#and it really is better to just over-block than start making snide 'can you believe SOME people do X THING' vagues

[starlit-mansion]

my haterism is getting the the point where i just start blocking the op of every reblog i don't like rather than blacklisting stuff. the long game.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (1)

(Hey guys! I finally got around to posting the first chapter of this! I hope you guys enjoy it, and please tell me if you’d liked to be tagged or want to read more! there’s also a mini-series of Journal Entries connected to this fic.)

Ch.2

Chapter 1: Happy Accidents

Rosemary Highschool, a private school for the truly gifted and the rich. Anyone who attended this facility was either poised and reserved, or uptight, or all of the above. Therefore, when a stuttering, stumbling raven-haired girl came tripping through their doors, it was only natural that the students became curious.

Felix couldn’t care less, if he was being honest. The girl was just another student, and he had better things to do than waste his time meddling in the personal life of a complete stranger. 

His friends, however, did not share his sentiment. 

“Did you hear?” Allegra asked as they walked to their lockers, her sky blue eyes wide with delight. She leaned forward slightly to catch a better view of their expressions, causing her golden braid to fall gracefully over her left shoulder. 

“About the new student? Who didn’t?” Claude replied, wearing his usual grin. 

“How do you think she got in?” Allan wondered aloud, fixing the green cap on his head in thought.

Felix rolled his eyes. His friends had always loved picking up on the latest gossip. He never understood why. Take this new student, for example. She hasn’t even finished enrolling in the school yet, but everyone’s already chattering relentlessly about her. Why? Because she was rumored to be clumsy? That was hardly an achievement, let alone something to be talked about by the entire school. So what was all the fuss about?

Allegra gasped, a smile lighting up her soft features. “Oh! We should show her around! This school is huge, so she’ll definitely need a guide. Plus, we can get the first scoop on her.”

“Absolutely not.” Felix finally cut in, giving her a sharp look. He refused to galivant around the school with a complete stranger while his classmates tried to pry into the poor girl’s personal life. 

“We didn’t say you had to go.” Claude pointed out.

“But you should at least say hi.” Allegra hastily added, a motherly tone coming to her voice.

Felix scoffed. Right. He would say ‘hi’, then they would ‘convince’ him to stay- i.e. drag him by the collar -and he would end up going around the school with them anyway. He’d gotten used to their tricks by now.

Allan frowned in disapproval. “Come on, Fe. It’s the polite thing to do. We are her new classmates, after all.”

“Yeah, Fe, don’t be a jerk.”

“When am I ever not a jerk.” Felix retorted.

Claude smirked. “He’s got a point.”

“Felix.” Allegra pressed, fixing him with a stern glare and putting her hands on her hips.

Felix groaned, irritation prickling up to the forefront of his mind. What did it matter if he saw the new student? He wouldn’t be talking with her often, and they would probably meet later on during classes anyway. Why did they have to be so pushy?

He reached up to rub his temples and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see them, it helped him imagine that they weren’t annoying him to the point of insanity. 

“Alright, fine, but if any of you-”

Felix barely registered the hit. He heard his friends gasp, and the sound of his books and pencils scattering across the floor, and he felt the dull pain of someone smacking into him before he unexpectedly hit the ground.

Then his ears tuned into a light, yet panicked voice.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that- are you hurt? Do I need to call the nurse?”

Someone was talking to him. Well, they were more of rambling, really. 

“Pardon?” He said, interrupting the person’s ramble as he rubbed his back. He glanced up to see a young girl kneeling on the ground in front of him. She was scrambling around on the floor- gathering up his books, he realized -and appeared to be even more disoriented than he was.

His question spooked her, apparently, because she jumped, and her eyes darted upwards. They were an overwhelming blue, bright and sparkling despite being filled with anxiety at the moment. 

“I-I’m sorry!” She repeated, briefly setting the books down so she could nervously pull on the tips of her raven-colored pigtails.

Felix’s eyes widened. 

Raven.

Claude stifled a laugh behind him. 

“It’s not a problem.” Felix sighed, swiftly taking his books back from her and moving to retrieve the others. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. 

The ravenette furrowed her eyebrows, now bringing her hands down to play with the zipper of her black, half-sleeved jacket. “A-are you sure?”

He gave a short nod, scooping the rest of his books into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I ran into you. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.” His tone was composed, calm, if only for the sake of dignity. Claude and Allegra were never going to let him live this down.

He picked up her small handbag, holding it out to her. “So, I apologize. I’ll be more careful next time, and I am willing to replace anything of yours that is broken.” 

A wash of color came to her cheeks.

“Oh, That- that won’t be necessary, thank you.” She insured, taking the purse and clutching it to her chest.

Felix didn’t reply, instead using the brief pause to look her over. With her light pink capris and child-like pigtails, she didn’t exactly give off the impression of being rich or poised. Perhaps a relative bought her tuition? That’s happened before. 

“Aw, look! Felix made a friend!” Claude’s snide remark broke Felix from his thoughts, and he shot the brunette a glare. That clown can never keep his mouth shut.

Allegra pushed past the two and extended a hand to the girl just as they got to their feet. “Hi! I’m Allegra. What’s your name?”

The girl smiled- which Felix found surprisingly pleasant -and took her hand. “Marinette. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Like the doll?” Allan asked curiously, stepping forward as well.

“Sort of, yes.” 

“That’s pretty cool. I’m Allan, by the way.” He introduced himself, also shaking her hand. He then pointed behind him, towards Claude and Felix. “The one in the blue striped shirt is Claude, and the stiff board you just ran into is Felix.”

Felix hunched his shoulders slightly, a scowl tugging at the corner of his lips, but Marinette only laughed. It oddly reminded him of the sound of tinkling bells. 

“You’re new here, right?” Allegra asked before Felix could snark off to Allan. “Mind if we show you around?”

A sigh of relief tumbled from Marinette’s lips. “Please do. This place is like a maze!”

Claude chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’ll make your head spin. We-”

“-Can start with the cafeteria.” Felix interrupted. The sooner they could start the tour, the sooner he could go home. “Then we’ll work our way around the classrooms.”

He spun on his heel, ignoring his friends’ smug smiles, and marched off. It wouldn’t take long for them to follow.

Allan was the first to catch up, throwing Felix a sly smirk as he whispered, “I thought you said you weren’t going to show her around.”

Felix shrugged. If he was going to suffer through the embarrassment of running into somebody, he might as well get something out of it. He would take her on a quick tour, and perhaps his friends wouldn’t feel the need to meddle in his social life for at least another month.

“We’re her new classmates, right?” He said. “We should exercise basic politeness and guide her through the school.”

Allan hummed. “Sounds like good advice. I wonder who could’ve told you that.”

“The name escapes me.” Felix replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He stole a glance over his shoulder to the rest of the group. Marinette was talking cheerfully with Allegra now, her previous show of anxiety all but gone. She even looked a bit confident with the tripping matter settled. Isn’t that strange?

“...What else do you know about her?”

~~~~~~

When Maman suggested that Marinette start attending Rosemary Highschool, reluctance couldn’t begin to express how she’d felt. She’d heard the rumors, how the kids were spoiled, snobby brats, how the classes were just a room full of fancy trinkets to keep the kids satisfied for a while. Marinette honestly didn’t want any part of it, but at that point, any school was better than her old school. She simply couldn’t stand Lila’s schemes anymore, nor Adrien’s relentless pursuit of having them get along. As bad as Chloe’s bullying was, Marinette almost wished that she could go back to that time. At least then she’d still have friends. (Well, calling her old classmates “friends” would be over exaggerating now. At least then she wouldn’t have to deal with getting bullied from everyone at school.)

Either way, Marinette chose Rosemary over Dupont in a heartbeat, despite her uneasiness, and found that it actually wasn’t all bad. The endless halls were a bit confusing, but the classes were more advanced than others had let on, and though a select few of the students could be considered snobbish, everyone else seemed quite nice. A small group even offered to show her around. (After she ran into their friend, that is. Only Marinette could make such an embarrassing introduction.)

“I think that covers everything.” The girl of the group, Allegra, said. “But in case you’re still confused, I have a map for you.”

“A map?” Marinette echoed. She didn’t think they presented those at the school, though they probably should.

Allegra nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper from her school bag. “Claude gets lost all the time. So I started making maps for him. I have multiple maps because- typical Claude -he loses the maps too.”

“How was I supposed to know that it got mixed in with my history homework?” Claude, obviously the jokester amongst them, defended with a flail of his arms.

“If you ever need help,” Allegra continued, ignoring Claude’s comment as she scribbled something on the map, “feel free to text me.” 

“Thank you so much.” Marinette smiled, peeking at the phone number that was now on the corner of the page.

“It’s the least we can do.” Allan, probably the most relaxed of the group, replied. 

“It’s not as complicated as it looks. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it within a week.” Ah, yes. Then there was Felix, the poor boy she’d run into earlier. He’d been extremely mature about the matter, even insisting that it was his fault and that he’d pay for any of her damaged belongings. Naturally, she refused the offer, but it was a thoughtful gesture nonetheless. 

“If not, you know where to find us.” Claude added, before scooping her hand into his and pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “But I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you finding me for non-school related purposes as well.” 

Allegra rolled her eyes with a sigh, and Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. Felix just scoffed, especially when Claude winked at the end. 

Jokester and flirt of the group. Marinette thought with a smirk. In one quick motion, she slipped her hand out of Claude’s grasp and pushed him away by the tip of his nose. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, flashing him a wry smile.

Claude stumbled back a step, clearly shocked by her reaction. Allan straight up laughed next to him, and Marinette, to her delight, caught a glimpse of Felix smirking.

“Oh, I like you.” Allegra snickered, slinging her arm over Marinette’s shoulders.

“So do I.” Claude grinned. 

Allan, once his laughs died down, stepped forward. “Do you mind if I give you my number too? I can’t imagine not hanging out with you now.”

Marinette blushed from the compliment, but nodded and handed him the paper. Claude eagerly jumped at the opportunity and wrote down his number too. Then the boys turned to Felix.

“What about you, Fe? Are you giving her your number now or are you gonna beg for it later?” Claude asked, his grin turning devilish.

Felix shot him a glare- which he apparently did quite often. “I don’t beg.”

Allegra- ever the patient friend -let out a huff and shoved the paper into his hands. “For Pete’s sake, Felix, just write your number on the dang paper.”

“O-Only if you want to.” Marinette interjected. She didn’t want to cause a fight amongst them on her first day.

Felix’s glare faded slightly at her input, and he sighed. 

“It’s fine. You would probably need it eventually, anyway.” He relented, plucking a pen out of his left vest pocket and jotting down his number on the paper too. Marinette smiled despite herself as she took the paper back. It was only her first day, but she’s already made four, lovely friends. She liked to think of that as a good sign.

“Have you gotten your class schedule, yet?” Allegra queried now that the phone number matter was settled.

Marinette shook her head. “I was actually trying to find it when I bumped into you guys.”

Claude snorted. “‘Bumped into’. Good one.”

Marinette giggled along with Allegra and Allan. She hadn’t meant it that way, but the irony was a bit humorous. 

“Let us walk you to the office.” Allan requested. “The school tends to overcomplicate things, class schedules included.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hold you guys up.”

Allegra waved her hand dismissively. “Classes are over for the day, and our drivers are paid to wait for us.”

Marinette furrowed her brows slightly. “Your drivers?"

“You know, the people who drive us to and from school and anywhere else we want to go.” Claude helpfully supplied.

So, like Gorilla. Marinette thought. It made sense. This was a school of kids who had fortunes of the same extent, if not greater than, the Agreste’s fortunes. If Adrien had a driver, then the students here would certainly have one too.

“You don’t have a driver, do you?” Allegra guessed.

Marinette glanced up at the blonde, a strange mix of surprised and embarrassed. Was it that obvious? Would it be weird in this school if she didn’t have a driver?

“Please don’t take that the wrong way.” Allegra rushed to add, noticing Marinette’s sheepish expression. “I’m just curious. We don’t get many students here who aren’t drowning in their own money.”

“That makes sense.” Marinette replied. The tuition for this school had been unbelievably high. “But no, I don’t have a driver. My family was granted an early scholarship for me to come here.”

Surprise flashed across the group’s faces, including Felix’s. 

“Well, isn’t that interesting.” Claude muttered. 

Marinette shrank back slightly. “I-I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Allan cut her off. “We’re just impressed.”

“Getting a scholarship here isn’t easy.” Allegra explained. 

“I-It’s only in the fashion section.” Marinette admitted, fiddling with the ends of her bookbag.

Claude gasped, a sparkle coming to his chestnut eyes. "You're a fashion designer?!"

“Uh oh.” Allan smirked.

Allegra shot her an apologetic look. “I’d say that there’s an escape to this, but I don’t want to lie straight to your face on our first day of knowing each other.”

Marinette held back a smile. Did that mean she would lie to her face when they knew each other better?

“How many outfits have you designed? Can you sow outfits too? I’ve had a few ideas, but none of the other art students listen to me-” Comments and questions started spilling out of Claude left and right. Things about smeared pencil drawings, pricked fingers, and his strange obsession with ruffled, prince-like sleeves seemed to explode out of his mouth all at once. Marinette knew her rambles could fall on the fast side, but this was a whole other level. 

“I’d have to look through my notebook, but I think the ruffles are doable.” Marinette managed to say when Claude paused to take a breath.

“Really?!” He exclaimed, going so far as to clasp his hands together with a grin.

She nodded, smiling herself. “I’m not sure how princely sleeves would fair on modern sleeves, though. They’d look much nicer on a full prince costume.”

Claude’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You would design a full suit for me?”

“I can’t promise that the fabric will be of good quality when I sow it, but yeah.” 

Claude threw his fists in the air in celebration, and Allegra took the opportunity to lightly pull Marinette aside.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” She whispered. “Claude’s not going to be too disappointed if you decide to change your mind.”

Marinette’s smile softened. “Thanks, but I really don’t mind. I needed a new project to work on, anyway.” 

Allegra studied her for a moment, then smiled as well. “Well, if you’re sure. He’s going to send you cars full of fabric though.”

She laughed. “Guess I’ll tell Maman to start clearing out the guest room.”

~~~~~~

Felix stared at his book, rubbing the corner of the page between his thumb and index finger. His phone buzzed relentlessly beside him on the arm of his recliner, no doubt the group chat that he'd been roped into. It was chaotic enough when it was just Allegra, Allan, and Claude, but now that they've added Marinette to the group, Felix wondered if his phone would ever be silent again.

He supposed he should have known better than to assume they would show Marinette around the school and be done with her. Allegra, Allan, and Claude were always overly friendly. However, he also couldn’t say that he minded having her around either. At least, not for the time being. She was considerate enough not to push his buttons and lively enough to keep the others occupied. No more on-the-spot activities from Allegra and Claude to cure their boredom.

"They're chatty today." Bridgette, his mother, commented from the loveseat couch to his right.

Felix hummed in agreement. "A new student arrived at the school today."

"Is that what they're talking about?"

He shook his head. "It's who they're talking to. The leeches have already adopted her."

Bridgette chuckled. “You mean Allegra, Allan, and Claude?” 

“Who else insists on sticking to me like glue?” 

She tilted her head in a “True” gesture. “Who’s the new student?”

“Her name’s Marinette.” Felix answered, flipping the page of his book.

“Oh, that’s a unique name.” Bridgette replied thoughtfully.

Felix hummed in agreement. “She said it was supposed to be similar to the doll ‘Marionette’.” 

“You talked to her?” Bridgette asked, surprise lacing her tone.

Felix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew she didn’t mean to sound patronizing, but sometimes her questions irked him. For example, why wouldn’t he talk to the new student if Allegra and the others were? Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy human interaction, there was still such a thing as common courtesy.

..Which he supposed he didn’t usually have either.

Okay, maybe her question was more reasonable than he originally thought.

“Yes, I actually ran into her while we were walking down the hall.” He finally said.

Bridgette tried- and failed -to hide her laugh. “You ran into someone? That’s not like you, Felix.”

Felix sighed, slipping a bookmark into his book so he could close it. “I’m aware. I was trying to ignore Allegra’s prodding when it happened.”

“I see. What did Marinette say?”

“She actually started apologizing.” Felix admitted. “Even though it was my fault, she picked up my books before tending to her own things and asked if I was alright.”

Bridgette smiled. “She sounds delightful.”

He nodded without thinking. “Allegra even invited her to our routine luncheon tomorrow.”

Felix missed the twinkle in his mother’s eyes as she said, “Wow, to your personal lunch? They must really enjoy her company. You’ll have to invite her over here sometime.”

“I’m sure Allegra will arrange it eventually.” Felix replied dismissively.

“Then I shall have to thank her when she does.” Bridgette remarked, standing up from the couch. Her fingers ruffled through his hair as she passed him. “I’m glad you had a good day at school, sweetheart.”

Felix almost objected, since he hadn’t necessarily claimed to have had a good day at school, but decided against it. There was no point in arguing, especially when his day had, in fact, been satisfactory. He’d met someone new, someone that intrigued him. (A rarity, indeed, but it was true.) In the short time they talked, Marinette had shown herself to be both kind and anxious, but also witty and confident. It was an interesting mixture that stuck out to him. What type of life must one live to create such a paradox of a personality?

Unfortunately, Allan and the others knew about as little as he did when it came to her. She was a new student that had a passion for fashion and a bright smile. That was all. This was why he’d elected to remain silent instead of sharply opposing Allegra’s inviting Marinette to their lunch. (The sly smiles that were thrown his way by Claude and Allan afterwards were above irritating, though.)

Nevertheless, Felix felt she was worth the teasing for now, because Marinette, in short, was a puzzle.

And Felix loved his puzzles.

[madamtrashbat]

A couple of thoughts

We doin' okay, Cats family? We're good? Good. I have one last thing to add.

This is kinda about pro- and anti-shippers, but it's really more about fandom culture in general and just my experiences. You can read it, if you want, or not.

Up to you.

I've been doin' this for a while. A good fifteen years at least, closer probably to sixteen. I've been doing things in fandom for longer than some of my mutuals have been alive.

(Oh Jesus)

And there's something I gotta tell you guys, both as a person who has been doing fandom-y stuff for years and for someone who literally has college degrees in English Literature and Creative Writing.

Being an anti is not normal.

And I know that comes across as harsh and mean and it sounds unreasonable but I'd like to explain what I mean by that.

I can trace back being an anti to two main sources: Voltron and Star Wars. I was never into Voltron or really even around anyone who was but I remember the screaming and fighting over the ships, and I remember the hellish crusade that began when people dared to ship Rey and Kylo Ren together. It was nasty, guys. It was absolutely insane that suddenly people were doing this over fictional ships, that people were being sent actual abuse and hatred because someone wanted the broody shitlord man and the unwashed desert scrounger to smooch. Like... imagine that in real time.

I was not, nor have I ever been, a Reylo shipper, but you know what I did, when that ship began, and I didn't like it? I ignored it and went about my day. Because that's how I was taught. Nothing in the fiction world was worth fighting over. It was not worth getting into arguments over. What was the point?

Then the antis got bolder, started branching out, and when people like me started standing up and saying, "Hey, stop being a dick to people!" someone hired the world's best PR machine and suddenly people who were not antis were pedophiles and abusive and incestuous.

How's that for some whiplash.

This anti movement of berating, bullying, harming, and threatening has been their MO, and it's dangerous. And now, they all buy their own bullshit. They actually think people like me are all out here twisting our mustaches like Snidely Whiplash and diddling kids. Without a shred of irony, they believe this.

Proship only labeled itself that as a response to the antiship, and antiship, make no mistake, named itself first. It was not anti-pedophile. It was not anti-incest. It was not anti-abuse.

It was all about disliking fictional ships that other people enjoyed, and thus attacking people over it.

And it's pointless. It's driven a child to suicide. It has gotten people fired. It has ruined careers, livelihoods, friendships. For nothing. For a boogeyman that doesn't exist.

Sex experts across the board all agree that what gives us our jollies is not at all what we want in real life. There's some wild statistic like 70% of women have had a sexual fantasy about rape at least once in their lives. About rape! That act that most AFAB people have a deep ingrained fear of! And we've used it to get off! Because sexual fantasy isn't that deep. Our brains are idiots. And since time immemorial, we as humans have written just the most fucked up shit.

It's even in the Bible. Humans have been nasty forever. And it doesn't mean shit.

It's in the TV shows. It's in our movies. It's in our books. It's in our music, our podcasts, everything. Being an anti is not the way of humanity at all. Ever. Except for like... maybe the puritans but they sucked so who cares about them.

Antis believe a lie. They believe a lie and they hurt people for it. I am not in any way, shape, or form exaggerating when I say I am fearful for those who regularly interact with me, because I am worried that one day the art they make or the "clout" they carry isn't going to be enough to save them from their friendship with me and antis will tear them to shreds. Because that is how they behave. They may not think they're bullies, and they may think they're in the right, but I want you to look up the Youtube RPF kid who killed themselves over anti harassment. Look at that horrible ask I just got. This is how they behave.

And that is what proshippers stand against. It's a stance against bullying, harassment, threats. That is it. There are plenty of proshippers out in the world that would never, ever think of writing anything involving someone underage, or between relatives, or involving anything gruesome. Because that's not what it's about.

Antis are new in the world of fandom, and they are the absolute root of toxicity. I do not exaggerate. They waste the time of agencies actually trying to eradicate CSAM by sending them art someone drew of a teenage character that isn't real. They've driven people to suicide. They've outright admitted to not caring about actual humans as much as they care about fictional ships. They have shown time and time again that they are not above abuse, vitriol, and bullying. There are blogs that post stories from ex-antis who say they were afraid to say anything different than their anti friends for fear of righteous backlash.

I repeat: I am legitimately afraid that my friends are going to get dogpiled and harassed because they dare to be my friend. That fear is not baseless. And it's all because of the way antis act.

I am liberal with the block button. I try to maintain boundaries because I don't want to see any of that shit as much as they don't want to see any of mine (though only a very scant few actually block me back, which is a joke in and of itself). But it still slips through. And I hate it, every time I see it.

Because this is not the way we're supposed to be. We are not supposed to be at odds with each other. We are supposed to share and have fun and be joyful about some people in lycra.

But because some people wanted to put on the pilgrim hat and play Morality Council to someone who's been doing this for years, I gotta tiptoe around people that think I'm actually out in the world diddling children. Do you know how fucked up that is. Do you know how that feels? To not only have someone make that judgment without any evidence, but to tell it to other people who don't know me either?

When someone finally snaps and starts biting back, it's not out of nowhere. And antis never, ever see themselves as doing something wrong. But they are. They are wrong.

Can I let you in on a little secret?

Seriously, just between you and me, come here.

If you think it's wrong to bully someone because of fiction, then you're proship. That is the long and short of it. No more or less. I hate to break it to you, but that is the only definition, and anyone who says it's something else is lying to you for their own gain.

And sure, there are lots of people who try to hide behind the proship label as they do shitty things. But antis do the same. Humans being assholes and trying to blame it on something else is not new.

The fact that people have come to me and told me that the antis have made them feel uncomfortable, that they're afraid if they do something they might view as negative they might receive hate, that people are actually AFRAID of people in this fandom, is not okay.

There was a fandom I was involved in where one of the prominent people actively hated me and I was never afraid of what she would do. I am afraid of the antis in this fandom, though. Because they have teeth and they like to use them.

Fandom isn't supposed to be like this. Nobody should be screaming at teenagers for talking to adults in fandom, infantilizing them like they're not a whole autonomous human. Nobody should be telling someone to kill themselves because they ship Tuggerstrap. Nobody should be afraid of the other people in their fandom.

Antis, if any of them even read this (I doubt it, but just in case), I want you to look around. The people who are neutral are not afraid of what the proshippers will say to them. They are afraid of you. You and your ilk are the ones causing the damage, and you are the outliers in the entire world of fiction. You're a loud minority that thinks it knows better when it knows absolutely nothing.

Ruminate on that.

My blog is still a safe space from bullying, abuse, and nastiness. If someone is being mean to you, you will always find a friend here. And if you can't say the same, then what's wrong with you?

Be excellent to each other. Stop making people afraid.

And sit down and ask yourself what it is you really want when you make vague posts about people and tell people vicious, awful things. What are you hoping to gain.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Alt Ending, Part 5

Hot take but finals kinda suck

First part

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Tag: @solangelo252

You’d think her body would be grateful that she was finally giving it food, but no. She put it in her mouth and instantly felt nauseous. It didn’t even want to go down her throat, and keeping it there felt basically impossible.

But Tim had looked so happy when she had tried, so she forced it down.

(Well, she forced some of it down. If he noticed that a good amount of the food she brought to her mouth actually disappeared into the sleeves and folds of her dress he didn’t say anything.)

Tim started coming by three times a day with food after that. She didn’t complain despite her discomfort, she had really missed him.

Also, he looked stressed out and/or exhausted whenever she saw him. She worried about him. They both had a tendency to overwork themselves when they hit blocks, hell she’d sometimes joined him in his week-long deep dives into cases, but now that she was an outsider looking in… she was kind of shocked she’d ever let it get that far for either of them. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Taken proper time to clean himself, even? A while, she guessed from the deep bags under his eyes and the way his hair was frayed from running his fingers through it.

“Timmy,” she chirped.

He flashed her a tiny smile. “Hey,” he said, coming over and taking a seat beside her on the bed.

She took the bag from him and set it aside, much to his dismay, but then she reached over and dragged him into some cuddles and he suddenly had new concerns. He groaned into her shoulder.

“Bean, come on, I don’t want to sleep.”

She didn’t let go. “You need to.”

“Don’t have time.”

She rolled her eyes, bringing a hand up to start attempting to smooth out his hair. “You have to sleep eventually.”

“And I do!”

She didn’t answer, which he took to mean she didn’t believe him (a good assumption, she didn’t).

“I do! I get at least a few hours a week.”

“Wow, amazing. I take it back. You totally have a healthy sleep schedule.”

“Worry about yourself, first. You don’t sleep either,” he huffed, but he was starting to relax into her hold nonetheless.

“I’m also literally dead.”

“You used to say you’d sleep when you were dead.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, to be fair, I thought I’d actually die when I died.”

He gave a short laugh, and she opted not to acknowledge that it was a little forced.

She yawned and laid back with his face in her shoulder. “I’m surprised none of the others have drugged you to get you to sleep yet.”

“They’re too busy drugging B --.” He winced just slightly. “They’ve just got a lot on their plates is all, I’m the least of their worries.”

She didn’t say anything about his tiny slip up, just gave a light hum to say she understood.

She didn’t dare to move until she was completely sure he had nodded off. Even then, she only did so to pick up the food he’d brought for her.

Her nose scrunched a little at the prospect of eating, but when she opened it and saw it was fried rice she perked up a little. She nibbled at her food.

Honestly, she didn’t know if it was working. It seemed to be, but then again most of the things that got better could be attributed to other causes. Her skin was gaining color again, but the bleach may have just started to wear out. She was feeling more energized, but then again she was now getting a total of four cups of coffee a day thanks to Tim and Jason fueling her addiction. Exercise was getting easier and she was packing on muscle again, but she was also working out enough with Dick for it to be explainable that way…

She didn’t know if it was working. She didn’t even know if she WANTED it to work. The plan had been ‘kill Bruce and then quickly off yourself before the others can react’ and not having an instant out was kinda problematic when it came to finishing that plan.

Not that the first part of that plan was working out for her, either. Bruce still hadn’t come to see her. She doubted he ever would at this point.

She didn’t even have a way out, as the door was automated and presumably opened by someone outside.

No. The only way she would ever leave was if she managed to ‘fix’ herself, and that wasn’t happening because there was nothing to fix! She would know. Her entire thing as Ladybug was fixing things.

She looked down at Tim. When he slept all the little wrinkles in his forehead smoothed to make him look much younger. She smiled a little at the sight, pressing a kiss to where she knew the creases usually were.

At least, even if her situation couldn’t be helped, she could still help others.

~

She’d come to expect a routine of sorts, so the moment it was broken even slightly her brain short-circuited.

Duke stood in the doorway as usual, but when she glanced past him…

“Where’s Cass?”

His grin disappeared a little, but he pulled his back to his face with ease. “Wow, I’m really feeling the love here, Mari.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know Cass is the best person to ever exist.”

Duke nodded his agreement and came over to take a seat next to her. She cozied up to him as usual, curled under his arm as he pulled up their newest show on his laptop…

She had a lot of thoughts about Cass being missing.

On the one hand, she just missed her friend’s too-warm body pressed up against her and quiet complaints about how the actors were doing it all wrong.

On the other hand… Marinette was completely aware that they had Cass stopping by as much as she did to check on Marinette, to see if they were making any real progress with her. Cass was a human lie detector, able to detect when someone was going to be dishonest before they’d even realized it themselves, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage that. So, the fact that they were no longer making Cass drop in as often… either they thought she was doing better, or that she never would do better.

Marinette hoped it was the first. She knew it was the second.

She found it harder than usual to enjoy Duke’s snide comments about how dumb and cliche some of the characters were. She turned and pressed her face into his side. The glasses on the bridge of her nose dug into her skin.

Fuck. She was never getting out of there, was she?

She felt his free hand come up to run through her hair and she sighed.

“Duke…”

He pressed pause on the show.

“Tim told me you’re a meta, that you can control light. Can you do it for me?”

There was a beat.

“Why do you ask?”

She laughed a little. “Does it matter? Can’t I just be curious about why my favorite brother didn’t even bother to tell me that he has powers?”

“I thought you already knew. It’s common knowledge.”

She huffed. “Maybe I just prefer to be told things than meticulously look through every piece of information to figure it out.”

“What kind of bat are you?” He joked.

She winced and the hand in his shirt balled it just a fraction tighter. She didn’t respond.

There was a few seconds before he sighed and moved his hand from his hair to her chin, gently pulling her face out of where it was hidden in his side. She refused to meet his eyes.

It was silent again, neither of them sure what to say.

“Here,” he said after a moment, putting his free hand out and making light dance across his palm.

Her face lit up, literally and figuratively, at the sight of the tiny ball of light. She leaned a little closer.

“Aw, it looks like a tiny sun!”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I can also…”

There was a moment of silence as he concentrated and the tiny ball of light split into the colors of the rainbow. She giggled, reaching out to cup his hand in hers. It was the first non-artificial light she’d seen in months, the first rainbow she’d seen since… Paris, actually.

Well, even if she wouldn’t ever see the outside world again, at least she could still have this little fake sun. It was basically the same, just as good, she told herself. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks that were telling her otherwise.

~

She tossed the plastic spoon she’d stolen from one of her meals in the air idly.

The plan had been to turn it into Baby’s First Shank but that probably wasn’t going to work out. Pen to the throat was at about a .01% chance of working, attacking him with a spoon-knife needed a few more zeroes added to that already insanely small number. She gave it a .000000001% chance at best.

Then again, the other option was trying to strangle someone who had an insane height and weight advantage to death before someone else could interfere...

She sighed to herself and put the spoon in her teeth, starting to pull.

She didn’t get very far before she heard the metallic whoosh of the door opening and she barely glanced up to see Dick.

He stared at her from the doorway, his eyebrows slowly raising as he watched her attempt to bite an edge into a spoon of all things.

She pulled it from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I think your eyebrows are trying to escape,” she told him.

He blinked at her before rolling his eyes and walking inside fully. “Thanks for the assist. Would have lost them otherwise,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ve seen you lose your phone three minutes after putting it down, Dickie, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He gasped and rested a hand over her heart. “You think that low of me?”

“Lower. I was being nice.”

Dick pouted and walked over to the bed. She didn’t think much of it until he was diving onto her stomach. She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow, but it wasn’t enough to save her. She groaned in pain as his extremely hard head made contact with her not-so-hard stomach.

“FUCK. This is why your parents called you Dick, y’know!”

He only laughed at her.

Despite herself, she gave him a smile.

She rested her head back in the pillows for a moment (mostly just to catch all the breath she’d lost) before pushing him off. “Ready?”

He groaned into her comforter before rolling onto the floor. “‘Kay.”

Marinette grinned as she took a seat beside him, starting her usual stretches. He pushed himself up to sit with minimal groaning and started working on his shoulders.

It was quiet for a while as they stretched.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes on her foot when she spoke next: “Dick?”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“I… can I have some more stuff? Everything here is so boring. I just… I want new things to do. Or, at least, new things to look at.”

There was a long silence between them. Anxiety bubbled under her skin. She switched legs so she could gauge his expression through her bangs. His expression was carefully neutral.

She cringed.

“Obviously I’m not ungrateful! You guys have all been really nice and accommodating! I get food and a phone and, honestly, that’s fine --!”

“Mari!”

Her mouth snapped closed.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Anyone would be bored here. I can talk to them. It’ll probably depend on what you want.”

She finally looked at him properly, eyes wide. She really hadn’t been expecting that to work.

He slowly pulled his legs to him to sit criss-cross applesauce, head resting on his hand. “I can probably get some baking things, a sketchbook, just blunt objects in general. Deadly, but not before someone could get there.”

Marinette nodded her understanding, a smile making its way across her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You constantly say Duke and Cass are the best.”

She was torn between agreeing with herself and flattering him. Since she wanted something, she decided on flattery: “That was, like, a few hours ago. I’ve grown since then. You’re my favorite now, Dickie.”

“Can I get that as my ringtone?”

“Only if you only use it to mess with Jay.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

~

The door whoosed open and she barely moved her head to look at it.

She froze.

Bruce?

No. No way. There was no way in hell.

But was there? Cass HAD stopped coming. Maybe she had somehow convinced them that everything was working out and everything was fine.

Marinette hadn’t done anything differently, though, so that probably wasn’t it…

Oh. Oh shit.

Maybe she was actually going insane. Because there was no way the bats would have made that kind of mistake by letting Bruce in when she was still intent on murdering him. He had to be a hallucination, because nothing else really made sense. Kwami, Tim was going to be SO smug about this one.

Actually, no, he didn’t have to know.

Her gaze slipped away from Fake Bruce and back to the dots on her ceiling. Because, as everyone knows, that if you don’t acknowledge hallucinations they go away…

“Marinette,” Fake Bruce said, trying to trick her into outing herself as losing it.

“Marinette,” he tried again, starting his way over.

She did her best to ignore the footsteps and the way the bed shifted when he sat down. No wonder schizophrenics fell for this shit, this was all so real…

Except... weren’t schizophrenics not supposed to be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t? Wouldn’t her knowing (thinking?) he was fake be an indication that he was actually real? Or was that just her mind trying to justify believing it?

Marinette bit inside of her cheek and let herself look at Fake Bruce again.

He cracked a smile for her. A hand reached over and pushed some hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said.

She hesitated.

It would suck if this all was fake, the others would get confirmation and she really wouldn’t have a way out. But if it was real then this was her only shot. If it was real Cass would be watching the cameras to see what she was thinking and she would know for sure that Marinette was still intent on killing Bruce…

Fuck.

Marinette pushed herself into a sitting position and looked Maybe-Bruce up and down before grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling him into a hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes when he hugged her back.

“Fake.”

The man tensed underneath her and then sighed as he pulled back.

He gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She shook her head slightly and fell back. With a flick of her wrists the knife she’d created out of her plastic spoon was in her hands and she absently tossed it at the hallucination. Either it would make him disappear or it would look like it stabbed him and she could pretend that it actually happened.

But then it didn’t do either of those things.

Her eyebrows knit together when the spife shattered upon impact.

He looked unconcerned as he gently swept all the pieces into his hand and then put them in his pockets.

“The fuck?”

“Language,” he chided lightly.

She grinned. “You really need to work on your ‘Bruce’. Accepting a hug that quickly is one thing but chiding someone for language? In OUR family? I’m pretty sure he gave that up by Jason.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “I’m Superman.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times before shrugging to herself. “Okay. You look just like Bruce. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, trust me, we know. It’s pretty helpful, though. One time a person tried to assassinate Bruce and ended up fighting me. It wasn’t their day.”

She smiled a little, but it didn’t last very long. She fell back in her pillows and glared at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry this all happened to you. You’re just a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d long-since given up on denying that something had happened to her. Not because she no longer believed it, but because it wasn’t worth the effort. No one ever believed her when she said it.

(Could she blame them? No. She almost believed it herself just a few moments before. Still annoying, though.)

Instead of saying any of that, though, she brought a grin to her face.

“You and B should switch houses for April Fools. See if anyone notices anything.”

~

She really should have noticed something was up when her coffee didn’t energize her at all.

It had all been going fine. She was making Jason dispose of all the pieces of food she’d used sleight of hand to get away with not eating (she was still a little bitter about him stealing her pen and this was the most she could really do to get back at him, compromised as she was). They made idle conversation, mostly just about how Damian had got himself a new pet cat that he had named BatCat (though, apparently, they had heard him slip up and call him Charles a few times). They debated over how good that name was and the merit of Jason’s suggestion -- BatPussy, of course -- as she drank her third cup of coffee of the day.

It was about halfway through her drink that she began to notice that something was off. She squinted at Jason suspiciously.

“Decaf?” She asked, her voice worryingly sweet.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look unimpressed despite stepping back a good half-step. “Please, if it was decaf classical conditioning still would’ve made it work at least a little.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then realized he was right. Or, at least, she was pretty sure. She couldn't seem to think of anything against it.

She frowned, looking down at her drink again and swirling the contents around. She drank the rest of it, trying to figure out why exactly it wasn’t working.

Was she already at the point where caffeine had little effect on her again? She didn’t think she was that bad yet… hell, she probably couldn’t be because she was depending on others to give her her fix…

She shook her head slightly and then quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain stabbed through her skull and she stumbled into Jason. The plastic thermos slipped from her fingertips and went rolling across the floor. Her head crashed into his chest and arms were quick to wrap around her.

“You got shitty coffee, try a different place next time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, okay, kid. I’ll be sure to do that.”

She nodded as much as her headache would allow and felt the arms around her slip down to pick her up. She blinked her eyes open blearily and regretted it when the light attempted to murder her via knife to the head.

Heh. Little light particles with little knives.

Wait.

Did she get a concussion? Somehow? Without getting hit?

She buried her face in his shoulder and it was then, as he set her in bed and tucked her in, that she realized what had happened.

“Bitch,” she murmured above whatever drug they had put in her drink.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she could do little more than scrunch up her nose and vaguely wave him off. Her eyes fell closed again.

~

Marinette woke up a while later.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights were dimmer, something she didn’t have to open her eyes to see because her head wasn’t pounding as much.

Then she realized a person was with her. They had entwined themselves around her, tangled their limbs with hers. They needn’t have bothered, everything felt like lead. She wouldn’t be moving for quite some time.

… why was she being held down? Oh no. That was probably bad, huh?

Marinette made a sound in the back of her throat and started trying to shift away from the person pressed against her back. She needed to see who they were. They didn’t bother to tighten their hold on her, she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

In fact, a hand stopped holding her down. Instead, it came up to pet her hair.

Oh? This was nice.

A voice by her head told her it was all okay. After a moment she realized she recognized that voice. She smiled sleepily. Cass. She liked Cass. She pressed closer to her and was rewarded with a hand rubbing up and down one of her arms.

She nearly fell asleep again. Cass was safe, Marinette was safe… the warmth against her and the soothing touch… of course, it certainly helped that the drug was still in her system and she was exhausted...

But then her mind wandered back to her first question. Why WAS Cass holding her down? Why did they drug her in the first place?

She moved so her hair could block some of the light and then cautiously cracked her eyes open.

The batboys were all moving things inside almost silently. Jason was carrying an entire fridge on his own. Dick and Damian were arguing over the positioning of the table they had just brought in through angry hand motions. Tim and Duke were working together on… was that a gaming set?

And she was being held down because the door was wide open.

Marinette looked at the doorway for just a moment longer. She allowed herself to imagine getting out and swinging through the city with her lasso, allowed herself to pretend she could lay in the grass, allowed herself to believe that she could see the sun and the stars and just breathe fresh air again…

And then she closed her eyes and sunk into Cass’s grip.

What was the point in trying? Even if she could somehow beat out all six of the people in the room with her and get past whatever security Bruce had to have outside of the room all while drugged… then what? No money or idea where she was… and she’d be running from the bats of all people…

Yeah. Useless. She curled up and allowed sleep to take her again.

~

Quite a while later she woke up and blinked a few times when she realized she wasn’t the only person in bed. At first she thought it was just Cass or Tim, they were the most likely culprits, but then she realized everyone had managed to cram themselves onto the bed with her. Her and Cass had gotten brushed to the side of the bed to make space for Tim, Dick, and Damian. Jason had collapsed across the end of the bed -- presumably for space, but Duke was laying half on top of him so that obviously hadn’t worked out.

Marinette smiled faintly and buried her face back into the crook of Tim’s neck.

~

When she woke up again, most of the drug flushed from her system (somehow…?), she thought she was alone.

This was fine. She was able to stretch out and sit up.

She blinked when she saw Damian, who was sitting on her floor and playing a video game.

Huh? Video game?

She looked around her room confusedly. The bats had basically made her a one-room apartment, complete with kitchenette and a tiny study area. Of course, it was much higher quality than the apartment she’d had, with a high tech gaming system and a little dining area and holy shit that was a MINI LIBRARY?

Wild.

“You’re finally up.”

She hummed lightly as an agreement. She crawled over to the end of the bed and smiled when he handed her a twizzler. It was objectively one of the worst candies, but she liked having something to do. She twirled it in her hand idly.

“Do you think… do you think it’s working?”

She frowned confusedly and dropped off the bed to sit beside him on the second beanbag chair. She chanced a quick glance in his direction to gauge how he was feeling... his expression didn’t let anything on other than that he was thinking hard, though she was pretty sure that was about the game.

“Gonna elaborate on that?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you going to join the Undead Robins Club?”

She grinned at him. “I wasn’t a Robin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her smile disappeared a little and she trained her eyes on the game. “I don’t know.”

“You know we never will know for sure, right?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge it. They were the bats, they were never going to chance taking off her glasses because if they were wrong and she WASN’T better… well, it wasn’t the kind of mistake they could easily come back from.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a few moments.

“Do you care?”

“Doesn't really matter if I do. It won’t change anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not answering my question.”

She bit her cheek. “I… yes. I care. It still doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he just went back to playing the game.

“Damiiiiiiiii…” she whined and, when he gave a vague grunt to show he was paying attention, she continued with “... shouldn’t I get to play first? It’s mine.”

“You slept in too long,” he said without looking up.

She huffed. “Only ‘cause I was drugged!”

“Unfortunate.”

She got off the beanbag chair and whacked him over the head with it. He barely acknowledged it outside of an annoyed click of his tongue.

She huffed and pulled the chair back to herself to sit again. “Is it two player?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He clicked his tongue again.

She pouted for a little while longer before looking back at the screen with a smile. “... heard you got a cat named Charles. Wanna talk about him?”

Damian’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Only if you let me play.”

He looked pained. If he gave it to her then he’d be giving her something she’d want, which was a sibling no-no, but if he didn’t then she probably wouldn’t listen to him gush about his cat. A few moments went by before he reluctantly handed over the controller.

She beamed and scooted her chair over to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him stiffen underneath her but, when she didn’t move again outside of what was necessary to play the game, he relaxed again.

“I thought you were going to listen,” he chided lightly when she didn’t take a break between levels.

“I can listen and play.”

Damian sighed a little and shook his head.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want --.”

“I’m getting to it! So, he’s a black cat that apparently hadn’t been adopted because everyone thought he was evil so the pet store was going --.”

~

Marinette noticed something was up the minute the door opened.

First of all, it was Duke and Damian. That’s all that really needs to be said. Those two together… it’s never a good thing.

Secondly, they were there as Signal and Robin. Most of the time the others avoided even talking about their lives as vigilantes for fear of setting her off in one way or another, but here they were showing up in their suits? No, something weird was going on.

“Hey, Mari, can we skip a fight and you just put a bag over your head and let us pick you up?” Tried Duke.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You want to…? Huh?”

“We don’t really have much time to explain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Damian held up a potato sack and some twine, which really wasn’t all that encouraging.

She hesitated. “... what’s something only you two would know?”

“Really?” Said Damian with more than a little exasperation.

“Hey, we’re all bats here. I’m not moving until you prove you’re who you say you are.”

(Technically, if they were really Duke and Damian, they could fight her and do it anyways. She probably couldn't beat both of them at once. Still, that kind of fight would hurt all of them and she really didn’t want to have to do it at the moment.)

Duke hesitated before shrugging. “Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint. Which I don’t understand. Just brush your teeth if you like that taste so much.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alright, you’re who you say you are. Robin?”

“… early on I lied and said that Nightwing’s real hero name was actually BatNightwing to mess with you both.”

She frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re a dick.”

“No, Nightwing’s a Dick. He’s a Damian.”

Marinette was THIS CLOSE to fighting them anyways.

But she didn’t. She was kinda curious about where all this was going. So, she allowed them to bind her hands and slip a bag over her head. Arms wrapped around her -- she didn’t really care who it was -- and she was lifted off the ground. Then, they were walking.

Part of her wondered if this was some kind of test. They were checking to see how compliant she was or how likely she would be to run once outside. Maybe they had Superman on call in case she tried to escape.

She really couldn’t tell.

She didn’t think that they had any reason to take her out of the perfectly safe and well-stocked place they had put her in.

Maybe her location had been compromised and they were moving her to a backup? No, that didn’t make sense. Duke made sense for transport, Damian didn’t. Damian was one of the worst fighters in the family (he was in no way BAD at fighting, of course, it was just a byproduct of being in the game the shortest amount of time and not being a meta) and he was the second most likely person to end up fighting her after Jason. What the fuck?

Wait, Duke said he’d explain on the way.

“What’s going on?”

“New idea on how to bring you back,” said Duke simply.

Well, she guessed that was more information than she’d previously had. She’d take it for now.

She heard a quiet whooshing noise and frowned confusedly, only to feel herself get set down… somewhere. She felt carpeting underneath her, which meant she was in… a house? No. A car, she thought as she noticed the quiet hum of an engine. She’d been put in the fucking trunk. She kicked out as much as she could without knowing exactly where they were and gave a cry of protest, but then the lid was clicked over her head and she was thrown into uncomfortably complete silence.

She scowled to herself. She shouldn’t have thrown her spife at Superman, it would have been really useful right then. She tested the bindings against her hands and winced at how tight they were. Did they really use zip ties? Those were notoriously bad for circulation.

… oh. Yeah. She was dead. That actually wasn’t that bad, then.

Still annoying. Hard to get out of. Assholes. She wondered if it was worth dislocating her arms…

Yeah. Probably. If she could get out then she would be OUT.

She flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled her feet up to her arms and then started pushing back. Her body strained in protest and she bit down on the front of the bag over her head to stop herself from making any sounds.

And then she felt a pop in her left shoulder and a flare of pain and the makeshift gag wasn’t enough to hold back her sobs. Her arm throbbed and it was only made worse when they reached the city proper and the roads started getting choppy. Every little bump in the road sent a new wave of pain rolling through her and all she could do was ride it out.

They started hitting smoother roads what felt like hours later... it was kind of concerning because she had no clue where they could be, those were uncommon in Gotham, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to die every few seconds.

She took a few seconds to bring her breathing back to normal before she started slowly wiggling her arms out under her butt and legs and then they were in front of her. Great. She picked herself up as much as she could in the tiny space, checked her angle mentally, relaxed her muscles, and then dropped down on her shoulder to get it back in place.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt weird and still kind of hurt but at least it was mostly better.

She pulled the bag off of her head and relished in the slightly fresher air.

She looked down at the zip ties on her wrists and she sighed a little. Time to do that hack that looked stupid but actually worked if the kidnappers were stupid enough to leave you alone.

She brought her feet up, untied the laces of her shoes, and tied them back around the ties. Then she set to work trying to saw at the zip tie.

She paused when she heard the low rumbling of a plane. Were they near an airport? Oh. That was going to be a problem. She went faster.

Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t get very far before there was a click and the trunk opened.

She cried out in pain at the sudden light and squeezed her eyes shut, turning to press her face into the carpeted interior.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk. Before she could do much to look around so she could get her bearings and make herself a portal, the bag was forced over her head again and a strong grip on her arm (the good one, thankfully) kept her from pulling it off again. Then someone knelt in front of her and fixed her shoelaces.

“Really, NightMare?” Duke said, unimpressed.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

Damian scoffed.

Someone picked her up again and she sighed as they carried her along. They were definitely at an airport. She could hear people milling about. She was sure it was Gotham, too; she could feel a few stares, but most people seemed comfortable with the vigilantes among them.

Then came the normal airport stuff. Walking. Some arguing over whether she counted as luggage or if she could go through the metal detector with them. Sitting. A little chatting with civilians. More walking. More sitting. Very light chatter, just formalities and asking for drinks (Duke, who she figured out was the person carrying her, slipped a box of orange juice up her bag so she could have something). And then they were in the air.

After some time in the air the bag and zip ties were removed. She kept her eyes closed to let them adjust to light naturally and instead focused on rubbing feeling back into her hands.

One English alphabet later, she opened her eyes.

They were in a private plane (or was it a jet?), which explained why it was as quiet as it was. Damian was drinking a glass of water and reading something on his phone. Duke was nibbling at some complimentary pretzels and working a Rubix Cube. They both glanced in her direction from time to time, but they seemed pretty confident that she couldn’t do anything while they were in the air (which was true, but annoying).

She looked around a little more and found that there were no other bats.

“Um… where’re…?” She trailed off, unsure.

They stopped glancing in her direction, ignoring her and her question. The frown that had been on her face since pretty much when they’d first taken her from the room deepened.

“Do they… do they know what’s going on?”

The silence spoke volumes.

She rested her head in her hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than a juice box for this.”

Duke sighed but called a friendly looking woman inside to get her some wine. Marinette and Duke sipped at a glass each (Damian wasn’t allowed any, something Marinette took a little too much joy in). She scrutinized the two over the rim of her glass.

“Are you going to explain or let me guess? Because letting me guess is going to end up with me assuming you’re doing something way worse than you actually are.”

Damian sighed a little. “It’s hard to explain.”

“We’re in a plane. I’m going to guess we have time. Start talking.”

“We drugged them all -- except Orphan, she’s just out doing patrols and won’t know what’s going on for a good few hours -- and grabbed you.”

Duke gave Damian a pleading look to make him continue for them.

Damian, reluctantly, put down his phone to talk. “Signal and I have an idea on how to bring you back from the dead. The others won’t like it, especially not Red Hood, so we’re making the executive decision to not ask.”

Marinette didn’t know a lot about when Jason had been resurrected, it was a sensitive subject so it was avoided pretty much at all costs. All she’d gathered was that it was a rather messy experience for everyone involved.

She rested her head on her hand and then looked back down at her drink. She snatched the bottle from the table and, when Duke protested, set him a glare and started drinking directly from it. They were actually going to bring her back through probably shady means. She was NOT drunk enough for this shit.

~

She got stuffed in a suitcase when they left, which was extremely insulting (and a little embarrassing, if she were honest).

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase and listened to the dull thrum of people talking on the other side. She vaguely recognized the language, both Nino and Damian both spoke it when frustrated, but the words were all Greek to her.

Well, they were all Arabic, but you get the point.

~

She didn’t even realize she had been asleep until she was awoken. Rather abruptly. The zipper for the suitcase was opened and she tumbled out. Marinette cursed in French as she hit the ground and laid there, her entire body aching from not moving for so long. She hadn’t known her face could get pins and needles, she wished she could go back to her blissful ignorance.

“Are you sure about this? You want to save her?” A woman’s voice said above her, sounding a little skeptical.

Marinette forced herself to roll over so she could glare at whoever it was, she knew when she was being insulted, and then she blinked up at the new person.

A tall woman with dark skin and hair and a body to die for stood above her, hands on her hips.

“Holy shit, Dami. You got terrible genes. She’s gorgeous and you’re… you? What?”

Duke hid laughter behind his hand and Damian scoffed.

Amusement flickered behind Talia’s ‘I could kill you before you could even scream’ expression. “I’ve changed my mind. I like her.”

“Cool,” said Marinette as she quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her body wasn’t ready for that, but that was the least of her concerns. The pretty lady was ushering her along and Marinette wasn’t going to hold her up if she could help it.

“How did you die?” Talia said, which was an interesting choice for conversation.

Marinette shrugged, though, unconcerned. “I don’t know, really, there wasn’t this ‘oh, wow, I’m dead’ moment. My guess is I either drowned in acid or died of dehydration at some point. Does it change anything or…?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Good.”

“... do you not know why you’re here?” Asked Talia carefully after a moment’s contemplation.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, they’ve been avoiding telling me. I assume it’s painful.”

“... yes. Very.”

The four lapsed into silence after that.

Marinette felt weirdly on edge as they walked through the facility, her hands rubbing the goosebumps that were prickling along her arms. The further they walked, the more on edge she felt. They were approaching something unnatural, something so undeniably WRONG, and she needed to GO.

But Damian and Duke were behind her, probably sensing her unease, and running ahead would only get her there faster… so she walked.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to ground herself.

But, the moment they stepped into the room, she froze.

Green water. That apparently hurts.

Acid.

“FUCK.”

Duke was ready for her to run, apparently, stood in front of the only exit and ready for a fight before she could even get a full step away from the hell that awaited her.

“No no no no no no wait it’s fine I actually don’t mind being dead it’s fine guys please --.”

Damian grabbed her arms and she choked out a sob,

“Damian god damn it I was kidding about the mom thing you’re perfectly attractive or whatever I promise I really didn’t think it would hurt you that much we don’t need to do this let’s tALK IT OUT --!”

“It’s not about that --!”

Duke managed to get a hold on one of her legs and lifted and all she had to struggle against either of them was a foot and she was SO fucked --.

“PLEASE DUKE PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT I PROMISE I CAN BE BETTER YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO I’LL BE FINE WE CAN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT PLEASE --.”

Talia grabbed her last leg and she sobbed as she thrashed around uselessly. They started dragging her towards the acid. Nothing to do no way to run no help in sight no --.

“PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!”

And they did. They let her go and she fell into the acid.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Moving On - Part 4

Summary: Wolffe makes amends with Jirli

A/N: Hello lovelies, 

Welcome to the second last part of Moving On.  I can’t believe this story is almost done.  Just one more part, I really hope you guys enjoy how I end it. Thank you so much for showing this story so much love and for following it.  

Italics = reader's other voice

Italics and bold = telepathic communications

Bold = Commander Wolfee’s POV

Italics and Indented = Reader’s enhanced hearing.

Bold and Indented = Flashback

Warnings: Canon typical violence; implication of women being property; declarations of intent; I think that’s about all there is with regards to warnings.  If I missed any just let me know.

AO3 Link   |  Words: 4,115

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As always drop some love, a comment, and/or a reblog, its all welcomed. 

ONCE AROUND THE BLOCK

“What do they have?” Asked the commanding droid

“A cylinder of some kind” responded the droid talking into the comm at the front of the line

“Cylinder?” Questioned the tactical droid

“Not just any cylinder” She responded, before lighting her saber.

“JEDI!!”

The explosion, dust billowed everywhere, the only thing that could be seen was her saber cutting through the droid lines like they were butter.  Another angle came from higher up, showing her progression, she was quick, effective.

“Commander, does she even need us?” Someone commented off screen.

“Remind me not to get on her bad side.”

“I was able to shoot one droid”

“I think I’m in love”

“I know I’m in love”

“Think I can get her to come to ‘79s”

“Commander, do you know if she’s single?

My hand clenched as the comments started turning from her abilities to what they felt, why were people declaring their love for my Commander … I mean Commander Stonn bothering me?  When Cody had asked if he could ask her out, I was ready to reach through the comm and strangle him.  I don’t know what came over me, especially since I knew he was only joking.

“Cut the chatter, men” Cody’s stern voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, sir!” Came the resounding acknowledgement.

The smoke settled, there was nothing left but heaps of droid trash.

“Commander, do you think she would say yes, if I proposed?”

“Shut it, Waxer.”

“Yes, sir”

Wow, she really was something.  There wasn’t even an ounce of fear on her face.  The recording didn’t do her any kind of justice, I can only imagine what it was like to see it live.  She protected those men, she didn’t even let Cody stand beside her, she faced the entire battalion on her own.  

I started thinking back to my treatment of her since she arrived on the Triumphant.  I never actually welcomed her on board.   Never actually gave any sort of opinion with respect to her battle plan.  I didn’t even congratulate on the execution of her plan.  I just stood there staring at her.  

Cody said she thought I hated her, did that mean she spoke to Cody about me?  Did she actually speak about me in general?  When I saw her with the pendant I was irritated at the lack of military discipline.  Even General Plo doesn’t have any personal effects on him when heading to battle.  Then Sinker told me it was a gift from Curl, her last gift from Curl, I was glad at that moment I hadn’t actually stated regulations or made a comment towards her personal effect.  I didn’t even wish her luck before she left for her ship to head down to the planet.   Had I really been so horrible?  

She certainly proved herself time and time again, despite my attitude, despite the snide comments I made under my breath, at times it looked like she had heard, but she never said anything.  She never repaid in kind.  She always made sure to treat me with respect.  Even smiling whenever I had to talk with her.  She respected my privacy, never forcing me to like her.  Seeing her on that battlefield, just reinforced that she was a much better person than I could ever hope to be.

I knew Curl was a good man, trustworthy, and valued a good fight, no wonder he fell hard for this tiny Jedi, she was everything a good man like Curl would value in a partner.   My heart began beating a little faster, this Commander was nothing like the one I had created in my head.  She wasn’t cold, she didn’t lead her men into an ambush, I can’t believe I had ever thought that.  She was calculating, looking at all the angles.  After all, her strategy paid off, this was one of the few times where we had engaged the enemy and had no casualties, not even an injury.  

I need to talk to her, I need to … I need to do better.  I need to be … *sigh* I need to be the man she deserves as a Co-commander.   The man she deserves.

- - - - - - -

The mess hall was fairly empty.  I sat there with Strut, the shiny who had just joined the Triumphant.  The planetary aide had been his first mission.  

We got to know each other a little while we were talking before we headed down to the planet, he had been assigned to my team, he was eager and proven himself, the other troopers that were with us, had readily commented on his willingness to follow direction and to be of use.  When we landed back on the Triumphant, I asked him to meet me in the mess hall when he was next free, with his armour, paint, and a big enough cloth to cover the table.  He didn’t even question it, he showed up with his armour in a bag, it was adorable to see how nervous he was, unsure as to what was going to happen.  

We took our time and laid out the cloth on the table, followed by every piece of his armour before the both of us.  Many in the mess hall had stopped and looked at what we were doing.

“Strut, in my old squad we had a tradition, the Commander and I would clean all our teams’ armour and repaint any damage done, after every mission, it was a way to care for my brothers, taking some of the stress and weight off their shoulders.  Since this is your first battle, I would like to help paint your armour, if that’s okay?  As a way to commemorate your achievement.”

Strut didn’t know what to say, some of the other troopers heard my statement, some looked shocked, others had an expression on their face I couldn’t quite read, a small few looked annoyed.

“Commander, I would be honoured.  Thank you.”  

His smile radiated from ear to ear, and I couldn’t help but reciprocate, he was just a newbie, but he's proven himself, he listened to commands, and even made sure his brothers were okay at the end, that needed to be celebrated, especially when so many often don’t come back.  Silently we both picked up our brushes, and began painting his armour, I was almost done with his left shin guard, when heavy footsteps came up beside us.

“What are you doing?” Came the gruff voice

“Painting, Commander” I answered without looking up, as soon as I sensed the Commander enter the mess hall, I felt a tingling sensation down my spine.  Hmm, wonder what that could mean.  Simple, that I don’t like him.  Stop lying to yourself, you and I both know you think he’s quite the Commander.  Yes, he’s an excellent Commander, doesn’t mean I like him as a person.  Your dream says otherwise.  That was … that was my subconscious.  Sure it was.  Sure.  Although I respect Commander Wolffe, he is getting on my nerves, you know just go away.  For now, I will.  

Ever since we got back to the Triumphant, his scowl had deepened every time he looked at me.  Even through the Force I could feel he became more hesitant around me, my patience with the man was running thin and I had no desire to actually speak or spend time with him unless absolutely necessary.

“Commander Stonn, can I speak with you?”  That’s a first, usually he just starts talking without addressing me.

“What is it Commander Wolffe, as you can see I am in the middle of something”

“Please?” As soon as he said it, it hit me like a punch in the stomach.  He said please.  Since being around the 104th I had never heard him say please to anyone.  I looked into those intense eyes, and noticed they had softened, not by much, but minuscule, they appeared less threatening, if that was possible. Even through the force, I sensed the hesitation had diminished too, and replaced it with something else, uneasiness.  I just nodded and stood up.  

“I’ll be back Strut, try not to finish without me” I winked at him, a small blush creeped up to his face.  It was adorable.  

I followed Commander Wolffe to the officer’s mess. It was supposed to be used by those of higher rank, although no one really used it.  That’s one thing I noticed, the 104th liked to sit together as a family, or as their name indicated, like a wolfpack, regardless of rank.

“Commander Wolffe, is everything alright?” I inquired. I didn’t want to upset him anymore than my presence usually appeared to, I kept my tone soft, I didn’t want to challenge him, so I did my best to keep my gaze soft as well.  

How is it every time she says my name, I want to let out a low growl.  I’ve noticed I’ve had to catch myself several times before it was audible.  What is wrong with me?

“Commander Stonn”, he took a moment to take a deep breath, and his gaze fixated on my eyes.  My stomach started doing those flips again.  Admit it, you like it when he looks at you like that. Not the time.  You think he’s gorgeous.  Really not the time.  You’re in a room alone with him, take a chance. So not helping.  He cleared his throat, and rubbed his neck, “I … I wanted to say thank you for looking after the men on the field.”

Oh, okay I was not expecting that.

She looks shocked.  Was I really that much of a jerk to her?  Of course, I was.  Stop acting surprised you’re a jerk.

I think the Commander noticed my expression, his eyes softened even more, but there was something behind that tenderness, it was… guilt, he looks guilty. No. Yes. I focused on his eyes again, oh you’re right, that’s guilt.  Told you.

“I know I haven’t been the most welcoming to you since you arrived” his hand flinched by his side, he moved it forward and brought it back to his side, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“I wanted to apologize for treating you less than what you deserved” okay, this really wasn't something I was expecting.  

“Commander Wolffe, I …”, think woman, use those words. No don’t give in, this is an opportunity to make him sweat.  I’m not going to do that.  Weak.  You’re weak.  I’m not weak.  

“Commander Stonn?”

“Sorry, Commander.  Thank you for the apology.  I know many of the men probably still don’t trust me, because of what happened on Kowak, and frankly I don’t blame you for being cautious with me, as well.  I probably would have been too, had the shoe been on the other foot”

How is she this kind?  She should be yelling at me.  She should want to hit me.  I never even gave her a kind word.  

“Also, you don’t have to thank me for doing my duty.  These men, every clone, will be like family to me.  Whether they like me or not.  It’s my duty regardless of how they view me, to make sure each and every one of them make it home, to see a future after the GAR.”

No wonder Curl fell for her.  She’s … she’s amazing.

“All the more reason I should thank you.  Not many view us as people with a future.  They view us as…”

“Cannon fodder”

The Commander simply nodded to my statement.

“Since we���re actually talking, Commander, can I ask you a question?”  I was pushing it, but I wanted an answer.  It’s not the answer you want, it’s the reaction.  Make him fall on his knees, make him beg for forgiveness.  Okay, you are being very rowdy today, no one is going to be doing that.  

“You can ask me anything”.

Heck she could ask me to leave the GAR and I would.  WHAT?? Where did that come from?

“Why did you blame me for the death of my own men?”

“I … how … who… I never said that”

“Wolffe...”

Oh Mesh’la, you’re playing with fire.  Please don’t just say my first name.

“...there’s something you should know about my species, we have exceptional hearing.  For example, I can tell you right now, your men outside this room are all talking and betting on which of two outcomes will occur, either you pulled me in here to declare your undying love to me or to get it on with me.”

“WHAT!”

“Yeah, I’m surprised General Plo didn’t tell you.”

“No.  I mean, yes General Plo didn’t tell me, so I apologize for the comment I made.  But what are my men saying?”

“I don’t think I should tell you”

I stepped closer to her, no one will get to talk about her that way, not MY Commander.  “I think you should tell me everything, mesh’la.”

Oh, that was new.  You really liked how he said that.  Really not helping.  You gonna tell him, you understand Mando’a?  Not right now.

“I’ll tell you, if you can tell me why you thought I killed my men”

“Curl contacted me before your mission, he said you had a bad feeling about it, but before he could tell me more I was called away to a meeting with General Plo.  I thought you ignored your gut and went ahead with the mission.  However, Sinker told me what you tried to do.  I’m sorry for misjudging you.”

“Like I said Wolffe, I don’t blame you.  I’ve …” I couldn’t look at him, “I blame myself.  They were my family, I should have fought harder.”  That’s true, it is kind of your fault.  Not this again.  Just an observation, you keep just saying his first name.  What about Curl?  Oh you really need to shut up.

“You fought as hard as you could mesh’la, it's not your fault people didn’t listen.”

“They should have” my voice was barely above a whisper.

How could I ever think she was responsible for the deaths of her own men?  I reached for her upper arm, she felt warm under my hand, even through her tunic.  

I didn’t want to move, his hand was comforting.  Told you, you liked him.  Don’t need your two credit comments.  

“People don’t care if we live or die.  It’s not your fault.”

“I care.”

“Curl was a lucky man”

She looked up to my eyes, no one has ever looked at me without flinching at the prosthetic, even from that first day on the bridge, she never looked at me with disgust or with fear.

“You know about Curl?”

“I think everyone knows about you and Curl.” Wolffe chuckled, he had a pleasant deep laugh.  You know you want to hear it again, I say go for it.  Since when are you trying to help.  I’m bored.

“Plus, he was my batchmate, he told me he had fallen for a Jedi, just never told me who.  I found out after he …”

“He told me just before we went on the mission, he wanted me to meet his brother, his batchmate, he just never told me who.  He wanted us to meet after we got back from the mission but he …”

Wolffe simply nodded in understanding, “I’m sorry for your loss, Jirli”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Wolffe”

We stood there for a few minutes staring at each other, in that moment I vowed I would always be there for her, in any way she needed me.  Even if nothing happened between us, I would lay my life for her.  She’s MY Commander.  My mesh’la.

As we stood there looking at each other, I couldn’t help but feel my heart flutter.  At that moment, I vowed, I would always be there for him.  In any way he needed me.  Even if nothing happened between us, I would lay down my life for him.  He was MY Commander.  

“So you gonna tell me what my men are saying behind the door?”

I laughed, “Okay, but you might not like it.  I’m not sure which one it is, but… hold on …” I raised a finger to my mouth, asking him to be silent, when I heard the voices from behind the door.

“I'm telling you, he’s going to declare his undying love to her”

“You’re crazy, the Commander isn’t interested in her”

“How do you know?”

“You can tell, he’s always mean to her.”

“Why are you paying attention to how he treats her?”

“I think Whiskey has a crush on Commander Stonn”

“Did you see what she did to those clankers?  Of course, I have a crush on her!”

“Guys, leave them alone”

“Shut it, shiny!”

“Just because you’re her pet...”

“I’m no one’s pet, you’re just jealous she’s painting my armour.”

“I’m not jealous”

“Dude, you are so jealous!”

“Shut it, Brandy”

“Listen all I’m saying is I have dibs”

“Yeah, we get it Whiskey”

“Who has dibs?” Oh I know that voice, that’s Sinker.

“Whiskey says he has dibs on the Jedi”

“General Plo? Interesting Whiskey, but hey whatever floats your boat”

“No! Commander Stonn”

“Let me make this very clear, men.  If anyone makes the Commander uncomfortable, anyone makes unwanted advances, you will have to deal with me.  She fights for us unlike anyone has ever before.  She looks after us like we’re family.  Therefore, I expect each and everyone of you to treat her as a vod’ika.”  Sinker’s voice was unwavering and protective.  Awww he really loves me like a sister, that’s so sweet.

“So you’re saying, you aren’t attracted to her?”

“I’m saying, she is my vod’ika and I will make sure everyone treats her as such.  Understood?”

“YES, SIR!”

Wolffe and I just looked at each other when we heard the room next door roar in understanding.  I couldn’t help but laugh at what just transpired.  I reiterated to the Commander all I heard, I thought it was funny, but apparently the humour was lost on him.  Instead his face became gruffer if that was even possible, his fist clenched by his side.  

How dare they?  Dibs?  Really, Whiskey?  No one talks about MY Jirli like that.  Alright calm down di’kut, she’s not yours.

“Follow me, mesh’la” was all he said, he pressed the button for the door to slide open.

When we entered the mess hall I noticed it had filled up while we were in the officer’s mess.  All the men in the mess hall turned to look at us as the door opened, the Commander walked through first, his expression was intense.  He took turns to look each and everyone of the troopers in the eye, his hands were clenched by his side.

“Do you men realize that Commander Stonn’s species has exceptional hearing?”

The room went silent, the looks on their faces was priceless, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.  

“I’m sorry, she has what?” Whiskey asked, the redness on his face deepening.

“Her species can hear even the smallest whisper.  She just told me everything you all said word for word.  Let’s clear up a few things.  First, I’m not declaring my undying love at this moment. Two, I did not pull Commander Stonn into the officer’s mess to ‘get with her’.  Three, NO ONE calls dibs, is that understood, Whiskey?”

“Yes, sir.  Sorry Commander Stonn”, Whiskey could barely look me in the eye.

“I will reiterate what Sergeant Sinker said, anyone making the Commander feel uncomfortable, anyone making an inappropriate comment or advancement, will not only have to deal with the Sergeant, you will also deal with ME!  Commander Stonn has proven herself above and beyond.  Do you men realize this is the first time we never lost a brother?  Everyone made it back and without injury.  Commander Stonn is a Wolfpack.  I expect you all to treat her with the dignity that comes with.  DO. I. MAKE. MYSELF. CLEAR?”

All stood straight like a ramrod, saluted the Commander and agreed in one voice “YES, SIR!”

“I expect you all to apologize to Commander Stonn.  Understood?”

“Commander, that's not necessary” I interjected, “they were clearly just having fun.”

“Not that way” he grumbled.

I simply nodded, at the end of the day, my assignment with the Wolfpack was temporary, he did have to set a precedent for any other female personnel that came to the Triumphant.  

“Would it be alright if I addressed the men?” I asked quietly, Wolffe didn’t even look at me, he kept his eyes on the men and gave a curt nod.  

“Listen, I know you guys are all trying to figure out how I fit in.  I’ll say this, some of you already know how I feel about clones, for those that don’t know you are family to me.  Every clone, whether here on the Triumphant, back on Coruscant, or on Kamino, are my family.  I don't expect you all to like me, or be my best friend, that’s not possible in any family.  However, I will fight for each and everyone of you like my own, whether on the battlefield, in any political situation, or defending you from ignorant civilians.  I will be here for each and everyone of you, till my dying breath.  If you have any questions just come ask me.  I’m an open book. Okay?”

Everyone just nodded, most of the men too frightened by what Commander Wolffe could possibly do.  

“Oh, and one final thing, if anyone wants me to help paint or clean their armour, just come and ask me.  It was a tradition with my old squad, and I would be more than happy to continue the tradition here on the Triumphant, as long as I’m here with the Wolfpack.”  

I smiled to each and everyone of the men, they just needed some love, to know they had someone in their corner.  Wolffe turned to look at me, the intense gaze he held on his men softened completely when he looked in my eyes.  I couldn’t help but smile at him.  Don’t tell me you don’t like YOUR Commander.  I … Did you think I missed that little confession back there?  Uh… He is very pretty, look at those eyes.  Walking away now.   I had to look away before my cheeks started to burn under his adoration.  

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe”

Without anything further I went back to sitting at Strut’s table, everyone watched as I took my seat, picking up the brush and continued painting, as though nothing had happened.  The men were feeling embarrassed enough as it is, who was I to add to their guilt?

After a few seconds everyone went back to what they were doing, eventually all the men came and offered their apology, or asked if I would be willing to paint their armour, which I heartily accepted, eventually Strut and I were left alone.

“That… I’m sorry for that” Strut said when he was sure no one else was paying attention to our table.

“It’s okay.  It’s not so bad.  It just can become a bit stressful at times, because I can hear everything.  However, I try my best not to listen, but sometimes things are said that catch my ears, and as much as I try to tune it out, I can’t.  It’s rare, but it does happen.”

Strut simply nodded, “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re not my pet, Strut.  You just remind of someone, and I want to make sure you are honoured, it’s something he would have wanted.”  He just looked at me, clearly that is what he was wondering.  “I wanted to honour you in some way after your first time in the field, and this is all I could think of.”

“Thank you, Commander” Strut was a cutie, he was just so sweet, and reminded me so much of Copper.  

Once again, I could feel the intense stare and a shift in their force signature, I knew who it was.  I glanced over to Wolffe, I gave him a small smile, maybe we did get off to a wrong start, but I knew he had my back, and more importantly he trusted me.

Seeing her sitting there with the shiny, her graciousness, her dignity, her mildness, such a contradiction to my own personality.  Definitely going to make sure I’m the man she deserves.  For you mesh’la, I’ll try.

I didn’t even realize that my smile grew as I realized I had a new friend.  Although he tried to hide it, I could see the corner of his mouth smirking too.  Maybe this assignment wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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@liadamerondjarin​ @photowizard17​ @lady-ren​ 

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Pieces of People - Part 14

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Vampire y/n returns to Mystic Falls after finding out her friend Stefan Salvatore has gone off the rails with blood, what she doesn’t expect to happen is find out her deep-rooted connections with the Mikaelson family, in particular – Elijah.

Word Count: long

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: I love how it takes me a few weeks but I always come back to this story!

MASTERLIST FOR THIS STORY,

MASTERLIST

“Vodka and…lots of ice.”

Y/n smiled at the young bartender before taking the drinks menu and fanning herself. It was hot. Unbearably hot - the kind of summer heat that makes the air feel foggy, where you have no choice but to sit in a sun-daze and wait till it passed. Sitting there on that slippery bar stool, y/n could feel the sweat drip down her bare thighs, her short skirt and strappy top doing little to help with the sweltering warmth. The window, a few feet away, was only able to splutter out measly coughs of wind, but y/n took each one gratefully. Summer had hit, and New Orleans was paying for it.

“Thank you,” She took the glass with need, allowing the crisp, cool liquid hit the back of her throat and burn its way down - it had been a while since she had last fed, and she needed that extra something to ease the throbbing hunger. The car journey was long and brutal. It started off wonderful, driving down to New Orleans on the open road with the clear, blue skies above, the windows rolled all the way down, the car flooded with air. But as she neared the city the number of cars increased and soon she was sitting in constant traffic, the black as night car heating up around her, encasing her in thick air. Eventually she had got the damn thing parked and crawled her way into the nearest bar – she had earned that much she decided. As soon as she had had a break she would be off again, headed for the address Klaus outlined in his note

It had come through the door a few weeks after the night of the storm. A few weeks after y/n had seen Elijah. They had proceeded to talk the whole night as they, very slowly, made their way back to the Salvatore mansion. He had left her with nothing but a kiss on the cheek and a plea that she come to New Orleans as soon as she could – she proceeded to promise him that she would meet him for a whiskey and a night of mischief one day, just as soon as she was no longer required in Mystic Falls.

Then in came the letter.

Dearest y/n,

Trouble has arisen here in New Orleans and I require all the friends and family I have. I know I am not one to ask for help but please – I need you. I hope to see you as soon as possible, if you come, talk to no one. I don’t know who I can trust. I’m staying at the Brumley House, Room 507.

Cordially,

Klaus

“Typical,” Damon had scoffed as he read it over her shoulder, “You don’t know what you’re gotten yourself into y/n – ended up accidentally joining the Mikaelson army.”

Ignoring Damon’s snide comments, y/n proceeded to pack her bags, seeing clearly the gravity of the situation. Klaus would never, ever ask for help - unless it was seriously necessary. She had driven down the following day and had ended up here, sweating furiously in a bar in sunny New Orleans.

“Excuse me, another?” Y/n smiled and watched as her second drink was fixed sucking on the ice cubes of her first, still bitter from the vodka’s bite.

“I never took you for a vodka and ice kind of girl.” A voice swam from behind her and y/n swirled around before a soft smile warmed her cheeks.

“Klaus.” He moved to sit next to her on the bar, his usual jacket discarded of, leaving him in a dark shirt and jeans. “Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.” She answered. Her hearing at that moment kept focusing in on the poor bartender’s pulse, the thick blood currently beating around his body, the veins in his neck quivering as it did so. Her mouth felt hot and dry, her teeth aggressively sharp the razor edges running against her inner lip. Snatch, snack, erase. Damon’s mantra drummed through her head, she couldn’t help but wonder when the bartender went on his break.

“Here you go.” His cheery voice snapped her back into reality.

“Thank you.” She mumbled, taking the glass without eye contact.

“I think perhaps right now it’s not vodka you want.” Klaus eyed the bartender, “Perhaps something to make you feel a little more, how shall I say...human?” Y/n ignored the comment and took another sip, rolling her eyes.

“I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh really?”

“Well, those were your instructions, right? Brumley House, room 507. Talk to no one.” Y/n quipped as she shuffled the ice cubes about in her glass.

“Y/n,” Klaus murmured after a moment, “What are you talking about?”

“What?” She turned to him. He was staring at her wide eyed and a little confused, the fact that he had never heard of a note or even Brumley house was clear as day.  “Klaus…you sent me a letter, right? You told me you needed me here, in New Orleans.”

“A letter?” He quipped, his brow raised quizzically. Swiftly y/n dug around in her back pocket before protruding a well thumbed note and handing it to Klaus. She watched as he pinched it carefully before uncurling the slip to read. His eyes turning a distant grey colour as he dissolved into his own mind. Then he was up, taking long strides out of the bar leaving y/n to quickly slap down some money, grab her bag and chase after him.

“Klaus!” She called, running down the street. “Klaus, wait for me!” She watched as he turned and disappeared down an alley, she picked up the pace. It wasn’t long until she had caught up with him, finding him halfway down the path, scanning the note in more seclusion. “Klaus where are you going? What are we going to do? Klaus.”

“Y/n I did not send you this letter, do you understand? Someone here in New Orleans wants you here and wants you to come to this address, I mean for God’s sake if you hadn’t just so happened to stumble into Marcel’s bar, I would never have seen you, then what? You’d be there by now, dealing with witches or wolfs, we don’t know what happened when we lifted the mind block from you, this kind of magic isn’t your typical kind of every day bog standard Harry Potter stuff love-”

“Klaus! I got it, okay…I know...I’m beginning to realise all of that, but my question still remains…what are we going to do?” Klaus looked at her for a moment, but his brain was buzzing wildly behind his eyes as another Mikaelson plan formulated before him.

“We’re going to go to this address, we’re going to see who wants you so badly, and then we ‘re going to kill them.”

***

A distant bell was now ringing in her ears. She sat in the front of the car, watching sedately as dust particles swam in the sunlight, they moved numbly before her, drifting this way and that before disappearing in the shadows, never to be seen again.

Her throat now felt raw. The blood pounding in her head as she struggled to focus on the setting around her. God, she should have just compelled that bartender into the alley, better safe than sorry.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asked, y/n hadn’t even noticed that he had opened her door for her.

“I’m fine.” She coughed before giving him a smile. And she was, a little hunger isn’t something she had never felt before. “So, this is the address?”

“Yeah I don’t know how their plan would ever work,” Klaus looked up, “I don’t think anyone would believe that the Mikaelson family would ever step foot in here...never mind live in it.” The building was tall, and antique. The front stretched broadly and, glaring at them, sat rows and rows of windows all neat and in place, despite the fact that all of them were either bordered up or smashed in. They had parked in the overgrown greenery leading up to the house and proceeded to walk to the two domineering doors, a thick metal chain intertwined with the handles - Klaus broke this in record time.

“It would be suspicious.” She agreed. The building was on the outskirts of town, far away from any sense of civilisation. It was an eerie juxtaposition from the busy, bustling streets of New Orleans. 

Once the door gave, they both were in and instantly y/n noticed the abandoned feeling of the place. Before them sat some sort of reception, a long time since anyone actually sat behind the washed-out baby blue desk. Walking over, y/n grabbed a handful of some of the papers scattered across the floor.

“This was a hospital.” She called out after a moment, looking through the many medical documents and helpful hand out sheets in her hands. Polio, measles, the flu, how to get vaccinated, how to wash your hands.

“Lovely.” Klaus muttered as he looked around him, “I still don’t even know how these people could think that you would actually think I lived here, I mean, what on earth was their plan?”

“I don’t know Klaus,” Y/n smiled at him over the papers, “Maybe I would have fell for it. You are a man of mystery.”

In that moment, the towering doors they had just opened moaned deeply before slamming shut with a thunderous clatter, the force scattering the papers into the air so that they somewhat swirled around them. The thundering boom echoed from the doors down the corridors ringing and disappearing into the heart of the building.

“Ah,” Klaus said after a moment, amused by the notion, “That’s their plan.” Moving over, y/n placed her hand on the door and felt the all to familiar barrier that blocked her from leaving. The door was locked with something a little more than nuts and bolts.

“Well,” She said turning from the door and facing the barren corridor opening up before her and Klaus, “Now what?”

“This way looks right.” Klaus mused, his curiosity not even tainted by the display of theatrics.

“Klaus...people know we’re here right? Like...you told Rebekah or Elijah, right?” Y/n was asking a question she already knew the answer to.

“Y/n,” Klaus turned to her, “Hybrid.” He pointed a finger into his own chest before pointing at her, “Ripper...we’re going to be a okay love.”

“You’re not invincible Klaus.”

“I’m the closest thing there is to invincible.”

“Yeah well I’m not, all it takes is a bit of sharp wood and I’m done...besides, it’s not you that they’re after.” He paused, chewing on her words for a moment.

“Correct...it’s not me that they’ll be going for but Y/n...you still are one of the oldest vampires in existence, whatever is waiting for us at the end of the line, I do doubt it has any kind of ability to over power you.” Y/n didn’t see any particularly cordial feelings on Klaus’s expression but she did feel his words warming around her, strengthening her confidence.

“True, it’s just, if we’re being honest, I haven’t been a true fight since-”

“Let’s go left,”

“Oh, okay...as I was sayings, I haven’t been up against anyone really since before I...” She trailed off.

“You found out you’re probably the worlds most wanted murderer,”

“Wow, okay, thanks for putting it nicely.” But she grinned at him. Maybe because, like Elijah, Klaus understood what it could mean to be the ‘bad guy’ - except, unlike Elijah, he wasn’t afraid of the title. “But yes.”

“Do you think it’ll be different now? Fighting someone?” Klaus continued, peering into rooms here and there as they walked by.

“I don’t know, but...if push comes to shove, I know I’ll be able to protect myself.”

“And more importantly, I know you will.” Klaus paused, shooting her a wry grin, “And I’m thinking we’re going to be able to put you to the test.” Klaus proceeded to gesture at the wall up ahead where the corridors split and ran in opposite directions. Scrawled across the walls manically in what could only be blood was the word ‘venit iustitia’ over and over and over. Klaus and y/n shared a look. Justice is coming.

***

“The sun always was our enemy.” Rebekah growled from behind the curtains, glaring out at the unwavering sun beating down on the innocent people. Sighing heavily she turned and collapsed into an arm chair, “One more minute of this heat and I might die.”

“Don’t be dramatic Rebekah.” Elijah stated blankly as he turned the page in his book. He was doing his part in the plan, researching the witch history across New Orleans as far back as the records went. No, it was not how he wanted to spend his Wednesday, but when the witches become a threat it’s good to know what you’re up against.

“Come on Elijah, even you must be feeling this bloody heat - I mean, you’ve even got your jacket off.” He shot her a look. The heat in New Orleans was unusually scalding but it wasn’t so bad to get in the way of business. However, even Elijah had to admit that the muggy air and relentless sun didn’t help with any hunger he felt.

“Where is Niklaus?” Moving the book out of his lap he stood and played with his cuffs, the heat already wearing his patience thin, “He promised to be back here by 4, he was to give me updates from Marcellus.”

“He’s Nick, Elijah...he goes by his own rules...his own times.” Rebekah sighed, fanning herself with a coaster.

“Still, I feel it is not like him, especially with all the possible threats out there.” He moved the wispy curtains ever so slightly so he could peer over the streets filled with families soaking up the sun.

“Aw, you’re worried about your baby brother. How sweet.” Rebekah quipped standing and stretching, “Klaus will be simply with Marcel, having one to many drinks and forgetting that he is our sworn enemy as per usual.” Elijah paused at this and mulled it over for a few seconds.

“Yes,” He mumbled to himself after a moment, moving the curtain back further and peering down to the end of the street where Marcel’s bar sat bold and proud, “Marcel.”

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to check in on his little brother and Marcel. Let’s just say Elijah wasn’t fully trusting of him just yet.

***

“Marcellus,” The bar was quiet as Elijah walked in, it was that peculiar time of afternoon where the day drinkers were stumbling home and those coming for the night were still getting ready.

“Ah, Elijah,” Marcel stood at the bar currently in discourse with one of his bartenders, a drink in hand. “What do I owe the pleasure? I thought I was lucky enough seeing one Mikaelson today.”

“I understand this is unconventional,” Elijah continued, not moving and not acknowledging the comment, “But, forgive me, I was supposed to meet Niklaus a few hours ago and my sister believes he’s still here - I was wondering if I could talk to him.”

“Klaus?” Marcel raised a brow, “Nah, he left my bar hours ago, I don’t know where he is.”

“He left?”

“Yeah with some y/h/c chick, left in a hurry too.”

“Y/h/c?”

“Yeah about,” Marcel leaned against the bar and thought, “Yay high, she came into the bar and had a few drinks before her and Klaus got talking. My guy here say she had some kind of letter, apparently Klaus read it and stormed out.” The clogs in Elijah’s mind sprang into action, something wasn’t right. He glanced warily at the bartender but it was clear he posed no genuine threat. In fact, no threat at all.

“I see.” He mumbled after a moment, filling the silence.

“You know her?” The bartender spoke.

“A certain girl does come to mind.” He re-buttoned his jacket and turned for the door, now finished with the formalities and Marcel.

“You know what was in the note?” Elijah paused breifly but didn’t turn around, the reality of the situation now sinking into his bones.

“Now that Marcellus…I do not know.”

***

Y/n and Klaus were still walking, still moving. Despite the second wave of theatrics with the bloody wall, not much else had occured.

“’I’m still offended that this was their best plan.” None of what had happened so far had even tainted Klaus’s confidence. It was comforting.

“You never know, they could really surprise us with something.” Y/n grinned.

“Oh y/n, my expectations are so low. I have a feeling this is only going to be inconvenient and mostly, a waste of time.” He was still peeking in rooms here and there, y/n genuinely didn’t care to ask why. They had been walking for a good couple of minutes, y/n following Klaus as he weaved his way through the labyrinth of linoleum tiles and flickering lights. Eventually, the halls widened out and the rooms spotted along the walls thinned out until it was just ivory paint.

“Hang on.” Klaus stopped suddenly. Y/n automatically became perfectly still listening out with her extended hearing for anything and everything.

“What is it?” Y/n spoke into the silence, hearing nothing.

“I’m not sure.” He murmured, “Something’s wrong. I think-” He never got to finish the sentence, an invisible force swept him the length of the corridor, crashing him against the wall at the end.

“Klaus!” Y/n went to rush to his side when an all too familiar ringing exploded in her mind. It was so powerful, unlike anything she had ever felt before. The shrill noise shredding her mind. With trembling fingers her hands clutched at her ears clawing at her hair as her own shrill scream ricocheted off the walls. Commotion erupted around her and she could distantly hear Klaus’ voices amongst others - but it all felt so distant. The noise was relentless, pulsating against her ears making her collapse to the floor. Her pre-weakened state from the lack of blood giving her little gumption to fight back. The pain was temporary are darkness began creeping around her splotchy vision before consuming it whole. 

***

Foggy. Her mind felt foggy. The sweltering heat, the now distant ringing in her ears, the sandpaper in her throat. As she came around she was distantly aware of being watched, faintly, she glanced around.

She was collapsed on top of a small podium, a square around a foot of the ground. The square itself was in a large hall, much older than the rest of the building, evident from the chipped wood curling around the room. However, pushed at the edges of the hall were crumpled medical beds and an assortment of medical equipment.

“You’re awake.” A voice said clearly.

“Obviously.” Y/n muttered under her breath with a series of curses. The woman stood two metres away, she was tall wearing a colourful shirt and a series of beaded necklaces. Y/n knew a witch when she saw one. The woman wasn’t alone, in fact, the number of people with her was quite astonishing. 

Spread around the room was thirty witches give or take, all similar to woman who spoke. They stood equal distance apart focusing on y/n with intent, their hands clutched at their sides. Raising a hand, y/n reached out tentatively until she found what she was looking for. An invisible barrier, holding her within the metre by metre square. 

“Don’t even bother. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” The woman spat.

“Don’t worry,” Y/n rubbed at her temples, “I know when I’m beat. Though I can’t say it was much of a fair fight.” She threw a glance to the thirty-odd witches surrounding them. Klaus was nowhere to be seen, but y/n wasn’t worried, it’s not like he could be killed.

“Oh trust me. Despite our...methods, today is a day of justice.” She sighed, shifting on her feet and folding her arms, “Well, not for you.” She smiled coyly, “You’re just the perfect solution to our rather complex problem.”

“And I assume by the theatrics, I don’t get a say in whether or not I’m going to help you.”

“Oh no, the choice is yours. I promise.” Y/n winced at her tone.

“Before we get started,” Y/n shifted so that she was now resting with her back against the invisible force, “Klaus?”

“He’s fine. Of course.”

“Good. Then what can I do for you?”

***

“You see,” The woman began, “Our problem is not with you. Like I said before, you’re sort of a wrong time and place situation.”

“Great.” Y/n murmured sarcastically.

“No really, our quarrel is with the Mikaelsons. You see, witches have inhabited New Orleans for a long time, since the Mikaelsons first left the city nearly a century ago. We’re safe here. Our families are here. Our lives. And now, the Mikaelsons have waltzed their way back into the city and demanded it for themselves. Their presence is the greatest threat to our community.”

“Have you asked politely for them to leave?” Y/n interrupted half-heatedly. An annoyed smile flickered across her face.

“Surprisingly, they’re not as co-operative.” Y/n hummed in response, “What I’m getting at is that we witches are done with them and all that they bring. They must leave. They will. But you see, I’m not interested in starting another war with the Original family. I refuse to put my peoples lives at risk because of them. No. The Mikaelsons will leave of their own accord.”

“I’m sure I’m not going to like where this is going but, how are you going to make them leave?” The witch smiled as if she was waiting for the question.

“You, of course. You’re close with them aren’t you, closer than anyone’s gotten - but you’re not actually in the family are you. You’re closest with Elijah. The most respectable original.”

“I-”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. You vampires have a tendency to underestimate us witches.”

“I still don’t understand-”

“You need to die.”

“Oh.” Y/n stated dumbly after a moment. “And you’re going to...”

“No don’t be stupid. Aren’t you listening? Us witches are not to get our hands dirty.” She glanced at y/n’s incredulous expression and sighed loudly. “Your death will destroy the Mikaelsons, hopefully enough that they leave the city in which they lost you. But it’s one thing for you to die by our hands. That gives the Mikaelsons something to fight for, a new war for them to win and feel as though they avenged you. No, we can’t have that. So what’s worse than a bunch of witches killing you?” Y/n shrugged, “The Mikaelsons must kill you themselves.” Y/n stared dumb-founded, her jaw clenched.

“See then. They have no one to blame for themselves. Hopefully they’ll spiral with self-hatred, either that or they’ll turn on themselves. Just think of the possibilities. Elijah seems as though he would never kill you, even if it meant his own demise but Klaus and Rebekah are smarter than that. We just need to press the right buttons.”

“No offence, but, this is your plan?” Y/n half-laughed, “What are you going to do? How on earth are you going to make Klaus want to kill me? Ask him politely?”

“You’re missing the point. It’s not about making the Mikaelsons want to kill you, its about leaving them with no other choice.”

“I still don’t follow.”

“You’re a ripper correct?” Y/n didn’t respond, the pieces began to fall together. “Like I said,” The woman continued, “I have eyes and ears everywhere. In fact, I heard that you’re not just any ripper, but the Original Ripper. The first of your kind. Your relationship with blood is off-key and, to a certain extent, can never be truly controlled.”

“Whatever your plan is I can assure you. You know nothing about what you’re talking about. You are playing with fire and if you go any further you are going to get burned.”

“I’ve been researching vampires extensively. You are disgusting creatures. Made from evil to do evil.”

“I’m begging you.”

“Rippers can gain an illusion of control over time but deep-down it’s ingrained.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Most of the time it’s your humanity which holds back the blood-frenzy.” Y/n was standing now pressing her hands against the invisible wall. “So, I have this theory. I’ll tell it to you and you give me your insiders take, being a vampire and all. I think that if I can force you to flip your switch, to turn your humanity off, then the ripper part of you may just follow. Thoughts?” Y/n stayed silent.

“Oh, you’re quiet now? That’s okay, I didn’t really care for what you had to say. Either way, I’m going through with it.” There was a question on y/n’s tongue but she was afraid that if she asked, she would get an answer. As if reading her mind the woman smiled coyly.

“Turn around.” Slowly, y/n pivoted and there at the other end of the room was two more stone slabs raised of the ground in one was encased Klaus who was stalking back and forth in the small space, the other contained a woman y/n had not seen before. Bound to a chair with shoulder length blonde hair and a strong jaw - she was petrified.

“They can’t see you.” The woman stalked around y/n, “But he can see her.” The woman was speaking the truth, Klaus was glaring at the blonde with a furious protectiveness. “I didn’t expect you to show up with Klaus Mikaelson but in a way, you’ve helped me. I was expecting you were just going to have to take my word but now, you can see it for yourself.

“As you can see Camille is important to Klaus. But humans and so...fragile. It’s scary isn’t it, how easy it is for them to get into an accident.”

“No need for the theatrics,” Y/n growled, “I can see where you’re going with this.”

“Oh, but I’m sort of having fun.” The nameless woman smiled.

“It’s not too late to change your plan,” Y/n began grimacing as she looked at the woman, “You have no idea what kind of forces you’re playing with.”

“What? Are you afraid to die?”

“It’s not my death I’m worried about!” Y/n was furious.

“Oh don’t act like you’ve suddenly learnt how to feel! I know vampires! You feel nothing! All you bring is chaos and pain!”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Y/n said again, her voice quiet, “Look, you’ve proved yourself. We’re standing here on the cusp of a tragedy about to unfold and there’s nothing I or anyone can do to stop you - you’ve proven yourself.” She repeated, “But you don’t have to go through with it. We can stop here. I can convince the Mikaelsons to move away.”

“Oh, please-”

“I beg you! I’m not asking for selfish reasons, I’ve lived my life I don’t care if I die. But I already have too much innocent blood on my hands. You just don’t understand that part of me, god, I don’t even understand it! Don’t do this to yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Her face was stony, “I can’t back out now, weren’t you listening. The Mikaelsons can’t know I had anything to do with this, or I have a new war on my hands. No. This is all on you.” She was walking towards Camille. “Now you better flip that little switch of yours or I will kill her. And don’t think I won’t go through with it. If she isn’t important enough to you I’ll go find one of your friends from Mystic Falls.”

Y/n glared at the woman through shaky, blurry eyes. Her gaze flitting to Klaus who was still stalking in his box, eyes completely focused on Camille with the same protectiveness and love he often looked at her with.

She knew she had to take the risk. Turning off her humanity didn’t necessarily mean her ripper side would follow. Besides, she loved Elijah. He could bring her back, she knew it.

“Oh please forgive me.” Y/n muttered under her breath, letting her lashes flutter closed, “Elijah. Bring me back.” Was the last thing she said before delving to the back of her mind and turning it all off.

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[ri-ahhh]

bad day

MJ has a bad day dealing with her snotty coworker, who wants MJ’s promotion and her boyfriend.

4.8k

warnings: potentially triggering BD thoughts/language; smut; obnoxious amount of fluff cuz idk about you but I need some softness

“Hi sweetheart,” Grayson says with a smile as MJ stalks into the living room with a scowl. She plops next to him on the couch and hurls her heels off with a flourished kick, glaring at where they land a few feet away on the shaggy rug. His grin falls when he notices her pinched face and lack of returned greeting. “Rough day?”

MJ nods and curls into his side, silently pleading for him to wrap her in his arms. Grayson obliges immediately and pulls her into his lap, tucking her as close to his chest as he can. When MJ asks for physical affection as comfort, which isn’t as often as you might think considering that’s one of the best ways she shows love, Grayson knows she really needs it.

“’S the matter, Peach?” he asks gently with a kiss to her forehead. He smooths her long hair down and scratches his nails lightly on her thigh as she snakes her arms around his waist. “Chanel again?”

Chanel Marten is MJ’s coworker and a petty, idiotic thorn in her side; every bit the LA bimbo with the stereotypical Barbie looks and meanness to match. When she isn’t calling MJ fat behind her back or constantly trying to undercut her to their bosses in light of an upcoming promotion they’re both up for, she’s actively hinting at how much she disapproves of MJ and Grayson together. She’s been a fan of the twins for years, and doesn’t make it a secret that she is very much attracted to Grayson, which MJ finds partly amusing and wholly fucking annoying.

“God, how do you let him go to those influencer parties alone?” Was what she asked earlier today at their office. She was scrolling through the series of photos on Grayson’s latest Instagram post from the night before, looking his sexiest in that half-open linen button-down and his Louis pants. “I wouldn't let him out of my sight in public if I were you.”

MJ glanced over at her blonde coworker and couldn’t believe the audacity of this woman to go through her man’s Instagram right in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge it, answering her question instead. “I trust him. And he’s not alone, he’s always with Ethan.”

Chanel twirled her hair and sighed, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. It was the end of the day on a Friday, and she probably could have gone home already, but had instead chosen to wheel her desk chair into MJ’s office across the hall from her own. For what, exactly, MJ didn’t know; they were far from friends, barely amicable coworkers at best. Antagonizing MJ was probably the start of a good weekend for Chanel.

Her suspicions were answered a moment later with Chanel’s next choice of words, her irritating vocal fry even more prominent than usual. “Yeah, but all of those IG models in one room, and you guys aren’t, like, super public. What if he wants a taste of what he doesn’t have?”

MJ squeezed her mouse in a death grip, but didn’t divert her gaze from her screen. “What are you implying, Chanel?” she asked irritatedly, her patience running at the thickness of a piece of paper for the bitch by then. She had already thrown MJ under the bus in their morning meeting with their bosses for something MJ’s intern had screwed up in their presentation, and MJ had caught her making snide comments in the break room about her ‘birthing hips’ and ‘thunder thighs’ to Annie the Asshole from Accounting. Annie was another coworker who, upon learning that MJ wouldn't invite Grayson along to after-work drinks simply so she could meet him, had immediately put MJ in her hypothetical burn book.

Right then, she finally had a moment to go back into their projections and fix what her intern Alessia had mistyped in the final presentation copy, and Chanel was only serving as both a reminder of her actions in the meeting and a distraction from her getting her work done.

MJ wanted nothing more than to be at home with Grayson by then, a tension headache creeping steadily up the back of her neck and into her temples. She had been the lead on this client presentation, so staying at the office until nine or ten at night hadn’t been an unusual occurrence lately; she was only glad by then that this was the end of a rough few weeks of work as soon as she was done fixing Alessia’s errors.

Chanel smirked but hid it as a simper of sympathy, clearly thrilled she was visibly getting under MJ’s skin. “I’m just saying, MJ, you’re super pretty, but, like, you don’t work out that much, right?I never see you in the gym here, or hear you mention going to one after work. I mean, Grayson being surrounded by girls who do fitness for a living would have to be like being in a candy store for him. We both know how much he cares about living a healthy lifestyle.”

She double-tapped the post, her too-long nails that were clearly trying to emulate Kylie Jenner’s or the like clicking obnoxiously against the screen, and sat back in her office chair. “I think if I were you, I’d quit this place and concentrate on building a following. Maybe try the fitness influencer route, yourself. It’s a pretty good trade-off, if you think about it; Grayson gives you clout, and you get snatched for him. And, you’d be able to keep a close eye on him. Boys will be boys, after all.”

That did it. Chanel Marten didn’t know her life, and she sure as hell didn’t know Grayson’s character. MJ finally took her attention off her iMac to give Chanel a glare that rivaled Lily’s ‘you’re dead to me’ look in How I Met Your Mother. It took every ounce of self control she possessed to hold herself back from acting on the overwhelming urge to punch Chanel’s newly-doctored nose.

Upon realizing MJ was done fucking around, Chanel’s smug smile slowly faded, until all pretenses were dropped, and the two women just stared at one another. No more fronts — not cordial coworkers anymore, but rival ones.

MJ knew what this girl was doing. Trying to make her insecure in her relationship with Grayson, and question her position in the firm so she wouldn’t go for the promotion. Chanel was as dumb as she looked if she thought either of these would work, but MJ had had enough of both her intelligence and her appearance being so blatantly insulted. She swiveled back to her computer and started doing the last couple of tweaks to the report that she had started before Chanel so rudely barged in.

“You know, next time you wanna pull a fast one and make me take the fall for an intern error, I’ll be happy to let Lacey know you’ve made us all rush this presentation by turning your last three sections of analytics in late, which is why I didn’t have time to review Alessia’s portion since I had to work your shit in last minute. I have time stamps on my email to prove it. Not to mention, the screen recordings of Snapchat stories of you at Saddle Ranch that someone showed me from the same nights you sent them. Should be pretty beneficial for my interview for Executive VP next month, don’t you think?”

MJ smiled and emailed the altered report back to her boss, Lacey, and made sure her computer was completely locked down before reaching into a cabinet for her purse and lunchbox. She stood and looked down at Chanel, who had her arms crossed tightly and her overfilled lips pursed so they were unusually pale and thin. MJ was going to leave it at that, but she was very much done being the bigger person, and a brief moment of pettiness came over her.

“And I hope you do find a man as good as Gray one day; maybe having someone as kind and real as him will make you less of a cold-hearted bitch.” MJ dug her keys out of her purse, motioning with her eyes from Chanel to the open door. “Now, please get out of my office. I’m ready to go home to my amazing, faithful, sexy boyfriend.”

Chanel scoffed and rolled her eyes but did as she was told, rolling back to her desk and giving MJ the cold shoulder as she breezed past her office.

“I didn’t fucking do anything to her,” MJ whines into Grayson’s neck after relaying all of this to him. Her bravado and smugness towards Chanel had dropped almost as soon as she reached her car in the parking garage of her downtown office building. Her insecurities had crept into her brain to join her full-fledged migraine and made driving home in traffic an even bigger nightmare than usual. “She’s hated me since the day I started there, no matter how nice I’ve tried to be.”

“She’s jealous, baby,” Grayson murmurs at once, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “You’ve come in and been there half the time she has, done the same job way better than her, and got recognized for it. Nobody likes to be outshone.”

MJ sighs and squeezes him reflexively as she moves on to the other half of Chanel’s dislike for her. “And it’s like getting bullied by the head cheerleader in high school. She basically told me I was too fat for you and that I don’t work out enough to ‘keep up with your healthy lifestyle.’” She lets out a little mirthless huff of laughter. “I mean, usually she says it behind my back to Annie the Asshole from Accounting, so I guess I should be appreciative that she at least had the decency to say it in so many words to my face tonight.”

Grayson sits in silence for a moment, seething internally at the thought that some dumb bitch who doesn’t know him in the slightest could have the nerve to talk to and about his girlfriend like that. He reaches for his phone on the couch next to them. “First of all, you're not fat, and I’d love you just the same even if you were. Second, give me all her at’s. I’m blocking this girl on everything.”

God, could the man get any more perfect? MJ sits up some and cups his face, shaking her head with a small smile. “No, no, it’s okay, Bear. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to me. If anything, I’d want you to post a thirst trap just so she can see what’s not her’s. What’s mine.”

“I think that could be arranged tonight,” he smirks, giving her a chaste kiss.

She attempts to smile back, but it turns into a grimace as her head gives a massive throb out of nowhere. “Shit,” she mumbles, pressing her fingertips against her temples. Grayson gives her a concerned look before she explains, “Headache.”

It takes all of three seconds for Grayson to secure one arm around her back and hook the other under her knees, standing and holding her bridal style. “Come on,” he says, like she really has a choice in the matter, and starts carrying her to their room. MJ wraps her arms around his neck and nuzzles her head into his shoulder with her eyes closed to block out the evening sun. “We’re taking a bath, then I’ll order dinner to eat in bed while we have a movie night.”

MJ nods gratefully. As usual, he knows exactly what she needs. “Ratatouille?”

Grayson chuckles at the hopeful tone in her voice. Ratatouille is one of MJ’s ‘sick’ movies; something quiet and nostalgic that offers that weird feeling of peace that you need when you just don’t feel good. “Of course, Ratatouille.”

He sits her on the counter once they reach the ensuite bathroom and pinches her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, planting a warm, lingering kiss on her lips; not heated, but comforting. Just what she needs in that moment.

“Stay put,” he commands quietly. MJ agrees and starts to unbutton her blouse as she watches Grayson step into the closet, pulling out one of her favorite t-shirts of his and a pair of his boxers. He puts the folded items next to her on the counter and helps her untuck the shirt from her cigarette trousers, tossing it in the dry-cleaning pile before reaching into one of her drawers and retrieving her makeup wipes.

MJ sighs and closes her eyes as she lets him gently drag the fresh-smelling cloth against the skin of her face. They aren't part of her usual skincare regimen, but Grayson has been exposed to her routine long enough and is perceptive enough to know that they’re for late nights, or ones like tonight, when she just doesn't have the energy to do more.

It feels better than if she had been able to get herself to use face wash and toner and such, anyways. The coolness of it and pressure of his fingers feel wonderful against her eyes and cheeks, alleviating some of the pain there momentarily.

MJ flutters her eyes open when he’s done. “Thank you, Bear,” she sighs, which he replies to with a kiss before walking over to the soaking tub. She hops off the counter and unbuckles her belt and pants, then unhooks her bra and steps out of her underwear.

Her reflection in the mirror glares back at her, Grayson in the background fiddling with the knobs on the tub to get the temperature of the water just right. She watches his muscles ripple with the slightest movements, his abs outlined through the fabric of his t-shirt, and can’t help but focus back in on herself. There’s some extra squish around her upper thighs and arms that no amount of training would get rid of; a softness to her tummy that probably comes from her undying love of Oreos, which are her nighttime vice. When she compares the two of them in this intimate space, maybe Chanel was right…

“Stop that.”

MJ startles a little and looks up in the mirror from where she had unconsciously started pinching and picking at what were really the bits of healthy pudginess under her skin, to find Grayson standing directly behind her. The harshness in his tone makes her withdraw and blush some, embarrassed that he had caught her at such an insecure moment.

He wraps his arms around her middle, his open palms brushing against the skin of her belly. His touch both warms her insides and causes them to erupt in nervous tingles. For some reason, MJ has a hard time seeing the two of them like this, with her completely naked and him fully clothed. She isn't afraid, never with Grayson, but she feels incredibly vulnerable in a way she isn't used to with him.

Grayson presses a kiss to the back of her head and makes sure they have eye contact through the mirror before he continues. “I’ll be damned if I let some idiot girl who doesn't matter to either of us make you feel like you’re not enough, MJ. You’re perfect, you hear me? You’re perfect, and I wouldn't change one inch of you, inside or out. Please don’t pick yourself apart like that.”

His voice holds a mixture of conviction and sadness, and MJ bites her lip as she sinks her back into his chest, her arms folding around his at her waist. She brushes her palm across the crisp, dark hairs covering one of his forearms.

“I could work out a little harder, though,” she murmurs after a few seconds of silence. “And cut back on a few carbs.”

Grayson looks at her incredulously. She’s lean and athletic, but it’s impossible to have the juicy, natural perfection of her ass and those breasts without a little extra, which he actually adores; she’s the very definition of slim-thick, a beautiful personification of the word.

He isn’t sure what kills him more inside: to think he hasn’t made it abundantly clear to her that he loves every square inch of her body; or if girls, society, whoever it is, make her think that the hard work she puts into her physique isn’t enough simply because she has a body type that isn’t what Instagram or people like Chanel deem ‘perfect’.

Either way, he’s going to rectify things right this instant.

“First of all, MJ, I know exactly how hard you work out; I’m doing it every morning with you, five days a week at 6 AM, remember? I’m the last person to lie to anyone about how much effort they give in their fitness. I know how hard you push yourself.”

He spins her around and cups her cheeks in his big hands. His stomach withers and his heart hurts when he sees the faint glitter of tears illuminating her emerald green eyes, making him want to be extra sure his next words are heard loud and clear. “Second, if I ever see that family sized box of double-stuffed Oreos in the trash, not empty, I’ll have a meltdown wondering where the hell my girlfriend went. Please, MJ. Those girls at your work are miserable cunts who only want what they can’t have. Don’t bring that energy back here, on us. I love you, exactly as you are.”

MJ takes a moment and considers his words before relenting with a nod. He’s right. Chanel and Annie should be the last things she’s thinking about when she’s got the man of her dreams right in front of her, saying all the right things and bringing her back to reality with his sweet, supportive words.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs, leaning in for a tight hug from him. “I love you, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” Gray assures, rubbing her back soothingly. “Let’s have a nice, relaxing night now, okay?”

MJ nods, pulling away enough from his body to grasp the hem of his t-shirt. He wags his brows playfully as he lifts his arms so she can pull the garment over his head, and gives her a quick smile before ducking down to kiss her.

She seems to be feeling slightly better, and a weight lifts from his chest at the realization. “Don’t distract me,” he mumbles against her lips after they make out lazily for a few moments. “Or our bath will overflow.”

“Don’t be so perfect, then,” she says back with a smirk, giving his ass a little swat as he returns to the tub and drops a Lush bath bomb and a chunk of bubble bar into the water.

While he does that, MJ opens one of the medicine cabinets. She isn’t big on taking pills, but she relents today and pops an Excedrin as her head pounded again. Once she swallows it with a handful of water from the sink, she starts to pile her hair into a bun, but is stopped by Gray’s grip on her forearm.

Her eyes had zoned out on a random spot on the counter, but at the pressure of his hand she looks up in the mirror to see him as naked as she is. “Don’t be silly,” he chides lightly, a smile toying at the corners of his lips. “You’re getting the full treatment tonight, Peach. I’ve got your shampoo and conditioner ready to go over there.”

He pulls gently down on her arm, and her hair tumbles back down over her shoulders and back as she lets him tug her to the warm, foamy water.

Ten minutes later, the Excedrin has kicked in, soft music from their ‘chill’ playlist plays through Grayson’s phone on the edge of the tub, and his strong fingers are creating heavenly relief for her as they scrub at her scalp. She’s totally relaxed in front of him, letting his broad chest and shoulders cocoon her smaller frame as her eyes droop and she moans lightly.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear, making her shiver despite the steaming water they sit in. She snuggles closer to his warmth. “And I’m sorry you have to deal with those assholes every day.”

It takes a moment for her brain to form the words, but she hums contentedly in reply. “It’s okay. Don’t know what I’d do without you, though, Gray.”

It’s so true. She has never been the girl to be codependent on anyone, let alone the man she’s in a relationship with, but Gray has achieved that honor in a matter of a year and a half. Probably earlier, if she were being honest with herself, but her adult life before him was a blur. She’s forgotten what it was like to not have him by her side, and she doesn’t want to imagine a scenario in the future where he isn’t.

He finishes washing her hair, lulling her into an even deeper trance when he moves her dark, wet locks over one shoulder so he can massage her neck with deep presses of his thumbs into her tight muscles. His fingers are nimble and dexterous, strengthened by his renewed passion for rock climbing, and are perfect for loosening the tension under her skin.

“Mmm, fuck,” she moans, not meaning for it to come out quite so pornographic, but she feels nearly orgasmic in the relief his hands are bringing her. Speaking of… “You’re gonna get the best head tomorrow, I promise.”

Grayson chuckles, squeezing her shoulders now, too. MJ feels him twitch against her lower back, but he says in her ear, “I’m not doing this for you to return the favor. I just want to be the one to make you feel better. Because I love you, and you’re mine, and you deserve it.”

“I know you’re not,” MJ smiles. “That only makes me want to do it even more.”

He grins and moves his hands further down her back beneath the water, massaging his knuckles into the soft skin there as well before coasting up her sides. He cups her breasts as MJ sinks back against him, her breathing picking up the slightest bit as his hands work magic there, too.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his hot breath flowing straight into her ear and sending goosebumps flaring over her skin.

More than okay, she thinks. MJ nods, and gasps when his hands pinch her nipples gently between his ring and middle fingers, tugging slightly. She takes his large hand off her right breast and sinks it into the water, straight to her center, her legs already parting to welcome him.

“Just rub me,” she whispers, eyes closed as he doesn’t hesitate to obey. “Circles, like this.”

MJ guides his fingers over her clit for a moment to show him exactly what she wants, but this isn’t their first rodeo and Gray knows perfectly well what he’s doing. She lets him take over and simply lies back against him as he expertly brings her higher and higher, until she’s falling over the edge, twitching in his arms and moaning sweetly.

Grayson tilts her head back to kiss him, sighing into her mouth as she twists in his arms to straddle him. He’s completely hard now, and she takes him in her hand instinctively. Twenty minutes ago, sex was the last thing on her mind, but she feels so good and relaxed now that she doesn’t hesitate to line him up and sink down slowly on his dick.

She grins smugly when his eyes fly open and he lets out an embarrassingly loud moan, completely surprised by a warm wetness that is vastly different from that of the bathwater. When she had stroked him in her hand he thought she might jerk him off, but her pussy, still deliciously tight from her orgasm, isn’t what he’s prepared for as he becomes slowly encased in it.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t meant for it to last long, because he’s so overwhelmed and caught off-guard it only takes a couple of minutes max of her grinding up and down on him while she whispers hot, dirty things in his ear, for him to shoot deep inside her.

“Shit,” he huffs out with a little laugh as she raises herself up enough for him to slip out of her pussy. “Did you just give me the equivalent of a hand job with your vagina? I know that wasn’t for you.”

She giggles and sits back in his lap, shrugging as she nuzzles his nose with hers. “What can I say, I’m feeling lazy tonight and that seemed like the faster option. Are you complaining?”

Grayson shakes his head vehemently. “Of course not, but I didn't want you to do any work tonight.” His brows pinch a bit and his lips turn down into a pout. “Are you okay? How’s your head?”

MJ smiles softly and brushes his cheek with pruned fingertips. Even post-orgasm, he’s still concerned only about her. “Better, Gray-bear. Thank you.”

God, she loves him so much. She can’t resist wiping her hands on the towel and reaching behind him to grab his phone to capture him in that moment. His hair has gone curly in the humidity of the bathroom; the light from the window shines perfectly on his chiseled face, making his sex-eyes nearly pure green and illuminating his full lips that have curled into a small, crooked smile as he realizes her intention. She laughs when he takes it upon himself after a few serious snaps to play up to the camera, scooping up some of the bubbles and blowing them off his palm while giving her a joking, coquettish expression. Finally, she puts her back against his chest once again and they take a couple of goofy, up-angle shots, close-ups of their faces.

Photoshoot over, Grayson sighs and hugs her tight to him as he sucks kisses up and down the sides of her neck while she goes through the pictures. He’s making her head swim, but she manages to determine three of her favorites and doesn’t even bother editing them before adding a simple heart emoji in the caption and posting them to his Instagram once she earns his approval.

She turns around to put the phone back on the ledge before leaning in to plant her lips on his, slipping her tongue between them sensually. She could kiss this man forever, but eventually they start slowing down. MJ moves her kisses to his sharp jawline, trailing her mouth across and down until she gets to his neck freckle. She gives it a peck before pulling back, meeting his hooded gaze with warm eyes. It feels so good to just give each other these little bouts of physical affection with no real end goal. Just enjoying each other’s company, in their own space, caressed by the comforting warmth and scents of the bath.

Eventually, MJ peels herself away from him and stands up. Grayson stares up at her adoringly, admiring the way the water cascades over her body and rains down back into the tub. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”

She looks like a naiad with her long, dark hair covering her tits and dripping sensual trails of warm water down the dips and curves of her body. As if she doesn’t look delectable enough to him right now, her pussy is inadvertently right in his face, and his hand instantly reaches up to touch her. “Me too,” he growls, his fingertips tracing her lower lips and parting them so her clit is exposed. His mouth literally starts to water as he thinks about her earthy taste and her slippery arousal coating his tongue.

Just as he’s ducking in to swipe his tongue over her slit, MJ grips a handful of his hair and stops him, tilting his head back with that grip to make him look up at her questioningly. “Not now,” she says, taking her turn to scratch her nails along his scalp for a moment. “Still sensitive. And actually starving; I had to spend my entire lunch break fixing part of that report.”

Grayson nods understandingly and lifts the plug in the drain before standing up as well. “Then let’s get some Monty’s in you, hm?”

“That sounds amazing,” she agrees, her stomach growling right on cue.

They both chuckle and Grayson helps her step out of the tub before wrapping her up in a big, fluffy towel. He kisses her nose, then her lips, and retreats into the closet with his own towel to find fresh PJs for himself.

An hour later, they’re chowing down on some burgers and shoestring fries together in the fresh blankets of their bed while Ratatouille plays through the projector. And Chanel’s stupid username hasn’t popped up once in his likes or comments.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

📂 hmmm let's see... how about Toph?

aw Toph Beifong, how I love you,

Okay. So. First:

Obviously, Toph can tell when people are lying, but much like how the gaang always forgets that she’s blind, they forget that she’s a living lie detector. After the war ends, the kiddos are all obviously traumatized and always ask each other how they’re doing and they usually always say “fine” and Toph can feel that they’re lying but she just... doesn’t do anything. Sometimes it’s obvious a person is lying, but sometimes they can really pull it off and Toph is the only one who knows. She just lets them be, though, because she would want to be left alone too. In her mind, if it was a big enough deal, they wouldn’t say that they’re fine (also because that’s the reasoning she gives herself to not talk about her problems). She doesn’t want to push them.

Eventually, and let’s use Aang here because poor kid suffers so much trauma and no one really talks about that much (myself included, I need to pay more attention to Aang), Aang’s mental health really starts declining and everyone is really worried but Toph always lets it go because she doesn’t want to push him or stress him out. One time, it’s so bad that they ask Toph to out Aang for lying and she just shrugs and says “he wasn’t lying” even though he definitely was.

After a week or two like this, Aang kind of just breaks down and Toph instantly feels guilty because deep down she feels like she could have prevented it, but she didn’t. It’s one of those times when she learns that letting people believe a lie, no matter how good intentions are, is worse and more hurtful than telling the truth.

It kind of starts making her more honest than before. She began by calling everyone out on every little lie until she realized it would probably be better to talk to people in private and I just... mmm... I feel like Toph wields so much power after the war because everyone will always say “I’m fine” and she knows, she knows, they’re lying.

And now for an angsty Toph-related headcanon because I said so:)

Toph’s parents. Mmmm. I have not read the comics and also I heard they were... iffy... so we’re disregarding comics here. Toph’s parents kind of suck. Like, once she talks to them after the war, they treat her like a helpless child again and not the LITERAL HERO she is. She doesn’t live with them, but she wants a relationship with them, even though she physically cannot make her say it out loud. So, eventually she blows up at them and Earthbends and her parents are like “okay, if you’re not a child, then start acting like an adult” and COMPLETELY misread the intention behind what Toph was saying. Ontop of that, they constantly complain about everything to her. Like trivial things. They complain about trivial things to a traumatized child (not to mention they did like nothing during the war smh, they just sat there and were rich). Like, they complain about each other to Toph say all of these things that she never wanted to hear ever and that no parents should actually burden their child with. Eventually she just... stops.

She just never answers letters, never returns to the city, much less the house. And it just... it kills her because she wanted to fix their relationship. She wanted to try and be a family again and she tried. She tried so hard but her parents never pit any effort in.

It was actually Zuko (or Azula...) who kind of made her realize. Like, I’m just gonna say: Sokka and Katara HATE Toph’s parents, like, with a burning passion. Toph offhandedly mentioned some of the terrible things her mom said about her dad and vice versa to the gaang and Katara was about to go give them the biggest lecture they had ever received. Katara lowkey got all mother hen (but sometimes Suki would have to drag her back and be like “you’re smothering her” so Toph wouldn’t feel like Katara was acting like her parents) (and again, Toph would never say it outloud, but she could never think of Katara in that way ever. She’s SUCH a better person than her parents could ever be) and would try and... not be the mother Toph never got to have, but give her the support she never had.

Anyways, Zuko or Azula talk to Toph and are like “take it from one abused child to another, your parents are abusing you” which just confirms the suspicions she had deep down but refused to believe. She was just filled with so much rage because it’s not fair and she was trying so hard but her parents really don’t care about her in the way that they should of and she gave them so many chances to be better but they never took it.

okay so, sadness over, let’s make Toph happy:)

Toph is asexual (and maybe aromantic, unsure as of right now) because I said so:))

Toph takes great pleasure in going to The Jasmine Dragon and just... listening to make sure no one is ever rude to Iroh or any of the other employees ever. If they are, she causes trouble so they can feel ashamed for being mean to people in food service.

no you know what? Am I going too overboard? Yes. Do I care? No. One friendship Toph headcanon for everyone in the gaang.

Aang: Toph and Aang both help remind the other that they’re children because they both forget sometimes. Toph is great at taking Aang away from work and making him take breaks and spend time for himself rather than others. Aang is great at giving Toph the “having friends as a child” experience she never had. He teaches her games he learned from all four nations as a child and sometimes they do really ‘childish’ things like playing bending tag or even like regular tag with each other just because it’s nice.

Katara: oooh the Toph and Katara friendship is one of my favorites in the show. The two are both ridiculously competitive. Like. Out of everyone in the gaang, they are the most competitive (let’s be real, Sokka is too petty and WE NEED TO FOLLOW THE GAMES RULES to be competitive and Zuko just gets angry and rage quits). But eventually, they learn that they’re stronger when they work together and make a competitive truce. So whenever people need to team up for games, they immediately go to each other and they destroy everyone.

Sokka: Sokka and Toph ahhhhh I love them so much. Sokka adopted Toph as his daughter-sister, as in he can’t choose whether he wants to replace her dad and be her dad or be the protective but not overly protective older brother she never had, so he calls himself “father-brother” and everyone hates it, but Sokka was never good at naming things. Also, one time they were really bored, so they decided to try and invent a language that is never spoken, but can be interpreted through Earthbending. Like, different methods of bending meant different things and stuff. It worked... kind of? Sokka likes learning and Toph likes kicking dirt and making people confused about what they were doing. They both have short attention spans, though, so they didn’t get far. They each still remember s=certain things and still talk through it (since Sokka is not an Earthbender, he taps his foot on the ground or kicks dirt a certain way. It’s kind of like morse code, bit different because only Toph can feel the taps).

Suki: Suki Suki Suki I love you! Suki is Toph’s go-to for fake relationships. Like. These two have been in a fake relationship with each other too many times to count. Toph’s parents invite her to a formal event but she needs to bring a date (and also she doesn’t want to go but she wants to repair the relationship)? Suki is her date. Suki needs to attend a royal event because she’s the highest Fire Nation palace guard (because I said so)? Toph comes as her date. A random person is hitting on either of them and they don’t know how to respond without unnecessary violence? Find the other and kiss their face.

Zuko: Zuko and Toph, what a pair. They both find beauty in nature (in different ways, obviously), so they’re walking buddies. They’ve gone on hikes together, like week-long hikes together. They’ll walk around the palace together... sometimes they’ll just sit together in silence because they don’t always need words to be friends.

Azula: (because yes, I am including the three girls): y’all. These two together can scare the entire world. Not just because they are actually insanely powerful, but because they make the most horrific self-deprecating jokes known to man and say it with intense seriousness that everyone has been genuinely worried at some point before they caught on (if it’s serious, they say it as a joke). One time, they both made these depressing jokes at lunch and Aang choked on his food. He didn’t die, but like. He was so unprepared that he choked. What I’m saying is, these two have a really weird relationship that takes place entirely through insults at each other, theirself, and everyone they love.

Ty Lee: Toph was actually scared of Ty Lee at first because of her chi blocking abilities. Not like terrified-scared, but like if you even take one more step towards me I will smash you with a boulder no matter your intentions-scared. Also, Ty Lee was so perky and kind of loud and Toph found that suspicious at first. It wasn’t like an Aang perky or loud, it was like... well, Toph couldn’t explain it (as in, I, op, cannot explain it), but it was a bit overwhelming? And then one time Ty Lee just. randomly visited her at her parents’ house even though they “weren’t friends” and Toph was just ????? but let her come in for dinner anyway because she kind of wanted to see how her parents would react to this peppy girl. Her parents ended up making a kind of snide remark at Toph’s expense during dinner (which was the usual but Toph didn’t realize it was a b u s e) and Ty Lee went off. That’s when Toph knew there were reasons to be terrified of this girl, but she would never be on the receiving end of her fury unless she really deserved it. They have very different family situations, but take pleasure in actually talking about it to each other. Because Ty Lee is a very open person and Toph is not. Toph thinks it’s nice to just let Ty Lee ramble on (kind of like Mai) and Ty Lee thinks Toph gives really good advice and has good insights (plus strives to help her feel more comfortable with her feelings). They become spontaneous buddies and randomly show up at each other’s houses when they’re living at home and it’s just nice.

Mai: last but never least, Mai and Toph! These two. feel for each other. so much. Rich kids, only children, parents who ignore them, ahhhhh, do you smell that? The repression of feelings:) Sometimes, they prefer to just be around each other because everyone else can kind of be overwhelming. They can communicate through few words and they both like throwing things, so they like sparring together a lot, It gives them a chance to throw things with another person who likes throwing things. For them, sparring is like this connection and it’s own method of loving each other (as friends do) and it’s just really nice for both of them.

Okay. I am done. Thank you, Grace, for fueling me.

I love Toph and I don’t give her enough attention.

[svnflowervol666]

h driving around his lovie in the yellow vintage ferrari because lovie loves the humming engine of the car ☺️🐻

Word Count: 2.1k

Harry was at his wit’s end. He was certain that he would be able to take care of his own child for three days whilst his wife enjoyed a weekend away with her closest friends at the beach. Like, absolutely positive. He’d gotten the whole dad thing down pat. All he lacked was the ability to produce breast milk, which Y/N had gladly pumped extra of and stored in the refrigerator before she left. Harry knew exactly when they ate, exactly how much to give them and how long he needed to burp them for so that their tummies wouldn’t be upset later on in the day. Absolutely nothing had been different about the baby’s routine besides the fact that their mother was not here. There was nothing she possessed that was not accessible to the baby while she was gone, yet, for some reason, everything was going wrong.

The baby had quite literally been screaming all day. Harry had unnecessarily changed their diaper about 800 times just in case the material was irritating their skin and he had tried just about everything in the book to soothe them. A cold wash rag for them to chew on in case they were uncomfortable due to incoming teeth, a warm bath in the kitchen sink case they were cold, a million different pacifiers that they only repeatedly spit out. The most peace Harry could get was about an hour when they exhausted their tiny body from wailing and dozed off for a bit, but as soon as they came to, the waterworks started again and Harry was back to nearly pulling his hair out. 

It broke his heart seeing his baby so upset. He was at the point where he felt like a failure of a father. It hadn’t even been a full day since Y/N had left and it felt like everything was falling apart without her. They didn’t have a dirty diaper, didn’t have a fever, didn’t have an empty belly, yet they refused to stop wailing at the top of their lungs like Harry was hurting them just by being around them. He was almost ready to throw in the towel and call Y/N to beg her to come home early until he remembered he had one more lifeline before ruining Y/N’s weekend trip.

//

“Do wha’?” Harry mumbled tiredly yet dumbfoundedly into the sleek, black cell phone he held to his ear.

It was nearly two in the morning. He wasn’t expecting her to pick up the phone, but he sure was glad that she did. He’d hoped she could give him some advice, to tell him what to do or even offer to come over and help. But this was the last thing he’d ever expected his mother to say.

“I’m serious, love. You loved it too when you were being a fussy baby. Something about the sounds of the engine. Put ya right to sleep every time.”

“Tha’s ridiculous. It’s two in the morning.”

“You asked, Har. Just try it. Drive around the block and see if it calms them down a bit. Call me back if that doesn’t work and I guess I can come ‘round.”

Harry was never sure how she always managed to sound so calm. Maybe it was the fact that she’d raised him and his sister at the same time, so anything after that was a piece of cake. Even the sound of her voice was comforting to him and enough to ease some of his nerves. But maybe that was just because she was his mother. 

“Alright. I’ll let ye’ know how it turns out. Thanks f’ pickin’ up so late.”

“Love you, Harry.”

“Love ya too, mum.”

Harry ended the call and tossed his cell onto the unmade bed he shared with Y/N. It looked awfully empty without Y/N in it and part of him wondered if part of the reason why he’d contemplated calling her to come home early was that he missed her warm presence in the house and everything felt cold and wrong without her. He wonders if this is how she feels when he leaves for tour, but doesn’t have much time to dwell on it due to the piercing cries coming from the nursery where the baby had been lying down in an attempt to sleep.

“I hear ye’, I hear ye’,” Harry groaned as his feet padded over the soft carpet to the crib where the baby was. 

“It’s gonna be alright, bubby. Promise ye’.”

He carefully lifted their strained body up from the mattress pad and began patting them on the bum, as if that would soothe them in the slightest at this point. Maybe it wasn’t for the baby but more so Harry. Their tiny little toes were curled in on themselves as they pawed at their face and continued to cry. Harry used to think their cries were cute, he really did. But now, each little huff and puff that left their chest put Harry closer and closer to the edge and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

After placing them snuggly in their carrier, Harry toted both them and his now lukewarm mug of tea to the garage. The Ferrari was the vehicle of choice, mostly because it was the easiest set of keys for him to find and he wasn’t going to spend another second looking for any other keyring. He strapped the baby securely into the backseat of the bright yellow car before hopping in on the driver’s side. He rubbed his dull, tired eyes with the backs of his hands before opening the garage door and bringing the engine to life.

This better fucking work, Harry thought to himself as he peeled out of his private driveway and onto the streets of his neighborhood.

//

Harry couldn’t believe it. Fifty-two seconds. Literally fifty-two seconds after he had turned onto the desolate street that his house was on and began driving aimlessly was all it took for his baby, who has been screaming non-stop for going on six hours, to stop crying and fall asleep immediately. It made Harry laugh out loud at how ridiculous he looked. It was nearing three o'clock in the morning and here Harry was, in his upper class, gated community driving around in a bright yellow Ferrari wearing a shirt covered in baby spit-up and hair that hadn’t been washed in god knows how long - all to make his baby go to sleep.

He kept his low beams on, fearing that he might draw the wrong type of attention at this hour and end up having the police called on him. There was almost something soothing about the engine to him too, he thought. But in actuality, it was probably just that fact that this is the longest he’d gone without listening to his baby cry like someone was inflicting excruciating pain on their tiny little body. 

Harry sipped his tea in between turning corners and continued to creep through the empty streets. After nearly twenty minutes of silence, he felt like it was safe to say that his baby was out for the night. At least he really fucking hoped so considering he would have been out for the night after crying as hard as they had been. Just as he was ready to make the left turn that would take him back to his home, his phone rang, nearly making him jump out of his skin at how the ringer pierced the silence in the car.

He checked in the reflective mirror to make sure that the interruption hadn’t disturbed the baby’s sleep. Thankfully, it hadn’t and they were still sleeping soundly with their cheeks squished against the straps of the car seat and their blanket tucked snuggly around their body like a little burrito.

“Hello?”

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaaarry,” her voice bled through the speaker and into his ear. 

She was drunk. Almost certainly.

“Hiiiii, lovie,” Harry drew his voice out slightly to mimic hers.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake this late. Just wanted to check on you guysssss.”

He heads her huff loudly and some rustling in the background that sounded like sheets crumpling. She was most likely coming home from the club and getting ready for bed seeing as it was now well past three o'clock in the morning.

“We’re alright,” he decided to spare her the gruesome details about how their child had been screaming nonstop and not worry her pretty drunk head, “Wha’ about you? Ye’ havin’ fun?”

“Soooooo much fun,” she giggled before sighing, “But I miss you guys sooo much. I think I might come home tomorrow.”

“Why come home early if you’re havin’ soooooooo much fun?” Harry chuckled quietly into the phone.

 “Because I miss you and I miss the baby and the bed in my hotel room is cold and empty without you and it feels weird not waking up to breastfeed at 1 o'clock in the morning,” she rambled, “Wait, why are you whispering?”

The corners of Harry’s lips turned up when he realized she was saying the exact words he had been thinking earlier that evening about being miserable at night without her.

“The baby’s asleep in the backseat-”

“Backseat? You’re in the car?” her voice sobered up immediately.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Harry did his best to quickly backtrack and reassure her that it was nothing bad that landed them on the road at half-past three, “Everything’s fine. Bubby wouldn’t stop cryin’ so mum told me to take em for a drive and see if it calmed them down. Worked pretty well. They were out before I even made it past the neighbor’s house. Turns out the Ferrari’s better for more than just looks.”

She scoffed on the other end, making Harry furrow his brows in confusion but quickly fade into a smile after she spoke.

“The Ferrari, huh? You never take me out in that thing anymore. Do you like bubs more than me now?” 

He couldn’t see her, but he knew for a fact she was dramatically pouting against the glass screen of her phone.

“Hey, tha’s not nice,” Harry chuckled softly, “Don’t make me pick favorites. It was the only key I could find. Think I accidentally washed the keys to the Audi last night. I’ve been so tired lately I can barely see straight.”

“Welcome to my world, bubby.”

She wasn’t trying to be snide or dismiss him, it was just her drunken mind speaking for itself and Harry knew that.

“Anywayyyys. You owe me a ride in the Ferrari when I get back.”

“Only if ye’ promise to stay away for the rest of the weekend like ya planned. I won’t let ye’ back in this house if you ditch ye’ friends for us.”

Harry’s eyes were getting droopy and he decided to finally head back to the garage to park the car and go back inside. 

“You guys are more important, though.”

Even though she was drunk, she was being honest and it warmed Harry’s heart. 

“We’ll be waiting right here for ye’, love. ‘S probably time for all of us t’ go t’ bed now, innit?”

“I guesssssss,” she groaned through a yawn.

Harry laughed once more at her innocence, “Take care of yourself for me, yeah? Wash your face and leave some water on the nightstand for in the morning.”

“Sure thing, daddy.” 

“Hey! Can’t be talkin’ like that when you’re not around. S’not fair.”

Harry was just messing with her, but there was some slight truth to his words.

“Alright! Alright,” she sleepily giggled, “I’ll save it for when I get back. ‘M gonna go to bed for real now. Give bubby a kiss for me.”

“I will. Love ye’.”

“Love you too, H.”

Harry hung up before her, knowing she’d fall asleep with her phone in her hand if he didn’t end the call first. He took one last look at the sleeping infant in his backseat before shutting off the whirring engine of the Ferrari that he’d just parked in his open garage. Just seeing the peacefulness that washed over their features and the way their lips turned out in a pout from having such chubby cheeks was enough for Harry to take back every hostile thought he’d had earlier tonight. 

Before he attempted the impossible mission of transferring his bub from car to crib without stirring them, he decided to snap a photo to send to Anne to let her know that her advice was greatly appreciated and that bub had taken to the engine sounds without a fight. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without his mother. Well, both his own mother and his baby’s mother. He owed them so much more than he could ever possibly give back to them, he thought to himself as he placed one last goodnight kiss on his child’s forehead before tiptoeing out of the nursery and into his bed to sleep peacefully and dream of two days from now when his love would be home and they could be a family together again.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 10: Who Needs You •

    “You!”

    The howl of fury from Sonia Kaspbrak brought a whole new sense of fear to the Losers as they stood on the opposing end of her finger. Having fled the gruesome house on Neibolt, the Losers, in a great panic, had managed to haul their injured friend away from Neibolt and back to his own front lawn. Thanks to Mike, who while thinking quickly, had placed Eddie in his bike’s basket, the two were able to escape on their bikes with the rest of their friends. And though the horrid scene was now blocks away, not a single Loser dared lose a notch of speed. Nor did they stop until they had discarded their bikes on Eddie’s front lawn, panting heavily.

    “You did this!” She hissed, immediately separating Eddie from his friends.

    The seven Losers parted hesitantly as she forced him by the nape of the neck across the lawn towards her car.

    “You know how delicate he is.” She huffed, earning a few heavy eye rolls from a select few.

    Bill stepped forward after them, finding his voice, and powering through his stutter.

    “W-We were attacked, M-Mrs. K,”

    She opened the squeaky passenger door, just about shoving Eddie inside, and turned on the seven friends. She stared each of them down, fiery gaze meeting with each pair of eyes.

    “No! Don’t,” she ordered, slamming the door shut, caging a still frightened Eddie. “Don’t try to blame anyone else.”

    Her hands shake with rage, causing her ring of keys to slip from her fingers and land on the pavement. Seeing this, Beverly bends down after them.

    “Let me help-” She offers, only to be cut off and shooed away by the woman.

   "Get back!“ She bellows.

    She steps forward, retrieving her keys, and straightens enough to lean in close to intimidate Beverly.

    "Oh, I’ve heard of you miss Marsh,” Mrs. Kaspbrak sneered. “And I don’t want a dirty girl like you touching my son.”

    “Mrs. Kaspbrak, please, if we could just explain-” Y/n pleas were soon cut short.

    “Enough!” The woman roared, her puffy face turning red.

    She looked Y/n up and down with a snide look in her eye as if the young girl was nothing more than something she had dragged in on her shoe.

    “Don’t think I haven’t heard of you either, you filthy little thing! Following this harlot around town,” she quickly throws Beverly a hostile look. “begging for scraps like some stray. Wouldn’t be surprised if you picked up on her dirty little habits and I certainly won’t have you lurking around my son any longer!”

    Y/n stood unnaturally still, taking the conjectures she had heard almost her entire life with surprising composure. But that wall she had built up, cracked, just ever so at the mention of Eddie and she glanced past the screaming woman and into the car where Eddie’s small stature was barely visible over the windows in the low seat. This was the first time he had allowed himself to look at one of them, and it was at Y/n.

    Their eyes met, her gaze was distant, and she seemed to be disconnecting from reality as if to spare herself from the pain of saying goodbye. As if she knew his mother would finish her lecture, get in the car, and drive away with Eddie and that would be it. She knew that Eddie wouldn’t stand up for her. Get angry for her, or even for himself, and finally stand up to his mother. But she didn’t blame him, he had barely escaped death, and even still, he had a horribly broken arm.

    But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking as she saw his large doe brown eyes staring back at her. They were frightened and docile as his mother continued shouting abuse at her; The girl who was quickly after his heart.

    “You are not to speak to my Eddie, you are not to set foot within five hundred feet, of my Eddie Bear, nor can you even-” she stopped suddenly, roughly turning the girl’s head to look at her, and lowered her voice. “You are not to even look at my Eddie.”

    She leaned forward into the girl’s face and glared spitefully.

    “I don’t want my son catching fleas.” She spits.

    Everyone had stood silently in shock, not expecting such venomous words from the woman. Nor were they expecting a heated comeback from Richie who stepped forward beside Y/n, fists clenched despite his otherwise cool exterior.

    “With all due respect, Mrs. K, Y/n isn’t the problem,” Her wild glare shifted to the boy. “If you’re worried about fleas, Eddie’s more likely to catch ‘em from living up your v-”

    Richie was suddenly cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth, it was Y/n. Who albeit, very much appreciated the gesture - and would certainly laugh about it in the future - still wanted at least a sliver of a chance of both her and Richie getting to see Eddie again.

    The woman took a long deep breath and glared daggers at the boy. Anyone there would know a million things were running through her head at that moment; several things she would have liked to have said to the no-good heathen that her son always clung to, but she knew she could waste no more time. Her eyes said enough.

    “Don’t start with me young man, this is far from over.” She seethed.

    And with that, she whirled around on her heel and wobbled over to the driver’s side.

    “Thanks, Richie,” Y/n croaked, a silent tear streaking her dirtied cheek.

    “Catching fleas,” Richie grumbled. “Honestly! And you guys actually think my mouth’s the one that outta be sewn shut.”

    The remaining seven Losers watched miserably, and helplessly as the '79 Pacer Wagon containing their friend, disappeared around the block. Y/n felt hopelessly deflated, and her gaze fell to her torn and mucked up shoes. She silently noted they were somehow, even filthier now thanks to her trip to Neibolt. Her slight disappointment with her shoes paled in comparison to what she was really troubled with. It felt as though, even when they had each escaped with their lives, this moment did not feel like a victory.

    Bill turned to face them each, a surprising amount of hope in his eyes and it was enough to pull Y/n from her somber thoughts. That is until she heard what he had to say.

    “I saw the well.” He says, drawing several concerned glances his way. “W-w-we know where it is, and-and next time we’ll be better prepared.”

    “No!” Stan cried incredulously. “No next time, Bill! You’re insane!”

    “Why?” Beverly countered. “We all know no one else is going to do anything.”

    Y/n looked at her best friend with a pained look, shocked and brokenhearted at where this conversation would head. Biting her lip, she steps forward, anger flaring up.

    “And what about Eddie?” Y/n asked heatedly, gesturing down the street before pointing at her other bleeding friend. “or Ben? Does the fact that they, among all of us, nearly died, mean anything to you guys?”

    Bill does not fight hard to stop the wounded expression molding onto his face, but it quickly dissolves in his growing impatience. “Y-You too?”

    “Bill,” Mike eases. “Come on, man, think of what you’re asking.”

    “N-No,” he sputters. “Think of w-what you’re asking.”

    Richie gapes at his friend, a look of wild bewilderment in his eyes and his arms thrown to the sides. “You shittin’ me, Bill? Were you not just in that crack den with us? Did you not see what happened? Fucking Christ, we were this close to being chum!”

    Beverly stepped forward, a hand thrown behind her as she gestured protectively to Bill. “But we’re not! We hurt it - Y/n, you hurt it! Don’t you guys see? The moment we came together is the moment It got weaker.”

    “And look where it got us,” Y/n scoffed, looking around at the broken circle of Losers. “Beverly, this isn’t some make-believe bullshit quest we’re talking about. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I do know one thing. That we’re just kids, and we don’t stand a chance against that thing.”

    A sour look crosses Beverly’s face at her friend’s words.

    “Well, we can’t pretend It’s gonna go away,” she argued, suddenly turning to the Hanscom boy. “Ben, you said it yourself, It comes back every twenty-seven years.”

    “Fine! I’ll be forty and far away from here.” He snapped, immediately feeling a small pang of guilt and his demeanor softens just ever so. “I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town, too.”

    “Because I wanna run towards something. Not away,”

    Richie’s eyes rolled behind his thick lenses, and he threw his arm up at the girl with great annoyance.

    “I’m sorry, who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?”

    Beverly merely glared and held up her middle finger to the trashmouth.

    “Richie-” Stan argued.

    “No!” Richie looks around once more, anger flaring up as he gestures to Y/n. “Y/n’s right, we need to face facts. Real world.”

    Richie settled his gaze on Bill, a genuine spark of sympathy in his eyes.

    “Georgie is dead.” He says, and he feels as if the weight he’s carried tiptoeing around his friend has lifted and he begins to walk away. “Stop trying to get us killed, too,”

    Bill jumps in front of Richie, instantly blocking his path, and his face goes beet red in anger.

    “Georgie’s not dead!” Bill roars, squaring his shoulders though he did not feel more powerful.

    Richie looks his friend in the eye and notes his hurt, but cannot ignore his own. “You couldn’t save him, but you can still save yourself.”

    “No!” Bill stops Richie in his tracks once more, his stutter flaring up as every ounce of hurt over his brother resurfaces. “T-ta-t-take it b-back! Y-You’re scared,”

    Bill looks around at his circle of friends, all lost and broken.

    “we all are. But take it back!” He shouts, his heartbreak turning to anger in seconds and he shoves Richie back harshly.

    Richie tenses briefly before charging after Bill and shoving him harshly. Bill can no longer hold back. All his anger, hurt, and loss that had been festering over the past several months. It had all boiled to the top and formed a fist that hooked into Richie’s left jaw that sent him stumbling into the concrete.

    “Bill!”

    Stan and Mike scramble to pick Richie up off the ground, and Ben lunges after Bill to keep him from another attempted swing at Richie.

    “You’re just a bunch of losers!” Richie sputters, fighting against his friends to get a punch in himself.

    “Richie, stop, just take a breath,” Y/n eases, placing herself between the boys.

    Blinded by the betrayal, and the painful welt already forming on his jaw, Richie ignores the girls’ pleas and continues shouting over to Bill. “Fuck off! You’re just a bunch of losers who’ll get yourselves killed-”

    Beverly cuts in, her own anger boiling to the top. “Stop!”

    “-trying to kill a fucking clown!”

    “STOP!” Beverly roars, finally gaining everyone’s attention.

    A look of clarity passes over her and she looks around at her friends. “This is what It wants. It wants to divide us. We were all together when we hurt It. That’s why we’re still alive.”

    “Yeah?” Richie pipes, adjusting his lenses having finally broken free. “Well, I plan to keep it that way.”

    His chest puffed out in his mix of pride and anger, he marches past Bill. Not without a swift but harsh shove of the shoulder, knocking him off balance. One by one the rest of Losers follow his lead, the first being Y/n.

    “Y/n-”

    “No, Beverly,” Y/n states, heartbreak evident in her voice. She turns to look at her two friends, her eyes matching her tone. “No way. That’s three times now I’ve barely gotten out alive. I’m not trying for a fourth.”

    Her mouth parted to speak the parting words that sat on her tongue, but even goodbye was too painful. In a way, she feared if she were to say it, she’d be sealing their very fates. That she’d never see them again, so instead, she settles for picking up her bike, casting one last pained look their way before disappearing down the road.

    Bill shifts his attention to Mike, who is already picking up his bike.

    “Mike-?” His voice is aching, pleading for his friend to stay.

    Mike only stops briefly, throwing back an equally broken and pleading voice. He shrugs, defeated.

    “Guys… I can’t do this,” he shakes his head, his grandfather’s voice ringing in his ears and tugging at his gut. “My granddad was right… I’m an outsider. Gotta stay that way.”

    And just as Y/n had moments earlier, he mounts his bike without another word and starts off down the road. Bill and Bev remain, exchanging sullen looks at a loss for words. And a plan.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    The town of Derry Maine had never been in more danger with the separation of the Losers Club. And the kids themselves had never felt more broken. In the span of just those few short minutes, their world had shattered. The only Losers to remain in one another’s company was Y/n and Richie, who both carried the heavyweight of Eddie’s absence on their shoulders the most. But even they found themselves alone in times where it counted the most.

    In the weeks that followed, a dark cloud hung threateningly above their heads, watching their every move. While this was by definition, the very concept of Derry itself, they knew now exactly what it was. And yet, after all they had faced, all the pain and horror that would follow them for the rest of their lives, there still lingered the pain of their separation.

    Beverly sat at her desk, head hung over her keyboard as she plucks away a familiar tune. It brought her back to the many times Y/n had been over, the two of them both attempting to play half of a song, laughing hysterically in the process as they screwed each other up. It would go on like this with no end in sight, that is until Beverly’s father came to scold them for being too loud. But when he disappeared they’d just snicker to one another, too amused to care. But all Beverly had now to keep her company was her sullen thoughts and the many photos of herself and her friends - mostly Y/n - scattered across her wall.

    Bill’s house was as lonely as ever. Like Beverly - and the rest of their friends - Bill would wander the halls of his house, desperately hoping for a distraction from the loneliness he felt. Not just from the fight with his friends, but the usual lack of Georgie that taunted him. His picture was everywhere which seemed rather odd to Bill given his parents’ blatant denial of Georgie’s death that went so far as to pretend he had never existed at all. As he sat alone in the dining room now, watching the summer rain patter against the window just has it had that day, he felt the inescapable grip of isolation clutch his heart. He hadn’t been greeted by such a silence since before summer break where he’d face the emptiness of his house with not even his mother’s piano to coat the silence that Georgie left. And to this day, nothing had touched the piano but the thick layer of dust that coated it now.

    Stan had not been fairing so well either. While he usually found himself facing a great deal of frustrations with the combined chaos of Richie, Y/n, and Eddie, he now found he missed them greatly. He missed sharing jokes with Beverly that nobody else understood, and he missed sharing gentle, quiet moments with Mike who always showed interest in Stan’s hobbies like birdwatching. Something the others never really took to. The quick remarks thrown back and forth between Bill and himself from the sidelines when the others got into mischief. And Ben, who often tended to be soft-spoken like himself, was better at creating a space for Stan to talk when he didn’t feel quite as heard. Stan missed the Losers deeply, and more than anything, he missed being one.

    Mike went back to work on his grandparents’ farm. Not that he hadn’t ever stopped, but now he had nothing to look forward to. Normally, his days consisted of farm work until five - sometimes four-thirty if he got his work done early - before he promptly met up with his best friends. Now it was just himself, all alone on the farm again. Aside from Mooriuel, his favorite calf who he had named in secret. She was rather happy to be seeing more of him on the farm. Though like her caretaker, she missed the occasional visits from his friends. But they hardly did, except for Y/n who’d often feed the cows snacks, and even made a daisy chain for Mike that he refused to take off. That had made her smile profusely, and he often thought of that day.

    While Mike had thrown his attention into his work on the farm - including taking up the duty of putting down the sheep, which he greatly despised - Ben spent his time deep within the books at the Derry Public Library. He hadn’t learned much, nothing he hadn’t already yet again he found himself closing another dusty old book. He sighs, looking up at the first thing his eyes find. Coincidentally, though deep in his heart it does not feel right to call it a coincidence, his gaze lands on an old painting framed on the wall that loomed over the entire library.

    It was a woman and her newborn child standing alone on a prairie, looking deep into an old familiar-looking well. Ben knew very well that it was a historical art piece of Derry, the Well House no less and as he looks at it now he can feel the thick layer of ice encircling his heart and chilling him to the very bone. What horrors this town was capable of, horrors he had seen with his own eyes, and yet no one else in Derry had even the slightest clue what lived under their very noses. He wondered if they ever would.

    Eddie Kaspbrak perhaps fared the worst among his friends, he hadn’t realized how suffocating his own home truly was when he didn’t have the simple escapes with the Losers. It was a feeling both metaphorical and literal as he struggled to survive under his mother’s thumb, not to mention he had gone through twice his supply of inhalers with the crushing weight of anxieties his mother gave him. He thought of Richie and Y/n the most. He missed Richie’s teasing and crude humor no matter how crass and disgusting it was. And he longed for the times Y/n would bring out a specific blush in his cheeks when she called him 'shrimp’, or the simple sound of her laughter.

    He knew how sappy he sounded, and a part of him hated himself for it, but it was true. He could picture them now, riffing on one another while still managing to rag on him.

    He hoped they were.

+++

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[pparkerpoetry]

hold on, i still need you

Newt (@strad-disc) and I have done it again! don't worry, we've planned some of the main fic and we'll get to it at some point :) As usual, I'll put the smaller stories here, but the main fic will be on ao3! my ao3 is MarvelDreamer and newt's is the same. Summary: Quackity had a lot going on, and he found himself struggling to stay above the waves of his thoughts sometimes.

Sapnap and Karl made it easier.

Until they couldn't.

-DSMP Maze Runner Fusion Oneshot-

(where characters from the smp are in the maze)

_______

Quackity wasn’t sure about all this.

An elevator that came from who-knows-where, a group of boys in a maze with the purpose of who-knows-what. There had to be something he could do. There had to be something that made sense in this shucking… glade.

They’d called it a glade, hadn’t they?

Phil and Tubbo were the two in charge of the place, apparently. Again, Quackity wasn’t too sure what was going on, or even if he trusted the words of the boys that had claimed leadership. Phil definitely was the oldest in the bunch, but seniority shouldn’t always equal superiority.

To be fair, though, the glade seemed pretty well run. Everyone did their job, no one seemed to hate each other. Not really a high bar, but when all that was expected was survival, they were doing pretty good.

It was dinner, on his third or so day. He was going to work with Technoblade the next day, which some people pitied him for, but Technoblade didn’t seem too bad. He just didn’t have that many friends, is all.

Quackity sighed, staring down at the sandwich on his plate. It looked good, but he didn’t feel hungry. Not after working with the slicers all day, even if they did remark at how good he was at it.

“Yo, greenie.” A boy with a white headband tied around his head slid into the seat next to Quackity. “My food not look good or something? Why aren’t you eating?”

He stared blankly at the boy. “I have a name, you know.”

“So do I,” smiled the boy, as if this had been his plan all along. “I’m Sapnap. What’s your name?”

“Quackity,” he said slowly. “And your food looks fine, I just don’t feel that hungry.”

Sapnap nodded sagely. “Yeah, you were working with the slicers today, weren’t you? Don’t worry, if you end up with them, I could probably steal you occasionally to help in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, man.” Quackity couldn’t help the smile that slid onto his face. “I appreciate it.”

-

He’d been drowning in confusion, but Sapnap had pulled him out of his thoughts.

-

Being in the glade wasn’t so bad, he supposed.

It had been a fair few months, close to a year, and he’d gone through a couple promotions to land himself in the position of Keeper of the Slicers. It wasn’t bad, just gruesome sometimes, and if it ever got bad, Sapnap pulled him out of work and let him clean the kitchen or whatever else needed to be done. It was great, and allowed some alone time that they took advantage of.

Technoblade was alright once you got to know him. He was blunt and snide, but he could be funny, too. He hadn’t been the same since the Griever sting a while ago, but in all honesty, Quackity appreciated the pessimistic outlook a little. Not to mention, Techno was a beast- and anyone had to at least respect the dude.

Quackity liked his job. It was a little dangerous, a lot bloody, and involved a lot of looking away from the animal on the chopping block, but he didn’t mind. He got good with a blade, much better than he’d have expected when he was the greenie.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like the situation he was in at that moment.

“Shuck,” He bit out, choosing to look away from the blood that was running down his arm from a blade swung awry. “Uh, Medjack? Can someone get a medjack?”

A couple heads turned, only to make a noise in sympathy. One person, Quackity wasn’t sure who, turned and started to leave the area.

“Should we try to stop the bleeding?” A voice asked, and Quackity grinned tensely.

“That would be a wonderful idea if we had any spare cloth to use. I don’t think that Tommy would appreciate having to wash blood out of our shirts, though. I’m fine, I can wait for the Medjack.” He felt a wave of nausea pass through him, and he laughed lightly. “Maybe I’ll start walking over there. Back to work everyone, I’ll return shortly.”

No one seemed eager to go back, but that wasn’t his problem yet. It would be if Phil caught them slacking, but even then he wouldn’t get in that much trouble. He was injured, after all. He couldn’t help that they decided to rest rather than work.

A little further away, Quackity could see one of the medjacks walking towards him. It was the one with fluffy brown hair that had been there longer than Quackity had- the one that Sapnap was friends with. They’d spoken a couple times, his name was Karl, but they’d never gotten close.

To be honest, Quackity had always been a little jealous of how often Karl and Sapnap could be found together.

It made sense that Karl was the one to help him, though, since the only other one was Corpse, and he was the greenie the previous month, so he was still learning.

“You alright? Heard you cut your arm.” Karl yelled over to him.

Quackity didn’t respond, because if he opened his mouth he was scared he’d vomit. The pain started to set in too, the adrenaline gone, and if he thought about anything other than preventing the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall, he’d cry.

Karl’s voice was much closer this time. “Oh, that… that’s a lot of blood. Come on, let’s get you to the homestead. It’s a long trek from the animal pens.”

He could feel an arm go across his waist and his legs almost gave out, but he forced himself to keep walking. They were out in the open, and showing weakness here meant being dead meat.

Somehow, by some miracle, they made it to the homestead without him passing out. It was an almost lost battle, but still, Quackity sat there and watched Karl fuss over his injury. He retreated into his mind, letting his eyes undoubtedly go cloudy with unfocus.

He couldn’t believe that something like this had happened. He’d let his mind wander for a split second, and suddenly the year of training he’d had was gone. The blade had sliced his arm, and there was nothing he could do. He’d been stupid enough to loose the laser focus that he constantly needed, and now, he’d probably be the one that was teased for everything, considering it was pretty late in the month and the newest addition to the glade had settled in well. Quackity wasn’t looking forward to facing all of the people he was supposed to lead when he went back to the animal pens and slaughter barn. It was his first accident, though, so maybe Phil wouldn’t replace him as Keeper. God, he hoped not. Being Keeper was the only reason he had any ounce of respect at all- and even then, Quackty had the feeling that not many people liked him.

“Hey, stop that.”

Quackity blinked his eyes lazily, letting his gaze fall onto Karl’s face. “Stop what?”

“I can hear your thoughts from here, shank.” Karl said with a little laugh at the end. “You’re doubting yourself and putting yourself down, when you shouldn’t be doing either of those.”

“Oh? And how do you know what I’m doing?”

Karl rolled his eyes. “Because Sapnap does the same thing all the time.”

“Right.” Quackity said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice that the cute brunet knew Sapnap so well. “Sapnap.”

“Hey, listen. I’ve got nothing against you and Sapnap hanging out together if you don’t mind us hanging out. Besides,” Karl smiled, “You’re cute. Maybe all three of us could be friends, because there’s no reason to not like each other.”

Quackity frowning. “Did you call me cute? Are you hitting on me?”

All thoughts from Quackity of how pathetic he was being, or how awful it would be to face everyone else, had gone. They’d left his brain and now all that was left was a confusing muddle of mush. If he’d retained a couple brain cells, maybe he would’ve realized that that was part of the plan.

Karl smiled, and suddenly Quackity couldn’t hold anything against him. “I mean, if you’re okay with it, then yeah I’m hitting on you.”

Quackity wanted nothing more than to give Karl the world and keep that smile on his face. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good with it.”

The door burst open and Sapnap entered. “I saw you guys making your way across the field, I got here as soon as I could- why are you looking at me like that?”

-

He’d been drowning in his doubt, but Karl had brought him out of his haze.

-

Quackity looked at the small wooden carving that sat against the grass as a feeling of dread grew in his stomach and a look of horror took over his face. It matched the one in his pocket, and maybe no one else knew what it meant, but he did.

-

He was drowning in grief, but there was no one to help him this time.

-------

Hey all! We've made a discord for this if you want to join it and get more information or tidbits of chapters before they come out :) https://discord.gg/kUTk985B9P

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 3: Her Head Aches

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 3758

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 2: He Becomes a Trespasser

Landing on your front stoop once more, you felt thoroughly exhausted and exasperated. You’d used all the energy you had stored for dealing with the living and you weren’t going to need to interact with anyone outside of the Underworld for a year or two at that point. Brunch had been nice, but then dealing with that James? Oh boy, were you spent!

You still couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to come down to the Underworld. You’d heard of mortals and younger gods being naive, but that was a whole new level of idiocy. And for what? A simple ruby? 

You heaved a labored sigh and turned to look over your kingdom. You hadn’t gotten the chance to reapply any spells to your father’s cage in your mad dash to save the young prince of spring, and now it was just another thing to do on your list. Gods, that incident had really screwed up your schedule. 

From your spot on the mountain, you could see two figures making a beeline through the Asphodel Meadows from Tartarus: a large dog and a woman. The woman was running frantically, keeping pace with the dog.

Your stomach plummeted. Crap. You’d forgotten you’d sent Cerberus to get Peggy. They’d probably gone back to the cave and didn’t find you there. You could only imagine how worried they were when you were missing.

Peggy and Cerberus quickly scaled the steep steps that led up to your mansion, the elevation and distance being nothing to them. 

Peggy barely stopped in front of you and she grabbed onto your wrists, lifting them up to inspect your body. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice coated in her British accent (she’d spent quite a bit of time in London from the 1920s to the 1940s and the accent had stuck and never left). Her brown eyes scanned every detail of your face, checking for any traces of golden ichor. 

You let her do her work, simply nodding your head and saying, “I’m fine, Peggy.”

“When Cerberus came barging into my home without you… I thought he’d gotten you.”

You shook your head. “My father would have a hell of a time corrupting me, Peg. No, what had happened was some idiotic god wandered down here and had gotten stuck in Tartarus. The spirits had him and I’d thought something bigger was going on. That’s why I sent Cerberus for you. But nothing is the matter. I dealt with it.”

“Some god?” Her brows furrowed. “But how would he have—” She narrowed her eyes. “The Dikteon Cave.”

“Bingo.”

“But I’d thought we’d closed the rift the best we could and layered on protection warrants.”

“We did,” you confirmed. “But gods, if they’re determined enough, can still slip in.”

“What did he want?”

“A ruby. Probably to amaze and impress some girl.” You rolled your eyes and waved your hand dismissively. “But I took care of him. Sent him home to his chaperones and gave him the chastising of his life. He won’t be back any time soon.”

Peggy nodded, her gaze shifting from you to the cave on the other side of your kingdom. “Did you get a chance to…?”

“No. I need to go do that now.”

“Do you want me to come too?”

“No. You can stay here. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be coming back shortly after for a drink.”

She couldn’t stop the snicker that fell from her lips. “Something strong?”

“Nah. Probably just some wine mixed with nectar. Can you crack out the 1918 Cabernet Sauvignon for me? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Of course. Just promise me you won’t drink the whole bottle this time?”

“Ah, I can’t do that, Peg.” You gave her a sly smile. “After dealing with my sisters, an imbecile, and my father, I might just need to get wasted. But that’s why I have you; to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

“Mhmm. Sure. Come on, Cerberus,” she said, beckoning your dog to follow her into your house.

He followed after her, his tail wagging with excitement at the idea of hanging out with Aunt Peggy.

As the door closed behind them, you descended the staircase to the ground at the foot of the mountain and made your way over to the cave. Your bident materialized in your hand as you went, driving the spirits away from you. 

Tartarus was as cold as ever, making you shiver and goosebumps rise up on your skin. It was empty and evil and it made your heart spasm, but you had to go on. You made your way through the cave, following the tunnel until it opened up. The pit sat in the middle of the chasm; wide, expansive, deep, and extensive. The Phlegethon ran down into it, illuminating the walls of the pit until it was swallowed up by nothingness. You never liked to get too close to the edge, so you stood a good five feet away. Staring down into the pitch-black beneath you, you thought you could almost make out the bottom, but you knew that was impossible. It was too deep to see the bottom from up there. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You had a task to do, and nothing was going to distract you from completing it.

You began to mumble spells in a tongue so dead that you barely remembered the meaning of the words you spoke. It was the language of the first titans, taught to you by your mother. The words coming out of your mouth conveyed your wishes to bind, to entrap, to keep, and to lock away. They came from the ancient magic you had used when you sealed your father away the first time. 

Your voice trickled down into the pit, the power it held no doubt soaring to the cage your father lay trapped in and strengthening, replacing, and adding to the protection around it. It wouldn’t take more than five seconds for your spells to reach their destination. You could always tell when they started to work because someone would answer.

Sure enough, a cold chuckle echoed out of the pit and a snide voice said, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite daughter. You’re a bit late today, aren’t you? Did something happen? Are you finally going soft on me?” His tone was mocking and not concerned in the least bit. 

You stiffened but continued to murmur your spells. You hated it when he tried to talk to you. It only distracted you, but you knew that was his goal. He always tried to disrupt your enchantments in hopes that he could weaken his cage.

Deep, booming laughter rang out of the pit, shaking the cave ever so slightly. “Why do you never talk to me, my daughter? It’s so lonely down here. If you insist on seeing me so often, you might as well make conversation.”

Ignore him.

You closed your eyes, blocking out everything other than the rituals you performed, muttering those words that had become second nature to you, trying to hurry up and finish. The sooner you could get out of there, the better.

“How was your day? I heard a commotion coming from the cave earlier. Were the spirits finally rebelling against you? Have you lost your touch?”

You exhaled sharply. 

“How is your mother doing? She never visits me. My darling, traitorous wife, who decided she loved her children more than me. Speaking of them, how are my other daughters? Are they reveling in the kingdom they stole from my brothers and me?” You could feel the malice in his words. There was always malice and hatred when he talked about you, your mother, and your sisters. He despised you with every ounce of his being, though he would always claim differently.

“You know, my love, if you were to release me, I could do so much for you. I never hated you. I was only afraid of you. You were destined to overthrow me and I couldn’t let that happen. That’s why I had to eat you. But I’m so sorry. If you were to set me free, I could be the father you always wanted. I know you, (y/n). I heard all your cries and pleading. I know you only wanted a father; know you wanted me to be a father for you. I know you wanted us to be a family. We can be that now. All you have to do is stop with your spells and set me free. You can do it. I know you can. I can give you all the love you craved. Just let me go.”

You refused, your voice growing in volume and intensity.

His anger rose from the pit, trying to grasp onto you. “Let me go! Release me!” He was done with bargaining for the day, turning to demanding and threatening. “I will kill you, (y/n). You’ll see. One day I will get out of here and when I do, you will be the first to feel my wrath. I will lock you in my cage, torment you with your failure, and keep you imprisoned for all eternity. You will never have known pain like the pain I will give to you.”

Blah blah blah.

You’d heard it all before, and, frankly, it was getting old.

You finished your spell, casting the last enchantment and finishing with your weekly ritual. 

You could hear Kronos groan as his restraints tightened. You took a deep breath and leaned forward, looking over the edge and staring into the pit, a satisfied smile on your face. “Not today, old man,” you whispered before turning your back to him and walking out of the cave towards your mansion. 

Peggy was sitting on a long couch in the lounge that sat just right of the entryway. Black furniture adorned the room with a single crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, casting light over the space. A long black couch faced a wall of windows that overlooked Elysium. A low black coffee table which sat in the middle of the room acted as the focal point for a comfy armchair you had picked up decades ago and still loved, the long black couch, and a fireplace that burned with red flames on the other wall in the room. A wine glass filled with red wine that was tinted with the unmistakable gold of nectar sat on the coffee table and a large television was mounted to the wall above the fireplace. It was on low, a mortal sitcom of sorts playing. You couldn’t be bothered to learn its name, and it seemed that Peggy only had it on for background noise. Her attention was otherwise diverted to the dog whose head was on her lap. 

She rubbed at his ears absently, only looking up when you closed the front door behind you. Her brows were creased and her lips taut with worry. “Are you alright?” she asked again, like she did every time you came home from the pit.

“Will be after a drink.” You took a seat in your armchair and reached forward for the glass of wine on the coffee table. The glass was chilled against your fingertips—you always did like your drinks “as cold as your heart”—and you lifted it up to your lips. The sweet taste of nectar mixed with rich wine filled your mouth and you swallowed it eagerly. 

Peggy eyed you with a sharp laugh. “If you’re not careful, the other gods might think you’re an alcoholic.”

“Meh, they’ve had two thousand years to call me one. If they haven’t done it by now, they won’t ever do it.” You sighed and shifted in your chair, shrugging your shoulders and straightening up. “Now, do you want to hear about my day or not?”

She snickered, only resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and her chin in the palm of her hand. “Sure. You tell me all about your day. How’re your sisters?”

“Same as always,” you said with a fond smile. “Carol is still pretending to be the eldest and is still a great queen, Nat is still a smart ass but great. They’re still my family.”

“Mhmm. And, now will you tell me a bit about this god that got into Tartarus. You said he used the Dikteon Cave?”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “James, god of spring. Demeter’s kid.”

“Demeter? (y/n), she has a real name you know. It’s Win—”

“Winnifred,” you finished. “Yeah, I know. He corrected me too.” You shrugged. “But, frankly, I don’t give a damn. If it pisses her off to call her Demeter, then great. It’s not like she’s going to hate me less for calling her by her real name.”

You and Winnifred went way back. She was almost as old as you were but fell short by just a century or two. She was the goddess of agriculture and the harvest and pretty much the protector of all life. She was kind to most of the Olympians; strict and stern if anything, but kind nonetheless. She was usually polite so long as you were kind back, but she was also really protective of her charges and plants. Naturally, she hated you. Why wouldn’t she? You were the goddess of the Underworld; you oversaw anything and everything death related. She blamed you exclusively for the death of her plants and all the life on earth (despite your attempts to explain to her that you were not the goddess of death and instead just ran the Underworld and those who were actually dead). She seemed to believe that you were pure evil and had a personal vendetta against her. She hated you.

You didn't care much for her either. Ever since she decided it was your fault that plants died and harvests were bad, she’d been nothing but a bitch to you. You were not one to take anybody’s shit without a fight and so you weren’t the nicest back to her. But if she was hell-bent on being on your bad side and treating you poorly, then you weren’t going to bend over backward to be nice to her. If she was going to be mean, you were going to be mean back. After all, you shouldn’t have to deal with that. You were a queen, one of the original three gods, and she was just some second-generation goddess with a fragile ego that was easily threatened. 

“Anyways,” Peggy said, diverting the conversation away from Demeter and turning it back to her son, “you found him at Tartarus and kicked him out?”

You nodded. “I also might’ve threatened him, but that’s beside the point.”

“You what?”

You laughed as you looked around the room for the bottle of wine. Your glass had run empty and you wanted some more. You spotted it back on the rack and held out your hand in its direction. Moving on its own accord, it plucked itself from the rack and floated into your waiting hand. You uncorked it and began to pour yourself another glass.  “Relax. You know I’d never follow through with it. Torture is so not my style. I just scared the kid. Whatever the case, I think I did the trick. Hopefully, he’ll never come back. But now we’ve got a perimeter issue on our hands.” You brought your glass to your lips and tilted your head back, taking another sip. “He got in way too easily. Some of our charms must be wearing off. We’re going to have to redo those. If something as menial as a young god can get in, then who knows what else can.”

“You’re not thinking…?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “The remaining titans—Helios, Atlas, Epimetheus, among others—they’re either loyal to us or trapped in their own special prisons. But who knows?” Your brows knit together. “One day they might decide that they wanna break their fathers out of jail and mine right along with them. One day they might decide that they’re above the gods, rebel, break out of prison, set the old titans free.” Your lips formed a thin line and your hand tightened into a fist. “They’re stronger than gods, they could break in through the cave easier.”

“So what do you plan on doing?”

“I dunno. More charms. New charms?” You snickered to yourself and looked out towards Elysium. “Maybe pull some of the old warriors from paradise to be on guard duty if they want it. Just imagine it: arming a bunch of dead guys with weapons from their time and putting them in armor. Ha! The old guys would get a hoot out of that.”

Peggy hummed with a smile. “Yes, I could imagine old Magnus from the Roman era and Eddie from 1942 pairing up together for guard duty. Frankly, I think the men would enjoy a little spice in life. I’d ask them if they’d be willing. It might throw any intruders off their rhythm if they were met with a small militia of ghosts.”

You stared at her, your eyebrows raised and an amused smile playing on your lips. “Did you just reference John Mulaney?” 

“Well, I suppose I did.” She smirked at you. “You’re not the only one who can make pop culture references.”

You chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

She opened her mouth to make another comment, but she was cut off by a thud overhead. The impact of something hitting the roof rattled the chandelier, causing the crystals to cling together and ring out over the silence.

A slow smile crept over your lips and you leaned back in your chair. “It seems we have a visitor, Peg.”

She nodded, a smile to match yours taking over her own face. “He’s never here at this time. He must want something.”

You snorted. “Yeah, no joke.”

Knuckles rapped against the front door, the visitor’s way of asking for entry.

“It’s open!” you called, turning your torso to face the door.

It swung open to reveal a taller man, with brown hair, a slight stubble, and blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. He was dressed in dark pants and a tight black, short sleeve shirt with arm-guards strapped to his forearms. A quiver of arrows and a bow were slung haphazardly across his back. He wore a lopsided grin and tilted his head to the side. “Morning, ladies,” he said, his demeanor nothing but cheery. “D’you miss me?”

“Clint!” Peggy cheered, her smile only widening at the sight of him. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Heya, Pegs. If I’d known you were going to be here, I would’ve brought you flowers or something.” He sauntered into the lounge and stole a seat next to her.

Cerberus barked at him, his tail wagging with excitement. He turned his head from Peggy and trotted over to Clint.

Clint’s eyes brightened at the sight of your dog. “Hey, boy! Gods, you’ve gotten so big, haven’t you?” He ran his hands through Cerberus’ fur, knotting his fingers in it and shaking his head. “I want a dog like you so badly, but Laura says no.”

You hummed. “M’sorry, Clint, but Cerberus is the only one of his kind. I don’t know of any other dogs that can grow to the size of a mountain with three heads. He’s unique, and he’s mine.” You turned your gaze down to him. “Aren’t you, boy? Aren’t you mine?”

He pulled away from Clint before dashing over to your side and plopping his head down in your lap.

Content to pet your dog and stroke his fur, you once more looked up at Clint. “Well, I like a surprise visit from our favorite messenger god as much as anybody, but I do have to ask what catastrophic event brings you to my door at this time? You never come unless you’re having trouble with a spirit or you want to use the damned for target practice. Considering the fact that it’s Pierce’s day to reap and you just got some target practice in, I’m assuming it’s neither of those; but then I have no reason for your being here.”

“You’ve got me. I’m not here for either of those reasons, but just to satisfy my curiosity.”

“About what?”

“Oh, about whether or not you kidnapped a certain god of spring.”

You sneered. “Is that what the rumors are?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Look, (y/n), I know you’re a good person and you’d probably never do something like that, but the sprites are talking and I wanted to get the story from you so I can go and squash those rumors before his mom hears them. You know that she’s not pretty when she’s angry.”

“And you know that she is practically powerless against me and is no threat.” You wrinkled your nose and rolled your eyes in a scoff. “I did not kidnap him, the idiot came down here of his own will. I rescued him from Tartarus and threw his ass out. He has no place down here and I will not tolerate trespassers, no exceptions.”

Peggy snorted.

“What?”

“No exceptions? Really?” She turned towards you and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, giving you a sympathetic smile. “Need I remind you about that Orpheus fellow?”

“Hey, that was a special case ‘cause I was feeling generous. Never again.” You shook your head. “Clint, you can go back and use your Hermes-voodoo-messenger skills to tell the nymphs and sprites and whoever that has the audacity to accuse me of kidnapping that he came down here himself and I will not be subject to false accusations and lies. Also, tell them not to gossip and spread rumors. It’s not good for the soul. I should know. I just inspected one earlier and—oof—did that soul gossip a lot.”

Clint let out a hearty chuckle. “I’ll be sure to pass the message along.” He leaned back in his seat, lifting his arms over his head in a large stretch. “Gah! How quickly do you want this message spread?”

“ASAP, Clint. I don’t want anyone thinking the borders are going soft or that they can just waltz on in and do whatever they please. That is not how I run my kingdom and that is not how I will ever run my kingdom. Peggy and I are taking certain precautions, and there will never, ever, be another invasion again.”

Next 4: His Mind Runs Wild

[chickadeee]

Bachelorette Headcanons

WARNING: The topic broaches on various expressions of anger.

The Bachelorettes after their first big fight with a (romanced) Farmer

Abigail

Shouting. Lots of shouting. Her time dealing with her parents made it so that she’s verbally combative where having the last word is a must. When she realizes that there’s no point in conversation, she’ll say her final words and leave you to talk to yourself with a choice tasteful descriptor about you under her breath.

She won’t be available for a while and it will worry you. What’s great about Abigail, however, is her ability to forgive. A few hours later, you’ll find her limping back home with a bag full of “banishing rocks” that she gathered from the mines. She knows that you love these things and she’s courteous enough to remember it. Will she talk to you? Not quite. She’ll just dump it where you’ll likely see (and trip) on it. Conversations and reconciliations will be done over cake and blackberry cobblers.

Emily

The lack of smiles and laughter in the house is disconcerting. Emily is usually always eager to greet and talk to you but after your latest fight, she’s more distant despite still being willing to converse about other things. But you can tell that there’s something bubbling beneath the surface especially with her increased usage of tongue clicks and disapproving sighs.

When enough is enough, she will eventually approach you with an intense energy that you can’t quite place. Auras and spiritual stuff was always her thing so she’ll probably pull you in a private conversation on a lucky day so she could predict for you and cleanse your aura on the side. Interlaced with her predictions is her thoughts about your fight and how much it hurt her. She wants to make it up to you and herself.  Plus, the energy in the house is too clumped up and grating. She’ll need you to help ease the entire thing place to normal.

Haley

Stomping feet and a lot of scoffing. You always knew that Haley’s knee-jerk response to anything unwanted were snide comments but you can tell that they have more edge than usual this time. She will make it obvious disliked what happened and she’s not afraid to bring back the past to help herself make a point. But eventually, even that gets too stale for her liking, she will settle to avoidance instead. She will give you the cold shoulder like no one else ever did. She’s really good at this and you have a nagging suspicion that this is a norm for her.

Try as she might, Haley is unlikely going to be the one that would start the conversation no matter how badly she may want it. She’s afraid that you’re still angry at her and she doesn’t know how else to proceed other than to keep up the act. A little offering might ease her into talking, however. When she finally gets over the anxiety of talking to you again, she’ll be the first to apologize and say that she likely over-reacted, that she didn’t mean the terrible things that she told you before and that she’s willing to talk and make it up to you.

Leah

The final stomp of her boot on the floor signalled the end of her willingness to participate. She doesn’t need this kind of negativity in her life and she’s not going to stand here and take it. Leah will refuse to acknowledge you throughout her anger and no, you do your own chores this time. Her utensils will always be magically clean and properly stacked and your plates will just keep piling up until you do it yourself. But if you need her, she’s outside whacking and nicking away at some poor defenseless wooden block that you can’t help but feel bad for.

When the haze eventually fades and she realizes that she’s done her own share of terrible things to you, she will start feeling terrible at how she treated you and will try to make it up to you by doing some chores for you to help ease the mood. She isn’t really the best in apologizing so she’ll try to cut to the point by cornering you to apologize on how badly she had been acting the past few days, and that she hopes that you two can settle your differences better next time.

Maru

A resounding and firm “NO” will be her last word before she leaves red-faced in anger straight to her room. You won’t be seeing Maru throughout the day and she won’t be showing her face to you either. Conflict had been a normal part of her life especially with the thinly veiled animosity between her father and her brother that she unfortunately had to witness regularly in the past but this was still painful to her. She could not believe what you said and she feels indignant over it. Much like a wronged child, she’ll try to outlast your patience with stubborn resistance and a seemingly unusual level of sneaking around to avoid you.

But there comes a point where she’ll slip. You’ll find her helping herself on a slice of rhubarb pie that you recently baked in the kitchen one odd midnight and she’ll look at you like a cat caught stealing. Wide eyed in surprise, Maru will watch you saunter towards her and offer some whipped cream that you’ve recently purchased specifically for the pie. Cautious, she’ll take it to apply on her pie. There will be silence between you while you help yourself to a slice of your own and she will sigh in defeat. A mumbled apology will be sent towards you and an explanation for her side. She will promise to do better next time and hopes that you would do the same for her.

Penny

Silence. There was a painful sense of acceptance in Penny’s silence throughout your tirade. She tried to explain herself but could not quite push her thoughts out between watery eyes and quivering lips. When you finish, she won’t quite know what to do with herself after the entire debacle so she’ll do the only thing that she knows best: cleaning. All the while she would go about her day with an empty look upon her. Even the children would notice and would worry over her. Penny tries her best to play the role of the kind and loving, and unbothered teacher like she usually does but children tend to be more perceptive than most people would give them credit for.

Reconciliation will come for you through small stomping feet and the accusatory tone of young children. Penny will try her best to quell their anger but the children seem more than eager to call you out on your bullshit. They state plainly that no one talks to their dear teacher Penny like that, enough to wet her eyes all over again and burst into a string of apologies on the children's behalf. The children will attempt to comfort her while simultaneously insisting an apology from you, “A REAL SORRY,” they would demand. The children won’t leave you be until you realize your mistake and apologize as needed.

A promise will be exacted from you at their presence and a pinky swear. A vague threat was thrown your direction but you couldn’t quite care. You’re just feeling terribly guilty about hurting Penny without fully realizing it.

[silenthillmutual]

prompt: daniil asking artemiy for a hug/cuddle pressure stim !!! (idk what you call it. but that thing when someone lies on u and it's Good)

he’s about near defeated. daniil feels exhaustion weigh into him on a level he simply can’t describe. but he feels like porcelain, like any little stumble could shatter him to pieces. and he feels, too, like he’s on the edge of tripping, even here in his room with his eye to the microscope. daniil takes off his gloves and presses his hands to his face. he hates the feeling of it all soaking into his skin - the soot, the grime, the dirt under his fingernails, because no matter how clean he keeps there’s always something. but with the gloves it’s worse, one less border to keep the world at bay.

and his hands smell like leather. it’s really neither here nor there at the moment, but his head is spinning. he’s never felt so dizzy in his life, even when his stomach railed at him and refused to let him eat. there had always been a sort of dangerous calm to him then, but here, in this town, his nerves have taken all control. shame starts to coil around his shoulders, around his neck like a noose, and he shivers in his atempt to lose it.

artemy’s steps on the staircase are loud. they feel like they pull daniil back down to the ground, back down to earth. and just when he felt like he was floating away from it, too. he can’t tell if his feelings toward that are positive or negative, but he looks toward the other man as he enters the room with a mind to hide how much he struggles, at the moment, hands tucked between his knees and making an attempt at a smile he’s sure from years of faulty experience does not reach his eyes. “burakh,” he greets.

“we’ve no need for the formalities, daniil. it’s just us.” daniil sighs and covers his face once more, fingers digging into his eyes. the twyre’s getting there too, making every surface of his skin itch. there’s a draw between them with the haruspex moving closer, putting his hand to the top of daniil’s head as if to feel the skin. “you look sick, emshen. don’t give me something else to worry about.”

“i’m not sick,” daniil argues, but there’s no fight behind it. he sighs, heel of his hands pressing his eyes back into his skulls. too much force, and they’ll slip right through the sockets, roll ‘round and come out his mouth. oh, how he detests the image. “i’m just exhausted. no matter -”

his attempt to move is cut short by a finger pushing him back in his seat, pinning him down. “it’s not ‘no matter’,” artemy tells him, “you need a rest, that’s clear as day. so have a sleep. i’ll come back in the morning.”

“i can sleep when i’m -” he stops himself just short. he knows the expression artemy wears before he even sees it. half amused, half bemused and altogether fond in an exasperated sort of way. “well, you know what i mean,” daniil says, but there’s a fracture making its horrid scrape across the inside of his head. he starts to angle his body down more, elbow on his knee cradling his brow once more.

artemy is fixated on him. where he stands is not so bad, blocking out a majority of the light in the room. daniil feels outside of his skin once again, bloated and soaring like a balloon. he just can’t stand it like this. “is there anything i can do to help you?”

“nothing remotely within either of our capabilities,” daniil grumbles. “we’ve both got our plates full, so to speak, and you’re already working on a cure. you’ve stated vaccines aren’t within your area of expertise, and i somehow doubt you’d want -”

“no,” artemy interrupts. “not something to help the plague, daniil. something to help you. and your...what is this, a migraine?”

“nerves.” daniil shifts. he’s not uncomfortable so much as a different, long-distant feeling building up in him. embarrassment, he guesses. but the rate he’s been going at, he’s so worn thin that it almost doesn’t matter to him how ridiculous the words he’s about to say will sound. but only almost. “there are some benefits to the human touch,” he states, and waits for artemy to make some snide remark that never comes. “and in times like this, where i feel so out of my body that i might drift off altogether, feeling alone can... ground me.”

so far, artemy hasn’t laughed at him. but there’s still the thought that he might, and it’s that which keeps daniil from looking up. if artemy so much as looks amused, he might - well, he’s lost control, but restraint will be the next thing to go. he can’t think of what he’ll wreck, but he feels the urge right under his skin. “what do i need to do to help?” artemy asks.

daniil’s fingers twitch. he’s got them dug so the nails flat into the wood of the chair. it’s uncomfortable. it’s another thing inching him closer to the edge, to screaming. “this will sound silly,” daniil says, and as much as he intends it as a statement to warn artemy of his forthcoming request, it feels and it sounds so much more like a comment to himself on the quality of his needs. a way to chide himself, to convince himself he’s above such nonesense. “and i understand if it’s far too much to ask -”

“just spit it out, will you?” artemy asks. “it’s not like i’ll bite you.”

he leans back in his seat, not meeting artemy’s eyes. his lip trembles. “lay on top of me,” he says. he feels the color hit his cheeks as his eyes roam over the desk. but he feels artemy trying to drag his attention back with a wave of his hand, eyebrows up nearly to his hairline. daniil’s not sure if he hasn’t heard, or perhaps simply hasn’t believed his own ears. it’s not like daniil to ask for affection, after all, or to show it as freely as all that. that’s something he thinks he wears about himself pretty openly, and it must confuse artemy to no end that he’s here asking for it now. but he clears his throat and pushes himself to a stand, fingers locking behind his back.

“lay down on top of you?” artemy asks. it’s hard for daniil to get a read on his emotions at the best of times, but artemy doesn’t say the words with any sort of inflection. he doesn’t want to get too comfortable with their rapport, in case the tables turn around on him now. and artemy shifts a little, looking around the room, before fixing his gaze on daniil once again, frown set in place. “no offense, emshen, but -” it’s too much, daniil thinks. too personal of him to have asked. “i think you’d break under my weight.” daniil must be wearing some sort of expression that betrays offense, and artemy gestures. “i mean, look at you! you’re rail thin. when was the last time you ate properly, or slept? if i lay on you, i’ll hurt you.”

“i think i know my limits,” daniil replies, but uncertainty is still etched into the haruspex’s face, and daniil sighs, running a hand over his face. “i can’t explain why it works. going into detail, it would only feel...crude. but the heaviness, it’s like - like my jacket, only warmer!” daniil feels embarrassed, trying to explain it, and even worse with the concerned look artemy’s giving him. he turns his back to the man to remove his shoes, mumbling the words forget it to himself as he does. and he keeps his head decidedly turned, too, as he curls up on the bed, hoping he’ll get used to the feeling of artemy’s eyes on him so he won’t just be laying in a huff, staring at the wall.

daniil doesn’t feel the bed shift behind him, no warning that he’s being joined until body heat starts to press against him. artemy rolls so he’s covered about half of daniil’s body. “i feel like an idiot,” he grumbles, and daniil almost shivers with the touch of his breath on the back of his neck. “am i doing this right?”

“yes,” daniil mumbles back. he shouldn’t be embarrassed, not of this, not in his own room, but artemy’s commentary makes him self-conscious. that happens - and not just here, not just now, but all of the time when they’re together. daniil sort of hates it, how easily flushed and rattled he gets, the way his colleague’s bites make him feel haunted through the day. but only sort of, because no matter how badly it stings the truth is that the fixation is all his own. he can’t blame artemy for it all.

it always comes back down to him. some block he has, as a person. “you’re cold, erdem,” artemy says.

crestfallen, he thinks the term is. stomach dropped to a lower pit. hurt, but in a deeper way than the shallow cuts he’s used to taking and inflicting. “i get told that often,” he says. his fingers curl in toward the palm of his hand, bending his knees and his head toward his stomach. “many people have called me cold. i didn’t expect you to be one of them.”

he hadn’t meant to divulge that last part. it’s a good thing artemy can’t see his face like this. he’s never liked... all that. being open with people. showing them his feelings. it’s never gone well, never could. it always takes him back to an early age, a bitter one. it’s always better to have people think you are cold, show them a stony face and let them hurl their insults than expect better treatment. artemy’s body shifts so his chest is flat to daniil’s back, and he feels fingers curling over the curve of his shoulders. “physically, daniil,” artemy says. without that coat i can feel your skin through your shirt. how are you even moving like this?” the fingers are light enough to tickle his skin as they reach down, grabbing a wrist. “show me your fingers. i need to see if the tips are blue.” in daniil’s line of sight he takes his hand, slotting his own fingers in the spaces between daniil’s, wrapping over the back of his hand. and he is warm, to contrast, his thumb rubbing daniil’s idly. moments pass, minutes, with artemy’s head rested against the back of daniil’s head before he pulls back. “i could fall asleep like this,” he admits.

“don’t let me stop you,” daniil mutters.

artemy laughs at him. he feels artemy’s chest move with it. “you wouldn’t be able to push me off like that. i really would be crushing you, and then we’d have issues.” you’re crushing me now, crushing my hopes, daniil thinks. he’d like to slap himself for the melodramatic thought.artemy slides until he’s back to an only partial cover, arm and a leg still around daniil. the night air grabs at him, but he feels less cold already. “is this alright?” artemy asks, as he moves his hand to grab the back of daniil’s. his fingers cover daniil’s fingertips, forcing life back to them. “is this alright?” he asks.

no, daniil thinks. it’s not enough. but he only sniffs, and says, “it’s adequate.” he listens to artemy sigh, breath skating against the back of his neck. he feels artemy mutter something, perhaps that will have to do for now.

and if they drift a little closer together in the middle of the night, well, neither man says a thing about it.

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64: Chapter 2

Katniss and Peeta used to be best friends when they were kids, but now in high school, they're barely on speaking terms. It isn't until they are forced together as the titular star-crossed lovers for their marching band's field show that they will have to face their past mistakes and try to get along if they ever hope of defeating the notorious Capitol Height's Imperial Marching Crusaders in competition.

It's all about winning and if that means pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark, so be it.

But a lot can happen in six months.

Tumblr: x x

Ao3: x x x

May

Tryouts came and went with an excellent turnout, the best Katniss had seen ever. And in true Miss Trinket fashion, the assistant director had sought out the theatre and dance kids with the promise of getting to perform such an iconic story on the biggest stage they’ll ever have the privilege to perform on. Miss Trinket wanted the drama, the flair, and she didn’t have to go far to get it.

Even more surprising was that they actually showed up and were actually pretty good. Katniss had had her doubts when seeing the likes of musical star extraordinaire Finnick Odair saunter into the gym where auditions were being held, wearing that arrogant smile she always saw on him, but after seeing what he and the other theatre and dance kids could do with a flag, she admitted she was wrong and focused her energy on earning her place as captain.

Between her and Miss Trinket’s determination, Athens Ridge Marching Gladiators might have a good chance of finally beating Capitol Heights this year at PSU!

“We’re looking promising,” she told Leevy as they put together their instruments. It was the day after final rounds of auditions and she couldn’t stop thinking how at the end of today, Miss Trinket would post who was on the team and Katniss would finally know if she was made captain or not. She had done her best, she kept telling herself, and now it was out of her hands. The wait was killing her, though, and her poor bladder was taking most of the brunt, the constant need to pee every two minutes distracting her in all her classes today.

Had she proven to Miss Trinket that she was enough to be captain?

Her legs twitched closed, the need to pee returning.

“You should have seen Finnick Odair twirl a rifle,” Katniss said to distract herself. “It was insane how good he is! I always thought he was a bit full of himself, but maybe he has a right to brag. I’m pretty sure Miss Trinket’s going to use him as one of the spotlight guards.”

Leevy’s eyes widened, her thick-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose a bit. Her crush on the performer was not an unknown fact to Katniss. “Oh, do you think she’d have him play Romeo? I bet he’ll be Romeo. He’d make an incredible Romeo.”

Katniss snorted. “I’m sure he’d be up to the challenge.” Finnick Odair not wanting the titular role would come as more of a shock to her. Miss Trinket hadn’t revealed much about how she wanted to choreograph the show, but if last season’s Cirque du Soleil and Alice Through the Looking Glass the season before were any indications of how she envisioned next season’s show, she would be using color guard to visually tell the story of the star-crossed lovers. Miss Trinket always had “big big big plans” for them all. There was no way she’d pass up on someone talented like Finnick.

Mr. Abernathy gave the two minute warning before rehearsal started up and the girls leaned toward each other to tune their flutes. As they made adjustments, Katniss wondered who would play Finnick’s Juliet. Madge, maybe? She was a good height and her years of ballet served her well, being the lead spotlight guard two years in a row. Or Glimmer? She grimaced at the thought of Glimmer Macklemore being the lead spotlight, believing it would go straight to her head. Glimmer was by far one of the worst human beings Katniss has had the misfortune of knowing all these years, but the girl was graceful. “Like a swan on water,” Miss Trinket was known for saying about Glimmer’s talent.

I hope it’s Madge, Katniss thought, glancing slightly over at her friend who sat further down the row from her, Madge’s cheeks slightly puffed as she tuned her oboe. Yes, Madge would make an incredible Juliet.

*******

All her thoughts and worry over color guard went away during what ended up being a long and brutal rehearsal. It was hard worrying over who’d play Juliet to Finnick’s Romeo when Mr. Abernathy was out for blood. He was yelling at everyone today, not pleased that they had a concert in another week and sounded like a beginning band. What made the rehearsal even worse was much of his agitation was directed at her and the two solos she had. Over and over he made her play in front of the whole band, walking her through the notes, asking her snidely who controlled the tempo. By the time he threw up his arms in defeat, her face was a completely different shade.

“Sign up for a practice room, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy told her after her sixth attempt at a difficult run. “And maybe work on your fingerings instead of drooling over Finnick Odair, huh?” He moved his attention to his next victims and was just as merciless.

Slumping low in her seat, her throat tight with choked back tears, Katniss focused hard on her music, pretending she was just practicing when really it took all her strength not to cry. Snickers from the brass section could be heard, or maybe she was just paranoid that the whole band was laughing at her. Either way, no matter how hard she kept her attention on her music, forcing back tears from spilling over, she couldn’t hide how dark her face must look right now. Mr. Abernathy’s words played over in her head, causing her cheeks to warm even more. From embarrassment or anger, she wasn’t sure. The man was never one to mince words and was known for his sour temper, but this was the first time he’d ever taken it out on her. And he thought her, one of his most dedicated players, as nothing more than a teenage girl drooling over boys. 

She’d never hated the man more than in this moment.

“Hey,” Leevy nudged her, face sympathetic. “You okay?” 

Katniss stiffly nodded, afraid if she said anything, she’d break and start to cry, and that was definitely something she didn’t want to do in front of the whole band. 

“He’s being an ass today,” her friend whispered in comfort, playfully bumping their knees together. “You’re his best player and he knows it. He’s probably just mad because Coin took away the pizza buffet in the cafeteria.” Katniss gave a halfhearted smile, knowing her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but Mr. Abernathy was at least right about her playing. She really did need to practice more.

“Okay, we’re calling it today,” Mr. Abernathy sighed, slamming his scorebook closed. “It’s clear no one’s practiced since yesterday and it’s wasting my time. I better hear improvement tomorrow, or I’m going to have everyone play their part and have your whole semester grade be based off that.” 

“Practice, practice, practice!” Miss Trinket trilled from the back of the room, typing at the computer. “We want to be the best, don’t we?” Mr. Abernathy gave her the stink eye, like he wanted to argue her statement, but waved his hand, reminding everyone not to leave the band room until the bell rang.

“Well that was brutal,” Leevy joked halfheartedly, her eyes still looking at Katniss with pity. Katniss looked away, unable to stomach her friend’s obvious sympathies. She’d received enough of  that look to last an entire lifetime.

“Can’t wait until he starts threatening laps,” Katniss mumbled, her throat still tight. She just wanted to leave. Run to a bathroom stall to collect herself, but it’d be too obvious and the likes of Cato and Marvel calling her a crybaby kept her seated.

*******

They didn’t often have so much time to lounge around, especially before a concert, but Katniss took the opportunity to catch up on homework she’d been neglecting, too stressed about tryouts to bother with algebra and chemistry. Feeling like everyone was still watching her, waiting for her to crack, she tucked herself in the back locker room, between two instrument lockers, out of sight from her classmates. The space was tight and not the most ideal of places to hide, but it blocked out a lot of the noise from out front and let her take a few deep breaths in. She couldn’t cry until she got home, but at least it didn’t feel like her tears were strangling her any more. 

Taking out the beat up copy of A Tale of Two Cities from her bag, Katniss began scouring the chapters they were assigned to read (or sparknoted, in her case) for political symbolisms Mr. Heavensbee, her English teacher, was always quizzing them on during his infamous rapid fire quizzes. English had never been a strong subject for her, finding the books they read incredibly dull and full of nothing but tales about old white guys bemoaning about their manhoods, but grades was the one thing her mom actually paid attention to and hers were slipping in Heavensbee’s class due to these stupid quizzes. Her pencil circled another example, not feeling confident about it, but if her index card wasn’t pulled early on, all the obvious examples would be taken and this would be all she had to argue. 

“Good book?” She jumped, her head hitting the wall behind her, pencil stabbing her in the gums. Peeta Mellark stood in front of her, looking all casual in his dark denim jeans and grey shirt, his hands stuffed in his back pockets. He smiled at her scowl. “Sorry,” he said, and to her astonishment, it sounded like he actually meant it. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“You didn’t,” she quickly informed, tucking her pencil in the book as a bookmark. “Just preparing to be publicly humiliated in English, that’s all. ”

“Heavensbee’s quizzes are brutal,” he agreed, still standing there, trying to be nonchalant, but his shoulders were way too tight to pull it off. It looked like it was taking all he had to be standing in front of her like this. Her hackles rose. Why should he look uncomfortable?  He sought her out. If anything, she should be the one uncomfortable, caged in a corner like this. “I think I almost cried during one last week,” he continued, not even looking at her now but at the locker next to her head. “Marvel wouldn’t stop making fun of me after that.” That didn’t surprise her, but it felt rude to point out what a shit person she thought Marvel Baxter was to Peeta’s face. 

“Yeah.” Katniss tapped her book, unsure what else to say. “Listen, I’m kind of busy trying not to fail and all, Peeta, so unless you have a question…?”

Peeta rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his Converse, taking a deep breath in. It was a little unsettling seeing him like this, she realized, still confused why he was talking to her to begin with. Normally he knew exactly what to say, in any given situation she’d ever seen him in. 

“Okay, seriously,” she said at last, a bit more snappish than she meant. “What do you want? I don’t have time watching you sputter like a dead fish.” 

“I want to see how you’re doing,” he said in one breath. It was a totally innocent question to ask, but it felt more like a punch to the stomach, sending her back to when she was 11 years old and standing next to her mother and Prim as strangers she barely knew came up and smothered her in tight, smelly hugs. They cried over how young Sage was, still in his prime, and poor Cary, having to raise those two young girls on her own. The funeral had felt so surreal, her movements stiff and disjointed. Her voice hollow as she thanked the strangers for coming, trying not to cry in front of them as they passed. Her father’s death still hadn’t fully hit her yet and the only thing she wanted was to crawl into the casket with him and shake him awake, tell him this joke wasn’t funny any more.  Ha ha. He got her. Now could he please get up so they could go home?

 Katniss’ throat tightened at the sudden memory and she shoved her book in her bag, really needing to go before she did something stupid, like cry in front of Peeta Mellark.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to push past him. Peeta wasn’t only tall, but his wide frame stopped her from escaping as easily as she’d like. “Really.” 

“Katniss.” He grabbed her hand to stop her, but pulled away instantly, realizing he had no right to touch her. “You looked like you were about to cry out there and then you bolted—I wanted to see if you’re okay.” 

“I  wasn’t going to cry!” she snapped, her vision red now. There were only so many punches she could take in one class period, but it seemed the universe kept wanting to come for more. “I was doing homework, Peeta, and then you waltzed in, wanting to rub it in my face that I’m a terrible player. Were you hoping I’d cry? Is Cato secretly filming this?” She looked around the small room for Golden Ass’ burley frame. 

“Cato isn’t in here, Katniss,” he snapped back, then winced, realizing his mistake. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. What I meant was: Abernathy is a complete asshole and he shouldn’t have said those things to you. Katniss, you’re the best player in the band and he knows it.” Any other day, hearing the sweet sentiment twice in one period would have been a real confidence booster for her, but today, it just felt like pity. Leevy felt sorry for her and now freaking Peeta Mellark felt sorry for her, too. What a blow  that felt, looking into his sad blue eyes right now. 

“I don’t want your pity,” she sneered, not knowing what else to say, but if he kept looking at her like that, she was definitely going to break down crying. Then he’d just look at her with that pathetic sad expression, feeling even more sorry for her.  “Abernathy was right about my runs and I can handle his criticism like I do with everything else in my life: alone. So if you don’t mind.” And she tried to push past him. 

In typical Peeta fashion, he blocked her only exit. “I wasn’t pitying you, Katniss.” His tone sounded as sharp and annoyed as hers now. “I was being nice. I know you don’t know what that is because you think the whole world is out to get you, but it means caring about other people and being there for them.” She looked down at her feet at the sudden weight of his accusation, her hand tightening around the strap of her backpack.

They were so engrossed in their argument, neither heard the familiar clap clap clap of Miss Trinket’s heels before the small woman announced herself, causing them both to jump and turn to the small woman. 

“There you are!” the assistant director smiled. “Peeta, I have been calling your name. Didn’t you hear me?” 

Peeta glanced down at Katniss, his eyes still hard, before looking over at his teacher. “Sorry, Miss Trinket. Katniss and I were just...talking.” Why did he say it like that? He made it sound like they weren’t talking and by the twinkle of amusement in Miss Trinket’s eyes, she suspected nothing else from two teenagers hiding in a back room. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your... talking” —Katniss’ cheeks darkened again, wondering how fast it’d take for the rumors to start going around that she and Peeta were caught making out in the instrument locker room by Miss Trinket—“but I need to speak with you for a moment, Peeta. If you don’t mind?” She motioned for him to proceed ahead. 

Peeta’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Am I in trouble, ma’am?” 

“No, no!” their teacher assured. “Mr. Abernathy and I need to discuss something with you about this upcoming season. Nothing scary, I promise.” He went ahead with no further comment, his hands stuffed in his front pockets, as Miss Trinket hurried ahead to unlock the band office door. He didn’t look back at her as she stood there, hand still gripping her backpack, and somehow, that felt worse than his pity. 

Katniss, I’m so sorry about your dad. It’s so not fair. How are you doing? 

Katniss? 

Katniss? 

Are you there, Katniss? Hey, how are you doing?

[mysanderssidessideblog]

Hard Truths

Another for  #UnsympAndAngstSidesBingo prompt is - “I know you're in there, somewhere.”

Warnings for unsympathetic! Janus, slight unsympathetic! Virgil, descriptions of terrible things (Remus isn’t even in this one!), panic attack, overwhelmed, catatonic state.

Link to work on AO3

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It was late, when Janus made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

 He was not yet familiar enough with the lightside layout to navigate the room without bumping into things, so turned on the light. He was surprised to see that he was not alone, as Virgil startled, illuminated in the process of fetching a snack.

He scowled, and hissed.

Janus rolled his eyes.

“Good evening to you too...”

He walked past Virgil, hunched and defensive, and took down a glass. He was aware of the other's eyes on him, watching his every move as if he might strike out at any moment.

It irked him that no matter what he did, Virgil seemed to treat him like something venomous and wicked.

True he and Anxiety had traded barbs and snide remarks in the past, but he was genuinely trying to be less antagonistic. He was even being honest from time to time, much as it grated against his personality and function, all for sake of fitting in better with the so-called Lights.

 It hurt, deeper than he would ever admit, that his efforts were not appreciated or acknowledged.

He glanced up, only to see that Virgil continue to stare, eyes narrowed and arms folded.

 “Surely you have better things to do than watch me?”

“I watching you snake, to make sure you don't try to do something underhanded and sneaky! Like poison the water, or tamper with the food!”

“Do you really trust me so little?”

“You do not deserve trust. You are a liar; the literal embodiment of Deceit!”

Janus scoffed.

“I make no apology for what I am... Anxiety... but I am more than a source of distrust.”

“Like I'd believe you! You speak nothing but lies.”

“Oh?”

Janus turned and faced Virgil, his anger writ across his expression. He was done playing 'nice'.

“So you want the truth Virgil? Fine!”

Virgil looked nervous, his highly honed wariness warning that the situation was quickly becoming fraught and dangerous.

“All of Thomas's friends will die. That's not a threat by the way, but an inevitability. It could happen years from now, or tomorrow, and there is nothing you can do to prevent it.”

 Virgil frowned, his heart already hammering at the thought of losing the connections that made him feel safe.

“Accidents, illness, cancer.... a myriad of ways a person can meet their end. There are cancers, Virgil, that you would not even know about till they spread throughout the body and it is much too late.”

 Virgil took a step back, now concerned that Thomas might have cancer. Incurable, painful cancer.

“Stop....” he said, pulling his hoodie over his head.

“But why waste your worry on a single human tragedy, when you could consider the wider world? There is conflict and climate change and all sorts of terrible truths Virgil.”

Virgil gasped, his breath both too fast and too shallow, as Janus spoke.

“Stop!” Virgil pleaded, but Janus was too incensed to stop, all his frustrations and anger finding outlet finally.

“Global pandemics, pollution, unequal wealth distribution!”

Virgil crumpled to the ground, covering his ears but unable to block out the barrage of Janus's hard truths. He felt panicked, <i>attacked.</i>

“Species extinction, water shortages, famines, and my personal favourite, the unrelenting passage of time ever onwards!”

Virgil, overwhelmed, felt a strange darkness creep over him, his mind shutting down rather than deal with all the terrible things to be anxious about. He held on, not for his own sake, but for Thomas. Thomas needed him.

However, as if Janus knew what would hurt most, he had saved his last comment to be the most devastating.

“There is nothing you can do to save or protect him, Thomas is at the mercy of a world that is changing, and cruel.”

When Virgil did not say anything to argue against him, Janus brushed off his shoulders, satisfied that he had proven that truths could be just as unpleasant as lies.

He looked down, sneering.

“How's that truth tasting now then Virgil dear?”

Virgil said nothing.

“Virgil? It's hard to gloat properly if you won't even acknowledge my superior retort....”

Virgil said nothing.

Janus frowned, unease starting to prick at his victory.

“Virgil...?”

He would have welcomed a snide remark, even a hateful hiss, but Virgil continued to say nothing, still and staring in front of him, his eyes unfocused.

“I am not getting worried Virgil, say something. Please!”

Janus bent down, all pretence of aloofness cast aside as he took Virgil's head in his shaking hands, willing him to respond. Virgil did not resist, did not even seem like he noticed Janus's gloved hands on him.

Virgil said nothing.

“I'm not sorry!” Janus cried, his eyes growing damp, horrified at what he had done.

“Please, I know you're in there, somewhere... Please! Please come back to me!”

Virgil said nothing.