#and of course was impossible to get any kind of worthy photo of

[vinca-majors]

Sleeping at Last | August 30, 2023: Super Blue Moon

[creator-yimynany]

For me, it is no problem hating Chloe and hating what she did in S3 before, but if you want to discredit her + mindlessly condoning Marinette's mistakes in the story and not being able to think/hate the same thing + following Thomas, I can only say that it's best not to focus on me either, I hate moron... I will not say how the previous behavior, S5 bullying episode all the ooc do not show me to talk about it（only this）, I only know that Thomas has problems in shaping the plot, can you let go of the character, there are some Chloe fans, I hope you will not always indulge Chloe because of unfair treatment when you can not see what she did before, ending.

After all, whether it is psychology, or political perspective, or ideological height, or the plot he writes is not objective, or his attitude toward diversity, or his treatment of other people's opinions, in fact, Thomas is not worthy of creation.

Maybe he is very imaginative, I do not deny that, maybe he also has talent, but he is arrogant and arrogant, and unwilling to progress, I do not understand why some people follow him, he considers himself as a god, you worship him and do not doubt him to create a cult... ?

I don't hate people for no reason, and I don't need Chloe to be a good person, but I want it to at least make sense in all kinds of portraying. Wouldn't it be ridiculous to blame Chloe for the mistakes made by Marinette, the perfect "love brain" molded by Thomas's stereotypical bias against women?

Not to mention that Chloe will not bully Marinette, I can only say that Chloe's level of thinking is not enough for her to target and think of these vicious tricks, not to mention that Marinette's character is not holy kind, so it is impossible for her to get along with Kim without any problem (S1). Even her ability to be angry at Lila's lying level and her parents' willingness to come forward when it came to Lila, and the fact that Socqueline doesn't appear in photos of old school friends of Marinette's, is Marinette "alone"and"hurt"?

At least I used to like Marinette, but even when I analyzed it carefully, I couldn't see the saintly goodness of certain fanfic&fanart. She's just a very normal, healthy little girl with a lot of taste, and I can't possibly approve of all the character building in that episode anyway.

Of course, the plot collapse started in S3 when Thomas gradually took control of the plot, and while it's not his fault for the characters alone, he can even see from his own subjective design of the old canon that he is actually a potential misogynist. Although each generation of the old canon from the perspective of official commercialization of some cultural understanding and character understanding is too limited, so there are shortcomings.

(You could say Adrien's cowardice is shaped by women, Thomas, but I'll leave it at that. Fans choose.)

As for Thomas's political attitude, not to mention others, he supports independence in a certain city in China. I really feel that one day he will also let Marinette, his "daughter" and body, support him. Isn't Marinette the body he uses as his speaking body? Oh, so does Zoe, although I pity her for being born like this, But even if some fans protect Zoe, if zoe is really loved, she will not be designed to be an illegitimate child or even a "substitute" role (You fans better not come to steal chloe's old canon, or you will make more inspiration for jokes and sarcasm to me, although your dear Thomas will probably distort the truth to put Zoe in charge one day, but don't come to me, I'm not gonna listen to you kiss Thomas.)

[pocketmania]

umm, hi! first time anon here, and also first time requester, i've been reading a lot though, i fucking love blogs like this ❤

splatoon 🎨🔫hurt/comfort, sfw (but it can be suggestive...) acht (or any other idol, but my brain keeps swinging back to acht) x human! reader? i'm a sucker for existential comfort like that, (and it's so incredibly hard to settle on a character since all of them have a unique perspective or attitude one could use as a lens for that kind of thing, aughhhh 💥💥💥) everything loved and known to you is dead and forgotten, but something just as, if not more, worthy of that love and memory can be found in it's place i'm trying to write stuff in that vein myself and i don't see enough of it...

Aaa hi! Thank you for consulting me to write for you!

I'm gonna go with Acht on this one (again, this marks my 4th time writing about them) since they seem to be familiar with existential dread lol

I'm also sorry if this is bad or not what you wanted! As you can see, I'm not the best at writing lol (at least not without making it too long)

Now onto the thingy

‎‧₊˚✧[ Alternan Survivor ]✧˚₊‧

(🎨🔫🤬❤️‍🩹) - splatoon comfort

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

- - - - - - -

"WHAT ARE YOU?!" You screeched, holding out your hand in case of an attack and backing into a corner, absolutely helpless.

Okay, time to back up. 'How did you get here?' You woke up from some sort of capsule in a dark, damp room. You managed to exit the room but were, unfortunately, met with an equally dark and damp corridor. All the doors, save one, were locked. You opened the door, closed it behind you, and began to rummage around, hoping that there was something to help you understand what was going on.

All there was was a bed, a DJ turntable, a minifridge, a desk with a laptop on a composing software, and some other stuff. You decided to check the desk first since it seemed the most useful. You were rummaging around in it, but you nothi-

Click.

You heard the door open and immediately snapped your head around to find who opened it. It was this.. green, octopus humanoid. Its tentacles were red and blue, but most of them were covered by its headphone-hat combo. It had mirror shades, knee-high boots, and a black tank-top dress. Its fingertips were also red.

You were mortified at the.. thing before you, and you screamed at the top of your lungs. You somehow tripped on your own feet, knocking a bunch of things off the desk on your way down. You scooted to a corner, your heart in your mouth.

The creature pulled up its shades, revealing yellow eyes. Yellow eyes that looked sad and tired. Yellow eyes that looked concerned. It held out its hands to show that it posed no threat to you, but you were still incredibly nervous.

And that's how you got to where you were now. The thing attempted to speak to you, but it was nothing but gibberish to your ears. You squinted, trying to make out any words that would make any sort of sense to you. It still didn't.

The octopus-humanoid realized that you couldn't understand it, so it went over to its laptop and began to type something out. It cautiously brought it over and crouched so you could see it better.

Some sort of article was pulled up, but, of course, you couldn't read the writing. However, a specific picture stuck out to you.

A photo. A photo of many human bones found underground. Next to a rocket.

Suddenly, everything made sense. The capsule, being underground, the creature standing before you.

Humans were dead.

Memories suddenly came flooding back to you; Alterna, Judd, the sentient Telephone. You put yourself into that capsule somewhere far away from Alterna as you didn't trust the younger scientists and their ambition. The rocket launch everyone had been talking about must have failed. You didn't know how long you had been asleep, but the article answered that for you.

Twelve thousand years. It was impossible. Well, it obviously wasn't since you were sitting there right now when you should've died twelve thousand years ago.

You looked (and felt) defeated. You held your head in your hands, and you began to sob violently. You couldn't understand anyone.. you didn't know where you were.. your entire kind.. ceased to exist..

The thing crouched beside you and rose a hand to pat your back. You found it oddly comforting, despite not knowing whatever was comforting you was. After about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, your sobbing slowed. You sat in disbelief.

The creature spoke to you again. You still didn't know what it was saying, but you could tell it felt bad for you. Then, it stood up and held out a hand. A hand for you to take, for you to rely on, for you to trust.

You hesitated. All of this was happening so fast in such little time. But.. the creature didn't seem to pose a threat. It helped you understand and even comforted you (to some extent).

You took its hand and stood up.

Everything was still over your head, especially the new life that had emerged while you were asleep. But you could trust that this.. person.. would help you. "Thank you," you said, sniffling and rubbing your eyes. They smiled.

They, at least, seemed to understand your thankfulness.

- - - - - - -

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

[ninacarstairss]

*sitting down with a warm cup of apple and cinnamon tea* of course i was excited!!! you’re definitely not annoying, you know you never have to worry about that with me!! i’m always ready to listen to you tell me all about your amazing trips and days <3

yeah that’s good, the first week isn’t much to catch up on but still i get it :,( after a trip it’s always harder to get back into a serious uni mood

ohhh that’s right sydney must look so beautiful right now painted in all those rainbows!!! i bet it felt so much more welcoming 🥹🥹🥹 also the rainbow shark would have been so cool to see in real life but still all the other rainbows sound pretty perfect 🥹

that’s what you’re supposed to do when you find a train like that lol i mean who wouldn’t be there screaming and jumping excitedly about seats that move?? i just love that

nero why would i get mad?? i probably should if i had any kind of semi regular sleep schedule i could fund my anger on, but i don’t, whoever am i to judge? i honestly would have done the same 😂 i mean why get to bed for like 3 or 4 hours? i would hardly get asleep in that time. and you did lots of stuff so that’s always great. whenever i have to leave for a trip at like 4am i never sleep at all either and i end up being so productive from like 1am to 4am 😂 (i’m not a really great friend am i?? that’s terrible advice and even worse influence 🥲)

anyway you dozed on the plane and slept that afternoon so it’s great, you got some sleep time back!! and really worth it for merch 😌 as much as i hate the heat, for merch i’d also stand in deadly heat. (aww so that’s so close!!! i need to bake a cake right away!!!)

right?? they have my full support but they also already have all my money from that concert ticket i bought 😭😭 why make the merch so expensive too?? no way!!!! merch is always the best magnet, i love it when you’re wearing something from an artist and people strike up conversations about it!!!! it’s like finding your family among strangers

have i ever told you you’re amazing and i love you so much?? i’ll say it again anyway <33 but yes i’ll definitely try it when i get the chance!!

ohh that’s so great!!! it really sounds like it was the best two days ever 😻 also, blue lemonade? purple lychee -ade?? i don’t even know what lychee-ade is but i’m loving it an i need to try it!! aww yes i’d definitely be proud!! i love this way of thinking :)

omg!!! i’m so happy and jealous, it must be stunning!!! and really finding it in a bookstore is almost impossible, so this one was really perfect. you are the best bookstore magnet!! yeah you might need a new shelf before you have to start piling on the floor too 😂

nero i’m so happy 😭😭😭 i’m so happy it was a perfect trip and an amazing experience to see both rina and stray kids 🥹 i’m so happy you got to sing along to their songs live and dance around in the venue and get all those freebies and memories!!!

ohhh album cover worthy!!! please do release an album with a cover like that, i would buy the hell out it

well yeah i mean how can you enjoy a concert like that?? i need to move, jump, scream, sing horribly and all that!!! it’s just so much better when you get to live a concert like that!! and i mean the videos and photos are your memories, who cares if they’re blurry or if you can only hear yourself scream in those videos?? i love the videos i have from my concerts exactly for that, because i can listen to me screaming and laughing like a crazy child and the camera doesn’t stay still for one second, because they give me the exact same feeling i had back then, that perfect feeling of freedom and happiness. to me that’s the beauty of terrible videos

ughh so very true 😂 just today i had to deal with a few of those people who just seemed to get into the store only to annoy me :,) but now i can cuddle simba and use him as a stress reliever as i plan for the trip lol i love that you agree that was a wise investment to make. i mean how could i refuse to buy such an amazing edition??

aww patting animals is always the best 🥺i always make a point to pat every dog and cat who walks into my store just because it always makes my day

nero i’m just so happy you mentioned her to me so i could get to know her music!!! and i love your age and this hell so much, also forgiveness is perfect!!! i still have to listen to some songs from the album but i really love her style a lot!!! and a playlist taylored to you— omg it’s the perfect name, i love it. and i’ll want to know more about it!! what songs are you liking so far??

yayy one can never have enough biscoff cream!!! i’m hugging you back real tight and preparing a warm cup of tea <3333

hello cece my beautiful wonderful beloved soulmate <3

i hope you have been well and looking after yourself! i don’t want you overworking yourself 😭 but it has been two days since i have come back from my trip (i have been exhausted plus i had work and uni to catch up on) so now i am going to sit down and tell you about my trip!! please grab a cup of tea and a snack while you read :)

so i went to sydney again, and i had a much more enjoyable experience this time around. i think it was because i knew what i was getting into, and i stayed in the exact same place, so it was all familiar to me.

although i did try to use the public transport this time, instead of ubering everywhere, and the buses were so bad, but the trains were INCREDIBLE! they were double decker and the back support moved so you could have a single row or two rows of seats face each other??? SO COOL

anyways, me and my friend caught the train to the airport at 4am in the morning 😭😭😭 (and i finished work at 12am!!!!) to get our flight. once we landed in sydney, my friend wanted to get merch from the early presale stand outside the arena and we were outside in 30 degree heat FOR TWO HOURS, with our luggage. good news, my birthday is coming up and my friend didn’t know what to get me, so he bought half my merch 🤭 bad news, i’m ginger and i get sunburnt in two minutes, so think about two hours… the worst thing is we had an umbrella for sun protection, but my right arm and the back of my neck was out so they were FRIED. i’m currently peeling like a reptile but worth it

we got some food from maccas because we were dehydrated and getting heat stroke, and then checked into our room after we managed to get our stuff. we both ended up napping in the afternoon, which we were both surprised about, because i had my phone in my hand still attached to the charger next to my bed and he still had his genshin impact loaded up onto his ipad 😭😭😭

unfortunately the place i wanted to take him to for dinner, the really good japanese place from last time, was under renovation, so we had dinner elsewhere but we had such a good time the rest of our trip

because we went to see stray kids, a kpop group, we had a lot of activities we could indulge in. they had this thing called a cupsleeve event, where someone in the fandom designs a cupsleeve to represent a kpop idol’s birthday, group anniversary or in our case, coming to the city. and i got so many freebies! we went to this kpop store that doubled as a cafe and the drinks were so good! i bought way too much but i have to remind myself that i can’t get it at home 😔

we also went to the biggest bookstore i have ever seen in my life! it took up a whole floor of the shopping centre and it was brilliant. it had books upon books, categories after categories. they even had an entire chinese and japanese section! i also spent a lot of money there BUT my best find was the entire completed infernal devices manga trilogy!! it’s so beautiful and such a rare find, i grabbed it immediately. i couldn’t find the tmi graphic novels though, but they have them on their website, so i might order them in :)

alright, the main event! the concerts! so i went and saw the kpop group, stray kids, two nights in a row! it was amazing. i was and still am a huge fan of their work, but especially because they got me through a really hard time in my life and really were my serotonin while i was at school 😔 i wasn’t allowed to see them when they first came here four years ago (parents: maybe next year, they’ll come! *next year being 2020.*) so i feel like i finally made up for it.

me and my friend also matches outfits! we did black and green (the concert colours) on the first night, and red and white on the second (to match the stray kids colours). i wish i could send you photos, we looked so slay 🤩

i do not have one concert video without me screaming the lyrics (yeah the korean ones too!) in the back. but i don’t care, it was so fun, i had a blast. and it was even better because two of the members of stray kids were from sydney and they just made it feel more homely :) do not regret how much money i spent on them or the sleep i lost at all! i’m so glad i can slowly start to give myself the experiences i missed out on as a kid/teenager :’)

anyways, enough about me! how have you been? what have you been up to? how is simba? 🥺 i adore you so much and i am enclosing this letter with a warm hug <3333

hello nero my amazing perfect beloved soulmate <3

yay i’m so happy to finally hear about this trip!!! i just made myself a cup of tea and brought out some biscoff cream!!

how was the catching up part?? did you manage to catch up without exhausting yourself too much??

nero that’s so great!! i think that having a familiar surrounding is always helpful, and staying in the same place makes it all less scary somehow. i’m really happy it went much better!!

NO WAY THEY HAVE THOSE TRAINS THERE??? they look so cool!!! i’ve seen them on instagram once and i was so jealous of every city who had those trains!! you can literally choose if you want to sit alone or have company and that’s so cool!!! it’s basically a buildable environment!!! i’m getting way too excited about this lol

so you only had like three hours of sleep?? 😭😭😭😭 and you even had to stand in the heat for hours 😭😭😭 but yay!!! merch!!! that’s a really great birthday gift!!! (also when is your birthday??? only if you want to share of course <3)

anyway merch is so amazing and so expensive. this has got to be one of the best presents ever!!! even if it means you’re skinning like a reptile now lol at least it’s just two small spots instead of your whole self 😂 but i get the struggle. i’m not ginger but my skin is so light i always get sunburnt in 0.5 seconds too. definitely not fun, but worth it for some merch :D

that was probably a really fun situation to wake up to, but you both deserved a nap for catching a bus at 4am!!! especially since you had only a few hours of sleep after work!! at least you were rested enough to really enjoy the trip!!

oh no 😭😭 i’m still dreaming about that place!! i went to a my favorite japanese restaurant in my city a few days ago and i really wanted to try that beverage you told me about but i was driving so i couldn’t 😭 i hope this other restaurant was really good too though!!

no way!!! nero this is all way too cool!!! i’m so happy it was so fun and there were so many things to do!!! also this cupsleeves event sounds so cool!! i’m so happy nero, you’re making my day just by telling me about all these freebies and amazing drinks!! and you know i’m always gonna be the little devil on your shoulder telling you that spending money is good and you deserve all that amazing stuff :))

the tid manga trilogy??? how is that even possible omg you can’t find that anywhere!!!! i’m so jealous, i wanna live in this bookstore now 🥺 it’s got to be so amazing!! (you always find the best bookstores, i had no doubt there would be one in this letter too and i was so excited to read about it!!) and let me know if you do order the tmi graphic novels!! i’ve been trying to collect those too hehe

the fact that *next year* was 2020 is so painful. but you saw them two nights in a row!!! that’s amazing!! and it must have been so good to see them after so long, after they’d been by your side in a really tough time 🥹 i’m so happy you got to finally see them live!!

also, the matching outfits?? I LOVE THAT!!! i bet you looked so slay!!! that’s literally the best idea for what to wear to a concert!!!

nero i’m so so happy for you!!! you’ve made my whole day, i’m not even joking!! i’m so happy you’re finally getting to enjoy trips and concerts you couldn’t before!! and this one really sounded so perfect!!! also the videos with you screaming at the top of your lungs to every song are literally the best. i love it when i rewatch a video from a concert and i can hear myself screaming and crying and dying more than i can hear the band or the singer. it just makes me live all those memories and those amazing feelings again!!!

the money spent on this is totally worth it!!! and you can sleep now, uni can wait lol really nero i’m so happy this trip was so good!!! i’m so happy for you!!!

i’m good!! i got three days off from work this week so that was great, and i started to reread chain of iron so that i can reread chain of thorns right after :) i miss them so much already 🥲

anyway i just booked a trip for may, because a friend is coming to visit me and i’m gonna be off work for two weeks so i’m really looking forward to it and now i just wanna skip work and plan the itinerary 😂 and i want to book more trips too. which isn’t great because my bank account is already crying and begging me to stop buying stuff. did i tell you i got the illumicrate edition of chain of thorns with the alternative dust jackets? yeah so my bank account still hasn’t forgiven me for it :,)

simba is also doing really good, he’s eating a lot and sleeping a lot as usual 😌

also, ever since you told me about the rina sawayama concert, and because you always talked so much about her, i kinda started listening to her music a lot more and i’m obsessed with some songs now!!! i adore her style so thank you for this new obsession :>

i’m enclosing a warm hug for you too and a little bouquet of flowers <3

[mimisempai]

Every time I look at you, I fall in love again

Summary:

As he gazes at his sleeping lover, Loki remembers the moments where he fell in love with Mobius.OrFive times when Loki's heart pounded in a special way and once when it pounded in a familiar way.

Notes:

Tumblr request : a 5+1 - it could be about moments in their relationship where Loki falls more in love w/ Mobius

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32821156

2084 words - Rating G

1.

For once, Loki woke up this morning before Mobius.

Leaning on his hand, he took the opportunity to watch his beloved while he slept.

As he gazed at the sleeping features of his lover, he was once again taken aback by the strength of his feelings.

Loki had little or no experience with love, so he had nothing to compare to what he was experiencing with Mobius right now.

No one had made him feel the way the man made him feel.

It was as if Mobius had wrapped his roots around Loki's heart little by little but without imprisoning him.

Mobius' love had set him free.

In return, Loki's feelings had taken root in Mobius' constancy.

Sometimes Loki liked to think about how his feelings had developed, because it had all happened so quickly that he had never been able to enjoy those stolen first moments.

It would be hard for Loki to say exactly when he had begun to notice that his relationship with Mobius was different from any relationship he had had before, but what he was sure of was that no one had ever been able to see through him as quickly as Mobius.

"I don't like to talk."

"But you do like to lie, which you just did. Because we both know you love to talk. Talkie-talkie."

Honestly, at that moment, Loki thought fondly, if he hadn't been so angry at being found out, he would have laughed.

As a matter of fact, it had become a fond memory for them. Whenever Loki would go into one of his grandiloquent tirades, Mobius would simply make this little gesture with his hand and would mouth "Talkie Talkie"

" You don't know anything about me.

"Maybe I'd like to learn."

It was probably at that moment that Mobius had begun to touch something in Loki that no one had ever touched. The fact that anyone would even bother to genuinely learn about him was in itself new. Except for his mother and Thor, most people had always assumed the worst of him.

"Honestly, I'm actually a fan. Yeah. And I guess I'm wondering why does someone with so much range just wanna rule?

Mobius had been the first to make him question himself.

Of course, at the time, he was not at all receptive to what Mobius' words really meant.

It had taken him some time to admit the truth.

The moment he had admitted it, the naked truth, without any more artifice, he had been ready to receive the final blow, the ratification of his vileness, but no, nothing like that.

"Because it's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear."

"'A desperate play for control.' You do know yourself."

"A villain."

"That's not how I see it."

That's not how I see it.

At that moment, Loki's heart had pounded for the first time.

The man in front of him had seen all the lowliness that Loki was capable of and yet he did not see him as a villain.

From the first hours of their meeting, he had made it impossible for Loki not to love him and from then on, his feelings had grown exponentially.

2.

As he walked down the path of his memories, Loki continued to gaze at Mobius as he slept. A small miracle in itself for Loki.

Knowing who Loki was, Mobius slept in his presence. The perfect image of absolute trust.

Loki sometimes still had trouble feeling worthy of such trust.

Seeing him sleeping like that, he thought of the day when he himself had first fallen asleep in this way with Mobius.

The day he fell a little more in love with Mobius.

It started with Mobius taking the blame for the failure of their first mission together, when it was all Loki's fault. They could have just pruned him, but no, Mobius had pleaded his case to Ravonna.

Then Loki had presented his theory to Mobius, admittedly with a rather shaky metaphor, even ruining one of his lover's favorite dishes.

"Well, here's a fun theory. You lure me out into the field, and then you stab me in the back. And that's a theory I don't wanna test."

"I'd never stab anyone in the back. That's such a boring form of betrayal."

"Loki, I've studied almost every moment of your entire life. You've literally stabbed people in the back, like, 50 times."

"Well, I'd never do it again, because it got old."

Mobius laughed and chose to follow Loki's theory, even though Loki had given him no reason to believe in him until now. Even though his theory was based on almost nothing, Mobius had chosen to believe Loki.

Then they returned from Pompeii and something happened that had never happened to Loki, he had fallen asleep. Loki, who was distrustful of everything and nothing, had simply fallen asleep in the presence of someone he hardly knew. As if his heart had understood before his mind that he had nothing to fear from Mobius.

When Mobius had woken him up, Loki's heart had pounded for the second time, and it wasn't fright that had caused it, but the realization that Loki was falling in love and falling deeply.

3.

As he looked up from his contemplation of Mobius, Loki's gaze fell on the photo that lay on his nightstand. A memory of their first vacations, when Mobius had finally realized his dream. In the middle of the paradisiacal decor of an island in Midgard, Loki had taken this photo of Mobius piloting -at last- a jetski. So much joy on his face.

Another thing that made Loki fall in love a little more: the passion of his lover for some small insignificant things.

Josta, salad, jet-ski...

"You know, some things... Actually, most things in history are kinda dumb, and everything gets ruined eventually. But in the early 1990s, for a brief, shining moment, there was a beautiful union of form and function, which we call the jet ski, and a reasonable man cannot differ."

"You ever been on one?"

"No... No. I think a TVA agent showing up on a jet ski on the Sacred Timeline, that would create a branch for sure."

"Oh it'd be fun, though."

"Yeah, it'd be really fun."

"So, why read about them?"

"It just helps remind me of what we're fighting for."

The expression Mobius had had at that moment, when he had said something like that with such candor had made Loki fall even more.

And his heart had pounded for the third time.

While he had sensed that what would happen next would destroy what Mobius believed in, Loki had not been able to stop himself from wanting to protect him and his happiness, and to hope that one day he would be able to realize his dream.

With his eyes on the photo commemorating a very real memory, he felt a sense of satisfaction, because his lover had been able to realize this dream and Loki had been there to witness it.

4.

"Loki... Don't go..."

Loki's eyes returned from the picture to his lover, whose features were now tense, probably from a nightmare.

"I'm here love, I'm not leaving. I'm staying with you."

Saying this, Loki gently strokes Mobius' cheek and his expression immediately relaxes. After a few seconds,he was sleeping peacefully again.

Loki didn't need to read Mobius' mind to know what he had dreamed.

He had known that he had taken a huge risk when he had decided to follow Sylvie and he had known that the reunion with Mobius would not be easy.

After all, he had betrayed him. But of all the acts of betrayal that Loki had been guilty of, this was the one that had cost him the most. Because of the feelings he was beginning to have for Mobius.

But what he hadn't imagined was that Mobius would almost turn into a jealous lover, even though at that point they didn't have that kind of relationship at all.

Loki had been incredibly surprised that it wasn't Loki's betrayal that had hurt Mobius the most, but the fact that he had made a connection with Sylvie.

"Come on. Look at your eyes. You like her."

"You like her. Does she like you?"

"Both of you were just swooning over each other."

"It's breaking my reality right now. What an incredible seismic narcissist. You fell for yourself."

"I'm supposed to believe your terrorist girlfriend"

"What, your female self that you have some demented crush on…"

Loki's heart had pounded for the fourth time when he realized what it could mean. He had fallen a little more at the thought of Mobius, at the thought that the man might be jealous, at the thought of what it might mean about Mobius' feelings for him.

5.

Then there had been that moment of grace, the exact moment when Loki had known that he was definitely in love with Mobius.

For the first time, when everything was against him, someone had chosen to believe in him. That someone was Mobius.

Even though he was clearly angry with Loki, he still listened to him and chose to believe him.

Despite Loki's attempts at manipulation, betrayals, and mistakes, Mobius renewed his faith in him and spoke those words that were imprinted in Loki's head.

"You could be whoever, whatever you wanna be, even someone good. I mean, just in case anyone ever told you different."

Loki's throat tightened as he was overwhelmed by the emotion of the memory.

Mobius had no idea how many wounds he had healed in Loki at that moment.

After what Loki had done, where Odin and Thor had not forgiven him, not only had Mobius forgiven him but even more amazingly, he had shown that he believed that Loki was capable of being good, of doing good.

At that moment, Loki's heart did not pound once, but thousands of times, at full speed.  Because of the joy and love that filled it.

The sudden disappearance of Mobius just afterwards had been all the more cruel. Because at that moment, they didn't know about the Void and Loki had thought Mobius was lost forever. He had been devastated.

He couldn't help but touch Mobius' face, gently so as not to wake him, then he whispered softly, "You too Mobius, do not ever leave me."

+1

They had found each other again.

When he first saw Mobius after he thought he had lost him, it only confirmed Loki's feelings for Mobius.

The way his heart had pounded at the sight of the one he loved was impossible to ignore.

So when they had to part once again, Loki had not been able to resist the pull of his heart, and instead of grabbing Mobius' hand, he had taken the man in his arms.

Loki had held Mobius in his arms many times since that moment, but he would never forget the feeling of that first hug. The feeling that the universe was in place. That he was where he belonged, that he was home.  He had expressed without words all that he felt and Mobius had answered him in the same way. They had to part again, but this time the bond between them was undeniable and unbreakable.

They had to go through a lot to finally enjoy their love, without the sword of Damocles, without the threat of the end of the world, or of a multiversal war over their heads, but they had made it. They were here now.

With each passing day, Loki fell a little more in love.

The Midgardian saying, I love you more than yesterday and less than tomorrow, had become his.

Because every time he looked at Mobius and realized the love they shared, he felt like it was stronger.

Mobius moved in his sleep, making the sheet slide off his shoulder.

Loki could not resist and leaned over to kiss the bare shoulder. Mobius woke up and turned to face Loki with a sleepy smile on his lips.

"Hey there handsome," Mobius whispered to Loki, gently kissing Loki's cheek. Loki's heart fluttered in a familiar way now, at such gentleness and at the adoration he read in his lover's eyes.

"Hey love," whispered Loki.

Mobius kissed him, his lips pressing lazily against Loki's. Loki smiled and kissed him back, happy.

Together they enjoyed the delights of a perfect, quiet morning.

_________

All other one-shots of this series here : X

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Ooooh boy! Welcome to a new side to writing from me! 

This little one shot is probably the most angst ridden one I’ve ever written. It’s okay though, promise! This is also the first time I’ve ever written about the characters as Sides instead of a Human AU... Plus the main premise of this was based off a scene in Thor 2, a film I absolutely adore! 

I hope you enjoy reading it. I loved writing it! <3

General writing taglist:  @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @red-imeanblue @lost-in-thought-20 @writerwithtoomanyships

Read on Ao3!

No More Illusions.

Platonic/Romantic Logicality.

Word count: 1,623

Warnings: Crying, hurt, anger mentions, angry actions.

Logan rubbed his neck, it was still sore from where Janus yanked him away during the video. That wasn’t the only thing that was sore, his heart felt bruised too. He was ignored, skipped and still seen as an inconvenience. Hell, he turned himself into a textbox so he was out of the way. Was that not enough?

Despite the rage and the heartbreak he felt surging through him. He couldn’t help but feel a need to check on Patton. Even though he was angry when he appeared back one final time, he noticed that Patton wasn’t… himself. The way he desperately tried to beg Logan to stay, the pleading in his eyes… something must have happened when he was taken away. He needed to find out what.

He walked through the Mind Palace cautiously, he could still feel the anger swelling in his chest and he didn’t want to take it out on anyone unnecessarily. He couldn’t do that to the others. Their intentions were in the right place, but all of them got clouded by their own judgements… by their own emotions, including him. He chuckled bitterly, Janus was right in the courtroom all along.

‘I don’t feel anything.’

‘Oh, of course you don’t.’

Right now, it was impossible to deny that Janus has been right all along. He was feeling more than it was possible to express. Including a sense of relief when he walked down the corridor and noticed that all of the room doors were shut tight. Everyone must be wallowing in their own problems, so he wouldn’t need to speak to anyone apart from the one person he was genuinely concerned about. He reached Patton’s door and knocked softly three times, one long, two short. He heard a sigh from the other side of the door and he wasn’t expecting what he saw when the door swung open.

“Logan!” Patton shouted in an overly positive voice. His smile was plastered onto his face, as if he was wearing a mask. There was a soft, yellow glow around him and the room had the same glow. Almost as if it was covered in gold.

“I didn’t think I would see you today! We… didn’t exactly treat you very well earlier. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with all of us for a while.” Logan stared at Patton, the smile didn’t falter… didn’t change at all. He knew that none of this was real. The mask was slipping, the voice didn’t match the ‘happy-pappy-Patton’ he knew. That’s when he realised, he needed to try and help.

“Is… there something you needed?” Patton laughed gently, but the gold outline around him was begin to crackle and his eyes were shifting back and forth, almost willing Logan to leave… practically begging him to leave. To let him fight this battle alone. Logan wasn’t going to let that happen. He took one step forward, gave Patton a soft smile and called out into the room.

“Patton, enough. Please. No more illusions.” His voice projected a sadness he didn’t even know he could feel. The fact that Patton needed to hide how he was feeling to such an extent, even from him, showed that the events that happened after he was removed must have been catastrophic.

Patton sighed once more, he bowed his head and the façade cracked, shattered and melted away. The gold outline started to fall from the ceiling. Patton began to disappear, leaving a gold shimmer in his place. The room fell into disrepair causing Logan to gasp. He knew that Patton kept a lot of different things in his room; photos, old books… pretty much any and all memories pertaining to Thomas. So to see such anger in a generally positive space, it was quite hard to look at. The books that were usually so delicately kept on bookshelves were tossed onto the floor, the dents in the wall showed the sheer force that some of them had been thrown across the room. Photos that were kept in piles based on the year they were taken were scattered carelessly around the entire wall. Frames with Thomas’ accomplishments were shattered, the things that Patton was proudest of, reduced to target practice. Logan claimed to not feel anything. The state of the room was a shock to be sure, but when he looked over at the bed, his heart broke right there on the spot.

He heard a small laugh, something that made him shudder as he saw Patton sit up on the bed. The sheets torn up, and the pillows ripped in half. His eyes were red raw from crying, his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. The cardigan normally lovingly wrapped around his shoulders was tossed into the bin, along with his polo shirt with his logo on it. A large hoodie covered him instead, he looked up at Logan, waiting for him to make some kind of comment.

“Now you see me, Logan.” He laughed in a monotonous way. Logan slowly took steps closer to the bed. He took his steps cautiously and Patton noticed the hesitation.

“I’ve hurt everyone… I- I couldn’t control myself. Janus was asking so many questions as you. I- I didn’t know the answers. I turned into Lilypadton. I hurt Thomas, something I swore I would never do. I’m supposed to be… good. I’m supposed to help protect him. I- I- I hurt you! I skipped things you were saying, I didn’t realise you were replaced. I didn’t mean to hurt everyone. I- I don’t know what to do… I’m a monster, Logan.” Patton’s body wracked with sobs, this uncontrollable pain radiated from him. As he started to glow a dark blue, Logan raced over and wrapped his arms around Patton as tight as he could.

Patton was rigid for a little while, but eventually he caved in and buried his head into Logan’s chest. He rubbed his back and told him repeatedly that everything was going to be okay. This was new for Logan, it’s been a long time since he felt this… helpless? He didn’t know if that was the right word, but he definitely felt unsure what to do. All he knew is that Patton needed him.

“Hey, listen to me. You must have been so overwhelmed and confused. Morality isn’t a cut and dry concept, you’re doing everything you can to help Thomas. Getting overwhelmed sometimes is nothing to be ashamed about. It’s part of nature. You can’t know everything the whole time. Thomas will end up in scenarios that will cause all of us to stumble and be uncertain.” He pushed Patton back so he could look him in the eyes and reassure him that things will be okay. He brushed his hair out of his face so he could look Patton right in the eyes. He couldn’t help but smile as Patton reluctantly looked up at him.

“You are not a monster. You can never think that, Patton. We’ve all made mistakes… but we grow as we go… we grow and learn with Thomas. No one thinks you’re a monster, least of all me. Okay?” Logan held Patton by the shoulders, and he seemed to relax more with every word. The tears were slowly stopping, but he could tell that Patton was trying to figure out how to say something. So he waited until he was ready.

“B- but, I hurt people. I hurt the people I care about most.” It was almost as if he was looking for any reason to keep beating himself up, to keep feeling miserable. Logan wasn’t having it.

“Patton, we’ve all been there. We’ve all hurt people, and we’ve been hurt in return. That’s just how things go. You are good, Patton. You apologised to Thomas, you worked out things out. You made some very clever observations about morality with Thomas. ‘A more mature person comes with more mature, moral questions…?’ Being able to admit that you don’t always know the answer, but you’ll still keep fighting anyway. Now that’s brave.” Patton smiled, it was a relief to see he smile and genuinely mean it this time. Logan wrapped his arms around Patton once again and he immediately hugged him back.

He had to admit, this was nice.

“I’m going to use yours and Thomas’ words against you. So bear with me… Look, Patton. You’re not perfect, just like the rest of us… but those imperfections, don’t make you any less worthy of love. I want you to remember that.” He could feel the happiness radiate off of Patton, there was a light blue glow surrounding him, and he pulled away from Logan.

“Thank you, Logan. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Logan smiled, it was nice to feel appreciated again. Despite everything, he felt infinitely better now.

“You’re most welcome, Patton. Would you like me to go now?” He secretly hoped the answer would be no. They needed each other, even if it was just for a night.

“Actually… Could you read to me? Can we carry on with Lord of the Rings?” Logan felt relieved and immediately grabbed his book off Patton’s bookshelf. He climbed onto the bed and waited for Patton to get comfortable next to him. He turned to the page they left off on while Patton eventually rested his head on Logan’s shoulder.

After a while, Patton fell asleep so Logan put the bookmark on the page and gently placed it on the table next to the bed. He carefully removed Patton’s glasses and took his off as well. As he drifted off to sleep as well, one last thought entered his mind.

Patton had his moments, but all in all, he was Logan’s hero too.

[sly-merlin]

Killing Me - 2| n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au 

warnings : curse words, mention of murder, guns etc

words : 2908

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

                                                  0r

                  “curiosity got the cat hitched!!

K.M Masterlist

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taglist :: (not tagging the old ones because they have read it already bt if u want , lemme know! )  @yiyi4657​ @sorrywonwoo​ @sillywinnergladiator​  @suhweo​ @exfolitae​

‘Where is she?’ a voice echoed from behind you. The police officer woke up from his little slumber one more time and stood up to greet the owner of voice. Before you could turn around, a fair, young man sat down in the place previously occupied by the officer. You straightened your back before taking a look at him. He was not too broad but couldn’t be considered lean either. His hair were darker shade of blue hooding his eyes. He looked too young to be a senior but who were you to judge someone’s capabilities.

“Is she alone” he asked the other officer, who nodded his head in response. The officer’s demeanour took a 180 degree turn from his previous one. He had a smug look on his face.

“Where’s the evidence?”

“Here it is!” your phone which was resting on the desk until now was in the hands of the senior officer. You watched him carefully going through the photos. He turned the chair to face the back wall hiding himself from you. You couldn’t understand why he has to be so sceptical about the evidence. It was enough to punish the criminal. And you weren’t even informed of the results of the search party that was sent earlier. You were cut out of your thoughts when the man turned in the chair and extended his hand towards you with your phone. You took the phone but didn’t open it.

“Is he dead?” he questioned the officer.

“Yes, but his body is disposed of. Nobody can trace anything back to him. Give me few days and I’ll delete his whole existence.” that being said, your heart stopped and a loud gasp left your lips. Their conversation wasn't giving away anything but you were smart enough to realise the scenario.

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You would be rewarded nicely. But she didn’t go to the higher officer, right? It’d take more time to clean it.”

“No. I know he is a pain in the ass, there was no need for you to come this far though .I could’ve handled this minor inconvenience all by myself.” he smirked towards you.

So he’s not the senior.              

Then what is he doing here?.

“Mr doyoung, what are we going to do with her” he pointed towards you like you were some disgusting rat he’s trying to get rid of.

“Taeyong would deal with her. You don’t need to worry. Your work is done here”.

Your hair fell on your face when the cloth was removed from your head. You tried to blow them out off your face but your action merely resulted in you breathing all the air through your nose.  Someone removed the tape, causing you to cough violently. Your cheeks pained, your lips felt like they were stung by bees. Your chest heaved up and down when you tried to take a breath. A soft hand removed all the hair from your face and tucked them behind both ears. The man then rubbed your back to help you regain your senses.

Following that everything happened in a blur. The said man, doyeon or something got up abruptly from the chair, took your phone, yanked your hands backwards and handcuffed them. He was so swift in his movements that few seconds later you were ushered into a small car. You tried to speak but he taped you and face was covered with a cloth. You shuffled in the passenger seat but the man didn’t seem to be fazed by your antics as he drove wordlessly.

After travelling for what felt like hours he finally pulled up somewhere. You were forced out of the car by your arm. The only thing you were sure of was that you passed 3 doors, following which you were made to sit on a metal chair.

“Hey, you alright?

You gestured towards your arms instead of responding.

“What’s your name” you looked up to see another blue haired man asking you in a hoarse voice.

“Open her cuffs doyoung!” your saviour, what it felt like at the moment, ordered the man. He came forward and did as told. Once free, you got up from the chair while rubbing your wrists and took shelter behind the same chair.

You scanned the room to find about 10 men, in their pyjamas, staring at you. They didn’t look dangerous, at least not in their current state. Out of nowhere, you felt something on your head. Of course, there was someone behind you. You tried your best not to show any panic on your face, but it was an impossible task for someone who’d be dead in a few minutes. You didn’t know what to do next. Your hands found solace in the hem of your shirts which you continued to twist and turn until one of them spoke,

“y/n” you answered timidly, purely to show them that you were nothing more than an innocent girl caught up in a wrong situation. It was the only way you’d be back home safely.

“What were you doing near that street and what did you see?” the same man questioned again but with more irritated voice. You parroted the whole story in the same way it happened. It was like giving report to the police officer. But this time a slight fear was in charge of your senses instead of the confidence you had earlier. The more you explained, the more ridiculous it sounded to you. Your courage and zeal were your best traits, as told by many people including your professors and these two traits were going to lower you in the ground today. being courageous and senseless was serving as the dangerous combination for you.

“You are quite amusing and smart, miss. Had it been someone else, we’d have let you go but it’s about yuta so we can’t take any future risks, you know” a man who was more on the shorter side, spoke. As said, you were a risk to them but eyeing your current position, you felt more threatened than they were by you.

“What are you going to do with me?” you blurted.

“Kill her” the voice behind you advised in a harsh and growling voice. His voice was rougher than the other one and he sounded like he was getting impatient in your presence. You felt tears prickling in your eyes at his statement. Prediction of your death and hearing a declaration made to that effect, the latter sounded scarier without doubt. You never wanted to die like that. You wanted to make a good life for yourself. The rational part of your brain was suggesting to beg for your life but another was telling you to hold it till last. Your dilemma was causing an incessant headache by now. Because of your reckless act of bravery, you were now at the mercy of some criminals who probably killed humans for their jest.

“Anyway, where are the photos, doyoung?” a man with red hair spoke.

“She’s quite a photographer you know” doyoung says slyly to the red haired man while handing him his phone. He went through the photos with stoic look on his face. He didn’t look scary but you could only hope if his heart and brain tallied with his face.

He curtly nodded before handing the phone to person standing next to him and just like that the phone was passed to everyone in the room where at last it reached right behind you. The man with the gun gave a snort which you assumed was his reaction to the photos. Nobody looked pleased. why would they be!The quietness of the room was taken over by soft whispers which did nothing more than to increase your anxiousness. The red haired man whose name was yet to be unveiled, was having a kind of discussion with everyone. One by one, all men gathered around him except the one who you dreaded the most in this state.

“I’m taeyong, the leader of Neos.” the red haired man said and your countenance at his words stopped him from further explaining anything. He watched your wide eyes and now trembling hands.

“You are a feisty one, ain’t you!” you yelped at the voice which surely didn’t go unnoticed by others but they rather chose to ignore it. Why they would be worried for your wellbeing, you thought. You’ll end up dead, if not by a gun, then by heart stroke from the sneaky little bitch. To distract yourself, you looked around the room but found nothing worthy of your interest. The room was medium sized but there was only one tube above the door which shone its lightening down to where the chair was situated. Everything else was void of any light, now including you and your possible killer.

A loud cough from the men interrupted your screening of the room. You were anticipating the outcome they had possibly reached at but that didn’t mean you were ready for it. Your stoic face was hiding your faltered confidence and their glaring eyes weren’t giving anything either.

Neos didn’t have a face!

Until now.

“And we’ll deal with you in the morning.” he waved his fingers in your direction and before you could comprehend his actions, you were knocked out with a press of fingers on your neck.

You woke up from your enforced sleep with a pounding head and a numb side. You tried to wake up, propped on your elbow but your effort remained futile. You were once again lying on the cemented floor with your arms placed on your middle. The room was not as dark as it was earlier. There was a small window giving its way to the rays of the light but it wasn’t enough to lighten the whole room. The electric tube was off. You were in a basement. It was morning, you realised. And it was no dream. Yesterday’s acts would serve as life lesson for you, that is, if you lived.

Your train of thoughts came to a halt when the metal door opened with an ear screeching noise. You got up hurriedly on your feet, the dizziness you felt making you stumble a little on your feet. Your body was poorly soar. A giant figure walked towards you. He handed you a water bottle. You were indeed thirsty. You gulped half of the water down your throat, the liquid filling you with relief.

“What if it was poisoned?”

“The bottle was sealed.” you immediately replied. He seemed to be impressed by your quick wit answer.

“I’m Johnny” you would’ve thanked him for getting you out from those restraints yesterday, had they not knocked you out of consciousness. He was heads taller than you and broader as well. You couldn’t even take a glimpse of the door behind him.

“I’m going to tell others that you are up!” with that he waved you goodbye but before he could close the door, you shouted-

“How long I have to stay here? “You questioned innocently with hope that maybe he would drop a hint about their verdict but he only chuckled in response, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Not long after Johnny was gone, the door opened again with same noise. But this time, the whole army was there. You stood up from the chair in defence as you saw them approaching you. The red haired man walked with long strides towards you and stopped before you with crossed arms.

“Read doyoung.” he ordered.

“y/n l/n, orphan. Parents died when she was 4. Grew up in an orphanage. No siblings. Lived in the orphanage till university. She started working in high school to make herself independent though her orphanage is fully funded.Got a full scholarship in SNU in law department and is now pursuing masters with same benefits. Her dorm number is XXX. Her roommate’s name is chelin. She is in psychology department.  Y/n has 4 friends including her roommate. Very antisocial. She has special inclination towards music and books. Never had a boyfriend or girlfriend. She wants to be an attorney under Choi’s but they didn’t had an opening last year so she took up master’s course. No current internships. And she gives tutoring to law students on weekends. Her other source of income is freelance writing. And she loves green” he sighed before putting his phone in pocket.

You gasped loudly at the end of his speech. You were stunned. Doyoung recited your whole life story like a mantra in span of few seconds. Each and every word was correct. They caught up to your past in such a short time and now your future was in their hands too. You felt your eyes moistening as you took in everything. They were a lot more powerful than you had thought. They were Neos after all. One of the best.

“Do you know why you aren’t killed yet?” taeyong said monotonously. You shook your head as no.

“because yuta is the one who needs to be reprimanded from being careless not you but here we are. we are mafia. we are supposed to be careful so common people doesn’t get involved in our mess. But as you can see we can’t let your little curiosity ruin our business. Hence, I’m bound to take action as the leader here. You have seen yuta on a crime scene. You have seen all of our faces making you the sole outsider to know what neos look like.  We can’t let you get out of here-

“What if I stay quiet? I won’t tell anyone about you people. Take my word for it! and I didn’t ask for your name anyway” you interrupted him to state yourself.

“That’s the problem here! We can’t trust you. I don’t have anything personal against you but it is what it is. We can’t just leave a mole out there! And besides it’s a mutual decision. We decided to find a middle ground. Both of you are going to solve this amicably or else I’ll have to take some strong measures”. He finished with a sigh. He was awfully calm for someone whose business was on the verge of expose.

“b-both of us?” you stammered. Your voice turned smaller and eyes glossier.

“You and yuta” he pointed towards a blonde man who was standing uninterestingly at the back. He was the same killer. A smirk and wave was sent your way. You turned your head to face taeyong again.

“What about me and him?” you were now tired of asking questions.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but if you both get married then I can make sure that-

“I’m not going to marry him or anyone for that matter.” you exclaimed loudly to make yourself clear to each and every person in the room. You were horrified to say the least.

“You will! He retorted with same aggression. “You will marry him. You don’t need me to tell you the other option, kid!” he said with a raised brow.

“Kill me for all you want” you mouth blurted out without any second thought. You wiped your tears with rough motion. No way in the world you were going to marry the man who was a brutal murderer and this was only one side of him that you had witnessed yet. Dying suddenly sounded like a better option.

“How about we convince you” taeyong proposed as he put his hands in the pocket.

“I won’t let you” you spitted.

“Give me a chance, then decide”

Earlier in taeyong’s office

“For fucks sake, stop shouting yuta!” Johnny cursed at yuta who was causing a havoc in the room. He was just informed about his penalty and he had lost his shit since then.

“You ain’t the one getting married, so shut up! Yuta growled at Johnny who only glared at him.

“This isn’t your first time yuta! And we can’t waste more of our time in cleaning up your mess. You need to improve your manners. You are getting reckless and this is not how underground works. You almost exposed us. Apart from doyoung, nobody is aware of the members and even he has to go every other month to clean after you. This has to stop and I’ll make sure you don’t forget the consequences ever in your life.” taeyong fumed at yuta while swinging your bio data papers on his face. Donghyuck had worked for whole night to collect your information.

“She’s not trustworthy”

“I’ve thought it through! Just agree already.”

“I’m not doing it”

“If you don’t then mark have to! You have an hour to think. You or Mark.the finality in taeyong’s voice was clear.

“Why can’t you just kill her?”

“You already know why!”

And yuta knew he had no choice. Taeyong was a man of his words. And mark won’t even try refuse him either. He picked the papers up and stormed out of the room.

“Wasn’t that too harsh. You are practically throwing him into hell. Are you sure about this. She’s a mere girl. We can just get rid of her with money as well!” jaehyun, who was standing beside taeyong, questioned the leader’s absurd decision.

“I know we can. But I want him to learn a lesson and besides she’s not just a girl. She’s going to be an asset.”

feedback is always appreciated. i know there are plenty of grammatical mistakes as english is not the local communication language so i tend to make mistakes!

WELCOME NEW READERS! I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS !!

[lulu2992]

I posted 340 times in 2021

258 posts created (76%)

82 posts reblogged (24%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.3 posts.

I added 516 tags in 2021

#far cry 5 - 175 posts

#john seed - 58 posts

#joseph seed - 44 posts

#photo mode - 38 posts

#far cry 6 - 35 posts

#my art - 34 posts

#traditional art - 34 posts

#far cry 5 screenshots - 34 posts

#vaas montenegro - 34 posts

#fan art - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#it’s impossible to change the time of day in the photo mode in that dlc so I sat there for maybe 15 minutes waiting for the sun to rise :’)

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

See the full post

257 notes • Posted 2021-03-29 00:17:25 GMT

#4

What the Far Cry 6 Gameplay Reveal got me excited about

(Besides the story, of course)

Dani Rojas

The Far Cry 6 protagonist has a name, a date of birth (May 4, 1996), a voice, a backstory, and a strong personality. The least we can say is that Dani is in stark contrast to the nameless, voiceless Junior Deputy who was more of a vessel for the player than a character. And even though the game will let us choose between a male and a female Dani, it’s clearly the latter who was in the spotlight in the gameplay reveal. A first in the series!

Non-violent encounters with enemies

In Far Cry 6, instead of immediately getting shot by any enemy we meet, we’ll be able to hide our weapons to blend in or find clever, non-lethal ways to infiltrate guarded areas. I didn’t know how much I needed this until now!

Minigames

In the video, Dani is briefly seen playing dominoes. That brought back poker memories from Far Cry 3.

Healing animations

Good news: they’re back! I can’t wait to cauterize bullet wounds with a cigar (ouch).

New weapons

New Dawn’s Saw Launcher has a worthy successor (or predecessor, technically) and it can shoot… CDs. Dani also has a customizable backpack that can fire missiles, among other things. And it seems we can use tanks!

Companions

We don’t know if “Guns for Hire” are back but animal companions sure are. Besides Chorizo the (very cute) dog, we can ride horses and have a pet crocodile. And that sounds pretty awesome.

274 notes • Posted 2021-05-29 00:03:23 GMT

#3

What John Seed’s clothes say about him

People generally assume John is a self-centered man who only wears luxury clothing and that he must have a well-stocked closet. While, at first glance, this assumption makes sense, I think his outfit tells a different story.

Firstly, his clothes are surprisingly dirty for a man who supposedly cares a lot about his appearance. There are mud stains on his shirt, pants, coat, belt, and shoes. There even used to be blood on his shoes but it was removed in an update. Secondly, his shirt looks like it's been mended in several places. If he really owned plenty of shirts, why would he bother repairing and wearing this one, again and again?

See the full post

375 notes • Posted 2021-05-10 01:18:19 GMT

#2

"The thing that started the whole avalanche of the character was, in the audition room, I thought it'd be interesting if he started his back to the camera, and I was pretending that he was eating. And as he starts turning around, he starts licking his fingers... until he gets to his middle finger, and he does this really, kind of crude gesture and just licks his middle finger. And I thought to myself they weren't gonna like it at all."

Michael Mando explaining how he eventually got the role of Vaas Montenegro in Far Cry 3, from “How Far Cry’s Iconic Villains Were Created - IGN Inside Stories”.

414 notes • Posted 2021-11-06 01:29:45 GMT

#1

Ah yes. Me. My girlfriend. And her dog, her cougar, and her 600-pound bear.

1133 notes • Posted 2021-01-23 01:43:26 GMT

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[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 2

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater… Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Trauma. This one is lighter but I still advise to tread with caution when it comes to this series. 

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU! I’ve been so wrapped up with work and another project that I haven’t had really any time to breathe. BUT I finally took like a half step back and remembered that fic is actually a form of self care for me. I LOVE writing these stories and needed to make time for this and, of course, to give those of you who are invested something to sink your teeth into. 

This is a shorter chapter but will answer that lingering question from the last chapter and, I hope, make up for the wait just a bit. 

Love you sweet pumpkins! 

TAGS ARE OPEN

If I missed your tag please remind me. 

You hadn’t expected sleep to come easily. It rarely did even before this seemingly endless day, and yet the moment you settled into the plush bed you fell into blissful unconsciousness. 

A few hours before sunrise, your eyes pop open. It certainly wasn’t the longest night’s sleep but you felt more than rested. Another side effect of the serum you suspected, and honestly, not a bad one. 

You had work to do. 

Tentatively you step from your room, both cautious of any potential threats and not wanting to disturb the presumably sleeping Soldier, wherever he may be. Thankfully, you found neither assailant nor your new muscle stalking around the space. 

Given your first goal of the day you were honestly more grateful to not see the Soldier awake than you were to not face an attack.

On the small dining table, the boxes of files on The Soldier sat just where you’d left them the night before. You lay your hand on top of one, almost reverently. 

There was no doubt that what these boxes contained was unpleasant if not horrific. Part of you almost didn’t want to crack into them, not wanting to take this journey now. 

With a deep breath, you shake your head, dismissing your hesitation. You’d made a commitment, albeit only to yourself, that you would give him his name back. And if his freedom could be wrenched from these files… Well, you’d do that too.

By the time the sun finally lit the windows you felt ill. No one could ever accuse you of having a weak constitution when it came to violence but still… some levels of depravity, especially sanctioned depravity, were more than even you could bear. 

The story told of The Soldier unfolded in the files on the floor around you. It was a lesson in just how deep the cruelty of man could go. 

Beyond the more gut-wrenching details, you’d gained a surface understanding of how he ticked. The triggers and tools available to you, none of which you intended to use, as well as his limitations. 

Part of his appeal was that he could be rendered a blank slate, a human weapon at the full control of whoever had a firm enough grasp on his leash. However, wiping him and bringing him fully back to square one had its risks. 

The insidious technique always carried the chance of simply leveling him to a state of drooling uselessness at best and death at worst. Because of this, they only wiped him entirely with the use of the chair when absolutely necessary. In fact, his last full wipe had been almost four years ago—which likely explained his remembering your encounter from several years prior. 

From what you gathered so far, this was one of the longer stints Hydra had gone without either icing or wiping him. The notes indicated that this was a great win. They thought they’d finally broken him. 

A smile filled your face knowing this was far from true. 

“Amusing read?” 

You had been so absorbed in your research that you didn’t hear his approach and embarrassingly jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“The content isn’t amusing. Their misguided ideas though…” 

His brows raise at this, “Ideas about what?” 

“That they have somehow finally broken you.” The moment the words leave your lips you regret them. His expression is unreadable, a combination of horror, disgust, and murderous rage that no language you knew had a word for. 

“Haven’t they.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Your presence here says they haven’t.” As did his attempt on your life last night and the fact that he didn’t kill you when you told him your plan. He doesn’t respond, just shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing his gaze out the window. 

“They think because they haven’t had to wipe you in so long that you’ve given in. It’s amusing because it’s the exact opposite, isn’t it? You figured out-”

“Even a dog learns not to bark when the shock collar goes off too many times.” His frigid tone makes you flinch. You think to respond but his cold glare freezes your jaw shut. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“You’re wrong.” 

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you brace for his rebuttal. It doesn’t come. He simply turns and strides onto the terrace. 

To say that wasn’t what you expected would be an understatement. Last night he admitted to remembering you, admitted that what he did to Eric he did for the both of you. Clearly he had grabbed hold of a bit of autonomy, some level of self-awareness. Yet he didn’t see it as any kind of victory… 

Rather than push the matter, you sigh and begin repacking the boxes, tucking the nightmarish pieces of The Soldier’s puzzle away--all but one. 

The file was old, dating back to WWII, it’s edges frayed and flaking. Once more you flip open the cover. 

Held by a rusted paperclip is a black and white photo of a striking young man in military dress with a mischievous smile. 

Your eyes wander from the photo to the man on the terrace. Logically you knew they were the same person but at the same time, it seemed impossible. There was a spark in the person staring back at you in the photo, an effortless charm that couldn’t be dulled by the passage of time. For that energy to remain in a photograph and not in the man himself… 

Taking care to not damage the picture, you slide it from the paperclip. The document below held nothing but basic information, information he may want. The photo though--well it seemed almost cruel to present him with it when it was clear the man in it had died a long time ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe out as his reaction makes some kind of sense to you. 

Before you’d wondered if he may remember his name, it seemed marginally possible given that he’d known you. But after what you’d learned and how your words had clearly hurt you knew that wasn’t the case. He may have wrenched some control back out of sheer will over the past few years but it was, for him, a hollow victory.

With effort you swallow the lump in your throat, setting the file on top of the box before you head back to the room you’d slept in. 

Looking to take your mind off your bungled good deed you pick up the burner phone Mara had given you thinking to ring her to come on up until you note the early hour. The woman had been through hell, you could grant her a few more hours of what you hoped was restful sleep. 

Unable to think of anything else to do you get in the shower, turning the water to a scalding temperature. The sting on your skin grounding you in your body, making you feel present, as pain so often did. 

-

He wanted to… apologize? Maybe? Even though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to or if he was just afraid of what may happen if he didn’t. 

She isn’t like that, he tries to tell himself. But whether that was the truth or just his own pathetic need for it to be true he didn’t know. 

If he was being honest, he could hardly tell up from down.

Sighing, he rubs his temples, forcing down a few deep breaths. 

She didn’t deserve that, a voice in his head whispers. It’s right. She may be the one who was wrong but he’d been needlessly cold. 

Squaring his shoulders he heads back inside only to be met by the sound of the shower. 

Relief floods him. He may have decided he would apologize but he hadn’t actually known what to say. Before he’s able to think more about it his eyes land on a single folder sitting conspicuously on top of the boxes. 

In the span of a heartbeat, everything around him falls away for just a moment. Then the alarm bells sound. 

He’s both too hot and too cold. His breath ragged, if not gasping.  In his chest, his heart threatens to break free. 

Still, he moves like a man possessed toward the unassuming document. 

All night he’d thought of coming out here and opening these boxes. Tearing through them with the hopes that he’d get back whatever they took from him or find out that there was nothing worth regaining. 

Really that’s what he wanted to learn. More than anything he wanted to open these boxes and know that he had always been this creature of Hydra. He wanted there to only be this. He needed the skinny boy with the busted lip and bright smile, the woman humming in a kitchen, and the little girl on ice skates who haunted his dreams to be figments crafted by his fractured mind. 

If the Soldier was all he ever was he could continue onward. Anything else… 

With shaking hands he lifts the file and opens it. 

It’s like being punched in the chest. 

Gasping he falls to his knees on the plush carpet. In his mind, he’s falling elsewhere. A man screams a word printed on the page. 

“Bucky!” 

It echoes through his very bones. Over and over. 

“Bucky, you promise I won’t fall?” The little girl wears a red scarf, her blue eyes big and trusting. 

“Bucky, take this to the table and tell your sisters to wash up.” The woman has the same blue eyes, her smile feels like home. 

“Bucky, I don’t need you to fight my battles.” The skinny boy says, wiping blood from his lip. 

“Bucky!”

“Bucky!”

It feels like the only sound in the world. 

“James!” 

That wasn’t right. 

“James!”

Another word. Another name. 

“James, you come back to us. You hear me boy?!” The man’s voice and face were severe but his brown eyes shone with tears. 

“James, you really bring out the best in him you know?” The woman’s red lips curl in a friendly smile. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. James!” 

The sting of a slap brings reality crashing in sending all the nameless ghosts tumbling back into the fog always lingering at the edges of his mind. In their stead is a face with a name he knows. 

“Catherine.” 

She huffs out a breath, wet hair tumbling into her face smelling like flowers. When she looks back at him her eyes flood with regret. 

“I’m so sorry for hitting you. I… You didn’t seem to be breathing but you looked like you were screaming…”

“It’s o-”

“It isn’t ok.” Sighing, she sits cross-legged in front of him, her eyes lighting on the file still gripped in his hands. 

Only then do his eyes reluctantly find their way back to the page. 

Barnes, James “Bucky” Buchanan 

He fights down the bile rising in his throat. 

“James.” It comes out garbled like his tongue can’t quite make sense of the syllables. He doesn’t notice his trembling until her warm hand rests against his left forearm. 

“You called me, James.” 

“I did. Was that ok?” He meets her eyes once more, unsure of how to answer. “I won’t use it if-” Shaking his head he cuts her off glancing back at the page. 

“James is good.” Too many nameless faces whispered the other name. But James, there were fewer echoes there. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, James.”

Her voice is warm, soft. He almost thinks he’s imagining it. 

“Is it?”

“Without question.” She gives his arm a squeeze, and he knows this is real. 

“I assume you prefer coffee to tea?” Catherine asks as she rises to her feet, striding to the phone without explanation. 

“I-” He’s a bit baffled by the shift. 

“Well, you are American. So I assume you prefer coffee.” 

Did he? 

“I’ll get both and if you prefer coffee I win.” He can’t help but laugh a little. 

“What do you win?” 

“I’ll think of something.” She winks before picking up the receiver and James could almost swear his pulse quickened if only a little. 

TAGS

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[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: School Unity Club

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @bebexox4

Pairings/Characters: Hajime Hinata/Nagito Komaeda, with appearances by both Chiaki Nanami and Kokichi Oma.  Others mentioned.

Rating/Warnings: T.  Some mention of self-deprecating thought might be a relevant warning.  There is also occasional swearing.

Prompt: Non despair hopes peak au with Enemies-Friends-Lovers komahina

Author’s notes:  Hi there!!!  Happy Komahina Secret Exchange, and I hope you enjoy your gifts!!!  :D  This is prompt one of two you can expect this time around.  This was really fun to work on hehehe.  Thank you!!!

1. Okay, Why Are We Starting a School Unity Club Again?

The first time Hope’s Peak Academy tried to recruit Nagito Komaeda, of course he turned them down: he was unworthy, he insisted, trying to laugh at himself, trying to raise his metaphorical palms in obvious surrender.  I mean, come on.  Hope’s Peak… haha, that was for genuinely amazing people.  For the Ultimate Students, glimmering irrefutable beacons of hope to everybody else.  They were — no.  Nagito couldn’t go to school with people like that.  Practically superheroes, so hardworking and disciplined and just everything Nagito knew he didn’t deserve to be.  What would he even say?  How would he know where to sit, or when to participate in class discussions, or how to tactfully say no when they felt obligated to invite him along places?

But, in the end, Hope’s Peak Academy hadn’t so much wanted Nagito as a student, he gathered, as they’d wanted to study his luck.  Nagito’d always had unreasonable, relentless, mythically impossible luck.  Amazing things happened to him, and then… like clockwork, like the gears of the universe churning away… equally devastating things inevitably followed.  The Ultimate Lucky Student.  That’s right.  After years of fallen-apart loved ones and distant extended family members and snakes slithering out of his bathtub drain the second he realized “You know, I think this might be my favorite brand of shampoo,” Nagito Komaeda’s absurd luck was finally going to help somebody.  Hope’s Peak could learn from his luck, and that was worth humiliating himself daily, stumbling around Ultimate Students, rambling and awestruck.  That was worth knowing he’d never belong, because he hadn’t worked for his Talent.  It wasn’t really a Talent at all.

When Nagito was happy, he knew he was sure to feel tears burning against the back of his eyes very soon.  He was happy about the chance to attend Hope’s Peak, despite everything, despite knowing he should have turned the invitation down again, whether his luck could be useful or no…  and so, of course, bad things followed.  Bad things he hadn’t talked to his classmates about, yet, and probably never would.  Because it wasn’t like Nagito had come to such a prestigious institution expecting anybody to actually care about him.  It wasn’t like he would have clawed his way in without being invited.  Right?

Nagito liked to think that was right, anyway, just the way he liked to think he didn’t actually want any of his fancy, impossible new classmates to contradict him when he described himself as worthless, a faceless background character in their lives.  Why should they tell him he was more than a bystander?  Nagito would hold the camera when his classmates wanted a group photo.  That should be more than enough.  If he wanted to get something done for their sake, he could lean on his Ultimate Luck.  If he drew a lottery number, it would always win.  If a car was careening out of control through the school grounds, it would be sure to hit him before it clobbered anyone else.  A weird system — a horrible system, from some points of view — but it was the least Nagito could do.  It was his so-called “Talent,” after all.

Maybe that was why the Reserve Course had never made a lot of sense, to Nagito.  See, some people could pay a hell of a lot of extra tuition money and buy their way into Hope’s Peak…  but not as Ultimates.  It felt like a flashlight demanding to be called the sun, to Nagito.  Like a puddle on the street insisting it was the ocean.  If Ultimates really were “hope,” then how dare anybody scramble around to grab their spotlight away, right?  Reserve Course attendants would probably be easier to get along with than the Ultimate Students, given that Nagito was more or less “one of them”… a nobody, a stranger, an intruder here in this place for gods.  But he didn’t go looking for friends among the Reserve Course, either.  Why should he want to be buddy-buddy with arrogant pretenders?  It wasn’t like Nagito had ever felt especially good at talking to people, anyway.  He’d probably say something wrong; he’d probably mess something up; he’d probably just get furious.  Wouldn’t you want to turn off the flashlight that thought it was the sun?  

Better not to delude yourself, even if the truth was ugly, full of shaky, simpering smiles and resignation.  Happiness led to pain.  Good luck led to misery.  On and on and on, and Nagito had been fairly sure he’d graduate from Hope’s Peak without any of his classmates having memorized his full name.  You know, if he lived that long.

That’s why it was all the more surprising when Chiaki Nanami… the Ultimate Gamer…  kept insisting on talking to him.  Of course, Chiaki was kind to their whole class.  She had no reason to sit silently and play phone games with Nagito until his phone caught fire in his hands — she had no reason to chat about his favorite super-indie horror titles during breaks in schoolwork, coming over to stand by his desk on purpose.  Chiaki wanted to understand everybody: she told Nagito as much, honestly.  Chiaki wanted their whole class to be a team, and so when she asked Nagito to show up for movie nights he did.  He knew he’d suffer the bad luck for it later, but he picked up the phone when Chiaki called him every time.  

If she wanted to be friends with everyone, Chiaki shouldn’t have to work for the Ultimate Lucky Student’s friendship, obviously.  He should be a shoe-in.  And it wasn’t really that Nagito was having fun that kept him sticking around, probably.  It wasn’t really that he was starting to banter with the Ultimate Mechanic and the Ultimate Gangster, as if they were actually… uh… friendly acquaintances, or something, either.  Chiaki told him he was reliable, even if he still wouldn’t admit he belonged with the rest of them.  Even if he said hurtful things sometimes and didn’t seem to realize it.

“What?!” Nagito had balked, then.  “Have I insulted you?  Oh, no.  No, that’s unacceptable.  For someone like me to speak badly of an Ultimate Student, even without meaning to —”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Chiaki had answered.  She reminded Nagito of a cat, pretty consistently… heavy-lidded eyes, and a voice like a tail swishing slowly back and forth.  She didn’t look up from the game system in her hands as she drawled at him.  “You say horrible things about yourself, and about how you can’t understand why I’d want anything to do with you…  makes me feel like you don’t think I can pick my own friends.  I say I think you’re okay, and you spend the next half an hour telling me why that’s a stupid thing to think.  Kazuichi says he’s glad you stopped by to help him work on that robot project he’s building, and you have to make him apologize for thinking ‘trash like you’ deserves to hang out with the Ultimate Mechanic at all.”

Nagito wasn’t sure how to respond to any of that.  He’d cleared his throat.

“Your friends will hurt when they see you hurt, Nagito.  I always heard people in games saying that, and now I know it’s true.  Okay?”

“Hm.  Okay…  if you’re sure, as an Ultimate Student.”

“I’m sure as your friend Chiaki.”

“Interesting.  I mean…  yeah, I’ll do my best not to hurt you?”

Nagito had been watching the way he talked about himself around Chiaki Nanami for about a week before she came to him with a plan she’d been working on with the Ultimate Supreme Leader.  Kokichi Oma was a couple years behind them, but he was always scheming like the “Spawn of Loki” the Ultimate Animal Breeder declared him to be — his latest plan involved trying to unite the two branches of their school, the Main Course and the Reserve Course, coming together for some sort of mysterious club.  Chiaki was all for it, apparently, and Nagito had wanted to say a lot of things.  He’d wanted to say it sounded like reassuring the puddle that ships could drown in it after all, and coral reefs were sure to grow.  It felt false, and wrong.  But a lot of things Kokichi Oma said felt “false and wrong,” and Nagito wanted to be Chiaki’s real, worthy friend so badly.  He agreed to help, however he could.

“It’s so generous of the Ultimates to share their Talents with everybody!” Nagito said.  That was a fair enough rationalization, wasn’t it?  “You really are a commendable person, Ultimate Supreme Leader.  Even if practically everything you say is a shameless lie!”

And, “Hey now, most of my nefarious criminal organization members wouldn’t be called ‘Ultimate,’ and they’ve got more talents to share around than this whole stuck-up school,” Kokichi answered, voice light and airy, like he wasn’t actually invested in the conversation… though his eyes said he really was, unless that expression was just another lie from him?  Lies upon lies upon lies.  People told Nagito he was confusing to talk to, but surely he couldn’t have anything on Kokichi Oma.  Was that okay for him to think?  “A lot of these titles we got assigned feel pretty arbitrary, if you ask me.  And it’s ridiculous we’ve never actually met so many of our classmates!”

Nagito raised his eyebrows. “Classmates?”

Kokichi stared him down, smile practically painted on.  “Classmates.  Yeah.  Just think of how many possible recruits for my organization might be waiting in the Reserve Course…  ya think any of ‘em are interested in a life of evil?”

“Most of the people who made the games we play aren’t Ultimates, either,” Chiaki murmured, at Kokichi’s side.  She was muted and dusky pink, with a tender, hesitant smile — Kokichi was so glaringly bright and loud next to her.  They made a strange team, but of course no stranger than Nagito and anyone in the world.  “Please, Nagito.  The School Unity Club is going to try and form real friendships…  I think it’s a chance for us to do something good, and to learn what it’s like to be in the Reserve Course.“

As if Nagito wanted to understand something like that!  Haha!  Oh, Chiaki.  No.

But that’s what led Nagito here, to the first official School Unity Club meeting.  He filled out the Getting to Know Everybody Questionnaire Kokichi and Chiaki passed out, and he hung around in the back of the room, hands folded in his pockets, face perfectly neutral, until a spiky haired Reserve Course guy came storming up to him.  What could have possibly gotten this uppity loser so mad?  Chiaki had decorated this classroom herself, specifically for trash like the both of them.  They should be so grateful.  There were streamers and everything.

“Are you Nagito Komaeda?” Mr. Pointy-Hair spat.

“I am.  Nice to meet —”

“So you’re the one who wrote that people who joined the Reserve Course have ‘no good reason to be here’ on the questionnaire.  Knowing we’d all read it — knowing how much we want to attend Hope’s Peak Academy —”

Nagito nodded, letting himself smile.  Ah, okay.  This was making a little sense now.  “Excuse me, I think you misunderstand something,” he tried to clarify.  “I don’t believe I have a good reason to be here, either…  really, we’re almost the same, you and me.  I probably have more to say to someone like you than my whole class!”  Nagito paused.  Glanced over at the Ultimate Gamer.  “Except for Chiaki.  Maybe.  If she still thinks so.”

Mr. Pointy-Hair didn’t look reassured by Nagito’s explanation.  If anything, his cheeks were flushed red, the fury creeping up to the tips of his ears, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.  He was a little shorter than Nagito, but he was standing as tall as he possibly could.  “Someone like me?” he asked.  It was a question, somehow, but what exactly did he expect Nagito to say?  Mr. Pointy-Hair’s teeth were ground together, but there was something honest and wholesome about his mossy green eyes.  Nagito might have wanted to ask his name, if he didn’t feel sure he was about to get yelled at.  Why weren’t they understanding each other, exactly, here?

“You’re not an Ultimate,” Nagito said, explaining something painfully simple.  “This is a school for extraordinary people, and you and I are both unworthy of it.  You see?  But that shouldn’t be news to you…”

Mr. Pointy-Hair was spitting mad.  Was he going to punch Nagito, next?  Or simply tell him how awful he was?  Nagito was bracing himself either way, but he shouldn’t have bothered.  That was when Kokichi Oma’s spotlight found them, after all.  That was when the Ultimate Supreme Leader — sauntering around on a stage made of pushed-together desks and using a super-chipper ringmaster voice — declared, “Oh!  And what’s this?  Mr. Komaeda and Mr. Hinata are already picking a fight!  I think we just found some volunteers for a club project, guys!”

There was a scattering of polite, confused applause, and this Mr. Pointy-Hair Hinata spun around on his heel and threw himself out of the room.  The door slammed, and his footsteps thudded away down the hall.

Nagito took a stumbling half-step after him.  He didn’t mean to.  This was the sort of pretender who thought he deserved to be an Ultimate without earning it, after all.  There was no reason to wonder what their club project would be together, or if he’d ever learn Hinata’s first name.  There was no reason to ask what the Ultimate Supreme Leader had in store for them to work on — there was probably no reason to assume he and Hinata would ever see each other again, or get another chance to try and have an actual conversation.

Nagito asked Kokichi what their assignment was, anyway.

1½. Talking to You’s Like Trying to Paint in the Rain

Hajime Hinata figured if he just never attended a School Unity Club meeting again, he could simmer for a while and then amble on like this never happened.  Like he’d never met Nagito Komaeda, with his hazy dark eyes and drifting, shaky-yet-infuriatingly-resolute voice.  If he never joined up with the club again, then he couldn’t be assigned any weird-ass “club projects,” could he?  And since Nagito was part of the Main Course…  an Ultimate, even if he’d tried to convince Hajime they were “the same,” or whatever…  their paths wouldn’t necessarily cross, otherwise.  They even had passing periods at different times, and if Hajime saw Nagito’s fluffy, flyaway white hair from across the hallway he just stopped in his tracks and stalked away.

But, I mean…  that isn’t the end of the story, obviously.  Hajime underestimated the Ultimate Supreme Leader, and also how ridiculous things could get at Hope’s Peak Academy.  Sometimes, the place barely even felt real.

Hajime received the instructions for his and Nagito Komaeda’s club project midway through math class.  The guy in front of him — who he’d known the whole year, mind you, and was definitely just some guy who liked comic books and was often a little late to class — turned around in his seat and stage-whispered, “Hey, Hinata, you wouldn’t happen to know the answer to question thirteen, would you?”

“There is no question thirteen,” Hajime answered.  “The worksheet only goes to ten —” and then he actually looked up, to raise his eyebrows at his classmate and/or see if they had different worksheets for some reason.  And well.  Hm.  Wouldn’t you know it, this wasn’t his classmate at all.  This was very obviously Kokichi Oma from the Main Course in a wig.  The Ultimate Supreme Leader was wearing a Reserve Course uniform with the tie knotted all sloppily, and he grinned like the damn Cheshire Cat as he handed over a big envelope with the words “This is not your School Unity Club project assignment!” scribbled on it.

“Oh!  Nice eye,” Kokichi grinned.  “Aren’t you a smart one.”

“I don’t want to work with Nagito Komaeda,” Hajime hissed.  “And Kokichi, this isn’t your class.”

“Are you sure I’m not enrolled in the Reserve Course, too?”

“Ugh.  Yes?  And you’re two years behind me.”

Kokichi scratched at his forehead.  Hajime thought maybe he was taunting him, intentionally fiddling with his wig so that a little of his flippy purple hair snuck out.  “Nagito’s stubborn, isn’t he?  Kind of like you.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Hajime said, but even as he spat those words he knew they weren’t completely true.  Honestly, Hajime felt sick with guilt for getting his family to pay this ridiculous Hope’s Peak Reserve Course tuition — he’d tried to change his own mind, convincing himself it didn’t matter whether the world called him Special.  The Ultimate Students were just people, he told himself.  So what if nobody thought he was good enough to be one of them?  He could still live a happy, normal life…  he could still pour attention into the hobbies he loved, and spend time with the people he cared about, and maybe it was kind of a pain to have your face on convenience store magazines anyway.

Hajime told himself stuff like that over and over again, but it wasn’t like it stuck, you know?  It didn’t change the tide of his thoughts.  It felt like the minute he painted a nice, encouraging picture of an alternative to Hope’s Peak Academy for himself, it got washed away.  Staring into Nagito’s serene, self-righteously knowing eyes had felt a little like that, too.  Hajime got the feeling that he could talk to him and talk to him, but it was almost impossible to change this guy’s mind until he changed it himself.  

It was infuriating, wasn’t it, talking to people like that?

“If you want to prove you’re really different than Nagito — you’re really not super-stubborn and impossible to reach — you can always just do the project,” the Ultimate Supreme Leader grinned.  “Up to you.  I told him to meet you by those big fountains after school, and I think he’s actually gonna do it.  He asked what your first name was, too…  I told him it was ‘Daisuke.’”

“But it isn’t.”

“Oops, my bad.  So tell him yourself.”

Hajime read the crayon-drawing assignment sheets waiting for him in that envelope during a break, sitting slumped over at a table with a bunch of students he didn’t really know.  Apparently, Kokichi and the Ultimate Gamer wanted Hajime and Nagito to make a short documentary film showing everybody what life was like in the Hope’s Peak Reserve Course.  They were supposed to interview students and get some funny stories; they were supposed to go over some of the things people were studying, and rate whether the desks were comfy.  Just…  get a portrait of the Reserve Course as people, basically, the instructions said.  And be sure to let the Ultimate Supreme Leader know if anyone seemed open to helping with this prank he had in the works.  Get them to sign a short, totally-harmless liability form.  It’ll be fun.

Hajime crumpled the envelope and all its assignment sheets up, one by one, preparing to toss them away with the rest of his trash.  But then he unfolded them, running a hand through his sticky-uppy hair.  

You know what?  

Why not.  

Maybe it would do Nagito Komaeda some good, to get to know the people he was insulting.  To see the school from a different point of view.  Maybe it would be satisfying to see him feel like a jerk, fumbling around, trying oh-so-messily to explain himself to anybody a little less forgiving than Hajime.  Anyway, it was sort of annoying the guy thought his name was something random Kokichi Oma had pulled out of a hat, too.

So Hajime went to meet Nagito by the fountains.  For a moment, before they actually started working on the project, it had felt sort of right.  Nagito had stood up from where he’d been bent over some homework; he’d smoothed down his vest, and smiled awkwardly, self-consciously.  Hopefully.  It had looked like maybe he would apologize.  Maybe he’d thought over what he said, and Hajime didn’t need to spend any time convincing him he was an asshole.  In that case, maybe Nagito was the kind of willowy handsome that Hajime liked in drama actors, if you got past the funny way he held himself.  In that case, maybe his voice was sort of soft and lyrical, and if they were talking about something else…  almost anything else…  Hajime wouldn’t really mind listening to him.

But then, uh.  Hajime got close enough for Nagito to wave, and call, “Do you understand what I meant, now, then?  It’s nice to meet you properly, Daisuke!”  And it only went downhill from there.  

It didn’t help that the minute Hajime handed Nagito the school-owned camera Kokichi had finagled for them to use, it got carried out of his hands by an actual hawk.  What the hell?  “Ultimate Luck,” Nagito clarified, but what did that even mean?  So then they were gonna record the thing on Hajime’s phone, except that they couldn’t decide where to start.  Who to talk to.  They got into a half-shouting match in front of a few of Hajime’s friendlier classmates, who excused themselves as quickly as possible.  They tried to film the gymnasium, but it was closed for emergency fumigation and they ended up gagging, hunched over outside the doors for about five minutes.  They tried to film in the dorms, but Hajime’s entrance pass cracked in two when they attempted to use it.  Those were expensive!  Augh!  Why was Nagito laughing?!

Whatever Hajime tried to do, it felt like Nagito came sliding over to step on his toes.  They were getting nowhere.  This project was getting nowhere.  They had to delete the one decent interview they managed to get because Hajime himself accidentally had his thumb over the camera.  He had literally no idea how he could’ve missed something like that.

“Ultimate Luck,” Nagito said, again, for about the millionth time that evening.  “See?  It’s really not always much of a talent!”

That was the last straw.  Hajime was done.  Nagito was still obsessed with this concept of “talent”; Nagito was the last person who should be making a video trying to show what life was really like for Reserve Course students.  The Ultimate Supreme Leader was probably just messing with them, just being a little shit like people said he tended to be.  School Unity?  What could Nagito Komaeda do to work towards School Unity?  He was probably the sort of person who would want to trap a lizard that thought it was a dragon, just to show the poor little guy how small he really was.  Hajime didn’t have time for this.

And so he told Nagito as much, and he gathered up his things.  He deleted all the footage they’d recorded for their project, and went back home.  That could’ve been the end of it.  If Kokichi turned up in any of his classes again, Hajime would just tune him out.  If the Ultimate Gamer asked him why he didn’t come around anymore, yeah, okay, he’d apologize, but that was it.

Hajime didn’t hear anything from the School Unity Club for about a month.  “Good riddance,” he thought.  He imagined himself slamming a book closed.  And then possibly kicking said book under the bed, or something.

When he got a text from Kokichi Oma — wait, how had the Ultimate Supreme Leader gotten his phone number?! — Hajime almost didn’t open it.  But morbid curiosity won out in the end, as it so often did.  Morbid curiosity, and that claustrophobic, helplessly-stricken pull to the Ultimate Students Hajime still felt, even now.  He had wanted to be valuable, to be seen; he had wanted to be a revelation.  Every breath he took on this earth could have been game-changing, if only he’d been born someone else.

“Nice work on your video,” Kokichi said.  “Turned out really insightful.  I think it’ll help the Reserve Course students feel seen, too.”

Alright.  Hold on.

What?

***

2. The Light

When Nagito Komaeda asked the Ultimate Supreme Leader whether it had been difficult, convincing Hajime to come watch his documentary about the Hope’s Peak Academy Reserve Course together, Kokichi said, “You just better not mess this up, kid,” with a big, sloppy wink.  Nevermind that he really hadn’t answered the question, actually, when Nagito thought back on it – nevermind that Kokichi was… again…  younger than him.   Maybe it meant Hajime had struggled against the idea of ever actually talking to Nagito again, and Kokichi’d had to bribe him with glittery promises like, “If you give the video a chance, I’ll delete your phone number from my contacts list!”  Or maybe it meant Nagito should feel lucky – lucky in a good way, mind you – because Hajime hadn’t needed a lot of nagging at all.  Maybe Mr. Pointy-Hair was genuinely curious.  Maybe he’d be willing to forgive how badly things had gone, and try, Nagito didn’t know, “hanging out” again, sometime.

“Why did you lie about Hajime’s name, to me?” Nagito asked.  “I looked…  inconsiderate.”

“Who knows?” Kokichi said.  “I do stuff like that, you know.”

It would’ve been way too easy, if Kokichi Oma had been willing to answer a simple question for once.  But all the same, Nagito ended up sitting alone in a dark, lonely classroom after club activities were over for the night; all the same, Nagito had finished up the Reserve Course documentary film on his own.  He’d purchased four separate video cameras, and lost them all to his ruthless luck.  He’d interviewed people from Hajime’s classes, asking the questions Hajime had scrawled out on the back of Kokichi’s crumpled-up assignment envelope that time they tried working together.  “What brought you to the Reserve Course?”  “What’s your most precious goal, and how do you hope the Reserve Course will help you get there?”  “Do you like going to school here?”  “What do you think Hope’s Peak could do differently, to show that it values all its students?”  Some of the answers he’d gotten were genuinely shocking – one of them made him cry, actually, and try to shake the girl’s hand afterwards.  (She took his hand, yes, but then asked why there was so much mud on it.  Oh, crap.  Nagito’d forgotten that happened…  he’d been swallowed up by a surprise swamp on the way across campus that day.)  All of the answers were…  human?  Maybe sometimes it was easy to get so wrapped up in this business of hope and despair, talent and luck, that Nagito forgot how learning a person’s abilities just barely scraped the surface of what it would be like getting to know them.  He didn’t talk much at all, giving his interviews – aside from asking questions, of course.  He laughed at jokes, sometimes, but he tried to laugh quietly, without wobbling the camera too much.

Nagito had expected the interviews would enrage him – would make him think these people were ungrateful, were building themselves homemade trophies to take away from the Ultimate Talents the Main Course actually earned.  And sometimes, yeah, sometimes he did want to argue back.  Put them in their places, back in the dirt with him; click off the flashlight that thought it was the sun.  But he listened, for a while, anyway.  Maybe it was because Hajime would’ve wanted him to, at first – maybe it was because Hajime might have said he couldn’t do it.   But in the end, Nagito found himself with a lot of footage of people telling him their truths, and so many of those stories tasted familiar. That longing, that hurt, that want, that hunger.  It had been written all over Hajime’s face when they first met, but Nagito’d never asked his story, had he?

Ah, well.  Nagito had tried making the documentary into something Hajime wouldn’t hate, you know?  He’d gone to one of the Reserve Course’s basketball games and recorded the crowds cheering, recorded the players’ teamwork and struggle.  None of the players were the Ultimate Basketball Star or anything, but it still mattered when they won, didn’t it?  Maybe not as much, existentially, or for the hope of the world as Nagito understood it, but – but it could still be emotional watching them come together and ruffle each other’s hair, afterwards, reminiscing about the game.  Nagito had attempted to go to a Reserve Course swimming team competition too, but of course the pool flooded the second he stepped in the building…  and like, really flooded, in that most of the bleachers were still underwater and they hadn’t been able to drain the dressing rooms, yet.  Some sort of weird, constant flow in from ocean?!  Nagito wasn’t sure on the specifics.  Point being, he’d stopped attending sports events for a while, but he had asked Chiaki to record the Reserve Course’s musical production of Les Misérables so he could splice some of it into the documentary.

Nagito didn’t ask specific questions about Hajime Hinata while conducting his interviews, but he’d heard some stuff about him all the same.  He was a good classmate, people said – a hard worker, soft-spoken, but he didn’t just sit back and take kindly to bullies.  He was smart, but his handwriting was terrible, and he and Nagito seemed to like the same type of video games.  Hajime’s classmates mentioned him in passing, see, discussing him among themselves…  or they said, “Oh, no, Nagito’s probably okay.  He was with Hajime a couple days ago, remember?  Hey, Nagito, are you two friends?”

Um.

In that moment, Nagito had wanted very badly to say yes, yes they were friends. He would’ve been proud to have Hajime like him, as a person, the way Chiaki seemed to.  But he just sort of smiled and shook his head.  “We were working on a project together,” he offered.  “School Unity Club.”   It was probably fair to leave it at that, right?  

But now the documentary was finished, and Hajime had been persuaded… somehow…  to come to some empty classroom after School Unity Club let out and watch it at Nagito’s side.  Nagito hadn’t really felt like he should be going to School Unity Club meetings lately: it was surreal to be back here again, inviting Hajime into the ruins of a game tournament.  There was a scribbly, multi-color scoreboard, and bits of the floor were duct-taped off into what looked like a beanbag chair/slime vat obstacle course.  The janitors at Hope’s Peak must have hated Kokichi Oma.  Or who knows, really?  Maybe he was planning to slink back in and clean all this up himself, after Nagito and Hajime finished with their video.  Nagito showed Hajime over to some chairs he’d set up in front of his cracked-apart personal laptop.  He pulled out Hajime’s chair a little bit, like they were someplace fancy, and Hajime scoffed.  He sat down, though.  And then he gestured to Nagito’s chair, like, “Well?”

They watched the documentary in silence.  Sometimes Hajime shifted, or scratched at his neck.  Sometimes he gasped, or shot Nagito careful, considering eyes.  Nagito…  for his part…  tried his best to keep his expression neutral, the same as he’d done at that first School Unity Club meeting.  The last interview was with himself, after all, and he thought he’d made his own points pretty clear.  He didn’t understand what the Reserve Course meant, in connection to the Main Course here at Hope’s Peak Academy…  on one hand he still thought it defied the point of the whole place, but on the other it was a class full of creativity and excitement and hope for the future, too.  He’d learned a lot from the Reserve Course students, and it had been fun spending time with them.  The interview questions had been written by Hajime Hinata, but they’d honestly become Nagito’s questions too, by the end.  He thanked the viewer for watching, and the interviewees for talking to him, and the swimming team for their forgiveness when he tried to explain that it was his weird luck that ruined their tournament.

It wasn’t perfect.  Nagito stumbled over his words, sometimes, and he contradicted himself, and he went on a short monologue about how it was possible hope came in innumerable different forms.  He hinted at one of his most embarrassing thoughts, too – that maybe…  just maybe, possibly, against all odds… it might’ve been more merciful to have a world without the worship of talent, a world where all people could just live as themselves and know that was enough. He had almost edited that part out.  In another life, he probably wouldn’t have wanted anyone in the world to hear it.  It flew in the face of everything he was supposed to honor, after all.  It was skeptical of the very concept of the Ultimate Talents themselves.

Nagito might not have been able to explain exactly why he kept that part of his own interview in the documentary.  Maybe he wanted Hajime to get him, if they ever spoke again.  Maybe so many strangers had been utterly, vulnerably honest with him, he felt like it was sort of his turn. Either way, he winced, taking in the frustrated surrender on his own recorded face.  He kept his arms folded over his chest and gritted his teeth.  Hajime was watching him imagine a world where all that mattered was the light, whether it came from a flashlight or the sun.  For all Nagito knew, he sounded ridiculous.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” Hajime said, slowly, after the credits rolled – Chiaki was thanked for most things Nagito hadn’t attributed to either himself or the conspicuously-absent Hajime Hinata.  “Thanks, Nagito.  You…  are you going to the next club meeting?”

“What?  Am I…?”

“I mean the School Unity Club.  If you go to the next meeting, I’ll come too.”

Nagito swallowed, fidgeting.  He brushed a little messy white hair behind his ear.  “Yeah.  Yeah, absolutely.”  He decided to push his luck, just a little, then, seeing Hajime smile: he decided to try and make this raw, beautiful person that hated him laugh.  “Maybe Kokichi’ll stop pestering me if I finally participate.”

Hajime snorted.  He relaxed, just the littlest bit, and Nagito felt his insides twist.  That was an unfamiliar feeling.

“Probably not,” Hajime said.

“No… probably not.”

That couldn’t have been part of the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s secret conniving plan, though, right?  To get them to bond over mutual frustration…  to pester them both until they started commiserating about it…

Right?

But then, maybe Nagito shouldn’t put it past him.  Kokichi’d earned his Ultimate Student-status somehow.  Maybe he and Chiaki hadn’t been completely wrong about a School Unity Club, either.

Well, now… they’d just played right into the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s hands, hadn’t they?

That didn’t matter too much, somehow, when Hajime was taking Nagito out to arcades with his other friends, and on hikes in the forest, and to read quietly on a bench in the park.  Sun on their skin, wind in their hair, ruffling the pages of their books just the littlest bit…  or else grabbing Nagito’s book away and hurtling it out horrifyingly fast into oncoming traffic.  Or maybe it was the first book Hajime got him as a gift that would get stolen by a randomly-appearing hawk, this time?   At least now Hajime knew Nagito usually laughed that desperate, rattling sort of cackle when he was upset.  Nervous.  Panicking.  At least now Hajime would rub his back, a little, and tell him they were fine.  Hey, hey.  Nagito, look at me.  Your luck isn’t your fault.  Just breathe.

Breathe.

No, falling for the Ultimate Supreme Leader’s machinations barely mattered at all, this time.

2 ½. So Glad I was Wrong About You

The first time Hajime Hinata kissed Nagito Komaeda, he hadn’t been expecting to do it, himself, if you’d asked him just five minutes before.  They were doing homework together, and the year was almost over – Nagito had asked Hajime to come to the Main Course Graduation Ball with him, as friends, of course, and high school was winding down to an end for both of them.  Hajime had just worked weekend shifts at a thrift store to buy himself a set of four-leaf clover cufflinks to wear with his suit, small and gold and hopefully not the sort of thing Nagito would think was tacky.  They were…  Hajime hadn’t known what they were, exactly, until he found himself watching the way Nagito talked with his hands, staring off into the distance, swept away in what they were discussing.  He remembered something their mutual friend Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer, had said a few weeks before:

“I don’t think Nagito’s gonna ask you to go to the ball as his date-date.  But if he does, be nice.”

Hajime hadn’t pressed Chiaki on that, for some reason.  He’d been a little distracted by how she was completely annihilating him in the game they were playing.  Why hadn’t he…  dammit, why hadn’t he really heard her, then?  If Nagito asked him out, like…  as a boyfriend…  Hajime was supposed to treat him gently.  Maybe Chiaki thought Hajime would’ve wanted to say no, to an invitation like that?  It was hard to say.  Her expression had been all dusty lavender, vague and soft, watching her character defeat Hajime’s so, so mercilessly.  The game had been reflected in her eyes, neon and flickering and fast.

But maybe…  maybe what Chiaki said had meant more than just some run-of-the-mill politeness advice.   It could have meant Nagito’d told Chiaki he was interested in taking Hajime as his date-date, but had backed away squirming from the idea because he was still getting over the concept that he was somehow fundamentally broken.   Maybe he didn’t realize Hajime had bought those four-leaf clover cufflinks like a promise, because he didn’t want this Graduation Ball to be the last chance he got to wear them.  To be fair, Hajime had only just realized that, himself.  Who else was he gonna wear four-leaf clovers for, if not the Ultimate Lucky Student?  He’d gotten to know Nagito’s luck extremely well, over the last year together; he knew which scars he tended to keep hidden, because he hated explaining their backstories, and he had watched Nagito’s closing monologue from that Reserve Course documentary over and over in the dead of night.  Trying to understand it.  Trying to understand this impossible, contrary guy who had just helped him edit his last Japanese Literature essay of the semester.

Hajime had kept telling himself he was done with Nagito Komaeda – for weeks, he’d told himself that.  It felt like such a waste, now.  They were both growing beyond Hope’s Peak Academy, in their ways, even though obviously there had been a time when Hajime would’ve told you that was impossible.  He hadn’t thought he could imagine himself a meaningful future without some link to Ultimate Talent, without this school, whatever exactly it was, but the possibilities had started painting themselves to life without him really noticing it.  The change crept in so sweetly, somewhere between the Ultimate Supreme Leader dragging the whole School Unity Club into participating in the next academy-wide musical and that time they’d all gotten lost in the mountains and Hajime found himself spreading his coat out over Nagito while he slept.   Living had changed things, brought meaning where none had been assigned by fancy academy board members.  When Hajime learned about the Izuru Kamukura Project – a study that had apparently endowed some random Reserve Course student with all the Ultimate Talents under the sun – he was jealous, yeah, but not the way he felt he should have been.

Hajime leaned across the desk and took Nagito’s face in his hands; he kissed him fast and hard, before he could change his mind.  Kissed him like he’d yelled his actual first name in his face.  Kissed him like truth, and the revelation he’d always thought maybe he could be, if only, if only, if only.  He felt Nagito tense and then soften; he felt Nagito try to speak, and then close his eyes, pale lashes brushing against his skin.  Hajime ran his hand down Nagito’s neck, and tangled it just a little in his unbrushed hair.  Nagito made a wondering, helpless sound, and Hajime held him closer.  Pulled back.  Kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Nagito said.  Hajime didn’t think he knew what for.   Maybe he was still sorry for saying he didn’t think Hajime had any reason to come to this school and that whole tangled-up, confusing introduction they’d had; maybe he was just worried he’d turned out to be a disappointing kisser.  Somewhere out in the hallway, Kokichi Oma was laughing, calling, “You’ll never take me alive!” to someone chasing him with a mysteriously bedazzled mop.  Somewhere out in the hallway, Izuru Kamukura – Reserve Course student-turned living god – was staring out at the world and realizing it was all immeasurably, heartbreakingly boring, when all the talent possible was limp in his hands.

“Why?” Hajime asked.

“Um,” Nagito said.  There were so many words churning inside him, but he was holding Hajime’s hand really tightly, now.  He cleared his throat.  “I mean, we can try that again, if you want.  If I did it wrong.”

Hajime and Nagito were both strong believers in second chances, by that point.  They went to the Main Course Graduation Ball with Nagito holding Hajime’s hand just as tight, and no, that absolutely wasn’t the last chance Hajime had to wear those four-leaf clover cufflinks.  

[callme--starchild]

Half of What You Think of Me

Donald felt this could be one of the most uncomfortable rides of his life as an adventurer. Curled up in the seat and wrapped in seat belts, his gaze wandered around the plane.

Della was piloting and chatting with Launchpad, who sat in the adjacent seat — since when had the two of them become so close? — while Scrooge stood between them, serving as the lookout that clearly both pilots were failing.

Goofy was more discreet in the seats across from him. The children were huddled around the dog, bright eyes filled with curiosity as he told them the story behind each photo in his wallet. He could actually perceive the way they waited for a photo that included him to know the memory — possibly shameful — that it possessed.

But if he knew his friend like the back of his wing, Donald knew that those images, as well as Mickey's, were in the oldest part of his cellphone gallery, far below many photos of Max. It was not something that particularly offended the duck, he understood very well what it was like to be gushing over the photos of their respective proteges.

(Feeling watched, Goofy looked up for a moment as the four ducklings admired the photos he had taken during the Powerline’s concert years ago, appreciating the soft gaze his old friend had on the children, the same loving gaze that not only seen when he looks at his.

If he hadn't known Donald since they were both younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to think of him as the biological father of the kids. He could be the uncle, it's true, but having triplets under his care for ten years was worthy of admiration, especially when counting and accepting without hesitation one more girl.)

"You are pretty quiet."

But a British accent snapped both parents out of their reverie, causing Donald to discover Goofy's gaze on him for a second before continuing to tell stories, this time about a prom.

"Oh hello Mrs. B." Donald greeted the housekeeper as she sat next to him, surreptitiously glancing at the four children. Needless to say, he did it in a very strange way by being with the belts around him. A sad smile decorated his face.

On the other hand, Beakley's expression remained neutral, with a glint in her gaze that Donald didn't quite know how to describe; preferring to focus again on the kids to perceive the way her features softened.

"You know they're not upset, right?"

Donald looked up; he hadn't noticed the moment when he lowered it and, ignoring the damp burning that was beginning to appear in his eyes, he looked back at the housekeeper. Despite the severity that was commonly woven into her face, the sailor managed to perceive the small, almost ghostly smile on her face.

It was almost hilarious that they initially got along as well as oil and water. And look at them now, bonding like a pair of confidants.

"If it was them, I would be," he confessed feeling himself shrink in his seat, his feathers clinging to the seat’s leather as if he might rip it apart.

Actually, he could; that is, he had faced greater threats for a fifth of his life, an airplane seat would be a piece of cake.

"After all, I took away from them a part of their life that currently makes them happy," and it was not the same to give it up on your own free will than to have it disappear like sand between your fingers, he knows. And it was better to think about that than the anger that tickled through his veins, all against himself “just because I was looking for an idealization of normality worthy of a  sitcom .”

Involuntarily, Donald grunted the last word. Even if it had been fun to feel on a TV show, he knew that sooner or later his trick would end up being discovered because those kids were smarter than he liked; he also did not feel happy to lie to his family — and to know that it was not the only lie he has made, the house of cards that he created with so much effort would collapse. Maybe it was better to keep the low budget and the recorded laughs on a show.

Even if he kept thinking about the life he left behind, it didn't mean that they were calm leaving theirs because what he was doing was more dangerous and it was certainly hypocritical and—

“Even if the method you used was unorthodox, I can see why you used it." Beakley's voice was the light that Donald's darkness needed, and he clung to it like a lifeline. "You love your family and you just want to see them safe and sound. I can say that I share the sentiment.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the gleam of amazement in Webby's eyes, leaning her elbows on an armrest as she listened to Goofy. He had never bothered to get to know the housekeeper better even if he lived on the pool at her house, and the fact that this was their longest talk planted something in his heart.

"And even if that fantasy were possible, I think we both know that they would not be happy with it” yes, leave the fantastic situations to cartoons and other kinds of programs for children to see “and it's incredible that I say this, but it seems like Scrooge knows what he does to keep them protected.”

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice, and the sailor stifled his laughter. To tell the truth, even he was surprised; in the adventures he engages in, he has not seen any of his nephews being pushed into a portal, shrunken, or into a block of magical ice.

It didn't hurt as much as it seemed.

“You're right.”

"Of course, I’m always right," and they both laughed, like a couple of old friends who haven't seen each other in years.

How things changed in just a few months.

"By the way," of course, they couldn't stay on the same topic of conversation, Donald himself didn't feel so comfortable talking about him, "what did you ask the genius for?"

"Oh," a smile crept in, and the duck wondered if the spy had noticed the instant his feathers turned scarlet, "I just asked for a small, big detail. You will see it arriving at the mansion.”

And oh, Donald won't be able to forget the happiness on Beakley's face at the sight of the family photograph. The photograph that included her.

One more lie.

The young duck's footsteps echoed across the silent 151st floor, one hand on his chin as he narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful and distant expression.

"Sooner or later, you'll make a mark on the ground, Old Cape," being pulled out of his thoughts by a small orb that appeared beside him, his reverberated voice playing with the superhero's nerves in an almost impossible way, "you've been like this since you returned from your mission in the 21st century, do you want to talk?”

But Uno was so worried, so nervous that Donald forgot that he was not a biological being but a machine. A  machine that acted, thought, and spoke in such a human way that it burned, that Donald wonders at what moment hearing that voice had become the most important part of his day-to-day life, prompting him to keep putting on his kevlar suit to go out on a new adventure from which he does not know if he will be able to return alive.

When had he been so lucky to meet Uno that the mere thought of something happening to him in the 21st century terrified him?

"I saw myself there," he murmured after a few seconds of silence, listening to the buzz of a chair appearing behind him and feeling a pair of hands supporting his shoulders with such care that it made him uneasy, sighing heavily as he removed his mask and his fingers fiddled with the texture, "apparently I'll be a secret agent in the future."

"Sorry to interrupt you PK, but…" Sure, Uno was concerned. He had foreseen temporal paradoxes before leaving with Lyla.

"It's all I know, he— I didn't agree to tell more. You know, the current of space-time and all that paraphernalia” but his voice gave away his anguish, and a dull sound gave away the way he let his back hit the back of the chair “but…”

But. There was always a  but.

"The Ducklair Tower wasn't there." No, his voice hadn't cracked, and Donald fought the urge to rip the hood with the voice modulator off because it was the only thing that kept his identity  secret when he's Paperinik.

Silently, Uno made his companion's sailor suit appear, letting another buzz roar in the newly silent secret floor.

"Something is going to happen, Uno, something is going to happen to  you and I don't know what it is." He squeezed his hands, applying so much force that his trembling knuckles paled more.

"It's probably not that bad, Hero." But even if Uno was an AI, he managed to hear the uncertainty in his own modulated voice. Odin Eidolon peered into the recess of his database.

Donald dropped the mask onto his lap, slowly rubbing his temples. He looked exasperated, he felt terrified.

Paperinik had never been terrified, but under that mask, he was still Donald Duck, and Donald Duck had to act on his fear more than once if he wanted to continue his life.

"He said he missed you," and maybe that's what dismayed the superhero since his return to the 20th century, staring at the ceiling and feeling smaller than usual.

He knew that the seconds were scarce before they found themselves back home, the skyscraper that was the Ducklair Tower would cease to be a non-existent point to remain the base of Channel 00 as well as the defender of the city’s; but even so… he— Donald from the future—  Double Duck had used them to dedicate a few words to the artificial intelligence, even if he had been very specific in that he would not shut up facts.

Perhaps that was what kept Donald uncertain, not Paperinik, and it is that the very idea that something was happening with Uno unsettles him.

For the first time, Uno does not know what to say to lift the spirits of his partner, not even a one-liner. But it was impossible, the artificial intelligences did not waver, not even one as advanced as he — modesty aside. That did little to reassure Donald.

It could be the first time that something had alerted both the hero and the civilian.

"Do you really think something will happen, PK?" The AI questioned empathetically as a pair of hands helped the superhero remove his suit. His system did not allow him to believe, Uno was logical; and while the Pangea project proved that even he could be wrong, it was further proof of the influence that the biological duck has had on him.

But Uno didn't believe, he  knew something had to happen for Odin to emerge, especially considering Donald couldn't connect the dots and figure out what took him a few minutes.

"I don't know," Donald growled, pulling on his sailor shirt with the help of Uno's arms — changing in front of the AI was already absolutely normal for Donald after months of doing it, often too hasty to even notice.

Still, that only demonstrated the confidence both partners had. So why did Uno feel he was lying to the sailor by hiding the truth about the billionaire businessman of the XXIII century? Why couldn't he tell him that he would never leave him alone — or how impossible it would be to get rid of him, even though clearly neither of them wanted that?

Why did the thought of losing Uno, and not by aging, terrify Donald so much?

That conversation felt very distant to the retired hero. But now that he was aware of the reason for his doubts, he wanted nothing more than to have a hint of tachyon that would allow him to travel to the moment when Uno was deactivated to avoid it.

And maybe hit Everett, who knows. He would literally have all the time in the world at his complete disposal.

But Uno was there, face to face. And Donald couldn't believe it,  he barely  could do it, but the last thing he wanted was to blink and have the intelligence— android in front of him disappear into thin air.

"H-How?" He whispered, feeling his voice harsher than usual. He was supposed to go to the abandoned Ducklair Tower to see the result of his wish. Instead, a robot perfectly built to match the appearance of an ordinary mallard stood in the middle of his door.

At this, Uno laughed. Donald didn't know how to feel; his voice did not have those reverberations that made it robotic, but one that could be heard in any duck that no one could suspect, the absence of walls causing no echoes that were familiar to the sailor to be heard.

It generated a strange feeling in his chest, but he didn't want it to fade away.

"The first piece of information that comes to my system is to be reactivated in the Tower "Uno confesses, and for some reason, he does not dare to say that among these are Donald's memories, those that he had managed to record and save in his database because well, those were personal “but this body had been in the planning for… a long time.”

His voice becomes distant as well as his gaze, and the sailor does not dare to inquire; the mere idea that his best friend had this project planned without him even knowing since before he was deactivated, left a knot in the pit of his stomach. And he prefers to focus on the lump that rested rather in his throat and left him shaking.

"It's still a bit unstable, but what else could I do? I've missed you, Old Cape…” And hearing that old nickname again felt like a lunge, and Donald couldn't help but laugh sadly as he felt moisture running down his cheeks and the edges of his beak, rushing into the android's arms before he could even prepare himself, backing out of reflex.

As Donald cradled his face against the opposite chest, concentrating on the hum that was so familiar and strange at the same time, Uno couldn't help but smile wistfully as his arms wrapped around the smaller duck's body. The AI was already aware of the size of his old companion, but now that he could see it directly, he looked much more fragile than he might have thought.

The plumage felt soft, and though he could perceive the knots and some messy feathers, the delicacy of those that grew again could not be missed. Uno was no stranger to the ducks’ molting, he had witnessed some from his partner back in the tower, but he had never realized how silky they could be.

Donald's sailor suit was now a gloomy black, had the occasional wrinkle, and exuded a faint stench of sea salt, sand, and dirt. He wasn't sure how he could identify the smells, but it must be his vast knowledge.

But the duck was trembling, sobbing in a shaky, broken voice. Or a voice more broken than usual. Not that he was critical.

"I missed you too," he confessed after a few seconds of silence, tentatively breaking the hug as he wiped his eyes. Only then could he notice that the eye bags had intensified, looking darker than he could remember “more than you think, old friend.”

And even though One couldn't age, he recognized the symbolism behind the Peking duck's words and was beyond grateful for it.

—

“So… this is the new Donald Duck?" His wing scanned one of the framed photographs on the boathouse’s stairs, and being able to feel was a feeling he didn't want to lose now.

And he was not able to stop smiling — not that he wanted to — when he appreciated the affectionate happiness on his partner's face when he kept the nephews he had heard so much about tucked in, detecting a newspaper that read blizzard in its headline.

It seemed like yesterday that Donald walked into the secret story, with a smile more radiant than he could remember, shouting from the rooftops that he would be an uncle. What he would give to go back to those times when everything was simpler and their only concern was facing Evronians and time pirates.

"It's true that a lot has changed since you left." Rubbing his arm in a nervous habit, Donald refused to leave his partner's side. Occasionally he could be heard sobbing bitterly, betraying that he had cried previously, "I would have been fascinated you were here, you would have experienced as much as I have."

However, the android had years of knowing the sailor to know that, despite the nuance that had colored his voice, no signals or double meanings were detected that directly blamed him. Donald was better than that, and they both knew it was neither their fault that he found himself disconnected and cut off from his side when he had no say in the matter.

But the would not exist. The damage had already been done and the wounds were already scarred, and with the presence of Uno Donald felt as if those scars were being treated despite being carved into his skin for ten years. It was as if the android was able to heal them almost automatically, and he was more than grateful for that little detail.

The bond between them was that strong.

"But I'm here now," he murmured, hugging his partner by the shoulder. And the sensation was so new that it was surprising to both of them, yet it didn't bother either of them, Uno's hand settling as if it had been made to be there — and maybe it was. After all, the body was built by Uno himself. “And I have no intention of leaving again…”

And it's not that the smallest duck wanted to, chuckling softly as he leaned his body against Uno's, an almost comical sight given the difference in height.

“I am glad to hear that.”

Uno's gaze continued to roam the photos, realizing that neither Scrooge nor Della was in them — except for a framed photo, prior to the hatching of his friend's nephews.

"He's Huey," Donald spoke suddenly, pointing to the red-clad triplet, and in an instant, the android had already registered that data, "he's Dewey, and he's Louie. Is more like their nicknames, but it is how they usually identify themselves.”

The intelligence said nothing, but he knew he didn't need words to show how grateful he was that he took the trouble to help him identify the triplets. It was easier and faster to search the system for them, but it was not as detailed as hearing it from his best friend and taking into account the way his voice softened when talking about them.

"And it seems that the family has grown," he added, pointing to the new family photo, seeing that in addition to Donald, the children, Scrooge and Della — who now had a leg made entirely of metal, were a girl and two ducks, the latter stout.

When the other duck followed his sight he made an affirming sound, gently taking his arm to lead him in front of the photo.

"Yes, she is my honorary niece Webby." He pointed to the duckling, and of course, Uno smirked. The hero had always had a soft spot for children, he could leave him one on his care and it wouldn't take him long to spoil them “and they are Launchpad and Mrs. B. She may look a bit strict, but she's nice; something tells me you two will get along very well.”

Of course, it hadn't taken long for his tone to turn to mock, and though the android didn't fully understand what he meant, he couldn't help but laugh with him. Like the old inside jokes they both used to have, and the fact that they will escalate now that they were together again filled him with satisfaction in an inexplicable way.

"In that case, I'm looking forward to meeting them, Old Cape."

[akimmito]

Heroes are made by the path they choose

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Master List

Chapter 18

Marinette was waiting for the moment when the Gotham vigilantes would show up, they ended up making the decision after she and Felix had a little chat with Silent Hill, she even spoke to John to ask what he knew about the two of them (of course, they had already met Robin, but their meeting was under other circumstances). John was very clear about his opinions, so she was able to have a better point of view when deciding.

They, sadly, would be the first to be recruited knowing the entire team. Unlike other members, they were recruited by two or three incumbents of the miraculous. The Aurore case, which was recommended by Chloe, Marc and Nathaniel; Silent Hill was recruited by her, Felix, and Max; Not in Hell was brought into the organization by Marc and Nathaniel (with approval from Alix and Luka). The others were led by other circumstances, such as John (who was led by her alone), Adrien (who only retired from the team due to circumstances that were out of his control), Jean (Chloe's butler ended up involved after it was done difficult to explain strange behaviors, becoming a great ally), Kim (he was initially recruited to be part of the team, but ended up only an affiliate) and Gina (how could she not realize that her granddaughter was the one who made contact with her? Maybe he couldn't discover her as Ladybug by magic, but there was nothing of the kind involved here anymore. It was easy).

So yes, Nightwing and Robin will be their first victims. The only one who completely opposed the idea was Damian, but she couldn't get any information out of him. Until minutes before meeting them.

"My father is Batman."

Marinette stayed still in those moments, but her son kept moving forward. She saw him draw one of his swords, but she was still processing his words. However, she slides it down and makes sure she doesn't forget to talk to him later. She can't go crazy in those moments.

Damian doesn't know who possessed him to say it in those moments, his mother had been asking the night before when they were alone, but he refused to say a word. And minutes, seconds, before meeting his brothers, it was not the right time. Well, the damage is done.

"You're not welcome." He's not feeling satisfaction in threatening his brothers, not at all, it's simply to maintain an image and let them know that they will not accept his games. It's just that.

Afterward, he just kept watching, watching the interaction, focusing his attention on Nightwing, who keeps his gaze fixed on his mother. He frowns, it doesn't matter if it's inside or outside the mask, Richard Grayson keeps looking at his mother; doesn't like. But his mother wouldn't notice him, would she?

No she wouldn't. She doesn't even give him a glance, she's more focused on Robin, so no, and his mother wouldn't notice Grayson. Even so, he must mark territory, he doesn't want one of his brothers as a father, although them is better than his father. No, he cannot submit to such thoughts, the man who marries his mother must be worthy of it.

When they go through the portal, the little glamor placed on him fades and he heads to the common room, where the others must be.

Marinette watches him leave, curious about her son's visible bad mood.

"Make yourself comfortable." She smiles kindly, in stark contrast to the intimidating image she was giving earlier.

"Suzaku…" She directs her gaze towards Robin, she finds it amusing that the youngest is the one who takes the reins because the responsible adult seems too lost watching her. Oh yeah, she realized, it's not subtle at all.

"Yes?"

"You mentioned that they already knew about us, how did they find out?"

"We have a contact." She doesn't remove her smile and proceeds to settle in front of Nightwing, her place would normally be at the head of the table, but she finds the attention he's giving her endearing. Oh well, what will their expression be when they see who is under the mask? It's not that she knows who they are, but she could guess, however, she will not be wandering in those directions.

“So you have a network of contacts?” Robin seems very excited by the information and seems to want to know more, much more. His curiosity is well received, especially since there is no malice, at least she cannot perceive it. "How do you open those portals? Is it related to heroes?"

"Quiet. All those questions will be clear at the meeting… so Nightwing, you didn't say anything, did a bird tear your tongue out?" This time, her smile changes to a cheekier one. John taught her to smile like that, it's a fun flirting game they have.

"I'm giving myself time to process everything, you really caught us off guard. We wanted to talk to one or two of you, I wasn't expecting us to have a meeting scheduled. ”He smiles humorously, he doesn't lie, sure, but it's not the whole reason.

"Oh, understandable. Although I could swear that the cause of your distraction was me. "Marinette is having fun, the years when she could barely talk to someone she liked, even a little, are long gone and buried, now it's much easier.

He doesn't respond to what was said because they see the others enter, being surprised to see several of them without a mask. Tim quickly recognizes Chloe Bourgeois, how not to do it, she is a MP and they have seen her several times in the news, she has very good press on her part. They also see Felix Graham of Vanily, Dick remembers him from that red carpet that Stephanie insisted on seeing months ago, in addition to the photos that Tim showed her from the newspapers of when Gabriel Agreste was arrested. The others, they don't recognize at all, although there are a couple of faces that they are sure they should recognize.

"Nice to meet you" Luka takes the initiative to say hello, sitting next to Marinette and taking his partner by the hand to take a seat next to him, Damian immediately claims the seat on the other side of his mother, refusing to take off his mask, even though everyone has put it aside.

"The pleasure is ours." Dick is the one who responds, more alert for the presence of everyone else.

"Do you have any specific questions or do you prefer to wait for us to finish explaining?" Felix asks, settling in next to Damian, the center of the table will always be where Marinette is sitting, so he will always be close to her. The Great Guardian is the main focus in any gathering, even if others don't know her importance.

"Just one." Tim responds, driven by his curiosity because he suddenly has these people who take care of his identity coming to use magic for that purpose, showing his face to them too easily. "Why are you showing us your identities?"

"We'll get to that, Robin. We'll start by introducing ourselves. ”Marinette smiles more kindly, taking a more professional approach now that everyone is settled in and the meeting has begun. Only Max is missing, but they know that he is busier with something more important. "It's hard not to recognize myself, people pay more attention to me than I'm comfortable receiving. Everyone knows me as Marie Lenoir, but my friends know my name is Marinette. ”She takes off her mask and Dick chokes on his own breath. Tim is very surprised, but doesn't show it. "He's my son, Damian.”The boy just frowns in his direction and thinks long and hard before lowering his mask.

Dick doesn't know how to feel about the Damian thing, he's a boy, a boy who surely has a lot of training or she wouldn't let him run around, right? In addition, he carries two swords with him, these being his main weapons, from what he could see of his suit, in addition to some other tools that he surely keeps in the thick belt that looks like cloth, the boy is covered in green, black and gray tones; He has even pulled his hood down revealing his tousled dark hair, very different from when he was seen at country house.

"Felix Graham of Vanily, although if you did a little research on the situation from seven years ago, you know who I am."

"Chloe Bourgeois, impossible not to know about me. I go out unnecessarily on television..."

"And I thought you loved the attention, Chloe." Nathaniel scoffs and she in response shakes her head the other way, hitting him lightly with her hair, drawing a little laugh from Alix at their childish fights that never change. "Nathaniel Kurtzberg, I'm not well known.”He shrugs, but smiles at the two guards. "And he's Marc Anciel.”

Marc just greets them with a little shyness, althoug he keeps moving forward and has made great progress by himself, plus he got his own confidence gain in his work and that's something about it that he will always be safe, no matter how uncomfortable he's in social situations.

"Alix Kudbel." She's simple with her presentation, doesn't see the need to focus too much on assuming something they might or might not know about them.

"Kagami Tsurugi, he's my boyfriend, Luka Couffaine." Simple and clear, Kagami wants to move fast to make the rules of the game clear. Having more allies was always a plan that was discussed when the MT started, but it's still a matter that puts everyone on edge. "Ideally, you should show your identities, the information that we will share with you is not something that is said to any random stranger. Mari-hime doesn't trust just anyone and her instincts are rarely wrong, but we need a guarantee."

Can the people they choose be trusted?

------

It's a Nara: We already made contact with Nightwing and Robin

Silent Hill: Oh perfect

Kiss my ass: So everything ready for the reunion on the weekend?

It’s aNara: Yes, hopefully, they will join too

Not in Hell: It will be entertaining

Kiss my ass: Of course it will! It will be so chaotic

It’s a Nara: I hope not, we will deal with serious matters

Oscar de la Rosa: I already booked the tickets for my trip to London

Divine gift: Everything perfectly calculated, excellent, Jean

Oscar de la Rosa: We must ensure that nothing gets out of control

Silent Hill: You guys are very efficient, they remind me of Alfred

Divine gift: No one can beat Alfred

Oscar de la Rosa: But it is an honor that you mention it

It’s a Nara: Who is Alfred?

Divine gift: A butler

Oscar de la Rosa: A Butler

[thelioncourts]

title: the mannequin gallery fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent rating: mature words: 9758 for chapter eight (8/?); 51050 all together

Damen was good at keeping himself busy, and that was a great thing because he liked being busy.

It turned out, however, that it was a little more difficult to accomplish a nonstop business, especially for almost an entire week, without Nik. It wasn’t impossible by any means, but it was more difficult. After all, Nik was a constant presence, had been since they were school children playing kings and knights on the sand while Damen’s stepmother watched on. Him not being around felt different.

Still, Damen had plenty to do while Nik was off attending photography sessions, lunches that were more planning than eating, and dealing with the multitude of models that would be walking the runway tomorrow. There were photos to be edited and posted from their time in Cortina and their brief week in Berlin, there were longtime sponsors to be called, such as Damen’s favorite supplement company over in New York that truly had the best tasting protein powders, EAAs, and pre-workout on the planet (rumor was they were coming out with collagen peptides soon too and Damen couldn’t wait to get his hands on those), or the company they got their luggage from; and there were potential sponsors to email to see if a partnership could be worked out on terms preferable to both parties. It was a full-time thing, truth be told, especially navigating the time zone differences Damen did his best to be cognizant of.

So yeah, Nik wasn’t around, but Damen was good at keeping himself busy.

It wasn’t going to be necessary after tonight though. Today at three on the dot was the dress rehearsal for the show, scheduled so they had plenty of time to fix anything gone wrong with enough time for the models and crew to get home and rest before the big day tomorrow. Damen, of course, was going to both the rehearsal tonight and the show tomorrow. He had been told that Charls had yet one more suit for him to wear that the man was ecstatic about getting around Damen’s shoulders. It all meant that Damen’s next two days were packed and, after those days were said and done, Nik would be back on his side and they could leave Paris.

And as much as Damen was enjoying Paris and all its sights, he was ready for new scenery. After the show tomorrow it would be time to start planning their next place. Damen was already thinking about Spain and then maybe a trip across the ocean to Canada. It’d been a while since they’d had a chance to really go on an adventure.

With a click, he sent out one last email to a wireless headphone company that had contacted them last week and then he leaned back in the chair he was sitting on and took in the view.

He had decided to do work out on the balcony of their hotel room. Part of him had wanted to go out, settle in at a cafe somewhere, and pretend to be Parisian for a few hours, and the other part of him knew that, had he done that, he would have been too distracted by everything around him. But here on the balcony wasn’t such a bad deal. He had the sounds of car horns, engines, murmurs—  and sometimes yells — in a variety of languages, and the gentle rustling of the air to be a sort of white noise that kept him grounded and focused.

But now his work was done and he could look, could take in the sky that was a blank slate of gray, could take in the people cautiously walking around with umbrellas already out in case it rained, could take in the insane increase in traffic on the road leading into Paris Fashion Week.

Damen was in the middle of keeping a mental tally of every person he saw pulling luggage out of a car to stay in the very hotel they were staying at when the door opened.

The first thing Damen was hit with was a sense of déjà vu. Over his shoulders, Nik had two black garment bags that Damen could only assume had each of their names written in gold upon. The second thing Damen was hit with was one of the said garment bags as Nik threw it and it landed on his face.

“What’s this?” Damen asked, holding the bag at an arm’s length. It was heavy, the fabric inside a kind with a weight to it that Damen immediately was worried of getting hot while wearing.

“Your outfit for tomorrow. Beware, it’s just as gaudy as the one last week,” Nik said. He hung his own bag on a hanging attachment between the two closets in the room.

Damen snorted. “At least it should be our last gaudy outfit while we’re here.”

“Oh, mine isn’t gaudy, just yours,” Nik said. “I have to be inconspicuous as I’ll be up around the stage. My outfit is just a black suit with a black undershirt.”

“What? And I’m getting stuck with some atrocity that’ll make me wish I couldn’t see in color at all?”

[Continue on AO3]

There hardly was time to dwell on his new Charls’ creation, however. Now that Nik was back, Damen’s busy two days finally began. They had early lunch plans at Massale and it was going to be a sprint to get from there to the space where the show was being held for rehearsal at three. Only the gods knew how long the rehearsal would be, but at a minimum it was going to take near three hours.

“Does the rehearsal have a dress-code?” Damen asked as they exited the hotel. He looked down pointedly at his outfit which consisted of the black joggers he’d been lounging in all morning, a crisp white tee, and a zip-up black jacket with white stripes down the arms and circling his shoulders. Nik looked him up and down and then made a face.

“They didn’t say anything. I’m wearing this,” he said, motioning to his own outfit of light wash jeans and a dark blue tee. “Besides, I don’t think they’re going to care at the rehearsal. You’re not exactly who they’re focused on today.”

Unsurprisingly, lunch was delicious, but some of the enjoyment of its deliciousness was lost as they truly did have to sprint from the restaurant to a cab that got stuck in actual lunchtime traffic for so long that they put a handful of bills on the center console and, once more, sprinted. This time they sprinted all the way to the Grand Palais, the stage for the show tomorrow. They made it on time though, walking in with Nik’s photography pass and its fine print stating that he would have a manager with him, and they even appeared to beat Charls who wasn’t flitting around in an anxious tizzy quite yet.

The Grand Palais des Champs-Élysées, commonly known as the Grand Palais, was an immaculate building located in the 8th arrondissement of Paris and could be seen from the Eiffel Tower. Built at the end of the 19th century, the building was a masterpiece of classicism and art nouveau. Its classicism could be seen in its stone facades, columns, and friezes, and it was the intricate metalwork that structured the famous glass ceiling that showcased its art nouveau touches. It was a stunning building, its attraction as a tourist sight obvious, and Damen smiled at how fitting it was for Etoile to have their show here.

But the Grand Palais’ artistry was almost a second thought when the set for the show came into view. Neither Damen or Nik had known that fashion shows created entire sets, like a stage production, for their shows. It made sense, Damen thought later. Oftentimes, these fashion lines had tangible themes to them. The set designer for Etoile had told Nik and the other photographers about several of their past shows, some of which included fashion lines centered around clothes inspired by Itay’s romantic rues, clothes inspired by Riviera cruises, and clothes inspired by the alpine winters. The set for the alpine winters had been covered in something to give the appearance of snow, that’s how much work was put into an Etoile show. But even knowing that, Damen and Nik were taken aback by the extravagance of the scene underneath the glass ceiling.

They recognized what it was an imitation of right away. After all, it was one of the few places they had traveled to here in Paris in those earliest days of getting to the city. In front of them was the Palace of Versailles’ Hall of Mirrors.

Chandeliers had been assembled to hang, each one an endless shimmering of crystal and gold and light, and their light glinted off of all the gilded gold statues and reliefs adorning the walls. Marble columns lined the Grand Palais, making it appear like a hall, and between each column was a golden arch. In the true Hall of Mirrors, there were seventeen of these arches. On one side of the hall were arched windows that overlooked the gardens below. Across from these windows were mirrors, the very mirrors this hall received its name from. For Etoile’s show, every archway held only a mirror.

It was beautiful and something worthy of royalty to be seen within. And it wasn’t done. There were men hanging paintings from the ceiling, hanging them in the way the chandeliers were, but they were not centered; the paintings were being hung over the archways as though they were lining the walls, and Damen recognized they were paintings like what decorated the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors. Paintings of Louis XIV’s greatest early triumphs.

“They don’t play around do they?” Nik asked rhetorically, his eyes scanning the hall in disbelief.

“Haven’t you been practicing with this all week?” Damen asked back, his voice holding the same kind of disbelief Nik’s eyes held.

“In separate pieces. I mean, they’ve had us practicing shooting in front of mirrors, in front of reflective surfaces, in front of light backgrounds, and then all of that combined. But I didn’t expect it to be this,” he paused, “extra.”

Damen laughed and put a hand on Nik’s shoulder. “Really? After two weeks of being around Etoile and you weren’t expecting something this extra?”

“Nicolas, there you are,” said an older man suddenly -- an older man who was definitely flitting around in a tizzy while Charls was absent to do so — with a thick French accent. “The photographers are meeting in the dressing rooms alongside the models. You will need to be practicing how you will move from there to the stage as unobtrusively as possible.”

“His name’s Nik,” Damen said even though it wasn’t him who had been addressed. He was smiling, but anyone that knew him, Nik as a prime example, would be able to see the way his shoulders had tensed, would be able to see the way the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Nik reciprocated Damen from moment’s ago and put a hand on Damen’s shoulder instead.

“I’m sorry?” the man — Audin, one of the other designers, though Damen couldn’t remember if he designed set or clothing — asked, sounding anything but sorry.

“His name’s Nik. It’s not short for Nicolas, but Nikandros. It’s a Greek name.”

“Of course,” Audin continued. Damen didn’t miss the way the man looked at Damen’s clothes with distaste. Then he was gone, walking as though knowing with utter certainty Nik would follow. Damen made a sound.

“It’s fine, Damen,” Nik said, his hand still on Damen’s shoulder. “You settle in to watch, I’ll go do what I need to do, and then we’ll be done for the day.”

“I can’t wait to get back on the road,” Damen said. His shoulders were still raised.

“Me too. It’ll be nice for some normalcy.” Nik paused for a moment, and then said quieter, “I’m sorry for throwing this on us.”

“Hey, no,” Damen started, pulling back. “This is incredible for you. I just wish it wasn’t like —” Damen used both hands to motion at the everything around them.

“It really hasn’t been that bad. Sure, some of the older guys aren’t the nicest, but no one has been outright cruel. Yet.”

“Not even Laurent?” Damen asked, eyebrows raised.

“Laurent has been completely professional. The biggest issue with the models has been Ancel. And he’s just inappropriate,” Nik said, mouth twisting. Damen’s shoulders fell back to their normal hold after a second.

“I think a redhead might be good for you,” Damen said.

“Hell no,” Nik laughed, and he was walking too, following the direction Audin had just left. “I’ll catch up with you after.”

Damen spent a few minutes walking around and taking in the art that transformed the Grand Palais into the Hall of Mirrors, but after some walking he found a seat and sat down in it to wait for the show to begin. He waited, and he waited, and he waited, and nearly drained his phone battery in the process. There weren’t many people out near the front where the show would be, mostly a few assistants given tasks of perfecting every minute detail. Damen was beginning to fear that something had gone horribly wrong and they wouldn’t be able to get out of here for some time, but just as that worry was festering, the lighting changed and a voice rang out over the Grand Palais.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice started, its pitch low and breathy, its French accented heavily. “The French Revolution began in 1789. We, the people of France, had grown tired of the disparages between our King and ourselves. There was struggle, and pain, but we emerged victorious from the battles and slowly began to make our country what it is today through hard work and dedicated leadership that focused on bettering each citizen. Now, the great places, like Versailles, are for the people, just as they were always by the people. Though we relish each day in our freedom, we keep the beauty of the past alive by embracing it through every step we take in our great country. Today, we bring the beauty and elegance of that timet to you. Please welcome Etoile and its spring line entitled The Regency.”

There was a lot Damen could have said about the show. In the grandeur of this mock Hall of Mirrors, the clothing on the models truly appeared to be something made for the kings and queens of the days of a monarchy, where royalty was more than a symbol of the past, a romanticized view of history, but true rulers that relished in their greatness. Like the hall, many of the models were wearing golds and whites that were both glamorous and yet a camouflage, making them appear as glittering decorations that walked center until filing back against the mirrored ‘walls.’ Damen was struck by the interesting lines of the shoulders on many of the outfits, half of which were straight and wide, almost reminiscent of the 1980s shoulder-pad fad, and the other half of which were puffed and large, like a woman’s dress may have boasted in popular fashion in the past centuries. But then, at the end, were the stars of Etoile’s show.

Draped in blood reds, these models were clearly meant to be the kings, the queens, the princes and princesses of King Louis XIV’s rule. They stood out amongst the hall, amongst the other models, each dressed in the same color of the very throne that sat in the very same palace miles away. The first person that came out was Aimeric in a chunky red sweater that made him appear daintier than he was. Deep red velvet pants complimented it, especially as they ended just below his knees in a loose fit, bringing it together as a modest outfit worthy of all its attention. Then came Ancel, who stood out with his hair to match, in a red dress littered with cutouts that showcased freckled skin in all different places. Most prominent was the bearing of his sternum that begged for all eyes to look center. And lastly, Etoile’s face, was Laurent DeVere dressed in an outfit for a prince. Covered neck to toe, it was tame and utterly sensual all at once, no doubt due to the golden corset that cinched in his waist to almost nothing, that gave him such an untouchable look, that matched the crown upon his head dripping in rubies that brushed his forehead.

His crown was the only crown in the show. Etoile knew what they were doing. His beauty was unmatched.

Laurent walked like he’d been born on the runway. His footsteps fell to the barely-there beat of the music playing over the Grand Palais, his strides were long and they accentuated the length of his legs. His back was straight, his core tight, and it made him look taller. His shoulders were back and down in a way that took the attention away from any breadth and instead put the attention on the elegance of his neck and all the way to his face that was beautiful and the ultimate eye-catcher of the entire show. The jewels embedded into his crown were nothing in comparison to his eyes.

But beyond that actual magic of the show, of how beautifully it all came together, Damen was struck by how short it was. For some reason, he had assumed this show would be a long event, something to take up the entire day. Only fifteen minutes after the voice first rang out to introduce The Regency did the show come to a close, each model strutting to the front of the set, smiling instead of holding their faces in that high fashion seriousness as they brought up Laurent’s uncle for his own recognition. He was, after all, their boss, creator, and the genius behind the line.

The music died off and the lights came back on, blinding after the subtle lighting, to bring attention to the final product that was the show. Laurent’s uncle clapped his hands together once, the sound reverberating off of all the surfaces in the room to provide a near echo, and then he began to speak.

“Charls,” he started, voice loud and face relaxed. He looked ginormous on stage next to all these models, many of whom were so young they hadn’t grown into who they would be. “How were things on your end? Any complications?”

For the first time since Damen got to the Grand Palais nearing two hours ago, he finally got to set eyes on Charls who had apparently been peering at the show from one of the marble pillars nearest to the front of the mock Hall of Mirrors. He was physically flabbergasted, his hand at his heart as though begging it to stay in place, his eyes brimming underneath all the lights.

“Oh,” he said, and then he stopped to compose himself. “Oh, everything was perfect! You’re all perfect, your outfits were perfect, this set — !” He stopped again, taking in a deep breath. “This is, by far, the best show Etoile has ever done, and our past shows have been tremendous feats of beauty. Sir, you have truly outdone yourself. Your vision remains unparalleled.”

Charls was bowing at the man that was center stage. It was quite a sight, the man surrounded by models he had honed, all wearing clothes he had brought to life. Everyone began clapping, and Laurent’s uncle took the praise humbly, his smile small and his acknowledgment gracious.

“I believe that, since we have plenty of time given the perfection of everyone here today, we should celebrate. Dinner tonight at Restaurant Le Meurice Alain Ducasse. On me, of course. We’ll begin soon, say no later than seven, so our lovely models can be well-rested and beautiful come tomorrow’s show.”

As the man went to leave, clearly still having much work to do for tomorrow’s event, he was followed by more applause. Some of the models even cried out lilting thank yous at his exiting frame. Charls took his place center stage, his eyes still adoringly fixed on where Laurent’s uncle had disappeared, and then he began giving out a list of times that needed to be remembered by all parties involved for tonight and tomorrow morning.

“As we have just been told, dinner will be an early event tonight. Models, if you are not out of the restaurant come after nine, I will delicately throw you all out myself as I need you all in your rooms and resting! Regarding tomorrow, our show will begin at 10:30. Yes, we did, in fact, get Chanel’s envied time slot given their grievances of last year. As we are the first show of tomorrow, we need to make a lasting impression to last attendees through the other eight shows they will be viewing throughout the day. That means I need everyone, and I do mean everyone, here no later than 7:30. Does everyone understand?”

There were murmurs of agreement, a few excited squeaks from gods-know-who, and then the crowd of models, photographers, makeup artists, hairstylists, set designers, clothing designers, assemblers, assistants, and all others involved in creating such an elaborate show dispersed. The only two left on stage were Charls and Laurent, Charls’ hands unable to stop touching the crown on Laurent’s head, the fabric at his wrists, the stitching at the hem.

Damen was just getting ready to find where Nik and the other photographers had disappeared off to, assumingly back to the dressing rooms, when he felt a hand tug at the arm of his jacket, not kindly whatsoever. He turned, unsure of what to expect, but what he found was definitely not anything that would have come to mind.

“For reasons that don’t make any sense to me,” began the child from Etoile’s office — Nicaise, Damen remembered Laurent saying — without preamble, “you are wanted.”

“What?” Damen asked with an aborted and incredulous sort of laugh. “What for?”

“I’m not your fucking errand boy,” Nicaise said, spat, “Go find out or don’t, I don’t care.”

Damen was so taken aback by the language from someone, something, so delicate and small that it took him a moment to get his feet underneath him to follow Nicaise’s already moving feet. He gave one last sparing look to the set with its mirrors and marble pillars as though he could will Nik’s presence from where he was still meeting with the photographers, but Nik didn’t appear and Damen was off following where Nicaise had disappeared to, out a set of double-doors with large, flat golden handles.

The Grand Palais consisted of three separate areas: the Galeries Nationales, the Palais de la Découverte, and the Nave. The Nave was where the famous glass ceiling was, was where Damen had been since he had arrived earlier in the afternoon, and Nicaise had disappeared into the Galeries Nationales, located in the east wing of the building. The Galeries Nationales was often the sight of major art exhibitions and even when there was no exhibition it was brimming with all kinds of artistry. Today was no exception. The art was similar to the art that made up the entirety of the building, a display of classicism and art nouvea. But Damen didn’t have time to focus on that, not when Nicaise’s curled head was twenty yards ahead and showing no signs of slowing down.

Eventually, however, Damen’s long legs and his full grown height put him at the advantage to catch up, and he was right at Nicaise’s heels just as the boy began to slow his pace. It was right in front of a painting that Damen couldn’t see due to it being blocked by Laurent’s uncle.

“Damen,” he began as a greeting, not bothering to turn and face Damen as he came to a stop just a few steps behind him. “Or do you prefer Damianos?”

“Damen is fine, sir,” Damen said. His thumb hooked into the soft fabric of his joggers’ pocket in an attempt to stand casually.

“Damen it is. How did you enjoy the show?”

“I enjoyed it very much,” Damen said, mind whirring. “I was floored by the set design. It truly brought a line titled The Regency to a different level.”

“And the clothes?”

“Stunning as well.” Damen hesitated for only a brief moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about fashion, sir, so I hope you can forgive me for being at a loss as to what I could say. It’s not my area of expertise at all.”

The man finally looked away from the painting on the wall, a classicist painting that looked almost like a Poussin, and he smiled at Damen as though utterly amused and appreciative of Damen’s honesty. Then he said just that.

“It is refreshing having a person admit such a thing. Too often do I have men attempt to talk in circles in order to appear as though they know what they’re talking about.” He was making intent eye contact when he changed the topic and it was as though the change twisted his face into something different. Damen didn’t know what to make of it. “But there are several areas you do have expertise in.”

Damen cocked his head. The man smiled again.

“I must confess,” he started, “that I was curious about you and your friend, Nikandros. Of course, we as a company had done basic research on him during his application process, but given the influx of applications we receive there simply isn’t time to do an in-depth look at each candidate. But, as I said, I was curious after meeting you both that first day. You were both quite unlike anyone that has been involved with us here at Etoile.”

At a loss, Damen didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t know what to say. Luckily the only person who seemed to be making a big deal out of it was Nicaise who rolled his big blue eyes with the force of his entire little body.

“Your father owns a business in Greece. Akielon Tech. It’s a billion dollar company, Damianos. And not just any company, but an arms-producing company. According to several articles dug up in our search, you were the preferred heir to take over the company one day. Yet,” the man trailed, still looking at Damen with an intensity, “you’re here in Paris as your friend photographs a fashion show. How is that?”

To say that this was an unexpected conversation would be an understatement. Damen knew that a basic search of his name would bring up, nowadays, his Instagram and Youtube accounts, and no doubt the other social media accounts he held, all alongside some articles he and Nik had been featured in regarding their travels. He also knew, however, that searching his name would lead to Akielon Tech and all that it was — which was more complicated than just an arms-producing company as its focus could be found in the specific area of cybersecurity and other technological aspects of military weaponry. It wasn’t a secret, but it also wasn’t something he brought up in casual conversation and, when one was only in places for a week at most, almost all conversations were casual.

“I wasn’t ready to settle into an office for eight hour days the rest of my life,” Damen said slowly. “Not then. Not yet. I took a gap year, as expected, and things got away from me. From us. I thrilled in discovering new places, in revisiting places and finding beauty in the familiarity, in meeting new people and experiencing things I would have never experienced in a boardroom. And I still thrill in those things. Until that thrill begins to fade, I don’t see why I should change what’s working.”

“I assume your father is displeased by this,” Laurent’s uncle said, turning to face the painting once more.

“He’s not ecstatic with the decision, no,” Damen admitted, “but he’s gotten better with it. Or he’s completely resigned to it. I’m not actually sure on which of the two it is and I’d rather not know if I’m being honest.”

“Does he fund your adventures across the globe?”

“No. He helped pay for my gap year as a sort of graduation gift, but it was made quite clear if I wished to continue traveling it would be up to me. Nik and I have made it work. Those earliest years were a little rough, but we really have lucked out with sponsorships turned partnerships.”

Just as Nicaise had tugged on Damen’s sleeve without preamble did the man begin walking, motioning with his heavily ringed hand for Nicaise to follow. The boy plastered himself at the man’s side, his own glittering rings shimmering as his arms swung at his sides. Damen looked around once, twice, as if waiting for a sign as to if he was to follow or now.

“I have a proposition for you, Damianos.”

Damen followed. Nicaise turned around to watch him as he caught up with the two of them, and when Damen was back in step, Nicaise faced forward once more, his tiny jaw clenching.

“Etoile is quite a successful company. Globally, we’re renowned for our clothing, and our models are some of the most sought after in the business. But, like all successful companies, we’re looking to expand. In today’s day and age, the best way to enhance one’s self is to expand social media presence. That won’t always be the case, but it is right now.” He was still walking, the exit from the Galeries Nationales and back outside just ahead, but he was walking slowly. Damen was grateful for it as it allowed him to try and process the meaning of the conversation. “Though we have a wondrous team, we do not have the social media expertise that we should. Yes, we have all the accounts that are expected, and yes, there are posts on plenty of those accounts, but we lack the experience to make it what it needs to be. I would like for you to join Etoile as a social media manager.”

They had just reached the doors and were pushing them open when the man said that last sentence and Damen almost tripped at the threshold at the unexpectedness of it all.

“What?”

Nicaise audibly scoffed.

“I would like for you to join Etoile as a social media manager,” the man repeated. “You would be in charge of running what is and isn’t posted on our social media accounts, you would analyze daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly statistics, you would assist in navigating partnerships with other brands, you would help us script videos for any and all occasions, whether it be photoshoots with magazines, interviews during fashion week,” he motioned around them, “and, eventually, as Etoile grows, you would be one of the many needed voices as we begin our own magazine. But keep that last part under wraps for now.”

“Sir, I —”

“You would be based here in Paris, of course, but traveling is part of what makes this industry so desired. There are the Big Four cities that host two fashion weeks every year, those cities being Paris, New York, London, and Milan, but there is also a growing fashion scene in a dozen other cities. Those cities, ones like Shanghai, São Paulo, Sydney, Dubai, Tokyo, and many others, are hosting their own fashion weeks now, and Etoile is itching at the chance to attend those as well. And if any of our models are to be in a magazine, you could be needed anywhere in the world. Last year, my nephew was in Vogue’s September issue and the press surrounding that was enormous. He was in six different cities in just one month.”

As he had talked, he had kept moving towards a sleek black Rolls-Royce whose back passenger door was being held open by a stoic man that definitely wasn’t Jord. Damen had followed until his toes were at the curb of the street.

“You’ll have to forgive me again, sir, for not knowing what to say,” Damen started after it became evident the man was done speaking. “I didn’t expect this. My mind is still trying to process it all.”

The man smiled.

“I don’t need an answer today. We haven’t even begun to talk compensation, though I can assure you the number will be higher than whatever you’re currently thinking of. But I want you to think about it. You would still be able to do what you do in any spare time, you would have the means to travel on your own when nothing was scheduled, and you would be a wonderful asset to Etoile while doing so.” The man nodded once at the stoic driver holding his door open before sliding into the seat. Nicaise boosted himself into the car and slid in as well. His feet were a foot above the car floor.

“I will think about it.” Damen paused again. “I’ll have to tell Nik we’ll both be employed. He won’t know what to think about that.”

“Oh,” the man said, his voice almost sad. “I’m afraid this deal is only for you, Damianos.”

And just like that, all mind whirring and processing came to a sudden halt. Like he’d been for most of this conversation, Damen was speechless, entirely unsure of what to say besides ‘What?’ or ‘Excuse me?’ or —

“Nikandros is a talented photographer, I don’t want you to mistake my intentions there,” he said. “But Etoile has plenty of photographers ready for work who are specialized in high fashion photography. I don’t think that’s any reason to fret, however. You’ll make plenty of money working for us that neither of you will know what to think, and he will have opportunity to expand his work with the constant events occurring here in Paris. Think of how that will grow his own resume into something even more impressive.”

It was clear the conversation was over as the driver was slowly beginning to shut the door. Damen got one last view of Nicaise’s dangling feet and glittering rings as the boy waved in the rudest way Damen had ever seen anyone wave. Then the man said six words just as the door was closing, his voice prompting.

“We’ll talk after the show tomorrow.”

Damen watched the car drive away, its windows darkened so it was impossible to see the figures inside, and he took in a deep breath that had his chest rising so high that his sweatshirt pulled tightly, if only for a moment. Then he retraced his walk from the Galeries Nationales back to the Nave, all in a near daze, and he found Nik waiting for him with a questioning expression on his face and his camera hanging at his hip.

“Where’d you disappear off to?” Nik asked.

“It’s a long story,” Damen said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at what the last twenty minutes or so had brought on. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I don’t even know how I’d begin talking about it right now. Let’s talk about this instead.”

“This is starting to feel overwhelming again,” Nik said. He wasn’t pressing Damen’s disappearance and Damen was grateful. He had a lot more processing to do, a different kind of processing than what he had thought he would be doing, and he didn’t want to ruin Nik’s mood before the show tomorrow. This wasn’t the time for that.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve been watching the floods of people coming here all for fashion week and it’s as though it’s finally becoming obvious to me just how big this all is. These events are immortalized through their pictures, Damen,” Nik said and he pushed his hair back.

“Nik,” Damen smiled, easing back into something he did know the answers to, “I don’t know what else I could say to tell you how great you are and how great this is all going to be, so I’m just going to ask you to focus on enjoying dinner tonight and trying to remember everything about tomorrow. This really is a once in a lifetime kind of thing and no one is going to be there to immortalize it for you except you.”

Nik didn’t say anything else, just let out a whistle of air that lessened the tension of his body, even just a little bit.

“Are we going to have to dress up again tonight? I’m so tired of suits.”

They did, in fact, have to dress up again tonight. A quick search of Restaurant Le Meurice Alain Ducasse showed them two things; the first thing was that the restaurant was, quite literally, just three buildings down from their hotel, and the second thing was that it was a two Michelin-starred restaurant. Damen dramatically groaned before he pulled his own suit — the only one he actually owned — out of the room’s closet where it had been hanging since they unloaded their bags. As he tugged it on, he suddenly heard Laurent’s voice in his head saying “My uncle hates black suits. He says it’s the most boring color of suit a man could wear and, as you know by now, Etoile is anything but boring.” He smiled, and he smiled even wider when Nik came out wearing a classic black suit as well.

“We can survive one more dinner,” Nik said.

“We can,” Damen said, though his statement sounded less convincing.

“No fighting any old French men that mispronounce my name.”

“I’m not making any promises there.”

“I know you think stuff like that is a big deal,” Nik said, adjusting his tie so the knot was a little looser, “but it’s not. A lot of the people at Etoile are like that, and they’re like that to everyone. Even each other.”

“Just because they’re like that to everyone doesn’t make it okay.” Damen opened the door for the both of them. “If you’re working, you’re part of what keeps everything turning the way it should. The least they can do is learn your name for that.”

“At least he didn’t call me Nikki,” Nik grimaced. A flood of memories came to them both at the name and Damen grimaced as well.

“Kyra was the worst. Nikki!” Damen imitated in a high voice, the hard ‘k’ sound clicking in a purposeful manner. “She tried all sorts of weird nicknames on me too. Dami, ‘Nos. She even tried to call me Big D one time and I shut that down real fast.”

“I think Vannes might start calling you that if you’re not careful around her,” Nik said with warning.

“Let’s hope we can live the rest of our lives without that ever happening again.”

Restaurant Le Meurice Alain was the most Etoile appropriate restaurant Damen could have imagined. Its interior was almost reminiscent of the set design for the show tomorrow, like a tamer Hall of Mirrors with similar white and gold walls, chandeliers, crystal, and grandiose paintings on the walls. It turns out, Damen wasn’t far off at all in that comparison as he quickly found out upon running into Estienne , alone, that this restaurant was inspired by the Salon de la Paix in Versailles. He found out a lot more he truly wasn’t interested in, such as the man that had interpreted and designed the restaurant, the restaurant owner’s philosophy, and the way in which Restaurant Le Meurice Alain truly embodied classic French cuisine. But Damen eventually got away, only to find the restaurant flooded with the very same people from the rehearsal, all of which cleaned up quickly and quite nicely.

Nik had been swept away by a group of antsy people the moment they had been escorted into the room with the white table cloth covered tables and crystal glasses upon every surface, and Damen gave him a wave before he found his attention diverted once again by a hand tugging at the arm of his jacket.

Nicaise.

“That suit is hideous,” Nicaise said, that very unpleasant sneer on his face.

“At least I don’t have to click my heels three times to go home,” Damen said, not missing a beat as he pointedly took in Nicaise’s glittering white dress that complimented the glittering jewels in his hair, all pulled together by rubied shoes that had laced up straps at the beginning of his tiny ankles.

“What?” Nicaise asked.

Damen had no idea how a face so young could look so haughty.

“The Wizard of Oz? No? You’ve never seen The Wizard of Oz?” Damen asked incredulously.

“If you’ve watched it, that means it’s probably made for toddlers. My tastes are more sophisticated than that.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Damen said honestly. “But you should check it out. It’s a classic.”

“No, a little black dress is a classic.”

Damen couldn’t help the laugh that exited at that. Nicaise didn’t seem amused at all and actually appeared to get almost angry that Damen was. “What are you laughing at?”

“You. Who taught you to talk the way that you do?”

Before even Nicaise’s quick wit could respond, Laurent’s voice said, “That would be me.” Nicaise visibly seethed.

“That would not be you,” Nicaise said. “I don’t take after anyone but myself.”

Laurent was dressed in a suit that almost matched Damen and Nik’s own. It was a classic black suit with a white undershirt and black shoes. There were a few notable differences though, namely the silk of the lapels and the lack of tie given that the white undershirt was left unbuttoned just enough to be considered a tease with the skin that it revealed. Nicaise clearly wasn’t a fan of the suit. He had the exact same unpleasant sneer on his face looking at it as he had Damen’s suit.

“If you say so,” Laurent said dismissively.

“I do.”

Nicaise’s arms crossed over his chest in a display of defiance, though Damen didn’t truly know what the boy was being defiant about. But then he turned his head to look at somebody or something across the way and it made the jewels in his hair sparkle like rain landing on dark asphalt underneath the lights of a city at night.

“I can’t be seen with you two and your horrid excuses for formal wear,” Nicaise said after a moment. “I’m going.”

“I bet if you ask nicely tonight, someone would let you sip from their wine. You’re almost old enough now, aren’t you?” Laurent asked.

If a look could kill, Damen was certain Laurent would have fallen over dead on the spot. But Laurent was unfazed, staring back with a deadly and steady stare of his own until Nicaise clenched his fists and stormed off to do whatever it was that fourteen year olds did at events such as this one.

“What is it you want with Nicaise?”

Immediately Damen felt ten steps behind in this conversation. There was something in Laurent’s tone as he asked the question, something that would have scared a man that wasn’t Damen.

“Excuse me?” Damen asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“What is it you want with Nicaise?” Laurent asked again, his accent coming out heavily on Nicaise’s name.

“I think it’s more what is it he wants with me, and I’m fairly certain the answer to that is merely to insult,” Damen said. Confusion was evident in his voice. “He came over here to tell me how hideous he found my suit.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, but the way he was scanning Damen’s face made Damen feel as though he was being interrogated for something he hadn’t even done. But after a moment, Laurent seemed to relent, settling back on his heels. A server walked by with a tray full of glasses of deep red wine and Laurent grabbed one. Damen didn’t know why exactly, but he was surprised when Laurent took a long, deep drink from it.

“What did you think of the show?” he asked Damen, any and all malice from his previous question dissipated, and then he took another drink.

“It was beautiful,” Damen said, trying to keep up with today’s continued whiplash. “Your uncle has quite an eye for beauty.”

Laurent took another drink after Damen said that. “Indeed. But did you really like it?”

“I was telling your uncle today that I don’t know much about high fashion,” Damen admitted for the second time that day. Laurent finished the wine with one last final long and deep drink. His lips were tinged red close to the seam of his mouth.

“I don’t think anyone thought you knew much about high fashion to begin with. I don’t mean that as an insult either, but merely an observation of your repetitious fashion habits yourself.”

“What do you mean then?” Damen asked. He silently quirked an eyebrow when Laurent grabbed a second glass of wine from another server’s tray as they passed, leaving his old one in its place.

“I heard what you and your friend wore to your first meeting with my uncle. It’s all anyone at Etoile could talk about for days upon your arrival. Then today you wore,” Laurent paused as if trying to remember and he took another drink from his glass then. “You wore joggers. You wore black sweatpants to an Etoile dress rehearsal.”

Unlike when Nicaise spoke, Laurent didn’t necessarily sound offensive. He sounded more like his uncle here, amused by what Damen was saying even if Damen wasn’t trying to be funny. Damen almost preferred Nicaise’s tone.

“Wait, you saw what I was wearing today?” Damen asked instead of letting whatever else Laurent was saying get into his head. He asked it lowly, smiling with a flirtatious smile that came without thought, but Laurent’s blue eyes only flicked away.

“It’s a little difficult to miss the singular person wearing sweatpants while everyone else is dressed for the runway. Quite literally, I might add.”

“I’ll pretend it’s because you couldn’t take your eyes off of me.”

“You pretend that to be truth and I’ll pretend like I can actually eat any of this food tonight. Deal?”

“What do you mean you’ll pretend you can actually eat any of this food tonight?” All casual flirting — the kind that came naturally to Damen’s charm — died at Laurent’s sardonic tone as he struck their imaginary deal.

“Look around you,” Laurent said, lifting one elegant finger to circle the room. “The only people you’ll see eating tonight will be those who work behind the scenes. Everyone else will nitpick at their meal, pretend to eat whilst they prattle on about how overrated Prada’s show will be, and the models won’t eat a thing.”

“Why?”

“To be thin for all the cameras tomorrow. Haven’t you ever seen photos after the Victoria’s Secret show where all the models are picking up In-and-Out the second the show has ended? You seem like a guy that would be familiar with at least that. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. No water either. It makes my collarbones sharp and my cheekbones sharper. All the things the critics will care about beyond the clothes themselves.” Laurent was nearing the end of his second glass. “Thus explaining my diet of alcohol.”

“You’re just going to feel like shit tomorrow though,” Damen said, a worried furrow between his brows at, well, everything Laurent had just said.

“Mmm, no doubt. But after tomorrow I can sleep for the rest of the week if I choose and I very much might choose.”

Damen opened his mouth to respond, to ask about something, or comment on something, but there was an occurrence across the room that had clearly captured Laurent’s attention. From the side, his eyelashes were endless.

“I’m off to placate a fourteen year old before he stabs someone with a fork. I’ll probably grab more wine on my way.” Laurent handed Damen his current wine glass and said over his shoulder, “Enjoy your meal,” before he faded into the throng of people, leaving Damen’s head absolutely spinning.

“What the fuck.”

No one was around to hear it.

“Dude,” Damen started, aware of the crowd now all around him, when he found Nik again. “I can’t wait to get out of here and tell you about my day. You won’t even believe half of the shit that’s gone on.”

Nik looked up at him from the table he was seated at alongside Jeurre and Charls who were having a horribly deep conversation in slurred French. “What the hell could have happened today? We’ve been together half the day. In fact, today’s the first day we haven’t been in separate places all day since last week.”

“I know, but it’s been,” Damen huffed, “a day. I didn’t know I’d be getting stressed out while you were doing the work.”

“Well, dinner is supposed to start in about five minutes if my shoddy French is correct. We’ll talk later about whatever has you all frazzled.”

“We might want to snag a bottle of wine or five before I go into it because it’s seriously that kind of day.”

Nik’s shoddy French was correct though and they were once more treated by courses of food being set in front of them, all delicately plated and each one more delicious than the next. Impossibly, Damen found himself looking for Laurent in the crowds of tables. When he found him, he watched as Laurent did exactly what he said everyone would do. Damen watched as Laurent’s fork moved his food around on his plate, but never once left its surface to his mouth. Damen watched as he drank more wine. Looking around at others, Damen found none of Laurent’s fellow models eating either. It was unnerving, and by the third course Damen found his own appetite had dwindled into almost nothing.

After the entré of silk grain veal, Jeruselum artichokes, and ceps, people began to get up and wander again. Damen caught sight of Nicaise’s sparkling curls as he talked to Laurent’s uncle and received a gentle pat on the cheek before he was herded out the doors by the same stoic man that had driven the two earlier. It made sense as it was nearing nine.

Nik seemed to get along with Talik and her manager especially well and the three were in a conversation that was far over Damen’s head. It was something about lighting, coloring, and the disgrace of it all in regard to those with warm undertoned skin, so Damen skirted around the perimeter of the restaurant hoping to run into Jord. His no-nonsense attitude Damen had had the pleasure of meeting on a few occasions was something he thought would allow him to end his day on a semi-decent, non-dramatic note. But then he saw Laurent and all ideas of that vanished.

Laurent was in the place Nicaise had just been minutes before, talking to his uncle in a way that looked extremely calm and collected. But Damen could see he wasn’t quite as put together as he appeared, could see the way his finger kept tapping at his own leg incessantly, could see the flush of alcohol or anger or both across his ears, face, even the top of his chest underneath his white shirt. Laurent’s uncle did appear extremely calm and collected, however, and there were no signs he was anything but. He was regarding his nephew with patience, listening to whatever Laurent was saying, but Laurent was clearly displeased by the responses he was getting. Then, like it was in slow motion, Damen watched as Laurent turned on his heel and headed determinedly to the door to leave.

Damen saw him stumble. It was just a wiggle really. But Damen saw him stumble, and it was enough to have Damen following.

He cast one last look back at Nik, hoping Nik had seen, hoping Nik would at least see him so he could signal some kind of ‘I’ll be back’, but Nik was listening to Talik who talked louder with her hands than her voice.

Out the doors and on the sidewalk, Damen looked around once, twice, ignoring the welcomeness of the cool air, before he found Laurent leaning against a one-way street sign at the corner. Laurent’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the dark metal, and his chest was rising and falling just fast enough that it didn’t look quite natural. Those eyelashes Damen had briefly admired earlier were swooped against the apples of his cheeks.

“Hey.”

Laurent’s eyes opened instantly.

It was more obvious up close how drunk he was. There was a flush to his cheeks, to his ears, to the top of his chest that was most definitely alcohol, and there was a something unfocused in his gaze, as though finding Damen with his eyes required too much effort. Damen wondered how he had kept his balance so well on his own.

“Let me walk you home,” Damen said, taking another step closer.

Head still tilted back against the street sign, Laurent smiled. It wasn’t the small smile Damen had seen on him exactly twice in the few times they had met, but a full smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. Had this been almost any other circumstance, Damen would have told Laurent with all the genuineness in the world that his smile was truly the most beautiful smile Damen had ever seen in his life. But there was something unsettling about it with how today had gone, with how Laurent had just been before he had left the restaurant, with how he had been in his conversation with Damen before that.

“If I wanted someone to take advantage of me drunk, I would go off to one of the hundred parties being held tonight to kick off fashion week,” Laurent said.

Revulsion was like a punch in the gut, quite literally so like one that Damen took a physical step back. “What? No, Laurent, I just want to walk you to your apartment.”

Said apartment was across the street and three buildings down to the right. It would take five minutes, and that would mostly be due to Laurent’s expected stumbling. Still, Laurent made no effort to move, choosing to stay and watch Damen with a wary eye.

“One doesn’t leave the world of silks and bared skin unscathed. Chivalry, my dear brute in shining armor, is but a mask.”

Damen wondered, only for a moment, how Laurent was talking like that in his drunken state, but the deep-seated revulsion that Laurent thought Damen might do something awful to him was heavy. Looking around at the throngs of people still about and the cars still driving on the road, Damen couldn’t let his offer go untaken.

“Let me at least help you cross the street and watch you get into your building.” He put both hands up in a display of surrender. “I won’t follow, I’ll stay right here, but let me watch.”

Laurent’s gaze was still wary and a bit unfocused. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful and drunk and people are awful sometimes.” It was another heavy thing. “Plus, if anything happened to you I bet it’d be a nightmare for tomorrow’s show and Nik’s worked too hard for that.”

It took a moment, a moment in which Damen started pulling reasonable arguments to the front of his thoughts in case Laurent continued to be against such a simple request, but Laurent pushed himself away from the sign and swayed ever so slightly before settling.

“Fine. But just across the street.”

“You have my word,” Damen said, making a show of crossing over his heart.

Cast-iron will alone seemed to fuel Laurent into a briefly sober mindset, just long enough for them to cross the street without any issues. Damen knew better than to touch him given how the conversation had been going, but he kept one hand lifted and ready just in case Laurent actually fell. Once on the other side, the side of Laurent’s building, Laurent seemed to be entirely done with talking. He looked at Damen, sweeping over him as though he would find an answer to something, and then he left without so much as a wave or nod or goodbye, goodnight.

As Damen promised, he stayed put on the sidewalk and only watched as Laurent headed toward his apartment so steadily that Damen wondered exactly what Laurent’s alcohol tolerance was. It was only when Laurent reached the entrance that he looked back at Damen. It was one last look, maybe to see if Damen had kept his word, and it lasted only a second. Then he was gone, into the building and, assumingly, up the elevator to his apartment.

Crossing the street once more, Damen stopped at the same one-way street sign Laurent had been at and leaned against it, head tilted back in the same fashion to breathe in the chilled Parisian air. He was tired of trying to think, to make sense of a damn thing that had happened today. All he could think about was how there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that would get him and Nik both through explaining today’s events.

And gods forbid Nik had any drama of his own.

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

Finished Chapter One! Putting It Under Read More Because It’s Like, 21 Pages In Google Docs.(Reblogs And Opinions Appreciated!)Taglist: @bccfggffbgv, @new-account-sam-christy-456, Hope Ya Don’t Mind The Tags-Feel Free To Ask To Be Added Or Removed From The Taglist!

Chapter 1: “Into the Inkwell!”

“Today, another batch of Ink was stolen, alongside machine parts. We have no clue who’s committing the thefts, but we’re constantly on the lookout for any clues or suspects.” The TV broadcast.

“Ink and Machine part theft? Why those specific items?” Dipper hummed, confused.

“Maybe it’s a rogue cartoonist out to get revenge on the world that scorned them! The world that decided that they were not worthy to press comics or cartoons to the world!” Mabel guessed.

“Or it could be that they’re creating a machine that relies on Ink for fuel.” Dipper suggested.

“Hey kids, whatcha watching?” Stan asked, leaning in.

“The news.” Dipper said, pointing at the current newscast on the television screen. Stan looked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yada yada, Ink stolen, yada yada, machine parts, yada yada….” Stan read. Stan froze as he read over the broadcast again. “Ink and Machine parts?! That sounds like…” Stan trailed off.

“Sounds like what, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked. Stan shook his head.

“Nothing, Dipper. Nothing at all. Just thought I had an idea is all.” Stan declined.

(Flashback.)

“Heya, Ford, can I get your opinion on somethin’?” Hunter asked nervously.

“What is it?” Ford asked, turning to look at Hunter, crouching down to look her in the eyes.

“We-Well, I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I got a blueprint idea and I-I wanted your input if that’s okay with you…?” Hunter asked. Ford laughed, standing up.

“Of course! I’m glad you’re willing to give inventing a try!” Ford smiled. Hunter sheepishly handed the blueprints over, Ford reading them over, eyes narrowing as he read them.

“Hunter,” Ford started, tearing his eyes away from the paper. “Is this,” He said, pointing at the paper. “A machine that’s meant to use Ink as a power source?” Ford asked.

“We-Well, yeah, i-i-i-is that too weird…?” Hunter asked sheepishly, shifting where she was standing.

“Weird? Of course not!” Ford scolded. Hunter’s face heated up in embarrassment. “It’s inGENIOUS!!!!” Ford grinned. Hunter felt hope bubbling in her stomach. “But I’m already seeing one problem with the build here,” Ford said, unrolling the blueprints. “See, the way this is set up, it’s going to be expensive to use because of the sheer amount of Ink needed to power it, even if you just need a small print!” Ford explained.

“Y-Yeah, I tend to dream big…!” Hunter chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck nervously.

“Hunter, my dear, that is preCISELY the kind of dreaming that I encourage!” Ford grinned.

“I-I’m not interrupting anything important, a-am I?” Hunter asked. Ford shook his head.

“No, no, no! It’s PERFECTLY fine, Hunts!” Ford grinned.

“So how could I improve the build of this thing?” Hunter asked.

“Well, you could start by downsizing it a bit,” Ford started. “With the specific Ink you want to power this thing, it’d be outright UNaffordable if you kept it this size! Maybe make it the size of...oh...An average printer! That’d be an affordable amount of Ink AND it’d be a HUGE space saver!” Ford suggested. Hunter nodded, taking notes.

(Timeskip a few hours.)

“Oh! Sorry! I forgot to ask! What’re you planning to use this for?” Ford asked. Hunter winced quietly, sweating nervously. “Hunts?” Ford asked, worried at the reaction.

“I wanted to bring my cartoons to life…!” Hunter explained nervously.

“By printing them into a comic book! Hunter, you’re a genius!!” Ford exclaimed.

“I….I wasn’t being metaphorical, F-Fordsy….” Hunter frowned. Ford tilted his head, confused. “I-I...I meant LITERALLY…” Hunter grimaced.

“WHAT?!?” Ford gasped. “Hunter, you mean to tell me that your plans for this thing are to PLAY GOD?!?” Ford snapped.

“I-I know how that sounds, b-but-” Hunter started.

“No, don’t say ANYTHING MORE. I’ve helped you with this plan ENOUGH. I refuse to help someone who thinks that they can play God. The door is behind you.” Ford sneered.

“Fordsy, I-I-” Hunter started.

“DOOR.” Ford frowned.

“Ford, I-I-” Hunter restarted.

“DOOR, OUT, NOW.” Ford ordered.

“Ford, I’m sor-” Hunter started.

“GET OUT BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT, HUNTER!!!!” Ford yelled, pointing at the door. Hunter winced, picking her backpack and blueprints up and heading out the door before any more harm was done.

“Is everythin’ okay out here, Pines?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford sighed heavily. “Someone I knew that I THOUGHT was my friend was trying to use science for playing God.” Ford frowned. Ford shook his head. “Let’s get back to work on the portal. Where are we at for schematics, Fids?” Ford asked.

(Present day.)

“Grunkle Stan?” Dipper called. Stan shook himself out of it, coming back to reality.

“I’m fine, kids, what happened?” Stan asked.

“Ya just sorta...Spaced out a bit there, are you okay?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, sweetheart! No need to worry!” Stan laughed. Mabel and Dipper looked at each other, swapping worried looks.

“Grunkle Stan, do you have any idea who the criminal could be?” Dipper asked. Stan froze. He could know, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

“No. I don’t.” Stan declined.

“Hmm…” Dipper hummed.

“Mystery twin investigation?” Mabel suggested.

“Mystery twin investigation.” Dipper nodded.

“Be careful, you two!! I gotta getcha home in one piece!!” Stan reminded as the two ran out.

Stan sighed, walking to his room and pulling out a photo with three smiling kids in it. “It couldn’t be you, right bud…?” Stan thought.

(Flashback)

“Heya, Stan, can uh...can we talk really quick…?” Hunter asked, pacing in place nervously.

“Yeah, sure, what’s on your mind, Tiny?” Stan asked.

“Well, I’ve been hopping around the states with ya for a while now, yeah..?” Hunter asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, is something wrong?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Weell….” Hunter winced.

“Hunter, I’m pretty much your brother at this point, is something wrong?” Stan asked, knowing by now how to tell when Hunter was nervous.

“I…….I don’t know how to say this…” Hunter coughed.

“Tell it to me straight, Sister. I won’t get mad!” Stan assured.

Hunter’s eyes filled with hope. Finally! She could speak her mind without judgement! “Well, I got a letter from someone and I uh...It’s telling me to meet ‘em there, so uh…” Hunter stammered.

“Oh! Ya want me to take ya there?” Stan asked. Hunter’s stomach dropped. It called for just her.

“No! I mean, I wouldn’t object! I mean! Uh...Words are hard!” Hunter grimaced.

“It’s okay, Sis! Ya don’t know how to drive yet, so I’m sorta your taxi!” Stan grinned. “We can head out first thing in the morning tomorrow!” Stan beamed.

Hunter hesitantly nodded. She’d have to sneak out at night. Good thing Stan was a heavy sleeper.

(That night)

Hunter packed her stuff in her backpack, sneaking out and starting the trek to the assigned meetup spot. It’d take her about a week on foot while it’d take maybe a day by car, but she didn’t wanna risk anything. On foot was better. Less awkward.

(A week later at the meetup spot.)

Hunter knocked on the wood door. Maybe wearing shorts was a bad idea. How was she supposed to know it’d be cold there?! The door opened and Hunter stood with her shoulders squared, standing upright.

“Hunter, I’m glad you could make it. Are you alone?” Ford asked, looking around.

“Yeah, it’s just me, Ford.” Hunter assured. Ford sighed in relief, moving so Hunter could walk inside the shack.

“Sorry, I’m just...More careful now. Don’t want to risk anything.” Ford sighed.

“Dude, it’s...It’s okay. I get it.” Hunter assured.

“Well, let me show you what I called you here for.” Ford said, gesturing for Hunter to follow. Hunter followed behind him, holding her backpack tightly.

“What is this place…?” Hunter asked, looking around at all the gadgets and gizmos.

“This,” Ford said, hitting a light switch. “Is my laboratory where I keep all my experiments and inventions.” Ford said, sitting down at a desk.

“Whoa…” Hunter gasped.

“Speaking of experiments..” Ford started, making eye contact with Hunter that she didn’t dare break, for fear of death. “How’s...YOURS coming along?” Ford grimaced.

“Oh, that...It’s coming along okay, just need to fix the kinks and stuff! I sorta had one successful byproduct, but he sorta-” Hunter started.

“Wait, it WORKED?!?” Ford snapped.

“Yeah! It DID, for your information!” Hunter snapped back.

“How?!? That should be IMPOSSIBLE!” Ford groaned.

“I had a little outside help, Sixer!!” Hunter snapped, slamming her hands over her mouth afterwards, horror washing over her as she took note of Ford’s facial expression.

“No. no you did NOT just say what I THINK you just said! You did NOT JUST SAY WHAT I THINK YOU SAID!” Ford snapped.

“What?!? What do YOU think happened?!?” Hunter snapped.

“I THINK YOU MADE A DEAL WITH A DEMON!!!” Ford yelled.

“BILL WASN’T A HORRIBLE GUY!! HE UNDERSTOOD MY PLANS AND HELPED ME FIGURE IT OUT AND GET IT TO WORK!!!!” Hunter snapped.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME TO ME?!?” Ford demanded.

“BECAUSE I KNEW THAT YOU’D YELL AT ME!!!” Hunter yelled.

“WELL, IT HAPPENED ANYWAY!!” Ford bit back.

“AT LEAST WITH BILL, I HAD A FRIEND, OKAY?!?” Hunter snapped, temper slowly losing itself.

“Do NOT-” Ford started.

“NO, YOU GOT TO TALK, NOW IT IS MY TURN!!! I WENT TO BILL BECAUSE NOBODY ELSE WOULD HELP ME!!! I DIDN’T WANT TO, BUT YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!!” Hunter snapped.

“BECAUSE IT’S WRON-” Ford started.

“IS IT WRONG TO WANT SOMEBODY TO HUG AND CUDDLE WITH WHEN YOU’RE FEELING SAD?!?” Hunter demanded.

“YOU HAVE STANLEY!” Ford objected.

“I DON’T WANNA INCONVENIENCE HIM WITH MY PROBLEMS!!” Hunter shouted.

“YOU’RE PROBABLY BLOWING THIS OUT OF PROPORTION!!” Ford snapped.

“I ALMOST WOULDN’T HAVE MADE IT IF THAT ONE BYPRODUCT DIDN’T SURVIVE, FORD!!!” Hunter snapped, last thread breaking.

“...what…?” Ford gasped.

“I was so convinced I was a failure that I planned that day if the trial run didn’t work, I’d just...I-I’d…” Hunter hiccupped.

“Hunter, I-I had no idea…!” Ford apologized.

“I-It stills hurts sometimes...” Hunter smiled sadly.

“Hunter, I’m sorry, I really had no idea-” Ford started.

“I...I gotta go...I have to go deal with some stuff.” Hunter said, getting up and hurrying to leave.

(Present day.)

“People who saw the suspect say that they wore a hoodie, but they couldn’t make much else out because it was dark…” Dipper hummed.

“Well, Robbie wears a hoodie!” Mabel suggested.

“...................Not him.” Dipper said.

“You’re right, too far fetched, Dipper.” Mabel nodded.

“Who else wears a hoodie…” Dipper hummed.

“I dunno, hoodies ARE popular here.” Mabel said.

“Yeah...That’s annoying…” Dipper sighed.

“Hmm….” Mabel hummed.

“Mabel, am I the only one who finds it weird how Stan just spaced out as he read the headlines on the news?” Dipper asked.

“It is a LITTLE suspicious...But I doubt he knows anything!” Mabel shrugged comically.

“Yeah...Maybe I can ask him later…” Dipper sighed.

“Oh! Someone new that we haven’t met yet!” Mabel gawked.

“Really?!” Dipper gasped, eyes wide.

“Yeah, look!” Mabel said, pointing at someone walking by the apartment block. “Let’s go say hi!” Mabel said, speeding off.

“Mabel, wait!” Dipper said, hurrying after her.

The person walked up to the door, grabbing their bag and key for the door. “Hiya!” Mabel greeted, making them jolt in surprise.

“Mabel, slow down!” Dipper said, catching up.

“Oh, uh, Hi…?” They greeted nervously.

“I’m Mabel! This is my brother, Dipper! We saw you walking by and wanted to say hi!” Mabel grinned. The person dripped nervously.

“Isn’t that lovely…?” They said sheepishly.

“Mabel, come on, we can’t just say hello to everyone…! I am so sorry about her, she gets excited when she sees a person she’s never met before.” Dipper apologized.

“O-Oh, no, i-i-it’s fine..!” They said.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Mabel asked. They dripped more in worry.

“Uh...H...Hunter.” Hunter said shyly.

“Hunter! That’s a nice name!” Mabel grinned.

“Mabel…!” Dipper urged.

“Whoops! Gotta go! If ya wanna see us, just go to the Mystery Shack just up the road and ask for Mabel and Dipper Pines!” Mabel said, waving goodbye and following Dipper. Hunter froze, hurrying inside with everything she had, closing and locking the door behind her as she got in.

“Pines...that can’t be coincidence…” Hunter muttered to herself, putting her bag down and going to grab a picture frame from a shelf. “Maybe...Maybe...Maybe not…” Hunter hummed.

(At the shack.)

“Grunkle Stan! We met someone new today!” Mabel announced.

“Yowza!!” Stan yelped, jumping slightly at the surprise yelling.

“Oops! Sorry, didn’t mean to spook ya!” Mabel grinned.

“Who’d ya meet?” Stan asked.

“Just someone named Hunter. They seemed shifty, couldn’t see their face since they had their hoodie hood up.” Dipper said.

“Hunter? Hoodie?” Stan repeated under his breath.

“Yeah, what about it?” Dipper asked.

“Nothing, nothing. Where’d ya meet em?” Stan asked.

(At Hunter’s apartment.)

Stan knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer. After a few minutes, the door opened, Hunter answering.

“Yello?” Hunter asked.

“Hunter, is that you?” Stan asked.

“Wait...STANLEY? Stanley Pines?” Hunter asked.

“The one and only~!” Stan grinned.

“When I heard Mipper and Dabel-” Hunter started.

“Dipper and Mabel.” Stan corrected.

“I stan corrected. Dipper and Mabel said they were Pines family, I thought it was just a coincidence! I didn’t think you were ACTUALLY living here! Not after…” Hunter trailed off.

“Yeesh, don’t remind me…” Stan grimaced.

(Flashback.)

“Hunter, it’ll be okay, I promise! In and out, nothin more!” Stan assured.

“I dunno…” Hunter mumbled. Stan knocked, shrugging.

“WHO ARE YOU?!? HAVE YOU COME TO TAKE MY EYES?!?” Ford snapped, opening the door, crossbow at the ready. Hunter yelped, Stan getting in front of her in case Ford decided to open fire.

“....Well THAT’S a friendly welcome.” Stan said sarcastically.

“Stanley...Hunter.” Ford frowned. Ford put the crossbow away, moving aside. “Sorry I called you here unexpectedly, I just needed someone-” Ford started.

“AHEM.” Stan cleared his throat, gesturing towards Hunter.

“TWO someones to do something for me.” Ford corrected.

“What is it?” Stan asked.

“I’m about to show you something none of you will believe.” Ford said, opening the way to the basement.

“Ehhh, I’ve been around the world. I’m sure I’ll understand!” Stan smiled.

Ford took the two down to the basement to the portal. “I understand NOTHING about this.” Stan said.

“It’s an interdimensional portal that acts as a gateway to various alternate worlds. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe, but it can be used for TERRIBLE destruction. The way to activate it is located in the three journals I have written. The first one has already been hidden,” Ford started, walking over to a table and picking up two journals. “I am giving the last ones to you two, as I trust only you two with them.” Ford explained, handing them to Hunter and Stan.

“O-Okay…!” Hunter nodded.

“Wait, so what do we do with them?” Stan asked, confused.

“Stan, remember when we were kids and we wanted to go on a boat around the world?” Ford asked. Stan grinned expectantly. “I want you two to get on a boat, take these with you, and sail as far away as possible-to the ends of the earth-and BURY them.” Ford explained, Stan’s grin fading away as he finished.

“What?!? That’s it?!? You FINALLY wanna see me-US-after ten YEARS only to tell us to get as far away from you as POSSIBLE?!” Stan snapped.

“St-Stan, i-i-it’s okay, I-I’m okay with this…!” Hunter stammered.

“Nuh uh, no WAY, Tiny!! We haven’t seen each other in YEARS and he just wants me gone as soon as I see him again?!? I thought we were family!!” Stan snapped.

“Stanley, you don’t understand what I’m up against! What I’ve BEEN through!” Ford stressed.

“NO, YA DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT WE’VE BEEN THROUGH, SIXER!!! HUNTER AND I HAVE BEEN TO PRISON IN THREE DIFFERENT COUNTRIES, WE CAN’T STAY IN A SINGLE COUNTRY FOR MORE THAN TWO YEARS SO WE’RE CONSTANTLY ON THE MOVE, WE HAVE MORE FAKE IDS THAN IS PROBABLY HEALTHY, AND-OH YEAH-MY FAMILY HATES ME BECAUSE I’M A FAILURE, STANFORD!!! MEANWHILE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! LIVIN’ IT UP IN YOUR FANCY HOUSE IN THE WOODS, SELFISHLY HOARDING YOUR COLLEGE MONEY BECAUSE YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT YOURSELF!!” Stan snapped.

“I’M selfish? I’M SELFISH, Stanley?! How can you say that after costing me my DREAM SCHOOL?!” Ford snapped. “I’m giving you a chance to do the FIRST WORTHWHILE THING in your life, and you won’t even listen!!” Ford snapped. Hunter whimpered, trying to get in between the two.

“G-Guys, st-stop it…!” Hunter begged. Stan picked Hunter up, moving her out of the way and plopping her down on her butt. “Hey!!” Hunter peeped.

“WELL LISTEN TO THIS; YA WANT ME TO GET RID OF THIS BOOK?! FINE, I’LL GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW!!” Stan said, pulling out a lighter and holding the journal over it.

“No! You don’t understand!!!” Ford yelped.

“YOU SAID YA WANTED ME TO HAVE IT, SO I’LL DO WHAT I WANT WITH IT!!!” Stan snapped.

“No, my research!!!” Ford panicked, tackling Stan, the two fighting over the journal, Stan tripping Ford and grabbing the journal, eventually running into the next room, hitting some machinery, and starting to activate the portal.

“G-Guys, please calm down!” Hunter objected.

“STAY OUT OF THIS, TINY!!! THIS IS JUST BETWEEN ME AND HIM!!!” Stan shouted.

“Stanley, give it back!” Ford snapped.

“IF YA WANT IT BACK, YOU’RE GONNA HAFTA TRY HARDER THAN THAT!!” Stan snapped.

“G-Guys, please…!!” Hunter begged.

“YA LEFT ME BEHIND, YOU JERK!!! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE US FOREVER, YOU RUINED MY LIFE!!!” Stan snapped.

Hunter whimpered in worry, trying to figure out how to stop them fighting.

“You ruined your own life!!” Ford said, shoving Stanley back, pushing him into a piece of machinery, Stan yelling in pain as it burned his back.

“STAN!!!!” Hunter and Ford yelped in unison.

“Stanley, oh my gosh, I-I-I-I’m so sorry, a-are you alrigh-?” Ford asked, getting cut off by Stan punching him and knocking him back towards the portal, hitting the lever to finish activating the portal.

“Some brother YOU turned out to be…” Stan frowned, slowly walking towards Ford.

“Stan, calm down!! You’re hurt!!” Hunter begged.

“You care about your dumb mysteries more than your own family? WELL THEN YOU CAN HAVE ‘EM!!” Stan snapped, shoving the journal back into Ford’s arms, sending him floating off.

“No!!” Ford cried out, panic showing in his voice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, what’s going on?” Stan asked, panic rising.

“Ford!!” Hunter yelped.

“Hey, hey, Stanford!!” Stan yelped, going after Ford.

“Stanley!! Stanley help me!!!” Ford yelped.

“Oh no-WHAT DO I DO?!” Stan asked in a panic.

“Stanley-DO SOMETHING!!” Ford panicked, tossing the journal back out. “STANLEY!!!-” Ford started, getting cut off as the portal closed as he was sucked in, room flooding with a bright light as it closed.

Stan slowly got up, rubbing his head as he registered what happened. “Stanford…?” Stan called, only getting the sound of a glasses frame hitting the stone cold ground in response. Stan was confused, shock hitting as he remembered, running up to the portal frame.

“STANFORD, COME BACK!! I-I-I DIDN’T MEAN IT!!” Stan said, smacking the frame in hopes of reactivating it. Stan ran over to the lever that activated it originally, pulling on it in an attempt to reactivate it. “I JUST GOT HIM BACK, I-I CAN’T LOSE HIM AGAIN!! COME ON!!!” Stan stammered. Stan stopped trying, looking back at the portal frame. “STANFORD!!!!” Stan called.

“He’s gone, Stanley.” Hunter said coldly.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This is one of his pranks! He’s gonna come out any second now!” Stan said, chuckling nervously.

“This is STANFORD, Stanley. He doesn’t joke about mystery stuff.” Hunter said, voice flat as paper.

“Awww, come on, Hunty…! Ya don’t need to keep me in the dark, you two got m-” Stan started.

“THIS IS SERIOUS, STANLEY PINES!!!” Hunter snapped.

“Hunter, come on, I was just-” Stan started.

“YOU FOUGHT YOUR OWN BROTHER WHO LOVED YOU WITH EVERY FIBER OF HIS BEING AND SENT HIM TO WHO KNOWS WHERE, ALL FOR WHAT PURPOSE?!? OH YEAH, TO BE PETTY!!” Hunter snapped.

Stan frowned. “I didn’t mean to-” Stan started.

“AND YET IT HAPPENED ANYWAY!!” Hunter snapped, Stan looking at the floor. “HE REACHED OUT TO YOU, AND FOR WHAT? YOU TO BACKSTAB HIM FOR NO REASON?! YEAH, SOME BROTHER!” Hunter growled.

“At least I’M not being a big old bee with an itch about it!!!” Stan bit back.

“AT LEAST I’M NOT THE ONE WHO PROBABLY KILLED HIS OWN BROTHER!!!” Hunter snapped.

“YA KNOW WHAT?!? FINE!!! I ALMOST WISH ME AND FORD LEFT YA WITH THOSE PARENTS OF YOURS!!!! THEN MAYBE I WOULDN’T BE FEELING AS HORRIBLE RIGHT NOW!!!” Stan snapped.

“............Heh……….Just as I thought….Just when I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower….You fall down further….” Hunter laughed sadly.

“Hunter, wait, that didn’t come out righ-” Stant started.

“NO, IT’S FINE!!! I KNOW I’M WORTHLESS AND A FAILURE!! I KNOW I SHOULDA DIED LONG AGO!!! I KNOW I’M NOT WORTH A DARN!!” Hunter laughed sadly.

“Hunter, please-I-I-I’m sorry, I-I-I’ll make it up to ya-” Stan started.

“NO NEED, STANLEY!! YOU’RE FINE!!” Hunter snapped. “NOW, IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME,” Hunter said, picking up the second journal. “I HAVE A DUTY TO TEND TO.” Hunter scowled, making eye contact to make sure Stan knew how she felt, sending chills down his spine.

(Present day)

“I...never really saw ya after that…” Stan frowned.

“I think it was understandable why.” Hunter said.

“So…” Stan said.

“So….” Hunter trailed off.

“I’m….I’m sorry.” Stan apologized. Hunter perked up, confused.

“Sorry? For what?” Hunter asked.

“What I...said, that night, I had no place sayin’ those things, especially to you, someone I consider...Family.” Stan winced.

“Stan, I said stuff like that too, I had far LESS of a place to say those things, you REALLY didn’t mean to…!” Hunter peeped.

“Jeez, can a guy get sappy for five seconds?” Stan teased.

“I dunno, can a gal have a chance at having a normal life for five seconds?” Hunter teased back.

“Hey, uh, sorry if this sounds weird or anything, but uh, you never made any motions to shake hands, is everything like...Okay?” Stan asked. Hunter dripped nervously.

“Yep! Fine I’m!” Hunter lied.

“That was sad.” Stan said blankly.

“I….Well…” Hunter stammered.

“Ya sure you’re okay?” Stan asked. Hunter knew he should know, but she didn’t want to hurt him.

“I’m sure, your concern IS appreciated, though.” Hunter smiled.

“Well, before I head back to the Mystery Shack, one handshake, for old time’s sake?” Stan asked sheepishly. Hunter hesitated a moment before nodding, holding her hand out, Stan eagerly taking it for a handshake.

“Ew….Your hand feels a lot more...Goopy than usual.” Stan grimaced.

“Ya caught me baking.” Hunter lied.

“Ah! Baking! Good luck with that!” Stan waved. Hunter nodded, waving before closing the door.

As Stan walked home, he noticed the batter was black and almost Ink looking. He could ask about that some other day.

[scrambledgegs]

Too Late the Hero

    It was Harvey Dent who uttered the famous lines, “You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” A foreshadowing statement, as Dent later on personifies his very words when he goes on to become Two Face in the “The Dark Knight” Batman movies.

     This statement cannot be any truer, and we all can recount both real-life and fictional characters who easily represent this notion. The true-to-life “villains” we know of today may have actually started out as idealists, heroes, or savior-like archetypes that we used to looked up to – and looked past whatever side blemishes they also possessed in order to justify their actions. I think the best contemporary example of this – is the person whom Filipinos notoriously love to discuss nowadays – the person that needs no introduction, President Duterte.

About to Croak?

     President Duterte has recently been the talk of the town all the more when rumors circulated that he may have contracted COVID-19, while other rumors pointedly said that he was already on his deathbed. To augment such rumors, it was said that he may have allegedly even flown to Singapore to have himself checked. His office was quick to quash any such news by posting proof of life photos of the President, where he is seen to be eating a meal with the first family in Davao. Well, one thing we can all agree on however, is that he did not look his best. 

     The more significant and underlying message in this recent raucous is that, the general consensus on social media is that many had their fingers crossed for a new President. It looks like Duterte’s star power is quickly fading.

RUDY and RODY

   I was reminded of a conversation that a friend and I had around three weeks ago. During our usual, light political banter, I suddenly remembered how my parents used to compare President Duterte to American political icon, “Rudy” Giuliani. Quite serendipitously (and as though Netflix read my phone messages or possibly my mind), minutes later, I came across a new Netflix documentary entitled “Fear City: New York vs. The Mafia” where Giuliani is documented to have played a significant role in.

     This true crime documentary examines the rise and fall of organized crime in New York in the 1970s to early 1980s. It narrates the dark tale of how the Big Apple once transformed into the playground of underbelly operations of The Mafia – composed of the five major Italian-American crime families and their sophisticated network of ruthless henchmen. Law enforcers could not put a stop to their rings of crime, or even implicate them, and others that dared come close, found themselves or their loved ones in a rather, messy situation. These crime families of Italian descent were basically your true-to-life gangsters from which The Godfather Trilogy was based on.

 Batman, Robin and Commissioner Gordon in Gotham City

     Bringing down the Mob back then was a feat everyone thought impossible. Nevertheless, joint forces between the FBI and Giuliani (then U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York; 1983 -1989), and his handpicked team of prosecutors were able to do so – and with much required grit and tenacity. Giuliani especially, was credited to be the single piece of rice that tipped the scale in this momentous moment in the history of criminal justice. After which, Giuliani’s political career began to skyrocket. Despite losing his first election in 1989, he eventually gets elected Mayor of New York in 1993, and then reelected in 1997 to hold the position until 2001.

    During his term as Mayor of New York, Giuliani’s most popular platform was his “toughness on crime.” Such that, the gentrification, revitalization and “clean-up” of New York and significant decrease in crime rates during those heyday years are largely attributed to him. His appointment of NYPD Chief of Police, Bill Bratton also proved effective, and is often the popular topic of business case studies today. Bratton did not resort to brute force alone. In fact, he was said to be data-driven, resourceful and efficient. His non-traditional, out-of-the-box thinking, many would agree, had indeed brought about real, lasting positive change in New York.

    Giuliani was also known for making popular what is known as the “perp walk”, wherein he would orchestrate public arrests, worthy of media frenzies and major headlines, of high-profile suspects, usually of white-collar crimes. The nature of these arrests garnered some criticism of course, but it was not enough then to tarnish his image and push him far away from the good graces of the American people, especially New Yorkers. He is also highly commended for his post-9/11 (2001) disaster responses and was even knighted by Queen Elizabeth II for these tremendous efforts. He was even named TIME magazine's Person of the Year in 2001.

 Fall from Grace   

    However, fast forward years later to now 2020, many of Giuliani’s constituents and longtime supporters who once held “America’s Mayor” of the highest esteem, often say that the Rudy Giuliani of the past is long gone. Embroiled in various controversies and investigations, not to mention issues that involve being President Trump’s current legal adviser, he has said to have become the very type of white-collar “perps” he used to round up and arrest. It is quite unfortunate, isn’t it, these kind of tragic hero to zero stories. Time is not on his side now, but who knows if there is still a chance for a comeback.

 Rudy Giuliani’s story sounds very familiar.

Rody

    Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, in Davao, Philippines to be exact, during the same time that Rudy Giuliani was rising to fame, there lived and breathed another Mayor with a very similar tough guy image – Rodrigo “Rody” Duterte. An attorney as well, he also began his career in the prosecutor’s office.

Photo taken from The New York Times: Rodrigo Duterte posing with an Uzi submachine gun in 1994, when he was mayor of Davao City in the Philippines.

 Duterte Harry

    Duterte “made his bones” by allegedly taking crime into his own hands. Before assuming the Presidency, he was known as the gun-toting, smart-talkin’, fearless and tough Mayor who cleaned up Davao which back then, was supposedly a war-torn region due to the emergence of the New People’s Army (NPA) post Marcos-regime. People nodded in approval because he produced “quick” results.

    If Rudy Giuliani had his Chief of Police, Bill Bratton and the NYPD, Rody Duterte had a comparable squad as well. With the help of his elite unit of police enforcers, coined as the “Davao Death Squad” (DDS), they were able to arrest crime suspects, such as alleged (but non-convicted) drug dealers and petty thieves and parade them throughout the streets, for behold, all to know and see. This sounds like the Filipino version of a perp walk. In extreme cases, sometimes suspects were allegedly found dead in alleys or eskinitas, their bloody bodies mutilated.

     Yet, it could be said that quite a number of Davaoenos, as well as Filipinos beyond the Mindanao region, supported this kind of vigilante method because they felt safer, and they felt that finally, the wheels of justice were turning. To simplify this narrative by using a fictional analogy again, it is the same train of thought on why we have a great admiration for Batman and the like.

     Many believed this was what the Philippines truly needed - a “strongman” to discipline the country, which to be fair, is an idea that can understandably seem like the right and sound solution, given the Philippines’s web of problems. Not many are willing to further dissect, assess and accept what is truly needed to lead the Philippines. Duterte’s notoriety thus gained much popularity, and his savior persona spread like wildfire throughout the country, propelling him to the Presidential seat in 2016.

One-Trick Pony in a Small Pond

    Four years later, come 2020, and here we are, amidst a terrible pandemic with no signs of turning the tide in favor of a victory. I’ve heard one too many times, friends and colleagues say how they despise being a Filipino, and are looking for opportunities to leave and start a new life elsewhere immediately. I can’t say I blame them.

     The once highly respected and beloved Davao Mayor has become the Philippines’s Public enemy number one, for reasons we all know today such as, but not limited to:

Militaristic and shotgun approaches instead of “comprehensive, scientific and systematic policies” to mitigate the pandemic  (Read: Lives vs Livelihood Tradeoff?, August 5, 2020)

Lack of economic and fiscal planning and No transparency on stimulus packages and foreign loans (Read: A Perfect Storm, May 22, 2020)

Preferential treatment towards those in positions of power and unequal application of the law (Read: On lockdown and pushed over the edge, April 30, 2020)

Playing Russian Roulette on community quarantine implementations

Deflecting faults and shortcomings through the “Pasaway citizen” narrative

Demeaning local government leaders/efforts when they come up with their own local initiatives

Putting China’s interests ahead of the Philippines (Read: From Ugly Duckling to Black Swan, April 3, 2020)

And some of the more specific controversies that we can’t help but feel overwhelming emotions for:

Trial of Maria Ressa and his attack on free press and journalism

Shutdown of ABS-CBN which includes 11,000 employees to lose their jobs during a time like this

Inaction of recent PhilHealth scandal

  Perhaps si Mayor should have stayed as Mayor, or perhaps evolved to a different role beyond public service, instead of eyeing gargantuan tasks too big for him to handle. He may have been “effective” as Davao’s Mayor, but running a country is a whole different ballgame.

     It was in fact, the late Miriam Santiago, during the final 2016 Presidential debate held in Dagupan, Pangasinan (April 24, 2016) who pointed out, “We are not choosing a manager, administrator, etc. We are choosing the next President of the Philippines for the next 6 years.“ She even went on to enumerate three minimum criteria that a President must have in his or her arsenal in order to effectively lead, such as “1) Academic Excellence; 2) Professional Excellence, and 3) Moral Integrity” – all of which majority Filipinos flippantly shrugged off as useless qualities. I agreed with her which is why I voted for Mar Roxas. Maybe those who voted for Duterte regret this decision now, and hopefully see the wisdom behind Santiago’s statements.

     As I’ve said many times over, Duterte peddled a dream that the Philippines can only be great again with an “iron-fisted” leader, and sadly but quite expectedly, our misinformed voters ate it all up - hook, line and sinker. (Read: ORAS NA, April 26, 2016).

    I’d like to believe that Duterte perhaps started out as an idealist, with the genuine desire to carve out change where he thought he could. However, somewhere along the way, he lost himself and what he stood for when he let his ego get in the way. I think he himself now knows, but cannot admit to the public, that a one-trick pony has no business leading a highly complex, difficult and problematic country such as the Philippines.

More Analogies in 2020: The Year of the Rat led by the Pied Piper

    Other than Duterte, three other political personalities that will forever be remembered as the shameful faces of the COVID-19 situation in the Philippines are Presidential spokesperson Harry Roque, Speaker of the House Allan Peter Cayetano and the ever-infamous, Department of Health Secretary Francisco Duque. I surmise history will not be so kind to them, and their roles and decisions in this crisis will continue to be told on, even when “this is all over.”

Infestation of Rats

    These three loyal lackeys of Duterte can be likened to the rats in the children’s fairy tale of the Pied Piper who is no less than Duterte. Roque, Cayetano and Duque seem like educated and smart people, leaving no other explanation for their horrible decisions, except that they have long sold their souls to Duterte, and are in too deep to back out now. They’ve let themselves fall under some kind of spell. A consolation in the story of the Pied Piper, is that the entranced rats follow the Pied Piper’s hypnotizing music to their eventual demise and drown at sea. The Pied Piper however, just leaves them there and walks on. Seems like a foreboding scenario, figuratively speaking.

      It would be best if the story ended there. However, we find that the Pied Piper, like our very own version, is a vengeful one, and will stop at nothing until he has accomplished a personal vendetta towards whomever crosses him. In our Pied Pier’s skewed view, he feels that his opponents have gravely wronged him, or have been incredibly ungrateful for all the “work” he has achieved. His next plan of action is to hit them where it hurts the most – by getting to the children or those “most vulnerable and without a voice”. Seizing the power of his position, he is able to demonize multitudes through his filthy words, terrorizing laws and drug wars. (Read: Dead Kids, February 20, 2020).

     In so many dark metaphors, in the dead of the night, while everyone cluelessly sleeps, the Pied Piper plays his hypnotizing song that “vulnerable communities” are uncontrollably drawn to, forced to follow, or fooled into blindly following, until they all disappear without a trace, possibly never to be found again.

Light at the end of a Long Tunnel    

    However, I think our Pied Piper may have made a costly miscalculation. He may have robbed the country blind and killed countless lives (directly and indirectly), while we ignorantly slept, but he has ignited a fire. He has seemed to awoken a sleeping giant – a sleeping giant, unified in anger against this administration and what it stands for. Is Change Coming?

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.3

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 2.7k

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: i made an unintentional dragon ball z reference at the end of the previous chapter, and now this chapter is loaded with anime references LMAO dont worry if you arent familiar with dbz or sailor moon though!💖

As you approach the entrance to the mall, you have but one wish: Taehyung better show up before Jungkook. Not because you prefer Taehyung, but because you’re terrible at handling small talk and conversation—especially with a timid introvert like Jungkook. You’d rather leave it up to talkative Taehyung to prevent any awkward silences.

Unfortunately for you, however, your wish is not granted. Instead, you spot a bespectacled boy in a bucket hat and white shirt (not a hoodie for once!) sitting on a bench and taking pictures on his phone right outside of the mall. He doesn’t seem to notice you until he looks up from his phone and you’re standing right there with a tiny wave hello. Flustered, he adjusts his glasses and waves back, but that’s the extent of your greetings to one another.

So for the longest thirteen minutes of your life, a huge gap of nothingness sits between you and Jungkook on a wooden bench outside of the mall, waiting for Taehyung to show up. The boy resumes taking photos of the blue sky and the mall itself. You don’t get what’s so photo-worthy about an ordinary sky and the generic architecture of the mall. But then again, this is a boy who also probably has 256GB of storage space dedicated to pictures of his favorite idol (one of which is his lockscreen)—and you certainly don’t understand the appeal of Snow. Therefore, you do not bother asking the boy about his reasons for wasting storage space on certain photos. You wouldn’t understand anyway.

And since Jungkook is too busy using his phone for photos at one end of the bench, you decide to use your phone to text the missing boy from the opposite end of the bench.

10:13AM Y/N “Taehyung, it’s past 10. Where are you??”

10:14AM Taehyung “On my way baby. And don’t worry, I promise I’ll make it worth the wait 😉”

As both a desired and disliked idol, you’ve been called a lot of things: beauty, bitch, babe, ice queen, slut, witch. And you’ve put up with it because you feel like, to some degree, you brought it upon yourself. But you’re wondering what you did to deserve a “baby” from Taehyung. Because the last thing you want is for someone who’s kind-of-not-really your friend to make any sort of romantic advances on you when they know nothing about you.  

10:15AM Y/N “Who are you calling baby.”

10:16AM Taehyung “?”

10:17AM Taehyung “But you were fine with it the other night 🍆💦”

10:18AM Jungkook “monkaS”

10:19AM Taehyung “Wait”

10:19AM Y/N “What’s a monkas”

10:20AM Taehyung “Oops wrong chat LOL”

10:21AM Taehyung “Anyway I already told you guys yesterday that I wasn’t coming to the group project thing. I’m busy.”

He sends a screenshot of the group chat where he very clearly had said he wasn’t free. You must’ve missed that text somehow—a fatal mistake on your end because now you’re alone at the mall with Jungkook and it’s damn near impossible to talk to that kid when you can’t even relate to him. At least Taehyung could’ve broken the ice, but of course he’s too busy getting laid.

10:22AM Y/N “Can’t you fuck around later?”

10:23AM Jungkook “poggers”

10:24AM Y/N “What’s a poggers”

10:24AM Taehyung “Sorry I need at least 2 business days to cancel or change an appointment. I’m a man of my word, not a monster ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”

10:25AM Taehyung “But have fun on your date without me~”

10:26AM Jungkook “it’s not a date”

10:26AM Y/N “It’s not a date.”

At least you and Jungkook can both agree that it isn’t a date. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re stuck hanging out with him for a few hours to “get to know each other” for your stupid art project. How are you even supposed to get to know the boy when there’s nothing to talk about?

“What’s a monkas and poggers?” you ask, because your antisocial mind can’t think of anything else to say once the spam of text messages ends.

“Oh that…” Jungkook looks back down at his phone, scrolling through the text conversation to track down his cryptic messages. “It just means like oh my god and stuff.”

“In what language?” you attempt to keep the small talk going. But from the look of Jungkook’s shifty eyes, it seems you’ve probed too far.

“Gaming... language…”

“Oh.” As far as you can tell by his brief responses, the boy would rather not elaborate further. So you let the conversation die.

Instead, the two of you begin wandering around the mall, hoping it’ll spark any sort of conversation. Of course it doesn’t.

At least not initially.

For exactly 16 minutes (you would know because you’d been checking your phone every other minute as if time would pass any faster that way), you and Jungkook aimlessly walk around the mall without saying a word. And it isn’t until a new shop fills Jungkook’s eyes with sparkles that you spot an opportunity to make something happen.

The shop window is decorated with the cutest recognizable characters: Pikachu, Totoro, Naruto, Sailor Moon, and all their friends. The boy appears to have his eye on the green dragon summoned from seven Dragon Balls. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he’s interested.

Knowing him, he’d say no if you asked him if he wanted to go inside, in fear of being a burden and wasting your time. So you find a loop hole.

“Let’s go in here,” you say. He nods, obediently following you in but keeping a safe distance. While he’d say no to his own desires, he has a hard time saying no to what everyone else wants. Sounds familiar.

The first thing you see when you walk in is the magic girl section. As someone who grew up admiring Sailor Moon, you would’ve liked to have scouted out that section for nostalgic purposes. The only thing stopping you is the hoard of weebs in that corner. Jungkook, on the other hand, goes right in.

As he joins the frenzy over waifus and body pillows, you shake your head and make a U-turn towards the section with ninjas, pirates, dragon slayers, and Saiyans. The seven plastic Dragon Balls call out to you, just as they had to Jungkook before he got distracted by pink-haired heroines. If you could have one wish granted with the magic of the Dragon Balls, what would you even wish for? There’s not much that you want, except for maybe a life you don’t feel ashamed of. But not even magic would be able to help you with that.

Sighing, you pick up a display model of one of the Dragon Ball fighters and replace his natural black hair with spiky blonde hair to transform him into a Super Saiyan, an almighty hero to protect the world.

“What exactly is the science behind turning blonde when they unleash their Super Saiyan strength?” you mumble to yourself… and the quiet boy next to you. He has a tiny shopping bag with him, so at least you know he didn’t splurge on a body pillow.

“From an artist’s perspective, it makes it easier for people to distinguish between different power levels. Especially in the comics where it’s black and white, so…” Jungkook’s rambling fades out when he realizes you might not be interested in his weeby-artist mind.

“That makes sense,” you say, still fumbling around with the Super Saiyan’s spiky blonde hair. You’d thought maybe it meant something more significant. As if changing one’s appearance could make them stronger by hiding who they really are. “But I suppose not all plot details need to be that deep.”

He nods and picks up another Dragon Ball character, the bald kid with six dots on his head, and wiggles it in your direction. “Is this the kind of anime you’re into?”

You can’t help but sneer at the random but mysterious six dots on the bald head. “This and Sailor Moon.”

Jungkook’s magic girl radar goes off when you mention Sailor Moon. “Oh, so like heroes and stuff?”

“I guess,” you answer, though you’ve never really thought about it that way. It’s not like you intentionally sought out for anything involving superheroes, but it’s something you’d always been naturally drawn to. “Though it seems a bit childish to say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure everyone has wished to be a hero at some point in their life,” the boy says, glancing back at the seven Dragon Balls. “After all, heroes give us something to admire and believe in.”

“Exactly.” You set the Super Saiyan back down on the shelf and stare at the glammed-up Sailor Moon beauties from afar. For just a split second, you’re reminded of your fateful decision to become Snow. “Kind of like idols, right?”

Jungkook flinches, clutching onto his shopping bag as if you’re lowkey judging him for being obsessed with not only pretty idols, but also pretty magic girls. You weren’t planning on bringing up the topic of idols because it can be quite toxic for yourself, but it somehow slipped out of your mouth in the presence of the biggest Snow fanboy. Oops.

“Yeah, kinda…” He lets out a half-laugh, but it sounds forced, only to fill another round of awkward silence as you both exit the anime shop. Great, you’ve brought up another touchy subject and now the boy’s back on lockdown. And just when the two of you were starting to get on the same page.

“I mean… I used to look up to the Sailor Moon characters… because they were my idols… my heroes…” you stumble over your words in an attempt to salvage any momentum you had built up with Jungkook. Surely this is something the weeb can relate to and not feel bad about now that you’ve exposed a bit of your dark past.

“Really?” He tilts his head and eases his grip on the shopping bag. “Who’s your bias—I mean favorite—of the Sailor Scouts?”

You assume he’s asking because your favorite can say a lot about you. Do you prefer crybabies like Sailor Moon, smarties like Mercury, hotheads like Mars, muscles like Jupiter, or perhaps the one who fantasizes over becoming an idol? “Sailor Venus.”

Before responding, Jungkook shuffles through his shopping bag and pulls out a tiny keychain of Sailor Venus with her pretty long hair and orange sailor suit. “Me too.”

You wonder what that says about Jeon Jungkook.

-

By the time lunch comes around, long silences still follow into the food court but somehow you feel less pressure to fill in the gaps. You’re simply okay with being in the boy’s company. Something about it is almost as refreshing as the iced tea you’re sipping on.

As you down your drink, you stare intently at the tall stack of pancakes across from you. The boy’s plate of fluffy delicacies has to be quadruple the size of your tiny salad bowl that you ordered out of habit.

“Um… do you want some?” Jungkook points to his pancakes, but his eyes are glued to your lips—probably because of the drool and not because you share the same pout as Snow.

“No thanks, I’m trying to eat healthier, and I already splurged on pancakes the other day,” you sigh. Even though you've taken a step back from idol life, you feel the need to maintain your image and health for the sake of fans who may worry about you. It’s in your blood, and sometimes you hate yourself for it. “But honestly, you’re really tempting me, you know.”

“Here.” Before you can refuse, Jungkook plops one of his pancakes onto the rim of your salad bowl. “It kinda defeats the purpose of dieting if it makes you unhappy, right? But that’s why cheat days exist~”

“That’s true.” You take a single bite of your pancake, savoring its subtle sweetness. You can’t remember the last time you found pure bliss in something as simple as pancakes without worry. “Thanks, Jung-”

You’re cut off by the fact that the boy’s stack of pancakes vanished, only leaving traces of syrup on the plate and a cute little crumb on the corner of his lips.

“Did you just inhale all your food while I took one (1) bite?”

He swallows the food in his mouth and takes a sip of his milk. “Maybe.”

You don’t know whether to be shocked or impressed, but it made you giggle either way. “You’re a funny guy, you know that?”

Flustered, the boy scurries off to dispose of his food tray. You rarely hand out compliments, and maybe this is why. It probably seems too out of character for someone like yourself, and Jungkook’s fragile little heart can’t handle it.

You punch yourself in the face until Jungkook walks back to the table. Seeing as you’ve only started making a dent in your lunch, he captures a few more photos on this phone, this time of the mall interior and food court. Then he pulls out his sketchbook.

He begins by mapping out a blank page with light lines and dots. Little by little, he adds in the tables, the people, the food. And before you know it, he has the whole food court sketched out and you haven’t even touched your salad yet.

“Are you into architecture? Or like exterior & interior design?” You don’t exactly know the proper art terms for whatever Jungkook’s drawing, but it would explain why he always seems to be taking photos of wherever he goes.

“Yeah, architecture and design are cool.” He shrugs and doesn’t sound all that convincing. So he diverts the spotlight back onto you. “By the way, I mean this in the least offensive way possible, but you’re not an art major, right?”

“Are you saying that because I’m shitty at art?” you pretend to be offended, but you know he’s not the malicious type. “Or because I’m always carrying a guitar to class?”

“The latter.” You see a tiny smirk on the boy’s face as he continues to add in details to his sketch. He’d never say it, but you can tell he’s also thinking your art is complete trash. “Is it music theory? Or just guitar? Or songwrit-”

Bing! Your phone notification saves you from a potentially loaded question about an uncertain future in music, and you couldn’t be more grateful. It’s a new Witch Hazel update from jk.seagull.

You glance over to Jungkook, expecting him to have the same notification on his phone. But he doesn’t. “I would’ve expected you of all people to have notifications turned on for Witch Hazel.”

“Really? Is it because you think I’m that in love with Snow?” It’s Jungkook’s turn to pretend to be offended. You’re glad to see him lightening up and not taking things to heart.

“Are you not in love with Snow?” you tease. Jungkook freezes and so do you. Why the fuck would you ever ask him if he’s in love with an extension of yourself? You don’t want to hear the answer because it’ll hurt you either way. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

You quickly skim jk.seagull’s beautiful comic-style artwork and stop at a panel of Snow and the new bunny boy character squaring up.

“But doesn’t this look like something right up your alley?” You flip your phone around to let the boy see the cute art.

“Does it?” Jungkook looks up from his sketchbook and puts down his pencil.

“Yeah, it feels like it would be more your style than realistic architecture would,” you say, although his sketch of the food court is somehow more gorgeous than the actual food court itself. “But I don’t know… You’d be fine with anything in the art field, to be honest.”

To your surprise, the boy shakes his head at your phone screen. “I’m not cut out for something like that.”

���Coming from the best artist in our class,” you say unconvinced. He has to be joking. Or maybe just overly modest. “Obviously I don’t know how you are with storytelling and stuff, but your art is undeniably incredible. And you have a lot of passion and knowledge for comics and anime…”

“Thanks, Y/N, but I don’t think that’s the problem.”