#and life becomes slightly marginally better

[nico-di-genova]

The problem with Alexander Rossi noticing you exactly One (1) time, is that you will simply never move on from it, and exist there forever, and it will impact your ability to function normally.

[trans-axolotl]

my gendered experience growing up as an intersex person was overwhelmingly defined by my responses and resistance to everything that got me labeled as a failure: failure to quickly get a gender assigned at birth, failure to go through a normal puberty and grow up into a woman, failure at meeting the standards for "complete womanhood" because of my intersex sex traits, and yet simultaneously failing to ever be acknowledged as a "real man" and being treated as a threat when I expressed I wanted to transition.

before i realized i was a man and came out as trans, the ways that girlhood was denied to me was very often humiliating and painful. locker rooms filled with other girls were a frequent source of shame. there were many big and small ways that i was told that my intersex body made me insufficient, incomplete, broken. i was forced onto estrogen, forced into shaving my body hair, and was constantly being told to change myself to better fit this mystical idea of a "normal woman." and even though I ultimately ended up becoming a man, the denial of girlhood was painful.

but i think that these things would have been even more difficult to navigate as an intersex girl if on top of everything I already said, i was having to cope with the denial of my girlhood while i was forced into boys locker rooms. if my doctors were forcing me onto testosterone hrt and refusing to even discuss estrogen, if all my legal paperwork had "M" on it and was a logistical nightmare to change, if every support group for my intersex variation labeled it as a "men's support group," if the LGBTQ community spaces i tried to join were misogynistic towards me often to the point of exile, if my self determination as an intersex girl was denied in most spaces of my life, and on and on and on. while listing all these things out i also don't want to make it seem like it's all about suffering and pain--so much of transition for me has been about joy in my self determination and how much it feels like a reclamation of autonomy to decide what I want my body and self to be like--i know this is an experience i share with so many of my trans intersex friends.

as an person who was AFAB, although there were many ways that trying to grow up as an intersex girl were a painful, logistical nightmare, many times and places that i was excluded from woman's spaces, etc. however, there was a simultaneous affirmation that i was right to strive for that in the first place. which is logic rooted in some fucked up compulsory dyadism, but also which would have made some things slightly easier or even possible at all if i had wanted to embrace being an intersex girl within this fucked up system.

pretty much every time i've seen people on tumblr talking about "afab transfems" in an intersex context, people seem happy to collapse these experiences and act like there's no meaningful distinction or point in distinguishing between different types of intersex embodiment. it seems incredibly extractive, to be perfectly honest with you--taking terms already used by a community to make meaning of their experiences and to expand and dilute that term enough that it means something pretty different than the original.

it's making me think about the concept of epistemic injustice, which is a term coined by Miranda Fricker to describe oppression related to knowledge, communication, and making meaning of the world. There's two subtypes of epistemic injustice: testimonial injustice and hermeneutical injustice. Testimonial injustice refers to the dynamic where marginalized people are labeled as not credible, excluded from conversations, and their testimony and knowledge is labeled as unreliable, even when they're the ones who are experts and have first hand experience of what people are talking about. (this is why i probably won't make this post rebloggable--i've noticed this pattern on tumblr many times where trans men speaking about transmisogyny get lots of notes and are given a lot of grace, where trans women are silenced, attacked for not having perfect wording, and otherwise delegitimized.)

the second type is called hermeneutical injustice. it describes how marginalized people are denied the right to make sense of the experiences in their own lives. this can look like preventing people from building community, terminology, a political understanding of themselves, and the interpretive resources needed to process how you live in the world.

this is a form of injustice that I think almost all intersex people are very familiar with--we are denied community and interpretive resources to the point that we're told we don't even exist, that intersex isn't a real word, and so many more examples that leave us isolated and with very few options for understanding what we're collectively experiencing. as an intersex person i really intimately understand how frustrating, confusing, and painful it is to not have words for your experiences, your identity, your life.

so it makes me really sad and pissed off when it seems like intersex people seem to be replicating this exact same type of epistemic injustice towards transfems and specifically towards intersex transfems. pretty much every time recently i see people talking about "afab transfems" they're doing so in a way that seems to deny that trans women even have the right to make sense of their own experiences in the world. there seems to be this mindset that these political frameworks, these interpretive resources that transfems have built up are just up for grabs for anyone. and then on top of that has come with it a lot of cruel, hateful language and direct attacks towards many intersex transfems who are facing so much harassment right now.

an important value to me is this idea of reciprocity as a foundation for solidarity. to me reciprocity means that we're prioritizing the ways we care for each other, we're thinking about how we can uplift each other, and we're watching out for extractive or exploitative patterns where one group is constantly expected to be in "solidarity" with another group without getting the same respect and care back toward them. i think that there could be so many ways that intersex people of all genders could share our overlapping experiences and actually be in true, meaningful solidarity with each other, but i barely ever actually see that happen on tumblr. and that pisses me off, because i do think that there's so much we have in common that we could celebrate and support each other with. i feel so much kinship with so, so many of my trans intersex friends, and ways where i see our lives converge. but i don't think that can happen in an environment where there's no acknowledgment of the ways that our experiences will sometimes (often) differ from each other, and the ways that we have unique needs.

another frustration i've had based on this most recent couple months of transmisogynistic intersex posting on tumblr is how intersex people have been mostly ignoring intersex community resources and devaluing the existing intersex terminology that people created to try to meet our needs. so much of what i've seen people describing on tumblr seems to really line up with the term ipsogender. Ipsogender is a term coined by an intersex sociologist Cary Gabriel Costello, and is used to describe intersex people whose gender matches the gender they were medically assigned at birth, but who might not feel like cis or trans fits them, might experience dysphoria, and who might feel like they've ended up transitioning medically or socially in some ways. this is a word that exists that an intersex person put time into coining because they wanted other intersex people to feel seen, embraced, and have ways of understanding themselves and communicating to others, and that's something that's super meaningful to me! and yet, i've rarely seen anyone reference it, and also seen multiple people making fun of it in other spaces online.

there's also intergender, which is another intersex specific gender term used to describe when your gender is inseparable from your intersex traits, and that your intersex identity is intertwined with your gender identity in some way. some people just identify as intergender, others use it as an adjective and exist as an intergender man or woman. intersex terminology like this is really important to me, especially because we're so often denied the right to make sense of our own experiences.

i think ultimately what i wanted to say with this post is just that when i think about intersex community, some of the most important values of intersex community for me are solidarity, care for each other, and affirming our right to define our own existence. and i don't think that can happen in a community where people are acting in extractive ways, harassing and attacking their fellow community members, and being dismissive of the realities of other intersex people's lives.

[avelera]

Some slightly more coherent thoughts about Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (ATSV) now that I've had a little time to process and long to return to the theater to see it again and again and again:

1 ) Go see it. Holy shit, go see it. Re-watch Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (ITSV) before you go if you have the chance but you don't have to, they recap it well enough and I promise anyway, the first thing you're gonna do when you get home after is turn ITSV on and then scream a bunch because it is all so tightly connected from the very beginning.

2 ) ITSV is a masterpiece. ATSV is more of a masterpiece in the same way that 11 is bigger than 10. They took everything in ITSV, which is a perfect 10/10 and made it 11/10 for this film. I shit you not. It cannot be otherwise expressed with words. Everything is just bigger, faster, bolder, more.

Ok, now getting into some of the more spoiler-y thoughts:

3 ) Loved me those themes of connection and loneliness. When you go back to ITSV, you see it's right there from the start. All of the version of Spider-Man are lonely. They are tired. They're isolated and unsupported and they are all suffering. Miles makes their lives better. They make Miles' life better. This becomes such a huge, huge theme in ATSV as Miles literally breaks the canon, he is the ultimate fix-it fanfic character, every Spider-Man he interacts with gets some element of their tragic backstory fixed. Peter B. reunites with MJ and has a child that brings joy back into his life. Gwen gets a friend again. Pavitr doesn't have to watch his girlfriend's father die. They are no longer doomed by the narrative.

4) Another post commented on how tired Peni looks when we finally see her, but she's not the only one. All of the Spider-People in the Spider-Verse look tired and it is, in fact I'd argue, Miguel's fault. He appealed to their sense of martyrdom to put together an organization that helps people and saves the world(s). BUT he made "maintaining the canon" an aspect of this (a wonderful meta commentary on Miles himself, btw, and all the comic book nerds who want to rehash the same story over and over instead of transforming it into something new and hopeful). Because they had all suffered so much, it followed logically for all the Spider-People that all of their parallel universe selves must also suffer.

This is the crab bucket mentality. Miguel dragged all the Spider-People into the crab bucket with him. He taught them learned helplessness. They're all tired and worn down because they have to keep reliving their own trauma by standing by and making sure these awful things that happened to them continue to happen, over and over. It's the mirror too for any marginalized community where the past generation believes the next one must suffer as they did. But it's exhausting for them to see the misery and do nothing. That's why they're all so tired. It makes sense to them that to be Spider-People, the next generation must suffer as they did but they are also, all of them, heroes and so it wears them down to watch this happen over and over. Miles brings back their energy and joy and their hope by refusing to be doomed by the narrative.

It's wonderful fanfic but it's also fantastic storytelling and it works on so many layers of the story, Doylist and Watsonian, all the way down.

5 ) THIS is a tightly knit story. Every. Single. Element. Ties back to the central story, the central themes. Every line either reveals plot, character, setting, or themes. It is so, so tight as a writer I was gaping. In necessary, if brief, moments of exposition they make sure to keep the screen busy and moving. There's no time for boredom. It is literally so fast that even as someone with ADHD I was sometimes overwhelmed as much as riveted. The few scenes that slowed down to simply fast movie pace felt achingly slow as a result and I bet you they were maybe 30 seconds long.

6 ) I AM. SO HYPED. FOR THE ENDING AND THE SEQUEL IT SETS UP? The perfect dark mirror story, not rushed but simply introduced so we can see that the final boss for Miles is himself. Unless they subvert that expectation, which they might! But it is so ominous to see Prowler Miles, it makes so much sense, it is perfect and deep and rich. Literally every time you think, "Maybe they'll rehash old material?" they don't they just keep introducing cool new characters and concepts and themes it's mindblowing.

7 ) They never leave you with one thread. Miles is going to face himself and fight to save his dad from the Spot and fight Miguel, presumably, in the next one. No single line only does one thing. No frame does one thing. And yet everything ties back to the core story of Miles and the Spider-People both on the Watsonian and Doylist level. I want to study every frame under a microscope. It's insane.

8 ) THE ART IT'S JUST. I'm not an artist so I'll leave it at this but THE ART.

9 ) I love Pavitr and Hobie. So much. I gasped when we saw Pavitr's world.

10 ) The Spot's animation was insane just insane and I think he's foreshadowed in the ITSV and it blew my mind on the re-watch.

I need to see it again. I could talk about any single element for hours. But I just can't stop thinking about the mastery embodied in this film. I know a sequel to a superhero movie that's animated will never win Best Picture but I do not exaggerate when I say that in itself might be an indictment of Best Picture. This film deserves Best Picture. It is the best movie I've seen in an unfathomably long time including ITSV.

[janis-1987]

Scars (LeoJami)

Leojami week day 4, Scars

Leona was never ashamed of his scar, or at least he didn't act like it. He wore it proudly on his face, not that he had much of a choice. He could hide it if he really wanted to, but he just didn't see the point of it.

He always thought Jamil didn't have any scars, Jamil was rarely wearing anything that would suggest he had scars. It wasn't until he asked Jamil to go swimming with him that he realized something might be up.

When he had asked him to come with him, Jamil had tensed up, it was subtle but Leona still noticed it.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. It's not an order." Leona had joked.

Jamil had rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, "Like I would obey an order from you anyways." He had replied, "I'll be there."

So, later that day, Leona was waiting for Jamil by the pool in Savanahclaw, lazing on one of the nearby chairs.

Jamil walks in, wearing board shorts and a black tank top? Leona tilts his head at Jamil's choice in attire. "What's with the shirt?"

"I wasn't going to walk over here without a shirt on Leona. That'd just be weird." He replies, which was fair, walking through the school without a shirt on would definitely be considered odd.

Leona shrugs, getting up from his seat and stretching. He gets into the water without a second thought, the cold liquid becoming an enjoyable break from the heat of the dorm.

Jamil got in as well, though he didn't take off the tank top. Leona chose not to comment on it for the time being. Though as they sat together, something caught his eye. A small mark just barely visible from where the tank top ended. Leona's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He knew Jamil was a slave to Al-Asims, or a servant as they would call it, not that there was that big of a difference other than one sounding marginally better. But he never thought they would have been barbaric enough to hit Jamil with anything that would leave a mark.

"...ona? Leona?" Jamil's voice brings him back to the present. "You okay? You've been just staring at me for a while now."

"Tch, course I'm fine." He replies, though in the back of his mind he was planning to have a little chat with Kalim if Jamil lied to him, "I just noticed something."

Jamil tenses, and he avoids eye contact with Leona, "Oh? And what would that be?" He asks as he reaches to adjust his tank top. Unfortunately for him, all that did was confirm Leona's suspicions, "You have scars on your back, don't you?" Jamil pauses, unsure if he should confirm or deny that fact, what would Leona do if he knew? Probably nothing, sure he was a prince but would he bother the Al-Asims about something that had happened in the past? "I do. So what?" Leona's ear twitched, "Nothing, just makes sense now."

Jamil rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure it does."

"Can I see them sometime?"

"What?"

"Your scars, can I see them sometime?" He asks more directly, looking at Jamil.

Jamil was silent for a long moment, did he want his boyfriend to see that part of himself? Did he trust Leona enough to show him the scars he had accumulated over the years? It was a big ask, and the truth was that Jamil wasn't sure. He didn't know if he could bring himself to show Leona all of it, as if that would make it all real, cement the fact that his life hadn't been great.

"Yeah." He finally says, looking at Leona again, "Yeah, you can see them. But not here."

"My room?" He offers, knowing Jamil likely wanted a private space where no one else would see them.

"That works."

The two got out of the water and made their way into Leona's room. Once there, Jamil takes a long, slow breath to steady himself, to make the final decision on the matter.

"You don't have to, you know." Leona reminds him.

"I know." Jamil replies, as he removes his shirt, letting the wet fabric fall to the ground, his bare back and all his scars on full display for Leona and Leona alone.

Leona's eyes widened, as he took in the many scars that littered Jamil's back. Thankfully, none looked fresh, but the horror of that set in rather quickly, Jamil only recently became an adult, meaning that all of the scars he had collected where from his childhood. Leona comes closer to his boyfriend, gently touching the scars, tracing the lines, "Damn." He mutters, "This never should have happened to you."

Jamil bit back tears, "I know they're hideous."

Leona shakes his head, and presses a soft kiss to the one just below the nape of his neck, "Not at all. You're just as handsome as ever."

The two spent the rest of the afternoon together, and for the first time in a long time, Jamil didn't feel ashamed of his scars.

[hareofhrair]

However important you think Biden winning the election is, you must surely realise that jerking off into a sock might just do more to make that happen than being annoying about it on tumblr.

Thanks for having the integrity to send this off anon, man. And I more or less agree frankly. My original post was primarily venting and mostly just intended for the people in my immediate circle as, at most, an explanation for why I was unfollowing them and breaking mutuals. I didn’t even tag it as anything but “us politics” for people who don’t want to see that shit. It wouldn’t have gone much further than that, but a sci fi author I follow and respect deeply reblogged it, and they’re pretty popular so here we are. The shit i have got in my inbox the last week you would not believe, dude.

The thing is being annoying about voting for Biden on tumblr is pretty damn ineffective for sure. Unfortunately, doomposting about how he’s no better than trump and it doesn’t make a difference who wins so we should all just give up- does work. Reblogging a million posts about how Biden is a genocidal monster and voting for him means you’re a murderous racist (and exactly zero posts about Trump’s political plans or anything hopeful or which recommends actual action beyond just *not voting*) is incredibly effective at suppressing votes here. The tumblr community is very susceptible to apathy, because we’re all depressed and broke and miserable.

Russia literally used that to their advantage in 2016- this is established, proven fact- in order to get Trump elected the first time by convincing leftist youth that the democratic candidates were just as bad so there was no point in voting (and in fact voting makes you a bad person because you’re endorsing those monsters!) So I’d prefer if people around me did not uncritically reblog that shit. It pisses me off to see it and it does no one any good.

Biden is dogshit man, I know. I’m not a democrat, I just vote that way because, generally speaking, they are the only available candidates who don’t want to make my life actively worse. That doesn’t mean I like it.

But as far as I can tell, the revolution isn’t happening any time soon. I’m doing as much as I can where I am, but generally speaking the American people are uniquely complacent and apathetic and systematically depowered. Most of us are fighting just to stay housed and fed and don’t have the energy to also throw ourselves on the gears of capitalism. Those of us that do have the capacity face the incredible impersonal violence of the police state and a justice system with both political and financial incentive to strip their personhood and sell them into forced labor. Either things have to get a *lot* worse to convince people they have nothing to lose (which as someone else pointed out is a risky gamble that doesn’t always work and results in a lot of suffering regardless) or things need to get *marginally* better, enough that the people who already want change have the stability and resources to fight for it. And when you want incredibly, frustratingly marginal improvements, look no further than the democratic party!

Look, when it comes down to it, you don’t need to agree with me. But at least admit that even if it makes no difference at all, voting doesn’t hurt anything. It’s free, it takes very little effort, and it maybe gives us a slightly better chance of avoiding our country becoming a christofacist dictatorship.

If voting, at worst, makes no difference why not do it?

If voting, at worst, does nothing- why are so many people so invested in convincing you that you shouldn’t do it?

[rathologic]

The thesis of the post I’m following up on was that Pathologic 2’s approach to children is “adults know best”, failing to produce any points about the self-determination and marginalization of children that were vital in p1, because it constantly overrules and opposes the young characters’ desires. The points of this post are (besides greater detail) that this theme is underpinned by A) the lack of a “future” in p2 preventing the children from having an ideology, and B) the game telling instead of showing. not comprehensive by any means but it’s a slightly better elaboration than said confusingly phrased post :-)

The List seem to know each other (outside the handful of individual connections like Capella-Khan and Notkin-Murky) primarily through knowing Isidor; conversely Isidor’s list is the only thing connecting them into a coherent faction, emphasized by the game displaying the “List” as a separate category under People. Isidor, an adult, takes the role of “identifying the children necessary to preserve the Town” from p1 Capella. The point that “these children must survive” is copied from p1, but it’s weakened by their survival not having an impact on any p2 ending – it becomes the “just because Isidor wanted it this way” reasoning which is also used to explain the Haruspex’s presence in the story, which starts to register weirdly with the kids given that p2 Isidor abuses Rubin and potentially abused Artemy (like most things with Isidor, why he did it this way is never seriously questioned). The existence of the List is something imposed on them by an adult instead of chosen.

Because their grouping is no longer based on a shared struggle to preserve the Town according to a single vision, the familial duty that motivated it in p1 is less of a factor in each child’s life. The position of “Mother Superior” not being real, Capella’s insistence on marrying Khan coming from herself rather than pressure from their families, Khan having run away from Victor – the kids are independent in the sense that they do things primarily for themselves, but the same disconnection from the broader context of the Town causes them not to have coherent goals. Therefore, the tension they face is limited to personal events: will Murky and Sticky move in with the Haruspex? will Grace stop the dead from being burned? will the Polyhedron support all kids for a few days?, preventing the List from expressing their relevance to the future of the Town as a whole (*except after the ending has already been decided!). This is in part imposed by p2’s intrinsic requirement that the game can continue with some or all of the List dead.

The only time their relevance comes up is Capella’s belief that she should lead the children, which she frames as her becoming a mother to them (that she should succeed “father” Isidor in this role instead of Artemy), and which is immediately negated in gameplay by the events of day 10 (further, her assertion that the List will all die as the player’s wards creates drive for the player to oppose her statement and actions by trying to disprove it). Due to this framing of motherhood, the other children’s loyalty to Capella becomes an emphasis on faith in the advice of a parent, rather than collective maturity. (In the same vein, Aspity’s character in p2 is explicitly as an advice-giving mother to Artemy, as well as to the Kin at large, who are described as infants and depicted as relying on her guidance to make choices.)

This form of “independence” means the List aren’t well beholden to the past, which means they aren’t concerned about their futures. The children will go along with any role they’re given by the player’s selected ending – the endings happen to them, not because of any part they played in the story. The central choice of Pathologic 2 as framed by Isidor is whether Artemy values the mutually exclusive past or future, so the choice to completely bypass this tension in his seven closest NPCs by making them not particularly care causes it, and them, to fall flat. This is in part imposed by the other fundamental issue, that p2’s Town doesn’t have a future for them to make choices about, forcing all character conflict to be resolved during the 12 days of the game.

(NB: Taya is an exception to the above several paragraphs – she takes 1 action that affects the landscape of the Town in the long run, although the actual choice to move the Kin to Shekhen is given to adult Artemy instead, and she’s motivated entirely by duty to her family. This is essentially in line with her being the Nocturnalest kid which is a separate post!)

Meanwhile, the older heirs Artemy, Maria, Vlad Jr., and Rubin are committed to becoming what their predecessors wanted, which when contrasted with the younger children associates their commitment with maturity. The few times Maria and Vlad Jr. do something conflicting with their parents (house-marking and going to the Kin respectively), the player is always given the opportunity to report it to said parents, who overrule and stop them. The implication that Simon asked Rubin to kill and dissect him makes Rubin’s actions completely dependent on the desires of Isidor and Simon until his medical duty runs out. Throughout the game, the decisions of older characters are prioritized in story and in gameplay effects, specifically decisions that control and direct the lives of the younger ones.

These decisions are roundly accepted by both the List and the heirs; any discontent is a side note in dialogue with no gameplay effect. Grace’s line “I don’t want to leave […], but Katerina [later referred to as Mother] says I can’t stay” applies doubly, as her arc involves being taken from her home and placed in the care of foster parents either once or twice depending on ending choice. The most obtrusive lack of challenge is that the player is unable to express dissatisfaction with Isidor’s choice to unleash the Plague beyond “killing thousands of innocents was cruel”, nor to talk about the implications of that act and Artemy’s position as its inheritor with either the Kin or Isidor’s List. Furthermore, the description of the Plague as a vaccination frames the Town as Isidor’s child, while he simultaneously justifies the misery inflicted on the Town with his love for it. Refusing the brutal choice that Isidor then imposes on the player results in a special ending where the game’s meta-narrator mocks and criticizes you for your “failure”.

In short, the lack of motivation and goals among the children of Pathologic 2 makes them passive to the choices adult characters make for them, which is every important choice. This could have been made a device about disempowerment if their resistance to it had an impact on gameplay at any point, but game design in fact opposes this. The player’s natural priority of “see as much dialogue as possible” leads the player towards dialogue and quest choices that align with the authority of parenthood; agreeing or leaving the children alone tends to end conversation undesirably, which the dialogue-end markers ensure the player is aware of. The endings incentivize endorsement of harsh parenting choices by skipping the finale if you oppose them. Neither the story nor gameplay contest the idea that an adult, in most cases a man, has the authority to make decisions controlling the lives of children.

[silver-grasp]

Okay so. Half formed late night Joy of Life (2) thoughts (I've watched through ep 24 please don't tell me spoilers) but like. I really like how with very few exceptions there's this underlying layer of human relationships underneath all the political nonsense where like. Even when things are going really fucking badly you can SEE this mirage of what it could be without all the insane political nonsense and power jockeying. Like the Emperor asking First Prince what he likes about Fan Xian could so easily just be... a father talking to his son about a new friend his son has (or *cough* boyfriend *cough* ignore the obvious lol, I don't ship them it's just the vibes of the convo), except because the Emperor is... Like That, it's a thinly veiled threat. If it weren't for, you know, all the atrocities and whatnot Fan Xian and Second Prince could have a great friendship as slightly toxic but ultimately harmless besties lol.

Idk I'm not making a ton of sense but. Makes me kind of want to write a modern AU. Just drastically lower the stakes, I think a lot of the characters would almost immediately become at least marginally better people.

[ashs-random-writing]

Mushroom Circles

Chapter Seven

Ao3

—

When an accidental blood sacrifice leaves him in a strange new world, Roman has to hide

Logan would like to know what has been eating all the fruit

—

Roman stared at the new faerie with extreme terror. They had grey skin, with yellow scales, and almost impossibly sharp teeth. They had no wings, and instead had three pairs of arms- Roman thought he might’ve seen them once or twice while he was in his tunnel, but he couldn’t remember

Their face was stretched into a grin, and their slitted pupils were focused entirely on him.

His heart was beating with extreme intensity, as he (from the way this thing was looking at him, probably accurately) subconsciously registered them as a predator, and his body had frozen up, like a deer in headlights

He couldn’t take his eyes off them, even as they got closer, hissing out some words in the same language that Logan and Patton used. They were practically circling the table he was on, with a look that seemed reminiscent of someone who’d found the perfect new entertainment

Roman suppressed his shudder. He stared up at them, knowing he was shaking. He knew they all could see his fear, but he didn’t care at this point. He was scared, and no amount of pretending he wasn’t would change that; this seemed like exactly the type of faerie that he wanted to avoid.

They definitely didn’t seem as gentle or concerned about him as Patton did, and, as much as Roman had a hard time deciphering Logan’s thoughts on him, this new faerie definitely seemed far more intimidating to him. His breathing was becoming more frantic, as the snake-like faerie got closer

Roman stumbled back on legs that seemed almost like cement, trying to keep some distance between himself and them. His attempts were clearly amusing to them, much to his upset.

He could almost distantly hear Patton or Logan say something, likely to this antagonistic, slimy snake. He couldn’t hear enough through his panic to register tone, or almost anything around him, through his adrenaline rush, except for the source of this rush.

They were grinning, saying something with a tone that Roman figured was probably dismissive, before he suddenly felt himself lifted in the air. He froze in fear for a few agonising moments. The snake had lifted him by the back of his shirt, like a mother cat with her kittens, though if the mother cat was particularly careless with them

With his shirt pinched between their index finger and thumb, and him dangling far, far too high over the ground, he felt far from safe, and he was hating that grin on their face.

Logan and Patton were approaching them from behind, Roman noticed amidst his panic. The snake turned around to face them, Roman swinging slightly from where he was dangling. He screwed his eyes shut to try ignore his surroundings

He was soon in a much more secure grasp, which only marginally calmed his racing heart. Being held in cupped hands was better than being dangled by the back of his shirt, but he’d much rather have been on actual solid ground. He didn’t like the idea of his life literally being held in someone’s hand

He only began to relax once he was placed back down on the table, and he registered that it was Patton who had taken him from the snakier faerie, and was now retreating to a more comfortable distance, with once again a concerned expression on their face

Roman looked away. He was shaking. There was no mystery as to why. He looked back up at the snake, and saw them with a slightly annoyed expression on their face, as it seemed like Logan was lecturing them. He couldn’t see most of Logan’s face, but from what he could see, he saw the most visible display of emotion from them yet

He had never seen them angry before. He was still shaking, still feeling that adrenaline rush, but he didn’t have a reason why anymore. The snake wasn’t close to him anymore, and he wasn’t being dangled above a dizzying drop.

He brought his knees up to his chest, finding that it had become quite a familiar gesture for him, to attempt to mimic the hold of another human. He buried his head in his knees and, against his will, began to sob

This whole thing, this entire situation was so messed up. He just wanted to go home- but he couldn’t and he was stuck here, unable to understand what people were saying, and small enough to be a simple plaything

He was still shaking, still feeling the adrenaline rush. But maybe if he didn’t look up, he could pretend that he was okay; maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend he was at home

It was a baseless hope, considering that he could hear all three faeries speaking. By the sounds of things, arguing.

He didn’t move for a while, though he could hear the stupidly large sounds of movement around him. He hesitantly looked up, to survey his surroundings. Tears were still burning his eyes, and his face was probably stained from them

There was only one faerie in the room anymore, and much to his relief, it was Patton

They seemed to be preparing food, and weren’t looking at him at that moment. He felt his chest loosen mildly in relief that he wasn’t under watch by any of them at all times. He slowly uncurled from his crying position, and wiped his eyes

He briefly debated trying to get their attention, but the lump that formed in his throat at even the idea shut that thought down immediately

He sat there in silence for about a minute before Patton turned around from what they were doing and noticed that he was no longer curled up and sobbing (how embarrassing that they had all seen that?)

They took a deep breath, and with a slow pace that Roman could tell was deliberate, they walked closer with a small plate of cut up fruit. While he was thankful for the food, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the way they were clearly trying so hard not to startle him.

They said something as they placed the food down for him, but as usual Roman had no clue what was said. He wondered if eventually he’d figure it out, but he didn’t want to think about staying here anywhere near that long

The food was welcome though, he noted in his attempt to distract himself. When was the last time he ate? It was before the storm, but how long had it been since then?

He began to eat, pretending not to notice the way they were watching him. He was used to performing, to acting- he had performed on many a stage back home, but he had to admit that it was a lot harder to do in such a situation

Acting classes didn’t often focus on how to pretend to be calm in the event of being trapped in an alternate realm full of giant faeries

He didn’t know what he was meant to do, to be quite honest, and he knew there was no way that he’d get a proper answer from anyone, so he just had to keep going as well as he could

——

Logan hadn’t been very pleased when Patton’s cousin had barged into the house. He hadn’t been watching the door at the time; though he had been listening to his and Patton’s conversation, he was monitoring their little guest

They had been startled immediately at the knock at the door, standing up and backing away ever so slightly, eyes searching around the room as though to look for a hiding place

He’d watched them as they slowly paled even further, as they evidently could sense the way the conversation as the door went south, to borrow a phrase.

He wasn’t quite sure what the paleing of their skin meant, but from context clues he could parse that it likely wasn’t the best thing.

When Janus had pushed past Patton and entered the house, the little guest’s eyes had immediately focused on him, and the constant trembling that he had noticed from them had increased.

He watched as, quite contrastingly, Janus had become excited by the sight of the tiny person, and had immediately gotten closer

“Oh? And what is this little thing?” He asked, seemingly uncaring to how the guest had looked more scared, the closer he had gotten

They had frozen up, similar to when they had first seen Logan after waking up here, except they were trembling more

“Uh, that’s just a… guest, they’re just staying here a while,” Patton had said, before Logan could answer

Janus was grinning, watching the little guest

“What exactly is it, though? It’s entertaining, but I like to know things,” his words were hissing, as he got even closer to them, and chuckled as they began to back away clumsily

Logan stepped closer ever so slightly and cleared his throat

“We don’t entirely know what they are, but please refrain from startling or scaring them,”

Janus chuckled again, waving one of his hands dismissively

“Oh, come on, I’m not even doing anything to it,” he said, before extending one of his middle hands out towards them, and picking them up in a hold that absolutely didn’t seem stable

Logan and Patton shared a look of fear for their small guest. They didn’t believe that Janus would drop them, but they could tell this had frightened their guest immensely. They got closer, and Janus spun around to face them, still holding the tiny person

The way their tiny body swung slightly in the insecure grip made Logan angry; they were small and fragile and they were very easily frightened, so why would Janus do this? Patton gently pulled them away from Janus’s grip, and in a much more secure grip, he placed them back where they were before

Logan started to talk to Janus, pulling him away from the table.

“Why would you do that?” He asked in a quiet tone “What reason could you possibly have to do that, after we specifically asked you not to scare them?”

Janus, annoyingly, just rolled his eyes

“Ah right, because it’s totally that serious. No one got hurt, it’s not my fault if it was a bit scared,” he responded with an almost bored tone

Logan clenched his fist

The argument carried on for a while, and miraculously ended with no one getting punched, and for once Janus admitted that he was “somewhat” in the wrong.

Logan wanted desperately to make sure that Janus wouldn’t be close to their guest ever again, however he had no faith that Janus wouldn’t spill the secrets that their guest existed if left to his own devices.

He groaned.

—

@a-chilly-pepper @betamash @da3dm

[laundrybiscuits]

(Hanahaki AU tag)

“Okay. What’s the play then, coach? If you’re the guy what’s calling the shots.” He throws an airy little echo of old-timey radio into his voice, can’t help being a little playful and mean with it.

“I don’t know!” Steve scrubs his hands through his hair. “Dammit, Eddie. Just, why’d you try to hide it? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Maybe I was trying to avoid this exact conversation, ever think of that?” He huffs a little to blow some hair out of his face. “It’s not the kind of thing people talk about. It’s embarrassing, dude.”

Steve opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then shuts it again. 

They sit there long enough that the shadows start shifting into deep afternoon shapes. Some fat gray squirrels come by to investigate the Dorito crumbs scattered at Eddie’s feet, bold as brass, and Eddie coaxes one into snatching half a Dorito from his hand before it scampers off. 

———

That night, Steve abandons the unspoken gentlemen’s agreement they’ve had to maintain a respectable distance between them on the mattress in the back of the van, and pulls Eddie into his chest like a giant teddy bear, burying his face in Eddie’s hair. 

“Uh. Harrington?” Eddie says. 

“Don’t,” says Steve. “You—don’t.” 

“Right. Okay.” Eddie feels a little like he’s slipped into an alternate dimension, but hell—he’s not going to push Steve away or anything. He feels lawless and unmoored like this, here in the slow dark with nothing but the familiar walls of the van between them and the desert.

Some time passes. Eddie’s heart is beating too fast. 

“Aren’t you scared,” Steve says, slightly muffled. 

“Of death? Yeah, of course I’m fucking scared, Steve. But I’m more scared about…being selfish, I guess. I don’t want to be the kind of guy who screws up a whole bunch of lives for no reason, just ‘cause I get scared. I’m no hero, but I’m not about to become a villain either.”

“Screws up lives? What are you talking about?”

“You know.” Eddie sighs, and sits up. He can’t do this with Steve molded into his back like a koala, breathing into his nape. “Once you know something like that, you can’t stop knowing. Even if nobody else does. If you knew someone died because you couldn't help not being in love with them, you don’t think that’d fuck you up forever?”

Wayne’d sat him down once, when he was just an angry kid with a buzzcut and a growing stack of suspensions. “You can’t force people to like you, boy. It ain’t the right way to go about things.” Wayne had paused, something flickering in his eyes that Eddie wouldn’t understand for years and years. “Love’ll come to you. You just gotta let it, and don’t go trying to strong-arm the issue.”

Eddie hadn’t wanted to listen, but Wayne had been right. Once Eddie stopped chasing after people who weren’t ever going to give him the time of day, he’d found metal; he’d found fantasy novels; he’d found D&D. He’d found stuff that would love him back, stuff that he could put all his caring into. And yeah, somehow he’d found a few friends through music and D&D, but he’d learned his lesson by then. You can’t make people feel a way they don’t feel about you. All you can do is accept what’s on offer, for as long as it lasts.

“It’s gotta be worth taking the chance, though.” Steve sits up too, pushing his hand through his hair. “I just don’t get, like…why this girl’s feelings are more important than your life.”

“It’s not like that,” says Eddie defensively. 

“Then tell me what it’s like!” Steve’s starting to get worked up, though Eddie can tell he’s trying to keep a lid on it. “Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”

“It’s not, okay? You don’t even know who it is, man.”

“I don’t care who she is! She’s not worth it!”

“Yes he is,” Eddie snarls.

There’s a dead silence.

As responses go, Eddie reflects, that had been marginally better than yes you are but significantly worse than pretty much any other option. The van suddenly feels terrifyingly small.

“Oh,” says Steve at last. His brow is pinched. “Shit.”

“I can drop you at the Amtrak station in the morning,” says Eddie. He’s not driving all the way back to Hawkins, no way. He’ll never get to leave again. The town will swallow his corpse whole. 

“What? Why?”

Eddie gives him a look. You’re not this dumb, Harrington.

“Wait, you don’t have to—I’m cool, man. It’s cool. I mean, we’re cool.”

Eddie laughs, sour relief slicing through him. “Okay. If you’re sure we’re…hm, what was that again? Cool?”

“Yeah, totally, um. Totally cool.” 

Eddie's pretty sure he doesn't believe that, but…honestly, he doesn’t have the energy to force Steve to admit anything else. After a second, he just nods and lies back down, trying to put as much space between them as he can. 

The silence feels heavy and textured in some new way. Steve doesn’t try to hold him again. 

Obviously, thinks Eddie, and stares into the shadows until sleep takes him away.

[lemontrash]

Here's a stupid story but it slightly blew my mind and some of you may relate- I have a shelf in my bedroom with several cannisters on it. Among them, 1 large japanese washi cannister containing my decaf teabags and 1 old supermarket hot chocolate cannister clumsily covered in wallpaper containing my decaf instant coffee. (marginally less obvious and ugly as the jar i buy it in).(1) For years, i have been keeping the coffee can behind the tea can on the basis of it being ugly. This is in my bedroom, i can see it from my bed. I drink the damn coffee almost daily, I can't say the same for the tea. I make my life in a tiny way, harder, because everytime I want the coffee I have to shuffle the pretty shit out the way to get to the practical. I didn't even realise I was doing this or that it was annoying me so much until yesterday I left the coffee can in front because I couldn't be arsed to 'tidy up'. I still hate the can it's in. I made the can when I couldn't justify wasting money on more pretty cans.

Anyway, I bought a nicer can. It cost me about £10 or more to get one that would match but... I really like it. I don't feel compelled to keep shuffling these damn cans around every day. It's become a non-thought in my head now and so moral of the story, sometimes you need to buy that one stupid "unnecessary" thing because it does, in it's own way, make your life better.

(1) Why don't you keep it in the kitchen? Because my life is chaos. I live with bedroom coffee. I have examined this and there's genuinely no better alternative. It's not important to the story.

[whilomm]

these are claims from a different whistleblower than the one that was totally not murdered by boeing

(disclaimer, im not an expert and this article doesnt go into a ton of detail on the specific issues, so i could be a lil off, these are very much non-expert speculation rambles. anyone who understands better, feel free to correct me/add more deets).

if im reading it right these claims get into the way boeing has been outsourcing more and more manufacturing of parts to other companies, such as for the fuselage (the plane body as a whole, big tube u sit in). if those parts dont quite fit together right (and keep in mind the margins of error on these things can be VERY small in some cases, though im not sure exactly how much wiggle room they got here), that can lead to too much stress on certain parts.

like, for example, if one part of the fuselage is just baaaarely too big for the next part it connects to, it might all seem to fit together perfectly fine, but every time it takes off and lands or goes thru compression cycles (that is when they take off and land, going from low pressure-high pressure-low pressure), it just puts a BIT too much pressure on where they join. and over the years, that pressure just adds up until theres microscopic stress fractures, which become slightly larger stress fractures, until they get big enough that once a plane reaches a high enough altitude theres a midair disentegration, which is. exactly as bad as it sounds.

(sidenote: compression cycles can be more important for determining an airplanes lifespan than flight hours. the usual metaphor is bending a paperclip back and forth until it breaks, how many times can you bend it before metal fatigue sets in and it just snaps. holding it in a more bent position however will take a lot longer to snap it generally.)

now to be clear, every single plane has an intended service life, and its well known that planes can only take so many compression cycles before they start to get really hard to maintain without going kablooey. a plane may be rated for like, idk, 50k compression cycles (so, taking off and landing 50k times before its retired, because after that its no longer worth the maintenance vs just making a new plane). but if it turns out that plane has some flaw in its build that means itll develop fatal stress factures at only 20k cycles, well. thats bad. not sure exactly how the schedule on looking for stress factures looks like for maintenece crews (do they do it regularly for all planes on a set schedule? do they only do it occasionally for new planes, and start to ramp up checks as the plane gets older? dunno!) but well. generally speaking, a plane having a fatal flaw that gives it an explosive midlife crisis is Bad. i would hope theyd catch it! but i dont know enough about the deets of fuselage maintenence to know the specifics.

and OH YAY COMPOSITE MATERIALS. now, before anyone gets too freaked out thinking about the uh. submarine. use of composite materials is actually far more common on planes than on subs for a buncha reasons. one, planes just generally undergo a lot less in terms of pressure (that futurama joke, "this spaceship can handle between one and zero atmospheres", vs subs that have to deal with tens to potentially hundreds of atmospheres) but also because apparently, for complicated material engineering reasons, composite materials work much better under tension (high pressure INSIDE pushing OUT, like airplane) than under compression (high pressure OUTSIDE pushing IN, like submarine). heres a vid from someone who wrote their masters on composite materials under compression if you wanna hear from someone slightly smarter on the subject. im not gonna pretend like i understand the full deets, but "composites do OKAY with tension" is enough for me, go read the fancy scientific papers if you want more.

now, so that people do freak out at least a little bit: hm. dont like that they are using Way More Composite Than Usual on this plane. how much is the usual? idk, i assume composites are much more popular with low altitude small aircraft (bc well, weight and less pressure worries), dunno whats considered normal for high altitude longhaul crafts. but, apparently, the dreamliner is "more than usual". which, yeah cool, lighter weight airplanes use less fuel which is better for longhaul flights. is it. well tested enough though???

...anyway. im not an engineer, idk the full Deets, but well. havin lotsa fun hearing the engineers talk about how the parts of the giant metal skybirds dont fit together quite right and theyre using materials that fail more catastrophically than metal with less warning, experimentally, and we dont quiiiite have the data to know if. its a problem. thats really fun! LOVE hearing about how much theyre outsourcing parts, given how bad quality control of things as tiny as the titanium in some bolts or a little bit of the engine blades being not properly vacuum forged has lead to catastrophic failure in the past, and knowing how important sourcing of parts in airplanes is. all VERY yay!

[cdyssey]

Texts

CW: Innuendo/Suggestive Language; Alcohol

A/N: The way that not one of my damn micro-prompts have ended up being actually micro. @dkc2017​

AO3 Link [The AO3 version is a little diff. from this one! I added some more to end!!]

—

It’s become somewhat of a Sunday tradition with them—Ava and Melissa skipping church to watch football together. They’re both sure that the good Lord will forgive them. Ecclesiastes does say that there’s a time and season for everything after all…

(“Damn straight that football season counts,” Ava had justified with a positively mischievous smirk.)

(“Hell yeah,” Melissa had agreed, her own resounding laugh clearly up to no good.)

It all started after they had unsuccessfully tried to foil Mr. J’s fantasy football team and realized that they stood a better chance of beating his ass if they teamed up and worked on their spreadsheets during game days. Sitting side-by-side on Melissa’s plastic-wrapped couch, they’re currently watching the Dolphins because Melissa has Tua Tagovailoa as her team’s quarterback, while Ava has Jaylen Waddle as one of her wide receivers.

“Ugh,” Ava groans as Waddle misses what should have been a fairly easy catch, slipping on the sleet-slicked turf. “We ain’t ever gonna whoop him if our boys keep playin’ like this.”

“You’re preachin’ to the choir,” Melissa snorts, and just as she reaches forward to grab her beer from the coffee table, her phone—which had been snugly nestled between her thighs—suddenly chimes once and then twice.

Two texts.

She leans back again and scoops it up—squinting at oversized font—and sees that they’re both from Barbara, asking if she wants to go on a double date with her and Gerald to see the new Avatar movie later this evening…

You and I can even share a popcorn this time, she tempts with the second text. We’ll add all the blessed butter that we want to.

Even as she’s digesting these tantalizing words, three dots bounce on her screen for only a few seconds before another white speech bubble appears with an elegant swoop.

Please?

Melissa frowns slightly at the implicit desperation, doesn’t know what to make of it, scared to read too much into it, even more afraid to ignore it if this is all she ever gets.

With Barbara.

Her best friend.

Scraps and dregs on the margins of her happy, heterosexual marriage. She’s learned to be resigned—if not content—to the crucial fact, a lifelong expert in the intertwined practices of abnegation and self-sacrifice. The eldest of six children in a Catholic household, the third parent in the room in so many ways, nothing has ever wholly belonged to her that she didn’t have to eventually share.

Clothes.

Toys.

Food.

Their parents’ six ways unevenly divided love.

All of it has prepared her for what her life has come to now, subsisting on stolen moments with Barbara Howard as though scavenging is a meaningful way to exist.

Hence, another double date.

Her, Barbara, Gerald, and Gary.

The two men get along well when they all go out, continually joshing about the cars they want to own some day... while she and Barbara are usually off in their own little world, carving out a sanctified space for themselves wherever they’re at, be it a restaurant, a movie theater, or a football game.

As always.

As is their norm.

Even though Barbara will hold her husband’s hand, and Melissa will dispassionately fuck Gary later, maybe in the forgiving darkness of the movie theater, the two women will accidentally brush shoulders.

On paper, it seems like a good enough way to spend her night.

In reality—

“Girl, don’t tell me you’re still seein’ that crusty ass vending machine guy,” Ava says, having apparently been peeking over her shoulder for the last few seconds. Melissa, caught off guard by the unexpected intrusion into her personal space, startles violently, accidentally elbowing Ava in the side.

“Damn!” She hisses in pain, pouting, poking her lower lip out, dramatically rubbing the afflicted area. “Cool it, Rambo. I was just teasin’…” 

“Not funny,” Melissa grunts unapologetically, crossing her arms over her chest. She suddenly feels exposed, out in the open, laid bare, like her texts with Barbara are as intimate as a diary and Ava is rifling through the pages. “And his name is Gary.”

“He looks like a Gary.”

“That sounds like an insult.” Melissa glares at her suspiciously. She supposes she should probably refute the idea of him being crusty ass, but an immediate defense eludes her.

Gary.

He’s a sweet guy, a good man…

… but he ain’t exactly gonna win awards for bein’ Romeo.

There are vibrators more romantic than him.

And far less crude.

“That’s ‘cuz it is,” Ava chuckles, clearly finding all of this amusing, but there’s something in the twinkling depths of her eyes that disconcerts the second-grade teacher—something keen and entirely knowing. She shifts uncomfortably where she sits, making the plastic beneath her squeak.

“Speaking of Barb…” The principal begins, tilting her head towards the still-lit up phone in Melissa’s hand.

She hastily clicks it off, even though she knows the gesture is futile.

The other woman has already seen.

“It sure is somethin’ that she can’t go out with her hubby unless you’re taggin’ along,” she muses shrewdly as color painfully floods Melissa’s cheeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” she huffs, stubbornly returning her gaze to the TV. A stupid commercial for Valentine’s Day jewelry is playing.

Every kiss begins with Kay.

“She’s beggin’ you,” Ava goes on, undeterred, so stubborn when she digs in, when she cares. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so presently annoying. “And you know, our Mrs. Barbara Howard, proud, married woman of God, never begs.”

“She’s just lonely,” Melissa says automatically, and she could slap herself.

She flinches.

That’s precisely the part that she’s not supposed to fucking say out loud, and Ava jumps on the mistake readily, not missing a beat.

“She’s got a whole goddamn husband,” she shakes her head, and the thoughtfulness in the younger woman’s voice takes Melissa by surprise. She glances over and is horrified to see that her expression is a strange mixture of pity and understanding.

Ava gets it.

Melissa clenches the darkened phone in her hand and her heavy, aching teeth, successfully suffocating the next words on her tongue.

Even still.

Barbara is lonely.

She’s got a whole goddamn husband.

Even still.

[thegirlwhowrites642]

Jegulus

I don't ship it.

Why don’t you ship it?

Besides the fact that it's not jily and that's already a problem, Regulus is a death eater and James is someone who canonically hates the dark arts so much that until he matured he had an hard time seeing the difference between punishing evil acts and becoming evil himself. Like, how would this make any sense?

Regulus' """redemption""" happens in the last thirty minutes of his life. Regulus is somewhat someone with a similar story to Draco, he is eager to become a death eater then when he does, he discovers that maybe it wasn't exactly that fun. With the difference that while Draco is the definition of an ignavo, Regulus seems to have some courage and something he is willing to stand up for. Therefore there would have been maybe the possibility of redemption for Regulus but Regulus is not simply someone conditioned by his family, he is a full-on Voldemort fanboy, that must say something about him.

Also, the whole trying to make Regulus a good guy is a bit insulting to Sirius, the tragedy of his story, and it implies that Sirius didn't care enough about his brother to save him from their family.

Everything we know about James suggests that he would absolutely despise Regulus.

And, this is a minor thing, I suppose, but making James queer and therefore part of a marginalized group, heavily defeats the point of his character.

What would have made you like it?

There's the quite obvious implication in the books that James and Lily are soulmates, so nothing really. I would warm up more to it I imagine if more information on Regulus revealed heavy justification for his behaviour (having a shitty family or being in Slytherin doesn't justify being a fascist).

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

This ship is like drarry for the marauders era, but at least Regulus is a slightly better person than Draco, and James is a slightly worse person than Harry.

I don't know, really, I understand what people are trying to do here but James is already canonically in an enemies-to-lovers storyline and that one is actually healthy. Jegulus feels a lot like misogyny.

[burning-fcols]

"My beloved undead heart, what...is that?" Normally not one to use that staticy filter over his voice when it was just the two of them, Aster had slipped into old habits when the sight of something oblong and purple caught his attention. No no no NO- He'd heard the stories, this wasn't supposed to happen, someone like him wasn't supposed to- Shouldn't- Bebe he understood, but him?! No, there had to be some mistake. He knew how deep the love his partner in both life and death held for him, and him for them in turn, but surely whoever was in charge of all this couldn't think it was a good idea to give someone like the Radio Demon this level of happiness responsibility, no matter how much joy it would bring his fellow deer. Was that it? Was this a blessing for them both Bebe for how horrible his end had been because of Aster? He...felt as if he should apologize, though he knew Bebe wouldn't see a reason for it. He knew the man well enough by now that this... It would be seen as nothing short of a miracle. What could never have even been a thought on earth now able to come to life, literally, in Hell of all places. On earth, any child wouldn't have been 'created' by them, and while that wouldn't have mattered, somehow this feels even more like a...like a blessing, knowing it was theirs in every single way possible. On earth, they never would have been able to even adopt a child. They would have been killed long before that could ever happen. Alastor had never allowed himself to think such thoughts in life, soley because there was no reason to. Why upset himself with something he could never fix? Sometimes he wondered what Bebe's thoughts on the matter were, not able to remember if they'd ever talked about even the most mundane of domesticity while alive. He was sure they must have, and that his mind simply wouldn't let him remember with how painful reality had been back then. Reality now was only marginally better, the fear of their death not so much an issue anymore, but... "...Bebe?" He was scared. Tell him this wasn't real, tell him that wasn't a tiny, delicate little soul for him to possibly break as his own father had broken his. He was a killer, worse than his father within the law of humanity. If he hurt this child, this extension of Bebe and himself... When Bebe had died, he'd become a far more bloodthirsty killer in his name. If something happens to this child because of him, what sort of monster would he become then? - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Sitting silently on their Aster's bed, downcast gaze is obscure by blue bangs and how FIXATED it is upon the curious object in Bebe's lap. Small... delicate... a beautiful purple hue, calming in the right circumstances. Terrifying in others. Carefully cradled by gentle arms, Bebe can feel warmth radiating from within the helpless creature. They bring it closer, ever-so-slightly, as if trying to share whatever body heat they have to spare. More, even.

They'd gladly give it all, should the egg need it.

Ears resting back, end of the fluffy appendages twitch when Aster speaks. Static not going unnoticed... nor what it means. It's honestly understandable, the apprehension Aster must feel. Even in life when the concept of children was traversed— rare a topic as it was, usually accompanied or brought on by heavy drink —it was a somber subject. One Bebe tried to change soon as possible, painfully aware of how pointless it was. How it would only hurt the man they love. Part of Bebe, an insistence festering beneath their skin like an infection, claimed Aster must hate them for it.

Whether their crimson companion was even aware of it... Even if he miraculously didn't, Bebe could never forgive themself for what they robbed Aster of. The trouble they caused by merit of who— of WHAT they were. But now? It's finally happened. A blessing undeserved of the blue belle, but greedily accepted nonetheless. A continuation to Aster's legacy... Born of his flesh and blood, Bebe serving as the conduit to help bring the others creation to life. Could one really blame them, if they can't find the decency to be ashamed over having the honor?

❝ I— I'm sorry... for not being sorry. ❞ Bebe begins, gaze finally raising to look at Aster. Tears brim within delicate hues, threatening to slip down as Bebe quietly admits, ❝ I know I should feel guilty or— or worried... but I don't. Not even a little bit. ❞ Even with the fear they KNOW is hitting Aster at the concept of a child, Bebe can't shake off their elation enough to give the proper concern. The proper comfort. What sort of mate does that make them? Is it a good sign... Showing the faith they have in Aster. Or is it a bad one? Showing the selfishness hidden deep inside.

Either way, lips upturn into a small... shaky.... but shamefully sincere smile. Pale complexion painted pink, the meaning of his tears now clear. Not born of sorrow but unfettered joy as they shakily admit, ❝ I'm just... so unbelievably happy. ❞ Hugging the egg closer, eyes shut as they nuzzle their face against it, staining the shell with tears. Weakly laughing, sound is light and airy. Like the flutter of an injured bird desperately trying to stay afloat, Bebe not accustomed to laughter. Tragically beautiful, as most things are with the doe. ❝ I did it. I– I finally did it... ❞

Bebe couldn't count how many times they wished to have been born in a different form. Prayers speckled like stars across the sky, to be changed into someone who could bear Aster's children. Who he could love openly. Who didn't bring suffering to the others life as effortlessly as they somehow brought joy. Many-a-nights spent lamenting over how cruel a joke of fate it was to find their missing piece... only for them to still not fit as perfectly into Aster's life as they should. But now?

Those shortcomings don't matter anymore.

❝ I've given you a child. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

A Blue Bird and a Black Cat pt 10

(Selina decides that Marinette would be better as the Cat than Adrien. Five years, later Dick is very confused about this Lady Noire)

ao3 Beginning Previous

Marinette did not have DID. She knew this for a fact because she had researched Dissociative Identity Disorder exhaustively with Harley and had come to the conclusion that she did not have it by only the barest of margins. However, the similarities between herself and DID Systems had been so similar at first, that Marinette had gone into a panic wondering if she would have to tag another mental illness onto the growing list, that she and Harley had been making. But that didn’t stop her from going down the checklist every now and then and wonder at her own sanity.

Did she suffer childhood trauma? It was teenage trauma, but yes.

Was the trauma repeated frequently? Akumas attacked every other day and Lila’s torment had been unending, so yes.

Did she dissociate during the trauma? Of course, she dissociated! It was the only way to keep her emotions in check, and therefore keep her from being akumatized and thus ending the world!

Did she create alternate identities to protect her and help her cope with the abuse? Yes, Ladybug, Lady Noire, MDC, the Guardian, and Marinette were all completely different people. They had different jobs, different personalities, and different abilities.

Was she aware of herself when she was one of the other? Yes.

If the answer to the last question had been no, then the other names would not have been masks. They would have been completely different people, who all happened to share the same body. And after meeting some real DID Systems and getting to know and understand them, Marinette understood just how close she had come to that reality. If she had been just a few years younger. If she had just been slightly less self-aware, then she would not be Marinette with a half a dozen masks to hide her from the world. She would be a “System” of multiple personalities each vying for space in the same mind. As it was, Marinette did not have DID. No, she just had half a dozen Alter Egos that were so contradictory, and so real that at times they felt like separate people. But in the end she was still just one person. She was still just Marinette. 

Those had been a terrifying few months for Marinette, as she struggled to come to terms with her identity. Selina had barely left her side the entire time because she had so many panic attacks. She was still learning how to feel and so she barely knew what to do with the roiling emotions in her chest. So when the Joker had pushed her aside in a non-descript diner on a random Tuesday, Marinette barely even thought of the consequences. And she was angry. She was angry at the people who had made her this way. She was terrified of what she was becoming. She was grieving for the life she didn’t have, the life she should have had. And she was desperate for anyone to help her.

Hello, misplaced aggression targeting the single worst individual in the entire world!

Marinette barely even remembered the encounter she had been in such a daze of unbridled catharsis. But a month afterward, when the Joker broke out again, she did feel a small flush of satisfaction when she noticed that the Joker’s suits were no longer quite the eye sore they used to be. Oh, they were still as tacky as Hawkmoth’s akumas but they were steadily improving every month, so baby steps.

Watching and re-watching the video of her beating up the color-blind clown for about four hours, brought up a lot of memories for Marinette. They weren’t bad memories, or good memories, just memories. Memories of her fears, and her questions. She had been so desperate back then. Desperate for normalcy. Desperate for answers. Desperate for a purpose now that her quest of five years was finally over. And the idea of having another mental disorder…well it probably set her back a good two months in therapy.

When Marinette finally returned to the abandoned building that Harley and Ivy had converted into their home/lab/headquarters. She found that she was too emotionally exhausted to work on any of her projects, but to tightly wound by memories to get any sleep. She did not want to dissociate into nothingness like she had the night before, but Harley and Ivy weren’t there to distract her, and Selina had stayed at the Manor.

Marinette sett down her bag and lazily watched the kwami buzz around the living space. They weren’t doing anything especially chaotic or exciting. They were just existing. Plagg was complaining that they were out of cheese. Tikki was scolding him for eating it all. Nooroo was napping on the leaves of Ivy’s larger plants with Duusu. Wayzz and Pollen were guarding them from Trixx and Roaar who had gotten their paws on a sharpie. Fluff and Sass were having a debate about the finer points of time travel. And the rest were spread out around the apartment in various starts of lounging, eating, and other forms of entertaining themselves. But not even the meditative entertainment of watching the kwami could distract her from the impromptu movie night she had just been apart of and the memories and feelings it stirred.

Finally Marinette latched onto one of those memories and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contact list until she came to as section that was just a series of emojis for each contact. She gave the image a soft smile, and then she selected one that was a flower, a bat, and a dancing girl. She drummed the table nervously as the phone rang. It had been a long time, but not that long. Unless it had been too long, and they no longer liked her! And what if they were insulted that she hadn’t talked to them in over five months? And what if—

“Hello?” a soft voice answered after the third ring, interrupting Marinette’s hastening spiral.

“Hey, it’s Marinette,” she said hoping the nervousness wasn’t too obvious. “To whom am I speaking to right now?”

“Marinette! It’s me Daisy, how are you girl!” The girl on the other end of the line cried cheerfully. “How are you? It’s been too long!”

“I’m good!” Marinette exclaimed as relief poured down her spine like water in the shower. “How are you and the rest of your system?”

“Oh, we’re fine,” Daisy said, her bubbly smiles brightening each word she said, “We tried integrating a few months back, you know, but then we got caught in a Scarecrow attack, and now we have a new identity! I can’t wait to introduce you to Marven. He’s only five, very shy and scared of everything, but I think he’ll love you!”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Marinette said softly, “And I can’t wait to meet Marven. Why don’t we get lunch sometime? I’m actually in Gotham right now for Selina’s wedding.”

“Oh, that’s just grand! By the way are you still running with the Rogues?”

“They’re Sirens not Rogues! And seriously aren’t you a Gothamite? Shouldn’t you know this?”

“No that’s Batgirl, I’m from Metropolis.”

“Right sorry I forgot!”

“That’s ok!” said the endlessly happy Daisy. “Oh! By the way Batgirl wants to talk to you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all I’d love to talk to her,” Marinette said with a smile, and she waited for her friend to switch in silence. As she waited, she wondered if the real Batgirl knew how many Systems had identities based off of hers. The fact was that if you grew up in Gotham (or Paris during the reign of Hawkmoth) the odds of having DID and other such rare mental illnesses sky rocketed. And when you’re a little girl suffering from any number of abuses and traumas every day, and you see a girl not much older than you flying over the roof tops to save the day…well it’s easy to see how Marinette knew at least three systems with a Batgirl identity.

“Hello Mini Cat.” It was still Daisy’s voice coming through the phone, but it was far more serious and harder than Daisy’s soft, bubbliness. Marinette often imagined that it was what Daisy’s voice would sound like if she didn’t have DID. That girl had been through too much.

“Hello Mini Bat,” Marinette returned without a second’s pause. “Daisy said you wanted to talk.”

“Yes,” Batgirl said simply, “I just needed to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Is Selina Catwoman, and if so does that mean Bruce Wayne is Batman?”

Marinette found herself laughing. “If this girl could hold a steady job,” she thought a little bitterly, “She’d be Police Commissioner by now, and Gotham would be better for it.” But instead she said, “Batgirl, you know I can’t answer any questions about the Sirens! Or any of the Batclan I meet! I thought you respected that. Besides what makes you think that? ‘Do the butts match?’”

“No need to get snippy, Mari, I know the importance of a secret identity better than anyone. If anyone knew the truth about me, Daisy, and Marven…well.”

“I get it,” Marinette said with a small smile on her lips. Daisy/Batgirl knew she wasn’t the real Batgirl. But that didn’t stop her from acting like it. She shook her head when she realized what Batgirl had just said. “Wait what happened to Jessica?”

“Daisy told you we attempted integration? Well, we got to the point where Daisy and Jessica integrated, and things got…better. But then Scarecrow attacked Daisy’s place of work, and now we have Marven. Now we are waiting to see if Jessica is back, or just dormant.”

“Do you think you’ll try again?” Marinette said cautiously. Integration was a tricky subject for most Systems. Some thought it was a betrayal. Some thought it was the goal. Some just didn’t care. Marinette's problems were not the same, but she understood them. Her masks were precious to her, and the thought of getting rid of one of them…of losing one them…it was a scary thought. And she most definately did not want to say the wrong thing.

However Batgirl just hummed to her question and said, “I do not know. We have not broached the topic again. As you can imagine many of the Systems in our group called to kick us out for attempting it.” Marinette hissed at that, but Batgirl continued, "We were not though, enough of the others stood up for us. But in the end it was for naught. And after Scarecrow…it just seems fruitless. If we can split that easily again, then staying in Gotham while integrating is not feasible. There are too many triggers and stressors here. Daisy suggested that we move to Metropolis and try again, but we do not have the money to live sustainably there and still seek therapy. At least here in Gotham the Wayne provide professionals at all of their community centers for free.”

It was all spoken very practically and stoically, but Marinette felt the pang of it deep in her heart. She wanted nothing more than to help her friend in anyway she would let her. Besides Selina was about to come into some money, and MDC had quite the savings account. But Batgirl was a true Gothamite. They were made of steel, and they hated charity. They would either make it on their own or not at all. It was an attitude that was extraordinarily refreshing for Marinette when she first moved there. Especially after the entitlement and never-ending demands of her former “friends.” Still it couldn’t hurt to offer, but before she could Batgirl continued,

“But that is not what I wanted to talk with you about. You see, I need to get into contact with my active self.”

Marinette furrowed her brow. “Active self” was what Systems with a Bat or other hero identity called the real heroes and vigilantes they were modeled for. Marinette mostly ignored the other Systems when they said they stumbled on a conspiracy (detectives they were not). But Daisy/Batgirl/Marven knew who she was for a reason. That reason being, they had discovered Marinette’s connection with the Sirens after only three weeks of knowing her.

Out of everyone she knew from before and after Paris, Daisy/Batgirl/Marven were the only ones who had figured it out. Marinette had no doubt in her mind, that if they ever met the Waynes in person, they would see the truth immediately. That had not happened yet, and Marinette always listened to them when they said they had something, because they usually did. So, Marinette straightened up and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing urgent it’s just…the cult that’s in the basement of the building across the street from Daisy’s work. You remember them, right?”

“Yeah,” Marinette said shifting in her seat. She didn’t like cults. Too many lost Miraculous had fallen into the hands of narcissistic fools who decided to go on a power trip with their new power. It was not fun fighting them, because most of the time the people she was beating to pulp were innocent kids who were just lost and broken…like her. However, she did enjoy punching the leaders, before stealing the Miraculous. She said none of this to Batgirl of course. Instead, she opted for,

“Catwoman and I checked them out. They’re harmless. Well…not to the chickens, but for the most part they’re fine.”

“I know,” Batgirl said slowly, “But something is changing. Daisy saw some strange lights coming from their windows, and when I watched over her shoulder, I noticed that some of the members were behaving, for lack of a better word, antsy. Two even threw their robes at the leader and stormed off to the bar next door. I’m half tempted to stake out the other cults we know of to see if anything unusual is happening to them. But Daisy is working the night shift this week, so that would not be feasible.”

Marinette nodded thoughtfully before saying, “I’ll talk to Catwoman, see if she can get into contact with the Batman. And if he won’t look into it, we will. And you don’t do anything crazy! Let your active self and the rest of the Batclan handle things. You focus on yourself, and your system got it!”

“Of course, I am not a fool,” Batgirl said simply. “By the way, it is not like you to call out of the blue, even if you are in Gotham. Is something wrong?”

Marinette smiled softly and leaned back, “Nothing's wrong. Just a lot of memories have been surfacing lately. You know from when I was going through my identity crisis.”

“Are you not still going through an identity crisis?”

“Ha-ha,” Marinette said sardonically, “But yes, I suppose I am. It’s just…I know logically that the masks are me, and I am the masks, or whatever but…”

“You feel that they are too separate that even the attempt to reconcile them is akin to killing a part of yourself.”

“You see,” Marinette said letting some Lady Noire bleed in, “This is why I like you. You. You get me.”

“I know because it is the same for us,” Batgirl said simply. “It is the same for every System. You are different though. You have control over who you are, while we…we have to come to terms with the fact that we are many. Not just one. So I suppose the only question you have to ask yourself is…who are you Marinette?”

Marinette sighed deeply, “I have been trying to answer that question since I was thirteen years old. At this point…I think I’m too divided to even begin. My masks, my alter egos, they’re too contradictory. I don’t even know where to being consolidating them.”

“Well,” Batgirl said sardonically, “It’s not like they're completely different individuals that you are unaware of. And it’s not like you’re not currently living with a licensed psychologist…you do still stay with the Sirens when you’re in Gotham right?”

“Yes,” Marinette said fondly, “But I think Harley lost her license for obvious reasons.”

“Misogyny,” Batgirl declared, “If Crane can keep his license—”

“No,” Marinette said, “He lost his license too. I checked after our last debate.”

“Hm,” Batgirl sniffed, “Well I still claim misogyny. Oh, Daisy wants to front. Give me a moment.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and waited for the girls to switch. When they did, they continued to talk and even made plans for lunch the next day. They talked about Marinette’s travels, and her business. She never told them what she did as Lady Noire, or Ladybug, and they never asked. They talked about her plans for the wedding. They talked about everything and nothing, and Marinette felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

The fact was that ever since she had seen Alya at the engagement party, all of the old fears of inadequacy had lodged themselves like an arrow right between her shoulder blades. She remembered all of the work, all of the effort, all of the pain she had put into their friendship only for it to fall apart. Only for her to not be enough. But talking with Daisy…it was like she had never left Gotham. Daisy never made her earn her friendship. They were just as broken as her, and they understood and cared. And every time they met their friendship was effortless and free.

Marinette took a deep breath and sighed, content and completely, totally relaxed for the first time in days.  

-----------------------------------

Lila looked over at her latest toy. Derek Silvers was the eldest son of John Silvers of old money Gotham. They had kept that money through sound investments, real estate, and, of course, mob connections. The Silvers were too pompous and stupid for the Court of Owls, and Lila had wisely put them on her “sheep” list. But the son was handsome enough, so they became an integral part of her plans. All it had taken was a short dress with a low neckline and a bottle of wine, and the entire family was at her command.

She told the father she was only dating his son to get close to him. She told the son she was only teasing the father so that he wouldn’t try to keep them apart. Of course, she would never let that gross old Letcher touch her, and Mrs. Silvers was too muddled by pills to see her as any thing but, “A sweet young girl, who will do her son some good.” In the end, it was almost too easy to have the entire family bowing to her every whim. Surrendering the best room in the house to her and her “Deri” and showing her off at all of the premiere parties, where rich fool after rich fool fell into her clutches. Her bank account had never been fuller.

She sat up in her bed and rolled her neck before grabbing her robe. She stood in the window and let the fool moon bath her in its cool light as she stretched in contentment. She was growing stronger. Stronger than she had ever been before. She had thought that Paris had been her peak. With almost the entire city clouded and deluded by the fear of Hawkmoth, she had weaved her webs to near perfection, and everyone had bowed to her. But now…Now she played with the growing consciousness in her mind. It was like a balloon, slowly inflating to give her strength.

Perhaps, she thought with a laugh, I’ll soon be powerful enough to sway even Little Miss Perfect, Marinette.

“Oh, I doubt that.” The new voice was low, chilling to the bone, and inhumane in its tone and power. It had Lila snapping her eyes wide, but she dared not turn around. But there, right behind her in the window’s reflection stood a man. He was tall, dark, and Lila had always thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Everything about him was perfect, except for his eyes. His eyes, which had the shape of a goats, and were glowing blood red. He terrified her, he always had. And yet, it was impossible for her not to desire him above every other man she had ever been with. And that scared her even more.

“And why not?” Lila finally said, her mouth was dry, but she hid it well. “I grow stronger every day. And with you supporting me how can I fail?”

“Because my dear,” the demon said with an amused smile, “Your adversary wields the very forces of Nature. Lies are the antithesis of Nature. She will always be stronger than you.”

Lila shifted in an attempt to loosen her stiffening muscles. She stifled the seething anger that was threatening to burn away all of her common sense. The creature behind her might have been her ally since she had begun her work, but that didn’t mean she could expose herself to him any more than she could her employers. He only respected power, and Lila would give him power, that was their deal. Speaking off their deal…

“If that is the case, then I suppose you are incapable of holding up your side of our contract.”

“Oh?” The demon said and Lila felt a hand begin to stroke her arm. She tensed and shivered under the touch as she felt his talons gently scratch her bare skin. It was both tender and threatening. A reminder that in this relationship she was not the predator, she was the prey.

“If I recall the terms,” he said smirking at her reflection, “My job is to hold people to your contract in exchange for their souls. I offered to bolster your power, but you refused that offer.”

Lila’s heart was pounding out of her chest. She didn’t know if it was out of fear or desire, but she figured those were the same thing to this creature. But she refused to show either of those things to him. She would not show weakness that’s what he wanted. “I prefer to keep my soul thank you very much. But as I recall, our deal was that you would give me everything within the world. And then I would give you the world. How can I do that if I cannot bend Marinette to my will?”

“Do not play semantics with me girl,” the demon growled in her ear as knife like talons dug into her arms and made her gasp. “I always keep my side; it is you humans who try to cheat. Understand?”

“Yes,” Lila whimpered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Lord,” Lila said, and it was only when he released her that she felt the shame and anger at her weakness, at showing him her fear, and her desire. But he did not address either. Instead, he went back to soothingly stroking her arm, with the amused smirk still watching her in the window.

“Good,” he said in his deep inhuman tone. “Now understand that the Grand Guardian of the Miraculous is not a simple mortal. There are laws. Ancient powers and creeds that restrict both my movement against them and theirs against me. If our plan is to succeed, then you will have to defeat her…try finding where she keeps the Miraculous. My guess is at the Temple, but you never know. She has already overthrown many traditions simply by being a woman. It is something to consider.”

“Yes Lord,” Lila said forcing her usual controlled tone.

“Now tell me,” the demon said almost casually, “How long do you plan to keep this welp? He can’t be more than a puppy. I doubt he satisfies you.”

“He serves his purpose,” Lila said coldly. “He doesn’t need to be any more than that.”

“Hmm,” the demon said, and this time he gripped her arms gently, “You really should consider selling me your soul. It would make our plans far easier. Besides you can’t really think you’re going to Heaven after all of this! Don’t you think it’s better to have your future afterlife secured? With me?”

“I will never be a slave,” Lila said with a fire that was always just lurking under her surface. A fire she had had since…no she didn’t think about when she had gained the fire.

The demon seemed far more amused by this than anything she had said yet because he gave a low chuckle that sent shivers down her spine and said, “No, you’re just the slaver.”

Lila spun around; mouth open to shout. But there was no one there. Suddenly her growing power and the moonlight were no longer nearly as satisfying as they had been a few minutes ago. With a scowl strong enough to curdle milk, she climbed back into bed and woke her toy. But he was not nearly as satisfying as he had been earlier that night. It only made her angrier as a heavy weight settled on her shoulders. 

Taglist:

(Disclaimer: I am not a professional. If you are or are a person with DID, and you noticed that I got something wrong. Please let me know respectfully down in the comments, and I will attempt to fix it. All I want is to be kind and respectful to the read people with DID. Thank you!!!)

Next

@tails-and-scales @the-ghost-trader @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @the-dumber-scaramouche @yoonjae20 @robyalix @seraphichana @iglowinggemma28 @taewinterbear95 @heretopasstimebi @littleblue5mcdork @quotesandanime @komatsuna-yuki @attractivemyfoot @deathssilentapproach-blog @vel-vee @vixen-uchiha @lady-bee-fechin @qualityhistorygamingwinner @its-maemain  @meira-3919 @raven-ette @doglover82 @plz-excuse-my-inner-gay @laurcad123 @crazylittlemunchkin @iamablinkmarvelarmy

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

It's no longer the wintertimes but I Do Not Care. Here is some snowy Dickate for yall

It's shaping up to be a beautiful Christmas in Gotham. The snow is coming down in thick, fluffy droves, piling on top of the ice that came down earlier, so it's also shaping up to be a particularly dangerous night in Gotham, just not the kind of danger Dick can do anything about.

It's beautiful, and magical, and Dick is pissed. He doesn't care much for Christmas one way or the other, most of the Bats don't, but there's someone in his life who does care about Christmas, at least a little, and he'd had some ideas, a plan maybe, but of course it is all for fucking nothing because that is what happens with long distance relationships.

Dick realizes he is sulking, which does not help his mood. If anything, he sinks deeper into his sulk. The problem is he doesn't even have anyone to be mad at, except perhaps the universe writ large. It's not Kate's fault a planet needs to be saved, it's certainly not the planet's fault, and he's not sure exactly why the planet needs saving, but if there's someone to be mad at there, he doesn't know who it is.

Aaaand now Dick is thinking about Hawkeye fighting an unknown foe in a dimension he can't even reach, which makes him feel like he needs to scratch himself out of his skin. It's not that he doesn't trust her team (they're on thin fucking ice but he trusts them) it's just that he would feel so much better if he was there, watching Kate's back.

Well, more accurately, for Hawkeye to be watching his back, with Dick in front of her taking the brunt of the immediate danger. Kate would quietly seethe about it, but she'd eventually admit that it's the best tactical move since she sees better from a distance and can also keep danger from becoming immediate, and therefore something Dick has to deal with.

They're a good team.

Dick realizes that he's no longer sulking but is in fact pining around the same time he realizes his legs are going a bit numb. He bounces on the balls of his feet, watches a sedan skid through an empty intersection before slowing to a crawl.

Thankfully there's no cars for them to hit, most of the city tucked safely away for the night. This car is probably one of the last few stragglers from midnight church services, and he can probably just head home. Not that he wants to. He doesn't exactly want to go to the manor, either, though that does sound marginally better than heading to his empty apartment. At least he won't be alone.

Though apparently he's not alone here. He can hear snow crunching behind him, though how they got this close without him realizing is slightly concerning.

"Nightwing?" A muffled voice calls. "I thought your turf was Blüdhaven."

Dick heaves a long suffering sigh before turning to urge whatever insane Gothamite is out to go home.

He registers the purple first. A knit purple hat pulled over long dark hair. Two steaming cups of some sweet holiday coffee held in Nightwing merch blue fingerstripe gloves. A split lip. Cheeks red from the cold. Snow catching in strands of hair.

Kate.

"Hey, stranger," she says, sounding almost shy.

Her smile starts to fade as Dick doesn't respond, as he spends too much time just taking her in.

"Kate?" Is all he manages to say. Smooth. His voice even cracks a little.

"Yep."

Dick feels a slow warmth seep out from his chest. "Put the coffee down," he croaks. He's freaking her out a little, can tell by the crease in her brow as she sets the drinks down on the wrought-iron cafe table someone dragged to this rooftop. He's in front of her before the cups even leave her hands and scooping her up the moment she's turned back around, pressing his face against her neck and burrowing until he can nuzzle against bare skin.

Kate yelps but doesn't make any move to get away. "Fuck, your nose is cold!" She presses him closer with a hand at the back of his head and locks her ankles behind his back. Dick doesn't let go, though, tightening his grip under her thighs.

"Didn't think you were going to make it," he says, once he's breathed her in enough for the moment.

"Apparently, I was 'moping' and 'making everyone feel bad' so they cut me loose for cleanup," she says, and Dick laughs into her skin.