#as i rarely see conversations about the faults of the gods mention the effect their removal would have on ordinary people

[deadrocks]

I do think that, when discussing the merits of a post-god Exandria, it's important to remember that many people in this world find peace, comfort, and purpose in their worship of the gods, and would be devastated by their loss. Not just clerics or god-aligned paladins, but many, many regular folk. Here in the real world, significantly more people ascribe to some kind of religious faith than don't; imagine what that proportion would be like in a setting where the gods are clearly and objectively real. Where people can pray and truly feel the presence of their god with them. Where they can grieve their loved ones in death yet know, without doubt, that that person's soul was welcomed into a divine domain. Where they know these gods came to their world and created all mortal life. Is there truly nothing there worth preserving? Is the imbalance of power between gods and mortals so fundamentally unjust that all that faith grants should be violently ripped away?

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

Recently I saw this post by @god-has-adhd (I'm not reblogging it because I saw the people they tagged and realised very quickly that it's quite likely that us reblogging the post will be unwelcome, to put it mildly. I'm tagging the OP here anyway since it's a direct response to the post and it seemed only fair to engage in the conversation. I hope they don't mind.) OP urged everyone to watch the video regardless of the political leaning so in the spirit of giving everything a fair shot, we watched it. 'We' here refers to both me and Mod G. There are things we agree on with the guy speaking in the video and there are things we disagree with/think he didn't properly research. However, there is one thing that's most relevant to this blog and to me, personally so I'll be talking primarily about it. This is your long post warning, I'm afraid.

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"The Real Story of Eklavya"

The context for people who haven't watched the video is that the guy brings up two stories, one of Satyakama Jabali from the Upanishads and that of Eklavya from the Mahabharata. He brings up both these stories in the context of caste, he helpfully titles it and everything.

What I found interesting is that he frames himself talking about the story with the words "The real story of Eklavya". If you know even the basics of storytelling or filmmaking, you know that this is quite important. This implies that you, the viewer, do not know the real story and the one you know is either incomplete or false.

He begins, in a memorable instance, by asking ChatGPT for a summary to grasp the popular interpretation of the story of Eklavya and Drona. I have THOUGHTS about using a machine learning tool that is trained on data that is infamously biased and lacking when it comes to anything that isn't American, but that would be digressing from the point. ChatGPT provides him a summary that mentions that Eklavya was denied Drona's tutelage because he was of a lower caste. After this, the guy proceeds to recite the lines where Eklavya is mentioned in the Adi parva of the Sanskrit Mahabharat that we refer to as Vyasa's Mahabharat. He expresses surprise at how Eklavya is introduced as being the son of the "king" of the nishads (I think leader is a better word that should've been used but the Sanskrit text has a notorious habit of having just really questionable ways of referring to people, if you've read it you know.) Which is found HILARIOUS. Bro, what do you mean you're surprised? This is COMMON knowledge, I fear.

He mentions how being the son of the nishaad's leader/king effectively puts him on the same level as Arjun and that they're both princes. He says that this means Eklavya isn't shudra or dalit (there is a word that's curiously absent here that I'll mention in a bit.) Now, this one of those parts where the choice information he presents the viewer with is bizarre. Since I promised I'll give it a fair shot, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a fault of him not researching enough and not willful omission. Maybe he just doesn't know. The information he's given here is correct, mostly. What he DOESN'T explain is who the nishads, as a group are. I'll fill in the blanks for him.

The nishad are said to be a group of tribal people who reside in the hills. The text he reads out even has the word "tribal" in it but the guy sort of glosses over it? The nishads are sort of like an aggregate grouping of different tribal populations and not the name of a specific tribe. Kind of. But the mention is still significant. See, the Mahabharata, especially the Sanskrit text, has this Thing™ that it does where it's incredibly rare to find a mention of tribal populations who are said to be human, many of the other mentioned tribal groups are demi-humans or non-humans or just straight up rakshahsas.

Eklavya is said to be the adopted son of Hiranyadhanus, the aforementioned king/leader of the nishads. The Harivamsa Purana part of the Sanskrit text (which is a giant-ass genealogy section where it traces the family line from the start of existence to the birth of Krishna) mentions that biologically he's the son of Devashrava, Vasudev's brother, which makes him Krishna's cousin by blood. Eklavya was abandoned by Devashrava in the forest and Hiranyadhanus found him and raised him as his own.

This makes Eklavya a tribal boy, I would use the word adivasi but people might disagree so I'll just say he has a tribal heritage, not by blood but by his upbringing. The man in the video says that Eklavya isn't a shudra, or dalit or untouchable, which is technically true. There's a missing word here that's doing a lot of heavy lifting for him, though. He says that Eklavya is a Kshatriya, which is DEBATEABLE because in the epic we've seen time and time again that blood doesn't matter and it's the society that does. With this, hopefully not to y'all, new information we might understand how the guy's assertion that Arjuna and Eklavya are on equal footing is shaky at best.

He continues to explain that in the text the reasoning why Drona refuses Eklavya is because he'd already promised he'd make Arjun The Best Archer. Since, he's bound by obligation to the Kurus, he can't afford to let Eklavya outshine his kuru students. The man proceeds to assert that in the text there is no caste-based discrimination happening here. Ergo, he concludes, the story of Eklavya doesn't have a caste aspect to it. If you believe otherwise, you're uneducated and need to learn the Truth and not fall into Propoganda. (I'm trying to be charitable to the guy but his tone when he says the word "propoganda" is dripping with disdain and it's making it very hard for me to remain charitable.) He ends this section this way.

This guy says he's given you all the facts. He's cited his source and he's said the complete truth. He hasn't. In this man's viewpoint, the complete and true Mahabharat is the Sanskrit text. Which, as you know, ISN'T what the entirety of the Mahabharat is and claiming that it is is a narrow perspective to see it. (Which is FUNNY considering this guy has a whole section towards the end of the video about Nuance and it's ironic that he's unwilling to provide the same nuance about the epic to his trusting audience.) Maybe he just isn't insane enough like me to know that it isn't the entire Mahabharat. It's possible.

There is a viewpoint that declares that the Sanskrit Text is the primary source and everything else isn't "canon". There's a SPECIFIC word for it but I will not say it because it's like a boogeyman word on hindublr, at least, so I'll omit the word in this post. This man, from what I've seen, shares this viewpoint.

I disagree.

The Mahabharat, is first and foremost a collection of oral traditions of storytelling that were written down much later. This means that the entire corpus of work that is this mammoth of an epic consists of the thousands of written texts, poetry, plays, songs, folk tales, recently it also includes cinematic adaptations, bedtime stories that your elders might have told you, and lastly, popular culture for better or for worse. This is my viewpoint and I feel it provides for a much better lens to engage with the story. Otherwise, you're denying the story of the rich tradition and heritage it was forged in.

The guy in the video wonders why the story of Eklavya is more popular than Satyakama Jabali and there are a lot of reasons for it. First is that the epic is simply more popular and, in many ways, more fun than the upanishad stories. Second is that the story of Eklavya captured people's minds because it's a story that has strife and the ending is unsatisfactory. Tragedies inspire emotions and connection in a way that comedies do not. There are many more reasons but I'll stop listing them.

It's not a coincidence or happenstance that there are caste dynamics added in the popular interpretation of the story. There are even seeds of this in the Sanskrit text, if this guy is truly only looking at that alone, Eklavya being a tribal kid, the way his physical appearance is described in the text, the way he's stopped from sharing a space with the kuru princes etc. If a variety of people who have historically faced similar things especially when it comes to education and find themselves mirrored in Eklavya? That's not Propaganda, as the guy puts it. It's just how stories naturally evolve and grow. It's people reading between the lines. There's no conspiracy at play. Just people finding something to relate to when they cannot relate to any other character.

I can write essays on how caste and varna show up in the Mahabharat (and I might, if even ONE person asks me for it) but to sum it down, it's a task of examining exactly who and what KIND of people are absent from the story. The Invisible People, if you will. You can count on your fingers how many shudra, dalit and adivasi figures are in the Mahabharat.

Drona is a teacher who fails at being a teacher in this instance. (The Mahabharat in many ways is a story of people failing to do their Duty. There's a certain peacock feather wearing guy who does a whole song and dance about it. It can cover a whole book. It's quite popular. Maybe you've heard of it?) Even if you ignore the caste dynamics reading of it, you cannot deny that the man just sucked at being a teacher in that moment when he denied education to a student, whatever his reasoning may be. He brutally asks for the kid to maim himself and again, even the Sanskrit text describes this action of Drona as cruel. He creates a barrier for Eklavya to stop him from continuing to practice his archery.

It's not surprising that Drona is read as a stand in for an education system that sucks at being an education system that does its job. Again, it's not a conspiracy or propaganda. It's people trying to connect to a story through the prism of their life experiences.

It is not my place to tell people what to believe and what not to believe. It's not the guy in the video's either, despite what he says. People's interpretations are personal to them. What is my place is to remind people that it's wrong to deny people their interpretations. There are versions and interpretations of the story that I hate or dislike but I'm not standing here and telling you they're not the Truth. This is the nuance that Mahabharat requires that the guy lacks. This is also why I believe his sources and research is lacking in this department.

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Beyond Eklavya

There's a lot of other thoughts and things I want to share about the rest of the video. I'll try to summarise the highlights.

There's a part where he doesn't understand what systemic patriarchy means, exactly, even though he himself gave an EXCELLENT example of it towards the start of the video with Satyakama Jabali's mother's heritage not being considered when it comes to his gotra. It was frustrating because he SAID it. He said the perfect example himself. I almost thought he set it up as a complete circle moment but he hadn't.

I appreciate him bringing a Shaivite perspective because I'm honestly tired of so much Vaishnavism at all times. I love to see different schools of Hinduism actually being practiced and not just one dominating and subsuming the others.

Towards the start of the video, Mod G predicted that the man would go on a "Periyar sucks" rant and I was so delighted that G was so right.

The guy in the video neglects to look at any contemporary research and scholarship about the linguistics and the Aryan migration theory(which he calls the invasion theory, obviously) including the genetic studies.

There's a funny bit where whenever the guy mentions Ambedkar he has to assert that he thinks Ambedkar is anti-hindu. Even when he's praising him. It happened multiple times.

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TL;DR The man in the video fails to provide his viewers with the full picture about the story of Eklavya even when he claims he is.

- Mod S

ALSO

The structure of his arguments are poor especially in the section where he talks about why the North-South divide came about. Does he not know about the field of linguistics and how root languages are established? Telugu as a language has a 'Dravidian' (he seems to hate that word, even though Dravida is not just the anglo word for the southern parts of India) root because of certain features it has. Notice how North Indian languages use Gender. And then, notice how Southern/central or even Adivasi languages use gender. One main reason why Dravidian languages have been speculated to have another root language different to Sankskrit is the counting systems. Its not wrong to say Telugu has sanskrit INFLUENCE, but again, look at WHICH people within the language group use that type of Telugu (spoiler alert, its the 'proper' upper castes). He dismisses that entirely and makes it a whole issue about how the North South divide happened.

Its very clear to me that he has no intention of representing any of the counter arguments to his premise in an honest manner and is instead single mindedly trying to create more propaganda.

-Mod G

[dreamofbecoming]

part two, this one is still mostly stobin and pre-steddie. the first part does provide some context, although i imagine you could figure most of it out yourself, but i'd recommend reading it first anyway!

ao3

part 1

platonic stobin, mentions of steddie

rating: t

wc: 3k

---

The conversation dies down and Steve goes back to filling bottles to hand off to Robin, eyes on Dustin where he's still goofing off with Munson. Good, he should get to have as much fun as he can. This is what he should be doing. What they should all be doing. Steve hates that these kids have to be fucking…soldiers so much of the time. He hates that he can't do anything to shield them from it. Not that they'd let him if he could.

Maybe Robbie has a point, about regular teenage life stuff being pointless right now, but god, what the fuck? Why should it have to be? He's 19! He can't even buy a drink yet! Robin is still in high school!

Fuck it. They should get to be kids and think about stupid pointless stuff, too.

"So I know you said you didn't want to talk about your love life, which is fair, but if I keep thinking about dying I'm gonna lose my shit, so you wanna talk about mine?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh, are we talking about how fucking weird shit has been between you and Nancy?"

Ah, fuck, that backfired almost immediately.

"What? No. Definitely not. Ok, it's been weird, but it's not a thing, ok?" She looks even more skeptical than before. "It's not! I mean, ok, maybe it is," she snorts at him, which. Rude. "But it's just like. Regular weirdness, ok?"

"What the fuck is regular weirdness?"

"You know, like, exes who haven't talked in a while in a high-pressure situation weirdness. The kind of weirdness anyone would be having in our shoes. Normal weirdness!" He throws his hands in the air, agitated.

Munson looks over at the sound of his raised voice, lifting an eyebrow and smirking. What is it with everyone raising their eyebrows at him today? He's being normal! Normal and regular! It's not his fault everything around them is weird and that makes his normal look weird by comparison. He's not doing anything wrong, so get off his nuts already! Geez!

Steve isn't sure how much of that very normal and regular monologue shows on his face, but it must be some because he can see Munson laughing at him as he goes back to playing keepaway with Dustin's hat. Bastard.

"Ugh! No, I don't want to talk about Nance. Like I really super don't. There's nothing there, it's done, it's over, there's nothing to say."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to talk about that debacle in the bus either. Six kids, Steve? Really?" Oh Jesus. He was really hoping no one had heard that.

"Bobbie, please, why are you torturing me?" He rarely deploys the Sad Eyes on Robin, mostly because they don't work especially well on her, which is insane, because they work like an atom bomb on literally everyone else. He may have left King Steve behind him, but he has plenty of skills left over from those days, not to mention he looks as good as he always has. He knows what he's working with, ok?

Anyways, this is a moment to pull out the big guns, which means Sad Eyes are a go.

As usual, they aren't as effective on Robbie as they are on other people, but she does know him well enough to realize that if he's pulling them out, it's out of desperation, so she takes pity on him anyway. Whatever. He'll take the win.

She sighs, and rolls her eyes indulgently, but she's smiling just a little. He can tell. God, he loves her. He'd burn the world down for her, is maybe going to have to. He doesn't know what he'd do without her.

"Alright, bubba, I'll bite. You want to talk about your love life, but you don't want to talk about Nancy. Whatcha got for me?"

And, oh. Shit. This is the part where he's going to have to say it out loud. He hadn't planned this far, mostly was just anxious to get the swirling feeling in his chest out into Robbie's hands because he knows she can keep it safe, mostly just trying to wipe that awful, scared, defeated look off her face, but now he has to actually do the thing. He has to say it out loud, on purpose, the way he hasn't since that day in her bedroom when his whole world shifted a little to the left, and she was the only thing holding him steady.

Fuck. Ok. He can do this. It's just Rob. No one else is close enough to hear them, and Robin will always keep him safe. She'll never let him be alone.

"So, uh. You know the, uh, the thing? That we talked about that one time?"

"Yeah, we talk every day, I'm gonna need a bit more than that, bubs."

"The, uh. The thing we decided we didn't have to talk about right away? Because it wasn't important? Or, no, it was important, but it wasn't, um. What did you say? Relevant. It wasn't relevant to my everyday life?"

"Relevant to your…oh! Oh shit! The thing! The thing we talked about! That thing!" Her eyes are wide and so so blue and her hands are flailing a little, like she wants to pat him down for injury even though that's not remotely helpful. He carefully takes the bottle out of her hand and stuffs the rag into it himself, setting it on the ground where she can't dump gasoline on herself. She smiles a little sheepishly.

"So what about the, uh, the thing?" She lowers her voice like she's in a goddamn spy movie, leaning close and waggling her eyebrows. She's so ridiculous. He loves her so much.

He gives her a pointed look. She shakes her head in response, looking confused. Jesus fuck, she's gonna make him say it.

He tries one more time, bobbing his head at her to try and make his facial expression more forceful. He doesn't miss his old crowd, really, he doesn't. He does, however, occasionally miss being around people who were constantly alert for even the smallest social shifts, who he could have a whole conversation with using nothing but subtle changes to the shape of his mouth or the width of his eyes. He loves Robin and Dustin more than life, would kill or die for them, has proven it several times over, but Christ on a cracker they wouldn't know a social cue if it whacked them in the head with a hammer.

She's still furrowing her brow at him, so he sighs, and gives in. "I think it's maybe become…relevant. I promised to tell you right away, remember?"

Her eyes go even wider than before, and she thwaps him in the chest with the back of her hand. Hard. Ow.

"Dingus!" She's whisper-shouting, but he still doesn't think anyone is close enough to hear. "What the hell!"

"Ow, Robbie, Jesus, watch the open wounds!"

She flutters her hands around his middle, like she can fix his bandages through his jacket. She does look apologetic, so that's something.

"Sorry, sorry, fuck, sorry! Are you ok? Sorry. Just, what the hell! What? Who? When?!"

He smirks at her. "What, no why or how?"

"I'm going to set you on fire with one of these cocktails if you don't start talking, Dingus, I swear to god!"

He's laughing, she's so much fun to rile up. God, he hopes he doesn't have to miss this. He hopes he gets to keep this much, at least, when they're done. He'll probably go crazy otherwise.

"Ok, ok, I won't tease, I'm sorry. So I guess, to answer your questions, uh…I found a boy to crush on, who the hell do you think, and I promised to tell you right away, didn't I?" He counts them down on his fingers while he answers them, because if he can't act like a little shit to her then honestly, what is even the point?

"Right away…holy shit. Holy shit! Steve!" She looks frantically out at the field, where Munson has now knocked Henderson over and is sitting on him, wearing his hat and crowing victory, while Dustin flails wildly on the ground. Thank fuck neither of them are looking this way, because holy hell she isn't subtle.

"Robbie, don't look, what the hell! Do you want him to know we're talking about him?"

"Oh, so we are talking about him? Eddie "The Freak" Munson?"

He cringes a little at the reminder of his earlier dismissal. "Alright, ok, so I maybe didn't give him much of a chance at first, but the Upside Down changes things, you know that! It did for us, right?"

She looks thoughtful. "I guess, yeah. So go on, loverboy, what do you like about him?" She's grinning and waggling her eyebrows again. Ugh, this may have been a mistake. She does owe him for the Tammy Thompson thing. Still, there's no one alive he'd rather talk about this with, and he has to talk to someone, or he's going to explode, and they have a…wizard…demon…thing…guy to kill. Whatever. They have killing to do, so he needs to get this off his chest so it's not clogging up his brain.

"He has…really nice eyes. And really nice hands." Robin lets out a soft "Oh, ew," before he glares at her and she motions for him to go on. "He's funny, and weird but in like, a charming way? Kind of like you, but different. The way Dustin is weird and charming like you, but different, you know?"

"You have a thing for nerds, Dingus."

"Ugh, maybe, yeah." His mind drifts back to Eddi- Munson. Gotta keep calling him Munson, at least until they get out of this. Can't afford to be distracted. "He's scared out of his mind, but he's coming along anyway, which is the kind of brave and stupid this whole group kind of runs on. He thinks he's a coward but he's not. Going back to school instead of dropping out is brave. Trusting us is brave. Acting like he does even when everyone hates him for it is brave. I wish I had been brave enough to do that, you know? Maybe I would have dropped the King shit earlier. And he's good with the kids, which you know I'm weak for. I don't know, Robs, I just…I want him to like me, you know? I want him to be impressed by me. Is that stupid?"

When he looks up, Robin's eyes are wide and shiny. She looks surprised, and a little scared. That's not good, probably, but he can't take back anything he said. He meant all of it.

"It's not stupid, bubba, it's not stupid at all. I guess I was thinking…I don't know. That it was like an adrenaline thing? Like a 'you're hot, we're in danger, I'd rather think about making out with you than dying' kind of thing? Like what Nancy was clearly doing with you earlier, you know?"

"Ugh, Robbie, I so don't want to talk about Nancy right now, please," he groans.

"Yeah yeah, I know, whatever. I just mean, it doesn't really sound like that's what's going on with you, for Eddie, right now. It kinda sounds like you, you know, like like him."

"Like like him? What are we, 12?"

"You know what I mean, Dingus, it just sounds like there are actual feelings here, not just sexy thoughts."

He shifts a little on his stool, feeling kind of exposed, but it's ok. It's just Robin. "I mean, yeah, I guess I kinda do? Have feelings. Or maybe I will? I'm kind of trying to hold them off, I guess, until we get out of here, you know? I barely know the guy, honestly, but also every time this happens I end up bonded for life to someone new, so why not him this time? I mean, the first time with the demogorgon even got me and Nancy back together, and we were like, donezo, for real, after that thing Tommy did to The Hawk. This shit is better than superglue, you know?"

Robin barks out a laugh. She squares her shoulders and puts on her best announcer voice. "Do you have trouble making friends? Looking to join a new crowd, but can't find a way in? Try Hell Beasts! Our near-death experience package will create lasting trauma that will bind you together forever! There's no escape now!"

The two of them collapse into giggles, drawing the eyes of several their friends scattered around the field.

When she composes herself, Robin gives him a soft smile. It's one of his favorites. Almost no one ever sees it but him, and not very often. "Well, I guess we had better all make it out of this in one piece, then, huh? So we can do all our sad gay pining together."

"I dunno, I think maybe I have a shot," he says thoughtfully, eyeing Edd- no, stop it, Munson, where he's flopped on the grass next to Dustin, chatting happily.

Robin boggles at him. "What the fuck do you mean, a shot? Are you- oh god, are you just gonna tell him? Steve!"

"Wh- Not right away or anything! And not for sure! I have to figure out if he's flagging on purpose first!"

"If he's whatting on what?"

"Oh come on, you remember that one zine that talked about the, uh. The whats it. The code! The hanky code, that was it!" He snaps his fingers in victory, triumphant.

She's still looking at him like he's grown a second head though, so maybe not.

"I don't know, maybe you skipped that one? From what I could tell it was more about men anyway. I think they mentioned that ladies use, uh, caribou. The clip things, you know?"

"Caribeeners? Dingus what the hell are you talking about?"

"It's this thing, right? That like, gay people, gay men, I guess, use to like, signal each other, kind of. It's basically like, you wear a hanky in your pocket, and what color it is and what pattern is printed on it and which pocket you wear it in tells people what kind of sex you like."

Robin looks even more shocked, if that's possible. "What does that even mean, what kind of sex you like?"

Oh, right. Lesbian virgin. Fair enough. "Like, do you like to uh. Give, if you know what I mean. Or receive. Do you like blowjobs, or handjobs, or like. I dunno, weird stuff. Like spit or whatever."

She's waving her hands frantically, her face screwed up. "Ahhhh lalalala that's enough! That's plenty of information, thank you!" He holds up his hands in surrender. She asked.

"Anyway, what does all of...that...have to do with you having a shot with," she switches back to her not-at-all-subtle stage whisper, "Eddie?"

"Haven't you noticed he's had that bandana in his pocket the whole time?" She whips her head around so fast he's surprised he doesn't hear her neck crack. Jesus, Robin.

"Would you chill out? You're going to make him look over here and then I'll have to let Vecna eat me because there's no way I'll survive the humiliation if he hears us, Robin!"

She glares at him. "Don't even joke about that, Dingus. You're making it out alive or I'll kill you myself."

He knows he's smiling adoringly at her, and if Henderson is looking he's never, ever beating those "in love with Robin" allegations, but whatever. "Noted, Buckley."

"So, what, you think he might be...like us? 'Cause of the bandana?"

"I mean, maybe, yeah? I might be crazy, but I also feel like he was definitely flirting with me earlier. Like in the Upside Down, and also at the trailer, you know?"

"Now that I think about it, that "Big Boy" thing was super weird. I figured it was just Eddie being Eddie, they call him The Freak for a reason, right? But I guess that could have been called flirting."

"Right? That's what I thought! And when we were down there, he was like, all up in my space, and he gave me his vest, and he seemed annoyed when I talked to Nance, even though he was trying to push me back to her. Which was insane, I didn't tell you this part Robs, oh my god. I was fully staring at his lips, just laser focused, like I would be on a girl I want to kiss, right? And he won't stop telling me how Nancy is definitely still in love with me and I should get her back! What the hell! Who does that? So I don't know," he sighs, feeling a little lost. "Maybe he isn't into me after all. But I have to at least check, right?"

"I mean, I don't think I'm the right person to ask about that, bubba, but if it goes sideways, I'll burn his house down if you want." She wiggles a molotov cocktail at him, grinning.

"Jesus, Bobbin, alright. Let's, uh. Let's call that Plan B, yeah?"

"Roger that, captain!" She gives him a stupid little salute, and for a moment he's back at Scoops, before everything went shit-shaped, but she's still his Robin, and they're safe and alive and nothing hurts.

And then he blinks again and he's sitting on an overturned bucket in front of a stolen RV, making molotov cocktails with his soulmate, watching his baby brother and the guy he might maybe sort of have a crush on tussle in the grass, hoping against hope they all live to see morning.

He picks up another bottle.

part 3

[giordirossi]

drrutherford​:

.

”Selectively optimistic, then.“ He grouses, too stubborn and currently ill-tempered to admit he might be wrong, and validated by the too-recent memory of her insisting she didn’t need any help while bleeding out on a random city curb.

‘Would it make you feel any better?…’

But that, that catches him off-guard. Maybe because it isn’t coated with the sarcasm he expects from her. Maybe because the Italian sounds like she’s really wondering; wondering if he’d derive any pleasure from yelling at her too, in his current mood.

It’s a spike-strip on his warpath; stopping him in his own tracks and deflating his resentment. It isn’t her fault, at least, and as his ire begins to dissipate somewhat, he’s able to recognize it. "Maybe not…” Gideon relents, “Either way I’d prefer if we didn’t test that particular theory tonight.” He might not be mad at her (miracle of miracles) but he’s still rankled about everything else that’s happened over the last two hours. He’s in no mood to further test his luck.

’Look, as much as I admittedly enjoy seeing you riled up… This isn’t the time or place to lose your shit.’ He’s already feeling disarmed; the shoddy defense of his temper having fizzled abruptly. Not so surefooted, given the surprise that Giordana Rossi of all people is trying to talk him off a ledge. He can’t help the question that slips off his tongue, even as he immediately kicks himself for it:

“— When did you begin to care?”

She doesn’t, you fool, one part of his mind argues. Just answer the question, the other demands. Gideon pins her with his gaze, so that if she looks away, they’ll both know she was the first to do it. Maybe it’s the alcohol that makes him so determined.

Or maybe he’s just sick of bullshit tonight.

+

"Fair enough." A curious thing to be standing just beyond his line of fire for once. Not a figure stuck in the crosshairs, but rather someone capable of observing the way his demeanor transforms when truly irate, yet feeling none of the heat. Having witnessed him at varying degrees of anger, especially towards her, Giordana finds it peculiar that none of their previous encounters rose to this level before. The typical effects of Melissa Lin... or...?

Armistice between them seems a futile thing to expect. Yet instead of brushing her off or accusing the Italian of overstepping whatever convoluted boundaries still exist where they're concerned, he fixes her with a question that she can't even fathom an answer for.

When did you begin to care?

Instinct presses against her throat, attempting to squeeze out a convenient lie that would save them both the trouble. He's drunk, enraged, and any response she gives will do neither of them any good. Maybe it's a rightful accusation; a verbal point of the finger. Grey eyes hover like a most unwelcome spotlight, challenging her resolve and waiting for either inevitable coldness or a rare admittance of defeat. Unfortunately, Giordana succumbs to another beast altogether.

"You didn't jump."

If inebriation hasn't claimed all of his cognitive abilities, he'll remember that moment in time as vividly as she attempts to forget it. Although no one ever mentions the weight of honesty and how burdensome it is to carry. How exposed a person can feel in the aftermath of revelation.

Not to mention their chat hasn't gone unnoticed. Speculative gazes bore holes into them from a distance, with silent attempts at reading body language and translating the nature of this conversation. It's all a bit much to process so the brunette stands, polishing off her own drink before sliding the empty glass across the counter.

"Apologize to your sisters, Gideon." Both the one he'd loudly accosted and the other whose birthday he appears hell bent on ruining. "And for the love of God, drink some water." With a weak half-smirk, she slips away from the bar and returns to the crowded abyss.

[ramzawrites]

requesting an angsty fic where reader is schlatts kid and they have the same features as him, namely the horns so people avoid them because of what schlatt did, it leads to reader hating their horns and cutting them off/ ripping them out and someone finds them crying, covered in blood with their horns just on the ground or smth, set after schlatts death btw

A Painful Reminder - Dad!Schlatt and Reader - Part 1

Part 2

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Niki, (mentioned) Schlatt, (mentioned) Techno

Warnings: self harm (destroying own horns with a blunt object), mention of blood, abondenment, depression, cursing

Series: an angst request!

Summary: Y/N is the child of Schlatt and after his death tried their best to deal with the grief. Hoping to connect with people only to painfully realize that their horns are a painful reminder to everyone for Schlatt’s rule and therefore try to stay as far as possible from them.

Words count: 2428

Authors Note: I hope this is fine! I struggled a bit with it and I think you can tell, I apologize for that. I’m honestly not that good with angst but if you enjoy it I’m happy!! Please give me feedback on how to get better at angst :o

I love you guys and please take care of yourself 💙

After Schlatt died and Pogtopia effectively won the war against Manberg only for the nation to get blown up by Wilbur, the people tried their best to rebuild with the help of Tubbo as the new president.

There was a new sense of hope that swept through the nation. They all suffered greatly to get to this place but this was a turning point for most. A time for healing. A time for rebuilding what was lost. A time for grief.

While Y/N spent most of their time building up their own home inside L’Manberg, they were struggling a lot with grief.

They mourned for the loss of the only parent they had in their life, Schlatt.

The president of Manburg, the tyrant that died surrounded by his enemies inside a van. The only parent of Y/N.

The relationship between the two was complicated to say the least. Deep inside they still loved their father but he brought so much pain and even bloodshed on people that they couldn’t in good conscience support him.

For the longest time they tried their best trying to persuade him, that he would change his way but he never listened. Either too full with his own ego or too drunk to care. The last straw that broke the camel’s back for Y/N was when Schlatt ordered Tubbo’s execution.

The emotions they felt while they yelled and wailed at Schlatt to stop this madness was still fresh in their mind whenever their thoughts lingered back to that day. Quackity had to  physically restrain and pull them back on Schlatt’s orders.

It was the moment they realized that there was no way for them to reach Schlatt anymore. He was set in his way and nothing could change that.

After their death to Technoblade’s blood lust during the festival, they ran away and spoke with Tommy. Y/N didn’t want to kill Schlatt but they saw in Pogtopia a chance to stop him. Make him see what he has done. Make him responsible for his actions.

Only this never came to pass. Schlatt died inside a dirty van. A heart attack or a stroke. Y/N didn’t know, nor did they care. He was dead either way.

While everyone was rebuilding and trying to fall back into a normal day to day life. Y/N was lost. They didn’t feel particularly close to anyone nor did the other seem to trust them. Their eyes were always drawn towards Y/N’s horns resting on their head.

During Schlatt’s rule they became somewhat of a symbol. A symbol for himself, for pain, for blood, for tyranny. So when Y/N walked around town the others couldn’t help but stare at these oh so similar horns that reminded them of a past best forgotten.

It made Y/N unsure of themself. It was a physical proof of their connection to their father. It was a double edged sword. In the past they loved that they inherited similar Hybrid traits like their father but now it was the reason why everyone seemed to avoid them.

The people wanted to move on but these damn horns pulled them back whenever their eyes fell on them. Y/N wasn’t stupid. They noticed this pretty fast.

Hell, if anything the funeral was the best proof for that. Bad tried his best to keep everyone under control and have a proper funeral but everyone was too busy celebrating. Talking about stealing his bones. Destroying a picture of him.

All while Y/N sat in the back. They had hoped they could use this funeral as a way to finally say goodbye, let go off the pain and regret but all this chaos just made them realize that the people will never properly accept them due to their relation with Schlatt.

Schlatt may have put all of the people through a horrible and unforgivable time but he effectively snuffed out any chance for Y/N to live a normal life between these people. This legacy of his for Y/N stung almost deeper than all the time he insulted them or flat out ignored them. It made them wonder if he ever realized what he did to his own child. Even if he did Y/N wasn’t sure he cared enough to do anything about it.

Y/N wrung their hands as they stood in front of Niki’s and Puffy’s flower shop. The money ready in their hands so this transaction could happen faster but even so they were too nervous to step in.

After some mental pep talk they finally slowly pushed the wooden door open. To their horror it begun creaking which made them wince. There was no way Niki hasn’t noticed them walking in seeing how she stood at the counter but still Y/N didn’t want to put more attention on themself than they absolutely had to.

“Oh.” Was all Niki said. She almost sounded disappointed. Y/N realized that she probably would have happily greeted anyone else coming into the shop but them.

Their eyes were glued to the ground. As they suddenly became overly aware of their horns, it felt like their weight increased immensely. Almost as if they tried to press down on Y/N. It made them feel as small and worthless as possible under the gaze of other people.

Y/N put the money on the counter as soon as they reached it “A full bouquet of purple hyacinth, please.”

“Alright.” Niki immediately moved away in order to make the bouquet ready. Though Y/N didn’t watch, they were now staring at the wood of the counter. Following he natural lines of it with their eyes as they patiently waited.

After a few minutes Niki placed the flowers in front of Y/N which pulled them out of their thoughts and made them look up. Niki forced a smile on but she still looked almost stern. Soft crevices building up as her eyebrows formed a painful frown.

“This is too much.” Niki begun pushing some of the money back towards Y/N but they shook their head.

“It’s a tip.”

Picking the flowers up into their arms they tried to put on a genuine smile before turning around to walk out of the shop.

Before they exited the shop they could hear Niki say a soft “Thanks.”

That was basically how every conversation with anyone went. Only short and the most necessary words. At first Y/N tried to start genuine conversation but they soon noticed how the others wouldn’t react. Just trying to get as fast as possible through this conversation. Their eyes always directed on Y/N’s horns.

After Y/N placed the flowers in front of Schlatt’s grave, like they did every week, they made their way towards the river.

Sometimes they would spend their time there since it’s a bit farther away from the city, so it was rare to see someone else hanging out there. Y/N mostly used this place to fish in peace. If they fished anywhere near the others their stares and frowns weighed too heavy down on them.

As they sat at the bank of the river, preparing their fishing line, their eyes fell unto their own reflection.

Dark circles adorned their eyes from their countless restless nights. Only falling asleep after hours of crying.

They couldn’t help but put the blame on their horns. Their god damn horns. Y/N hated them. Hated them so much. What would their life be like without them? Would the others still eye them so incredibly cautiously? Would they give Y/N a chance? After all Y/N was vocal about the fact that they didn’t support any of Schlatt’s decisions. For the longest time they tried to help the others through the hard times!

Yet, now as he was dead, they only showed Y/N the cold shoulder. If it wasn’t Y/N themself then the reason has to entirely lay on the horns. It was a too strong reminder of Schlatt.

A sob escaped Y/N’s lips. Tears now falling down their cheeks onto the green grass. No one was around so they didn’t mind crying loudly like this.

It was just so unfair. They did everything they could and yet all they reaped was disdain from the people and in a sick twist Y/N couldn’t even fault them for it. Whenever they saw their own reflection, their own eyes would be drawn to their dark horns after all.

Back in the day they were always happy looking at them but now they were the reason for Y/N being abandoned by everyone. They used to be somewhat good friends with Quackity due to his position as Schlatt’s Vice President and even he ignored them as soon as Schlatt was dead.

They had no one and at fault were these stupid, ugly horns.

Y/N let the fishing rod fall to the ground as they continued staring at their reflection. Trembling as they sobbed. Feeling so lonely with no way out.

What could they do? Put on a hat? There is no hat big enough to hide their horns. No, the horns had to go. There was no other way.

Shakily their hand snaked through the grass towards the water. Slowly submerging it into the ice cold liquid as the hand continued searching for something. As their hand landed on a stone that fit perfectly in their palm they held it in front of their face. Inspecting it.

As if to test it they softly tapped the stone against the tip of their horn. Their head moving with it. It felt weird. It didn’t hurt, of course, but it was still a weird feeling as the soft vibration traveled through it.

Letting out a shaky breath they reached back with their arm. The stone in an iron grip.

They hated this.

They hated everything about this but what could they possibly do? What could they do to get a proper chance at a normal conversation with Niki while buying flowers? A proper chance to talk with Quackity again, the man who was right there with them as all the bullshit happened.

All they wanted was a real chance to connect with people.

Y/N let out a sobbing scream as the stone collided with their horn, ripping off a good part of the tip.

It softly splashed into the water. Getting stuck between rocks, slowly rocking with the water stream.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” They stammered between sobs as they once again pulled their arm back in order to strike the horn again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Their arm and hand hurt from constantly colliding with the hard material. A huge headache was now spreading through their head as they were sitting between broken pieces of what used to make up their horn.

But they weren’t done yet. The other side had to go as well.

With every new blow their whimpers would increase as well. At first a result of their hopelessness but it soon turned into an expression of pain. But they couldn’t give up. They had to keep going.

They had to get rid off this legacy Schlatt left them with.

After a particularly harsh blow they suddenly felt something warm slide down the side of their head.

Letting the stone fall down onto the ground they frantically stared at their own reflection in the water. It was blood.

Shocked they let out a shaky laugh. As much as it hurt and was horrible to look at, there weren’t any rest pieces of the horn resting on their head. So they picked the rock back up and with a blood curdling scream they slammed it into the other horn again, trying to get rid of the rest properly.

And it worked.

They were light headed from the pain, bleeding and crying but the horns were gone.

They were finally free of the curse.

“Finally.” They mumbled to themself only to finally take the time to rest and cry. They cried their god damn heart out. It was as if all the stress from the last couple of months finally jumped off their back.

Y/N’s back hit the soft ground as they slammed back, staring at the leaves up above them. Dancing with the wind and only occasionally giving away to the sun that was shining down on them.

Dark red blood staining the green grass. Their eyes growing heavier the more they continued to cry and hyperventilate. This pain is nothing. From this point on everything has to get better. It has to.

There was an audible gasp.

It wasn’t Y/N but they were too tired to look where it came from.

“Y/N? What the hell did you do? What happened? By Ender you are bleeding!” it was a male voice. Quackity? They weren’t too sure. Too delirious to tell.

Strong hands fell on their arms and pushed them up in a sitting position. Their head rolled back and they finally looked into Quackity’s pale face. So, they were right after all.

One of his arms went around their back in order to hold the crying Y/N upright as he took a better look at the wounds.

“I have to get you to someone who knows how to make healing pots. Maybe regeneration? Hell if I know. Did you do this? Your hands are covered in blood.” He was frantic.

Y/N shakily moved their hands up in order to grab Quackity’s hand that was holding their head in place and pushed it away from them, smearing his hand with their own blood “Don’t worry. I freed myself. The horns are gone. Now, you guys don’t have to be reminded of him anymore. We can all finally live in peace. No more reminders to him.”

Quackity’s eyes widened. His mouth opened up in an expression of pure shock. He hated that he could tell immediately what they meant exactly. After the war he did avoid them as much as he could. As Y/N said they, or rather their horns, reminded him too much of Schlatt and he needed time to heal but he never imagined this could lead to this.

He felt incredibly guilty. Realizing that he never really thought about what everyone’s behavior did to Y/N.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll find a way to help you.” His arm went under Y/N’s legs and with some straining he managed to get back up, holding them in his arms. Y/N leaned their head against Quackity’s chest, staining it with their blood in the process.

“See. It’s already working.” They whispered just before passing out.

“Fuck.” Quackity had to find someone who knew how to heal them as soon as possible. Jogging back into the city calling frantically out for help.

[raggaraddy]

Discipline- Hyung Line

How and why would Yandere Bangtan punish you?

Trigger warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, descriptions of unhealthy relationships.

Alpha!Namjoon

You would find it hard to get Namjoon to react impulsively or rashly. There might be the odd look or feeling you get from him when you say or do something that he disapproves of, but he will never raise his voice or strike you. He is much too controlled for that.

However, that does not mean that your actions would not have repercussions. From the first day when he met you, he made sure to install a clear series of causes and effects. They came so gradually and his reasoning was so irrefutable that while the original you would have been disgusted at the idea of being treated like this, the you that Namjoon has crafted finds his rules and actions reasonable and necessary. They are set for your own well-being.

If you didn't eat well or drank too much, of course, Namjoon was going to scold you. He's just showing how much he cares.

You also need to be corrected when you're rude or disrespectful. Namjoon is an Alpha after all and he deserves your respect. A smart mouth, bad language, or disrespectful behaviour will earn you a time out to reflect on your choices.

And if you're bold enough to leave the house without him or without informing him, then he's made sure you know what consequences to expect. Sure, being bent over his lap like a petulant child is embarrassing, but Namjoon has shown you what kind of creatures exist in the world. It's your Mates' duty to remind you to be more mindful. Even If that means he covers you in bruises from time to time.

For every undesirable action, there exists a correction. All rules and guides are clear so you have no room to argue. If you happen to stumble into a grey area Namjoon will kindly explain your wrongdoing and inform you of the result should you re-offend. He always takes the time to make sure you fully see his reasoning as he would never want you to think he is unjust.

Although, there is one exception to this. Nobody touches you. No one makes any sort of advances towards you and you certainly do not reciprocate or tolerate those actions. That is absolute.

Like I said, he would never hit you out of rage. Another person however would not be so lucky. If you ever wanted to see the full extent of an Alpha's power, just blush or smile when that cute delivery boy asks for your number. Sure, he might lock you in a room and throw away the key, but seeing an Alpha shift in an open plan office is a once in a lifetime event.

King!Seokjin

This is a tricky one to answer because Seokjin isn't looking for a rhyme or reason to hurt you. He just will regardless of any behaviour.

If there are little failures or mistakes he will certainly utilize them for the chance to be extra cruel, however as mentioned, he doesn't need them as justification.

There is still plenty you could do to madden him. He is a King first and foremost and he will not tolerate any kind of disrespect or disobedience. Doing so would absolutely be an easy start to evoking his anger.

Jin is also not impetuous, everything he does, he does with purpose. So when he does hurt you in response to something you have done he can be truly poetic in the methods he chooses.

You dropped and smashed a cup? He'll use the pieces to cut you.

Did you interrupt him? He'll fill that mouth with one thing or another. Don't worry, he doesn't need you to speak anyway.

You did something as foolish as to refuse or fight him during one of your sessions? That's fine. The nearest servant will take your place. Let's see if you can endure their screams and cries, while he continually reminds them and you that their pain is your fault.

Assassin!Yoongi

How would he punish you? He has basically one method. Very simply, he would lock you away. He isn't looking to deal with any bullshit. So if you want to act up, fine. He'll just throw you in your room until he is ready to deal with you again. If you especially irritate him and he wants to make a point or really dissuade your behaviour from happening again he'll chain you in the basement. A two-meter chain, a toilet and a tap for water. With that and soundproof walls, he knows he'll have at least 2 weeks of quiet before you start to properly starve to death and he has to take you out.

Why would he punish you? That is less simple. His moods change too often for there to be any one answer.

You might have been too energetic, or maybe you weren't matching his excitement and it disappointed him. It could be that you were frustrating him by not participating and conversing when he wanted. Or maybe he was just feeling annoyed because he was hungry and tired.

Honestly, Yoongi doesn't know in the slightest what he wants, and while he doesn't truly expect you to be able to, he demands you anticipate his ever-shifting whims. He took you to be useful to him. So he sees it as your job to figure out what he wants, not his job to teach you.

Like when he told you he wanted you to be more proactive and initiate sex. That didn't mean that you could just choose any moment to come to him and offer to make the both of you feel good. No, it was important to wait until the exact moment Yoongi was also in the same temperament. And to make sure you approached him in the way he wanted. And to say the things he liked.

The only thing you can ever be sure of with Yoongi is that because you spend all your time trapped with only him, you will be locked away hating him while obsessing over ways to make him happy. Wishing you could be near him just to have some form of contact with another person.

On the rare occasions when you do see his true anger, it's good to keep in mind that he is a professional killer. He isn't phased with shooting you and leaving you to see if you survive.

Vampire!Hosoek

Like Jin, Hoseok is someone who revels in the pain and suffering of others. Hoseok however is less concerned with formality, obedience, or rules. Fight. Cry. Beg. Scream at him. Tell him how much you hate him, how much you wish he would die. He doesn't care. In fact, he enjoys it. It spurs him on.

There is nearly nothing you could do to truly anger him. Everything is a game for him, everything's fun. And you're his favourite toy. So when you fuck up, it's just another chance for him to play with you.

The only thing he is serious about, the only thing he is possessive of, is your blood. He has made it clear many, many times that that is his. His to drink and his to spill. Get so much as a papercut by yourself, or accidentally bite your tongue and he'll be utterly offended that you robbed him of something that should have been his. Not just the loss of blood either, but that he wasn't able to enjoy the sounds and faces you made as you injured yourself. And how dare you rob him of a moment that should have been his.

If any other person were to hurt you, purposefully or accidentally, or god forbid if any other Vampire tried to drink your blood.... well you would think Hoseok was downright gentle with you when you saw the things he did to them.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fated Epilogue

Epilogue

Ares x reader

Word Count: 2041

Summary: Time skip to Zag running around trying to fix everything; then he gets a weird message from Ares.

The affair known to most of the Underworld’s population as The Confusion of Zagreus started as most things in his life did, on a run through the place as he tested the defenses against an escaping entity for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d had Ares’ vial with him, so naturally he’d gotten a fair few of the war god’s boons. Nothing too unusual, right? That’s what he thought right up until Ares said the most curious thing.

“When next you see Thanatos, tell him that his sister wants him to visit more.”

Sister? Zagreus wondered. Than doesn’t speak to his . . . Wait, Nemesis . . . But why would Lord Ares have messages from her?

When he mentioned it to his lover, Thanatos just chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since I last saw her,” was all he had to say on the matter.

And that set the trend that continued for a while. He’d get a message from Ares to Than, pass it on, and get some cryptic non-answer in return. It was absolutely maddening. Even when he asked others, all they had to say was that it wasn’t any of his business, which was fair, but that didn’t aid his curiosity.

Finally, all that started changing when he managed to squeeze a drop of information out of Than when he asked, “So why does Ares see your sister more than you?” while they were dining together one evening.

And without really thinking, Death Incarnate reflexively replied, “Because she lives with him in Thrace instead of here.” Of course, immediately after that, Thanatos realized what he’d just admitted and promptly clammed up, but it was something at least.

Then Demeter let slip something else in one of her messages after he’d accepted several of Ares’ boons yet again. “Ares is aiding you when you get injured, is he? I’d be surprised if Nemesis didn’t have a hand in that sort of attack.”

And that set him thinking. Revenge was her area of expertise, after all. And many of Ares’ such boons were noticeably more powerful in dealing direct damage instead of causing various other effects. Could Than’s sister have been indirectly aiding him through Ares all this time?

Then came another piece of knowledge, this one from his mother upon inquiring why Thanatos and Lord Ares seemed to be so close. 

“Well War and Death were always bound to meet frequently just from their natures, I suppose, but it could also have been because of that mess where he saved poor Thanatos from being chained in a box. I’d wager that was a big help to making their friendship grow.” Before he could ask just what that was about, she continued, “Though it could have also started back when Lord Ares almost passed away, too. I remember Thanatos being quite concerned for both him and Nemesis during all that.”

“What do you mean Lord Ares almost died? He’s an Olympian!”

“He is, but the day Hermes found him was a day that stoked fear in the heart of every Olympian,” Persephone said gravely. “They all worried about Ares’ fate despite how they regularly ridicule the man, because if he could die that meant any of them could.”

Zagreus suddenly found his mouth extremely dry and couldn’t form a response.

“Yes, that was definitely the start of their friendship now that I think on it. It was very kind of Thanatos to linger without threatening the poor dears. From what I heard, he was very calm during the whole affair even in the face of such shocking news.”

“Yes, I suppose learning even the great Olympians might die would be quite dramatic,” he murmured, shoulders sagging.

“No, that’s not--ah! You don’t know, do you?”

He perked back up. “Know what, Mother?” he prompted innocently.

She smiled kindly as she patted his forearm. “It’s not my place to tell you if they haven’t already; I’d forgotten how much they value their privacy when they can get it.”

Who is ‘they’? Zagreus wanted to scream while yanking his hair out. Thanatos and his sister? Her and Ares? Thanatos and Ares?? But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled stiffly and nodded.

It wasn’t until he managed to broker a peace between the Chthonic gods and the Olympians that he finally got answers.

~

There was a party you were supposed to be preparing for, but you were having a hard time working up the gumption to move from your current position. Because of said celebration, you and your husband--how you’d never tire of calling him that--had arranged your schedules so that they aligned, which of course was the reason you found yourself lying in bed perpendicular to the man, using one arm as a pillow under your head on his chest while the other hand played with his hair.

His gleaming red eyes flicked over to the open, brightly illuminated window where sheer white curtains swayed softly in the breeze. “We really should be dressing; I have a feeling your brother-in-law wants to meet us sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare that we get time like this to ourselves.”

His hand found the one you’d been carding through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. “You and I have an eternity full of moments like this ahead of us; we can spare an evening for the boy.”

You huffed dramatically. “Let it never be said that you’re not a man of your word.” A sigh left your lips, but still you pried yourself out of bed without further complaint. “Are we doing full regalia or casual?” When there was no answer, you glanced back to see that he was transfixed by the sight of your naked form heading towards the shared closet. “Ares!” you laughed, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Darling, I take it all back; you must come back to bed at once. There’s a rather pressing matter that needs your attention at once.”

Now, you rolled your eyes. “Well that pressing matter can wait until we return. Are we doing armor or not?”

From there, there were a lot of kisses, gropes, and laughter between that moment and being fully clothed--in light leather greaves and cloth chitons rather than the usual full armor, after all, Ares so hated to be unprotected or unarmed--but neither of you were really complaining.

“Boys!” Ares called down the hallway with you tucked under his arm.

Two heads of wild silver hair just like their father’s appeared from the same doorway. “Yes, Father?” they chorused.

“We’re leaving. I trust you can manage things until our return?”

“Of course, Father.” And then they were gone from sight, their snickering still echoing in their absence.

Ares chuckled as he shook his head. “Little terrors, the both of them.”

Though they weren’t yours, you’d grown to love both of the twins the moment you met them. With Aphrodite being so absent in their lives, you’d taken up the role of ‘mother figure’ quickly, and the two were practically your own by now. “Well, to be fair, one of them is Panic.” 

~

You were unsurprised at the Olympian turnout at the party; most arrived near the time when you did, but none stayed particularly long. As fond as they were of Zagreus in theory, their detest of the Underworld would always be greater. Only Ares and Demeter attended from the mountain and stayed past the pleasantries and feast. Otherwise, it was entirely the subjects of the House of Hades that were present. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless judging from the way Meg and Dusa had quickly roped you and Ares into conversation.

Zagreus hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival yet--too wrapped up in getting to know his mother and grandmother, you assumed--but you caught sight of Hades glaring at Ares every now and then. Every time you caught him, the harsh threat he’d delivered to Ares rang through your ears once more. 

“Set foot outside this house, boy, and you shall find yourself in a fate worse than death.” Neither of you were surprised by the warning. He was, after all, still angry about the whole ‘bursting into the Underworld without permission to save Thanatos’ fiasco.

Eventually, you and Ares found yourselves alone for a moment once Achilles and Patroclus excused themselves. You tugged the glass from his fingers to steal a sip of his ambrosia, something that’d been quite hard to find the last time you’d visited. You didn’t want a full glass, and Ares never complained about sharing.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, clearly worried about you partaking in a drink you’d never really managed to develop a taste for. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. The drinking coupled with the knowledge of how much you hated being dragged to these things had likely set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a genuine smile. “These are my family, remember? Much nicer to be around than yours.”

“That’s quite true,” he murmured. No doubt, he was remembering when he and Aphrodite had been paraded around and humiliated as the entertainment at one of his family’s gatherings. His gaze flickered up as he noticed something before you did: Zagreus approaching at last. “And there’s the man of the hour!” he greeted warmly. It was hard to mistake the boy for any other given his attire was his family’s colors and the way he absolutely looked like a mix of his parents.

“Lord Ares!” Zag’s face was alight with happiness. “I’m glad you were able to make it; it’s an honor to meet you properly.” His eyes shifted to you. “You must be Than’s lovely sister I’ve heard very little about.”

You laughed lightly. You like this kid already. “I suppose that’s me, yes.”

“Frankly, I’m amazed I haven’t seen you around the House before now,” he probed curiously.

You decided to indulge him; it was a celebration in his honor after all. “I pop by to visit Mother and Hypnos from time to time, but I see Than enough that lingering isn’t worth it. I’ve gathered that you’re usually gone from the House as much as he is.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckled. “Makes sense you wouldn’t just lurk around when you put it like that.”

“Have to budget that precious time off somehow.””

“Plus, it’s sort of my fault that she resides in Thrace since I stole her all those years ago,” Ares teased.

“Stole her, sir?” Oh, how the poor boy looked so confused at those words. You were willing to bet his mind was just running back over Persephone’s situation and comparing it to yours.

Your brows furrowed. “Zag, has no one told you about Ares and I?”

“No!” his voice was laughing but had a manic edge to it. “Everyone keeps hinting at there being something going on with you two, but no one wants to clue me in! I’ve tried to respect your privacy by not asking directly, but it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, for Father’s sake.” Ares rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have a word with your brother about this,” he announced as he started pulling away from you.

“Wait! You’re not mad at Than are you?” Zagreus fretted. “Because I’d hate to cause strife between you because of my own curiosity, and--”

“Relax, Zag,” you soothed.

“Thanatos is the only being I would ever call my friend outside of her,” he gestured toward you. “I thought it went without saying that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you for my benefit, but apparently that isn’t the case. I’m simply going to tell him that. I’ll be right back, my darling.” With a kiss to your temple, he stalked over to where Than was loitering with his sleeping brother at the edge of the room.

When you looked back at Zagreus, he was staring at you absolutely slack-jawed, probably at Ares’ display of affection. “Blood and darkness, my Lady,” he managed to wheeze, “what is going on?”

You snorted a little, amused slightly by his turmoil. “Zagreus, Ares is my Fated. He’s my husband.”

His eyes went a little crossed as he realized it was just that simple. “Oh, is that all?!”

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Day 22: Yellow

John Harrington stood in the foyer of his house in Loch Nora, brow furrowed. It was the first time in his life that he had come home to find the house looking so...occupied. And sure, he and Irene hadn’t mentioned that they were coming back to Hawkins because it had been so last minute, but even so, Steve usually did a better job keeping it looking tidy. He was expected to do a better job. 

John moved further into the house, noting new details. Steve’s sneakers were in the front hallway, alongside a pair of heavy boots, and every hook on the coat rack was filled. John saw two leather jackets that he was sure didn’t belong to Steve and a denim jacket covered in patches that he also didn’t recognize. The coffee table in the living room was covered in books and papers, and there was a stack of dirty plates in the sink. John set his bags down and glanced over at Irene, but she seemed as bemused as he was. 

The basement door stood open, and they followed a heavy clank of metal on metal down the stairs. John stopped dead at the bottom, taking in the scene. All the furniture in the room was pushed up against the walls to create an open space in the center, where Steve was on his back on a weight bench. He was breathing heavily as he pressed up a bar with what seemed like a significant amount of weight on it. Another boy, blond and built like he knew exactly what he was doing with a set of weights, was spotting him. Steve finished a rep with clear effort and set the bar back on the rack. John glanced over at Irene, who had a little smile on her face. He frowned; she had always been too lenient with their son.  

“Ugh,” Steve said, “I thought I would be able to do more reps.” The blond smirked down at him. 

“You gotta be patient, pretty boy.” He flexed a bicep and turned to kiss it. “You don’t get results like these overnight.” Steve rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh. 

“Steven?” John said, and the effect was immediate. Steve’s head whipped around and he started to quickly sit up. The other boy threw a protective hand between Steve’s forehead and the bar, preventing what probably would have been a painful collision. Steve didn’t take his gaze off of John as he ducked past the bar and sat up. The boy let his hand drop back to his side, but he took a step closer to Steve.  

“Mom, Dad,” Steve said, standing up. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“Clearly,” John said, waving a hand at the stairs behind him. Steve flushed a little and his brows drew down. John opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but Irene’s hand was suddenly at his elbow, gently pulling him back toward the stairs. He glowered at her, but her eyes were on Steve and the other boy.  

“We’ll need to unpack and freshen up,” she said calmly, glancing at her watch. “Dinner will be served at seven.” She looked back up. “I assume you boys will have no trouble being ready by then?” The two of them exchanged a quick, wordless glance that appeared to contain an entire conversation. 

“No problem, Mom,” Steve said. “We can be ready.” 

“Lovely,” Irene said with a smile, and then she steered John back upstairs. They picked up their bags in the foyer and John followed Irene to the second floor. He was thinking about the argument he was about to have with his wife about her intervention, but he stopped dead at the door to Steve’s room. His jaw dropped as he pushed the door open wider. 

“Are you seeing this?” he demanded. Irene nodded slowly as she took in the room. The plaid wallpaper was gone. Instead, three of the walls were a cool grey color. The fourth wall, opposite Steve’s bed, was a bright, cheerful yellow. “Did you approve this?” John asked Irene, who had that small smile on her face again. 

“I would have,” she said, “but he didn’t ask.” John shook his head. “Unbelievable.” Steve was behaving as though the house belonged to him. Whoever the other boy was, he was clearly a bad influence.

“What the hell was that, downstairs?” John demanded of Irene as soon as the door to the master suite closed behind them.

“Exactly what I looked like, I expect,” she said serenely, opening her suitcase and pulling out her toiletry bag.

“You know what I meant. I’m not sure why you intervened. He owes us an explanation,” John said. 

“And he can provide one over dinner, if you absolutely insist,” she replied.  

“And since when does Steve lift weights?” he demanded, irritated all over again that he had come home to a house that had changed, and a son who hadn’t yet apologized for it. 

“Oh, I imagine those came with the boy,” Irene said with that same little smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“You better believe that I will be talking to Steven about that situation. His friend seems far too at home in this house. It’s probably his fault everything is in disarray.”

“That’s a bit of an overstatement, don’t you think?” Irene asked absently. She was facing away from him, looking into the vanity mirror as she removed her makeup. 

“No, I don’t,” he said stubbornly. “The boy painted his room without consulting us, and the basement is barely usable.”

“I don’t see why that matters. You only ever spend time in your office when we’re here.” There was a pause. 

“It’s the principle of the thing,” John finally said. 

“Hmm,” was all Irene said in response. 

“I don’t see why you included that boy in our dinner plans. Steven should have sent him home as soon as we arrived.” Irene stopped what she was doing and turned to face her husband. Her expression was amused. 

“Darling,” she said patiently, and John knew she was growing irritated with him. She hadn’t called him that sincerely in a very long time. “You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. There are three additional coats on the coat rack, and it’s sixty-eight degrees outside, so he didn't wear all of them over here today. Additionally, there isn’t a teenager in the world who brings every single one of his textbooks over for a study date, and most of those books were for classes that Steve isn’t even taking.” John frowned at that. He hadn’t noticed that because he didn’t know what classes Steve was taking. He was a little surprised that Irene did. She continued. “And that weight bench, as we both know, isn’t Steve’s. That boy is living here, and probably has been for a while.” She intentionally did not mention the thick Stephen King book and the pair of reading glasses John obviously hadn’t noticed on the second nightstand in Steve’s room. Horror had never been Steve’s preferred genre, and he didn’t wear glasses. 

“Well, I’m putting a stop to it,” John announced. Irene stared at him for a long moment, eyes going a little hard, though her smile stayed in place.

“We’re here for three days,” she said. “How exactly are you planning to control what Steve does after we leave?” 

“I’ll threaten to cut him off. That should communicate the seriousness of the situation.” Irene stared for a beat and then turned back around to continue removing her makeup.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she corrected calmly. 

“I’ll do as I see fit,” he shot back. She nodded to herself and set down the cloth in her hand. Then she turned around again, standing up to face him. 

“Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?” she asked, voice low. She hadn’t bothered to raise her voice at him in years. “Because you seem to be under the mistaken impression that I’m one of the sycophants you insist on surrounding yourself with.” She took a step toward him. “Here’s what you’re actually going to do. You’re going to unpack and freshen up. You’re going to go do whatever it is you do in your office until it’s time for dinner, and then you’re going to come eat. You’re going to be polite to our son and his friend.” John raised his eyebrows at her. 

“I don’t see any reason why I should allow you to dictate my behavior,” he said, his tone condescending. Her answering smile was sharp. 

“You actually don’t know, do you?” she murmured, shaking her head. “Steve turned eighteen two months ago. I do hope your assistant remembered to send a gift.” She saw the significance of it land. John swallowed. “Just so that we’re on the same page,” she continued, “if you decide that it is a good idea to berate or threaten our son, who is an adult, or his friend, you will very quickly find yourself in the middle of some probably very contentious divorce proceedings.” John glared at her. 

“You wouldn’t,” he said confidently. “Your reputation stands to suffer as much as mine does.” 

“I don’t care,” she said bluntly. “It’s been years since I cared what anyone in Hawkins thinks of me. The only thing you had to hold over my head was custody, and now that our son is an adult, your leverage is gone.”

“You cannot—“ he started to say, but she took a step closer and cut him off. 

“We have an arrangement," she said, "and it's working. I get the freedom to live as I please most of the time, and you get the image of a perfect family on the rare occasions that you need it. It would be a shame to disrupt it simply because you are incapable of keeping your disapproval to yourself for three days.” John fumed, but he also backed down. He knew defeat when he heard it. He stalked off to the closet to change without further comment, unreasonably annoyed by the way Irene hummed to herself while she sat back down to finish removing her makeup. It wasn’t until later that he realized she had been humming Handel’s “Hail the Conquering Hero.”

An hour later, Irene had freshened up and was on her way down to the kitchen to start dinner. She stopped when she heard Steve’s hushed voice coming from the living room. 

“Billy, I’m serious!” Then Steve gasped as if he had just realized something and groaned. “Oh my god, they probably saw my room.” Billy huffed a laugh. 

“They should be thanking us for that, baby. The plaid wallpaper was a crime.”

“You don’t understand. My dad is going to—“ Steve stopped. “Hey, B, no,” he said in a softer voice. “Not like that. He’s not…I’m sorry. Come here.” Irene turned around and made her way silently back up the stairs, wanting to give her son and the boy he was obviously dating the time they deserved to finish their conversation. Dinner could wait. 

Irene smiled to herself as she thought about how delighted Annette would be to learn that Steve had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was right about the plaid wallpaper—it had been John’s idea, after he saw it in a magazine somewhere. The yellow was a vast improvement. Maybe the bedroom in her apartment in Paris could use an accent wall, Irene mused. She couldn’t wait to get back there, as soon as their weekend of pretending to be a happily married couple was over. 

Your reputation stands to suffer, John had said, and he wasn’t wrong. The people of Hawkins would absolutely frown on her lifestyle, her life in Paris with her beloved Annette. But it certainly looked like that revelation wasn’t going to bother her son at all, and if Steve didn’t mind, Irene truly couldn’t care less if other people did. She smiled to herself again. When John finally figured it out, he was going to be furious, and there wasn't going to be a damn thing he could do about it. She found that thought immensely satisfying.

[spencers-renaissance]

Honeysuckle

Summary: The BAU decide to head out for a picnic one summer afternoon, but they’re soon rudely interrupted by a bee sting and anaphylactic shock. Seeing Spencer carted off in an ambulance is not exactly how they expected the day to go.

Tags: whump, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, hurt spencer, friendship, medical conditions, severe allergic reactions

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid 

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Spencer had initially been wary of Penelope’s invitation to picnic in Meridian Hill Park one beautiful summer afternoon — he burned way too easily and didn’t like exposing himself to insects more than absolutely necessary — but as soon as she’d mentioned Derek was going, he’d given in. He wasn’t about to turn down an afternoon spent in the sun with his best friends and boyfriend. It was a rare day off for the team: one not even spent hanging by their phone expecting to be called in any minute, so they were all insistent on making the most of it. 

He’s the last one to arrive, spotting the others sat in the shade of an oak tree, already laughing as they get stuck into their first drinks of the afternoon. Despite his initial hesitations, as soon as he feels the sun on his face and sees his friends he’s immediately glad he turned up and he hurries over to join the rest of the team, his own contributions to the picnic in hand. 

“Pretty boy!” Derek shouts, grinning widely as he jumps up from his lazy position on the blanket to wrap Spencer in a hug, before pulling back slightly to kiss him. He can already tell he’s a little tipsy, and although Spencer doesn’t drink he has nothing against everyone else letting their hair down and having fun; God knows they deserve it. 

His relationship with Derek is only a few months old, and he still relishes every moment he gets to spend wrapped up in his arms.

“Hey guys.” His words are muffled slightly by Derek’s shoulder as his boyfriend is reluctant to let him go, but as soon as he’s released, he turns to match everyone’s wide grins. 

“Did you bring the strawberries?” Emily asks, levelling him with a faux-stern look that she can’t maintain for long, melting back into her relaxed smile soon enough.

“Of course.” He takes a seat on the picnic blanket only to be immediately wrapped into a side hug by Penelope. He hugs back before beginning to unpack his bag.

“What about the icing sugar?” she asks, and her stern glare isn’t fake at all: Spencer knows how seriously Penelope takes a) organisation, and b) sweet treats.

“Who do you take me for?” he laughs, retrieving the fruit and sugar from his bag and taking a swig of the cool lemonade he’d packed in his thermos. 

Sometimes he wishes he could go back in time and show lonely, teenage Spencer pictures of days like these. One day, he’ll be twenty six, working at his dream job, and spending his days off in the warmth of the East Coast sun one Sunday afternoon surrounded by his best friends, kissed by his boyfriend at every opportunity. They’ve never asked him to be anything other than exactly who he is, inviting them into their group and doting on him relentlessly, loving him just as much as he loves them. 

It’s a luxury you only appreciate when you’ve known the loneliness of summer: when the hum of the AC is the only sound in your stuffy, humid dorm room, and you’re researching the effects of methane on winter weather patterns as you long for cold weather again, because then at least then you don’t have to listen to the excited shouts of friends outside anymore, then it’s acceptable to isolate yourself inside with only yourself and books for company.

He shakes himself out of his miserable recollections and reminds himself to be in the present. Emily has her head in Penelope’s lap as they discuss which incarnation of Doctor Who is the best while JJ and Derek discuss the new jogging park opening up across the border in Virginia. He knows which conversation is more suited to his interests and immediately goes up to bat for the Seventh Doctor, which manages to engage him in a spirited debate with both women. 

Soon, though, they find themselves all discussing their workplace embarrassments and recalling the funniest moments from over the last few years, and Spencer loses himself in the heat of the afternoon and the warmth of his friendships. He’s gorged himself on all the strawberries and sandwiches he could stomach, and as the afternoon stretches longer and evening approaches he lies down on the blanket and rests his head in Derek’s lap, mirroring Penelope and Emily. His eyes flutter closed as his full belly and heat of the sun tire him out, and Derek’s fingers thread themselves through Spencer’s long hair, a light and welcome touch. 

The haze of his friends still chatting around him as he dozes comfortably is interrupted, however, when he feels a sharp pinch on his wrist and seconds later, he’s fighting for breath. He launches upright, wheezing as he claws at his chest, trying desperately to fill his lungs with enough air. 

“Spencer? Oh my God, Spencer, what’s wrong?” Penelope cries, immediately by his side as she looks him over frantically, not knowing what’s happening. 

“Derek, call an ambulance,” JJ directs, taking charge as she rushes to Spencer’s side as well. “He’s in anaphylactic shock. Spencer, listen to me, do you have your epi-pen with you?”

Her words manage to get through the panicked haze and light-headedness as he can’t get enough oxygen. He can feel his face swelling and his heart racing, but he’s still coherent enough to point to his bag. 

“He didn’t eat anything, though,” Emily says, panicked and confused as she watches her friend have a medical crisis while she’s powerless to help. 

“He’s allergic to bees,” JJ says, keeping calm as she prepares the epi-pen and administers it to Spencer’s thigh. “One must have stung him for some reason.”

“There!” Penelope points to the bee sting on Spencer’s wrist and JJ lunges for her bag, rummaging until she finds her credit card which she uses to carefully slide under the stinger and remove it, preventing any more venom from flowing into Spencer’s system.

It’s clear after a few minutes that the epi-pen hasn’t worked: Spencer still feels like he can’t catch his breath and the world is fading slowly as his heart beats out of control and his organs can’t get enough oxygen. 

He feels himself be moved gently by various hands as JJ directs the others until he’s leaning up as comfortably as possible against Derek’s chest as Penelope elevates his legs to keep blood flowing to his vital organs. 

“It’s okay, Spencer,” JJ says loudly, right in front of his face. It’s blurry and out of focus and he can feel himself losing consciousness fast. “The ambulance is on its way.” 

It’s the last thing he hears before he collapses completely as he passes out. 

⭐️

It’s dark outside when Spencer finally wakes up. His bed is warm and comfortable and he lets himself listen to the somewhat comfortable steady beeps of the heart monitor and movement of staff and patients around the ward before finally opening his eyes to scan his room. 

Derek’s sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair right next to his bed, sketching what Spencer can only guess are plans for the property he’s just taken on, an empty jello cup balancing on the armrest of his chair. 

“Sandwiches and strawberries not fill you up?” he asks, voice croaky as he cracks an eye open. He can’t help but smile, too. He has the best boyfriend and the best friends anyone could ever hope for.

Derek’s head snaps up as he hears Spencer’s voice, setting his notebook and jello aside to grab for Spencer’s hand. “You are something else,” he chuckles. “Your first thought when coming round from a medical disaster is an observation of my eating patterns.” He shakes his head fondly. “ But you know I can’t pass up a tub of jello.”

“That’s true. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you say no when it’s offered.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty boy.” 

They lapse into short silence, accompanied only by the quiet beeps of the machines. “Sorry I scared you,” he whispers eventually, feeling guilt wrap itself around his stomach. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault.” Derek looks sincere as he holds Spencer’s hand tighter, careful of the IV in his wrist. “The doctors… they said it was a severe attack, which is probably why the first epi-pen didn’t work. They’re monitoring you overnight to make sure there was no damage to your kidneys, I think. I’ll go find a doctor to tell them you’re awake.”

He moves to get out of his seat, but Spencer pulls him back down, as well as he can when he’s still feeling weak. “No, just… don’t leave,” he asks, his voice coming out a little too pleading for his liking. “Stay.”

The idea of being alone right now twists his stomach; the idea of being without Derek so desperately scary. 

“Okay, okay, baby,” Derek relents, sitting back down and running a soothing hand through his tangled hair, Spencer’s eyes fluttering closed at the contact. “I won’t go anywhere if you don’t want me to.” Instead, he presses the button for the nurse. 

“Where are the others?” Spencer dares to ask after a few seconds of quiet. 

“The nurses weren’t too happy with four people in here,” Derek chuckles. “I’ve been updating them by text; I’ll tell them you’re awake in a minute. JJ saved your life, you know. None of us had any clue what was happening but she was the only one who kept calm and the only one who got us through those awful minutes waiting for the ambulance to show up.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I told her I was allergic to bee stings years ago. It was just an off-hand comment, it never feels like that big a deal… this is only the third time this has ever happened. I guess I don’t feel the need to bring it up.”

“Well that off-hand comment saved your life, pretty boy.” Derek squeezes his eyes closed for a second, and when he opens them the emotion written on his face is heart-wrenching. “God, I can’t believe I could’ve lost you. There were a good few minutes there when I didn’t think you were gonna make it and after… Tobias… I was just so scared.”

Spencer’s stomach clenches at that, imagining the roles reversed is terrifying just as a hypothetical. He can’t even begin to imagine how Derek felt. He reaches a hand out to touch Derek’s face gently, squeezing his hand with the other. “But you didn’t lose me,” he murmurs. “I’m here, I’m  okay.” 

“Yeah.” His voice is barely a whisper as his eyes close again. “Is it bad that I kind of want bees to go extinct now?” he asks with a wet chuckle a few moments later.

“Derek!” Spencer laughs weakly, acting scandalised. “Bees are fundamental to the global ecosystem. Civilisation would effectively collapse if bees went extinct, it’s definitely not worth eradicating bees for the sake of me avoiding the rarity of anaphylactic shock, not according to the laws of proportionality. It’s actually frightening how fast the bee population is depleting though… did you know that there are only about 2.5 million honey-producing hives left in the US? That’s down from 4.5 million in 1980 and the loss has largely been attributed to colony collapse disorder—”

“Ah, Doctor Reid, you’re awake.” A smiling nurse bustles through the door and comes to check his vitals, fiddling with one of his IVs before taking a step back. “How’s your breathing? Is the nasal cannula okay or would you prefer a full mask?”

“The cannula’s good,” he says, smiling politely. Really, he just wants to get back to telling Derek all the bee facts he can recall. He has some really good ones itching to be let out. “I’m breathing fine, just feel a little weak still.”

“Good. Your vitals all look stable, so a doctor will be round in the morning to talk you through your treatment and medication. Is that okay?” 

“That’s fine, thank you,” Spencer nods, and she gives them one last smile before leaving the room and sliding the door shut quietly behind her.

“I should bring her back in,” Derek chuckles as the nurse leaves the room. “She missed out on your bee lecture. Fascinating stuff.”

“Shut up,” Spencer huffs, sinking back against the pillows. “You don’t deserve to hear my bee facts.”

“No,” Derek protests, grinning widely. “I’m joking, baby, carry on. You were telling me about colony collapse disorder.”

Spencer knows that, of course — he does have an eidetic memory after all — but it makes him smile that Derek remembers exactly where he was in his spiel. Maybe Penelope’s onto something when she says that Derek is “whipped” for him. (It had taken at least fifteen minutes for Spencer to fully understand what she meant by that, mostly because he kept asking about the etymology, history, and statistical usage of the word and she kept rolling her eyes, which he would then insist was not an answer.)

“Colony collapse disorder is depressing,” Spencer sighs, feeling quite tired all of a sudden. “I don’t feel like explaining it.”

“It doesn’t sound great.” Derek goes back to threading his fingers through Spencer’s hair. “Why don’t you tell me your favourite three bee facts, and then you can go back to sleep”

Spencer hums, giving it a bit of thought before replying. “Scientists trained bees to score goals in bee soccer in return for a sugary treat, which is especially interesting because they have brains the size of a poppy seed. They communicate with one another by wiggling their butts. It’s like their own language, they tell their nestmates where to go to get the best food. Bees also live in loads of different places, not just in the countryside. My favourite place they live is in marshes and wetlands, because I love insects that live in watery areas.”

“I’d pay to watch bees play soccer,” Derek laughs quietly. “You’re so smart, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer sighs happily. “Love you,” he murmurs, eyes closing against the exhaustion. 

“I love you more.”

Spencer isn’t awake long enough to argue with him.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith 

[scuttling]

Birthday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,648 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Drinking, Pre-relationship minor Morgan/Garcia Summary: The team goes out for Sophie's 30th birthday. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Time for another shot?” Prentiss asks, dropping two handfuls of glasses onto the table in front of them, and Sophie laughs, shaking her head indulgently.

“No more shots, Em. I’m already feeling the last two.” Her cheeks are slightly flushed, corroborating her comment, but she’s still standing steadily, so she can’t be too far gone.

“Come on, it’s your birthday!” The rest of the team joins in with a chorus of similar comments, but Hotch just smiles at their happiness and lets them battle it out amongst themselves.

“You only turn 30 once, you know,” Morgan reminds her, a hand casually thrown over her shoulder, and Reid frowns.

“You only turn every age once; what’s the significance of 30?”

“All he’s saying, Reid,” Garcia chimes in, taking a sip of her pink, fruity drink, “is that every year older is a chance to celebrate. Especially in this line of work.” Sophie sighs, clearly giving in to her friends’ methods, and she walks two fingers forward, to a full shot glass.

“Fine, fine: I will drink one more shot…” she begins, pausing as is for dramatic effect, “if someone gets me cheese fries.”

“I’ll buy the birthday girl some cheese fries,” Reid offers, and she pulls him down by the arm and gives him a kiss on the cheek, which earns howls from the team and a blush from Reid, and then she takes the shot.

“I’m hungry too, Spence, I’ll come with you,” JJ adds. “Anyone want anything?” Morgan, Garcia, and Prentiss rattle off orders, and Hotch takes a sip of his beer, doesn't notice that Sophie has made her way toward him until he gets a whiff of her perfume.

“Not hungry?” she asks, leaning against the table and facing him. She looks very beautiful in a short, silky orange dress, leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, and he lets his gaze linger for a moment.

“No, I think I’m going to call it a night.” He has reports that need to be reviewed, documents that need to be signed, and though he’s enjoying watching his team on a rare night out, he can’t help but feel old and out of place—especially as she celebrates her 30th birthday, for god’s sake. He can’t even remember his 30th birthday.

“Oh Hotch, you can’t.” She sets a hand on his arm, gently, looks up into his eyes with a clear gaze. “I know I don’t like to make a big deal of my birthday, but I’ll happily play that card with you if it will get you to stay.” Her eyes are sweet, and they look wide, almost pleading—it’s a puppy dog look by anyone’s standards, and it turns out he’s helpless against it.

“Okay, I’ll stay a little longer if it means that much to you,” he agrees, teasing a little, but her reply seems serious.

“It really does.” She smiles softly, then removes her hand from his arm, almost like she forgot that she put it there. “I’ll even share my cheese fries with you.”

She makes good on the promise, thanking Reid profusely for the gift and then running a knife through them so they make for smaller bites. She lifts her fork, takes two or three bites, and sets it down, handle pointing in his direction; he’s really not that hungry, but the way she shares with him is so effortless that it feels like an offering he shouldn’t refuse.

Later, Morgan and Garcia are dancing, Prentiss is talking to a woman she knows from the office, and Reid is making conversation with someone at table over, when Sophie takes her last bite of fries.

“They’re still not together, right?” she asks, pointing her fork at Morgan and Garcia, and Hotch shakes his head.

“As far as I know, no.”

“Same here,” JJ pipes up from across the table, nursing her drink. “And you know I’d know; I know everything.” Sophie laughs, sips her beer. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a shame, I guess; two people who are so drawn together shouldn’t fight so hard to stay apart.” JJ gives Hotch a quick glance, which he can’t interpret, then looks back down at her half-eaten plate of fried pickles, picking at the crumbs.

“I don’t get it either. If the FBI doesn’t care, why do they?” Sophie sighs, looking back at the laughing, dancing couple, props her chin up with her hand.

“They don’t think they deserve it.” When he and JJ both look toward her—the sound of her voice is almost sad, unusual for a night like tonight—she straightens, downs the last of her drink. “I assume that’s why, I mean.” JJ gives him another brief look, and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s almost 2 AM when the party breaks up, much later than he intended to stay out, but he’s happy he did. Sophie isn’t drunk, he doesn’t think, but she’s much tipsier than she was hours ago, before the cheese fries—and she’s really adorable.

“I love you guys so much,” she tells them all as they put on their coats. “I love you, Spencer, for buying me cheese fries, thank you buddy.” She wraps her arms around him, almost dangling from his neck, and he laughs, squeezes her tight.

“I love you too, buddy, you’re welcome.” She moves to Garcia next, hugs her tight around the waist.

“I love you, Pen. I love my card and your smile and I love coming into your cave for candy when Morgan gets on my nerves.” They laugh and Morgan acts affronted, which only makes them laugh more.

“I love you too, birthday babe.”

“I love you Morgan,” she begins, pulling him into a one-armed embrace, “even though you annoy me sometimes, ‘cause we’re Chicago twins and we both like the Cubs and we both know the best pizza is from Tony’s on 4th Avenue.”

“You know it, girl. I love you too.”

“JJ,” Sophie calls, drawing out the last letter, and they hug each other equally tight. “I love you ‘cause you’re the coolest one of us; I don’t make the rules,” she tacks on when the rest of the group scoffs. “She’s super cool and you guys know it.”

“I love you, especially when you’re drunk,” JJ tells her with a laugh. “Should have made you eat more than half a plate of cheese fries.”

“It’s not your fault, I blame Emily Prentiss,” she says, accusatorily, turning to the woman in question and giving her a hug, which Prentiss returns with a pat. “I love you even though you kept handing me drinks all night. You’re a bad influence.”

“Then I guess I succeeded,” she says with an affectionate smile. “I love you, birthday girl. I’m glad you had a good time.” They separate, and when Sophie turns to Hotch, the last in line, her face changes. Her expression isn’t one of awkwardness or irritation, but… almost like resignation, and he can’t exactly tell what that means.

She smiles softly, quirking her lip as if asking if it’s okay to proceed, and he opens his arms, tries not to smile when she sags against him as if, of all the hugs she’s received tonight, this is the one she wanted most.

“I love you, Hotch,” she says so quietly he has to strain to hear, and he moves his hand carefully over her back.

“I love you too.” They stay like that for a good twenty seconds, and when she pulls back, she smiles sheepishly.

“Okay, you guys have stayed out long enough because of me. I’ve gotta order my Uber.” Morgan and Prentiss both insist they can drop her off, talking over each other, and he decides to spare them both, speaks in his unit chief voice for the only time that night.

“You guys focus on getting each other home; I’ll get her home.” Everyone agrees easily, Sophie included, and they are walking out to the parking lot before she speaks again—not exactly slurred, but a bit slower than normal.

“How are you still so... Hotch-y? You had as much to drink as I did.”

“I’ve probably got 75 pounds on you, so I metabolized it faster, I guess,” he answers with a chuckle, steering her to his SUV, and something about that makes her groan.

“Oh, I know... all about that.” He comes around to the passenger side to open the door for her, and for a moment she just looks up at him, slowly wets her lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She slips into the car, buckles up, and he closes the door with a sigh.

In a perfect world, this would be him taking her home from a date, maybe kissing her goodnight on her doorstep… But the world is as imperfect as she isn’t, and his little crush is both inappropriate and foolish, so he resigns himself to his role and vows to get her home safely, and nothing more.

They arrive outside of her apartment building after about fifteen minutes of softly murmured directions, and he puts the car into park, turns to look at her.

“Do you want me to come up with you?” he asks, and she smiles softly, tiredly.

“Yes, but no. I’ll be okay.” The look on her face is sweet, almost tender, and he keeps himself from reading too much into it. That way lies madness, he knows.

“It’s no trouble. It would make me feel better, to know you made it safely.” Her smile gets brighter, and she sits up, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Okay, sure. Thanks. I could make you a cup of coffee for the road, if you’d like.” He nods, and they both climb out of the car, heading toward the front door of her apartment. He keeps his hands near her, ready to catch her if she wobbles, but she is steady on her feet even in the skinny heels she wears.

She unlocks the front door, then takes him up a couple of flights of stairs, stopping outside apartment number 12. Her keys turn easily in the locks, the door swinging open to display a very clean, very white apartment. “Thanks for coming up with me. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it,” she tells him, hanging up her jacket on the hook behind the door.

“I wanted to,” he tells her, honestly, a little distracted by her bare shoulders, the slim straps that rest on them. She looks back, and if he’s caught staring, she doesn’t mention it. She leans her butt against the wall, reaching down to unclasp the buckle on her shoe, and for the first time, her balance isn’t perfect; she wobbles a little, and his hands catch her waist to steady her.

“Do you need help getting your shoes off?” he asks, looking down into her eyes, and hers are warm, liquid as she stares back. Her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, and if it were any other woman, he would take that as an invitation to lean in and kiss her. Instead, he drops to one knee and unbuckles her shoe, slides it off carefully, repeats that with the other foot. He sets the shoes on the shoe rack by the door, stands back up to full height, touches her arm gently.

“Thanks, Hotch.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and it looks like she wants to say more, but the silence goes on too long, and she eventually clears her throat. “Do you want that cup of coffee?”

“Sure. Please.” She pads into the kitchen, which is, like the rest of the apartment, sparkling clean and gleaming white, switches on the coffee maker, and pulls a travel mug down from the cupboard overhead. “I like your apartment. It’s very… clean.” She turns, back against the counter, and smiles.

“I don’t like to leave a mess, since we never know where we’re going to be.”

“It’s a little bare,” he says gently, trying not to profile too much, and she looks down like she’s self-conscious.

“You know I’m private. I like to keep my photos and stuff in the bedroom.” She walks past him, down the hallway, looks over her shoulder and signals for him to follow.

Her bedroom is still very white—white comforter, white sheets, white pillows—but her dresser, headboard, and end tables are made of wood, and the dresser is littered with silver picture frames.

One is of Sophie and a young man who resembles her so much, it must be her brother. One is of the two of them with a pair of adults, their parents, probably. One is of Sophie with a young man and woman who look like they could be twins, another of Sophie and the man he knows is her previous partner back in Chicago.

There’s one of her SWAT squad, Sophie in the middle with a big smile and an even bigger gun. Then there’s one of the BAU team, from a get-together Garcia hosted; he remembers her apartment looking like a craft store threw up there, every bright color and pattern you could imagine, and he remembers Sophie’s face when she saw it, called it gorgeous and fitting and very Penelope.

Would he consider this apartment very Sophie? This room, maybe, but that’s about it.

“I love these. Especially this one,” he says, holding up the photo of the SWAT team. “We need to take you to an outdoor range one day, so you can blow Morgan’s mind.” She laughs, light and airy, moves closer so she’s looking at the photo with him.

“That’s a great idea. He’s seen my special tactics, now for my special weapons.” She touches the photo of her with her brother, picks it up to show him. “This is my brother, Leo—before he became a constantly high competitive surfer in San Diego.”

“Do you see him often?” Her face falls, and she sets the photo back down with a sigh.

“I haven’t seen him in about a year. He doesn’t agree with my lifestyle, calls me a government pawn.”

“He doesn’t agree with your lifestyle?” he asks, a little surprised, considering his habits, but she just nods.

“Yeah, he’s very ‘go with the flow’, finds me morally rigid. Thinks I’m not doing work that needs to be done, as if our job is less important than surfing.” He laughs, and she laughs with him, bumps playfully against his arm. “You should feel special, you know. No one else has seen my photos.”

“No one at all?” That can’t be right, she’s had people in her bedroom, certainly…

“Nope. I don’t date often, you know. And I one-night-stand even less than I date, so. No one has had the chance.” It makes him sad, generally, that she keeps her photos so guarded, that she doesn’t share them—he’s happy, though, to know she doesn’t have men in and out of her bedroom, as if that matters when he knows nothing will ever happen between them.

“You have to give someone the chance,” he says, pulling her in for an easy, one-armed hug and pressing his lips to the top of her head. He’s not sure why he does it, but it feels so right he doesn’t really question it.

“I know,” she says quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist, too, and leaning against his shoulder. “I just want it to be the right someone.” She looks up at him, so soft and beautiful in just her slip of a dress, feet bare, that his chest aches with the urge to kiss her.

He doesn’t, of course, and never will, and the moment eventually passes, their eye contact breaks. “I should make that coffee,” she murmurs, pulling away, and tries not to feel too bad about the loss.

[rainbuckets8]

Why you should watch RWBY

TL;DR:

Summary: RWBY is an epic fantasy with themes like found family, the struggle to remain hopeful, the younger generation growing up, villain redemption, and systemic evils.

Strengths: RWBY has unique and memorable characters. The show is smart. It has excellent cinematography and animation. It has representation. It tackles hard topics. It’s got incredible music and it’s free on RT’s website.

Weaknesses: RWBY has some early growing pains, specifically volume 2’s finale, as well as budget and polish. Later on, volume 4 is weaker than the rest. Volume 8's finale is extremely distressing for a lot of viewers (and we haven't seen the follow up to those events yet). The fandom can be bad at times.

Misinformation: The early volumes being bad, the racism plot line, and the animation (not the same as “budget and polish”) are not as bad as you may have heard from YouTube.

Suggested viewing order

Red Trailer, White Trailer, Black Trailer, Yellow Trailer

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4 Character Short

Volume 4

Volume 5 Weiss Character Short, Volume 5 Blake Character Short, Volume 5 Yang Character Short

Volume 5

Volume 6 Adam Character Short

Volume 6

Volume 7

Volume 8

(I did my best to make this spoiler-free. When there are spoilers, they’re worded ambiguously enough that someone new to the show would never guess what’s going to happen just by reading this.)

What to expect

The world of Remnant is filled with monsters called the creatures of Grimm. Warriors called Huntsmen and Huntresses defend humanity. Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang go to school to become the next generation of heroes. Together they make Team RWBY (pronounced, “Ruby”)! Joining them is team JNPR (“Juniper”), made up of Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren. But evils even more dangerous than the Grimm are ready to make their move, and school quickly becomes an afterthought…

(I mention these next two topics specifically bc they can immediately turn someone away based on bad expectations.) There is a fantasy school setting, but RWBY is not a show about school. School topics are not a dominant idea: it seems to resemble a setting like Harry Potter, but the actual focus of the show rarely touches on things like classes or homework or tests, and we quickly move on. There is romance and it has a role in the plot, but RWBY is not a romance show. On the scale of romance in FMAB to She-Ra, RWBY falls somewhere in the middle.

What is RWBY about, then? RWBY is like an epic fantasy or high fantasy, despite first appearances. Perhaps not every genre convention is followed, but at its core, RWBY is about an epic struggle of good and evil.

RWBY contains themes such as found family, the struggle to remain hopeful, the younger generation growing up, villain redemption, and systemic evils.

Strengths of the show

The characters are unique and memorable. One of the cool things is that they all draw inspiration from a real life fairy tale, myth, or something else. They designs are all top notch. One character who died with extremely little screen time even got so much fandom love, they included the character in a mid-hiatus short later. The characters have unique weapons, too; in the world of Remnant, a weapon is an extension of ones’ soul, and they reflect the variety of their owners. They’re also just plain cool; Monty was famous for following the “Rule of Cool.” And their individual stories are all compelling and interesting.

The show is smart. As a fandom, we generally pick up on the narrative hints the creators are dropping. And our predictions usually come true, but not in a way that makes the show predictable and boring. We very rarely guess exactly what will happen, but we have some similar idea of it. It’s just excellent foreshadowing.

RWBY also likes to play with tropes, as an extension of this. Often it will challenge them, or subvert expectations. In other cases, RWBY uses tropes to avoid showing us what we already know will happen. This occurs in both characters and plot. For example…

SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR VOLUME ONE FOR THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH: Jaune’s entire character arc is about trying to be the anime protagonist, and learning that he doesn’t have to do things alone, and it’s ok to be a support main. The show sets up the narrative in a way that looks like, oh of course the direction it will go is him becoming the main character, but then it destroys toxic masculinity instead.

Our characters are smart, too. Plot-induced stupidity generally doesn’t happen. (A few big mistakes or errors in this regard aren’t actually the fault of the narrative, either, but animation and miscommunication and failure to execute. And those aren’t common.) It goes beyond just “not being dumb,” however. The villains’ plans are incredibly clever, and our heroes sometimes even guess at the usual “plot twists.”

The cinematography is just incredible. There are numerous freeze frames with extreme attention to detail that reveal character motivations or arcs or foreshadowing, there are many effective cuts and moving parts, there are soooo many parallels and callbacks, and visual cues such as lighting and color all are used appropriately to convey emotion and assist the narrative. It is one of the biggest overlooked strengths of the show, imo, simply because a lot of people in the fandom don’t notice these things as much for whatever reason, or else don’t give as much praise about them.

The animation is extremely good as well. Budget issues and technology issues aside (which means a lack of polish), the actual animation? The fight choreography, and all the other parts of animation that aren’t just “expensive CGI” are all wonderful. You can have very shiny, polished turds after all, and RWBY is like the opposite: not very polished, especially early on, but very well animated. All the trailers, volume 1 episode 8, the volume 1 finale, the volume 2 penultimate episode, and basically everything else hold up extremely well even today. If anything, the worst fight animation was in volumes 4 and 5 because of Maya growing pains, and those are an example of being more polished, but not necessarily better animated. Animation of faces has always been good, animation of characters has always felt lively. Aside from a few small actual hiccups (that one person running across rooftops for instance), it’s well done.

There are LGBTQ+ characters. The treatment of one of the recent trans characters, in volume 8, was nothing short of amazing. They worked with a VA who was trans. The moment of canon confirmation was important to the character for backstory, because of course that affects the character’s life, but not the only important thing about the character. The representation is not in-your-face or pandering. And there is a split of representation among the main cast and the minor characters, with promises of more to come (notably they’ve said they’re working on more mlm for future volumes, too).

RWBY is not afraid to tackle hard topics. It deals with things like mental illness, systematic racism, and cycles of abuse. It’s not because the show is trying to earn “gritty and dark” points, it’s because those are some of the topics that real people have to struggle with as well. And the show handles most or all of them very well, in a way that shows respect and an honest attempt to depict these things as best they can. (NOTE ABOUT VOLUME 8: THERE IS A VERY DIFFUCLT CONVERSATION CURRENTLY HAPPENING. I am on the side of, let’s wait and see what happens next because the story isn’t over, so we haven’t really seen the fall out. But I understand why this paragraph feels really difficult to agree with if you've seen the volume 8 finale. I trust the track record of the rest of the show, personally.)

As an example, the show has a theme that villains are rarely evil just because. A lot of villains choose to do bad things because they were hurt in some way. Some lived in poverty; some were hurt by racism; many of them are victims of abuse. But the show doesn’t make excuses for them. It’s possible to be both sympathetic and still choose evil over and over again (that’s called tragic). The ones who eventually do try to do good again are not always forgiven, either.

The music is amazing. I can probably count on my hands the number of times I’ve heard someone say otherwise, which is astonishing when you consider this fandom.

It’s also free on RT’s website. (A paid, “FIRST” subscription removes ads and lets you see new episodes one week early, but they all eventually release for free.)

Weaknesses of the show

Early volumes’ growing pains exist, much like most or all other shows. (Even some of the greatest were not immune to this, like ATLA.) In this case, however, it’s a little bit rougher. A large reason why is that this was kind of the first big thing from RT to ever come out. If you remember back almost a decade ago, their only other big thing at the time was RvB, which was machinima. They pretty much started from scratch with everything, from assets to VAs to animation to writing. Imagine if a random twitch streamer, like Ninja (idk who’s popular these days) said one day, “OK let me just direct something that’s intended to be the next great movie series of all time, like Star Wars, with a $4 bill and an iPhone camera.” Then went out and actually made something. Of course it would be rough…but then it turns out the movie is actually really good. And then you get to watch over the next several years as everything gets better and better until it’s honest-to-god comparable to the MCU. That’s kind of what happened with RWBY.

One specific growing pain was the volume 2 finale. Pretty much everything else up until that point, I love about the show. But the finale just fails to deliver on the build up of tension from other episodes. Some of it is because of later plot developments that we didn’t know at the time; some of it is because of just not great writing; some of it is because of just not great animation; and yes, some of it is budget. Regardless, it’s a low point for the show.

Speaking of, the budget for the early volumes is super small. The infamous volume one shadow people, the infamous person jumping across the rooftops in volume two, and just production quality isn’t high compared to a major release from some established studio. These are real weaknesses of the show that for some people, make it unwatchable, and if that’s you, that’s ok.

One last weakness of the show, the screen time per episode, especially early on, is NOT a full 20 minutes like you may expect of an anime (or anime-inspired-western-media, for those of you who will die on the “RWBY is not an anime” hill). This is a trend that has stuck with the show, a shorter run time per episode, for generally the entire lifetime. On one hand, it means it’s a little less daunting to catch up or rewatch than the number of episodes might imply. On the other, early on, some episodes have a little weird pacing. It also means the writing had to adjust for this, so while RWBY got really good at telling a story within a shorter amount of time, there’s also challenges with that too. Perhaps one of the notable ones is the pacing, with slower moments sometimes feeling like it takes up too much screen time, or not enough. Volume 4 was a particular struggle for the crew, both because they switched animation engines and also for the story.

Common complaints that I don’t agree with

I don’t agree that the early volumes were actually bad overall. Growing pains, yes, but not bad. I attribute that complaint to overly focusing on one character’s storyline, back when it wasn’t clear there was so much more to come and before people realized the show would challenge the tropes instead of falling into them. It’s pretty much just volume 1 when people say this anyway, most of them I’ve heard admit that volume 2 was a lot better (except the finale) and almost everyone loves volume 3. And looking back on it, I do think volume 1 holds up.

Tying into this, the racism plot line is another common complaint. I don’t think it’s actually executed quite that badly. I think it makes sense for there to be regional differences in the amount of racism we see, it just so happened that we only saw a very small and isolated environment, Beacon, for much of the early volumes. (Incidentally, that’s actually similar the environment I myself grew up in.) It’s not perfect, though. But there’s no doubt that the later volumes do a better job portraying this. Again, I attribute it mostly to people not knowing how long the show would run for at the time, so of course if that’s all we saw, it would’ve been bad. But it’s not. I have a lot of respect for Miles and Kerry for even attempting to handle the racism topic in the first place. And for the faults that DO exist in this plot line, I credit them for learning and growing past that too, and doing better in later volumes.

The animation is not bad. I’ve already touched on that earlier, but people confuse “budget and polish” with “animation.” Give me RWBY any day over Michael Bay’s Transformers: no matter how much polish those robots have, they’re still a confusing mess to try and follow. And the polish isn’t even an issue once we get past the growing pains of Maya and get a bigger budget, because wow does this show look good now.

Between these three complaints I hear about often, I think those are the biggest ones. And they’re all generally done in bad faith, based not on just those but on other more provocative statements people also make with them. That’s part of my issue with the fandom, specifically the vocal but small parts of the fandom, because they’re just repeating these things from early days that aren’t true. But YouTubers gotta get those rage and hate clicks somehow, right? Unfortunately it discredits the show a lot and influences other people’s opinions into not giving it a fair chance, because it’s become a narrative of “RWBY IS BAD” when they all won’t shut up about it. So yeah, fandom can be bad, join at your own discretion. (Of course, all fandoms have annoying parts, and my interactions with the fandom have been good overall, otherwise.)

Onto other complaints, some say the cast is bloated. I don’t agree, but I don’t think this one is in bad faith. I think we get the important characters as much screen time as we can, and the minor characters don’t actually detract from that; one of the differences between good minor characters and bad ones, is that bad ones take up too much time. RWBY has a ton of characters but many of the minor ones don’t actually take up too much time. So it appears bloated, but actually I don’t think it is.

Finally, a small word on the no-no topics. Adam, and Monty. Adam is like the champion of the Monty topic. Which essentially boils down to “Miles and Kerry are ruining Monty’s vision for the show.” Toxic fandom is truly awful and I have no respect for anyone who says anything like that. Shame on all of you. This isn’t really anything negative about the show, but the fandom, and tbf all fandoms have toxic parts. But toxic fandom can be a real and valid reason to not watch a show. Thankfully they seem fewer in number these days, but I think they’ve evolved into hiding behind other characters or topics, so you know. Beware. Again, it's not too hard to avoid them or block them, and my interactions otherwise with most fans have been good.

[kikis-writing-world]

This was requested by @driedgreentomatoes but Tumblr ate my post? Thanks... so here’s a repost.

Yay! Whiskey! Thanks for requesting! Okay this is kind of a really weird one. I hope it works? Even if it doesn’t, well I tried something different! The two things you requested reminded me immediately of a scene that’s going to happen eventually in Whiskey Straight, so I wanted to take this in a totally different direction. There’s also a little note at the end about the drabble. I hope you like it!

#18  “Any other lies left to tell me?” and #46  “Are they really ‘just a friend’?”

Pairing: The smallest hint of Whiskey x a woman (could be read as reader or OC, but it’s secondary to the plot), Whiksey x His Wife

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, hallucinations, mentions of a dead character. I’m sure this is some kind of PTSD the way he’s dealing with his grief and guilt? I don’t know if there’s any other categories this could be tagged as so if I missed anything I’m terribly sorry and please let me know.

Whiskey watched from the Bronco as she made their way up the walk .Watched her bounce up the stairs to the porch. Waited while she unlocked and opened the door. He wasn’t expecting her to turn and wave at him before going inside. He waved back. Once the door was closed, he put the bronco in drive. He never left until she was safely inside.

He hadn’t realized how widely he was smiling until it started to fade. His cheeks ached a bit from the strain. It had been a long time since he smiled that widely or for that long. She had that effect on him though. At work, after work, during a mission, during lunch. She made him laugh and smile in a way he hadn’t since-

“You seem happy.”

His smile dropped at the voice. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and sighed before turning his eyes back on the road.

“I am.” He grunted, despite his mood crashing down around him.

“Who was that?”

“Friend from work.”

“Mmhmm.” The hum was full of disbelief. He reached up for the rearview mirror, adjusting it until he could see her upset face in the back seat. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyebrow quirked up. He knew that look, that body language. It usually ended in him begging forgiveness for being an idiot of some kind. “Any other lies left to tell me?”

“I’m allowed to have friends.” He huffed, turning his attention back to the road.

“Never said you weren’t.”

“Then why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

“I’m not looking at you any which way.” She laughed.

He took a deep breath, hands tightening on the wheel as he tried to calm himself. He pulled over to the side of the road, parking once more. He closed his eyes, repeating the mantras the doctors had taught him. He had control.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He jumped, her voice coming from right beside him now. He opened his eyes, seeing she had moved to the passenger side.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He answered, glaring at her. She just shrugged. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything. You are.”

“Always my fault, isn’t it?” He huffed, putting the car in gear and focussing back on the road.

“You tell me.”

He took several deep breaths, choosing to ignore the woman in the seat beside him. She seemed fine with that, at least for now. He knew it wouldn’t last. She never left him alone for long. Especially when he thought about moving on, about settling down with someone else.

“Are they really ‘just a friend’?” She asked, as if she could read his mind.

“Yes.” He clenched his jaw.

“Maybe... but you want more.”

He didn’t bother to answer. The silence was telling, packing more meaning into it than any words he could muster at this point. She seemed happy with that, letting the conversation lull while the frustration grew in him.

“Why can’t you let me be happy?!” He snapped, raising his voice as he so rarely did. He turned sharply into the driveway, his movement jerky as he parked. “I don’t think that’s askin’ for much! So what if I want her? Just let me have that! She’s not gonna want a broken man like me, but I don’t need you stickin’ your nose in it! I don’t need you to remind me why I can’t have my happy endin’. That train left the station long ago, but… God damn it, just let me believe it’s comin’ back! I don’t need you to remind me it’s not! I know that without you poppin’ up outta nowhere!”

Jack’s heavy breathing filled the silence. He didn’t dare look to his right, to see her expression after his blow up. He hated yelling at her. He never used to but it was getting hard to carry on like this.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he smacked his hand against the steering wheel. His anger shifted inwards as he realized what he’d said. What he’d done. He swore once more, pushing the door open. He had to go inside and call his doctor. He knew the man was going to pull him from the field, but he couldn’t put it off anymore. It was getting worse.

He slammed the car door, leaving the car empty in the driveway. He prayed the image of his dead wife wouldn’t follow him inside.

A/N: I wrote the wife’s lines without much context/tone so that they can be read one of two ways. You can read her as happy, kind, compassionate - she wants Whiksey to move on, and the sass she’s giving him is because he’s lying to himself about his feelings. Or you can read her as angry and bitter that he’s moving on because he feels so guilty.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

An Open and Honest Conversation About Our Feelings

Ao3,  MasterPost

Relationships: Moxiety, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Roceit and Intrulogical.

Warnings: Food mention, all sympathetic sides, swearing, crying, hurt/comfort, excessive fluff and somftness. 

Word Count: 1,779

Virgil woke up at 12:00PM dull every day, because there are no rules in quarantine and fuck you. And due to the fact that all of his fellow sides continued to maintain ‘reasonable’ sleep schedules (nerds), he was almost always the last awake. Today was seemingly no exception, as Virgil trudged down the stairs with a yawn to find his family long done with breakfast.

 Janus was the first to register his presence, curled up in the corner of the sectional with Roman. 

“There’s something breakfast-adjacent left for you in the kitchen,” he informed with a mischievous look at the trait beside him.

“We were working with what we had! I’m sorry I’m not a master chef like Dad.” Roman argued, prompting Logan to peek his head in from the kitchen. 

“The more you call Patton that, the more I worry that it’s some kind of complex.”

He ducked into the other room before Roman could effectively throw a pillow at him. 

“Remus is a terrible influence on you!” 

There was a shrill laugh from the kitchen. 

“Damn right I am!”

Virgil shook his head at the interaction and contemplated going right back to bed. There was something bugging him, though. 

“So where is Pat?”

“He wasn’t here when we came down. We decided to let him sleep in. Totally not like he needs it,” Janus said idly. 

That on it’s own would be fine (he really did need a day off), but Patton was asleep later than Virgil? At the very least it was weird. But nobody else seemed particularly concerned about the side, and Anxiety wasn’t always the best judge of what was and was not worth freaking out over. He pushed it out of mind and went to find something to eat. Patton was probably fine. Probably. 

It was 3:00pm and things were not fine. No one had seen a trace of Patton all day. After surmising that all of the idiots Virgil inhabited a brain space with weren’t correctly worried, he took matters into his own hands. He glared at his best friend’s door for a good time before he finally caved and knocked, hoping for nonchalance (how do you knock nonchalantly? Probably not like that, dude). After all, maybe Patton really had just overslept. For eight hours. Yeah. 

There was a slight gasp from behind the door. Virgil felt his stomach drop and listened closely for a response. 

“Who is it?” Morality’s voice was barely audible, a rasping and raw croak. He very clearly hadn’t been getting any sleep, let alone extra. Virgil placed his hand on the door.

“It’s- it’s me.” 

No response.

“Can I come in?”

There was a beat, and then the lock clicked open. Anxiety took a steadying breath before entering Morality’s room, carefully closing the entryway behind him. His eyes widened at the scene before him.

Patton was laying on top of the covers in his bed. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, not to mention so unfocused that you’d think that nobody was home behind them. Tears tracked down his face and turned his complexion worryingly red, a contrast to the gray of his cat sweater. 

“...Pat?” Virgil whispered. Patton tilted his head and attempted to smile at him, which only served to be more heart-wrenching to see than the dull upset that previously encompassed his expression.

“Hey, Virge. What’s up?”

Virgil snorted, but there was no humor in the sound. 

“That’s what I wanna know,” he sat on the edge of the bed, maintaining a respectful distance, “C’mon, you can talk to me.”

“...Can I?”

The question was nearly silent, but Anxiety couldn’t have missed it in a thunderstorm. The trait blinked in a mix of concern and confusion.

“Uh, yeah? I mean, I won’t make you, but you’re always trying to talk me down when I get upset, or whatever. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Patton pushed himself up, leaning back against his pillows.  When he looked at Virgil again, he didn’t pretend to smile. 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

“I- I know that I’ve been a lot lately. I know you need space right now, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here for me. I’ll be okay, it’s just one of those days- you know?” 

Virgil’s stomach sank as realization dawned on him. 

“What are you talking about?” he needed to hear it. 

“You- well- you kinda… snap at me? Whatever I say always seems to be… the wrong thing to say. I’m sure you have a reason for being upset with me, though! And you don’t have to tell me what it is, either,” Patton kept his eyes down as he spoke, “It’s fine, really!”

Anxiety didn’t know what to say. Or maybe he didn’t know what not to say, because there was so much that he should be saying. He could see his friend- his best friend, always there for him even when it was excessive- trying not to cry again. It hurt to look at, it was heartbreaking to look at in a way it really shouldn’t have been. 

His mind flashed with all the times he’d berated Patton, or shut him down, or just brushed him off- and wasn’t not being listened to exactly what made him treat Morality worse in the first place? How hadn’t he noticed before?

Oh god, Virgil had been quiet too long and he still had no clue what to say. This was why talking about emotions wasn’t in his department!

Virgil twisted his fingers in his sleeve as an idea formed. He inched a little closer to Patton, trying to will away the nervousness and regret that creeped in him so he could focus. Patton watched him from the corner of his eye as Anxiety took his hand and entwined their fingers. 

The moral trait looked up at him with scores of conflicting emotions flitting across his face. Virgil outstretched his other arm, an offering that he rarely gave to anyone and one he almost never gave to anybody other than Patton. 

The side threw himself into Virgil’s arms without hesitation, hiding his face in the fabric of his hoodie. Virgil wrapped his arms around Morality’s shaking shoulders and held him close.

“I didn’t-” his voice cracked. Shit, try again.

“You’re amazing, Pat. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, like, not really.”

Patton’s head was resting on his collarbone. He took deep, shuddering breaths as his shaking abated. Virgil continued.

“This is all my fault, I should have just talked to you-”

Patton shook his head sharply.

“Me feeling bad wasn’t ‘cuz of you. It happens. And you did talk to me about what was wrong, I’m the one that didn’t listen-”

“I didn’t listen either, I just brushed you off! I made you feel like I didn’t want to be around you!”

“That’s exactly what I did to you! T-The first part.”

“It’s different-”

Patton cut him off with laughter, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. Virgil was only surprised for a moment before he cracked up too, letting the situation really sink in. How were they both so dumb?

A few times over they stopped, looked at each other, had another bout of giggles, and had to calm down again. Patton had gradually moved so that he was sat on Virgil’s lap, which certainly didn’t help alleviate the giddiness in his chest. 

“I’m really bad at this,” Anxiety said, sliding his arms down to hold around Morality’s waist.

“At what?” 

“Don’t know. Talking about stuff.”

“Me too. Don’t tell anybody though, I have a reputation.” 

Virgil gave another laugh and rested his chin on Patton’s head. 

They breathed.

“I’m tired, Vee.” 

“Same.”

“No, I meant... emotionally.”

“I know what you meant, Pat.”

Without another word, Patton pulled the both of them down to lie on the bed. He kicked his feet under his comforter and muttered that ‘a nap might help anyway’, and ‘would you stay? Please?’, and there wasn’t a chance that Anxiety could say no to that if he wanted to (which he did not). 

They exchanged some more whispered conversation while wrapping themselves with blankets. As the minutes passed, Virgil couldn’t help focusing on the way his friend’s arms tightened around his waist, or the way he laughed into his shoulder and pressed somehow closer. Virgil’s heart picked up- he didn’t like physical contact on the best of days, and this was more than he could ever remember enduring. The strange thing this time was that he wasn’t uncomfortable with it, no, he felt safe and warm and cared for and so so so-

Oh, fuck. 

“-irgil? Virgil?” 

“Sorry- yeah?”

Morality pulled back a bit. Virgil hoped to God that he wouldn’t dwell on the zoning out. Thankfully, he seemed to have something else on his mind.

“Thank you. For everything. This is just what I needed.” 

Patton was watching him with just an impossibly sweet expression. Virgil felt a spike of something- bravery, stupidity, recklessness, whatever you wanted to call it- in his chest. He couldn’t not say those three little words, not for another second. 

“I love you.”

Patton smiled so wide it looked painful, laughing giddily.

“I love you, too!”

“No,” immediately his fear was back tenfold and this was an awful idea, “I- I meant like, ro-”

“I know what you meant, Virge,” Patton said softly, looking amused and oh-so smitten. Virgil swallowed, pressing their foreheads together. His face was on fire and his chest hurt and his throat was dry but he couldn’t help smiling back at his friend- best friend- boyfriend?- his Patton.

The Heart tilted his head forwards a bit, bumping their noses together.

“Can I…?”

Virgil nodded quickly, accidentally shifting the trait’s glasses. Patton giggled, removing them and placing them on the bedside table before bringing his hands up to cup Virgil’s face and resuming their position. Gently- achingly gently- he pressed their lips together. Anxiety felt himself melt. The kiss was soft and sweet and cautious; it felt hours long and too short at the same time. When they broke apart, Patton looked at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky (Virgil was sure that his expression was much the same, but he wasn’t particularly worried about his reputation at that moment). 

“Thanks,” Patton said once more, laying his head back down on Virgil’s chest. The trait grasped for some response that could possibly articulate all that he was feeling, but by the time he opened his mouth, Morality was already asleep. With an amused huff, he followed suit and got some much needed rest.

@shrimp-crockpot

[edendaphne]

"Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 12

TFW your rich AF dad is a stingy SOB who only gives you one shirt to wear 🤣

(And YEP! In this AU Adrien wears glasses! He wears contact lenses for photoshoots/modeling)  :3c

>Read it here on Ao3<

>Read it here on Wattpad<

CHAPTER 12: ANDANTE

Music glossary: Andante - to go at a moderate, steady pace

French glossary: “Les Deux Sots” = The Two Fools/Idiots

(La Dispute (Amelie Soundtrack)- Yann Tiersen)

Marinette was upset.

Not so much upset, really. More like… confused? Frustrated? And not even at Fu, necessarily. It wasn’t his fault. But Fu was the messenger, and therefore, the undeserving recipient of her current mental ire.

With the critical 48 hours of Chat Noir’s healing complete, she’d gone to visit Fu to discuss some of the concerns she had about her new partnership, along with some other pressing questions. The answers were… not quite what she expected (or wanted) to hear.

No, Marinette, he’d said. You must not know Chat Noir’s identity, he’d said. Yes, I know you just want to protect him as a civilian. No, don’t try to figure it out yourself. If you find out too early, you’ll absorb the negative effects from the misuse of his miraculous. Yes, that is always what happens with the Cat and Ladybug miraculouses. Yes, that’s why wielders must not know each others’ identities; not until their souls and energies are perfectly in sync with each other. No, Marinette, you are not in perfect sync with each other. Yes, I know you don’t like it. But that is how it must be. Have a nice day, Marinette. No, I’m not kicking you out. I’m just... going to the spa to get rid of a sudden tension headache. Goodbye.

“Understood, Master,” she’d said. And honestly, yes; she really did understand.

But she still didn’t like it.

The conversation weighed heavily on her mind as she went about her daily chores, and she couldn’t help but stomp around the house as she worked, a perpetual crinkle fixed between her eyebrows.

She just couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Negative effects? Truth be told, prior to this, she’d even almost suspected that Fu had exaggerated that aspect of the miraculouses, in order to keep her on the straight and narrow path and be responsible.

Such matters had been far from her mind while befriending Chat Noir. She’d never even thought to ask him about it. How long would these effects linger on, even after his change of heart and proper use of his miraculous?

More importantly, would the effects ever fully disappear? Fu said that every case was different. Sometimes the effects did fade. Other times, they did not; and in those cases, partners couldn’t ever reveal their identities to each other. In rare instances, the wielders would even have to return their miraculouses to the guardians, because they would never be able to work in proper harmony with the other. Marinette shuddered. She didn’t want to even consider that possibility.

In any case, Hawkmoth was suffering from such negative effects as well. What could his ailments be? Chat had mentioned that he seemed to be losing control of his akumas, and his judgment was becoming increasingly clouded. But was there more?

Frowning, she stuffed folded laundry into her dresser drawers with a bit more force than necessary. She quickly stood up when she was finished, yanking the laundry basket away with a huff as she headed towards her next task.

There was also another question, one she’d had even years ago, when she’d first become Ladybug. One she’d always been too shy to ask, always trusting in Fu’s judgment, never questioning him because of his seniority and experience (respecting one’s elders having been an integral part of her upbringing, particularly her mother’s).

But now that she was older, she’d finally gathered enough courage to ask him: Why hadn’t he revealed Chat’s identity to her years ago? With enough luck, she might have been able to steal back his miraculous when he wasn’t transformed while he was out of the house. So, why hadn’t he told her?

Fu’s answer had been remarkably simple: He’d wanted Chat to have a relatively normal life outside of the mask. He’d always held out hope that Chat would turn away from his unrighteous deeds on his own. Having people around him that treated him kindly and that he could trust would give him the courage to do so. If he didn’t have that, he would have felt that he had nowhere to turn to, and no choice but to remain as he was.

Fu added that if she’d had any contact with Chat, either as herself or as Ladybug, she would have treated him differently, possibly with hostility. Marinette had wanted to deny it at first, but she knew he was right. She would have treated him differently. Probably would’ve avoided him, spoken to him harshly, given him dirty looks from across the street. She might have even tried to convince her friends that he wasn’t a good person, much like her situation with Lila. Not that that had ever worked; that girl was just way too deceptive. After all these years, she’d given up on even trying. Without any concrete evidence, Marinette’s claims that Lila was a rotten liar wouldn’t convince anyone, except thankfully for Alya and Nino; but even they had been skeptical at first.

In any case, Marinette would have most likely become angry, cold, or maybe even embittered towards Chat if she wasn’t able to retrieve his miraculous right away. And Chat would’ve responded with confusion, hurt, and resentment towards both her and Ladybug, permanently eliminating any chance to become partners.

The troubled girl sighed wearily, walking towards the downstairs bathroom with a basket full of supplies for their feline guest, still mulling over her earlier discussion. There just had to be other options she hadn’t considered yet–

Still distracted, deliberating the myriad of possibilities and worrying over every potential outcome, Marinette swung the bathroom door open... only to be greeted by a tall, toned, and very much bare backside, whose modesty was barely concealed by a small towel wrapped around the waist. Rivulets of water coursed down the valleys and ripples of the lightly tanned skin, and her eyes couldn’t help but follow them down their path, gracefully gliding from the tops of the broad shoulders, still rosy and glowing from the shower’s hot water, and disappearing into the edges of the towel, which rode low along the hips. The shock of damp, golden hair gave Marinette the confirmation of who exactly the stranger in her bathroom was. Practically tripping over her feet, she slammed the door shut, a loud screech abruptly escaping her throat.

“OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH, I AM SOOOO SORRY!!!” she yelled in between pants. “I thought the bathroom was empty!!! I was just gonna drop off some muscles— I mean toilets— I mean toiletries!!! I’ll just... leave them here outside the door! SORRYAGAIN, BYE!!!”

Marinette sprinted all the way to her bedroom and plopped like a dead fish onto her chaise, letting out a long, shrill whine into the cushions. She flopped over onto her back, shoving a throw pillow onto her face, and considered smothering herself out of existence in order to avoid having to face Chat Noir ever again. Maybe she’d come back to Earth reincarnated as an actual ladybug, and she could flee from the city to go live in the country. Cannes was supposed to be nice this time of year.

Before her plans could come to fruition, specifically the one about becoming the insect she already felt like, she sluggishly removed the pillow from her face to get some air.

Only to be greeted by a small, floating… cat??

No, not a cat.

A kwami.

Chat Noir’s kwami.

“Boo,” he said flatly.

Marinette sat up, careful to not bump into the tiny god.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, although she suspected Plagg wasn’t so much staring as sizing her up. Gauging her adequacy, perhaps? He’d worked alongside countless other Ladybugs these past few millennia, so the thought made her a bit nervous.

“You must be Plagg,” she said, concealing her surprise.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Plagg replied with a showy twirl. “I am quite noteworthy.”

Marinette’s eyes crinkled in amusement. That wasn’t quite was she’d been expecting.

She extended her hand with a smile. “Hi, I’m Marinette.”

Plagg took her hand and turned it over, examining her palm. “Hmph, no Camembert?” he asked with obvious disappointment. “Introductions can wait. My stomach cannot. ”

Marinette snickered. She hadn’t expected such an ornery attitude from a kwami; nevertheless, she decided she liked him already.

She tugged open her shirt pocket and said, “Hop in. Let’s go fetch some from the kitchen.”

Plagg approached the pocket and Tikki poked her little head out.

Marinette chuckled. “I’m sure you remember Tikki.”

“Always a pleasure, Sugarcube,” he bowed deeply with an exaggerated flourish that was so entirely Chat-like, she could definitely tell that their mannerisms had rubbed off on each other.

“Hello again, Stinky Sock,” Tikki replied.

“Hey, Camembert is the most amazing fragrance known to man. It’s a shame you’re not enlightened enough to truly appreciate the beauty of fermented foods.”

Tikki rolled her eyes, but nevertheless scooted over to let him in.

Upon reaching the kitchen and making sure the coast was clear, Marinette ushered the pair out of her pocket. She pulled out a plate and made her way to the refrigerator with Plagg hovering nearby, watching her curiously.

Marinette had anticipated that he’d be hungry, so she'd gone shopping that morning after visiting Fu, specifically to stock up on cheese. Even still, she had grossly underestimated just how ravenous the kwami would be; her eyes widened as the pile on the plate grew higher and higher.

Once finished, Marinette set it down on the countertop, trying to avoid thinking too hard about how all that food would fit inside his small body.

“Uhh, do you also want some crackers, or some fruit, or…?” she trailed off, unsure of how else to be of service.

“Nothing more is needed when you already have perfection,” Plagg remarked before picking up a particularly pungent piece of cheese and taking a deep, long whiff.

Tikki’s tiny features scrunched in distaste as she put some more distance between herself and the odorous meal.

Marinette stood beside them, not quite sure what to do with herself or what to say. Maybe Plagg could answer some questions without revealing too much.

Deciding to give it a try, she asked, “So... Plagg. What can you tell me about Hawkmoth? You don’t have to go into any details. Just anything that you think would be helpful to know, so we can figure out a plan to defeat him?”

Plagg frowned, then followed up with an appalled grimace. “Seriously?! Right in front of my Camembert??” He harrumphed. “Let’s talk about that jackass some other time. Believe it or not, I lose my appetite anytime I think about him.”

“Fair enough,” Marinette relented. She puckered her lips, deep in thought as she took a seat on the barstool nearby. “Oh, I know! What kinds of hobbies does Chat have? Maybe I can get him some supplies or other stuff that he likes, so he can relax and feel more at home.”

“Hmm… Well, you already know he likes games, both videogames and tabletop,” Plagg replied in between bites. “He likes to read. The classics, fantasy, sci-fi, fanfiction, comic books...” Another bite. “He spends a ridiculous amount of time writing poetry and short stories. Also…” Chomp . “Sappy movies... Anime.” Gulp . “He’s not a great singer, but that doesn’t stop him from busting into song and dance numbers from his favorite musicals. He is a decent dancer though.” Another gulp, punctuated with a smirk. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

Marinette averted her gaze, a surge of tingles invading her entire body as she remembered that first night together. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet she remembered that evening full of dancing as vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Plagg gobbled up the last bit on the plate, then wiped his paws on the napkin Marinette had provided. He followed up with a mighty stretch of his small limbs, sighing in contentment.

Marinette’s posture straightened upon seeing that he’d finished his meal. “We should head back to the bedroom. Chat will be looking for you soon.” She hopped off the barstool and the trio made their way back towards Chat’s bedroom.

Marinette grimaced as she placed her hand on the doorknob and let out a pathetic groan. “I better figure out what to say when I apologize for walking in on him.”

They entered the bedroom and she shut the door behind them. She raised her eyebrows, looking hopefully at Plagg. “Do you think he’ll be furious with me?”

Plagg shrugged off her concern. “Oh, puh- lease . I bet he’d actually be quite pleased that you got a good look at him half naked, if he knew who you really were.”

Marinette could only splutter incoherently, her arms waving around like noodles. “WHAT?! WH-WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??”

Plagg gave her a smug look and crossed his little arms . “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Bugaboo , but my boy is majorly crushing on ya.”

“A-a crush…? On me? O-or rather, on Ladybug…?” Heat instantly rushed to her cheeks and all the way to the top of her ears. “I-I wasn’t sure, he hasn’t said anything about it, and, um…”

Plagg shrugged. “Kid’s pretty insecure. Way more than when he first became Chat Noir, thanks to that no-good father of his.” He sighed. “Simply put, he thinks you’re way out of his league and that you’d never go for a guy like him.”

Marinette sputtered, “Out of HIS league?? Have you SEEN him?!” She whipped her arm around, pointing it towards the bathroom door. “He’s more chiseled than a Greek statue! He could be a model!”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s the cat’s pajamas, I know,” Plagg scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, he’s still sorting out his feelings, and definitely too afraid to say anything out loud.” A teasing glint twinkled in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know what it’s like to be too shy to confess to someone, would you?” he inquired slyly.

Marinette felt the heat travel down her neck and towards her back, and she pursed her lips in shame, having nothing to retort with.

“Plagg!” Tikki rebuked, whizzing in front of him. “Whether Marinette can confess to her own crush is no concern of yours!”

“He’s right, though, Tikki,” Marinette admitted. “I guess it’s not always always totally obvious until you actually say it to them. I just… freeze every time I try to confess to Adri– t-to this guy. It’s like I haven’t progressed at all after all these years.”

“Don’t worry, little bug,” the cat kwami reassured her. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words. I’m sure this mystery man knows you care about him.” He rolled his eyes again and added, “Even if he’s too oblivious to realize it’s a romantic attraction.”

Before Marinette could reply, they heard the bathroom door crack open.

“Plagg...?” a familiar soft voice called through the small opening.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” Marinette whispered. “It was great meeting you, Plagg.”

“Likewise. See ya!”

With that, Plagg zoomed towards the bathroom and phased through the door, and Marinette quietly snuck out.

Minutes later, a rather sheepish Chat Noir emerged from the bedroom. Their eyes met and he stiffened, his body gluing to the spot.

Marinette leaped out of the couch and rushed over to him, utterly mortified, body trembling, spewing out apology after apology without taking a breath in between, looking seconds away from bursting into tears from remorse.

Chat placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “It’s okay, Marinette, really! I guess I forgot to lock the door. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to traumatize you or anything.”

Marinette’s eyes blew wide open. “Traumatize me?? No way, you are SO FINE! – Umm!!” Her hands shot up, waving back and forth. “What I mean is, I’m fine!!” She composed herself and continued, “Anyway, I just feel really bad about intruding and violating your privacy. So, please, please, pleeeaaase, is there a way I make it up to you?”

Chat was just about to reassure her again, but paused. He gave her a timid smile. “Actually, there is one thing… Could you teach me how to do laundry?”

(Under Paris Skies - Pearl Django)

As he had only one set of clothes, Adrien resigned himself to the fact that it was time to do some shopping. He didn’t want to go by himself, however; it didn’t feel safe. He had no idea if Gabriel knew he was still alive. He might have dispatched people to search for Adrien and... “collect” him back to the mansion.

Plus, he disliked shopping and could use some company.

So here he was, standing outside of Chloe Bourgeois’ room at the Grand Paris Hotel.

He’d scarcely knocked once when the door swung open, a clearly miffed Chloe standing on the other side.

“You’re late!! Where have you been– Oh, Adrikins! It’s you!” Her face softened and gave him a brilliant smile, kissing his cheeks in greeting, then brought him into a tight hug. “Come in! It’s been ages!”

Before he could get a word in edgewise, he was quickly ushered into the room.

They sat on the elegant, pristine couches of her lounge room. Chloe crossed her legs and reclined into the cushions, placing her hands behind her head in her usual carefree way.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, my dearest Adrichou?”

Adrien took a breath and opened his mouth–

“Wait,” Chloe interrupted, holding her hand up, then sat up straight and leaned forward. She took a pause, looking him over. Analyzing. Scrutinizing. She scrunched her face in consternation, brows creasing in the middle. “I know that look,” she finally said, crossing her arms. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide and he suppressed a wince. How were all these women able to read him so well these past few days?? He shrugged indifferently for her benefit, mentally preparing himself to attempt to convince her that everything was fine and she was just imagining things.

Before he could say anything though, Chloe interjected sharply, “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, Adrien Agreste. I’m your oldest friend; I’ll know. Tell me everything, or I’ll kick you out.”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled. How is she doing this?!

Eyeing Chloe to make sure she didn’t have anything else to say, he began, “Father and I had a... disagreement.”

“I knew it!!” Chloe declared, throwing her hands up in the air.

He continued with a cringe, “And I... kinda sorta ran away from home.” He looked up at her timidly, hoping she wouldn’t yell at him for his recklessness.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” she asked instead, without missing a beat, her voice now serious and full of concern. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Just say the word and it’s done.”

Adrien smiled broadly. Despite all her faults, Chloe’s loyalty never faltered.

“I really appreciate that, Chlo. It means a lot.” He sighed, plopping backwards onto the couch. “I can’t though. Father knows this is the first place I’d go. But don’t worry, I’ve got… housing arrangements elsewhere. So I’ll be fine.”

She sat up straight, scooting towards the edge of the couch and leaning towards him expectantly. “Yeah?? Where at? It’s okay, I can keep a secret–” She stopped herself. “Err… wait. Actually, no. No, I can’t. So don’t tell me or I’ll accidentally blab everything to the first person who asks.”

Adrien chuckled. “Alright. Anyway, since I left in such a hurry, I didn’t bring any clothes with me. So I was wondering if–”

“OOOH, A SHOPPING TRIP!!” Chloe squealed, clapping and practically bouncing in her seat. “Yes, I’d love to join you!”

Adrien gave her a grateful grin. “You would? That would be awesome!”

“Oh one condition,” Chloe said, raising a finger for emphasis. “I get to pick out everything.”

“Wha–?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Everything??”

She casually examined her nails as she answered, "It’s for your own good. We can’t have you looking like a hobo. ‘Cause I KNOW all you're gonna pick is nerdy t-shirts, baggy hoodies, and ripped jeans. And that simply will not do."

Adrien rolled his eyes. ���Oh, alright. I agree to your terms.”

“Wonderful!” she replied, eyes twinkling with delight.

Just then, there was a knock. They both stiffened, glancing at the door, then back at each other with trepidation. Chloe wordlessly guided Adrien into the bedroom portion of her suite, making sure he remained concealed behind the adjacent wall.

She all but tiptoed towards the door, careful not to make the floors creak. Adrien held his breath as he cast a furtive peek from behind the wall, watching Chloe cautiously peer through the peephole. She sighed in relief, throwing the door open and placing her hands on her hips in indignation.

“You are LATE!” Chloe declared, then soundly smooched the person outside the door.

“My sincerest apologies. The appointment ran long,” the guest replied as she entered the room.

Adrien recognized that voice.

Chloe scoffed. “UGH, stop it with the politeness! You always sound like you’re about to make a business deal.”

Kagami gave Chloe an unamused stare. “As you wish... ma’am,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

Chloe waved dismissively with a tsk as she made her way to retrieve her hidden friend. “Anyway, suit up. We’re going shopping!”

“Shopping? What for?” Kagami asked.

“Adrien needs a new wardrobe and he cannot be trusted on his own.”

“Hey!” Adrien objected.

Kagami shook her head. “Oh, I agree, he is definitely going to need help. Otherwise he’ll end up dressing like a hooligan.”

“Exactly!” Chloe gestured wildly to show approval.

“Hey! Not you too, Kagami!” Adrien protested.

“Let’s face it, Adrien,” Kagami replied, folding her arms behind her. “Don’t get me wrong; I know you are perfectly aware of what fashionable clothes are supposed to look like. But your…” she wrinkled her nose, “...geek ‘impulses’–”

"FETISHES!" Chloe included.

“-are just too strong for you to resist. You need us.”

Before he had a chance to argue, Chloe called for them, already opening the door. “Well? Let’s go already!”

The trio exited Chloe’s limousine and made their way into the shopping center. They pointedly avoided the “Gabriel” shop and instead entered the Audrey Bourgeois Boutique.

The girls went straight to business, grabbing and piling clothes left and right, scouring through rows of garments and quickly creating matching ensembles with clearly practiced efficiency. Before long, they had a large pile of outfits waiting to be tried on and modeled on the fitting room platform.

“But Chlo, I don’t have my wallet on me,” Adrien whispered into Chloe’s ear. “How am I gonna pay for all this?”

Chloe scoffed. “Pfft, who needs a wallet?” She turned to the nearest store employee. “Hey, you. Add everything we pick out to the Gabriel Agreste tab, will you?”

“Yes, of course, Miss Bourgeois,” the employee replied politely.

Chloe turned back towards Adrien and gave him a wink, then sat down next to Kagami in front of the gigantic mirrors of the dressing area, sliding her hand into her girlfriend’s.

A couple of hours and countless outfit changes later, the three teens exited the boutique. Adrien carried more shopping bags than he could keep track off, all of them plastered with with Audrey's icon; and a part of him hoped that with this many bags from one of Gabriel's competitors, it would somehow get back to his father. Served him right.

Back at the hotel, the concierge assisted in bringing the haul into Chloe’s suite. Chloe whispered something to him as Kagami and Adrien made their way to the bedroom area to begin the task of unwrapping and organizing the new wardrobe. Minutes later, there was a knock on the door, which Chloe answered. A few moments later, she returned with a large yet unassuming black suitcase.

“Here you go, Adrikins,” she said, placing the suitcase on the bed. “You can store your clothes in here and take them back to whatever quaint little cottage you’re staying at.”

Adrien chuckled. “Thanks, Chlo. You’re the best!”

Chloe waved off his compliment. “Yes, well... We already knew that, didn’t we?” She hid a smile, busying herself with packing his clothes into the suitcase.

When they had finished and it was time for Adrien to go, he gave each of them a tight hug and thanked them again for all their help.

“Before you go...” Chloe reached into her back pocket, taking out a cell phone covered in glitter and faux diamonds, and handed it over to him. “Here, I had this old thing lying around. You'll need a SIM card, but the phone works fine.”

Adrien turned the phone in his hands, examining the exceedingly bejeweled exterior. “Wha-? Chloe, I can’t use this! I might go blind from all the sparkles.”

She scoffed. “Well, it’s not like you can be nitpicky at a time like this.”

“What’s the matter, Agreste? Too good for a bit of razzle dazzle?” Kagami heckled.

“You can make anything work, Adrikins. You’ll probably even start a hot new trend.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone.

“Remember to call if you need anything.” Chloe gave him a stern look and jabbed a finger into his chest. “ANYTHING, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he quipped with a salute, exiting the suite with his luggage.

“Ugh, you two will be the death of me,” Chloe groaned dramatically. “Now go, enjoy your last couple of days of freedom. I’ll see you at school.”

“Bye, girls!” He waved back at them. “I’ll let you know my new number as soon as I buy a new SIM card for the phone.”

With that, Adrien turned and walked down the hall towards the elevators.

Back at the door’s threshold, the pair watched him walk away in silence.

Kagami reached for Chloe’s hand and squeezed. “Do you think everything’s going to be alright? I worry about him. Mr. Agreste has not been himself for quite some time.”

Chloe squeezed back and sighed. “I dunno.” Then she added with a sneer, “Gabriel Agreste is a sad, old bastard whose soul died long ago along with Aunt Emilie. But, he’s connected and powerful. Who knows what he’ll do to try to get Adrien back under his thumb.”

Kagami let out a small, disapproving grunt. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Chloe lightly tugged her back into the room. “Oh, relax, you sound like a Star Wars character.”

“Star Wars? Now who’s the nerd?” Kagami teased.

Chloe sputtered. “Hush, you.”

( Life with Masks - Mystic Messenger OST)

After Chat dropped off the suitcase in his room at the bakery, Adrien embarked on his next mission: Going to the bank and withdrawing enough money to purchase everything else on his list, which included a new SIM card for Chloe’s old (and extremely bedazzled) phone, and a laptop for school.

He made his way to the bank, wearing the hood up on his zip-up hoodie, and pulling it down over his eyes whenever he saw any suspicious looking men in suits.

At the bank, Adrien filled out all the necessary forms, grateful that he’d taken the time to memorize his savings account number years back, when they’d first opened it.

However, today he encountered a different problem.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Agreste,” the bank teller said. “Like I said, I’m afraid that all your assets and accounts have been frozen. You can only withdraw money if your father accompanies you, or if he unlocks them himself.”

Adrien sighed dejectedly. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” she replied. “You would have to speak to your father to have him undo the restrictions. We can’t do anything until then... or until you turn eighteen years old. At that time, you can regain access without needing his permission, since you would officially be an adult.”

Adrien pursed his lips into a thin line. His birthday was still a month away.

All his savings, all the hard-earned money from his modeling work... Gabriel was keeping it all hostage, hoping Adrien would come crawling back to him, like some pitiful prodigal son.

Well, two could play that game. He filled out all the necessary paperwork to reclaim what was his, so everything would be all set up when his birthday came around. He also made sure that Gabriel would be permanently locked out of his accounts at that time.

He thanked the teller and left the bank, feeling morose and surly. He couldn’t even afford to get his used phone working, and was therefore cut off from all communication; save for whatever computers were available at an internet cafe or library. What else could he do?

Maybe Nathalie could help him figure out if there was anything else he could do legally. If he could even get ahold of her. He’d been worried about her while he was recovering at the Dupain-Chengs’; now was his chance to try to contact her.

Adrien walked to the nearest library and convinced the starstruck librarian to let him use their telephone.

The phone rang… and rang… and rang…

So he tried again. And again. And again.

But the same monotone voice repeated the same discouraging phrase:

“The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

The boy frowned. Was Nathalie alright? He’d left her all alone with his father. He wouldn’t do anything to her, would he?

Mind whirling and chest tight, he sped to the computers to create a new email account (not risking logging into his usual one), and sent her a simple, nondescript message:

“u ok?”

He couldn’t help but remain glued to the computer, clicking and clicking to refresh the page, hoping for something, anything in response. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. Fiddled with his shoelaces. Opened a new browser tab to distract himself by reading the news, only to switch back every 30 seconds. Minutes ticked by. But still, nothing.

Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t stay in the library forever.

This wasn’t bad news, right? No news oftentimes meant good news. Receiving a reply in such a short amount of time was rather unlikely... Even though Nathalie always replied within five minutes, because she never turned off her email notifications… Ever. But her not replying this time surely didn’t mean anything, right?

Right… It’s fine, everything’s fine. Nathalie’s fine.

She has to be.

Adrien trudged aimlessly down a nondescript sidewalk, lost in thought, his attention eventually drifting back to his livelihood. Could he make do without a single cent for an entire month? Probably not… He’d have to find a job.

But who would hire celebrity Adrien Agreste to work in retail or flip burgers? They’d either laugh at him, or think he was pulling some elaborate prank on a hidden camera show. How would he even begin to explain that he’d left his home and was on the run from his very own father?

Adrien had seemingly no reason why he would choose to run away. He was a privileged young man who had everything: a famous and well-respected family, wealth, good genetics, people at his beck and call… the list went on. To the outside world, Gabriel was a devoted husband and father; a bit of a hermit after his wife’s “disappearance”, but not unusual for someone who was mourning a loved one.

Chloe hadn’t asked him why he’d left, but other people would. Obviously, the truth was out of the question. So, what was there to say instead? That he was just a spoiled rich kid having a rebellious phase?

It was a mess and there didn’t seem to be a way out; he was cornered. He knew it, and he knew that Gabriel knew it.

His only ace in the hole was that Gabriel didn’t know Adrien actually had a place to stay, thanks to the Dupain-Chengs. But he couldn’t rely on them forever. And, as he was quite literally penniless at the moment, his options were severely limited.

He was broke, with a famous identity and an infamous alter-ego, and near impossible to contact since he didn’t have a functioning phone. Things were looking bleak. If only he could–

“AAAACK!!!”

Adrien turned the corner on the sidewalk when a blur of pink and black slammed against him hard. Both bodies clattered to the ground, along with a myriad of bags and boxes the other person was carrying.

Adrien raised his head sluggishly with a small grunt, then opened his eyes to find–

“Marinette??” he said, eyes widening in surprise.

The girl groaned as she lifted her head, slowly pushing herself off of him. One of her eyes cracked open, then both popped wide open in recognition.

“A-ADRIEN!!” she squeaked, her face turning ruby red in an instant. “Gosh, I am so sorry!!” she yelped, practically leaping off of him. “Are you okay?!”

She offered her hand and he took it. “I’m alright, no worries,” he replied, adjusting his glasses, which had shifted on his face when he fell.

He knelt down to help her pick up the items that had spilled out of their containers. “So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Oh! I- uh,” she stammered. “I was just getting some things for a friend!”

Adrien took note of some of the books, games, and movie titles as he put them back in their boxes. “Your friend has good taste.”

She squawked out a weird laugh and mumbled in agreement.

As they rose from the pavement, something caught Marinette’s eye. “Oh!” she exclaimed, bending over to pick it up. “Here, you dropped this.” She opened her palm to reveal several Euro bills and coins, and a ticket stub.

He stared at the contents of her hand. “Are you sure these are mine?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, there’s about… maybe a hundred euros or so, and a ticket stub for that new movie, ‘Les Deux Sots’. ” A flash of recognition flickered across her features, and her cheeks flushed. She continued haltingly, “D-do you remember wearing this particular hoodie to the movie theater recently?”

Adrien contained a gasp and mindlessly ran his hands over the fabric, realizing that this was the same hoodie he wore on his date with Ladybug. He hadn’t worn it since then. Not until three days ago: the day of the last akuma attack, and his subsequent fight with Hawkmoth.

“Oh,” he replied quietly, accepting the items. “Thank you, Mari,” he uttered, almost in awe.

She smiled widely at him. “No, thank you for helping me pick up all this stuff I dropped! Sorry again for knocking you over,” she said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it, it was my pleasure. So, where are you going with all this?”

“Uh… Home, actually,” she replied. “My friend is gonna... pick them up later today.” She stepped forward to take the boxes and bags from his arms.

“Can I help you carry it back? It’s a lot of stuff; and you could barely see over the top of it,” he offered.

Marinette fidgeted with her hands, stammering, “O-oh, I mean, I-I wouldn’t want to impose, that is– I’m sure you’re very busy and have important things to do, I don’t want to bother you, and it is a lot of stuff, plus it’s pretty heavy, and–”

“Really, it’s no trouble at all; I’m not busy right now. And I’d love the company.” He added, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh!! A-are you sure?? Wow, you’re amazing! I-I mean, th-that would be amazing! Thank you!” she said, practically vibrating with elation.

“I’m happy to do it!” Adrien replied as they began the trek to the bakery. “I’m really glad we bumped into each other,” he replied with a wink.

Marinette’s head swiveled towards him, looking like she’d swallowed a golf ball, then exploded into a loud giggle-snort, which made him snicker in turn.

The pair walked together, enjoying some friendly, light-hearted conversation, with Marinette becoming more and more comfortable as they went. He was always thankful anytime she was able to relax around him and just be herself.

He dropped her off and they parted with a tight hug, which caused Marinette to let out a flustered squeak. While she wasn’t aware of it, thanks to her discovery, he’d be able to buy himself that prepaid SIM card for Chloe’s old phone and become reachable again. And the first thing he would do with that phone would be to send Marinette a text message, thanking her for everything she continually did for him and their friends, and for always being such a sweet person.

(Somewhere Only We Know- Keane (Max Schneider, Elizabeth Gillies, and Kurt Schneider cover)

Evening came and the city of Paris buzzed with activity, as it was the last weekend of summer vacation. Ladybug breathed in the crisp night air, hopping from roof to roof to rendezvous with her partner. A few blocks away from the Louvre, the quiet, unassuming edifice of the Saint Germain l'Auxerrois stood tall and stoic, as it always did; its stately gothic arches and ancient pillars contrasting with the chaotic energy and noise of its modern surroundings.

Ladybug spotted the distant figure of Chat Noir at the balcony of the church’s bell tower, where they’d agreed to meet. He leaned on the railing, looking content as he observed the scenery.

She nimbly landed beside him and chirped, “Hey, you!”

He turned around, his countenance brightening instantly. “My Lady! It’s so great to see your lovely face again.”

Ladybug’s insides fluttered upon hearing him use her usual nickname, the feeling becoming increasingly familiar the more time she spent with him, both in and out of the costume.

“Um, I brought some snacks from a little shop down the street,” she said, lifting up a small bag to demonstrate.

“Yum! That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Chat reached into his belt pocket, bringing out a small, rectangular box. “And I brought some playing cards!”

“Cool! I love card games! Where’d you get them?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

Chat rubbed the back of his neck and smiled wide, his cheeks becoming rosy; a look that was simply adorable on him. “Marinette gave them to me, actually. She got me some boxes full of really amazing stuff she thought I’d like. And I swear, she’s gotta have magical powers or something, ‘cause they were all totally spot on.” He rubbed his arm absently. “She’s so nice... I can’t believe she went out of her way just to help me feel more at home.”

Ladybug’s cheeks grew warm, feeling almost guilty for hearing him talk about her secret identity in such a favorable way without him knowing. Unsure of how to reply, she wordlessly offered the bag so he could pick out a snack.

“So, how did the cashier react to seeing Ladybug walking into their shop?” he asked, reaching inside. “Was he surprised?”

She chuckled. “I didn’t buy them as Ladybug, silly. I got them as myself. My civilian self, that is.”

“Oh! O-of course,” he replied with an embarrassed smile. “It’s easy to forget you’re not always Ladybug. Th-that is– obviously you’re always Ladybug, b-but not necessarily walking around as Ladybug, it’s just… y-you– uhh…”

She giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I know what you mean. We don’t know what the other looks like, so it’s hard to mentally picture anything else.” She placed a finger on her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “I bet that in real life, you’re actually a pirate with a peg leg. A daring, swashbuckling outlaw with a hook for a hand and a secret cave full of gold,” she said jokingly. “Oh! But you like music, right? So, maybe you’re actually a professional violinist. World renowned! Or, since you’re pretty athletic, I bet you’re secretly a circus acrobat! Are you in Cirque du Soleil, by any chance?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” he deadpanned. Then he leaned forward, quirking a flirtatious smile and waggling his eyebrows, and replied, “Obviously, I’m the quick-witted and dashing Han Solo type. Breaking hearts and taking names. People stop in the streets, jaws dropping, and they gape as I walk by, admiring my charms.”

“PFFT!” Ladybug snickered at his clowning and replied, lilting, “Oh, I’m sure. I can see it now.” Her voice went into a falsetto and she swooned, clasping her hands together, “Oh, Monsieur Solo Noir, you are such a handsome rogue! Won’t you whisk me away in your Catmobile into the sunset?”

He gave a small, amused hum. “So... you think I’m handsome, huh?” he asked, turning his body towards her, and straightened up his spine, placing a hand on his hip and cocking it with a smug grin.

Heat exploded throughout the girl’s body, all the blood rushing to her face. Plagg’s words about Chat’s crush suddenly popped to the forefront of her mind, and her thoughts became a jumble.

She stammered, “W-well, I mean, obviously you must already be aware th-that you’re conventionally attractive, b-but I-I, that is, it’s not like I just sit and ogle you like some kind of perv or something, but you’re definitely— y-you’re very– uhhh...” She continued babbling, hands flapping like flags.

Chat couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so adorable when you get all flustered, Buginette. And I really mean that in the best way.”

Ladybug pursed her lips together into a thin line. AUGH, this… this GUY!!! Why did she have to act so foolish around the two blond boys that she’d hung out with today?! She never knew she had a type. But that must be it, right?? That she apparently had a thing for tall, green-eyed blondes? Was that what was going on, or was she actually crushing on Chat Noir while already in love with Adrien? Was that even possible?? Was she simply projecting her desire to be loved onto Chat because she knew he had a crush on her, whereas Adrien did not? That would be unfair to him; he didn’t deserve to be some rebound love. She needed to figure out whether her feelings were genuine, or if she was just being shallow and largely motivated by hormones.

UGH!! Why was everything so incredibly confusing?! Not that it mattered. By this point, they both probably thought she was a giant clod, what with her tendency to constantly make an utter fool of herself.

Thankfully, Chat took pity on her and changed the subject back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. And actually, you were partly right. I am into music. Although I play piano, not violin.” He turned back towards the scenery, leaning on the balcony railing, and asked, “So, how about you? What are you like?”

Settling down from her utter failure at being suave, she replied, sighing, “Well… it’s hard to say. I’m a bit of a hot mess, actually.”

“Pfft, you?? No way! You always seem so on top of everything,” he replied, incredulous. “Although... I definitely believe the ‘hot’ part,” he teased with a wink.

Stifling a squeak, Ladybug’s insides seemed to seize up, and she fought the urge to jump off the belltower to prevent him from noticing her surely crimson-colored face. Attempting to sound aloof, she replied, “You flirt. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Would it upset you if I did?” he asked, voice inscrutable.

Her eyes popped open and she whipped her head around, the heat in her body inexplicably replaced with an uncomfortable chill down her spine. Was she... jealous?! She didn’t have any right to be. She had no claims on him. But knowing that didn’t make the thought of Chat lauding praise and paying special attention to someone else any less unpleasant, and she couldn’t help but feel mad at herself for feeling as such.

“Uh… I’m–” her gaze darted away nervously, trying to figure out what to say without embarrassing herself.

He scooted closer to her, shoulders almost touching, and leaned back on the balcony. He playfully bumped his hip against hers. “No need to be jealous, Bugaboo. Believe it or not, I’m actually kinda shy in real life, and pretty socially awkward; almost painfully so. Any attempts at flirting are clumsy at best, if I ever even bother to try.”

“I-I wasn’t jealous!” she huffed.

Veeerrrrry convincing, Marinette, she thought to herself.

“B-but anyway, I never knew that you were actually shy,” she continued. “You always seemed so confident.” It seemed there was a lot more to discover about her new partner; things she never would have guessed based on his demeanor, back when they were enemies.

Chat shifted the topic away from himself and began shuffling the cards as he sat on the floor. “So, before I interrupted you with my lame attempt at flirting, you were gonna talk about yourself. What do you do when you’re not Ladybug-ing and saving Paris from corrupted butterflies?”

Ladybug giggled and joined him on the floor as he dealt the cards. “Well, I enjoy making crafts, especially designing and making clothes. I’m great at baking. I love scrapbooking and journals. My favorite subject in school is art...”

A few hours, several games, and countless laughs later, the pair reluctantly agreed that it was time to part ways.

“Thanks for meeting up with me tonight, Ladybug,” Chat said, voice a bit quiet. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time, so it really means a lot,” he added, timidly rubbing the back of his neck.

Ladybug’s stomach did a tiny flip. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy that he’d enjoyed himself because of her, or if she was sad because he’d hardly ever been allowed to have fun.

She shifted her weight, twiddling her fingers and replied, “I had a lot of fun too, Chat. I’m really glad we did this. We should turn it into a regular thing.”

He replied, voice husky, “I’d love that.” A shade of pink spread across his face, and he cleared his throat. He abruptly straightened up and sauntered towards her, wearing a smirk. “Soooo… can I walk you home?” he asked playfully. “I do want to be a gentleman for My Lady, after all.”

Ladybug snorted and lightly shoved his shoulder. “Nice try, Chaton. But a Lady’s gotta have her secrets.”

Before he could reply, Ladybug’s communicator beeped urgently with a notification, which could only mean one thing:

An akuma attack.

Ladybug sighed, stretching her arms over her head. “Welp… looks like our time together just got an extension.” She winked at Chat and asked, “Ready to go kick some akuma butt?”

He smiled, his hand reaching for hers and giving it a tight squeeze. “With pleasure.”

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

Ally x Cordelia x Reader part 5

I should give a warning this story will mention some tough topics for people. I hope you never have to experience anything that happens in these stories but if you have I offer my condolences for your loss.

My 'reader' is rarely meant to be relatable, I like the idea of it being a form of escapism or being someone else. Also I decided that out of Ally's hyphenated last name hers is the first out of the two.

Warnings: mentions a car crash and the death of a woman and child.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6

Ally was working away at her job when an assistant (named Simon) knocked on her door. "I'm busy right now."

"Ms Mayfair, you're going to want to hear this. It's about your son." Ally looked up at the man immediately, stopping all work.

There had been a car accident, a T-bone collision on the intersection. They had tried to call Ally but her personal phone was on mute. She wasn't sure about exactly the man found out, whether they found out what Ally did, asked her son for any other contacts, etc. She grabbed her phone, there were a couple miss calls from an unknown number as well as Cordelia. She thanked Simon and told him to right down the hospital and any other details on a piece of paper as she got ready. She thanked him once more as she dashed to her car.

As soon as she was in the car, she connected her phone to her car to voice call Cordelia.

"Ally, thank God, I was trying to reach you-"

"You heard?"

"I'm in the waiting room. One of the students had a vision but we couldn't get into contact with Y/N before the crash." Shit Y/N. She had completely skipped Ally's mind. It made sense why she would have tried to contact her, she was the one driving. "When I tried to call you, I couldn't get through. I had no clue if you knew, so I called your office."

"My phone was on mute; I missed the calls from the hospital. I wouldn't have known if you hadn't called. Thank God the hospital called you."

"They didn't call me, I had to call them to confirm the news."

"Aren't you Y/N emergency contact?"

"I thought you were."

"I thought it was you, you've known her a lot longer."

"Who is it then?"

"It's not really important right now." They would find out when they find out. Even if they ran into the person at the hospital. "Have you heard anything about them?"

"There are running tests currently on Oz to make sure he doesn't experience any internal damage, otherwise they say he seems perfectly fine." Ally was confused but grateful for what she had heard. "The Doctors and nurses are astonished; he was on the side of impact."

"But you think Y/N did something?"

"I can guarantee it. Sometimes I think she prefers your son to us."

Ally chuckled. With the way the two had been treading at the moment, it was probably true, not that they wanted to think about that now. Cordelia was overwhelmed with guilt after pointing all the blame on you, instead of thinking through everything rationally. Cordelia being on the other end was calming her down.

"I'll be there in fifteen, if anything changes, update me." When Ally reached the hospital, she spotted Cordelia chatting to a man. She heard the last bit of the conversation.

"Oz is one lucky boy. I don't know how he came out unharmed," the Doctor said to Cordelia. She had told the boy that she was the headmistress of boarding school he attended in order to get the information without having to be related or use her powers to bypass the family only rule. "If he does show any signs of a concussion or experiences any pain, bring him in immediately." Oz parted form Cordelia when spotting his mother, he hugged her babbling as he tried to explain what happened. The doctor gave a side eyes glace, unhappy at the senator's presence, but he focused on the woman before him.

"Is there any news about Y/N? The other person in the crash" Cordelia asked.

He said he wasn't sure, but he can get someone to inform them as soon as she gets a room. The mention of a room made the others concerned. A nurse came out a couple hours later when they heard you finally got a room.

"Y/N!" You winced. Ally told Oz to keep his voice down. He apologised immediately.

"Hey buddy." You slowly moved your hand to rustle his hair but stopped finding the world too shaky at the moment. The women were happy your words were not slurred.

"I'm glad you're alright," Oz said.

"I'm always alright kiddo."

"Y/N, do you remember anything about what happened?" Ally asked.

"They said I was in a car crash." You answered the question by not answering it. "How long are they going to keep me here for? I hate hospitals."

"You are a doctor," Cordelia pointed out.

"I like helping people. Don't have to like the place I do it in." There was too much death in hospitals to make you like it. Too many shattered dreams, ruined lives, tears of sadness.

"It shouldn't be too long; you heal 10 times the speed of a normal person." That was an exaggeration, but you did heal fast. Cordelia used to tell you how you had some of the best powers you could get as a witch, you could heal both yourself and others at rapid speeds. This was long before she got The Sight, which she still hadn't decided if it was a blessing or a curse.

"We should let you rest. We got told to make sure you relax and don't socialise too much at the moment. Plus, someone should also go home and update the girls on what's happened," Cordelia said. "Ally, you should take Oz home, it's been a long day for him, he's probably tired."

"I'm not tired," Oz said.

Ally knew what Cordelia was trying to do. The boy didn't need to see any of this, and she completely agreed. She knew she was going to have to do a lot of reassuring that you was fine. Her son was not stupid, he knew just as well as your girlfriends when you were lying.

Ally didn't want to leave you side seeing how weak you were in the hospital bed but her son was the main priority and even though the hospital passed him, she was sceptical and wanted to make sure he was okay.

"I might stay for a bit longer in case she needs anything," Cordelia said. Or just to keep you company. She also needed to mention to one of the doctors about your sleepwalking habit in case it happened when she was gone.

The two visited you over the next few days telling you messages the girls asked for them to tell you or stupid stories that happened. Your blood work was crazy, making the doctors want to keep you a few extra days to figure out what's going one and to make sure you're alright. Your blood work was always off, it was a side effect of your power.

A sudden thump awoke you from your slumber. "Ally?" you called. She was there last time you remembered. You must have dozed off you thought as your eyes scanned around the hospital room. The lights were off and all you had was the orange glow from the corridor. Your hospital room was always opened for easy access to your room. You gathered it had something to do with your crazy bloodwork making you seem like a high-risk patient and not in any way related to your girlfriends mentioning your occasional 'sleepwalking' episodes.

"Y/n," a voice called. Your eyes darted to the bleak white curtain that was drain shut for privacy. There was no shadow casted to convey someone was behind there which there would have been due to the hallway light. However, you mind did not process this in your dream like state.

You tore away the sheet covering your body and wiggled your way to the edge of the bed. You slowly lower your feet to the ground, freezing slightly as your sock covered feet touched the ground. Even with the fabric covering you, you could still feel the cold flooring.

Punching yourself upright, you relied heavily on the bed for stability as you shuffled to the curtains. In the process, you yanked yourself free of the vital signals monitor you were attached to.

You drew the curtains back to see a lover from long ago. Amber.

"You're not here, you can't be here-" You were cut off by the other woman.

"It's fine, love," she consoled you. What? She couldn't be here she's dead.

"No, everything is wrong your-" The room interior shifted, your mind slipping back into the past. You hunched over and squeezed your eyes shut as you tried not to focus on the movement around you. The nauseating feeling it created subsided as you heard a voice from behind you.

You turned around to see the woman in your head. Nothing stricken you as odd as you relived a memory of years prior.

"The car crash wasn't your fault, love. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I -I-" you stuttered out. You shuffled back to the bed and tightened your grip for stability. The woman moved her feet allowing some room for you to sit. You smiled, thankful and take up the small space.

"It's not your fault-" Amber urged but you didn't believe her. You had distracted her on the call, if she had her full attention on the road then she wouldn't be in this bed.

"I can save you." You could. You swore to help all those in need and if your powers weren't acting up you'd help her. The stress was getting to you. You were working long hours you shouldn't be doing, stressed about your wife and everything else your tiny head could fuss about for the upcoming couple weeks.

"It's fine, the Doctor said I'm fine, I'll be out of the hospital by tomorrow. The only thing you should be worried about is the children." Lia had been at her sister's place for a week now. She had come and seen her mother from time to time, but it concerned the both of you having the girl in the hospital, especially with her underlying heath issues. Sadly, she didn't get your amazing health, but from what you heard from your parents before you parted ways, you were similar as a child, so she could be following your path. "The little one's been keeping you up again?"

"Stressing about you is keeping me up. I can barely sleep, and my magic's been all over the place the last couple months. Everything I've tired hasn't worked."

"Have you tried something more natural. Magical even?"

"I told you my magic isn't working-"

"I was thinking about something more along the lines of green magic. You used to be a wiz in the greenhouse. Maybe call up the teacher there, she would still be there, what's her name again?"

"Cordelia Goode- I mean Foxx, I think it's Foxx now." You were right the first time, not that you had spoken to her at this point. In your head, you had no idea she was with Ally or who Ally even was.

"She'd be more than willing to help, hell she might even make it for you." You were one of her favourite students or at least from Amber used to joke.

"Why are we talking about me? you're the one in hospital."

"Babe, it's fine."

"Ms L/N, you need to head back to bed." A nurse said. Out of bed? What was she on about?

"Huh?" You spun around to face the nurse. Everything was as it was before.

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," The nurse on night routine said.

"Sorry." You allowed the woman to help you back into bed, your mind confused about what had happened. This time, unlike the others you remembered what had happened. Where was Amber? You want her back. You needed to finish talking to her. Come on-

"It's fine, your wife told us everything." Amber?

"W-wife?"

"Cordelia Goode, I believe." Cordelia Goode? The teacher? You furrowed your brows. You took a second to think about it as the nurse hooked you back up.

"Oh, yeah." She was right, kind of. You're not married.

"Do you want us to tell her what happened?"

"Nah, you'll only worry her. How long until I get out?"

"Sorry Ma'am but you'll have to ask your doctor."

"Okay, thanks anyway." This time, the nurse put the rails on the bed to make it more difficult for you get out on your own. As the woman was about to leave you felt compelled to ask, "What date is it?"

"24th of July."

You had sunken further into the bed and watched the woman leave.

Happy Anniversary.

The next morning you were woken up by Cordelia's voice talking one of the nurses.

"Delia?" you croaked. Earning her attention immediately, she rushed over to you and brought you your glass of water. Once your throat was less hoarse and voice less gravely you thanked her.

"How are you sweetheart?"

"Good." She hummed. You caught something in her eye that screamed she didn't believe you. "They told you about last night, didn't they?"

"Yes. They did."

"That's against my privacy, I could sue them."

"They have the right to tell family."

"But you're not my- oh~ they think you're my wife." you realised. Even still they shouldn't without permission.

"We needed some sort of contact and it was easier if they thought we were related."

"Hmm."

"You were found disconnected from the machines, talking to your bed," Cordelia inched closer. "Do you remember anything?"

"No."

"Well, besides for the incident yesterday, they said you seem well enough to go home," she told you. She expected you to be excited but your lack of emotion through her for a loop. "Isn't that exciting?" She cooed.

"Hmm," you groaned.

She scanned you to try and see if this resentment was towards her. Did Ally told you about her doubts? She questioned you further with some that might be more interesting.

"I sent your car to the depo. They said they might be able to salvage your car. It will need some replacements and a new shell, but they said they could find one of the same models and paint it to match yours. Even fix the jammed lights."

"I like the jammed lights," you blurted out.

"They're impractical."

"I like them."

"Okay, I'll ask them to keep the lights jammed."

You took a moment to speak again, "Thanks, for fixing my car."

"It's alright. It seems to mean a lot to you." She could see it now, why you would want to keep it as long as you did, even with how damaged it got. "It's the least I could do."

Cordelia was worried about having you in a car so soon after your crash. Ally stayed at the academy to make sure she could help you settle in as well as to stop Cordelia from smothering you to death- that was her job.

"Easy baby, we don't want you getting any more hurt," Ally said as she ran over to lend Cordelia a helping hand in moving you out of the car.

"I'm fine~" Contact against your ribs caused you to whine out the 'e' in pain. The medication you were on wore off on the ride home. You whimpered every time there was a gravely road or a speed bump. Cordelia apologised profusely the whole way. Ally readjusted where she placed her hand. It did not help, your body aches everywhere. So much for Cordelia thinking you would heal quickly, you're in agony. "I don't think I can make it upstairs." They considered picking you up but that would only cause you more pain.

"The medic bay has a bed," Ally said. "It's not the most pleasant place but it's better than lugging you upstairs."

"I suppose that will do," Cordelia said. "But you aren't allowed to work until you're healed," she said directly to you.

"I know."

"Are you going to listen?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll take turns looking after you," Ally said. They both already knew you would try to work as soon as the first person gets injured, but for now you were the patient. You were in no shape to be both.

Upon being placed in the medical cot, you had medicine shoved in your face. You tried to shoo them away. They enticed you with leaving you alone to sleep if you took the medication. Seeming like a reasonable idea, you accepted, downing the pain meds before being allowing to slumber.

"Baby, I need to wake up," one of your loves cooed you awake. You looked over at the figure, your eyes not having adjusted to the light. You whined, shutting your eyes, hoping you fall back asleep. "I'm sorry I had to wake you, but I need to check your concussion hasn't gotten any worse." Though your body was healing quickly, you brain was over exhorting itself and worsening the damage it already had.

You recognised it to be Ally's voice. She sat you up and asked you to follow her finger with your eyes. It took you a moment to force your eyes open. As you tracked the finger, you noticed a shadowy figure in the doorway. You watched on as the figure approached. Your breathing hitched; Ally's presence slipped your mind as well as the task you were meant to be completing.

Just as your eyes were about to focus on the woman, your name was called by the woman in front of you, "Y/N."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I thought I saw something." Ally wasn't impressed.

"I know you don't want to talk about it and now probably isn't the best time, but we need to talk about your sleepwalking about overall aloofness as of late."

"Ally~" You whined.

"Shh~ Not now." She shut you up so she could continue. "I wanted to thank you earlier for saving my son." You went to talk but she cut you off. "It means a lot to me that you saved my son, I can't even begin to comprehend what you did and how."

Magic was involved, that was the most she understood. It would have been a split-second design to protect her son in an already rushed instant. Cordelia, who had tried to explain it to her, told her how long it should have taken as well as how long the chant was. It was a miracle it succeeded, and he came out unscratched. You on the other hand took the damage for the both of them- in a manner of speaking. Anyone who would save her son over themselves was a god in her books.

"No one wants to watch a kid in pain knowing they could have done something." Now it was her time to try and interrupt, but you didn't let her. "Few have died on my watch since I have been a doctor. I wasn't going to let one be your boy." Without thinking, she pulled you into a hug. You cried out in pain causing her to pull away immediately. She apologized profusely. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I've felt worse."

"Like what?"

"Uh~" you didn't want to say the answer you were thinking. "The car crash."

"Yeah, that would be worse."

"I am I allowed to go back to sleep or-"

"Yeah, sorry for keeping you up."

"Wanna join?"

"There's no room on that bed."

"I don't take up that much room and I thought you would like the closeness."

"Fine, I'll fit myself behind you."

"I'll try not to crush you."

"Shut up."

The two of you were cuddled up loosely on the bed, her body under yours, your head on her chest. You listened to her heartbeat as you tried to drift back to sleep. Ally thought over your words, you had spoken about people dying due to the staff members and implied that you had killed someone yourself. If few died on your watch then who? Patients? Because that isn't your fault in that cause, you tried your best to save them, doesn't that overwrite the problem. You didn't cause the pain to begin with... unless you were connected in the accident to begin with.

"When you said only a few have died on your watch, is that what you meant when you said you've all killed someone."

"Ally~"

"Because if that's the case, then you've killed no one. You tried to save them-"

"It's more complicated than that Al. I don't want to talk about it." You cuddled closer to Ally without hurting yourself.

The night of your first stay at the hospital, Cordelia and Ally were getting ready for bed. Ally was still dressed in her work attire, she had been with her son since they got home, allowing him to do whatever he wanted which entailed watching whatever cartoons were on television. Cordelia got home after visiting hours were over, she headed straight to the kitchen to have some dinner. Ally snuck away from Oz to join her girlfriend at the table.

"That was a convincing performance back there," Ally said. Cordelia furrowed her brows. What was she on about? "Do you still believe she's working with the witch hunters?"

"Wha- no, no I don't believe that, why would you ask me that right after-"

"Yes, I am. After you accused her of being a witch hunter, I don't know your intentions."

"I was wrong. We've all made mistakes this week that could have jeopardised this relationship. I was foulness to think she was anything like my ex, but I got scared and tried to justify by accusations to protect myself. Are you happy?"

"No. It's not my place to forgive you."

"Don't make me apologise now, after everything-"

"I won't but you better make it up to her."

"I will. I have some ideas."

"They are?"

"Her car. I just learned some... interesting information about that vehicle and in turn her." Ally asked Cordelia to explain. "It's how I found out she wasn't guilty. I was snooping-"

"Cordelia!"

"The wardrobe a mess by the way." Ally huffed but allowed Cordelia to continue. "I was moving Y/n's shoe boxes when I found a box to a pair of shoes she never stored away. I was coming to the conclusion that she wasn't at fault, due to another one of my finds but I thought there was still a chance she was out for us, so I checked it out." Cordelia chocked her last word as she thought of what she was going to have to explain next.

She pushed away her dinner as she thought about her vision. She remembered the break in your voice as you called out your lover's name. The jarringness of watching a car crash into her and being unable to help the situation at all. A girl she knew and watched grew into a confident witch die in a car crash was horrific and for her name to only send shivers down your spine nowadays. Cordelia felt atrocious for being her up but thankful for not pushing your further. Though is she did, she may have known the truth sooner.

"She-She-" Cordelia couldn't get the words out. She stood abruptly, abandoning her food and heading towards their bedroom. Ally followed after her, calling out her name, to stop and explain. Cordelia was faster than her and reached the bedroom first only to head straight to the wardrobe to gather the shoe box and belongings that were still discarded on the floor. She laid out the contents on the bed for Ally.

As Ally moved closer to investigate the contents, Cordelia moved away.

"You remember that friend of Y/n's, Amber?" She had never mentioned her by name but Ally got the rough idea who.

"Her cooking partner?"

"Yes. I gather there's a reason she never spoke of her."

Ally noticed the two matching wedding rings; she brushed her hand over them before casting her eyes to the blanket. She picked it up and ran it through her hands similar to how Cordelia did when she first saw it.

"It's new?" Ally asked.

"I don't believe so. Well-kept perhaps?" Ally caught sight of the embroidery and turned to the blonde immediately. "I could have put the pieces together incorrectly but what I saw supported it-"

"You had a vision?"

"Amber's dead-"

"SHE KILLED HER?"

"NO! Where did you get that from? She isn't you."

"She mentioned that she killed someone, I jumped to a conclusion."

"Her friend-wife died in a car crash. In my vision Amber mentioned a daughter Lia, that's short for-"

"Odelia," Ally answered. "That means the car crash might not be consequential." It was only a theory but the idea that someone planned this was sick. If that was the case, why now? What was so significant with the crash happening that day? Was there significance more than a sick way of trying to remove one member of the trio. "The daughter wasn't in the car? Then, where is she? Why haven't we met her?"

"She could have sent her off to get looked after by Amber's family. We don't know what state Y/n was in at the time. Maybe she couldn't have taken care of Lia."

"Seems odd. Especially now since she helps take care of my boy." You spoiled the boy rotten. If you had access to your daughter, the two would have no problem having her around. Hell, a cute child of yours running around would be a nice change. They both loved the thought. "You don't think she's also-"

"I hope not."

It explained away why you were so close to Oz and protective of him. Neither could bare the thought of you losing a child.

Back to the warm embrace you were in, the door creeped open as your blonde girlfriend came to check in on the both of you. The two of you had been asleep for some time. Cordelia took a spot on the chair Ally was on before joining you on the bed. She smiled to herself enamoured, wondering what she did to deserve the two beautiful women. It hadn't been an easy path for any of them to get where they were and as the days go on it only grew more complicated.

Some day they were going to have to question you, she would have to tell you about her doubts, all in the process of moving forwards. Open communication is important in a relationship, even more so in a polyamorous one. It wasn't as difficult as people made it out to be, as long as you are open. They only started having problems when people started hiding things. The murder of Ivy being one. Murder isn't something Cordelia condoned but in protection of something sacred like family, what else do you do?

You tried your best to hide any pain you were in during your recovery to not scare the girls which only made some of the worry more. Cordelia was keeping content tabs on you.

Ally had to deal with the press along with government officials over the accusations surrounding her. She was searching for a good lawyer in case she had to go to caught. You spent the good part of a week flipping through contact lists looking for someone who seemed competent. Cordelia was sure one of the girls you went to school with now a big shot lawyer, unfortunately Cordelia's records from those days weren't well organised as Myrtle was the one who knew and organised these sorts of things and that woman knew all off this like the back of her hand. She would be able to name the student in a couple seconds flat, instead they had you and her trying to recall if the girls name started with r or z.

After google law firms, you found a law firm called 'Collins Law Firm' an once family owned law form situated in Kenner, Louisiana. Clicking on their website you recognised you found the person you'd been looking for, Zariah Collins. She was a couple years senior but the two of you always got alone fine. She was your biggest competition in the back off, the woman was good at everything she set her mind to, no wonder she passed law school.

You dialled up the number on the website and said you'd like to make a consultation with Zariah and gave the address and left your contact number. You didn't inform Cordelia about your findings as she was taking your class for you at the time.

As Ally was busier, you had more time to spend with Oz. You were now leaving in the top layer of the Academy, hobbling about from point a to b. Oz was patient with you, offering to help you whenever he could. Ally still hadn't sent him back to school and with you injured he wasn't getting taught either. There was talk about hiring a teacher for him while your healing.

"Almost there," he said as you rested against the wall near the entrance of the wardrobe.

"This is fair enough," you breathed out. "Move the shoe boxes and you'll find your surprise."

He followed your instructions, moving the boxed with little regard, a couple of boxes spilled open in the process. You inhaled sharply at one of the boxes opening. Your attention shifting at the boy's squeal.

"You bought it!" The boy tore the box open and started setting the device up. He thanked you repeatedly, bouncing about, he hugged you causing you to wince. "I'm sorry," he apologised. You told him it was fine.

"It's alright, now how about you pester Cordelia for the wifi password to set that up so we can try out some of the games."

"Okay. I'll be right back."

He sped out of the room, leaving you to clean up the mess. You eased yourself down using the wall. The process took you longer than you thought it would that or Oz was quick because he was back within three minutes joined by Cordelia.

Worry shot through her as she noticed you trying to sit down on the ground. She rushed to you stopping the process. You whined and soon after you were settled on a chair Cordelia must have used her magic to move. The woman fussed over you, telling you that you should have asked for her or one of the older girls to help you.

"I'm fine, Delia. I don't need your help."

"You survived a car crash a week ago, you need to heal. You shouldn't out of bed, if Ally finds out, I'm dead."

"I like to be useful-"

"-and we appreciate it, but you need to rest."

"Oz, can you go set up on the bed? Take the games with you," you asked.

"She'll be out with you in a second."

Oz grabbed the games and left, looking back to check if everything was alright.

"I called up a lawyer," you whispered.

"When?"

"When you had my class. I asked for a consultation to be here, didn't give a date or time but I'm hoping it's when Ally's out, at least for the initial meeting."

"If she's not, I'll cover for you."

"You don't have to-"

"No, it was my idea to get you to help me search. It was better than getting to work in the medic bay, I can at least keep an eye on you in my office." Cordelia pulled away from you and started placing back the shoe boxes.

"You don't have to do that."

"And leave it a mess?" She picked up the all too familiar box. The blanket spilled over the side of the box. You watched her like a hawk as she tucked it back in. She knew it was better no to comment on the contents, she made a quick mention of how soft the fabric was before placing the box was closed and placed amongst the others.

You exhaled and allowed her to move you back to the bed. You spent the rest of the day in bed taking turned on playing videogames. By the time it was dinner, the two of you were passed out on the bed. Cordelia asked the students preparing dinner that night to put aside leftovers for you, Oz and Ally (for when she got home). She removed the handheld console from the boy's grip and placed it on the nightstand. Cordelia took her usual place on the right hand side of the bed, next to you. The bed was completely taken up by the three of you. The child splayed out taking most of the space.

None of you saw Ally the next morning. You weren't to sure that she came home last night. Your sleep was interrupted by a knock on the door. You croaked out, "Open" before turning over and trying to fall back to sleep.

"Ms Y/n, there's a woman here to see you," the young student asked. Isn't there always, you thought. Everyone in this school was female. "I sent her to Misses office."

"Is Delia in there?" You mumbled.

"No, Ms."

"Okay." You opened your eyes sensing she was still in the room. "Are you still here?"

"I was told to help you." You opened your eyes to find the girl in front of you with a foldable wheelchair.

"Where did you get that?"

"Ms found it in your office behind a framed movie poster."

"In the cupboard?"

"Yeah. She also laughed at your pride flag hung on the door of the inside."

"She wasn't meant to see that." The girl helped you into the chair.

"It's not like she doesn't already know."

"But-"

"Here take this." She shoved one of Ally sweaters into your hands. You pulled it over your clothes from yesterday and quickly styled your hair. Once you met the girls approve, she wheeled you into the Supreme's office.

You were greeted by a tall, tanned woman with jet black hair slicked back into a ponytail. She wore a tight fitted suit that complemented her body in all the right places. The woman stood up on your arrival and adjusted her blazer.

"I thought it was too good to be true but here you are." Zariah Collins approached and shook your hand with a tough grip. "As soon as I heard Y/n L/n and saw the address, I knew I needed to work your case."

"You haven't heard it yet."

"Didn't need to. I'm helping for old times sake." She took the wheelchair from the girl to take her exit.

"How caught up are you with the news?"

"Not very. I finished a large case yesterday. You caught me at the right time." She settled the chair across from hers and took her own place, giving you her full attention.

"I need you to be prepared to fight for Senator Mayfair in case the circumstance arises."

"That, yes, I have heard whispers about that, but why are you involved? Last I heard she was with Goode. Did Cordelia set you up to this? I'll still do it, if that's the case but I would have liked to know I was helping the supreme before I came over."

"You'll be helping her in turn, and it was her idea to call you. However, I found your contacts."

"But what's your interest in this? You have to have one or am I only talking to you because the supreme is too busy."

"I have another case for you, and it affects all of us."

"Keep talking."

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

The Long Game ch. 5

Rayla sighed as she felt Callum’s forehead.  “He’s still burning up.”  The doctor sighed, gesturing towards the medicine to the side.

“Make sure he takes it, Lady Rayla.”

“OK.”  Rayla barely noticed as the doctor left the room. Callum had come down with a high fever and a sore throat a few days ago, complaining of aches and shaking as he grew pale very quickly.  The past 24 hours, he had barely been conscious, and when he was, his gaze was unfocused and his breathing worse. 

Rayla had barely left his side since he became bedridden, finding it difficult to leave him.  The whispers that it was improper couldn’t get her to leave him.  Harrow visited frequently and Ezran rarely left the room, either.  Currently, Ezran was discussing something important with Opeli. Rayla should care, it was her job to care, but she didn’t.  Gently, she held Callum’s hand and ran her thumb along the back of his hand.  “Get better.  Please.  I can’t do this without you.”  What even was ‘this’?  Her mission? No.  Life?  Maybe. “I need you.”

“Is everything OK?” Ezran asked from behind.  Rayla didn’t even turn around, nodding as her eyes remained on Callum’s prone form.

“The doctor didn’t look pleased, but he said Callum needs to keep taking the medicine.”

“That’s probably the best we could have hoped for.”  Ezran sat in the chair on the other side, Bait in his lap.  “Maybe if you told him you love him-”

“Stop it, Ez.  I don’t love him.”

“Why are you lying? Everyone can see it. Well, not him.”

Rayla looked over at Ezran, shaking her head.  “No, Ezran. He’s meant for something better than me. That’s final.”

“Why are you like this? You two wouldn’t be the first couple where someone was from a royal background and the other person wasn’t.”

Rayla stayed quiet. She knew the real answer why she couldn’t be with Callum, but Ezran didn’t.  “He needs more water.  I’ll get a maid to go get some.”

“Rayla-”

“Let it go, Ezran.  Please.  My feelings are not important.  I’ll ask for them to bring us dinner here, too, OK?”  Ezran sighed, but nodded in assent.  Bait looked at her with concern.  Great, the glowing frog was also worried about her.

Rayla grabbed a passing maid, asking for water and dinner.  Instead of heading back in and risk being interrogated by Ezran again, she took a walk around the castle.  Everyone stared at her like she was a ghost.  They had barely seen her in a few days, but was it really that surprising? The sunlight against her skin as she passed the windows felt nice, warm.  “He’s going to get better, right?” she whispered into the air.

She hadn’t seen Claudia since Callum fell ill, despite how often she tried to hang around nowadays. Rayla didn’t trust it.  Viren had to be up to something.  The longer she was here, the clearer it was that anything involving dark magic was Viren’s idea and that he convinced Harrow to take that route.  Harrow didn’t trust dark magic anymore, supposedly, and they fought constantly.  

“You can’t be serious!” Rayla turned to the door on her right, shocked that it was Harrow’s study she had found herself in front of. She quietly opened the door, looking in to see Viren and Harrow arguing.  “No more dark magic!”

“Xadia hasn’t attacked us, Harrow!”

“GREAT! Excellent!  Why are we tempting fate?”

“Because that girl-”

“Do you mean Rayla?”

“Yes, her.  She came in out of nowhere, no evidence of what she claimed anywhere, and you just took her in.  What if she’s a spy?”

“She’s a child, Viren.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. What if all of this is a ploy to get access to you?  What if she wants to marry one of your sons?”

“She’ll have my blessing if she and Callum actually confess their feelings for each other.”

“I can’t believe you are encouraging them.  You should be encouraging Callum to pay attention to Claudia.”

“Viren, Claudia likes girls. Everyone has known that since she the incident with the bakery girl.  Why are you so desperate for the two of them to be miserable?”

“Because it would unite our houses!”

“And, what, Viren? Bring you back into my good graces? Make me forget what you did to that egg?!”  Rayla’s eyes widened, wrapping her hand around her mouth to keep the gasp from escaping. They still hadn’t discovered she was there, but she wasn’t going to risk them learning.  

“It doesn’t matter, Harrow.”

“IT WAS AN EGG!  An innocent!  Killing Thunder because he killed Sarai was one thing.  But you killed his egg and took a magic mirror. And the Dragon Guard?  You want to explain to me what happened to them?”

“I told you, they ran away!”

“I don’t believe you. What did you do?”  Viren was quiet for so long Rayla didn’t know if that was the end of the conversation or not.  She heard clinking followed by a gasp from Harrow.  “What have you done?!”  She couldn’t see through the crack, but whatever Viren had showed him, it had caused Harrow’s face to go pale.  “They were people-”

“Elves who were going to kill us!”

“You can’t prove that! If you had just left the damned egg alone, Viren.  What have you done?  Free them at once!”

“No.”

“Viren!”

“NO!  That just leaves a bunch of elves running around Katolis!”

“How many do you have?” Viren was quiet again.  “Gods, how long have you been doing this?  Do you keep them for experiments?”

“No.  I’ve never released them.”  Released them from what?  Rayla wanted to know what was happening, but neither Harrow nor Viren was being explicit enough. What if…whatever it was, it was her parents?  Did something happen to her parents?  Had they not abandoned the Dragon Prince after all?  “Whose to say what would happen if they were ever released from the coins.”

‘Coins?’  

Rayla didn’t have time to contemplate it.  Harrow growled a ‘get out’ and she had to quickly move away as Viren stormed out of the room.  He saw her and glared.

“You don’t belong here, girl.”  Viren walked away, not turning back to her.  

Rayla looked in the study only to see Harrow slouched in his chair.  He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  “Your Majesty?”  He looked up, nodding.  “Is everything alright?”

“Fine.  How’s Callum?”

“The doctor said that he needs to continue with his medicine.”

“Of course.  He’ll be fine, then.  Will you and Ezran be having dinner in his room again this evening?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Please, Rayla, call me ‘Harrow.’”  She nodded.

“Harrow, I heard you and Viren arguing.”

“Don’t mind it, Rayla, please.  Just too old men arguing about old things.”

“But, you mentioned the Dragon King.”

“Rayla.  I trust you, I do, but I need you to understand that I have not always done the right thing.  I’ve let my grief consume me.”  Rayla waited for him to continue, sensing that if she said a word, he wouldn’t tell her more. “In my grief, I made a bad decision. I went with Viren on a mission of revenge, to kill the Dragon King for killing Sarai.  Sarai deserved to live.”

“But, Sarai took a life.”

Harrow looked down at the ground, a tear going down his cheek.  “She shouldn’t have been there.  She went because she believed we should stand together, but she didn’t believe in the mission.  She thought it was a shortcut.  And what happened?  She was right.  It worked, but it cost us her life.  Ezran has no memories of her and Callum was effectively orphaned.  It was my fault.  If I had just made a decision sooner, if I had been smarter with the Queens of Duren….”

Rayla placed a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing it.  “I’m sorry. Everything I’ve heard has made her out to be a wonderful person.  She didn’t deserve to die.  Do you regret any of it?”

“I don’t know.  I regret how things have played out and for letting Viren persuade me into using dark magic, but I don’t feel regret for killing Thunder.”

“What about the egg?”

“I have no idea what Viren’s done with that egg.  I wonder if he destroyed it or used it or is lying to me.  Either way, it was an innocent and should have been left alone. What if Xadia comes for my sons in revenge?”  Rayla gulped. ‘That’s why I’m here, Your Highness.’  

“Maybe you should ban dark magic.  Stop Ezran from having those same choices offered to him?”

“Viren has too much influence.  It’s my own fault.  Taking away dark magic could leave use defenseless.  Besides, Xadia would get what it has always wanted but what about letting us back in?”

“What if that’s what it would take?  An act of good will?”

“It’s too late for me. It’s not too late for Ezran and Callum, though.  My hope is that they will choose peace every time.  Some day soon, I hope you will stand with them.”

“Me?”

Harrow finally looked up. His green eyes were full of such hope and sorrow it almost broke Rayla’s own heart.  “I see the way you look at Callum.  Your souls are screaming for each other.  You never deny it; your feelings or that he has them for you.  Why don’t you act on it?”

“Because, I am not meant for this life.  Because I don’t think he loves me the way you and everyone else seems convinced he is. Even if he was, you can’t rewrite the stars for two people.  I have to return to him.  Good day, Harrow.”  Rayla curtsied to Harrow before he could say more and left.  The egg could still be alive.  The Dragon Prince could still be alive!  She was going to have to search every corner of this castle until she knew for sure whether or not that was true.

For now, she had to return to Callum and Ezran.  When she got back to the room, Callum’s eyes were half-open.  He groaned, hand reaching out towards her.  She rushed forward, taking his hand in her’s and holding it to her chest.  “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.  I’m sorry I was so long.”

Ezran stayed quiet, but she could feel his eyes on her.  Rayla didn’t care.  She fed Callum his dinner and barely left except to bathe and take the occasional walk. When Callum recovered three days later, he awoke to Rayla holding his hand, a relieved smile on her face.  “Morning, sleepyhead.  We missed you.”