hit his ankle off of a bedpost. 

The pain quickly went away as swiftly as it came, and Dib huffed and sighed. His forearm falling back to rest upon his forehead. Barely awake and he was already exhausted. Of course, the fact that he had that blasted dream again didn't help at all.

At the thought of the dream again, Dib growled and rolled over onto his side, facing the wall and his open window. He knocked his glasses up towards his forehead as he rubbed his clenched shut eyes with the heel of his palms. If only he could forget and move on. That would make his life so much easier.

And yet...the thought of forgetting Tak or how she made him feel...he could never do it. Just the idea made his heart race into a panic and sent his mind into a whirlwind. His childhood crush aside, Tak was his first friend. A real friend, or so he thought.

Pfft, just his luck that his first friend turned out to be an alien who only talked to him for his information on Zim. The thought triggered a dull, painful ache to grow within Dib's chest. One more powerful than the pain of her trying to destroy the earth. With him on it.

Dib shifted his right arm under his pillow to further support his head while he opened his eyes to pensively glare at his drumming fingers.

"Four freaking years and I still can't get you out of my head," he grumbled to one person in particular. Not that she'd ever hear him, being flung into space in her ship's escape pod and all.

The pod. Possibly drifting aimlessly in the vacuum of space. Cold and lifeless as the metal shell encasing Ta- 

He shook his head to dispel the direction of his thoughts. However, he didn't do it fast enough as he felt the slight burning tingle of his eyes welling up with tears only for one to slide down his cheek.

He grumbled some more as he wiped it away and gazed up at the midnight blue sky. The busy tizzy of his mind slowed down to a crawl as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. In and out. Find his happy place and think happy thoughts, or at least ones different from those that woke him up.

It almost worked too, as the angry tension in his muscles slowly evaporated from his body. His limbs became noodle-like and his facial muscles relaxed. The drumming stopped, and his mind drifted into a hazy fog of nothingness. He liked the nature of the nothingness. By definition, there was nothing there. Nothing that could potentially hurt him physically or mentally.

In and out. He pondered the nothingness, and how something so endless in area and possibilities could give him a sense of security, like being wrapped within a warm blanket.

Then, Dib's mind drifted to the thought of security, as it always did. The lack of it, how he could hold onto it, how he could find it within himself or others, and then finally when was the last time he felt it.

"Ya know they're wrong, right?" Tak's voice echoed from a memory that felt like decades ago. 

His younger self jumped at that, looking over at her from where she sat beside him in the library. She'd broken him out of a very important task...which was to stare morosely at his unopened book.

"Hm, what was that," He inquired, trying to sound tired to hide the sadness in his tone.

Her purple eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. As per usual her penetrating gaze felt like she could see right inside him, reading him like an open book. However, she chose to ignore it in favor of the topic at hand. 

"I said, ya know they're wrong, right? About you?"

His eyes widened in surprise at that.

"O-oh?" He paused a moment, before his brow furrowed and he inquired further, "About what exactly?" It wasn't like he didn't believe Tak. Dib had no reason to doubt her, but years had cautioned him to not get his hopes up. 

He watched her frown a moment as she paused. The question caught her off guard as she clearly thought it would be a one and done statement. However, ever the perfectionist, she persisted to speak her opinion of him.

Glaring at the pencil she twisted between her fingers, she elaborated, "Well, a lot of things. The most prominent, though, is that you're not crazy for being different, for believing in the paranormal."

He sat up straighter at that as he continued to stare in astonishment, watching her wearily for any sign of a lie. He found none, but still felt the need to ask, "Really, you mean that?"

"Of course! There's nothing wrong with being different. It-" She trailed off at that. He ignored the part of his brain that thought her brow furrowed pensively was cute. This was a serious, heartfelt situation, and it wasn't the time to make googly eyes at someone who probably didn't like him that way.

He opened his mouth to offer a word, in order to help her along, but she continued before he could.

"It doesn't make you wrong. You- you're not- you're not defective." At the word "defective," it came out of Tak's mouth with as much disdain as one would use when talking about the city's cesspool, and her gaze immediately snapped up to look him in the eye.

A part of Dib felt like she wasn't just talking to him at that moment, especially as shortly after she said it, she unconsciously snapped the pencil in half. It made him wonder who hurt her or called her that in the past, what was their address, and could he beat them up. Well, maybe die trying, but preferably not.

The other part of Dib felt like she meant every single word. Even after everything that would happen later, he still felt she meant it. The way her determined stare carved into his very soul, refusing to look away until he agreed with her. How those amethyst orbs tenaciously glared and willed him to take to heart her words of wisdom, but most importantly; the earnest, raw edge of emotion that slipped into her voice. 

No matter how brilliant of an actor she was, she couldn't fake that.

The full meaning of her words combined with her body language finally sank in and a blissful warmth settled in his chest. It quickly spread to every neuron and nerve until it felt like pure happiness, contentment, and safety was going to erupt from his mouth in the form of the widest grin he'd ever make.

However, he had enough sense to not grin at her like a fool or madman. His entire body thrummed with energy and oddly a sense of calm. 

For once in his life he felt relaxed, safe, peaceful even. Relaxed to just let things play out, and to have faith in her as his friend, as he did for her. He could say or do anything, and she'd have his back, always giving her 110 percent. It felt...blissful.

However, that bliss couldn't last, just like the nothingness as the memory faded in exchange with his conscious state. Before it fully faded, he remembered he got her to laugh

 Not a laugh at someone's misfortune, like Zim, or being victorious against those bullies, like Chunk, but a genuine, gentle laugh with a small smile to match.

The memory faded, and he opened his tear filled eyes once more. As they dripped onto his pillow, he curled in on himself. His heart was as erratic as his breathing. Trying not to sob aloud kind of does that to you.

Gawd how he missed that feeling of security, of being supported, of someone having his back, and boy did he miss the one who made him feel that way.

Ironic how an alien could act more and treat him like a human than the real humans. And there's a high chance that all of that was fake. If it wasn't, well, it was four years too late to think about that.

A choked sob escaped his lips as he angrily sighed out the window, "I hate that I miss you."

[one-boring-person]

Hey Stranger.

John "Ace" Merrill x reader

Warnings: vaguely bad language, mention of injury (very vague)

Context: This was requested by @theghostof-myndi , so here it is! The overview of the request is like this: Ace and the reader are childhood friends, though the reader moved away from Castle Rock at some point in the fifties (given that this is now set in the sixties). When the reader eventually moves back with her father, she and Ace resume their friendship as he shows her around again, the two of them getting along very well and basically flirting with each other (unfortunately I'm terrible at writing flirting so it's not particularly obvious in this) . The fathers of the two know that they like each other and work to get them together, given that they are also old friends.

A/N: There will most likely be a part two to this fic! I haven't quite gotten to what is probably the better part of the actual plot, but I will write it at some point soon with the help of @jawline-of-steel , whose help I have enlisted to help me with ideas.

Edited By: @jawline-of-steel

Masterlist

"Hey, Stranger, it's been a while." A familiar voice greets from behind me, the perpetually snarky tone unchanged and still as rough as it used to be.

Whirling around, I grin as I recognise the person standing behind me, my instincts taking over as I lunge forward and wrap him into a hug, pressing my face into his shoulder with happiness.

"Ace! It's been too long!" I exclaim, smiling broadly as he returns the embrace and crushes me into him, burying his face into my hair like he used to do.

"Yeah, where've you been these last few years? You've missed so much!" The blonde pulls away slightly to look down at me, his icy blue eyes regarding me carefully as I shrug.

"Eh, we've been near enough everywhere." I reply, moving so I can stand back, looking him over, "It's good to be back, though. You're gonna have to fill me in on what's different now."

"How about I show you around again? That way I can introduce you to all the new assholes that have joined the Cobras and show you what's changed in town." Ace offers, gesturing to his car, "The new look is great, by the way, doll."

I blush slightly at the old nickname, thanking him as I climb into his car, picking up the baseball bat that he has propped against the dashboard.

"You guys still go around knocking down mailboxes?" I ask, thinking back to all the times we used to do it as teens, back when none of us had any inhibitions and the only problems we had were trying to hold up a reputation in town.

"Yeah, but only when my ass of a dad isn't looking." He smirks, "Wanna play a bit now?"

"Game on, Blondie." I respond, taking the bar in hand as he climbs into the car and starts it up, pulling out of the parking lot we were in and onto the main road, where there are fewer cars than I remember, "Hey, what happened to everyone? I swear there were more people around?"

He nods, shrugging a little as he navigates the sparse traffic, chewing lightly on the toothpick in his mouth.

"There were, but most people moved away over time. Now nearly everyone that lives here is from the old families, and everything is basically family owned, too." He explains quickly, pointing out a small diner as we go past that has a flickering neon sign hanging outside it, the word unclear as we speed past.

"Oh." Is all I say, before I stand up in my seat, the bat ready in my hand as I line up with the next mailbox I can see. Gripping the bat with two hands, I swing hard at it as we approach, whooping loudly as the bat clangs against the metal, knocking it to the floor with a crash behind us. Knowing the rules of the game, I instantly get ready to strike again, managing to knock down a good eight before I miss one, only just tapping it as we go past.

"Aw, come on! You swerved on purpose!" I complain jokingly, pouting as I sit back down in my seat, "You want a go?"

"Sure, I'm gonna completely show you up!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Blondie." I lean over and take the wheel for him, steering the car as he stands up and starts batting down the mailboxes that are unfortunate enough to lie on our route.

Looking up at him, I smirk to myself and wait until we're close to another one, harshly jerking the car to the side before he can actually hit it, drawing a frustrated groan from the blonde standing over me. He swiftly returns to his seat, taking the wheel from me as we steer back into town.

"You totally cheated." He says decisively, looking across at me with his signature grin, to which I act mockingly offended.

"How could you even imply that? I would never!"

"Yeah right." Ace chuckles, shaking his head.

Laughing, I turn to look at the surroundings, remembering all of the more dilapidated shops and houses, alongside some of the larger, grander ones, which I've always enjoyed looking at. As we drive, we pass another parking lot, where a group of boys are standing around their cars, smoking and talking with one another, beer bottles held in hand as they laugh and joke about. Upon passing them; Ace calls out to them, waving at them genially as they do the same.

"Friends of yours?" I question him once we've passed, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Not really. They're just members of the gang that I have to keep up appearances with. Their old men are pretty big around here." He clarifies, rolling his eyes at the reminder.

"Their old men? Since when do they make a difference?"

"Since they took over the Cobras. My old man is the leader, but they're still pretty important." 

"Oh. I guess my dad will be looking for a place in the group, too, then." I muse, rubbing my temples a little.

"Yeah, most likely." Ace frowns and looks over at me, "We gave you the mark, didn't we?" 

"Yeah, you did." I confirm, easily recalling the pain from the knife as it cut the cobra shape into my upper arm.

"That's good. It means you're already basically a part of the gang, so you'll fit right in."

"Like I wouldn't anyway." I chuckle, punching his arm playfully.

*

"You know, I reckon they'd make a great pair, those two." Ace's father comments to (Y/n)'s, gesturing with his beer to the two young adults as they talk with each other, sitting very closely and behaving as if no time had passed between them.

"Yeah, they would. I don't think (Y/n) ever really gave up on him." The other man responds, taking a sip from his own drink.

"John definitely didn't. He's shown no interest towards the other sex since you guys left, except of course to fuck someone, but that never really means anything to him."

"Likewise with (Y/n). She has never brought home another boy who has stayed any longer than a few days."

The two of them stay in silence for a minute, both starting to think up a plan that could help them bring together their children again.

"We've gotta figure something out. We owe it to them, and to ourselves." Ace's father eventually breaks the quiet, sighing deeply.

"Yeah we do." (Y/n)'s father thinks a moment longer, "You know, I think I've just had an idea."

"You have?" The older Merrill shoots a surprised look at his friend.

"I have." 

"Let's hear it then."

Grinning, the two men lean into each other, conspiring together as they used to back in their day.

[quicksilversquared]

A Very Jagged Take-Down Ch 1: Dissonant Chord

Marinette knows Jagged Stone, everyone knows that. She's his favorite niece, never mind the fact that they aren't actually related. And Jagged Stone is really famous, the exact kind of person that Lila loves claiming connections to.

That was never going to end the way Lila wanted it to.

(a collection of one-shots)

links in the reblog

Jagged Stone could admit that sometimes, he was a little bit oblivious to how other people were feeling. He was a little too boisterous, too distractible, too caught up in his own thoughts and ideas and plans. It caused problems, sometimes- Jagged had butted heads with more record managers than he cared to think about because his artistic vision differed from theirs, and sometimes he didn't come off particularly well in interviews because he was too busy thinking about other things to notice an interviewer trying to ask a different question- but he was working on it, and if he was oblivious to something, well, he did have Penny to clue him in.

Still, Jagged Stone had been trying to improve. Penny had been pretty stressed out on several occasions recently, and he had wanted to ease some of her load by being at least a little more observant. He had thought that he was doing really well.

Considering that he had apparently missed his niece's upset mood during his last visit to commission a stage outfit from her, he apparently wasn't doing as well as he wanted to.

"What do you mean, she was off?" Jagged Stone implored Penny again. "Penny, if I'm going to learn..."

"She was hiding it pretty well, to be fair," Penny assured him. "Especially when you were looking. But when your back was turned, she looked kind of stressed."

Jagged Stone frowned. That wasn't a good thing! Maybe he could help, though. "Do you know what she was upset about?"

"Do I- no, Jagged, I cannot figure out what people are upset about by looking at their body language!" Penny exclaimed, clearly exasperated. "And I didn't want to pry, not when she was trying to be professional with coming up with ideas for your commission."

Jagged Stone considered that. Then he perked up. "Do you think that you, just maybe, could sneakily bring it up with Marinette when you go over with my measurements tomorrow? If I can help my niece with anything, I want to!"

"Yes, yes, I can try," Penny promised, and then she sighed, rolling her eyes. "And we've talked about this, Jagged Stone. Marinette is not your niece."

"Who says that she isn't?" Jagged Stone demanded, planting his fists on his hips. "My niece in rock-n-roll! Her CD cover and glasses and the songs they inspired put me back at the top of the charts. I am an artist, she's an artist- family in actually kickass artistry!"

He didn't understand why Penny was rolling her eyes. Really.

  Penny returned the next day with several design sketches and barely hidden anger bubbling away under her professional demeanor. Jagged Stone picked up on it right away, ushering Penny into their room at the Grand Paris and getting her settled with a platter of her favorite chocolates.

He was rather proud of himself for that, really. He was learning! He hadn't missed Penny's stress!

"I found out what happened," Penny told him, inhaling a chocolate in one bite. She chewed angrily, then swallowed. "A week before we went over for brainstorming, Marinette got expelled from her school after getting framed for cheating, thief, and hurting another student. The other student walked back on her claims the next day," Penny added hastily before Jagged Stone could grab his guitar and storm over to Dupont to bash their blundering principal over the head. He hadn't been impressed by the man the one time- or was it two times, he really couldn't remember- that they had met, and clearly there was a reason for that. "And her expulsion was retracted. But she's still facing some skepticism from her teachers and classmates over the whole thing."

"Who would want to frame Marinette?" Jagged Stone demanded, thoroughly baffled. "Marinette is fantastic! They'd have to be a cruel, heartless soul to do such a thing."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of what this girl sounds like, honestly." Penny took another angry bite. "Marinette was telling me all about her. It's the daughter of a diplomat- or that's what she claims, at least- who keeps making up all of these stories about things she's done and people she's met. Marinette is one of the only people who doesn't believe a word she says, and the only one willing to call Lila out."

Jagged Stone nodded in approval. "Calling out bullies and liars is very rock and roll!"

"Less so when it gets her framed and expelled, but yes." Penny flopped back in her chair, then perked back up. "Something Marinette said- well, it sounded almost as though the liar girl was claiming connections to you. She stopped herself before I could get much more out of her, though."

He nearly exploded with indignation at that. "The liar girl is trying to use me to boost her status? How dare she! And going after my niece while she does-"

Penny sighed in exasperation. "No matter how often you say it, Marinette isn't actually your niece-"

"I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense," Jagged Stone announced, surging to his feet as a surge of energy hit him. Maybe he wasn't going to be in Paris for the next couple of weeks because he was on tour, but, well, that just gave him time to plan. "No liar will use my name to hurt Marinette! Now, if I can grab my computer-"

"We're meant to be heading to the train station to go to London in twenty minutes," Penny reminded him. "For a meeting in London with the new record company you were considering switching to."

"Of course! Penny, I would be lost without you." Jagged beamed at her, then dashed across the room. "I can bring my computer on the train! Plenty of time to think there, no problem. We have a private compartment, so I won't even be interrupted!"

Behind him, Penny could only sigh.

  It wasn't hard to find more information on the liar in Marinette's class. All it had taken was going to Marinette's social media, going to her Ladyblogger friend's page, and from there finding Alya's personal blog.

He felt a bit strange flipping through a teen girl's personal blog and it certainly wasn't something he would ever do normally, but Jagged Stone was on a mission and Alya's blog was a veritable treasure mine. Not even three minutes after he first found the blog, Jagged Stone had learned who the liar girl in question was and had found several of the claims that she had made, all so absolutely outrageous that Jagged Stone had to wonder how anyone believed them in the first place.

But outrageous or not, they had also given him an idea.

Lila had claimed that she had saved his cat, and that he had written a song for her in thanks. Now, he definitely wasn't going to be thanking her for anything, but he could certainly write a song about her.

It wasn't going to be flattering, and it wasn't going to call Lila out by name- Penny had helpfully informed him that doing so would probably land him in legal trouble, even before he had been able to voice the idea (which was super rock-n-roll, actually, that they were so much on the same wavelength!)- but the details that he was going to refer to, courtesy of the blog, would mean that anyone familiar with Lila would know exactly who he was referring to.

Jagged Stone already had some lyrics scribbled out on a sheet of paper and a couple bars of music to go with it, and it was going to be a banging song. Like, top-of-the-charts, definitely-on-the-radio, impossible-to-miss banging.

"The main problem I'm foreseeing here is that it takes time to release a song," Penny reminded Jagged as she bundled him and Fang into a town car and then got in herself. "You need at least seven songs usually in an album, and then there's the studio time, you know that, and-"

"So it'll get released as a single for now," Jagged Stone told her, because obviously he wasn't going to leave Marinette hanging for longer than he had to. What kind of uncle would he be if he did that? "Singles take less time! I can probably have a demo by the end of the week, and then if we can get a recording studio in any of the cities that we actually spend some time in, then I can get the tracks recorded and all ready for mixing and- oh!" Jagged froze, struck by the most perfect idea. "If we can get Marinette to do the cover art for the single, that would be perfect! Then she gets her bully taken down and some money besides- yes, I'll tell her about it right away and work around her schedule, Penny, I already know that- and I get some more awesome art!"

Penny rubbed her forehead, right between her eyebrows, but didn't protest further. "All right. But you know that if you want a cover that'll go along with the single, Marinette needs some direction. I just don't know how you'll keep it all a surprise."

"She can get the background demo tracks and a prompt list of words," Jagged Stone told her at once, because he had already considered that. He had been working on getting better at not leaving all of the thinking and planning up to Penny, too, even if she hadn't quite gotten used to that yet. "That will help her come up with a cover. And look, I've already started!"

"I...see that."

By the time they had boarded the train and were halfway to London, Jagged had gotten the main part of the song written down. The lyrics just needed tweaking, the drums could probably be shaken up, and he wanted to add a few more backing tracks and play with some effects, but he had been inspired and it showed.

"I'll check it against your other songs after the meeting and make sure that you're not accidentally borrowing from an old song," Penny told him as he enthusiastically tapped his pen against the seat of his chair, trying out different drum beats with the tune. "And then I suppose we can start work on demo tracks, if you're so determined to get this out fast."

Jagged Stone grinned. "That sounds perfect."

  In what was surely Jagged Stone's fastest turnaround time ever, he was ready. The song was written, the demo tracks had been polished up into the final tracks and had been professionally recorded and mixed, Marinette had gotten the single's art done (and it was amazing, of course, somehow absolutely perfectly fitting the song even though Marinette hadn't heard the lyrics yet), and everything was ready, all within a month's time.

(His new record company was none too thrilled that he hadn't given them time to promote it, but, well, he was big enough to drop a new single out of nowhere and have it succeed, so did it really matter?)

And then it dropped Monday morning. By mid-morning Paris time, it had exploded all over the radio and thousands of people had bought it already. His new record label was applauding it as a huge success, all of their complaints about the lack of promotion forgotten, critics were already praising both the song and the cover art-

-and Jagged Stone didn't care. He was more focused on if the song had done its work and had gotten rid of Marinette's liar problem.

"You are not allowed to call her up and beg to know what's going on," Penny instructed him sternly. "Marinette is in class right now, and you know that she'll reach out and keep you updated when she can. Now either sit down and stop pacing, or go give Fang a bath. Heaven knows that that will keep you busy."

"Oh, I suppose." Fang deserved a bath after putting up with their most recent bout of traveling, after all. Travel grime was ugh, even on a crocodile. "But let me know as soon as Marinette texts! I won't be able to check my phone, since my hands will be all wet, but I wanna know!"

"I promise. Now go, shoo- you're distracting me!"

Jagged shooed.

  Marinette had been a bit distracted all morning, and for once, it wasn't because of Adrien or her Guardian duties.

Ever since Jagged Stone had told her that he was going to be dropping a new single soon and asked her to do the art, Marinette had been looking forward to the song coming out. She didn't know what the song was about, exactly- Jagged Stone was being strangely cagey about getting any more specific about the lyrics- but he had sent along a basic demo track along with a few prompt words for her illustration and it sounded amazing. She could only imagine how awesome the final version- properly mixed, with all of the instruments ironed out and vocals and everything- would sound.

(And now it had some pretty awesome art to go along with it, if Marinette said so herself- dark, seething greens in the background stood in stark contrast to the trails of shimmery gold dust in the forefront. It was more abstract than some of her other covers, but Jagged Stone had proclaimed it the coolest thing ever and tossed her a bonus on top of the already-generous commission price, which was amazing.)

And then, right before lunch, Nino gave a shout of surprise.

"Jagged Stone just dropped a single!" Nino announced, waving his phone at everyone. "I didn't even know that he was thinking about releasing anything! Lila, did he tell you?"

"Well, yes, but he asked that I keep it secret," Lila said at once, pressing a hand to her chest. It was a common look on her, faux-humble in a sickly sweet way that made Marinette want to gag. "I even got to listen to it before it got released, and it's fantastic."

"This art is sick!" Nino exclaimed. Marinette peered over his shoulder, and- yup, Nino was already in the process of buying it. "'Not All That Glitters is Gold- man, I gotta get a poster of this art, I bet that the non-digital version actually does glitter!"

Marinette hid her smile. It did, actually.

"Yes, they're a fantastic artist, aren't they?" Lila bragged. "They're a very private person, but I introduced them to Jagged Stone- I thought that he might want a professional artist for this song."

All eyes shot to Marinette, waiting with bated breath to see her reaction. After a second, Lila gasped dramatically, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! Not- not that there was anything wrong with the album cover you did, Marinette, just that-"

"It's funny that you say all of that," Marinette said, her voice icy-cold. "Because I did the cover art for Jagged's new song, and I have the art- with all of the layers, in case you want to claim that I just downloaded it- plus the in-progress demos that I sent to Jagged Stone, plus the invoice for that commission to prove it."

The class went silent.

"And you didn't introduce me to Jagged Stone, he reached out to me," Marinette added on. "And I have the emails for that, too. So you can cut it out with the lies now."

"Oh, silly me, I must have gotten the single mixed up with Jagged's next full album," Lila tittered hastily. "The professional that I recommended to him must be doing the full album, and I just misunderstood."

Marinette was pleased to see that this time, not everyone looked entirely convinced.

"Ms. Bustier, can we please listen to Jagged Stone's new song?" Nino asked as their teacher entered the classroom, shoving his hair up into the air. "Please? Marinette did the art, and Lila's already heard it because she's friends with Jagged!"

"Well, I suppose you can put it on while I get the lesson set up and collect the homework," Ms. Bustier said with a laugh. "That's so exciting, you two! Nino, you know how to connect to the room's speakers so that we can all hear it? At a reasonable volume," she added hastily as Nino got up. "If we get any more noise complaints, then we won't be allowed to have any music on for events for the rest of the school year."

"Got it, Ms. Bustier!"

"I can't believe that you got to do another cover for Jagged Stone!" Alya said excitedly as Nino hooked up his phone. "And you didn't say anything!"

"Of course not. Some of my commissions are secret-"

Marinette was cut off by the oh-so-familiar opening chords of Jagged's newest song, and she trailed off. The accompanying horns were new, and definitely attention-catching and fantastic. Marinette's breath caught in her throat, already blown away.

And then the lyrics started.

At first, Marinette didn't really hear anything out of place. Then she caught a mention of kittens on a runway and sat up straight. All around her, murmurs gave away that other people had heard the same thing and everybody sat up and listened as the song swung around into the chorus.

'Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond!

Claims of connections abound, but none of her stories are sound

A liar, through and through!

Adrien spun around in his seat to look back at Marinette, just as Marinette realized what Jagged Stone had done and clapped her hands over her mouth in silent glee. He quirked an eyebrow at her, mouthing a silent did you ask him to do this? and Marinette shook her head.

No, she hadn't asked. She had mentioned Lila to Penny, though, after Penny had asked about why Marinette had been so down. Her parents had probably said more, if she was really being honest, and Penny had no doubt told Jagged Stone, who then came to the very logical and oh-so-Jagged conclusion that the best way to deal with the problem was by writing a call-out song. A call-out song that, by the sounds of it, included references to more than a few of Lila's lies, not just her ones concerning Jagged Stone, so there was no way to mistake who the song was referring to.

She definitely hadn't mentioned all of those to Penny.

In the back, Lila had gone white. More than a few classmates had turned around, sending her disgusted looks. Alya had frozen in her seat before whipping around, murder in her gaze. Even Ms. Bustier was looking incredibly suspicious as she made the connection between the lyrics and all of the stories that Lila had told over the months.

Lila's reign of lies had come to a very abrupt end, heralded by the sound of horns.

"You didn't even know that he was going to do that, did you?" Adrien asked her as soon as the song came to an end. "You looked so surprised!"

"He didn't let me hear the lyrics at all!" Marinette exclaimed, and wow, now she knew why. She was honestly starting to feel teary, because Jagged Stone had written this song for her, because she had been upset after Lila's expulsion attempt, and she knew just how much work went into making a song, and it- this was incredible. "Or really anything beyond vague prompt words. I knew that he knew about Lila, because Penny asked why I was feeling down and I told her, but this..."

Marinette would have assumed that just bursting into class would be more Jagged's style, over-the-top and impulsive and immediate, but maybe he had just been too inspired by the topic and the idea of a song to think of that. And whether or not that was the intention, the song was so catchy, so bound to be popular, there was no way that Lila would be able to escape it. She would be hearing it on the car radio, playing in the train station and on the bus and in the mall. If Lila was on her own, she could leave, or turn it off. But if she was with classmates, or her mom- assuming that her mom didn't actually know what Lila had been up to all this time- then Lila would have to sit and stew.

...maaaybe that wasn't a great thing if she was going to be staying in Paris, but with any luck, it would drive Lila so mad that she would leave.

"That's one heck of a call-out by Jagged!" Kim cackled loudly, breaking through the muted muttering. "Wow, how ticked off did you have to make him for him to go out of his way to write and produce a song calling you out?"

"No, it's not what it looks like- I swear, he's just, uh..." Lila was floundering. There really was no easy way to get out of this, but clearly she was going to try anyway. "You know not all song lyrics are literal! I did save his cat, and he did write a song for me, it's just that-"

"What's the name of the so-called song Jagged Stone wrote for you called, then?" Nino asked sarcastically. "'Clinging to the coattails of fame without any dignity'?"

Marinette choked on a laugh before hastily trying to hide it. Across the aisle, Chloe was far less subtle as she cackled in delight, clearly thrilled by Lila's messy downfall.

Marinette wasn't surprised. Chloe was far less impressed by connections and tall tales than a lot of their peers, but she was absolutely the sort of person to be bitter about how much attention Lila had been getting. It meant less attention on Chloe, and that just couldn't stand.

"Okay, class, please settle down!" Ms. Bustier implored. She was glancing around the classroom, clearly trying to figure out a path forward. "Ah, Lila, let's step out to talk to the principal and call your mom."

"No, but a song from a rock star is hardly considered any sort of reliable source, surely!" Lila cried, still not willing to give up and come quietly. "He's met thousands of people, why would everybody assume that he's talking about a real person? That he's talking about me?"

"Lila. Now."

Finally looking properly wilted, Lila gathered up all of her things in a rush, stuffing them roughly in her bag before heading out the door in front of Ms. Bustier. All around Marinette, whispers started up, some people comparing notes on stories Lila had told and finally (FINALLY) looking them up, others looking up the lyrics to the song. Marinette ignored them all, fumbling for her phone and pulling up Jagged Stone's contact number.

Seriously, how was she supposed to thank him? He had gone to so much work, gone so far out of his way, just for her. Because it was for her, Marinette knew that. Jagged Stone had plenty of over-eager fans that sometimes went overboard with things, and of course there were tabloids that loved to make up stories about him. Jagged Stone ignored all of them the best he could- well, until they got too intrusive, at least, like that one photographer- instead of slapping back. There was no reason for him to go out of his way just for Lila, when she looked at it that way. Lila and her lies wouldn't even appear on Jagged Stone's radar, if it weren't for Marinette. But that hadn't made a difference to Jagged.

Seriously. Best. Uncle. Ever.

(Well. Best not-technically-an-uncle ever. After all, Penny always insisted that Jagged Stone couldn't just adopt Marinette as his niece, no matter how much he wanted to.)

With shaky fingers and happy tears blurring her vision, Marinette texted a quick thank-you to Jagged, hoping that he could feel all of her gratitude through the few simple words that she managed to pull together. Without the constant threats from Lila hanging over her head- either because Lila would be gone or because she would be so thoroughly discredited by everyone that she would be powerless- and without having to constantly be at odds with most of her friends about Lila and her lies, Marinette's days at school would be much more enjoyable and relaxed.

  Penny glanced at Jagged Stone's phone for the fifty-seventh time in an hour and a half. His phone kept lighting up with all sorts of messages- from his new producers, from celebrity and non-celebrity friends alike, from his family members- and she had kept checking it, noting messages that needed to be responded to as she did.

It was exhausting, especially since Penny had her own correspondence to attend to- questions about integrating the new song into set lists, requests for interviews about the new song, and an ongoing back-and-forth with Jagged Stone's lawyer to make sure that he wasn't going to get in legal trouble for the song (since no names were mentioned, he was in the clear as long as he didn't call out Lila during any interviews, but she just wanted to be prepared). Frankly, Penny was tempted to put Jagged's phone on mute and just ignore it for a bit before checking to see if Marinette had reached out. After all, she would be in school right now, so the likelihood of Marinette and her classmates being able to listen to the song before lunch was, well, rather low-

Message from: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

-but Penny supposed that it wasn't entirely impossible.

"Message from Marinette!" Penny called out, and there was a yelp and a clatter as Jagged Stone dropped the broom he was using to scrub Fang to dash out to the main room and snatch up his phone. He grinned at the message, whooping in triumph.

"They listened to it in class and all of her classmates figured it out right away!" Jagged announced. "And the liar girl got carted off to the principal's office and her mother is being called, so she's dealt with. Score!"

"Yes, good job," Penny told him, resigned to hearing about it for the next month, at least. Jagged Stone was going to be too caught up in the euphoria of his success to be much use, so she would have to deal with all of the setting up appointments. "Your idea worked, Marinette's bully has been dealt with. Can you relax now?"

Jagged didn't seem to hear her. "You know what, I'm going to call up room service and we can all have a feast to celebrate! And- oh, I should text Marinette back, 'cause I wanna get any more updates! I just want to make sure that the little eel doesn't manage to slither out of punishment again. I doubt even she can get out of it now, but I gotta follow through!"

Penny could only sigh as Jagged Stone bounced away across the room. As he went, Penny could hear him singing under his breath.

Tea with a prince, talking about charity

She's too kind, too good to be

Working to save the world, she always tries

Except everything she says are self-serving lies!

Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond-!