#and angst 😅

[fkinavocado]

been a hot minute since 4am caught me writing 🥹

[nattikay]

No Angst AU - sister talk ;)

[edit] whoops, got a word mixed up: kämolunge should've been zamolunge! 😅 that's what I get for not double checking

[rancidsugar]

Fan-art for the fanfic - The Ghost of Our Future

[elitadream]

"Wh... Who are you?"

-

I couldn't resist. 🙇‍♀️ Here's another quick scene I made for the body swap concept, this one directly inspired by your inquiries!

A little gift for @pianokantzart, who seemed especially invested in Luigi's side of the story.^^ Enjoy!

[ibrithir-was-here]

I think these Harkers need a good father-son fishing trip (no dead people allowed)

I agree!

Sometimes Jonathan wakes Quincey up ‘early’ (so a little before sundown) and they sneak out to a stream close by in the forest for some fishing. Quincey doesn’t eat the fish of course, but he likes catching them in the net. He lets his go, but Jonathan cooks his up in a little fire and gets some Omega 3s and some nice quiet time with his son (which sometimes gets a little less quiet depending on if either of them falls into the water)

[ispica]

Genshin Impact Characters Being Toxic Partners

kaedehara kazuha, tighnari, arataki itto, alhaitham

mostly gn!reader

— — — — —

Kaedehara Kazuha: Is polite to everyone and knows how to use his words so there's lots of girls who have crushes on him. Entertains everyone that throws themselves on him that he emotionally cheats. "Darling, she was merely lending an ear."

Tighnari: He's incredibly smart and is always researching about the world so when you fall out of line, annoy him or what not, he gaslights you. "I believe that is not how I, nor how everyone else remembers it my dear."

Arataki Itto: Being the leader of his gang he has lots of people backing him up so no one would genuinely think that he's doing anything bad. He pressures you into doing things that you're not comfortable with. "C'mon do another one, don't be a wet blanket!"

Alhaitham: Him thinking about himself becomes too much to the point that he does not make any effort in the relationship at all. He does not even remember things that someone should remember about their significant other anymore. "...It's green, their eyes are.. green." (it isn't)

[missluthorwillseeyounow]

What do you do when someone you love is a psychopath and a serial killer? How do you pick up your life and move on from it?

If you're Lionel Luthor, you don't. Your son betrays you and the legacy you built for him, and so your heart betrays you too. You sit at your desk with those damn pills your quack of a doctor prescribed and one too many drinks. You feel a warning twinge on your arm before excruciating pain, red and angry, blooms in your chest, and you never see the morning. 

The only good thing about this is that you never see your son go to trial for killing 47 people over a span of 6 years. People whisper that you are one of Lex Luthor’s victims.

If you’re Lillian Luthor, you don’t either. You clean the damned mess these Luthor men left you. You take over the company that your husband had the gall to leave you, just as he left you with your only daughter. You clean up the tatters of your family’s reputation and legacy that your son left behind. 

In the eyes of the world, you move on. You rise, finally able to flex the muscles so long held back by your husband and the rest of the world's expectations. And you bring Luthor Corp with you. 

The millstone of the trials and scandal hang heavy on your neck, but all your life you have taught yourself to walk gracefully among lesser beings with your back straight and your head held high, just as you did as a young girl with textbooks on your head. This is no different.

But once a month, you make a pilgrimage to Stryker’s Island. To Lex. To the son you loved the best way you knew how, the only way you knew how - with a firm grip and the relentless, uncompromising push to achieve excellence, the intractable determination to make him grow into his fullest potential. That this potential was realized in murder, malice and manipulation was not your intent, but the world is far too quick and vindictive in their judgement because he is a Luthor. The mightiest always fall the farthest, and those beneath them wait hungrily for the chance to pull them down.

Your daughter leaves you too. The daughter who emerged, not from your body, but from your husband's infidelity. The same one who once looked up at you with eyes full of innocent trust that you vowed you would reciprocate in the best way you knew how. And so you did your best to prepare her, to mold her in your own image - into what a Luthor woman should be in this cruel, savage world that both worships and hates Luthors. 

You’ve seen what the world does to Luthors who do or say the smallest wrong thing and you never want her to suffer those whispers and so you tell her yourself. Better she hears it from family than the mouths and forked tongues of strangers.

But she is too hard-headed and too soft-hearted to comply. She rejects your bequest, the ungrateful girl, and tries to escape the Lena Luthor you tried so hard to cultivate all these years. 

As if you don't know. As if you could forget that it was her who brought this down upon all of you. Her, and that detestable Clark Kent. 

And if you are Lena Luthor, you cannot move on. You cannot escape it. No matter how far you stray from your family. No matter how many reparations you make, no matter how hard you strive to separate yourself from the curse it brings -- it always finds you.

It finds you in the dark hours when you’re by yourself without the touch of another woman or the burn of alcohol to distract you - and suddenly you’re a scared little girl again, walking into an ominous house made of grim oak, unforgiving marble and dark shadows. And the only warmth you receive is not from a largely absent and formidable father nor from a condescending and controlling mother, but from a charismatic and mercurial brother who taught you how to play chess and promised you the world.

But it turns out his shadow was the darkest of all, and you didn't see until it was too late.

How could you not see it?

You were just a girl at that time, Agent J'onzz once tried to comfort you with that fact. Back when Lex was arrested.

Just a schoolgirl home for the holidays -- shoes polished as bright as the naivete in your eyes, uniform pressed to Lillian's exact standards, picture perfect but always with just one tiny detail you forgot that was enough to attract notice and invite criticism. This time it was the glasses sitting slightly crooked on your face. 

You were more concerned with weathering the scorching disapproval just long enough until you got back to boarding school that you failed to notice Lex's distance. You failed to recognize the signs. You failed to decode his lies.

You failed.

By the time you got back to boarding school, he would have killed 2 more people.

By the time you caught on, he'd already killed 31. Those lives are all on you, because you were so absorbed by yourself, you didn't see what was happening under your nose. And those 3 agents Lex killed because he refused to come quietly? The judge and jury he poisoned at the trial? That's on you too.

Forty-seven lives taken. Forty seven more than there should have been if you hadn't been so blind. 

If only you hadn't been comforted by the gentle hand holding yours under the table throughout Lillian's litanies of your shortcomings everytime you were home from school. If only you hadn't fallen for the "adventures" he had tricked you into that always ended with you in disgrace or punished, like that time you stole Lionel's prized pen from the King of Jordan, just for him. 

If only you hadn't believed the fairy-tale dream of the two of you escaping to the snow-covered mountain peak, of finally being free of the Luthors’ oppressive presence.

And now he's serving 20 consecutive life sentences, and you've devoted your life to studying and stopping people like him.

Now you have 10 years of experience as a profiler and an undercover operative for both the Interpol and the FBI. Your work has taken you from Toran, to Kaznia, to Corto Maltese, to Metropolis, and now to National City.

You have seen the worst humanity has to offer, from terrorists to human traffickers to serial killers. But you keep looking into the abyss.

Because you looked into it once, you stared it in the face, and you didn't recognize it for what it was. 

_________

Or, a Supercorp Criminal Minds AU

There's actually 3 major plots in this, and they all intersect in varying ways

The first is Lex as a serial killer

The second is about Sam and Reign

The third is the most vague one, which includes Lena’s birth mother and Leviathan

It starts (as the intro says) with Lex being a serial killer who killed 47 people. In one version of this story, Clark is a reporter who, like Lena,  made the connection between Lex and the murders. One night after dinner  with the Luthors, Clark sneaks into Lex’s study to find evidence he can use for his story. 

He’s rummaging in a desk when he hears a voice from the doorway.

“You  won’t find anything there.” Clark whips around to find Lena standing  there, silhouetted against the light coming from the hall. He tenses,  thinking she’s about to tell her brother what Clark was doing. 

“If  Lex really is behind these murders, and I know you think he is, you  won’t find anything there. He’s not foolish enough to hide evidence  here." 

Clark doesn’t say anything, he just stares at her.  Lena pauses, looking away. "I… I didn’t want to believe it. Not Lex… He  wouldn’t…” Steel injects itself into her green gaze. “But the more time I  spend with him, the more clearly I see the truth. You see it too, don’t  you?" 

Clark straightens up and nods gravely. “Yes.”

The FBI eventually becomes involved in the investigation, and the team includes a certain agent on the fast track to becoming the unit chief, J’onn J’onzz.

J’onn meets Lena only briefly, but he’s struck by the young girl’s keen intelligence and remarkable calm. (Eventually, he becomes the one who suggests that Lena consider a career in profiling and criminal psychology).

Fast forward a couple of decades later, Lena is working with the BAU. The other members of the team here are J'onn, Alex, James, Brainy and Winn. Lena is a transfer from Interpol, and she's had years of experience in profiling, suspect and victim identification, as well as infiltration, under her belt (I also hc that she worked briefly with the CIA and the MI6, mostly in intel, profiling and undercover work).

For the sake of her anonymity (and also because it was necessary for her undercover work), she's erased all connections to Lex and the Luthors (including old photographs and newspaper articles until the name Lena Luthor is but a footnote in the Luthor history with nothing to tie her to who she is now). She's also changed her last name. (I'm torn because I just don't know if I can use the name Walsh for Lena, it doesn't sound.. right? Idk So for now, she's Agent Kieran).

Lena is very professional, almost intimidating. She’s revered by the younger agents in the Bureau, well-respected by her colleagues and highly praised by her superiors. But she's very guarded and keeps everyone at arm's length, doesn't go out for after-work drinks with the others, practically sleeps with one eye open — years of working undercover and living with a serial killer will do that to you.

Until a certain promising young recruit comes along.

Kara is new in town — the adopted sister of Alex Danvers, the cousin of one of J'onn's old friends (I don't think teaming family members up is actually allowed in the FBI, so some suspension of disbelief is required here). Lena is assigned to oversee her training and transition into the team herself.

Kara's sunny demeanor couldn't clash more with Lena's icy, professional facade. Lena approaches the task with thinly-veiled impatience and something remarkably close to disdain.

However, Kara quickly proves to be more than a perky attitude and a pretty smile. She squirms at blood, which Lena is quick to exploit at first (What FBI profiler can't stand the sight of a corpse? "We profile serial killers here, not celebrities in high-waisted jeans.").

But Kara displays true empathy to the victims and their families, she's sensitive to other people's emotions and knows just what to say to get a reluctant victim or witness talking. She's extremely dedicated to catching the unsubs, and relentless in her investigation. Not to mention, she's extremely handy to have around in a crisis.

Lena finds this last part out when they're on a case, trying to find a missing girl.

The team is headed to the unsub's apartment, but on a hunch, Lena heads to an abandoned warehouse near the apartment, with only Kara as backup. They enter the warehouse, and just as they're clearing the rooms and checking for the missing girl, the unsub attacks Lena and manages to pin her to the ground, choking her. Kara gets there just in time to shoot the unsub in the leg, saving Lena's life.

Later that evening, Kara and the rest of the team go to the bar to celebrate. Lena is absent, as usual.

Just as Kara is getting another round of drinks at the bar, a low, smoky voice interrupts her. "Didn't profile you as a drinker, Danvers.”

Kara squeaks, nearly dropping the drinks, and turns to see Lena smirking behind her. “I wonder what other surprises you're hiding behind those glasses and cardigans."

"Agent Kieran! I didn’t expect to see you here— No, these aren't all for me, I— " Lena's face softens at Kara's babbling, and she takes a few of the shot glasses from Kara's hands.

"You know, I have a rule..." A wry smile lifts one corner of her lipsticked mouth. "Anyone who saves my life gets to call me Lena."

Kara blushes profusely at the other woman’s arched eyebrow. "Well then, if I'm calling you Lena..."

Lena smirks. "Kara it is, then."

For the first time — much to the gaping surprise of the rest of the team she's worked with for years — Lena joins them for a post-case drink.

To everyone's — and no one's — surprise, the pair quickly become the best of friends.

Two days into their friendship, Lena starts jokingly calling Kara Supergirl. Three weeks later, they start grabbing lunch together. Three months in, Kara sends Lena a video of herself petting a St. Bernard on the street only to be bowled over in a mass of furry paws and puppy licks — and the cadets Lena is training are even more bowled over to hear the "Ice Queen" laugh. Of course, they're later treated with a scorching glare and a sharp reprimand, but it's a revelation just to discover that she's actually physically capable of laughing.

By six months, the whole department is in a secret "will they or won't they" betting pool. A year in, and every other department has stakes in the pool (Alex publicly condemns the pool, but secretly bets a hundred bucks that "they will" by winter).

One time while they're eating lunch together, Kara tells Lena why she became a profiler when her career was in journalism.

"It just felt... too late. I'd be covering these stories about these terrible things, people who were already victims, and I thought... it's too late... Don't get me wrong, I loved being a reporter. Journalism was a way to bring truth out there, to give voices to these victims, but.... I wanted - needed - to do something more. I wanted to stop these things from happening. To keep these people from becoming victims."

But despite their growing closeness, Lena has yet to tell Kara about Lex, or about her life before the BAU.

She doesn't tell Kara about the woman she'd loved once, who hates her now because of the lies Lena told her. She doesn't tell her about Reign. She doesn’t tell Kara about the sweet young girl living far, far away, who plays soccer and loves to sing and read. The little girl Lena loves from afar, but knows only through secret updates from James, because it's for her own good.

Because that sweet little girl that Lena hasn't seen since she was a baby deserves to live a life that's whole and good — away from those who love her, but could hurt her. Whether she's thinking about Sam or herself, Lena doesn't know.

There are too many secrets, Lena decides, as she shoves them all one by one into their little boxes, clamping the lid securely shut. Kara is too good to be tainted by any of them.

Kara, who gets squeamish at the sight of blood, but resolutely hunts each killer like an avenging angel. Kara, who somehow, somehow still believes in the good in people.

And when she realizes that there is very little of that to be found in Lena Kieran or Lena Luthor, Kara will hate her as much as Lena hates herself.

But then the day comes when Lena receives a package in the mail.

She reaches in and pulls out two things: one, a chess piece — the white knight — and the other, a surveillance photo of Kara and Lena having lunch together.

On the back of the photograph are three cryptic little words that fill her with dread: “See you soon, sis.”

Panic overrides logic and years of training, and Lena stashes the package and its cursed contents into her safe. Heart racing, she calls the warden at Strykers. It takes several favors, but she manages to procure video footage confirming that her brother is still incarcerated. Despite the visual confirmation, she doesn’t sleep a wink that night, nor the night after.

Everything is quiet after that, so quiet that Lena is almost lulled, if not into a sense of complacency, then at least a state of less vigilance. Everyone needs a breather, a reprieve from paranoia at some point, and that is exactly what Lex is counting on.

A string of seemingly-unrelated murders heralds Lex's return, luring the BAU — and Lena — closer and closer. Lena knows she should leave, and leave soon. The closer the team gets to figuring out it's Lex, the more danger they're in — not just Kara, but the rest of the team that Lena has now come to care for.

But Kara, being Kara, holds onto Lena and keeps her from leaving.

Kara knows her too well now. She knows that something is wrong. She pushes without pushing, in that earnest yet respectful way, relentless in her concern for the people she cares about, yet still mindful and considerate in her efforts. It's one of the things Lena loves about her.

And then, after coming home from a case one night — Kara is shot by an intruder in her apartment.

The whole team is thrown into chaos trying to find Kara’s assailant. They all agree that the attack cannot be random, but there’s a frustrating lack of evidence anywhere.

But Lena knows.

The lack of clues is a glaring clue in and of itself. She knows this is Lex’s handiwork. Her brother’s way of getting back at her for “telling on him”, just like he used to when they were children. Except the stakes are infinitely higher this time, and he has gone too far.

And Lena — who should've known — didn't prevent it. She was too selfish, too greedy, wanting more time — more time with Kara, more time with her team, her family — and now this is the result.

Lena knows that Lex will go after everything and everyone she loves, because he wants to hurt her. Luthors are not raised on half-measures. Win the game, or burn the board. He will not stop, Lena knows this. Not until either of them is dead.

While half the team is waiting at Kara’s bedside, and the other half is delving into Kara’s case — two people are noticeably missing.

Alex can’t bear to see her sister looking so weak and vulnerable in that hospital bed.

Instead, she goes to Kara's apartment to clean her sister’s blood off the wall before Kara gets home from the hospital.

She's just getting a bucket full of soapy water when she hears movement at the door. Alert, Alex already has her gun out and trained at the door.

When the door opens, all Alex sees is a flash of black hair and wide green eyes before she gets a gun aimed at her too.

"Lena?? What the fuck?! What are you doing here??"

Alex puts her gun down slowly, her heart still hammering. Lena cautiously does the same, her hands held out to her sides.

Alex gestures at the door "How did you—?"

"Kara gave me the key three months ago." Lena's eyes haven't lost their wary edge, but she has the decency to look a bit abashed. "She said I could come over anytime."

"Yeah, but Kara's still in the hospital. What are you doing here?"

"I know that," Lena slants her a light glare as she looks around Kara's apartment. "I just — I wanted to make sure the place is secure, and... well... I didn't want Kara to come home to that."

She gestures at the blood-spattered wall, but looks away quickly. As if she, like Alex, can't bear to stand the sight of Kara's blood.

It's funny. They're both seasoned agents, they deal with horrific things on an almost daily basis. The sight of blood rarely fazes either of them anymore. Except this is Kara's blood.

It seems impossible that Lena could get any paler, but here she is, as white as a ghost and looking just as sick as Alex feels. And yet, she's still here. Out of everyone in Kara's circle of friends and family, only Alex and Lena are here, performing a task that somehow seems more terrible than anything either of them have encountered.

It's in this moment that it begins to dawn on Alex just how special Lena is. How special she may still become.

Alex bends down and drags the bucket of soapy water to the wall. She doesn't look at Lena, and instead focuses on the wall and swallows down bile at the sight of her sister's blood. Over her shoulder, she mutters "Grab a sponge."

"That's not gonna be enough. We, um—" Lena clears her throat and chokes out. "— need bleach."

Alex nods curtly. "Under the kitchen sink."

Lena gets the bleach, and the two of them silently begin scrubbing Kara's blood off her walls, and that's that. Once they're done, Alex gets a couple of beers that Kara keeps especially for Alex in her fridge and offers one to Lena.

Then Alex gives her a mild version of a shovel talk lol

And then, two days before Kara is released from the hospital, the news breaks. Lex Luthor, convicted serial killer, has escaped from prison.

All eyes are focused on the BAU screen, except J’onn’s. He turns to his left. Lena Kieran watches the television without batting an eye.

Lena waits only until after Kara has come back home, to make sure that she's safe, that Alex is staying with her for now.

Looking at the blonde tucked into blankets on the couch, soft and vulnerable, Lena can't bring herself to say goodbye, so instead, she just leans over to kiss Kara on the forehead and says good night.

Then without a word, without even packing a bag, Lena Luthor leaves National City to lure her brother out of the shadows.

Lena makes her exit just as the team is on the cusp of finding out that Lena Kieran is Lena Luthor.

She leaves her apartment intact, knowing that Kara and the rest of the team will eventually search it. She sticks the surveillance photo of her and Kara on the bedroom mirror and writes on the glass in red lipstick: "I'm sorry. I promise I'll make this right."

J'onn is the only one who knows the truth of who Lena really is, and in the end, he's the one who tells them.

With Lena gone, it's clear to J'onn that she's about to do something monumentally stupid, like sacrifice herself for the team. He gathers everyone, and tells them the truth.

The group is gathered around the conference table, staring at pictures of young Lena on the screen.

Tiny Lena, not even 5 years old, just after she was adopted by the Luthors, her wide green eyes sad and confused, her little hands clutching a worn, well-loved teddy bear.

Six year old Lena and a teenaged Lex Luthor standing together in front of Lena's new school. The little girl in her neat uniform, holding onto the older boy's hand, looking at her big brother with an adoring smile.

Fifteen year old Lena on summer vacation, and a now-adult Lex, the young girl perched on the hood of a restored vintage car with Lex's hand on her shoulder. Lena is thinner, more gaunt, and her smile less bright, but Lex is different. He's grinning at the camera, looking every inch the charismatic billionaire playboy. You would never know from Lex Luthor's easy smile that he had already been killing for 5 years at this point.

Finally, the last Luthor family portrait, taken the year Lex was arrested. They're a beautiful family, there's no denying that. Each person in the photograph is regal and proud — but in each set face, there's a private war being waged. Lena looks far older than her sixteen years. Her face shows no emotion in each cut line, but her eyes betray all: a somber intensity that's impossible to look away from. Lex is the exact opposite. His smile is charming and draws the viewer's gaze, but his eyes are cold and dead. Within 8 months, Lex would be in prison, Lionel would be dead, Lillian would be running the company, and Lena would no longer be a Luthor.

Kara feels... she doesn't know how she feels.

There's anger, shock, confusion and... hurt. A lot of hurt, a heavy ball of it resting on the base of her spine, mixed with the ache of a longing she doesn't understand, something broken that only confuses her more. So she decides to settle on the anger.

Yes, anger is good. It gives her a sense of purpose and clarity, and it doesn't threaten to make her curl up into a tiny ball. She's angry that her best friend — one of the most important people in her life, second only to Alex — has been hiding all of this from her for years. She's angry that Lena, who has taught her so many things — not just about being a profiler, but about life and love and friendship — didn't trust her enough to tell her about any of this.

Anger is good, because it keeps the tears stinging the back of her eyes from falling, because... because Kara's always thought she knows Lena better than anyone. Had believed that out of everyone, Lena had trusted her, Kara Danvers, enough to get to know her. But now, it seems she doesn't really know Lena at all.

The screen flickers.

Everyone blinks up at the screen in confusion as it begins to glitch. Suddenly, the photos of Lena disappear from the monitors. It’s replaced by what looks like a grainy video feed. Kara turns to J’onn, who shakes his head, frowning. This was not his doing.

“What the hell?” Alex frowns up at the monitor and nudges Winn, who immediately squints into his computer screen. “Who’s doing that?”

“I have no idea...” Winn mutters. “Gimme a second...”

It looks like feed from a surveillance video, except it’s showing what looks like a cabin. Even from the pixelated image, it looks well-decorated, expensive, like something from a country home magazine. Outside the far window, Kara can see a view of snow-capped mountains. Outlined in the middle is a dark shadow of a man.

“They live soft, luxurious lives, don’t they? Your so-called friends. Oblivious, unencumbered by knowledge, and so pathetically... mortal. Fragile.” A smooth baritone voice cuts through the static, and Kara’s blood chills. That voice is familiar. “You and I, we have been trained in the hard school of danger and war. Haven’t we, sister mine?”

Another figure steps out of the shadows and into view, and Kara gasps. Even in the grainy image, Lena’s smile is sharp and icy. “Comparing yourself to Alexander the Great now, are you? But then again, you always were trying too hard, Lex.”

I don't know exactly how happens, I haven't figured it out yet, but Lena confronts Lex with the intention of killing him, except she's the one who's "killed".

And Lex, being the sadistic ass that he is, had the whole thing captured on a hidden camera and it's being broadcast on every BAU monitor, for Lena's family to see.

The whole team watches Lena "die".

But Lena had a failsafe. She told someone of her location, maybe Andrea or Jack or Jess idk, and had them standby to help her in case something happened.

The whole time Lex streams their confrontation, Kara is frantic. The table suffers under her fury, splintering with the force of her desperate grip.

Every time they get nowhere trying to track Lena and Lex, Kara punches the walls, and Alex has to hold her sister back, afraid of how Kara is losing control.

When the feed broadcasts Lena's death, it seems almost unremarkable. One second, Lena is standing, the next she's on the floor, lifeless and unmoving.

A deadly silence grips the BAU conference room. No one is moving, not even breathing. It's as if when Lena dropped dead on the feed, so did they. They wait. And wait.. and wait.

Lena doesn't move.

On the screen, Lex checks his sister's vitals and satisfied, steps over his sister's body and out of sight. The camera blacks out.

They all stare dumbly at the screen for a long moment, afraid to move, as if moving from their frozen spots would make it true.

It's Alex who stirs first. She jumps into action, frantic, ordering Winn to get the feed back, but it's impossible. The room erupts in a blaze of action, but Kara... Kara's the only one left staring at the screen, frozen in shock and disbelief, as if she can't believe it's real.

It’s not. It’s not.

In the interim between Lena's death and the reveal that she’s alive, Kara spends every waking moment hunting down Lex or secretly looking into Leviathan (which she also uncovers when she digs deeper into Lena’s life before the Luthors and learns more about Lena’s mother).

Kara goes down so deep into the rabbit hole, that Alex is genuinely afraid for her sister. She almost prays that they don't find Lex Luthor. Not because she doesn't want that man brought to justice, but because she's afraid of what Kara can and will do once she sees him.

Kara hasn't mentioned Lena's name in months. But then again, most of their team hasn't.

In the months since Lena’s death, two new members have been brought int the BAU team, William Dey and Nia Nal.

William and Nia know very little about Lena from the team itself, because her name is hardly mentioned. Nia only knows Lena through her reputation, and through what Alex and the other agents outside of their team have told her. 

Alex is the only one in the team who says Lena's name because she hates that everyone tiptoes around it.

Lena was their friend. Her friend, and it's not right that everyone flinches at her name, that they can't look at the plaque of her on the memorial wall. She knows how hard it is to look at Lena's picture there, just as hard as it was to look at Kara's blood on the walls.

But Alex is not gonna be the one to look away. Lena didn't look away when they cleaned Kara's blood off the walls, and Alex will not look away from her either. She's gonna hunt Lex Luthor down like the animal that he is and make him pay for taking Lena from their family.

But Alex is getting worried about Kara.

Her sister doesn’t sleep anymore. Barely eats. Kara doesn't stop — she pores over old files of Lex's murders, goes over the old profile, possible places he might be. Alex is worried about her fixation with Lex. It's not healthy. Kara's grief — or her refusal to grieve — is gonna drive her to the ground.

So she confronts Kara about it.

They're in the BAU conference room when Alex finally speaks up, but Kara meets her gaze head on. With one hand, she points to the empty seat Lena used to favor, right across Kara's. "Lena's chair, Alex. What do you see when you look at it?... Nothing, right? We've left it empty all this time. No one can bear to sit it in. Tell me, what do you see, right now?"

Alex glances over at the chair, then back at her sister "Kara..."

"Tell me what you see, Alex."

Alex sighs. "Nothing."

"Exactly. Nothing." Kara nods, her eyes hard. "Do you wanna know what I see? I see her, Alex. I see Lena sitting across from me, just as clearly as I can see you now.”

Alex swallows at the intensity burning in her sister’s eyes.

“I see her everywhere, Alex. All the time. I see her smile, her eyes, and I—" Kara's voice cuts off with a sob. The agony in her eyes is almost too much for Alex to take. It takes a long moment before Kara can speak again.

"I can't stop, Alex. Whenever I stop and I look at her, I — I know she's - she's gone, but she looks so alive, and I— I know the only way I can get any kind of peace about it is knowing that Lex Luthor has been wiped off the face of the earth."

A frisson of fear shivers down Alex's spine. "Killing Lex won't bring Lena back, Kara."

"I know that, Alex." Kara's eyes are dark as flint. "Believe me. I know."

Sometime after Lena’s “death”, the BAU receives an unannounced visitor.

Lillian Luthor strides into the BAU bullpen, tall and imperial in her furs, her icy glare making everyone it lands on feel small and insignificant.

She strides past the bullpen, past Kara, and comes face to face with J’onn. Her cold blue eyes render everyone in the room silent. She scoffs her hatred into his face.

 "Taking my son away from me wasn't enough for you people, was it? You had to take my daughter away from me too. I warned her. I warned her this would be her undoing, and I was right. And now she's dead." 

They end up having to work with Lillian to find Lex, because as Lillian says "It takes a Luthor to find a Luthor." [And there's gonna be an interrogation lol. I just have this vague idea of Lillian talking about Lex and Lena.]

"The truth is, I lost Lena long before now.” Kara suspects that this is the closest anyone has come to hearing regret in Lillian Luthor’s voice.

“I was.... harsh on her, in a way I never was with Lex. Lex always had a sharp edge to him, but Lena — Lena was too soft, too vulnerable. A Luthor cannot be soft. Not when the world is watching, waiting for you to make the smallest mistake."

It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough. Kara slams her hands on the table, unable to believe the nerve of this woman. J'onn grips her arm in warning, but Kara ignores him, snarling at Lillian, her anger plain on her face. "You abused her! You made her feel unworthy of love, unable to trust anyone—"

Lillian lifts her chin. "I made sure my daughter could face a world that's hungry for Luthor blood. I made her a Luthor."

"She was just a little girl when she came to you!" Kara shouts, her fury growing by the second. "A little girl whose mother just died, who was looking for love, and instead she found you. She trusted you—"

Lillian's voice rises, a flash of heat scorching the cool, detached dignified tones. "I made her strong!" 

"She didn't need to be strong!" Kara yells, surging up to her feet, her face inches away from Lillian. J'onn grabs her shoulder, restraining, but Kara presses forward. "She needed someone to love her! And you answered that with nothing but condescension and neglect! The only one in your family who made her feel loved was a psychopath who betrayed her!"

Lillian is struck silent, her eyes wide and her face strained as she stares at Kara. Kara meets the older woman's eyes, staring her down without the fear that a younger Lena must have shown Lillian all those years ago.

Kara wishes she could've been there to hold that young Lena in her arms, wishes she could've taken her away from the family that broke her.

"The Luthor name didn't deserve Lena. You never deserved her."

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

I'm aware this is random timing but I've wanted to analyze this scene ever since I saw it and I was rewatching the Frontiers cutscenes so I decided "why not now" lol

This scene right here.

First of all, I'd like to say that Sonic & Tails's interactions throughout this entire game are IMMACULATE. And while I've seen some people complain that Tails "wasn't concerned enough" at the fact that Sonic was so clearly sick, this scene begs to differ.

It also shows, in both a good way and a sad way, how well Tails knows his big brother.

The entire time before, Sonic's been (for the mostpart) going around with a front. Pretending he's fine and brushing aside everyone's worries about him to turn the focus instead on THEM and THEIR problems, not his. ESPECIALLY with Tails. And this little fox knows probably better than anyone that Sonic doesn't like it when people fuss over him. So he's been playing along. Doing his part, doing the best he could in his digitized state, staying busy and all the jazz.

And sure, a couple times before this, Sonic was acting more tired than usual around Tails, but Tails didn't point it out. And he still doesn't point it out here, but his expression and body language say it all.

Now the corruption's getting worse, and Tails is just about done pretending along with Sonic that everything's fine. This time, unlike the last two times when Sonic had defeated a Titan when Super Sonic had flown down to find Amy and Knuckles, Tails is the one who runs to find him afterward.

He's clearly very worried, especially when Sonic barely acknowledges his presence and is really just doing his best not to keel over at this point. Tails reaches out in a vain attempt to touch him — whether to comfort him or help him up, I'm not sure — but still cannot touch him at all for obvious reasons. He pulls back and just watches him intently with this deeply sad, almost regretful look on his face. The End starts talking again and Sonic lifts his head a little to listen, while Tails just quietly shakes his head as he looks at him. As if he's saying, "Please don't do more, please just take a rest, I want you to be okay." 😢 Or it could just as easily be a sad sort of understanding, a resignation to what Sonic does, like, "I want you to rest, we both know you need it, but I know you, I know you'd sooner run yourself to death before you let us stay trapped any longer. And I can't do anything to stop you." 💔

And then, after having his fists clenched in obvious distress, Tails tries to reach out again, one more time. Almost unconsciously, as Sonic looks up to where the voice is coming from. Almost like he does want to stop him. He opens his mouth for a moment, too, like he wants to say something, but bites it back at the last second.

Then he pulls away again. His face is nothing but sadness and worry. Sonic tries making a quip at The End's new instructions, but he's still so clearly exhausted.

It's also interesting how Sonic won't look at Tails this whole scene, until Tails asks in that tiny, scared voice, "Sonic?" and he stands up, tells him to hang tight, reassure him they're almost done. Trying so hard to play the part of strong older brother even here, when Tails can so easily see how sick he is. 😔

Their dynamic will always be so fascinating and sweet to me. Even in these darker, more painful moments, the familial love they have for each other is beautiful. 💙💛💔

[starflungwaddledee]

is that silhouette at the end of your last post supposed to be a morpho form of meta?

it looks like it has meta's wings and his galaxia

this fandom is incredible...

"what is the unintelligible shape in this shadow?!"

"pfft. starflung this is easy. despite the fact we can see only two of her tines and the hilt is wrong it is CLEARLY the legendary sword Galaxia."

kirby fans really are so powerful at picking up hints and clues from just a shred of information. anyway, here's your... reward?

and uh... and uh...

@phanzon no but it.... it could be.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

It had been literal years since Harry had seen him, it shouldn’t still feel like this.

Looking at Draco Malfoy while he swanned around the gala, not even noticing Harry’s existence, felt like he’d been hit with a bombarda to the chest. The grief, the rage, the fear, the brokenness, everything came back like it was yesterday. Like he was twenty one and desperately in love, like his entire life was oriented around another person. And the devastation of being left without a word; the empty, expansive void that filled his entire body.

He couldn’t stop watching him. Couldn’t take his eyes off his lithe form, so similar and yet different. He walked taller now, he was self assured in a way he hadn’t been. Open, smiling, like he actually knew he was worthy and it changed how he viewed other people. But he was still himself; clever and funny, still a little bashful when someone praised him.

Harry wondered what else was the same. Wondered if his mouth still tasted the same, if his hands could still make Harry’s body go pliant and his mind go blank. He wondered if he still got giggly after sex. Wondered if earl grey was still his favorite type of tea. If he still hated tequila. Wondered what Harry’d done wrong and how he could have messed up badly enough that Draco left after three years together without a word.

It was inevitable that he found himself following Draco when he went to the men's room, a moth to a flame that would incinerate it and leave its charred smoking remains in a pile of ash. Locking the door behind him, he waited, leaning against the row of sinks until Draco emerged from the stall. There was barely a hitch in his step, barely a flash of recognition in those silver eyes when he looked at Harry.

"Not even a hello?" he asked, suddenly incensed at Draco for ignoring him, at himself for setting himself up for this.

"Hello, Potter," he said evenly. "Enjoying yourself at this fine Ministry Gala?"

"Fuck you," he hissed.

Draco turned and raised an irritatingly perfect eyebrow at him, "Was a hello not what you wanted?"

And Harry saw it, the flicker in his eyes that meant he knew he'd asked the wrong question. "Not what I wanted," he repeated, throat tight and eyes stinging. "Not what I wanted?" He shook his head, "when have you ever cared about what I wanted?"

"Right," Draco said. "Terribly sorry that this Gala helps to fund my research and I had to be here tonight for my job." He said it calmly, devoid of any of the emotions that were racing under Harry's skin. "If you'll excuse me," he said, starting past Harry and moving toward the door, "I'll just get out of your way."

Harry's hands were on him before he even knew what he was doing, shoving him back against the door and pinning him there. "Seven years, Draco. Seven years and not a single word."

"Let me go," he said, voice still unerringly calm.

He shook his head, "No. Not until you-" he broke of, chest heaving as he fought for control, as he fought to get a breath.

"Until I what?" he asked.

"Not until you tell me why," Harry said, voice shaking. "Not until you give me the reason that you threw away three years together without a single. fucking. word."

He just stared at him, still not giving him a word.

"Tell me," he said, begged really, "just. Give me something. Give me some closure. Let me move on."

"Nothing is stopping you from moving on," he replied steadily.

He growled, "Fucking hell, Draco. Just tell me-"

"You're hurting me," the other man said, pressing a palm against Harry's chest.

Harry loosened his grip, "You hurt me," he whispered. "You tore out my entire heart when you fucked off and left. You left this giant, gaping sink hole of a wound in my chest that has never closed, never healed right. It always fucking hurts."

He shook his head, eyes suspiciously bright.

"Tell me," Harry demanded. "Tell me what I did. Tell me how you stopped loving me. Tell me why you left. I would have given you anything, I would have done anything, would hav-"

"I know!" Draco exploded, his voice sharp and furious, and Harry reveled in it, in his loss of composure. "I know that you would have and I didn't want you to."

"What?" he asked.

Draco shoved him off, "Let go of me." He tried to turn and get the door open but Harry grabbed him and spun him around again.

"What do you mean?"

"Let go!" he demanded, pushing roughly at him.

"No," he replied stubbornly. "You owe me this much, at least."

"I owe you nothing," Draco hissed, voice low.

Harry released his grip on the other man, body involuntarily taking a step back as he shrunk in on himself, curling away from him. "Fine," he whispered, wishing he could sink into the floor, wishing he could just disappear, wishing for anything that would take the pain away.

The other man sighed and Harry could hear him straightening his robes before he pulled open the door. "I owe you nothing because the cost of leaving was too high in the first place," he said.

And Harry's head filled with a thousand questions, he looked up but Draco had already left. Rushing out after him, Harry caught him just at the end of the hall. They were in plain sight of everyone at the Gala, if they cared to look their way, but Harry couldn't have cared less. "What?" he asked, maneuvering so that he was in front of the other man. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Everyone can see you," Draco said, voice low so no one would hear, his face impassively blank in a way that Harry detested; it made something go funny in his chest, the desire to break him from that shell, to muss him up, to kiss him until he was breathless and smiling, color high on his cheeks.

"I don't care." He shook his head, "For fuck's sake Draco. I don't care what any of them think. Please," he whispered. "Please just," he let out a rush of air that he'd been holding too tight in his lungs. "Please."

"Not here," he said, glancing around the room very clearly trying to clock who'd noticed them talking.

He nodded eagerly, "tell me where and when."

Draco looked at him, actually looked at him, his eyes moving over Harry's face like a caress. "Mac's, 9:00 pm."

He spun off and left Harry standing there, staring at the wall. He hadn't been to Mac's in seven years, not since Draco'd left.

The rest of the Gala couldn't go quickly enough and Harry found himself leaving before he really needed to but he couldn't help it; he couldn't stand and talk to one more person that he had no interest in talking to. Not to mention the torment of watching Draco swan about, wooing donors; Harry's heart couldn't take it.

Flooing home to change into a green jumper and a pair of jeans before heading to the diner seemed like the only reasonable course of action.

The neon clock behind the counter revealed he was only ten minutes early and he mentally congratulated himself on taking up as much time as he had.

"Well bless my soul," the waitress, Barb if Harry remembered right, said. "I haven't seen you in ages. Look how you've grown."

"And you look just the same, lovely as ever," Harry replied, smiling at her. It was true, she wore the same blue dress and apron, hair pulled back in a bun, still had the same blue eye shadow.

"Flatterer," she accused, but she looked pleased. "Where's your young man?" she asked, leading him back to the corner booth that they'd always preferred and for a moment Harry's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

"Coming, I hope," he said.

She nodded, eyes full of understanding, "Now, don't tell me," she said. "You're a strawberry shake and he's-" she broke off, brow furrowing in concentration.

"A chocolate malt," he said at the same time as another voice behind her.

Both he and Barb looked up to find Draco standing behind her, hands shoved into the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, top button on his black dress shirt unbuttoned. He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a muggle magazine, hair just a little disheveled but devastatingly handsome. Harry could barely breathe around how fucking gorgeous he was, how badly he wanted him.

"But if I'm being honest," he said, "I haven't had that much sugar in ages. I should probably-"

"Nonsense," she said, shooing him into the booth across from Harry. "Reunions always require something of the old to mix with the new."

Before either of them could respond to that, she bustled off to the kitchen, leaving the two of them staring awkwardly at one another.

"Draco-" he started just as the other man began with "Look-"

Harry shook his head and gave a little chuckle, running his fingers through his curls and tucking them behind his ear, "Go ahead," he offered.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco began again, "Agreeing to come here with you was a moment of weakness."

"A moment of weakness?" Harry interrupted.

Draco glared at him, "Yes. I'm really not interested in having this conversation. I'm not interested in rehashing everything that happened."

He took a slow breath, "I deserved a good bye," he said eyes stinging.

"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding a bit taken aback.

Barb came over and deposited their shakes and a platter of nachos between them. "I'll just be tidying up," she said. "Over there," she added pointedly. "Don't be shy if you boys need anything."

Harry waited until she was a reasonable distance away from their table before he said, "Listen, I don't need to know why you left. You're right, you don't owe me that. So even though I'd like to know, even though it kills me not to know what happened, what I did wrong," he broke off, shaking his head. "You can have your own reasons and I don't have to know them. But I deserved a good bye."

Those grey eyes, the ones he'd spent countless hours staring into, the ones he'd dreamt of more times than he could count, stared at him like he couldn't comprehend what he was saying.

"I loved you, Draco," he said softly, the truth splitting the wounds in his heart open wide. "I loved you more than anything, I would have done anything, I would have given you anything. If you'd told me you needed to leave, I would have been heartbroken, but I would have let you." He took a deep shuddering breath, "but I deserved a good bye."

"I couldn't," Draco said simply. He started to slide toward the edge of his bench but Harry reached out.

"Damn it, Draco," he said. "Sit down. Please. If you ever loved me-"

"If I ever loved you?" he asked and finally his exterior cracked. "If I ever loved you?" he repeated incredulously. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he repeated, blood pressure rising.

"Yes, you fucking idiot! What do you mean 'if I ever loved you'?" He shook his head, "How can you possibly imagine that my leaving wasn't out of love for you?"

"Because it wasn't!" he exclaimed.

"Yes it was."

He shook his head, "There's no way in hell," he said. "It wasn't for me because you leaving completely destroyed me. You leaving left me in a state of depression that made me wish I was dead. For fucking months. I went to therapy; I still go to therapy, you leaving still comes up. Regularly. There was nothing about that choice that was good for me.”

“How do you imagine that relationship would have ended?”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t know. I’ve been too preoccupied with dealing with the fall out of how it actually ended to wonder how it might have ended otherwise.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in a gesture that Harry had seen enough to know that he was getting a tension headache. He wondered if scratching his fingers through the hair at the back of his head still helped, wondered if rubbing his neck still eased the pain. "That relationship would have ended with you hating me."

"Right," he said. "So glad we avoided that outcome."

"Do you hate me?" he asked, looking at Harry like the answer mattered to him.

He let out a breath, "I wanted to. It would have been easier if I could have."

Draco nodded, "And I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I didn't want to stick around for that." He sighed, "Look, we couldn't have kept living in the shadows. Coming out to muggle restaurants, sharing a bed, living on the edge of the world and hoping that we didn't get caught."

"Draco, I would have come out with you. If you'd wanted to tell people, I would have. Godric. How little can you possibly think of me that-?"

He shook his head, "That's my point. You would have come out, you would have told the world, and we would have lived under the proverbial shit storm that rained down on us. Constant harassment, we'd be the front page of every newspaper. I had to leave the country to get accepted into a training program that would accept me as it was."

"And?" Harry asked, "I'm not new to the media shit-show."

Draco looked at him, eyes sad like he could see something that Harry couldn't. "You're not, that's the point. Harry," he said, and the way that he said his name felt like Harry's heart was being ripped open, "you deserved time to heal. You deserved a shot at a normal life. You deserved to be happy. You deserved so much-"

"That wasn't your choice to make!" Harry exclaimed. "What I deserved, what would make me happy; it wasn't your decision. Not without me at least. Because it didn't make me happy. You made me happy."

"But I wouldn't have," he said. "It was the only way. For both of us. I needed to get my life together. I'm brilliant," he said, and somehow it didn't sound cocky, it was just a statement of fact. "Harry, I'm so good at my job. I'm so good at developing potions and magic that is helping people in ways we couldn't have imagined even five years ago."

"I know," Harry replied. "I've followed your career. I've read your articles."

The little smile that curved Draco's mouth shouldn't have felt like that still, it shouldn't have made him feel like his heart expanded four sizes. "And you needed to find your life outside of me. It felt like you hated everything, like you wanted to burn the entire world, everything outside of our bed. And I was never going to be enough to fill that need."

"You were," he said, throat burning. "Draco, I would have supported you. I would have given you anything-"

"I know. And I couldn't let you." He shook his head, "Leaving you," Draco looked down at his hands where they were clenched on the table. "Circe, Harry, it nearly killed me. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I meant what I said about the cost of leaving being too high. I wanted to give you the life you deserved.”

“All I wanted was you,” he replied.

“I know. And don’t you see why that is a problem? Harry, if all you wanted was me, how could I ever be enough? When all of your dreams, or goals, or aspirations revolve around me,” he shook his head. “I wanted more for you.”

“I didn’t mean to put pressure on you-”

He nodded, “I know. But by the end, neither of us even knew how to be a complete person on our own.”

“Three years of shared life will do that to a person,” he replied blandly.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, and Harry couldn’t count the number of times that he’d wished to hear those words. “I am. But I would do it again.”

The dried, brittle remains of his heart crumbled in his chest. “Right.”

Draco’s hand reached across the table and covered Harry’s, and Harry stopped breathing. “You might be right,” he said. “You probably deserved a good bye. But if I’d given one to you, if I’d even tried, I never would have been able to leave you.”

He opened his mouth to reply but Draco continued.

“I’m not a brave man, I’ve never been well versed in denying myself what I wanted. But I had to give us a chance. I had to give us both the chance to grow into the men we needed to become. I had to give you the chance to be happy.”

“Is that what you think I am?” Harry asked. “Happy?”

Draco blinked, “Well, yes.” His eyebrows furrowed, “you run multiple successful charities that are doing immeasurable good. You’re always in the Prophet with some new witch or wizard gazing adoringly at you-”

“I haven’t slept with anyone since you,” he said bluntly. “Some events require a plus one, so,” he shrugged. “But I still sleep on the left side of the bed. I still unconsciously check to make sure the covers aren’t bunched under me when I roll over because my body got used to not wanting to take them from you.

“Yes, I run my charities,” he continued. “I attend ministry functions. I visit my godchildren and hang out with friends. Yes. I do the duties set before me in my life and I make time for people I love.” He shook his head, “but no one who knows me would say that I am happy.”

Draco stared at him uncertainly.

“It never made sense,” Harry continued. “I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong, how I’d fucked up so badly. I loved you so much, I wanted what was good for you, and I came to terms with that not being me. But for you to tell me it was for me,” he blew out a breath and shook his head. “Whatever you may think, that wasn’t what was good for me.”

No words came out of the other man’s mouth, and Harry decided he’d probably tortured him long enough.

He rapped his knuckles on the table and stood, dropping some money for the bill before murmuring, “good bye, Draco. I hope your life is everything that you wanted.”

Then he all but fled the diner, desperate to be anywhere that wasn’t there. His heart couldn’t take it. Maybe Draco has been right and a conversation only made things worse.

Before he could get to the alley down the street, the one he and Draco had stood in more times than Harry could count to snog until one of them got too horny and apparated them back to Harry’s bed, he heard the sound of footsteps chasing him down the sidewalk. And he would have recognized those footsteps anywhere, could have picked out Draco’s gait out of any line up. “What-” he began, turning toward him.

But he was interrupted by Draco cupping his face and kissing him, his body surging against Harry’s.

Harry didn’t waste this moment, he grabbed onto the other man and pulled him in, kissing him back with all of the heart ache, all of the desire and love that he hadn’t been able to give him when he’d left.

Draco pressed him back against the wall, caging Harry in and making him feel kept and held. “I’m sorry,” Draco managed into the kiss. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, trying to just draw him back into the kiss, he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want anything but this moment; Draco in his arms, bodies pressed together, not a space between them.

But he pulled back and Harry felt bereft. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “I really believed I was doing the right thing-”

“Draco-”

He shook his head, pressing a trembling finger to Harry’s lips, “there hasn’t been anyone else for me but you either,” he confessed. “Harry,” he broke off, a tear sliding down his cheek, “you are the love of my life. I wanted you to be happy.” He broke, tears spilling down his face. “I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re brilliant,” Harry echoed back to him.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “If you meant it, when you said you weren’t happy here,” he started, “come with me. Salazar, I know it sounds crazy.” He shook his head, “but I’ve hated every single moment of not being with you. I love you.” He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, “I love you so much. Come back to France with me. We can start a new life there. I know it sounds crazy-”

“Yes,” he interrupted him. “Godric, yes. Let me come with you. Let me stay with you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Draco cried, tears still pouring down his face. “You don’t know-”

“I know you,” he replied, holding Draco’s face in his hands to kiss him. “Yes, this is fast and sudden, and I’m sure we’ll have more than one fight about it. But I love you too. I have spent the last seven years wishing you’d walk back into my life, I’m not about to waste that opportunity now.”

“Come back to my hotel with me?”

He shook his head, “come back to our flat?” he whispered. “Come sleep in our bed?”

“You stayed?”

He nodded, “it was ours. I didn’t want to leave behind all I had left of you. And if you ever decided to come back,” he broke off. “Well, I wanted to be there.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, “take me home,” he whispered.

“Home is anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

[clowningaroundmars]

heeyyy yaaalllll

so i was thinking to myself, i love punkflower. i really do.

what if there was a hobie in miles' universe and he didnt have to do the whole long distance relationship across dimensions thing, though? just keep his lil secret crush on spiderpunk a secret and keep it pushing, only to literally bump into his own hobie brown in 1610 one day?

wouldnt that be cool, guys?

wouldnt it? :)

wouldnt :) it :) be :) so :) cool? :) and so cute too?

:)

Miles was late.

It was his first day back, the very beginning of his junior year at Visions Academy and he was late. God damn.

His parents were really gonna kill him this time, no doubt about it. There weren't even any good Spiderman excuses he could use to weasel his way out of getting into trouble this time! He'd just have to cross his fingers and pray that his chemistry teacher for this year wasn't a total hardass like last year's English teacher.

Maybe he could make up some dumb excuse this time, try to wriggle his way into the professor's good graces with some blatant lie. Anyways, whose dumb idea was it to put him in a class so damn far from the entrance doors so early in the mor--

BRRRRRRING!

Miles tore around a corner just as the final bell rang throughout the mostly-empty hallways, inciting panic in his chest and making him nearly launch himself down another hallway just to get to his class.

In his haste, he nearly knocked over a very tall and very... familiar looking person that happened to be in Miles' trajectory. Luckily, bodies didn't end up colliding but the shock of having a person fly so quickly into their line of sight shocked the both of them into skidding to a sudden stop.

The tall person ended up dropping a textbook and what seemed like an enormous packet of papers, because sheets scattered absolutely everywhere, almost like snow.

Ugh. Of course.

They both stared down at the mess in the middle of the hallway floor for a beat.

Then, Miles exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

"Aw man, I-I'm sorry! I just uh... here, lemme just--"

They both bent down to quickly scoop up the papers as Miles stuttered and spoke a hundred miles a minute, trying to apologize for the heart-stopping scare he caused. Just as Miles shuffled the papers together in his hands, he finally looked up at the unlucky student he almost football-tackled first thing in the morning... and nearly dropped the papers onto the floor again.

Kneeled right in front of him with papers and a textbook tucked under a skinny arm, long fingers nervously plucking up what was left of the rest of the packet, was none other than... Hobie Brown.

Oh. God.

This Hobie didn't seem to be Miles' Hobie, though.

(Miles' temperature rose a bit as he quickly thought: wait, my Hobie? That's not right, either.)

Instead of large freeform locs that tapered off like wicks, he was sporting long uniform locs that were piled up high in a loose ponytail on his head, most likely due to the school policy that stated boys needed to have hair above the nape of their neck. Miles kinda wondered about that policy, if he ever decided to grow out his hair; would pulling his hair up be enough? Or would they police his hair length and force him to cut it all off?

Well, turns out the answer was literally right in front of him. Another shock to the system right after the first one.

That was Miles' excuse, really. It was just so dang early in the morning and he really really wasn't thinking when he opened his mouth and basically shouted "Hobie?!"

It honest to god sounded like it echoed in the hallway.

He slapped a hand over his mouth, immediately chastising himself for the stupid mistake he made, mentally kicking himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!! He wasn't supposed to know this guy obviously, they hadn't even met in their dimension yet!

Hobie, for his part, didn't seem perturbed by this at all though. He took the papers from Miles' hands and straightened himself back up to his full height, offering a hand so that Miles could stand up too.

He shrugged shyly and hid behind a couple locs that happened to fall back into his face, holding the books and papers closer to his chest.

"Uhmmn yeah, sorry. I-I'm runnin' late to my first class so I can't really give any autographs right now. Maybe later... if we see each other, ok?"

Miles blinked owlishly. Did he just say... autographs?

And wait a minute... was this Hobie... American?

Miles' poor little sleep-deprived mind was being blown again and again. He really didn't know if he was ever going to recover from this.

Hobie started to back up and walk away so Miles held his hands up to stop him. "Wait wait wait, autographs? I'm not uh-- sorry, this is weird," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "Nah, man. That's cool. I don't really want any autographs. Are you uh-- are you famous, actually?"

It was this Hobie's turn to blink owlishly now, hesitating a bit. A non-pierced eyebrow was raised as he said, "I... I kinda am...?"

He turned and pointed out the giant window of the hallway that they happened to be standing by, and Miles craned his neck to peer outside.

It smacked him right in the face once his eyes landed on it: a giant billboard fixed atop a neighboring building that depicted Hobie Brown in a luxurious-looking perfume ad. He sported the same locs as he did in real life, wearing shiny-looking makeup and giving the viewer the fiercest, smokiest look Miles has ever seen from a model in a hot minute. He was clutching deep purple satin, wrapped in it, basking in it. A single perfume bottle with a deep purple bow on the neck was photoshopped next to him, matching the overall vibe of the ad.

Miles was rooted to the spot, absolutely gobsmacked. How in the world did he miss that?!

Distantly, a small echo of a conversation he had in what seemed like a lifetime ago floated up from a memory. "I was briefly a runway model" pulsed in his neural pathways for a quick second.

Slowly, the gears started turning in his head. Slowly, he turned back to his dimension's Hobie Brown, who was giving him a strange sort of look.

Miles awkwardly tried to gather himself up, waving his hands around as he struggled for a non-weird explanation to his very weird behavior.

"I-I mean-- ahahaha! Yeah I mean, obviously you're famous! I was just y'know-- playin' with you. Pulling your leg and all that, I guess... heh."

The strange dubious look on Hobie's face didn't budge. "...Right."

Miles coughed conspicuously, trying to change the subject. "But uh yeah, haven't seen you around this school much then! Are you... you in a different grade than me or...?"

The corner of Hobie's mouth twitched suddenly, and for a split second Miles wondered if he said something wrong.

But then Hobie chuckled a bit. "No, I don't think so? This is my first day here. Like... ever. So I'm not really surprised you haven't seen me before. I just transferred over."

Miles practically sighed in relief and nodded, hands in his pockets. "Right! Right, very cool. Welcome to Visions then, I guess. Uh... I'm Miles! Miles Morales. Nice to meet ya!"

He goofily stuck a hand out, which Hobie actually accepted. They shook hands for a second, and then Miles was suddenly taken aback by how cold his hand was against his own skin. It was a definite contrast to the warm and lanky body he remembered practically draped across his own, back in Mumbattan.

He forced those particular memories away for now.

This Hobie was smiling down at him, sad eyes set inside a seemingly genuine expression of fondness. "Cool. I'm Hobie. But, uh, it seems like you already knew that, so."

"Aha, yeah yeah! It just-- honestly it's just the shock of, uh, running into a major celeb in the middle of my school that really got to me, I think. Sorry. I probably look like a total weirdo right now!"

Hobie shook his head, and Miles took the opportunity to really study this guy now that the shock was over and the vibe was more chill. This Hobie was just as long and lanky as the punk anarchist Miles was already well acquainted with, but he held himself completely differently. Where Spider-Hobie was all confident strut and careless swagger, this Hobie seemed to be all reserved grace and... sadness? He definitely reminded Miles of a willow tree drooping down into a lake, beautiful but tragic at the same time.

Okay Miles, get it together, he thought, stop thinking this guy is beautiful. I mean, he is beautiful yeah... but c'mon man, focus!

Hobie's non-pierced lips were moving now, finishing a sentence that Miles most definitely did not catch.

Then, Hobie looked at him expectantly.

Oh shit. He just asked a question didn't he? Fuck.

"Uh, sorry... one more time?" Miles grinned as wide as he could, apologetic. Nice going, Morales, the humorless voice in his head chimed in. Definitely not convincing this guy you're an alien from outer space or anything!

Hobie huffed a laugh and cleared his throat. "Sorry, my fault. Sometimes I mumble and... yeah. Mom says I need to work on that," he sighed, then continued, "I was just wondering if you knew where room 301 was?"

Miles nearly jumped with the force of the realization that just hit him.

"301? Mr. Moriarty's class?"

"Y-yeah, that's the one," Hobie smiled, twirling a loc on one finger and tugging it a bit. Then he tucked it back behind his ear. "I'm actually so lost it's not even funny, I'm godawful at directions and like, navigating. I've been looking for it for like 20 minutes now--"

"That's where my first class is too! AP chem!"

Hobie seemed to brighten up a bit at that, straightening his posture up from his own self-conscious hunch. "Oh cool! We should probably get going then, if we don't wanna be more late than we already are."

Without thinking, Miles places a hand on Hobie's shoulder and steers them both towards a classroom right at the end of the hallway they were in.

"Of course, right this way! Pretty lucky you ran into me, huh? I can help you find your other classes later on if you want, too."

For the first time since nearly crashing into him, Miles looked up at Hobie and saw genuine happiness in his eyes as they grinned at each other and walked down the hall together.

"...Yeah," Hobie said, nodding slowly. "Yeah that'd be pretty cool. Thanks!"

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Their chemistry teacher ended up not being a total hardass after all! Especially when Miles rolled up with none other than Famous Model Hobie in tow, immediately causing a ripple of whispers amongst the students sat at their desks.

Mr. Moriarty was a short and stumpy old man with a kind face and a severely receding hairline. He took one look at Hobie after squinting at his attendance sheet, accepted Miles' quick explanation that they were late because Hobie's minty fresh enrollment got him all lost in these maze-like hallways, and excused their tardiness with a wave of a hand.

"It's the first day and you were very kind to help a new student out, Mr. Morales. You're both excused for today, but try not to make a habit of it, alright?"

Miles bobbed his head as he picked his way past rows of desks. "Absolutely, sir. No problem at all. Thanks a bunch!"

Hobie stuck close to him, and smiled a bit as the only two desks left empty in the whole room happened to be right next to each other, right up in the back of the class. Nice.

They took their seats and exchanged a couple of glances as they pulled out their notebooks, barely listening to their professor's quick introduction and class syllabus. Well, Miles was barely listening, anyways. He was too caught up in the euphoria of running into a dimensional variant of one of his friends, in Visions Academy no less! His mind started to wander a bit. Did a 1610 Gwen exist too? a 1610 Pavitr? Were they also here at Visions? And what was with these random stares he and Hobie were getting from their fellow classmates right now?

Every now and then a student's head would swivel back to glance in their direction, awestruck looks evident on their faces.

How famous was Hobie anyway?

Of course, there was that giant billboard conveniently placed within view of the school's back hallways near a busy intersection, but Miles really started to think. He sneakily pulled out his phone and swiped down to the lowest brightness he could in case the classroom's fluorescent lighting wasn't enough to hide the phone screen's own light.

He kept his face straight forward, eyes flicking to and from his typing that he was trying to conceal behind the student sitting in front of him. He typed Hobie Brown model, Hobie Brown perfume ad, Hobie Brown supermodel, getting absolutely nothing every single time. Well, nothing that looked like the Hobie Brown sitting next to him, who happened to be dutifully scribbling down some notes in his notebook. Miles looked down at his own empty sheet of paper and quickly copied his new friend, whipping out a pencil and hurrying to catch up with the lecture on the whiteboard before the professor moved on.

Groan. What gives? Was Hobie this super accomplished, totally famous supermodel or not? Maybe he wasn't on social media, oddly enough. Maybe he just started an illustrious career and happened to be famous only in Brooklyn right now? No, that didn't make sense. If he was some small-time influencer or whatever, people would not be asking for autographs so often that Hobie would just automatically assume anyone who recognized him wanted one. And the looks on these other kids' faces convinced Miles that... maybe something was missing. Maybe he's just not searching up the right terms?

Agh, if only Spiderman business didn't keep him totally detached from reality sometimes. He really felt like he and the rest of the world were on totally different planets. If he had any friends besides Ganke, he probably would've heard about Hobie by now.

He bit his lip in concentration, trying to multitask between forming theories and keeping up with the lesson in the front of the classroom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pair of eyes staring straight at him that didn't belong to the other classmates he barely even knew. He glanced over at Hobie, who quickly looked away.

Was that... an embarrassed look on his face just now? Miles scratched at his jaw a bit, more confused than before.

That was weird. Whatever. Anyways...

Before long, class was over and the bell rang. Miles and Hobie both meandered slowly up to the door and hung around the outside, leaning against the wall as they compared schedules before they had to make their way to their next class.

"Dang," Miles lamented, clutching his own schedule and moving to slot it into the cover of his binder. "Looks like we don't share any more classes besides 1st period..."

Hobie stopped his hand and squinted at the sheet again, glancing back at his own. "Uhmm... nah, actually. I think we might have 6th period together? Right after lunch."

"Do we share a lunch period too, actually?" Miles asked excitedly.

Hobie made a small noise of triumph, a smile playing over his lips. "Yeah! 1st, lunch and then 6th. Okay. Better than nothing, right?"

Miles chuckled, shoving his schedule into the plastic and tucking it under his arm. "Definitely. We can eat together at the cafeteria if you want! I'll walk you to your next class though, since it's basically right around the corner."

Hobie shrugged his own backpack back onto his shoulder and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. His eyes were cast downwards as he grinned at the floor and said, "yeah, if you don't mind... that'd be pretty cool."

This guy sure does like the word cool, Miles thought, and away to Hobie's next class they both went. They both ignored the various whispers and stares in their direction. Miles was already used to it by now.

They walked together amiably, in near lockstep for a little while before Hobie finally spoke up again.

"... So... if you don't mind me asking... why are you so nice to me if you didn't know I was famous, then?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it kinda caught Miles off guard nonetheless.

He laughed nervously. "Uhh ahaha, whaddya mean? I did know you were famous! I just... y'know my brain doesn't work the best real early in the morning. I'm, uh. Sometimes I can be pretty weird, if you haven't noticed by now."

Hobie nodded slowly, digesting this information for a bit. "Yeah, you did recognize me in the first place, I guess. It's just weird, you're like... the first person I met that doesn't look at me like I'm made out of solid gold, though. That's all..."

They exchanged glances again, and Miles' brain was working into overdrive, thinking of an appropriate response.

Before he could open his mouth, they finally reached their destination and Hobie bumped Miles' shoulder with his arm, smiling.

"So, thanks. For, uh... this. All this."

Miles raised a brow at him. "Oh yeah, this is nothing. I just walked you over to your next class, no biggie. My class is right over here anyways, so--"

Hobie laughed and shook his head, the expression lighting up his facial features unlike anything Miles has seen on that face yet.

"No, Miles. Not just this. I mean, like..." Hobie dipped his head, a bashful sort of move. "I mean, like, being nice to me. Like forreal. I really appreciate this."

They looked at each other for a moment, something real warm growing in Miles' chest all of a sudden, something... familiar.

He was just about to casually brush the gratitude off a second time with a dorky quip, before some girl's screechy voice interrupted their private little moment out of nowhere. It honestly startled them both, and the nice warm atmosphere dissipated immediately.

"Oh. My. GOD!! Is that Hobie Jones? Like actually?!"

She giggled and bounded up to them, blatantly ignoring Miles to insert herself between them and crowd into Hobie's space. She coquettishly asked for a selfie with him, promising to tag him on social media. The sudden commotion unfortunately attracted some other students who then took their cue to also bother Hobie for autographs, selfies, throwing compliments left and right.

Miles backed up out of the crowd, eyes still on Hobie as he watched the poor guy metaphorically slip on a mask, the very same that Miles saw when they first met not 2 hours ago. It was a sad, detached sort of look, and Hobie was forced to hunch in on himself to meet his fellow students' heights as they snapped selfie after selfie. His lips formed a smile all the while. His eyes did not.

A pang of sympathy hit Miles as he slowly turned away and made his way down to his own classroom without so much as a goodbye. He shrugged to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, he knew how that felt, just trying to mind your own business and live your life, do what you have to do-- and being stopped by nearly every living being within a 50 ft radius wanting their photo ops and their babies kissed.

Miles smiled to himself as he shouldered his way past other students and sauntered into his class, right on time. The bell rang as he reached his desk, and he pulled out another notebook out of his bag before the realization finally hit him with the force of a truck.

Wait... Hobie JONES?!

Miles quickly glanced around at his surroundings and mentally kicked himself yet again for choosing a seat so close to the teacher's desk, almost right up at the front. Damnit!

But the teacher wasn't in the classroom just yet, most likely making a quick run down to the printer down the hall to make copies of the class syllabus or something.

Okay, Morales. Gotta be quick.

He hastily pulled out his phone yet again, one eye on the door. He quickly typed in Hobie Jones model in his browser's search box, letting out a breath as search results loaded up and gave him exactly what he was looking for this entire time.

Bingo.

Hobie's face popped up in the image search previews, all sorts of cool and striking photoshoots lit up in all kinds of different ways. And the very first link at the top of the page? Hobie's own Flickstagram.

With a shaky hand, Miles tapped the link and impatiently waited for it to load, for his phone to get with the program and just open the damn app already. He kept glancing every so often at the door yet again, praying that the printer or copier-- or whatever-the-hell that was keeping the professor away from the class-- would keep them away for just a second longer.

He finally cast his gaze back down onto his own Flickstagram app and his heart nearly dropped out of his chest.

At the top, right next to Hobie's own smoldering profile picture was his username: hobiemjones

hobiemjones... hobie m jones. Hobie M. Jones.

M.J.

Miles exhaled again and tucked his phone away in shock just as the classroom door opened yet again and all the students quieted down. This class's teacher made their way over to their desk, piles of papers in hand. They started to pass them out to the students in the front row, introducing themself and then going over the usual attendance policies.

Miles accepted the syllabus sheets with trembling hands, turning to pass them over his shoulder once he got his own, his mind running a hundred miles a minute.

Peter talked nonstop about his wife, whenever he managed to stop talking about his baby, that is. It was always MJ this, MJ that. Flashes of a middle-aged man staring forlornly at a picture of his then-ex wife-- grieving the one who got away-- raced across his mind's eye. His universe's own MJ standing at a podium, strong but deeply hurt as she addressed all of Brooklyn after Spiderman's funeral.

"She wanted kids and I... just wasn't ready," echoed over and over in Miles' mind. Of course, they're together now. But the way Peter talked about his divorce... oh god.

Wait... was Miles ready for kids? Were he and Hobie going to have a messy on-and-off again relationship that ended up with them having to care for a spider-baby just like Mayday?! Maybe even multiple spider-babies?!?!?

Miles loosened his tie a bit, sweating profusely.

The fact that neither Hobie nor Miles were equipped with the parts to make a baby together flew right over his head. No... instead, his mind skipped straight to marriage, messy emotional fights and inevitable breakups. How was he gonna juggle school, work, Spiderman stuff and a relationship all at once?!

Without realizing, Miles started hyperventilating.

No no no no no, cool it Miles. COOL IT. Don't be weird. Miles mentally slapped himself and tried to even out his breathing as he leaned back in his seat and wiped some sweat off his brow.

He just proved to Miguel O' Hara and the entire multiverse this past spring that he can do his own thing, canon events be damned. Miles Morales was no victim to fate. Maybe all of the other spider-people had their own MJs. But maybe in this universe, MJ and Spiderman were... just friends. Good friends! ...Yeah, yeah, just friends...

The idea floated around in Miles' head throughout the entire rest of the class, but it didn't really make the tightness in his chest loosen up any at all.

Once the bell rang again and everyone started packing their things up, Miles dawdled a bit by the door, fumbling with his phone as his classmates filed out of the room. If he was late enough, maybe he'd completely miss Hobie in the hallways and not have to see him at all. Miles double-checked, triple-checked his schedule again and again, mapping out an eventual escape route through the halls in case Hobie's path did intercept Miles'.

God, Miles thought ruefully, checking the hour on his phone for the 15th time in a row and smiling awkwardly at his teacher's questioning glance. You're being so fucking weird about this right now!

The rational part of his brain kicked in and presented a quick slideshow of other calmer, more reasonable explanations as to why he really shouldn't be avoiding his new friend like the plague all of a sudden.

1. Hobie probably doesn't and won't like me, it stated. There is literally no proof that Hobie Jones is even into guys. Or me, Miles Morales.

2. Even if Hobie Jones is into guys-- or me, Miles Morales-- that does not mean the endgame is automatically marriage. No sir, no proof of that at all!

3. Canon events were officially disproven. Kinda. Mostly. Sort of?

C'mon, bro. Just man up and get out there. You're gonna be late for the next class soon anyways.

Right. He inhaled deeply and steeled himself.

"Okay well, uh. Have a nice day Mx. Gonzalez! See ya... tomorrow." Miles cringed inwardly at how lame that sounded, but his teacher didn't seem to notice as they bid him a nice day as well.

With his heart in his stomach, Miles slowly made his way into the hallway and started walking at a brisk pace, keeping his eyeline straight in front of him, trying to reach his next class on the floor below quickly but manageably. It was when he reached the stairs that his heart sank even lower.

Hobie was standing right next to the stairwell, glaring at the school map placed on the wall off to the left, fingertips on his chin as he mumbled to himself. He was glancing up and down between the map and his schedule in his hand, clearly befuddled.

Damn, he really is bad at navigating, Miles mused, once he recovered.

But as luck would have it, tragedy struck right then. Miles being pretty much the only other kid in the hallway attracted Hobie's attention, and even though Miles' feet kept him moving, he almost tripped on air once Hobie perked up upon seeing him.

"Miles!" Hobie grinned and waved him over, clearly happy to see him.

Oh noooo. Miles was not as happy to see him.

Without thinking, he launched himself down the flight of stairs, hopping over the railing and landing loudly on the 1st floor. Once steady, he basically sprinted over to his 3rd period class, completely missing the way Hobie's sunny grin slowly disappeared and his hand lowered back down to his side.

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Lunchtime came and went. Miles ate his packed lunch at his usual perch on top of the school building, where he always hid while trying to avoid the rest of the student body. He managed to pick a good spot away from prying eyes, and it never failed him.

Hobie ate alone, at a table tucked into the corner of the cafeteria despite being invited to several other tables. He sat and chewed sadly, locs back in front of his eyes, posture hunched over and defeated.

6th period came and went. Miles purposefully kept his gaze averted as Hobie walked in 5 minutes late. They sat at opposite ends of the room, never acknowledging each other's existence.

The school day ended and Miles made his way back to the dorms, sighing with relief once he glanced out the window and saw giant rainclouds rolling in over the horizon. Man, was he glad he got to bunk up on campus with his best friend! He greeted Ganke, kicked off his shoes and climbed up onto his bunkbed, laying back with a sigh. Maybe tomorrow he'd confront Hobie about his erratic behavior and apologize. Maybe.

But that was a problem for future Miles...

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Outside, the rain started falling fast and hard.

Outside, Hobie M. Jones waited miserably by the curb with an umbrella in hand, getting drenched by the water nonetheless. He checked his phone for the 15th time and sniffled angrily, pocketing it and gripping onto his umbrella handle.

Late. Again.

His mother was late to pick him up, as usual.

He swiped at a tear rolling down his cheek and finally loosened his ponytail, letting his locs fall all around his face.

Once she arrived, his mother was going to inevitably ask him how his day was, look only slightly concerned about his angry tears and ask if he made any new friends anyways, despite knowing the answer.

No, mom, Hobie would say as he kept his eyes glued to the car window.

No. I didn't make any friends.

[creativesplat]

Stealing/ Affection: Link steals some time with Mipha after his death, and before his spirit rejoins his body in the shrine of resurrection.

[bellaxgiornata]

Now that I've gotten the first part almost written and I have a better grasp on what this thing is, I'm able to share a summary! This'll be told in two parts and it'll be angst with a happy ending (because it's me and that's apparently what I love).

I will say this: this won't be your typical confession of feelings fic...

If We're Being Honest tentative summary:

Already having an awful week, you're a bit out of it while at Josie's with your friends, too busy sulking and drinking down your feelings to keep up with conversation. The sight of Matt wandering off with a beautiful woman yet again certainly doesn't help. But when you stay behind by yourself to finish your drink and wallow a bit more, you're surprised when Matt reappears and offers to let you stay the night at his place. Eventually, the night takes a turn you weren't anticipating.

[figureofdismay]

They should have just let Scully's infertility stick. The bodily autonomy horror and her personal loss was a very important important part of her arc and the overall themes of the abduction plots/syndicate plot. But the sudden reversal and miracle baby is what cheapens it. Let her deal with the reality of it without her needing to be pregnant after all for her story to move forward.

If cc had really wanted to see mulder and scully as parents the could have adopted the boy from Revelations or Gibson Praise or another hybrid child in need of a home and protection. But he wasn't interested in seeing them actually raise a child, just in seeing Scully pregnant with messiah experiment fetuses to ~secure her relevance to the narrative.

[seiya-starsniper]

Last Line Tag Game

Tagged by @silver-dream89 and @valeriianz like a month ago oops

My brain has been soup about some of my WIPs but seeing as we still have some time left in WIP Wednesday, this is a perfect time to share some snippets 😄

Have a snippet from Chapter 2 of A Symphony of Hearts. Beware, ANGST.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Morpheus practically shouts. Hob flinches back for only a moment, but soon straightens his back, glaring as he steps towards Morpheus.   “It is my business, actually,” Hob argues back. It’s clear he’s angry too, but unlike his father, Hob is far more in control of his emotional state, which makes him far more intimidating. “You’re both in my home, and you’re being an asshole to both me and my friend, so maybe you should calm down.” “I am calm! You’re the one being unreasonable,” Morpheus yells. “I should report you to the board of the university, there’s clearly a conflict of interest in how you perform your job,” he adds, and that’s when Orpheus loses his temper entirely.  “This is why I don’t fucking talk to you!” Orpheus screams, causing both Hob and Morpheus to jump in surprise. “You’re such an asshole, and you're a shit father! In fact, you know what, Hob’s a better father to me than you’ll ever be!” Orpheus then turns on his heel and flees the kitchen, leaving Hob and Morpheus to sort out the mess he’s left behind in his wake. 

Tagging with no pressure: @kydrogendragon @sleepsonfutons @beauty-of-nyx @tj-dragonblade