#because it would probably throw shadows on the backdrop

[gaykarstaagforever]

Yeah sure, the soundstage and the shots at Vasquez Rocks look like the same planet, whatever, it's fine.

[slowd1ving]

[XENIA] SNIPPET ゜・DG

part of a request (I'm alive and kicking I just couldn't write because I had no access to my laptop)

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Creators. 

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you. 

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow. 

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head. 

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised. 

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat. 

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?” 

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets. 

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness. 

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this. 

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years. 

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream. 

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself. 

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself. 

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him. 

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead. 

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi. 

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation. 

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response. 

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in. 

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake. 

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind. 

Out of hatred, obviously. 

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

an entry in the tim&steph role swap au. a sad one. mostly.

Her breath burned in her lungs, the hand on the back of her neck spindly and cold and viscerally unpleasant. She shook too badly, tremors wracking her body and cool sweat pooling in the small of her back, to throw it off of her. She wanted it off of her. Couldn't stand the touch of it. Could barely breathe through the touch of it.

Tell me--what keeps you awake at night?

She'd been standing before. She was on her knees now, bent painfully downwards like she could escape the weight of that terrible hand.

Tell me--what do you regret most?

Something was dripping from her face. Tears. Blood. Sweat. She didn't know.

Of all the many people you've failed, the horrible things that you've seen--which one haunts you the most?

No, no, no, no--

Tell me.

The name fell from her lips in a whisper that scraped against her sandpaper throat.

Janet Drake.

***

Her footsteps echo strangely in the Batcave. There isn't usually an echo--the cave is big and it's empty, but it's jagged, too, strange corners and rough walls and flocks of bats that swallow sound whole.

That swallow little birds whole.

He's in front of the Batcomputer. He's always in front of the Batcomputer. There's blood on his knuckles. There's always blood on his knuckles. He doesn't turn around. He never turns around. She's never going to be good enough for him to really care.

At least if he never turns around, she doesn't have to see Arthur's sneer stretched beneath the cowl. That's usually how these nightm--

She sets the papers she's holding on the desk next to him, trying to hide the way her hands are shaking. She broke into GCPD files to get this because it hasn't had time to hit the news yet. She has a lie ready to say she'd heard about it off the police scanners, not a panicked phone call from a boy who believes in Robin, even when it means believing in her.

Batman's shadow stretches impossibly longer across the floor, and--it's not quite right--he doesn't look at the papers, doesn't so much as twitch, but his voice growls out his part anyway--

This isn't a Gotham case.

But they're from Gotham.

We can't make every Gothamite in the entire world our problem.

It's bad, Batman. They're going to die.

Robin, we can't save every--

They have a son, she blurts, with secondhand desperation. They have a son and he lives next door to you and he's going to be an orphan if we don't try to save his parents.

A little boy just like you.

They get on a plane.

They almost save the day.

The fire burns brighter, hotter, higher than it should--just embers, it's just embers--and people scream as they walk through it, the shadow of death stretching high over them all as they stretch and contort and burn. She thinks she could almost recognize some of them, but they're faceless even before they twist into nothingness.

Janet's face is so still in death. Poison drips from her lips. She can't tear her eyes away, even as the other shadow, the one that sounds--doesn't sound--like Batman looms over her instead. Janet glows through the newfound darkness. Inexorable. Unrelenting. Dead. A hand grips her shoulder, and it is painful. It is cold.

The cave yawns behind her, echoing words that should have been long since dissipated into the air. We can't save every--

He really says, Focus on Jack, Robin. Focus on their son. He would be an orphan if it weren't for you.

(Of course, he may yet be. He trusted you. Now his mom is dead, and his dad is dying.)

Haiti sweeps away, one horrible night trading for another as she climbs through the window of Jack Drake's hospital room, her cape pulled tight about herself to hide as many of the bright, hopeful colors of Robin as she can. And there is Tim.

He sits his vigil. The rebellious son.

Against a twisting, whirling backdrop of horror, Tim is uncomfortably real. Red eyed but tear-free, leaning his elbows on his knees and his head against shaking fists. He probably hasn't brushed his hair since before his parents were kidnapped, despite Mrs. Mac's gentle prodding. He's wearing those scuffed up blue Vans--his favorites, she remembers them, they held a funeral when--and his "Everything's Bat-ter in Gotham tank top--Cass has it right now, she stole it from Tim again, after he stole it from her stole it from Steph stole it from Tim, around and around and for the last seven--under a baggy zip up hoodie.

There's a half-empty bottle of Zesti on the floor next to the chair he's sitting in. The machines keeping his father alive beep quietly in the background. They make a rhythm, discordant and grating, that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Tim knows she's there. The smell of failure and rot rolls off of her, unmistakable.

No, he saw her shadow on the vinyl tile flooring. Stop telling the story wr--

It's okay, he tells her. The thickness of his voice betrays the lie.

No, it's not.

No, he agrees quietly. It's not.

The moment stretches painfully--distorts and twists and yanks brutally against the inside of her ribcage, and Tim sits silently at the center of it all.

We should be hugging, a distant part of her thinks. She can finally tell that it's a part of her speaking. It doesn't matter if this is a nightmare. There's no world where Stephanie Brown doesn't hug Tim Drake in this moment.

Unmoving. Uncharitable. Un--

There's no world where Tim doesn't let me. He never held this against me--I was the one who never really forgave myself.

--touchable. The first time Robin and Batman failed, and it was--

Years ago. Shut up, Steph.

Wake up, Steph.

Wake up.

Wake--

***

Stephanie didn't remember fighting through the fear gas to lay Crane out with a single punch, but the ache in her knuckles and the Scarecrow at her feet told the story.

Black Bat came crashing through a skylight a few moments later, as Stephanie fumbled woozily through her utility belt in search of an antidote. "Let me," Cassandra said, gently brushing her hands away, and Stephanie let herself lean heavily back against the table.

She closed her eyes against the spinning of the room. "Don't suppose I took that fear gas hallucination so stoically that you have no idea what it was about?" she asked hoarsely. She cracked her eyes back open.

Cassandra glanced up at her, expression full of sympathy even through the mask.

Stephanie groaned. "Tell me O at least shunted me off to a semi-private channel rather than air my dirty laundry for everybody."

"It's just the three of us," Batman told her quietly.

(Four, really. Oracle may be muted, but she was certainly listening. If not now, then in a couple hours, when she found a slow moment.)

Stephanie breathed out through her nose. "Bet you hadn't thought about that case in years, B," she mumbled, as Cassandra unclasped the connections between the kevlar plates that met at Batgirl's elbow, peeling away the one on her forearm that would allow her to inject the antidote. "Guess it finally makes sense why I was so insistent we take it, despite... y'know. It not really being any of our business."

There was the slightest crackle of sound over the comms, a sign that someone was talking on another frequency a bit too close to the one the three of them were on. Over top of it, Batman said, "I... hadn't thought about that case in years. Not until the details of your friendship came out, and I started putting together a file. I'd known that you went to see Drake in the hospital at the time; I even suspected that you spoke with his son. I just didn't... realize."

There should have been more to the sentence, but they all knew what he meant.

"His dad pulled through the coma after a month or so," Stephanie said. She couldn't focus on anything else, not past the anxious guilt being manufactured in her blood stream. Cassandra massaged the injection site with her thumb as they waited for the antidote to kick in. "Course, Jack still got murdered a couple years later. Home break in. Brutal. Right in front of his new wife, too, traumatized her so bad they put her in a psych ward and wouldn't let her try for custody even once she got out. Tim got home from one of his after-school clubs just in time to see the car peel out of the drive. He tried to do CPR. The police had to pull him off.

"And I know you already know all of that," she added murderously, "because it hit the tabloids at the time. Gotham journalists are fucking vultures, and the cops were easily bribed into spilling the details. Just another reason Tim hates them, beyond the systemic ones." Stephanie dropped her forehead to Cassandra's shoulder. "And all the while, I was forty minutes away in Manchester, doodling on my math homework, planning how to sneak out past my mom, and wondering if you were gonna let me drive the Batmobile on patrol now that I had my license."

Bruce was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line. He seemed uncharacteristically aware that trying to offer platitudes would just be wildly hypocritical, and also probably make her start yelling. Or crying.

"I didn't," he finally said. "Even before I found out how terrifying you are behind the wheel, I was smart enough to never let you drive it as Robin."

"You don't voluntarily let me drive it now," Stephanie muttered. If she wasn't hopped up on fear gas, though, she thought she may have actually laughed.

Cassandra gathered her into a hug. The Black Bat (neé Batgirl) hadn't had to read any of those sordid details in archived tabloid news articles years after the fact, of course. She had been there for the aftermath of Jack's death, if not Janet's--and been spectacularly unhelpful when Stephanie tried to talk Tim out of resurrecting the fake uncle scheme he'd initially whipped out during his father's coma. After all, Cass herself had lived alone, on the streets, for most of her life.

("What he's talking about now is so different than a month, Cass, tell him--"'

"He has a house, and money, and he can speak the language, and he's sixteen. Taking care of yourself is lonely, but--he has us," she'd added, shrugging, and Stephanie had buried her face in her hands to scream as Cassandra rested her chin on Tim's shoulder and pointed out a flaw in the code with which he was frantically hacking government records.)

Stephanie drew back from the hug and set two fingers to the pulse at her own neck, counting beats to verify that it had finally begun to slow. "Antidote's kicking in," she sighed. It was a pain in the ass to pull the forearm plate of her suit back into place one handed, and she scrunched up her nose as she got to work on it.

"I'm bringing back the face mask," she added. "I only actually went out as the Spoiler a handful of times, and I don't think I really appreciated its full potential vis-a-vis perpetual air filtering at the time. Or maybe I'll steal Hood's whole schtick and just go full purple helmet. Spoiler 2.0, this time I can break down a door with my face. What do you think?"

"I think you're done for the night," Cassandra told her firmly.

Stephanie jerked her head up, scowling. "What? No. I've got to go wrangle all the co-eds Crane's been using as guinea pigs, and--"

"You already did the hard work, tracking Scarecrow's operation down and incapacitating him. Black Bat can handle the clean up. Go spend some time with Tim," Bruce added, more gentle than he usually was as Batman.

"Give him a hug," Cass agreed. One of the quick-release clasps of Stephanie's cape had gotten pulled during the fight, and she popped it back into place and tugged the cape straight for her, a quirk of a smile in the corner of her mouth. "Eat all his ice cream." She read Stephanie's continued obstinance in the line of her shoulder and frowned at her. Sternly, she ordered, "Say yes, Batgirl."

"Yes, Batgirl," Stephanie intoned.

"I know his nightly schedule is... unpredictable. Do you need Oracle to find him for you?" Bruce asked.

Cassandra snorted, even as Stephanie said, immediately, "Punk show in the basement of the abandoned drug store at 16th and Fulton, looking like a dork in the middle of the mosh pit. His neighbor friend Kerry's on the drums."

"And killing it," Cassandra said. "I went to their last show. I brought you back a tshirt, remember?"

"Ah," Bruce said, awkwardly. "Yes."

Stephanie hid her laughter behind a cough as Cass's lips twitched. The tshirt in question had--as befitting a DIY Gotham punk band--been a shitty white cotton shirt of the kind you could buy in a ten pack for five bucks, spray painted with a stencil to read, "FUCK THE POLICE, FUCK THE CORPORATIONS, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, FUCK THE BATMAN."

"By the by, we held a vote and we're making that the new Young Justice slogan," she told Cassandra.

Black Bat raised her eyebrows. "Wasn't it already?"

"No." Stephanie shook her head. "Our old slogan was, 'What the Justice League doesn't know can't hurt us.'"

***

Stephanie came awake, slowly, to the sensation of someone sitting down on the cushion next to her and the scent of brownies wafting enticingly toward her nose.

She'd fallen asleep on Tim's couch while waiting for him to get home from the show, dressed in her favorite pair of his sweats and the eggplant hoodie he'd stolen from her a couple years ago, her costume tucked away in the hidden panel of his closet that he'd installed just for her and Cass.

"Fear gas, huh?" he said sympathetically. Cassandra must have texted him. Or maybe Oracle.

"We should really just let the Red Hood kill Crane one of these days," she mumbled, sitting upright just to immediately flop over the other way, smushed up against Tim's side with her head resting on his shoulder. She took the offered brownie, marveling at the warmth. "You baked?"

"I'm capable of adding eggs and water to a box mix and sticking it in the oven," he said dryly. "Actually, I'm also capable of following a full recipe, I just don't see the point. Box brownies are awesome."

Stephanie looked over her shoulder towards Tim's kitchen, taking in the mess scattered across the counters. "I didn't wake up?"

Tim handed her a gatorade, too, then wiggled his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "You were way out of it. You guys need to find a fear gas antidote with fewer side effects. I know a good mad chemist, I could put her in touch."

Honestly? Stephanie wasn't surprised. Tim had a tendency to spot someone cool and/or a genius and/or scarily competent and insert himself into their lives as if he'd always been there.

(Punk band Kerry, she of "his next door neighbor who fed his goldfish when he was out of town" fame? Amateur lepidopterist with a focus on cataloguing Gotham's many weird mutant varieties, useful to identify what Rogue may have been causing trouble in an area based on the local moths. Also a way less amateur witch, useful for obvious reasons.)

(This was Gotham. Magic was around every corner, whether Bruce liked it or not. Good thing Kate was much more amenable to dealing with that kind of shit.)

Still, just for the sake of acknowledging how ridiculous it was, she repeated, dryly, "You know a mad chemist you'd be happy to put in touch with Batman."

"She's only a little crazy," Tim said mumbled. "Gave me a bunch of books to teach myself and lets me borrow her lab when I need one." His eyes were closed, his head resting on the back of his couch, and even as she watched, his breaths began to slow.

Stephanie picked through her brownie slowly, letting Tim doze--it was late-late, nearly "birds start chirping" late, and he'd probably been moshing for hours--as she sorted through the jumble of emotions in her chest. The biggest problem was that Tim wasn't going to want to talk about his parents with her. Especially not Jack.

Between the trauma and the relatively young age at which he'd lost them, Tim's rose colored glasses were pretty much superglued to his nose. He always got upset if Stephanie so much as implied that despite all of his good memories with Jack, there was also a lot of bad. Jack Drake had never been an Arthur Brown, or anything--not power obsessed (more than any other businessman, anyway), not homicidal, not even particularly violence prone (although he had occasionally thrown things)--but he had been your regular, run of the mill style of asshole dad. Especially after Janet died. And talking about Janet was...

(Where Stephanie got loud, Tim got quiet; he had always been too understanding when people let him down. Ever since Haiti, Stephanie had been torn between being infuriated and blindly relieved that he wouldn't just get mad about it. Over the years she'd repeatedly found herself instigating a screaming match where, objectively, she was only yelling at Tim in order to yell at herself.

She'd gotten better, eventually, at accepting that no vigilante could be perfect, and that the responsibility for any casualty fell at the feet of the person (or people, or robot, or whatever) who had put them in danger in the first place. Not that it was always easy to remember, or that she didn't still get furious with herself over her failures--because it wasn't always a "there was nothing you could have done" kind of situation. But the kidnapping of the Drakes in particular had come so early in her career and been so personal. More than any case already was, anyway.

Stephanie had wanted to save Janet, for Tim, and she'd failed.)

Talking about Janet meant past tense. Talking about Janet meant talking about how Janet was dead. Even when it was Tim telling her about how his mom bought him his first camera and she used to watch Columbo with him and had passed along an appreciation for poetry that Tim was way more appreciative of as an adult, and that she had been kind of crazy and overbearing in a good way that, well, totally reminded him of Stephanie, now that you mention it--

(That was usually about when she hit him with the nearest pillow.)

Janet hadn't necessarily been a much better mom than Jack had been a dad, so far as Stephanie could tell, but she'd definitely tried harder, and been less mean about it. Or maybe she'd just died before Stephanie ever properly met her, so all she had were Tim's nostalgia-tinted stories.

"Let's do brunch with my mom on Saturday," Stephanie said, instead of... any of that.

Tim mumbled an agreement without opening his eyes.

Crystal hadn't been a good mom for a long time, either. Addiction was... not conducive, to being a good mom. Especially when it meant opting out of life so hard that your middle schooler was functionally left dealing, alone, with her supervillain father. But then Arthur finally went to jail more or less for good--with the exception of one significant Bane-induced breakout and a stint of parole which the Black Canary had forcibly ended--and Crystal managed to get sober enough to pick her nursing job back up. Time and stability and that therapist Stephanie just knew Bruce was the one paying for all helped Crystal get a lot better at being a mom.

(Annoyingly better, at times when it resulted in stuff like, "figuring out her daughter was Robin" and "trying to forbid her daughter from being Robin.")

Maybe it wasn't really fair to the Drakes to unilaterally call them bad parents; they never got the chance to learn to be better ones. Stephanie was personally pretty sure that if his parents had lived, Tim would have ended up in therapy in his early-mid twenties and subsequently cut his parents out of his life after months of failed attempts to enforce boundaries and repair their relationship, but she supposed you never know.

Sometimes people surprise you.

A pillow slapped into her face. "Stop brooding," Tim ordered her. "This apartment is a no brooding zone."

"Since when."

"Since you came in on a fear gas bender and started brooding all over my fine Gotham upholstery."

Stephanie looked down at Tim's couch. It was, to be fair, a pretty good couch, but she didn't know about "fine Gotham upholstery." "You got this at Rooms-2-Go," she reminded him, distinctly unimpressed.

"A fine Gotham institution," Tim said, straight-faced. "They sponsored a float in the last pride parade."

"And then the furniture came to life and tried to eat people," she reminded him.

Tim held up a finger. "And then the furniture came to life and tried to eat the marching members of the GCPD. Not people."

Stephanie buried her nose in his shoulder, wheezing, and Tim sniffed as he slouched back downwards into the comforting embrace of his fine Gotham upholstery. "Stop brooding," he repeated. "Your vigilante sugar daddy does enough of that for the whole ci--"

Stephanie straddled him, adjusting the pillow more firmly over his face as he flailed at her. "Stop fucking calling him that. You're literally a nepo baby and professional stalker, you have no moral high ground in our relationship." She lowered the pillow slightly. "Do you cede?"

"It's been seven years and we still haven't figured out which of us is more stubborn than the other," Tim said, muffled through the pillow still partially covering his face. "Do you really want tonight to be the night we try to settle that?"

She considered that for a moment. "I'm definitely the stubborn one," she decided. "You're just annoying."

Tim reached up and shoved the pillow down, and Stephanie let him, puffing a loose strand of hair out of her face as he squinted up at her. She could practically see the calculations running behind those blue-gray eyes, and she tried not to wonder what he was seeing in her face. He knew her better than she knew herself. She couldn't control that.

"You're more annoying," he said, instead of calling her out, and Stephanie leaned down to press her forehead against his.

"You're my best friend," she told him, a teasing joke made with genuine depth of feeling.

It was a weird angle, but she could see the fond crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he offered the next line. "That's reductive."

Stephanie rolled off of him, letting herself flop backwards along the couch, one of her legs still thrown across his lap. "Yeah, well, platonic soulmates would be reductive, and it's just too wordy to explain to people that we imprinted on each other as kids like two baby ducklings that decided to just raise each other because the local goose was too busy having an existential crisis to help them out."

"Bruce the goose," Tim observed.

"Bruce the goose," Stephanie agreed.

"It's okay," he added, not looking at her, and she knew he'd understood what she'd really been saying. About how alone they'd been. About who had let each of them down to make it that way.

"No, it's not," she murmured, an echo of her nightmare; an echo of a horrible night in a hospital seven years earlier.

Except this time, Tim said, firmly, "Yes, Robin. It is."

[yslkook]

ships in the night

pairing: seokjin x reader summary: jin is your best friend. he’s engaged, and your heart is broken. (pining, best friends, unrequited love, open ending) word count: 3221 warnings: cursing, alcohol, a/n: enjoy this word vomit lolol im still getting comfortable writing for bts!!

***

It shouldn’t be as nice a day as it is- a light, summer breeze, nearly clear skies and the bright sun. It feels like you should be happier than you are. 

If the weather was fitting of your mood, it would be grey and stormy. Instead of wallowing with your broken heart in the comfort of your apartment, you’re in Seokjin’s apartment building. More specifically, you’re at his rooftop, waiting for his arrival.

You ignore the pitying looks from his friends and from your own friends as you make yourself busy for his return. With his presumed fiancee. 

Today was the day he proposed to his girlfriend, and you (as his best friend of nearly ten years) had taken it upon yourself to plan the after party. How masochistic of you. To plan the next chapter of his life with his new fiancee when you’ve been madly in love with him for the better part of your twenties. Now that you’re approaching your thirties, you’ve made it a promise to get over him.

And yet, you separated your empty abyss of emotions from your genuine desire to see him happy. His to-be fiancee was an acquaintance of yours as well. Of course, you weren’t close with her… You could compartmentalize but not that well. You couldn’t fake it any more than you had to. She was a nice girl, you supposed. She made Seokjin happy.

But she wasn’t you. And you’d never be that person to him. It was a fact that you had accepted a long time ago and somehow since then, your heart has been locked in this icy cage that you didn’t want to chip at.

You step away from the table where the alcohol, food and desserts are to look at your work. At the corner sits a flowery backdrop for photos with props. The entire area is decorated with fairy lights and small bouquets of Seokjin’s favorite flowers and his fiancee’s favorite flowers. Her friends had given you some input, but you were running the show and they both knew it. 

It was the last thing you could give to him before having to face the fact that he’d never truly be yours again.

The afterparty itself is a surprise to her and you’re certain she’ll love it- her friends and family are so excited for her, champagne tears dotting their eyes.

And then his friends look at you like they want to hug you and yell at you at the same time. They didn’t like her in the beginning and they only really tolerated her now. Because Jin loves her and because you told them to back the fuck off of her. She hadn’t done anything to warrant their dislike of her.

“Hey pretty,” Jimin greets you with a smile and crescent eyes, “Come here often?”

“Do I come to my soulmate’s proposal party often? No, I can’t say that I do,” You say dryly, elbowing him when his smile drops, “Come on, I’m only joking.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and sighs, “If anyone could’ve stopped this madness, it would’ve been you.”

“Madness?” You ask, “Stop it, she’s nice…”

“She’s not,” Jimin says pointedly, “You’re both just so fuckin’ blind. And stupid. So stupid.”

“Don’t start this shit with me, Jimin,” You hiss, “It’s too late, we’re here and that’s that.”

Jimin pulls away and looks at you for a long, long moment. He wonders if you even understand how hurt you are, how heartbroken you are. You hide it behind your jokes as you always have. He won’t be surprised if you leave the party early or if you slip away to the bathroom once Jin and his fiancee arrive.

They’ve been together for three years now. It was only the natural order of things for Jin to propose to her. You had asked him months ago if he was proposing just because he thought it was the right thing to do or because he genuinely wanted to. That discussion had ended in a fight. So you had pulled away, slowly but subtly from him. Already accepting your second place role in his life. Who else would know what he wanted, other than him?

You. You would know. But if every attempt to get him to do some self-reflection was going to end in tears and in a shouting match, you didn’t want to deal with it. Or with him. Or with her.

So you let it be. Like everything else, you let it be. And you let this be the last thing you did for him. You made a promise to yourself. After this, you would move on. 

It takes about an hour for the rooftop to begin filling up with his friends and family, as well as her friends and family. His parents and brother hug you first, before greeting her parents. Jin’s mother looks at you forlornly, as if she can see all of the secrets in your guarded heart. 

You pull away from them quickly, busying yourself with making a drink. You’re going to need it. Jungkook pops up next to you, looping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey you,” You greet him, offering him a smile and a drink in a red solo cup.

“Hey you,” Jungkook says, doe eyes glittering as he unashamedly looks at you, “You look nice.” He moves his hand to the small of your back.

Long gone is the shy boy who couldn’t look a woman in the eye. Next to you stands a man, filled with confidence and poise. 

“I know,” You wink at him, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

It’s true, you had at least given yourself the small joy of dressing up in an olive green sleeveless jumpsuit with a dip in the chest and a cinch at the waist. Jewelry glints on your wrists, at the base of your neck and your ears. You’re wearing your favorite pair of heels and the best part is that your feet aren’t even uncomfortable yet.

You catch up with him and the rest of the boys eventually gather around you both too. Just as you’re throwing your head back in laughter, your phone buzzes in your hand. Jin’s name pops up and your heart races in anticipation. As it always does when he texts you, but you feel like your world is about to implode as you open his text message.

seokjin: she said yes!! seokjin: be there in 15 :) 

You exhale shakily, six pairs of eyes on you. Jimin squeezes your shoulder reassuringly.

you: of course she did!!!!  you: fuck!! ur a fiance now. wowwwww. Im so happy for you jin :))) you: see you soon, everything’s ready 

“They’ll be here in fifteen,” You say with a grin that probably looks out of place on your face, “She said yes.” You take a breath, letting the weight of your words sink in. “She said yes. They’re… engaged.”

You swallow the love and hurt down. Jimin brushes his lips to your forehead. It doesn’t matter. Today is not about you.

Pulling away from them, you turn on your heel to celebrate with Jin’s parents. They’re replying their own congratulations to him. His brother tells you that he had texted you first. You already know that. It doesn’t matter. 

You hug his parents anyway.

***

You stick to the shadows with a drink in your hand once Jin and his fiancee arrive. He’s all smiles, opening the door for her dramatically and giggling at her squeal when she sees the rooftop, her friends and her family. 

Finally, once you see that they have a free moment, you approach them.

“Hey, lovebirds,” You smile with a wave and open your arms.

She hugs you first, to your surprise. “Jin told me you did all of this. Thank you.” She flashes her ring to you and excitedly giggles.

She’s always been after your approval, for some godforsaken reason. Who were you anyway?

“O-oh,” You protest, “No, it was a team effort. Congratulations to you both. This is the least we could do.”

You lock eyes with Jin and wonder if he can see it. If he can see how much this is killing you. He can’t because he sweeps you in for a bone-crushing hug.

“I’m engaged,” He breathes, “We’re in love and I’m engaged!”

“You are, Seokjin! You really are,” You say, vision starting to get blurry. But still you smile brightly, even if it looks out of place.

You can’t be here. You can’t be this close to him, you can’t allow him to see your already broken heart.

“Thank you,” Jin says sincerely, “For everything. You’re the best.”

“Anything for you, Jin,” You say, just as sincerely. You punch his upper arm gently. “I’m so happy for both of you. Let’s do a cheers really quick-”

How do you do it? How do you face him when he holds your beating heart in his unknowing hands?

You say a quick toast, a toast to your best friend and his new fiancee. You throw in a few jokes at your own expense before throwing your drink back and pulling away from them with promises of shots later.

But still, you manage to hold it together. It’s when Jin gives his own toast to his new fiancee in front of his family and friends that you feel the carefully woven threads beginning to fray and come apart. Jungkook senses your distress before anyone else does and he pulls you inside to the private bathroom for you to gather your bearings. He cups your cheeks and your eyes well up with unexplained tears, finally, finally, after months of pretending. And you let them fall. Your muffled cries fill up the walls of the bathroom as he rubs your back soothingly.

“It hurts, Kookie,” You mumble, “It hurts so fucking much. I didn’t think anything could hurt like this.”

“I know,” He murmurs, “I know.”

By the time you go back outside, after touching up your makeup as Jungkook watched, Jin is already drunk. He sees you with Jungkook and wonders why you look so sad. But only for a moment, his fiancee capturing his attention once more.

This time, his fiancee gives a toast. It’s a toast to their new life together, with all of their friends and family part of something special. She cries a little and you do, too. And she’s right- it is a rebirth. Because this is the last time. This is the last time you’ll afford Seokjin any of your tears. Even if he is your best friend. 

Because you’re the one that you should love.

***

Eight months later, the air is chillier but you can’t remember the last time you felt this warm. You’re currently curled under your favorite blankets and watching a movie on your television, nearly dozing off after a glass of wine.

True to your word, you had slowly but surely pulled away from Seokjin. You wondered if he had noticed all of your last minute cancellations and the subtle excuses. You still speak occasionally, but it’s not how it was before. And that’s what you wanted. Because your heart is still hurt and healing. The thought of him still makes you ache, but not as much as before. It’s only been six months, and you know that years of feelings won’t go away instantly.

You know he needed you. But he shouldn’t. Not when his fiancee should be his best friend. Not when she should be his person.

You can’t remember the last time you had even seen Seokjin. Was it at his engagement party? When was the last time you had even talked to him?

Your friends avoid his name and avoid speaking about him to you. You’re grateful for that.

So when your phone starts buzzing incessantly at 11:13 PM, with Jin’s name and contact photo on it, you panic for a full ten seconds. Your heart immediately accelerates out of your chest and you wonder if you should answer.

He hasn’t called you in months.

“Hello?” You ask softly, a nervousness you haven’t felt in a long time creeping up on you.

“Hey,” Jin breathes on the other line, “Didn’ think you’d… pick up.”

“I did, didn’t I?” You reply.

Another five seconds of silence.

“Jin. Are you drinking?” You ask. You hear the familiar lilt in his voice, and he sounds sad.

“Yeah,” Jin laughs tonelessly, “Can’t hide anythin’ from you.”

“You never could,” You chuckle, also tonelessly.

“I did, though,” Jin admits, “Hid somethin’ big from you.”

“That’s okay,” You shrug, “You can have your secrets. I’ve got mine.”

Another few seconds of silence. You don’t know what to say to him. Nervousness colors the insides of your veins but you won’t show it. Not to him, not when he’s calling you when he’s drinking.

“Let me come over. I miss you.”

“Seriously?” You scoff, “I don’t think your fiancee would appreciate that very much.”

Jin laughs. It sounds cruel and jarring.

“We’re not together anymore, stupid. Surprised Jimin or Kook haven’t mentioned it to you,” Jin says, unable to keep the sting out of his voice, “But if you didn’t blow me off for the last six months, you’d know that.”

“That’s not fair, Jin,” You murmur, deciding not to give in to his snark, “Come over. I’m at home.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye and you sigh. You send a text to Jungkook and Jimin, asking them why the fuck Jin called you after this long and why they didn’t tell you that they ended their engagement. Of course, there’s no response- only a chorus of coy emojis from both of them. Idiots.

So you wait. You wait for your soulmate to come back to you. You’re still undecided if you want to welcome him with waiting arms.

***

In the end you do. You can’t say no to his pout and his sunken eyes. You can’t say no when you haven’t properly seen him in months, when you haven’t heard his loud laugh in just as long.

“Seokjin,” You breathe and it comes out like a declaration.

Even if he’s been here a million times before, he feels out of place. You usher him to the couch and bring him a glass of water to sip on.

“What are you doing here, Jin?” You sigh, “What’s going on?”

You wonder if he’s here to break your heart for the millionth time.

“Nothin’,” Jin exhales, “I just fuckin’ missed you.”

You swallow. “What the hell happened? Your engagement?” You change the subject quickly. His face shifts to an expression of pensiveness.

“You were right,” Jin finally says.

“Yes, that’s a given. But about what?”

“Me asking her because I felt obligated to. Rather than actually wanting to,” Jin says vaguely.

“That’s a big miss, Jin,” You say bluntly, “I’m sorry, though. That must have been tough.”

“We fought a lot at the end. We only ended it a few weeks ago…”

“What did you fight about?”

Jin raises an eyebrow, “Lots of things. Towards the end though, it was you.”

“Me?” You nearly shout, “What the hell? That’s not funny, Jin-”

“Why would I be joking about that? I was so upset that we weren’t friends anymore-”

“How can you say to me that I’m the reason that you both ended your engagement! Fuck you Jin,” You mutter, “That’s not fair at all. I didn’t do anything for you both to fuckin’ fight about me.”

Tears blur your vision in frustration and you push yourself farther away from him on the couch. He can’t do this to you, not when you’ve worked so carefully to build yourself up again.

“Will you let me finish?” Jin asks in exasperation, “We were already fighting about anything and everything. And then I was so fucking upset that we were hardly friends and she got sick of me talking about it. Then she said something- well, she said some things…”

“Cut the shit, Jin. What are you here to say?” You ask, anxiety crawling up your arms and curling in your belly.

“She said all my friends thought we were a bad fit-”

“That’s not news to you, Jin-”

“Then she said you’re in love with me. Isn’t that something,” Jin muses and your entire world halts on its axis to a screeching stop, “Said somethin’ about the way you-”

“Stop,” You whisper, “Stop it, Jin. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Your heart is breaking all over again and you are powerless to stop it. You’ve envisioned telling Jin someday about the extent and depth of your feelings for him, but this was the last way you expected it to go.

“Tell me,” He demands, eyes sharp. 

You’ve never lied to him. Not when he’s asked you things directly.

“Tell you what, Jin?” You say sharply, “Tell you how I’ve loved you since we were stupid and in college? How I loved you even through your string of girlfriends that were so shitty to you? How I loved you when it was wrong for me? Fuck, Jin. Yes, I’m so in love with you and it took your fiancee for you to see that-”

“How did you manage it?” Jin asks softly and you’re taken off guard.

“Manage what?”

“All those years. Even the last year- you planned our engagement party. You toasted us, every time the guys said they didn’t like her, you always defended her-”

“She fucking made you happy! That’s what friends do,” You mumble.

“You planned our engagement party, you helped me plan the actual proposal,” Jin says, as if he’s coming to a realization, “And your heart was breaking the whole time. I broke your fuckin’ heart, didn’t I?”

And then your bottom lip trembles, your eyes shine with unshed tears and the dam breaks. He looks lost for a second, wondering if he’s crossing a line. But he’s still Jin, and you’re still you. So he pulls you into his arms without a second thought and crushes you close to him. You want to be selfish with him, you want to take everything he can give you. At least for five minutes, you want to stop thinking of him first before your own needs.

So you allow it. You allow the gentle brush of his lips against your forehead, the way he presses your head into his neck and rubs your shoulders, then your back. You cry for him, you cry for lost time, and you cry for yourself.

“You gonna declare your unrealized love for me now?” You say through puffy eyes with a watery laugh.

“You deserve better than me declaring my love for you not even a month after ending a three year long relationship and a seven month long engagement,” Jin says, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah, you’re damn fuckin’ right I do,” You murmur.

“I missed you,” Jin confesses, “I really missed you.”

“As you should have,” You say, earning a pinch to your shoulder.

Whatever the future holds for the both of you- you feel as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest. Everything isn’t magically okay, but you feel the same warmth you felt years ago when you first realized your feelings for him. 

[devintrinidad]

THINGS THAT I NOTICED IN EPISODE ONE OF SEVERANCE:

Note: I already watched episodes 1-5, I just decided to rewatch them again at 1.5x speed while writing down notes. Also, I won’t post screenshots because the website I use to view the show isn’t very good. 

(Spoilers)

When we first see Helly, it’s from above. Almost like the person watching her is from the point of view of a god. Furthermore, I’ve seen comments from YouTube videos that it was as if we were watching Helly from the point of view of a microscope. (It almost looks like an eye, to be honest: dark green pupil ringed with light yellow sclera). 

The predominant colors are green and yellow with backdrop of grey. (Important? answer pending)

The meeting is room is padded? Like something you would find in those mental wards for patients who need padded rooms?

Five questions were asked and we found out that Helly does indeed have knowledge about the US, but not enough for something that she personally knows. The name Eagan means nothing to her.

Mark is crying. Evident of trauma, probably something that he does often. 

The jacket he’s wearing is bulky, brown color—evident of a wintry season. The parking lot is very… symmetrical. The building almost oppressive in what the audience can see.

Mark’s full name is Mark Scout.

The secretary at the entrance is encased in the letter “C”. 

Svr’d Access. (Basement?)

Blue badge, watch… must leave behind phone, soggy shoes, etc. What’s interesting is that Mark has two pairs of watches.

Judd is a security guard. 

The transition from Mark Scout to Mark S. is pretty automatic once the elevator reaches the destination. Noticeable change in Mark’s face, almost lackadaisically throws away his tissue that he had been wiping tears away with. Noticeably wipes at eyes and coughs without a thought. 

(Does Mark S. know that Mark Scout isn’t doing well?)

Walls are white. Very white, pristine, winding. You could easily get lost.

Light green carpet, dark green dividers between desks. Desks are arranged in such a way that coworkers are almost facing each other in a… Ourobrous snake? I’m not sure how to explain it, but I love the way they choreographed the shot when Irv stood up when Milchik arrived.

Milchik appears kind, but plays second fiddle to Ms. Cobel. Milchik gives advice about how to handle Ms. Cobel’s new office, but it turns out that the advice didn’t work. 

The Board NEVER speaks. It’s almost like the meeting was engineered to instill confusion, apprehension, and force the one who is in attendance to spill information. 

Milchig saying that Petey and Mark were one of his favorite office friendships. (That’s creepy. Not natural). 

A handshake is available upon request. (A reward for good behavior? This is not natural).

Funny how Irving wasn’t the new head, but was still allowed to shadow and help Mark with the process of adding a new recruitment. 

Carol was a previous refiner. (Dylan’s old seat). 

Petey was the only one who appreciated Mark’s humor. 

Trainee deserves to have the information given to her in a proper order. (Lot of emphasis from Milchik).

Milchik also says that he “loves seeing them all come in like this”. Like a proud father? Again, creep factor going up. 

There are cameras seemingly everywhere. It’s Irving who looks up and sees the camera when Helly is trying to leave. Ms. Cobel is also watching from her office. 

Helly’s first question is if she was livestock. It’s a good question, but it’s bold of her to ask taht. 

Helly R. is her full name. 

Emphasis on work/life balance. Imagine yourself as a seesaw…. 

Helly is a spitfire and I love her so much.

When Mark realizes that what the handbook isn’t doing anything for Helly, he immediately tries to gain her confidence by talking about his own experiences. It’s a sign of a good leader, he tries to get on her own level by saying that he knows how she feels. (Should not have referred back to the handbook straight after because then she tries to rip it away again). 

Winding white halls, mazelike, how could anyone get out? 

There’s an office that has fuchsia/purple/violet. (An expansion?)

Helly picks up on the fact that Mark isn’t really happy about her being Petey’s replacement.

Theres’a  disorienting feeling about trying to get out. Very great precaution and safety measure for containers the severed workers from leaving. 

Mark has obviously gone through this when he was also a trainee. 

They are not in hell. Obviously. But it should be said. 

Ms. Cobel is surprisingly sympathetic on Helly’s part. She even is either truthful or humorous about the fact that she wants to pummel Mark. It’s almost she’s commending Helly for her actions.

The way Ms. Cobel acts during the entire time she’s scolding Mark… It’s frightening. “You know my mother was an atheist… Hell is just the product of human imagination….” I won’t quote it word for word, but she’s implying that what makes a department good or bad depends on the people. (THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER). 

Helly’s outie implies in the video that the procedure of everything (surgery, orientation) is around 2 hours. Not able to retain work memories upon ascent of the building and not able to retain real life memories upon descent. Helly R. looks confused, almost appalled? Like she can’t believe it. 

Stagger exits. Probably to inhibit any of them trying to contact each other outside of Lumon. Complete and utter work/life balance.

“Every time you find yourself here, it’s because you chose to come back.”

Love the small interactions between Dylan and Irving with Helly. You definitely get the sense that Helly’s the new kid and they’re trying to get used to her.

 A false explanation for the wound on Mark’s forehead. Mark was given a card for Pip’s Bar. (WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER). 

Helly’s outie has white flowers? White roses? In mourning? 

Mark lives in Baird Creek? (I might be wrong because the server I’m watching on isn’t that great… also why I’m not taking screenshots). 

Mark’s house… is too big for him. He spends his time drinking and doing menial tasks.

Ms. Selvig has trouble with her garbage.

Mark has a sister named Devon. They’re going to a dinner without a dinner. Turns out that this takes place near the anniversary of someone… VERY IMPORTANT.

Ricken is pretty cool. 

The party with all of their friends is very stilted, awkward around Mark.

Mark used to be a history professor, about WWI.

Apparently, there’s this�� diet trend or something? Not sure if important, but it could mean something. 

Mark’s late wife was a professor for Russian literature. 

Mark has been working at Lumon (apparently not common knowledge to these friends) for two years.

Lumon has been in the industry since the 1800s. There was a slight debate between if it was medical/techy type of business, but apparently it started with topical salves?

“What don’t they make?”

Mark, apparently is in the corporate archives division…. But he’s the head of Macrodata Refinement? Is that the same thing?

Mark’s job is confidential enough to warrant severance procedure. Ricken accidentally outed him because severance is like… something ethically/morally not sound to some people. The friends are talking about it like… I don’t know, it’s almost like the same thing how people talk about topics they think are taboo, like homosexuality, gender fluidity, and the like.

Ricken definitely stands by Mark.

Mark is awkward and stilted around everyone. 

Devon does not care about the lack of food for dinner. Immediately makes a sandwich after the cut.

Talks about therapy with Mark. Mark says he’s reply much okay, but Devon takes note of the fact that forgetting about Gemma shouldn’t be the solution, since it only lasts 8 hours.

Ricken is weird… but he means well.

I love the three beds concept; it’s adorable seeing a grown man in a racecar bed thing. 

The relationship between Mark and Devon is so cute. You can tell that they’re close siblings if you haven’t caught on to that already.

Mark has (implied) insomnia. Perhaps due to his wife’s passing.

He sees… a businessman in the woods. (Very creepy, much not like, especially when he pulls the ghost trick on Mark)

Mark and his sister kind of make light of the fact that there was a trespasser, but you can tell that Mark is thinking about it.

Ms. Selvig seems to interrogate Mark about where he is (location: Pip’s for dinner without anyone else).

Behold: a businessman with a fake British accent asking, “Hi kids. What’s for dinner?”

PETEY!!!

“Your voice is different here. Worse.” Petey at Mark. 

Petey bypassed the implant??? He had help.

Apparently, Mark and Petey were unhappy and had lodged a complaint at first. 

“They”/Graner are after Petey. Mark and Petey don’t like him.

“Nothing down there is what they say.”

“I’m your best friend.You’re my very good friend.” The distinction here… I’m not sure if this is a rejection of Mark or if Mark already knew that he wasn’t Petey’s best friend… Seems like a treasure trove of angst.

Petey is sure that Mark would make an awesome niece. (very funny)

Petey implies that the people who take up the job are monsters, but they really are just people. However, there is something up with Lumon. 

499 Half Loop Road

Plot twist: Ms. Selvig is actually Ms. Cobel. “You know my mother is a Catholic? She used to say that it took the saints to bless a child at least eight hours… Mark, you’re good people.” Hmmm… will expand later, maybe. 

END. 

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 22

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat  additional warnings: open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the additional "spoiler-y" tags for trigger warnings

hey guys! i made a ko-fi! if you enjoy this and have some cash you could spare to help me out with my bills, id really appreciate it! if you follow the link and check out the ‘posts’, there’s a snippet for ch. 4 of posies! 

Their parents had died a few months after her thirteenth birthday and Penny essentially blacked out for the next 8 months. She didn’t remember anything from that school year, although she’d evidently scraped by in all of her classes—actually, Penny was still convinced that little Peter, who was already showing signs of being a tiny genius, had done at least half of her homework. She didn’t remember Hanukkah that year, or the first Christmas she’d ever celebrated with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. She had zero friends coming out of that year, having accidentally pushed everyone away in fits of rage or sadness that she couldn’t even remember. The pain cut just as deep every time she remembered showing up to school the first day of her freshman year only to receive the cold shoulder from half her grade.

That was actually one of the first memories she’d retained after coming out of 7 months and 3 weeks of complete emptiness, how none of her best friends wanted anything to do with her. Everything had been confusing, somehow devastating all over again but… it was less. Her parents were gone and it hurt so much but it was nothing compared to the agony that had beset her form seconds after being informed her mom and dad were dead. When Penny racked her brain she could almost remember Aunt May crouched in front of her while she sat on the couch at home, holding her hands.

Somewhere in her brain, Penny had known that plane crashes were possible. Like, as a concept she understood the idea. The plane that was flying through the air stops doing that, and all the people inside the plane die. But it couldn’t possibly happen to her parents—they were her parents, they were infallible. Plane crashes happened, yeah, but her parents couldn’t be gone. Aunt May had told her several years later that she and Ben had been petrified she would try to kill herself, especially when the state tried to take the young girl away from the Parker’s.

They’d never had the money for therapy and Penny figured she’d never regain the memories from those months but honestly, she didn’t want them. The gaps were reprieves, the missing conversations, the absence of any and all detail. Wasn’t she sad to not remember her eighth-grade graduation? Fuck no, it was a blessing to forget how she’d felt like everyone in existence had their eyes on her—except for the ones she wanted.

There were times she absently wondered how disappointed her parents would be that she didn’t finish college, let alone get an actual high school degree. Her dad had been so smart, a genius in his own right. And her mom… Penny tried not to think of her mom often, not when it hurt so deeply. Mary Parker had been a gentle soul with an IQ of 150 who made Penny feel safe and loved and understood every day of her life. Her mother would’ve been understanding, she would’ve seen the necessity in her dropping out but it would’ve hurt that gentle soul to know the opportunities her baby had missed.

It hurt Penny in a special way that neither of Mary and Richard Parker’s children would be graduating from high school. Neither would attend university. They wouldn’t go on to press the limits of their parent’s knowledge or make an impact on the world. Somehow despite everything she’d sacrificed, Peter would never get the opportunity that he deserved. Her genius baby brother, his potential capped before he had a chance to try. God, it was an agonizing burn in her chest, a searing pain that made her nauseous and light-headed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her ribs would crack. The cabin was lovely. Dark wood and an A-frame, a nice deck in the back and lots of windows. It was surrounded by trees, with dark needles or thin pale trunks, the purple mountains of the Rockies a lovely backdrop. It was colder than she’d expect for summer, especially considering the overcast sky and the breeze. The clouds moved so fast at such a high altitude and Penny watched trembling as a shadow passed over the house, chasing the light away before the sun followed its path ravenously once more.

Steve and Bucky were unloading suitcases from the back of the SUV, passing each other calculating looks as Penny stood practically frozen in place. Her shoulders were hunched almost to her ears, arms wrapped gently but tightly around the white kitten in her arms. It was purring quietly, the same way it had been for hours now. The little thing had cried the first few hours after they’d left the tower and subsequently the chubby cheeked orange kitten behind, only settling when Penny laid down across the middle seat in the SUV and let it burrow into the crook of her neck.

If Penny turned around she would’ve recognized the mournful looks on their faces, the pain in the lines of their eyes. The soldiers knew the hurt she felt, to be separated from their most important person—they understood that Peter was the most important person in Penny’s world. This separation was on their heads, but what could they do? They’d worked themselves into a rut, the three of them, wearing such deep treads into their negative behaviors that they couldn’t climb out. A complete shakeup was the only solution.

Both winced when she abruptly folded at the waist, clutching the kitten to her chest, and vomited over the pine needle strewn dirt of the driveway. Her hair fell in heavy, curly curtains around her face as she heaved again, hiding her tear-streaked face from the soldiers’ view. The sound of them setting the bags they held down registered in Penny’s ears but she couldn’t find the strength to collect herself before they converged on her.

“Come ‘ere doll, lemme take you up to the bathroom,” Bucky stated quietly, sweeping her and the cat up into his arms as gently as he could, “you can take a bath while me and Steve get everything unloaded. I think you’ll really like the cabin baby, we… well, we designed it just for you. If there’s anything you want to change, you just tell us. We want it to be perfect for you.”

She mostly caught flashes of green and white and brown, tucking her chin to look at the kitten snuggled into her cleavage. It felt cruel, to have taken the white one and left the orange, but the little chubby-cheeked kitten had taken to her brother so well—better than it had taken to her, even. Peter had named it Malcah and while it still didn’t like being picked up or held, it twined his ankles and meowed at him for love.

“Sit here baby,” the soldier set her carefully on the lid of the toilet, after having climbed a set of stairs and turned multiple blurry corners, “let me run your bath.”

It was all white tile, the toilet built into the wall. The tub was a freestanding clawfoot, with a spray nozzle and high sides. It was surprisingly small, considering how large the tub in the tower had been. Penny idly speculated that only perhaps one of the soldiers would be able to fit at time and it would certainly be a tight squeeze if she was forced in with them. There was a standing shower on the other side, where the roof wasn’t so sharply sloped by the A-framed roof. The nice thing, that Penny would never admit was very nice, was all of the plants. The entire room was predominantly white but there was a long-vined philodendron hanging gracefully over the tub, snake plants sitting on the shelf before the toilet. She could see a rubber plant and another type of vine by the sinks, framing the mirror.

They’d obviously gone to great lengths to make sure it would be something she liked, clearly evidenced by the bathroom alone. There were even candles waiting to be used on the antique, hunter green shelves and bath bombs with lovely scents. If she’d been able to design a personal bathroom, Penny figured it would probably have looked something like this and that made her hate it all the more.

The bastards were so in their heads they could barely see the sunlight. Penny was convinced that they were so distracted orchestrating her nightmare they’d lost the plot. They kept throwing stuff at her; beautiful plants, nice clothing, cute cats, lovely homes—but it didn’t mean a single thing. All of the possessions in the world didn’t make up for the gaping, rotting hole in her chest.

“Alright doll, let’s get you undressed,” Bucky shifted towards her once the water was at the right temperature and filling the tub, a small smile on his stubbled face.

“Do you think I’m debilitated?” She rasped after a moment, rolling her eyes up to stare him in the face before spitting a vomit speckled wad of phlegm onto the rug by her feet and setting the kitten on the shelf next to the snake plants. “Last time I checked I didn’t need to be treated like a baby. Are you gonna keep standing over me like a pervert? Get out.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by the calmness behind her cutting tongue. Usually, when Penny got an attitude, it came with fury and fists and resulted in broken bones or bleeding wounds. This was overwhelmingly controlled; a bitchy rebuttal. Her voice was the gravelly tone she usually got after screaming or crying, dark brown eyes nearly black.  When he didn’t move, Penny rolled her eyes and stood, whipping her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re bein’ a little moody, babe,” Bucky watched calmly as she undressed, her clothes piling up on the floor. “Wanna think about reigning it in?”

Penny’s hair was big and curly around her face, framing the clenched jaw and sneering nose. “What are you gonna do, kill me? Whatever.”

“Penny, what—”

“Peter is a thousand miles away,” Penny’s voice started out sharp but very quickly faded into a tired drawl, “you can’t hurt him from here. And what do I care if you hurt me? So could you either get the fuck out and let me take a bath or fucking drown me in it? Whatever it takes for this interaction to be over.”  

“Are you looking for a punishment right now?” Bucky’s lips pulled down at the corners, eyebrows furrowing, “‘Cause you’re working your way towards one really quick.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill someone in front of me?” She groaned, reaching up to dig her fingers into the roots of her hair, tugging sharply before dragging it into a tangled, thoughtless bun on the top of her head “Or spank me until I can’t sit? Rape me? Could you just get it over with? I want to be alone, please!”

Bucky was silent for several long seconds before sighing through his nose, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Take your bath, think about your fuckin’ attitude. Steve and I are gonna bring the bags in.”

He left the door open and Penny was further irritated to learn he had too much dignity to stomp down the stairs the way she’d hoped he would. His break in composure had been so good for her it was unbelievable—but there was likely a punishment on the horizon and Steve wasn’t likely to let her off easy once the brunet told him what she’d said. The bastard was stone cold when it came to that shit.

She stared idly at the steaming bath, naked with her clothes piled around her feet—the question was whether she wanted a bath or if she’d been resigned to it? The water was scented, because of course it was. It was even one of her favorite citrusy scents, she noted disdainfully, another thing they had paid so much attention to while keeping her locked up in a tower like fucking Rapunzel. Now in a cabin, she figured she was a Jewish Goldilocks surrounded by hungry bears.

But it smelled nice and her body ached from the long car ride, it had already been run so why not hop in? Besides, it would keep her busy while the soldier’s fucked around and she wouldn’t have to see them for a bit. They were shuffling around and she could hear the sounds of bags being placed around the cabin. The door banged off the walls several times, always accompanied by a groan or a curse, one of which she recognized as a Yiddish swear—which she refused to find endearing. The kitten meowed at her from its position on the shelf, looking put out to be so far away but Penny shushed it quietly.

“You won’t like the water, just stay there,” she murmured quietly at the distraught little creature, picking up a washcloth and dunking it into the perfumed water. “If I come get you I’ll make a huge mess.”

She ignored the kitten as it continued to communicate with her, chittering in annoyance and pawing the edge of the ledge for several minutes before evidently surrendering and lying down with its little paws draped over the edge. Penny smiled to herself, the cat’s tail was roughly the size of its body and when it curled the fluffy mass of fur around itself it became unrecognizable as a cat. The orange one would’ve continued to complain until Penny let it down, would’ve just barely given her ankles a rub before running off to hide somewhere.

That’s why she decided to leave Malcah with Peter; the orange cat didn’t run from or scratch him. She twined his ankles, sat next to his thigh on the couch, kneaded her little paws against him. Peter had decided both kittens were female, based on the very reasonable basis that he wanted them to be. Penny wasn’t sure, didn’t quite care. The only thing she ever referred to the cats as was Chatul—which literally meant cat in Hebrew. She’d shortened it to Tuly for the white kitten, for the sake of ease, but refused to say it in front of the soldiers. The cat was hers, she didn’t have to share it with them.

The sounds of the soldiers were becoming more consistent throughout the cabin and Penny figured they must’ve brought in all of the bags and were focused on unpacking. She could hear someone down in the kitchen, unloading the masses of groceries they’d brought up the mountain while the other was in the bedroom. Penny rubbed the washcloth over her skin lightly, the oils from the fragrance making her skin soft and slippery.

She didn’t hear him come in, she felt Steve come in. The blond’s presence was just as overwhelming as Tony Stark’s, an aura bigger than his body that filled the room. She could feel the disappointed stare, even as she continued to wipe herself down with the washcloth. Her teeth ground together as he watched in silence, just waiting.

“Bucky said you’ve caught an attitude, baby doll.”

“Caught an attitude?” She rolled her eyes. “Wow, if only I hadn’t become desensitized to living in constant terror—you never would’ve realized I’ve had an attitude the whole time!”

“We’re supposed to be turning a new page, Pen.”

“Turning a—” Penny scoffed, face appalled as she abruptly stood from the bath and ignored the water going everywhere, “we’re not turning a new page—You burnt the fucking book!”

The blond’s eyes widened; Penny had gotten angry in the past, furious even. She’d broken things, broken skin, broken bones and it was always accompanied by outraged screaming. But Penny didn’t make unnervingly straight eye contact while she did it. She was barely coherent at the best of times, mostly she screamed to the room at large before flying into a violent frenzy—it was different. It was startling, the light in her eyes and the way her voice cracked.

“There is no page turning, there’s no fucking­—fucking reconciliation here, Steve,” she snatched a towel from the rack behind the tub, wrapping the light green fabric around her chest tightly, “I can’t believe after, fuck, how long has it been? A month and a half? Two months? What fucking day is it?”

“…It’s July 2nd,” he found himself choking out, still feeling shell shocked as she stepped out of the tub.

“A month and a half,” Penny’s face twitched, just barely concealing the distraught look he could see she wanted to make and she started shifting past him, “Jesus Christ after a month and a half you guys still don’t get it—you know what, never mind. After a month and a half, I should’ve been smart enough to realize what dumbasses you both are.”

“Penny—”

“God, fuck!” She shouted up at the ceiling, stopping in place halfway out the door. “I have listened to you two talk at length for what’s apparently been a month and a half! I have tried to listen to your stupid fucking rules, I put in the fucking effort and you still decided to take away the one thing I care about! I’m sick and tired of you saying my name in that fucking tone, I’m tired of constantly internalizing and I’m tired of being fucking walked on! So I’ll tell you what I told Bucky—either kill me or leave me alone, but for fucks’ sake just give me space!”

A low mew followed her statement and Penny made an abrupt about face, stomping past him to snatch up the kitten from where it had been sitting on the ledge and storming past him again. It was like getting brushed by a wildfire and Steve fought the urge to take a step back when her wet hair whipped against him.

She dug through one of the bags that held her belongings angrily, kitten on her shoulder, knowing that the blond continued to watch her from the bathroom doorway. Shorts, underwear, a sports bra, a t-shirt, and a hoodie over that. She would’ve put on socks but she knew it bothered Steve when she went barefoot.

“Come downstairs, precious,” he sighed after watching her dress, gesturing towards the stairs, “we’ve got to talk.”

“We’ve always got to talk,” Penny snorted derisively but started down the stairs anyway, Tuly back in her arms, “but it’s usually just you two telling me what I can and can’t do. Stop bossing me around.”

Steve followed after her, aghast and confused—Penny had always been brave in the situations she was forced into, whether it was taking custody of her fourteen year old brother or dealing with being kidnapped from her apartment by a billionaire criminal, but she hadn’t ever antagonized before. She’d talked back, got irritated, snapped, but she hadn’t ever just been flat out bitchy.

On the main floor, Bucky had already put away all of the groceries and was folding up the cloth shopping bags to tuck away for next time. The brunet’s eyes locked on Penny for several long calculating seconds and her hackles raised; whatever was coming was going to be annoying. She refused to be afraid though, not when there wasn’t anything to lose. Not anymore.

“Sit on the couch, let’s talk,” Steve directed, watching as she seemed to contemplate following the direction before doing so, “things are obviously going to be different here, precious.”

“The cabin is equipped with the same AI as the tower but its restricted to monitoring and safety protocols,” Bucky explained, gesturing to the open layout of the main floor, “you’ll be able to go outside so long as you ask first, there’s plenty to do out there. When Steve bought it there was an overgrown vegetable garden out there, we had it cleaned up for you and the shed fixed up and stocked. A lot of good hiking around here too.”

“I can’t talk to JARVIS?” She asked, eyes tracking the way the soldier’s exchanged glances. “Of course not. Then I would have some sort of interaction beyond the pair of you. Damaging to your plan, huh?”

“Penny, the rules didn’t end just because we’re out of the tower,” Steve had one hand braced on his hip while the other rubbed over his forehead, “be—”

“If you say Be Sweet I’ll find a way to kill myself,” Penny intoned, a dry look on her face. “Jews don’t have an afterlife you know, I’m not afraid of going to Hell.”

“Penny, we’re trying—”

“Penny we’re trying,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, dead eye stare once again boring into Bucky’s, “I’m not. I’m done trying. You’ll either kill me or drive me insane, I’ll never see Peter again—I…I failed. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even keep him safe until he was an adult, isn’t that insane? Grand total of three years and some change and I fucked it up.”

Penny stood up from the couch, shaking her head as she went. The kitten was quick to jump off the couch and follow after her, meowing while that massive fluffy squirrel tail curled over its back. The open floor plan of the cabin came in handy for the soldiers though, because she couldn’t really escape even as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

It was hard to pretend she didn’t actually love the cabin. The kitchen was small, located beneath the loft that held the bedroom and bathroom. The railing to the loft was covered in live vines that hung down to create a tiny illusion of separation between the living room and kitchen, the kitchen itself was sage green with white and dark brown accents. There were more plants, open cabinets mounted to the walls, the sink was small but there was a dishwasher. She loved the spiral staircase that led up to the loft, framing the kitchen to the left with small shiny baubles hanging from it.

There was a hamsa and a cross, both stained glass and hanging from the tallest step. Pretty cat toys hung from the lower railings, just within the kitten’s reach. It made Penny’s skin itch, just how lovely and perfect the whole cabin was. More evidence that they were paying a freaky amount of attention to her and every move she made.

“You didn’t fail, doll,” Bucky’s tone was quiet and he hesitated for a moment before following after her several paces, ending up on the edge of the kitchen, “You didn’t fuck it up, Peter—”

“Peter is trapped in a prison in New York with a creep more than twice his age who wants to violate and brainwash him,” Penny was on her knees in front of the fridge, digging through the crisper drawer in the bottom. “Literally all I had to do to prevent that from happening was pay more attention to his daily life. Fuck, kid was practically raising himself with how often I was gone—never stood a chance, you know?”

“Don’t think like that Penny,” Steve sighed, leaning down to pick up the kitten that had circled back to his ankles and setting it on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done. You know who Tony Stark is, you know what he’s capable of. You can’t heap that guilt on your shoulders.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She hummed, absently throwing a package of bacon onto the floor, followed by a flat of raw chicken and beef. “There can be dairy in here or there can be meat, not both.”

“We might need a second fridge,” Bucky observed quietly, watching Penny drop a couple of deli bags with sandwich meat onto the ground before she started shuffling everything into different places within the cooler. “We could keep it in the shed?”

“No room,” Steve shook his head absently, “garage?”

Penny had collected a stack of items from the fridge and piled them onto the counter, not even bothering to look back on the soldiers as she began puttering around. The open-faced cabinets on the walls held mostly dishes and containers filled with ingredients and she ducked down, opening the lower cabinets and digging out several pans.

“Do you… do you want a hand, doll?” Bucky asked hesitantly after several moments, watching her collect ingredients and tools and turn on the stove.

“No.”

“Penny—”

“Can I make lunch please?” She whipped around, an irritated look on her face and a spatula in hand, looking like she was about to use it to beat them both, “I’m hungry and I want to die, I figure you’ll only allow me to fulfill one of those wants so can you let me cook?”

The next thing she knew, Penny had been swept up into Bucky’s arms. The solider looked confused, lips curled in frustration but his brow furrowed with dismay. She stiffened at the action when he stomped back to the couch and sat down roughly, dropping her over his knees and landing a smarting blow to her ass through her shorts without warning.

“Thirty for this fucking attitude,” he barked, yanking the shorts down until the waistband settled under the curve of her ass against the tops of her thighs, “count.”

A sharp inhale followed the first skin to skin hit and Penny snarled in response, “one.”

“Apologize,” Steve’s fingers tangled into her hair, extracting the hair tie and letting the curls fall in chaotic waves over her shoulders and face.

“Two,” she counted dutifully and angrily, narrowed eyes landing on Steve’s face, “I’m sorry you’re a fucking monster!”

“That just added ten more, Penny,” Bucky sighed through gritted teeth, “you better reign it in.”

“You better just kill me,” she rasped, nails digging into his leg where she was holding on for balance through the hits, “because I won’t reign it in. I’m sick to death of you motherfuckers—Oh, fuck, three!”

“No cursing during punishments, start from one,” Steve ordered darkly, the hand in her hair pulling taught as he glanced into Bucky’s eyes—the baffling combination of anger and dismay and loss in the brunet’s eyes let him know he wasn’t the only one scrambling.

“Fuck you!” Penny shook her head roughly as if to dislodge his hand, canting her head to the side the best she could manage to look him in the eye, “beat me black and blue, I don’t fucking care. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore! Nothing fucking matters.”

content warnings: spanking *edit, addition content warning: disrespectful terminology for Jewish people 

[warsofasoiaf]

Character Analysis: Jon Irenicus

Irenicus is a fun villain, and I think nailed one interesting element of writing down, that of bringing down the villain’s threat in an interesting and believable way. The hero typically grows in power in any story, not just in a game where your progression is literally your XP, but what the villain does, how they grow, is also interesting. If the villain is more powerful than the hero, and also does things to grow and learn, theoretically the villain should still be wrecking house. BG2 wove this into the story itself, where the more you learned about Irenicus, the less menacing he became, culminating into where he was arguably your lesser at the end: he was powerful but only aping what you were. 

Obviously, spoilers for BG2 abound.

Baldur’s Gate II introduces us to our villain almost as a cold open. Fresh off the high of defeating Sarevok, you leave Baldur’s Gate after being pressured to leave by “dark forces” and by those who suspected that you shared similar heritage to Sarevok. Seems a bit odd, honestly, to oust the Bhaalspawn with suspicion given that during the course of Baldur’s Gate I, you saved two of the Grand Dukes. It’s certainly understandable that folks would fear your heritage and you’d want to move on to greener pastures, but something more than a 3-minute cut scene would have probably set the scene better.

However, this opening, and the ‘cutscene’ that follows gives Irenicus a grand initial reveal to the player. This guy is an ultra-powerful wizard, and he speaks with a clinical detachment as he states: “It’s time for more experiments.” It’s a wonderful opening to illustrate exactly what you’re dealing with. He’s clearly interested in your godly soul, and exploiting it to some unknown purpose. What is unknown, as he gets called away by some unspecified intruders by a golem. In the next scene, magical traps are set off as an unspecified Shadow Thief gets disintegrated. Story-wise, this serves no purpose, it’s purely meant to be a way to show off the new spell effects and other cosmetic changes to the engine from Baldur’s Gate II, with the disintegration dust and the screen shaking. But it does help illustrate the power level that Irenicus is throwing around. Save-or-die spells were relatively rare in the lower level of Baldur’s Gate I, even Semaj, Sarevok’s mage companion, wasn’t firing off disintegration willy-nilly. Throwing around disintegration spells clearly shows that Irenicus is a new high-level baddy. Later we see that he killed characters from Baldur’s Gate I off-screen, Khalid and Dynahier, two of the three sets of paired companions from BG1. This gives their partners reason to join in with the player character, but it also serves to show his power; Irenicus is such a bad dude that he can wipe your party before the game starts, like he was getting coffee. It might be a cruel cut, but that’s its intent, to make the player character mad at the villain, to want to punch his smarmy face in.

Commensurate in the danger of Irenicus is the need to find out what’s going on. Irenicus clearly knows something about your godly soul and so you want to find out what he knows. Even for an upstanding lawful good character, growing in power means finding a way to effect good on a larger scale, and perhaps to overcome the evil in your tainted blood. After all, no matter how good you were in Baldur’s Gate I, you still were an incredibly powerful killer. Sure, most if not all of them were bad dudes, Mulahey the iron ore poisoner, the bandits of Cloakwood, the Iron Throne and their plans to take over the Sword Coast. But chaos and destruction follow in your wake, and that chaos undoubtedly would hurt innocent civilians; Saradush in Throne of Bhaal is clear of that enough. Even just knowing more about what is going on could better prepare you for the next Irenicus or the next Sarevok.

When you go through the starter dungeon (another piece of game design, you are being tutorialized but the pastoral instruction of Candlekeep makes no sense for someone who already had an adventure), pieces of the man start to fall into place. He holds a bunch of captive dryads as concubines to remind him of someone he lost. He keeps an immaculate bedroom for a companion that is never there, with an alarm ready to dispatch the golems to kill any who cross the threshold. There’s a woman that was in his life that is no longer there, and the loss pains him, or at least, it seems that it should. Chatter with Imoen and the dryads show that this mystery man is trying to elicit feelings that he had lost, and that’s an entirely different case of worms than pining over a lost love. There’s some element of almost-unwilling psychopathy to these actions. Other hints in this dungeon illustrate this as well. His servants, discarded in vats and forgotten about entirely, would at first evoke classical evil overlords casually disregarding their own subjects. He’s almost all of the way there, but there’s enough there that the player is suggested that there has to be something more to it than that. He does seem to have some sort of sociopathy to him, where people are objects that he can find fascinating but he has no empathy. We see this later with Wanev, who Irenicus spares solely because he was hit by a spell that left him a lunatic, which Irenicus found funny, the administrator of a jail for the insane now rendered an insane patient himself.

He is powerful though, that much is clear when you break out of the starter dungeon. His display of magic collapsed part of Waukeen’s Promenade, and when the regulatory magical body of the Cowled Wizards comes to shut it down, Irenicus is capable of swatting mages like they were mosquitos. Just like the Shadow Thieves that he had been fighting, Irenicus seems more annoyed at the interruptions than any physical threat posed by his myriad foes. He’s definitely a powerful wizard, and when he finally submits to the Cowled Wizards, he does so clearly as their superior, dragging Imoen along with him. It’s fairly plain from a game design perspective what Irenicus is doing; he’s going to Spellhold so you have to get there. Good characters want to rescue Imoen, evil characters want to interrogate him to unlock the power in your blood. Either way, the player character is given a goal, and Irenicus disappears physically from the story for the moment.

He isn’t absent though. In your dreams, Jon Irenicus waxes philosophical at the player character, evoking thought-provoking questions. He explains the paradox of your existence of being born of murder, given life from the act of taking life. He speaks about accepting the gifts that will be given to you, regardless of whether or not you want them. These dream sequences are clear upgrades in quality and presentation from the spoken-dialogue text boxes from the first game after you beat major milestones. David Warner does a great job here in delivering Irenicus’s lines, he feels like a evil mentor speaking about philosophical topics with the same detachment that he tortured the player character with in the opening. While we find out later that these dreams aren’t sendings from Irenicus but rather parts of your character’s godly subconscious, they suggest to the player going through Chapter 3 that Irenicus does indeed know a hell of a lot more about you and your godly blood, keeping the player interesting in finding out exactly what it is you need to find out. The other quests in Chapter Three don’t have much to do with Irenicus, aside from some random events with the guild war in Athkatla at night, where the player will find out pretty quick that one side is powered by vampires, the level drain and click-dialogue of “your blood is rather inviting” isn’t exactly hiding that there be vampires engaged in a secret war with the Shadow Thieves. Even then, it’s tangential. You knew the Shadow Thieves were attacking Irenicus, which suggests at least some level of camaraderie with the vampires, but as we saw with the deep dwarves in Irenicus’s lair, he doesn’t care about followers, and they might simply be disposable assets if anything at all. If you want to know about Irenicus, you’re going to have to get it from the man himself. 

Of course, as befits a high-level mage, Irenicus breaks out of the prison in a cutscene, kills the Cowled Wizards and goes back to whatever unsavory plans he thought up for Imoen, teleporting into the lobby and chewing the scenery with his “I CANNOT BE CAGED!” speech, reinforcing his position as the central big bad and confirming the Cowled Wizards as mere obstacles. This part of his plan has been made clear. Far from the meddling Shadow Thieves and Cowled Wizards, Irenicus can continue his experiments on Imoen in Spellhold, and it falls on the player character to go there and end it. Irenicus, of course, knows this too, and he makes sure he has contingency plans to deliver you to him. I’m of three minds on this. On one, he’s so powerful it seems that he is so powerful, and Amn so large, that plenty of these isolated areas within the continent would service just as well for Irenicus’s lair. Why waste time with all of this blah-blah-blah and just take what he wants? It’s not like teleport spells are beyond his ken. On the other hand, it’s a good way to break up into the freeform quest design that Chapter Three gives, offers the chance for your characters to level up and get cool gear, lets you rock the stronghold quests which definitely let you feel your class and increase replay value, and the idea of the forbidding wizard in the island lair is an excellent backdrop. On the third, it’s in-character for an immortal mage to have plans within plans, even to the point of complexity addiction, although his conduct afterward sort of torpedoes this idea. 

That is, after he recaptures you, he immediately goes back to work to his experiments, and after another trippy dream sequence with Imoen, you find his plan. His goal is to absorb your divine soul, taking it for his own. He doesn’t explain anything more, but now that he has you, he discards you just as he has so many others. Telling his sister Bodhi to dispose of you is what keeps him from being someone like the Riddler, since he’s actually going for a proper smart villain play and killing the soulless husk he leaves behind just in case he pulls a protagonist move and comes clawing back for his stolen soul. It’s Bodhi’s instability, her desire to hunt you brought on by her vampirism, that keeps you alive. After the player character becomes the Slayer, Bodhi tells Irenicus, but true to his condescending nature, he simply...ignores the PC, writing them off as someone who is going to keel over any second due to their lack of soul, completely oblivious to the fact that Bhaal’s avatar was the Slayer, and it’s clear that something is replacing the void that he left within you. The PC must effectively turn that dismissiveness against him, by releasing the imprisoned mages within Spellhold, from the powerful but mostly harmless Dili to the megalomaniacal Tiax. Yet this hard-fought battle does not end with Irenicus’s death and your victory, instead Irenicus goes to pursue his other, as-yet unknown goals while he sends another band of cutthroats to die at your hand. 

Yoshimo is sort of my feelings on this Irenicus’s Spellhold plot writ small. As powerful as Irenicus is, he really doesn’t need Yoshimo, not if he has Sarmon Havarian and so many others. Yoshimo shows up in the starter dungeon, and is useful if a bit obsequious in a “who me?” sort of fashion. He doesn’t have a really good reason to stay with the party from a story reason that he gives you. He could have said: “Hey, thanks for getting me out. Deuces!” Yoshimo’s geas gets him to want to stay with the party, otherwise he’s dead. In that sense, it makes sense for him to want to be with the group. And as the only thief who gains levels aside from the absolutely annoying Jan Jansen, he’s useful for dealing with annoying traps, because reloading a game because your main PC tripped a trap and got petrified is certainly frustrating. Game mechanics though, interfere with this. You as the player character have control over the six-person party and if you want Yoshimo to be there, he’ll be there, and if you don’t, he’ll sit in the Copper Coronet, geas be damned. He’ll stand right there until you go back in after the Underdark chapter, in which case he flops over dead and hardly anyone cares. That’s a system engine limitation certainly, but it’s remarkably clumsy. What is good though, is Yoshimo’s regret during this. He knows he has to betray you and is forced to do so, and he genuinely likes you. The writing that happens is crisp, Yoshimo truly does apologize and Irenicus backs up his dismissive assholery by telling him to shut up. When Yoshimo confronts you in Spellhold, his writing is crisp. “No redemption, and no second chances. My heart to Ilmater.” He fights you and goes down swinging (which was annoying the first time I played because he had the Celestial Fury +3). And you can actually take that heart to Ilmater, occupying a valuable inventory space through the next chapters until you can reach Waukeen’s Promenade again, where you can choose to forgive him or not, but give the heart to Ilmater either way. It would have been saccharine to restore Yoshimo, but this way, I feel, is more powerful in a world with such powerful enchantments to see the effects on the people whose lives it ruins. So the game can be clunky at parts, and Irenicus can be as well, but there’s true craft and joy in it.

Back to Irenicus though, we get the sense of more to him when we see the intro splash screen for the next Chapter. Making a dark bargain with the drow, we see that they have captured surface elves, one of whom immediately refers to Irenicus as Joneleth, suggesting a backstory far deeper as Irenicus immediately resorts to killing the prisoner after being the one to suggest interrogation instead of immediate execution, a lashing out that seems out of character for the clinically-detached evil villain we’ve been coming to know. The backstory is clear in the Forgotten Realms, the dark elves and surface elves are mortal foes and anyone who is known to the surface elves to ally with the dark elves is a great betrayal. As the PC goes through the Underdark and comes out, they are captured by the surface elves. Through a conversation with Eldoth, it can become evident that the surface elves know more than they are letting on, such as when they are the ones who suggest holy water and stakes to fight Bodhi, despite not knowing anything about either one of them. After you slay Bodhi and restore Imoen’s soul to its rightful place, you can call Eldoth out on it. Irenicus is “the Shattered One,” an exile of the elves, and it’s here that Irenicus’s story becomes apparent.

Irenicus was a powerful wizard and lover of Queen Ellesime named Joneleth. Yet in his heart, Joneleth yearned for more power and sought to take the essence of the Tree of Life, the lifeblood of the city of Suldanesselar, for himself and Bodhi. This dark ritual nearly killed many that existed within Suldanesselar, and so Joneleth and Bodhi were punished, stripping their elven nature and immortality away from them, leaving them with a mortal lifespan, thus Joneleth became Jon Irenicus, the Shattered One. Bodhi sought to become a vampire to transgress the mortal years she had, but Jon had felt that it degraded her to that of a high-functioning beast. Irenicus’s scheme was far more grandiose if also possessing an elegant simplicity: he lost an immortal soul and so he needed to take one for himself. The Bhaalspawn was the perfect choice, powerful enough to defeat Sarevok and awaken the power within, weak enough to be captured and have the divine soul snatched away. With his stolen soul freshly acquired, Irenicus now looked to the second part of himself, to revenge himself on the elves. The dark elf invasion ultimately failed, helped out by the PC butchering the leadership of Ust Natha, but Irenicus is still going with golems and summoned demons to destroy the city, usurp the power of the Tree of Life, and complete his long ago schemes. 

I... I do not remember your love, Ellesime. I have tried. I have tried to recreate it, to spark it anew in my memory, but it is gone... a hollow, dead thing. For years, I clung to the memory of it. Then the memory of the memory. And then nothing. The Seldarine took that from me, too. I look upon you and feel nothing. I remember nothing but you turning your back on me, along with all the others. Once my thirst for power was everything. And now I hunger only for revenge. And I... WILL... HAVE IT!!

When confronted by Queen Ellesime, she even asks if there was any part of him that remembered the love he had for her, and the PC sees that it’s her that was in his mind for the beautiful bedroom way back in chapter one. It was almost certainly her that Irenicus thought of when he was with his dryad concubines. And when she poses that question, he answers with the above quote, that he feels nothing. While it seems like this is a loss of depth, that he’s just a flat character, I don’t think this is the case. Irenicus had the chance to change, for self-reflection. Instead, he remembers it as all the others turning their back on him, without any recognition that his schemes nearly killed them. It’s the classic abuser mentality, how dare you make me do these things to you. When his victims tried to defend themselves, he lashed out and remembers only their ‘cruelty’ to him. It’s this that makes Irenicus, for all his great arcane might, so small. Where before he was this intimidating figure, now he’s a petty man, and fittingly, it’s here that you can kill him. Temporarily, at least, because there’s still one more dungeon. Irenicus and you are still battling for your divine soul, and after a few self-reflective quests of your own, you duel Irenicus, who dies pitiably, torn to shreds by demons as his power fails him. It fits the heroic and thematic heft of the arc. As you grow in power, Irenicus diminishes in threat. He was your torturer, an inhuman menace, then he became just a man, torn apart by tiny demons that you probably could take down by the truckload. 

There’s good things to learn here. Irenicus isn’t a super-unique villain, although some of the villain tropes are personalized for the sake of the Baldur’s Gate story specifics. But he does his job admirably. David Warner’s voice work, and the special effects (pretty good for when the game came out in 2000) really was able to sell Irenicus as an enjoyable villain. 

Thanks for the suggestions, Anons who were looking forward to this.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[madmaenad]

Meta on Sun Xiang & Qiu Fei’s Relationship

So the other day, Wack from the TKA discord mentioned in passing how Qiu Fei and Sun Xiang are like two ships passing in the night. The image stuck with me because it’s both poetic and accurate: two people occupying the same space, but heading in opposite directions, and never managing to stand on the same ground.

It’s notable that in a novel the size of TKA, the two almost never interact. In fact, there are only two examples of SX & QF speaking to each other outside of Glory in the entire novel. BB just didn’t fill in the rest, as he does, but what we have is consistent. I think it’s worth looking closely at their connection, because the novel very obviously sets these two characters up as foils of one another: Sun Xiang as the light, and Qiu Fei as his shadow. QF and SX are teammates who have several things in common (young Battlemages connected to Ye Xiu who have been trained to work together) - things that should draw the two together - but end up serving as a backdrop to the ways they are opposites. 

Let’s start with QF and SX’s very first interaction on page. Context: SMC has just given EE a magnificent chewing out about how all their worrying about YX is pointless, because YX seeks nothing but victory and EE is just another opponent to him. 

“Su Mucheng got up and left the conference room.

The room was completely silent. Just when everyone was wondering how long this silence would last, someone finally broke it. Someone stood up.

"I’ll be going to practice."

Qiu Fei.

This rookie had only just been promoted from the training camp this season. To think he dared to speak out against the Club’s manager. "I’ll be going to practice." By saying that, it meant he agreed with Su Mucheng.　

Ignoring everyone else’s gaze towards him, Qiu Fei left the conference room. The remaining people looked at one another, occasionally sneaking a glance at Cui Li.

This time, their captain Sun Xiang spoke up: "Haha, that child. He’s really got a personality. How interesting."

F*ck! Everyone slapped their forehead. Bro, I think you’re misreading the issue here. (885)”

The dynamic established here of ‘SX misreading QF’ is consistent all the way to the end of the Challenger League. QF has just made an extremely symbolic gesture of support for SMC, YX, and YX’s ideals of pursuing victory without distraction. All of that meaning completely flies over SX’s head. His reading of the situation is pure, shallow surface meaning only. His reaction is an abrupt change of emotional tone, and helps draw a dividing line between the two characters from the very beginning. It also highlights the different maturity levels between the two characters (The very next line is the famous “It wasn’t Xiao Shiqin’s first time witnessing Sun Xiang’s stupidity,” btw XD).

Additionally, we can read the line about SX finding QF interesting as a suggestion that SX didn’t think QF was interesting before now. We don’t know when QF became his shadow, but this scene happens in December and QF has been on the team since August/September. The options I see here are either A. the two hadn’t interacted much B. They interacted but SX just didn’t know QF well. 

In our next interaction, QF has just lost his match to YX in the Challenger League group round:

"You played well." Sun Xiang actually acted like a captain for once and comforted Qiu Fei, who was returning to the bench. Qiu Fei smiled, but didn't say anything before returning to his seat, but his gaze was aimed at Excellent Era's competition booth. On the field, they didn't have any way to communicate with words. Everything was based on their mechanics, attacks, defense, movement, and dodges. In this match, Qiu Fei had given it his all, but still lost. However, there would always be defeat in competition. He might've lost this time, but next time he'd win for certain, no matter who he was up against.

After giving his encouragement to one of their players, he casually glanced towards Happy and suddenly raised his voice. "It's just a shame that you left a Ye Qiu with only half his health for me. Even if I win, there will be no honor in it! (1016)”

Again, SX completely misreads the situation. QF doesn’t need to be comforted. At all. The following narration makes that clear - QF is already looking toward his next match. The mismatched emotional tone here between QF’s state and SX’s reply even makes me cringe a little bit. Like his mentor YX (who SX has just disparaged), QF is thinking about victory, but SX is thinking about honor. Their priorities are completely different - QF & SX aren’t on the same wavelength at all. Even after SX has trained together with QF as his shadow for months, he doesn’t seem to know QF’s personality. Based on this interaction, I’d find it difficult to believe the two of them are close. 

Next, let’s take a look at their in-game exchanges during the Challenger League Finals and what they say about SX & QF’s partnership as light & shadow.

“It was easy to think of what Sun Xiang was feeling like after being played around like that. He had been preparing to show his superiority over Ye Xiu in this team competition. Not yelling at Qiu Fei to move to the side was already a huge improvement for him. (1039)”

I bring up this quote because it means that SX has previously yelled at QF...who’s supposed to be his shadow and whose entire job is to help him. And not doing so is a ‘huge’ improvement. 

I don’t intend this as ‘SX was mean to QF.’ Pre character development SX would probably yell at any of his teammates. It’s just especially ‘ouch’ because QF’s entire job is to stick by SX’s side and coordinate with OAL. 

Okay, next quote.

“In the end, Sun Xiang was forced to retreat and leapt backwards twice to just barely dodge the attack. However, Soft Mist wasn't done yet. She was just about to execute her next attack. However, Qiu Fei's Combat Style attacked from the flank, stopping Soft Mist from continuing her assault.

From an outsider's point of view, it was a very normal assistance from a teammate, but in Sun Xiang's eyes, it was disgraceful! Just Soft Mist alone had forced him to require Qiu Fei's assistance? (1040)

QF is supposed to be SX’s helper, but SX thinks being helped is disgraceful. The narrative even calls this out as unreasonable. When one half of a partnership rejects the other person’s help, that is not a strong or stable partnership. 

Here’s one more:

“Sun Xiang had originally planned on continuing to attack Soft Mist, but then saw Combat Form force her back. Annoyance flickered in his heart as he had One Autumn Leaf chase after her, but after the first step, he suddenly remembered that rescuing their healer should be their priority. He immediately turned around and headed towards Woven Shadow. As for Qiu Fei's Combat Form? He just quietly followed alongside One Autumn Leaf. Only a professional's eyes would have been able to see the significance of that Rising Dragon Soars the Sky. (1041)

Once again, QF acts exactly as a shadow ought to by covering SX’s mistakes, and it just makes SX annoyed with him. I’d like to pause here to remind you that QF’s dream was always to stand beside One Autumn Leaf and seek victory side by side with YX. As OAL’s shadow, technically he’s achieved a piece of that dream. But SX’s reactions here are a rejection of QF as his shadow. SX doesn’t want a partner, SX wants individual glory. 

How ironic, that QF should gain what he hoped for and be cruelly denied it at the same time.

If you’d like an extra bit of pain, I’ll remind you that QF is both perceptive and thoughtful. It isn’t unreasonable at all to believe that QF sensed SX’s attitude toward his help. :)

I’ll end with one last quote:

“Sun Xiang turned his view with this attack. What he saw caused him to charge over like he had gone crazy, trying to use his own body to block the three Anti-Tank Missiles.

But it was too late. Everything was too late. Lord Grim didn't just send out Anti-Tank Missiles. A grenade had also rolled over, across the ground.

Combat Form, Qiu Fei's Combat Form had run out of health.

The shadow that had been with him the whole way, helping him. In truth, Sun Xiang hadn't thought that he was very important, but in that moment, he truly wished to save Combat Form from death, willing, even, to use his own character, One Autumn Leaf, to shield his shadow from death.

But it was all too late. Engulfed by the light of the explosion, Combat Form could no longer escape and his health fell to zero. Combat Form, he had fallen.

AAAAAHHHHHH!

In the player booth, no one could hear how Sun Xiang had screamed. (1051)”

At the very end, SX realizes QF’s value. But it’s too late, both for the match and for his partnership with QF. SX transfers soon afterward and doesn’t get a chance to fix his mistakes.

I have to wonder - did SX’s belief that having a shadow wasn’t important transfer over into a belief that QF also wasn’t very important? Is this why SX doesn’t seem to know much about QF?

That’s the last we see of the two characters interacting, but I’ll point out that SX earns best partners with ZZK the very next season. Is that SX learning from his mistakes and throwing himself into becoming the best possible partner he could be? I’d like to think so. 

How does this dynamic play out when QF returns to the Alliance with EE? SX, older and wiser and aware how badly he failed QF...come on guys where’s the fic

[yan-twst]

Which YANDERE tw Bois would want a darling that is a talented florist?

I think Rook, Cater, and Kalim would be particularly interested.

Rook is a fan of natural beauty- and flowers are just nature's biggest display of beauty, aren't they? Since his darling probably has to tend to flowers in order to make bouquets and arrangements, he'd love to watch from a distance as they work- hell, if he can find a good window or opening to watch them work in actually arranging the flowers, he will. He's in love not only with his darling's looks, but with how they can skillfully arrange flowers into beautiful creations... As a hunter, he's quite patient: but he'll want to capture his prey more and more impatiently each passing day, so his darling better be enjoying those days of freedom, because they were numbered the second Rook took interest in them.

Cater has always been a fan of flowers- don't they just make the best photo backgrounds? He probably swings around his darling's workplace quite often to use the bouquets and arrangements as the perfect backdrops for his selfies. Of course, he'll constantly try to rope his darling into joining his photos- his magicam is full of pictures of him smiling with his slightly confused darling by his side. He may seem like he's dropping by to just casually flirt and take pictures, but don't be fooled: every visit he's thinking of the day when he finally gets to make his darling truly his... And the way his obsession is going, it's likely that he'll snap anytime soon.

Kalim loves pretty things- so he loves his darling and he loves their flowers! Instead of lurking in the shadows or just casually flirting but not actually advancing, he'll be quite straightforward with a confession. He'll offer any flower his darling could want, any tools- anything they need! Slowly, he'll draw his darling closer and closer; look at this flower garden he got for them! Why not perhaps move in to this convenient house near there? Actually, why not move in with him? He'll pile on so many offers, his darling will probably not even understand what they're saying yes to: but the second they agree, they might not know they've just agreed to lock themselves in and throw away the key.

[slashingdisneypasta]

MultiVillain x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: Okay, so this is how it goes. Reader’s in love with (Villain), and (Villain) is in love with them… but no one ever said it out loud, and now Reader is marrying someone else.

Includes: Napoleon Boneparte (Misc), Human!Oogie Boogie (Disney Villain), Oswald Cobblepot (Gotham), Slenderman (Creepypasta), The Clown (Horror Villains)

Warnings: Alcohol intake, talk and hints towards murder of course, and swearing. 

Notes:

Inspired by ‘Marry Me’ (Either by Thomas Rhett [The guy’s POV which is what this will be in] or Elle Mears [Your POV, if you wanna see how Reader’s thinking]) and I recommend you listen while you read! ^^

I’m so happy!! I finally wrote something more then headcanons for Oogie! And this is also my first time writing for the Clown, so be easy on me XD

I hope you like this- I for one, am actually pretty proud of it! 

~~~

Napoleon Boneparte (You’re having a nighttime wedding- you made this decision of course so your friend and secret soulmate could attend):

She wants to get married, she wants it perfect She wants her grandaddy preaching the service Yeah, she wants magnolias out in the country Not too many people, save her daddy some money

Before walking into the church, I halt a moment at the side so others may get inside by me. This will be hard. I need a moment, just a moment… to pull myself together. It would be very bad, if I were to panic as Y/N makes their way down the aisle.

Hand on the church, more to hold myself together rather then to hold myself up. Am I doing the right thing? Should I be here? Should I leave? That stupid Capone said I might not be able to control myself and will object when the preacher asks… he’s not right, is he? It’s true, I don’t feel entirely under my own control right now…. But I need to be here. To support Y/N on their big day.

… I do love them, far more than any man every should a nearly married person, and even if I can’t have them for myself, I would, happy, do very near anything to make them happy.

So, if… If they want me here, as they said they do… Then I have to go in. I can’t chicken out now. I am the great Napoleon Boneparte. I can attend a wedding. Bon dieu.

Viva La France.

I can do this.

Forward!

As soon as I walk in, it is as if I am strolling into Y/N’s mind. This is just as they always wanted, with a few obvious added things by the other one that’s getting married today, like the chiselled cat head mahogany chairs… not that I think Y/N would disapprove if they weren’t, in fact, kind enough to just agree right away, seeing as it isn’t only their day.

The white makes a beautiful backdrop for their chosen accent colour, and the people in the room are exactly who I would imagine to accompany Y/N in her daily life, when I cannot be there. There’s not a sour, or in any way unexcited and unencouraging expression in the place.

Honestly, with my whole heart, wish I could feel the same as them.

Then Y/N comes into the room, and steals the breath right out of my chest. Like always.

Human!Oogie Boogie:

Ooh, she got it all planned out Yeah, I can see it all right now

I'll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back I'll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask

Christ, what kinda shindig is this?? I’ve asked everyone and their cat, including somebodies’ mother who looks like a cat, to play a tiny game of Blackjack with me while we wait for the main event, but nothing! Nada! What’s wrong with these people? Are they dying to just sit around and contemplate their loneliness until the two hosts get hitched??

I, for one, am not playing that game today.

Of course, I’m also avoiding Y/N at all costs so maybe I’m not the best example of a man controlling his emotions.

“Oogie!”

My shoulders seize up visibly, at Y/N’s voice behind me and I stop shuffling my cards. I only decide to turn around and face them like a man, when they give up waiting and round me so I can see their beaming face.

Oh, they look so happy.

That’s nice… in a terrible, heartbreaking, awful kind of way.

“Heya, Y/N. You look great!” I start shuffling the cards again in my hand, distracting my hands from and refraining myself from, taking their hand and kissing it, or pulling them into a hug. If I did that, I think theirs an acute possibility I would end up saying something we would both regret, in a moment of determination… and devastation, of course. Can’t forget that.

Really, I can’t. It’s a very prominent feeling right now in my chest, just being here. Just knowing this is happening.

“Thank you!” They beam wider, and oh Jesus. They’re so beautiful when they look happy- I wish I could make them this happy.

… But that’s all the other guy. The one they’re hitching.

They run their bottom lip through their teeth, looking down at the cards in my hands and then smirking in that mischievous way that always somehow makes this blackheart’s insides clench up. In a good way, but still. Tilting their head, they look back up at my face. “Had no luck getting anyone to bet with you yet?”

I let out a deep, theatrical sigh full of frustration. “No! Your guests all suck, Y/N.”

“Even you?”

“No, not me. I’m the King.”

“Right,” They laugh, then goes and sits down at a nearby table. “Well we have 10 minutes until I have to go get ready to walk- I’ll play you if you want!”

My heart pops like a balloon, and goes flying, wheezing around in my rib cage as I just smile at them for a good moment- unmarried, and free, and mine. For ten to fifteen more minutes. Hell yeah, I’m going to sit down and play with them.

Why aren’t I telling them not to? I wonder, as I deal us both cards and they pick theirs up and make cheeky ‘Hmmm’ sounds to throw me off. Why don’t I tell them, right now, how I feel? Why am I doing this to myself? Why am I here, is also a valid question but I already beat myself up over that last night when I was picking out my tie. I’m her friend, and they deserve to be… yuck. Happy, with the person they chose.

And I guess, that’s the answer to all my other questions too.

Let me just enjoy this last game, this last 600 seconds with them.

Oswald Cobblepot:

I remember the night when I almost kissed her Yeah, I kinda freaked out, we'd been friends for forever And I always wondered if she felt the same way When I got the invite, I knew it was too late

And I know her daddy's been dreading this day Oh, but he don't know he ain't the only one giving her away

As soon as Y/N leaves my side to go and freshen up for the aisle walk, I find myself a seat in the very back of the church / auditorium and rest in for the event. I will not be moving from this hidden away spot, in convenient shadow, with my secret flask of terrible smelling stuff that Victor gave me before arriving, until this shitshow is over and I can leave.

I’m only here in the first place, because Y/N asked me. And, evidently, my idiocy runs deep because I accepted such an invitation. I will do anything, for them. I learnt my lesson in dealing in peoples love lives, with Edward and Isobel- I will not let my relationship with Y/N go as badly as that one did, with Ed.

So if I must sit here and watch them marry that moron, (Fiancé’s Name), then that is what I’ll do. But I won’t sit in the front and watch it, and I will be as drunk as whatever this drink can make me.

Maybe I should text Victor, the deadly assassin, and ask what the contaminants are…

An unevolved, ap-like woman walks past my seat and I must be too close to the aisle because I can hear her yap like a strangled cat about what a cute couple Y/N and (Fiancé’s Name) are together and how they must be soulmates, and I don’t think twice before gulping down a huge mouthful of the alcohol. If this is how I die, then so be it, I think bitterly as I slide further down the aisle.

“Fuck!” The word comes out of me before I can stop it, my face probably the picture of horror and disgust. This… drink, if I can even call it that -more of an undiluted acid, if you ask me, - tastes like regret and earwax.

The same ape-like woman from before flashes a stern, disapproving look at me like she thinks she’s my mother, and I show her my middle finger. Uncouth, yes, but affective. This is a bad day, and I am in no mood to deal with bitches like her. She quickly looks away, and I take another, smaller, sip of the drink.

Another moment passes and the wedding doesn’t seem to be even a second closer to ending, so I sit up straight and close my eyes, holding the flask in my lap. Take me back to a better time…

In the silent, middle-of-the-conversation lapse moment, I allow myself to look down at Y/N’s mouth. They have a soft smile, left over from whatever we were just talking about, on their face as they sit comfortably in our silence and I suddenly feel total confidence. They’re here, with me, instead of off with that boy toy / girl toy / gender neutral or fluid toy. They’re with me. That must mean that I mean something to them, right? And Ed said they looked at me like… like, they love me. Or ‘care deeply’, as he put it. But we all know that was just his stiff version of the word ‘love’. Ever since Isobel… had her unfortunate accident… he’s been focused on one emotion only and it is not, love.

Anyway, the confidence spreads through me and I smile. It mixes with my perpetual desire to kiss them, and goddamnit, I should do it. I should just lean over and press a gentle kiss on their mouth- if they aren’t interested or pull away, I can blame it on the wine between us. If not…

Butterflies erupt in my stomach and my chest, and I’ve just lean an inch forward… when their phone rings on the table and I see (Boyfriends Name) flash on the screen.

I rush to lean completely back in my chair, as they answer. I don’t like to believe fate has anything to do with Gotham, but… that was entirely too close.

My eyes snap open and I roll my shoulders back, inhaling another, bigger slug of the contents of the flask and feel even angrier.

That was, most certainly not a better time, you nitwit.

Slenderman:

Bet she got on her dress now, welcoming the guests now

I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now But I ain't gonna mess it up, so I'll wish her the best now

I’ve been sitting in the back of this church, a place I likely shouldn’t ever enter in the first place -Well, at least I’m not Offender. I would probably burn to death, in that scenario, - for over 2 hours and I only got to see Y/N for 45 and a half minutes of that time.

Not that that really matters. Its more important that they see me. I certainly don’t want to see them. I don’t wish to see them, or their wedding clothes, or their wedding guests, or the stupid moony smiles on their faces, or the cake, or their partner. Definitely not their partner. If they show their face before they absolutely have to, or worse, talk to me, I will promptly go home and kill 30 people. I don’t want to be here.

I shouldn’t be here, in fact. If I were a good man, I wouldn’t be here. A good man would never turn up to a wedding that he know’s he’s just going to sit back in and think unholy, too-fond and too-angry thoughts about one of the marriage participants. Marriage is supposedly a sacred thing, and if I were this good man that I’m thinking about, I wouldn’t urinate on it like this.

But I am not a good man.

So, really, what would I know about what a good man, would do in the first place?

Enough thinking about good men, it’s making me queasy and very uncomfortable.

I don’t look around, but I can infer with general certainty, that Y/N will be welcoming all her other guests now that I ‘allowed’ -Not that I could have stopped them. They just didn’t want to leave me in my own company,- them to let me be alone here. And they’re in their wedding clothes, which look lovely on them, and their smiling and their giddy.

Giddy. Ugh, I hate that word, especially in this sense. Defined by the Cambridge English Dictionary as ‘feeling silly, happy, and excited and showing this in your behaviour’. And by the Oxford, to ‘Make (Someone) feel excited to the point of disorientation.’. Yes, I looked up these definitions and memorised them before I came, and loathe every single word, in that order.

Because apparently, as if it wasn’t already obvious by the very fact that I’m HERE, I hate myself.

This other person has made Y/N giddy, while I have to sit here and pretend, I’m happy for them both and that I don’t feel like vomiting for the first time in 5 centuries.

But I can’t do anything about it, because I love them, Y/N, and I will… I will not, allow myself to be the reason their wedding wasn’t perfect. So, I wish them the best.

Or I try my damn hardest to.

The Clown / Jeffry Hawk / Kenneth Chase:

So I'm in my black suit, black tie, hiding out in the back Doing a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees Yeah, she wanna get married Yeah, she gonna get married But she ain't gonna marry me

I don’t know if I’d call this a real wedding. For one, its in the entities realm so how ‘magical’ could it really be? And for another reason, the only white thing here is my grease paint. Its pretty laughable. I would laugh, in fact, if I didn’t know it would cause a coughing fit and bring attention to me as Y/N walks down the aisle- O don’t need them looking at me. I might accidentally blurt out an ‘oopsie’ or something not-at-all funny like that, with all the whiskey I’ve injected today. Not that that would be the biggest issue with these kids seeing that I’m here, in the first place. Only Y/N knows, I’m hiding by a tree.  

But, I digress I guess. They’re calling it a wedding. The big one with the beard is officiating -I guess he has an online certificate from before he was brought here,- , Y/N’s wearing a pit of plastic bag on their head like a make shift veil / bit of plastic bag fashioned sort of like a tie, and all the lovely little fingers, or survivors as they like to call themselves, watch. With silly gleaming smiles and hope in their eyes- Pft, suckers.

Honestly the idea of weddings in the first place make me a bit uncomfortable. All those wide eyes watching and perving on your happiness?? Seems pretty creepy to me, and I’ve been told I’m pretty creepy myself! So, I would know!

The fact that possibly the sweetest, perfect person I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting my gaze upon is the one getting married, has absolutely no stake on my take on weddings in this moment.

Absolutely not…

Aha… hahahaha…

I kill myself.

I kill them, too, but let’s put that on the backburner like their fingers, for now.

Let me wallow in self-pity for a while longer before we start making jokes.

Yeah, let me… I take a swig of my flask -a bee-oootiful concoction of all the most toxic hootch I have in my collection, and maybe also some actual poison maybe since I wasn’t paying much attention when I created it this morning and I keep it all in relatively the same place, - and savour the horrible flavour on my tongue. Let me wallow, for a little bit.

This is going to be a bad day, for these little fuckers when I get into the game.

[whyaretheyfictionalcharacters]

Kinktober - Day 3

Day 3 is Nudes!

xoxo Lexi

“What were you doing?”.

Eren takes in the photographic studio Levi owns downtown, the huge umbrellas reflecting the brightness coming off from the lamps still on on the opposite side of a wide, grey backdrop. A metal stool with a thick fur blanket thrown over it is abandoned in front of it, like an item from a long forgotten dream. The room is not very spacious – Eren has seen the other rooms Levi uses as studios in the converted warehouse and this is certainly not the biggest one he has – and he knows his husband uses this for his more...intimate commissions. He's never been at one of those sessions but he knows from what Levi has told him that erotic and nude photography can be very tasteful and elegant if done properly. And Levi doesn't do anything if not properly.

“A client is commissioning an album for her partner”, Levi replies as he walks to switch off he blinding studio lights. “High heels is the theme. Have never seen anyone bringing so many shoes in one session”.

“And fur, I presume?”. Eren touches the soft, synthetic blanket, rubbing it between his fingers. The texture is fluffy and comfortable, but if he pays enough attention he can feel the slight roughness of the synthetic fabric. He tries to imagine the blanket in a different context, maybe thrown on the floor in front of a lit fireplace, like at the cabin they've rented for Levi's birthday last Christmas. Eren can imagine it sliding against his naked skin, figuring how it'd feel down his body.

“And nothing else”.

There is nothing much to add about the session Levi has just had and Eren knows better than enquire about the client and her identity. Not for jealousy – Levi s one of the most straightforward people he's ever met – but because Eren values privacy more than anything else in regards to intimacy and eroticism. The only thing Levi told him more than once is that there are a lot of individuals “in the Scene” that he knows requesting these sort of photographs. For the older man it's always been a job like another and as a man of the “Scene” himself, Levi doesn't mind complying to help others achieve their kinks and pleasures. If erotic photography is a kink, Eren is not really a connoisseur. He's personally never been portrayed by Levy despite the raven-haired numerous attempts at doing so, however…

Eren knows he's a good looking guy – he's not that oblivious – but the idea of posing naked in front of the camera makes his blood rush quicker in his veins and butterflies sparkle in his stomach in an anxious way. And yet, now...maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

“Would you—”.

At the unsure words Levi turns from the lamp, his trusty travel mug probably full of Lapsang Souchong held firmly in his hand. “What?”.

Come on, Eren. He's your husband. He's seen you naked more times than your mother has. “Would you want to—to photograph me? You know, naked. Like your client”.

Deep, grey eyes stare at him seemingly blank though Eren sees the minute difference in the pupils, something he's trained himself to do after almost three years of marriage. Levi twists his obdy to face him now, full attention completely on him. “You know I would”.

“Do you have another appointment soon?”. A shake of the head is all the answer he needs. Eren inhales deeply attempting to build himself up. “Right. So...”.

“So...”.

“How do you want me?”.

The brunet can sense his body becoming a bit restless under the attentive scrutiny of his husband, who brings his hand up and switches back on the lamp. “Naked”.

Fair enough, Eren thinks with an affectionate eye-roll and a small smile. While Levi goes to set back up the studio, he takes off his navy sweater and begins to unbutton his dress shirt; his hands are shaking annoyingly hard and the act of working off his clothes resembles more a herculean task worthy of a classic, Greek epic poem on its own. It's so frustrating how nervous he is considering this is certainly not the first time he's undressed in front of his husband and yet it all feels new. It takes him what seems like an hour before he can hand his discarded clothes to Levi, who as usual folds them neatly and puts them on one side.

Eren looks down at the metal stool for a minute before focusing back up on the older man. “What do I have to do?”.

“Stand behind the stool first. Legs apart. Wider. One hand behind your back”. When Eren complies he fixes marginally his pose. “Not something I do with clients but I can touch this, can't I?”, he asks referring to the tanned body.

The twenty-seven year old sees an almost invisible smirk on the other's thin lip and he can't help but huff a laughter. “Was that in our vows?”.

“No. It would've been grand, though. Especially in front of our parents. 'I'll take thee from behind, front and side every day for the rest of our lives as my legitimate husband'”. Eren explodes in a full-belly laugh, his abdominals shaking with hilarity. “Imagine your father's face”.

“Oh, he's seen worse things up people's butts. I've seen worse and I'm just a family doctor”.

“Ever told you I don't envy you one bit?”.

“Yep”, Eren grins with fondness.

Levi makes him grab the stool with his right hand and he pushes it forward slightly, only the front legs touching the hardwood floor now. “Come forward. A bit more. That's it, stop”.

Looking down, Eren notices the top curve of the stool – now sitting uncomfortably cold against the hidden soft member – is leaving the lighter skin of his groin bare to the eye. The only thing left to the imagination is the size of his dick, the rest? Pretty much everything is well in sight. Levi's steps appear deafening loud in the silence of the studio before a warm weight is placed on his left shoulder. He studies with detached interest while Levi does his job, throwing artistically the fur blanket over his shoulder. After the last light fixes are done, the brightness suffused to a more intimate luminosity, the older man marches back to prepare his camera.

As he waits, Eren can sense goosebumps appearing on his arms but even naked in the middle of a brick-walled room he's not cold; the jitters are palpable as he stands there, muscles tight and jaw clenched.

“You're as sexy as an antique wardrobe”, Levi mutters from behind his viewfinder.

A confused frown. “Are those sexy?”.

“No”. The deadpan almost makes him laugh. “Relax, brat. You're trying to seduce me, not make me sign up for the army”.

“Right. Right, yes”, he sighs. “Uniforms are sexy, though”.

“You're not wearing a uniform”.

“Right”.

He hears a few clicks, sees Levi change position but still staying dead on in front of him. Eren is not completely uncomfortable, though the chill of the metal against his groin seems to be spreading to his whole body now. When he tells the other, Levi rushes to fetch a space heater and puts him outside the frame but still close enough that the warm air hits pleasantly Eren's legs and hips. It seems to go on forever before the older man tell him to leave the stool and blanket on the side and pick up his white shirt.

“I want you to wear it and then take it off down to your elbows”, he's told with the same assertiveness Levi sometimes uses in the bedroom. “Turn on your side, left leg forward”.

After Levi has adjusted the lighting some more he joins Eren in front of the backdrop and twists his arms around so that the shirt hanging from his left arm covers his groin. Through the viewfinder he can notice the sensual, tight curve of Eren's cheeks highlighted by the shirt white hanging behind it. He's been numerous times in this sort of situation – taking nude pictures, sometimes even sexually appealing ones – and always, always kept his professional wits about him. His mind has always looked at what he was seeing under an objective, artistic point of view. Yet now, having his own husband posing naked in front of him is enough to make his jeans feel a bit too tight.

“Look forward”. He takes a few more shots and zooms in. “Look at me”. Eren turns his head. “No, head facing forward still. Just look at me with your eyes”.

“Won't I be ridiculous?”.

“If you think about how much I want to fuck you right now, probably you won't be”.

Eren chokes on his own spit, sputtering inelegantly before glaring at the other. “Levi!”.

“What? It's boudoir photography, Eren. I'm taking nude pictures of my husband right now”.

“So, you want me to think about having sex with you while I'm standing here, naked?”.

Levi looks up from his camera, eyes burning behind black lashes. “If that helps with you relaxing”.

A throat clears uncomfortably and then Eren follows the instructions he's been given. He can't really see Levi in this position. There's a black and pink mass of colour on the corner of his eyes as he tries to stare where he assumes the camera is, and for the first time since he's taken his clothes off Eren lets his mind travel.

The way Levi has always looked at him in the bedroom is something he can't seem to ever forget, with his usual cold eyes burning with lust as Eren walks out of their en-suite with only a towel around his neck, his body still damp from the shower. He can envision the raven-haired lying on their bed, ankles crossed and arms behind his head, watching every line of Eren's body. Levi would have to be naked as well in this setting, obviously, because his physique is the most attractive piece of art he's ever seen. Levi's body is perfect with strong lines flowing straight down his stomach, the bedside lamps creating hypnotic games of light and shadows on his cutting abs; the well-defined cord of his biceps as his head rests on his hands.

“Now we're getting there”.

Levi's voice reaches him like a bucket of ice water and he shakes himself, sight focussing back on Levi taking a few more pictures of him before walking to his laptop to check the shots he's just uploaded from his camera.

As time goes by he's asked to changed position endless times, alongside props and lighting equipment – Eren's never known this was the work that goes behind one shooting session and fortunately Levi doesn't seem to have another client booked for the remaining of the late afternoon. As the day draws to a close Eren relaxes more and more, comfortable in his own skin the more time he's standing naked in the middle of the studio. It's a forbidden feeling the one he has as he poses bare for his husband while Levi takes picture after picture: the knowledge that he shouldn't be doing this is almost disorienting, sending a rush to his brain in a pleasant way when he starts to enjoy the evening spent doing exactly this. When Levi gives him the all-clear to get dressed again before disappearing behind the door that leads to the public area of his photographic studio, Eren takes his time doing so despite small shivers shaking down his muscles from the cold.

He's sitting on the chair tying up his shoes, Levi walks back in with a steaming mug of tea which is handed to him with a small, familiar smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I asked Mina to help me out cleaning up in here. We can go home after that, I'll work on them and we can look at them together next week if you want to come down here again after work”.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Library #1 (12/31/2020)

Click here if you’re like “what the heck is this about?”

Alastor a.k.a. Rhedd @sackreligion hangs out in the library, and invites Alastor a.k.a. The Engineer @it-only-hurts-when-i-smile over to the party. (They also teleported a chunk of kitchen into the library. Radio Demons are a menace to your home.)

Rhedd

You know, this place probably shouldn't be quite so *messy.* Under usual circumstances, it was probably kept rather spotless!

But Rhedd was here and that meant he couldn't keep things spotless. He was rummaging, rummaging around for stuff to play with, to eat, and to generally occupy his time.

And as he did, he was singing *It's All Over But the Crying* by The Ink Spots to himself, occasionally caressing the microphone hooked to his hoodie with a finger. A wire was attached to the mic, and it seemed to slither into his shirt at the collar. His satchel bag still hung from his shoulder, and the radio inside joined in on the singing of the chorus.

Engineer

The microphone chuckled, an ominous upward-ascending click. It was sudden, jarring; up until now the thing had been dark and silent but for the occasional whistle of feedback, as though it had been placed in a desert to catch nothing but the sound of wind. It hadn't been clear if the connection was even viable, but it was obvious now that the Presence was Here.

Red light blasted through the teardrop-shaped vents encircling the carbon center, illuminating the contents of a cabinet that sat slightly ajar. The laugh replayed itself, but backward, and then the smooth voice with its cultivated accent harmonized in triplicate.

"ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ..."

Rhedd

Oohh-HO! Look at THAT cabinet! Rhedd's ears lift up--his expression was indiscernible, as he was wearing that paper bag over it, but when his ears moved, the tag jingled.

Because he forgot to take off the bell! Or maybe he liked the sound. Who could tell with Rhedd.

He throws open the cabinet, grabbing a can of beans, and he starts looking around for an opener.

"BEANS and RICE--OH, that's not how THAT number goes!"

Engineer

The lights converged into a single beam to make it easier to read the labels, and a chime vibrated from the mic to mimic the bell's jingle.

"ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴀɴꜱ... ᴘʟᴀɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴꜱ ɪ'ᴍ ʜᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟ? ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜʏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀʟʟ 'ᴇᴍ ꜱᴄᴀᴛᴍᴇɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ! ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ--"

The grating laugh rang off the ceiling tiles and converged into a sibilant crackle.

Rhedd

"OHHH HO HO HO!" Rhedd joined in on the cackling, pulling books off of shelves, opening them up until he pulled a can opener from one of the larger glossaries.

"Why, THAT dirty joke simply REEKS!"

Engineer

The searchlight aimed itself at something metallic that glinted for a few seconds, a *pile* of somethings, before it trucked away quickly as though it had thought better of drawing attention to what it had illuminated. The the thudding snicker from the voicebox shifted, and then it was Rhedd's own laugh exiting the thing for a few seconds before it dropped an octave or two lower again.

"ʜᴇʜ ʜᴇʜ, ꜱᴏ ꜰᴏᴜʟ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜꜱɪɴ' ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ--ᴏɴʟʏ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴᴡɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ--ꜱᴀʏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏ ʟɪᴍʙᴜʀɢᴇʀ--"The searchlight aimed itself at something metallic that glinted for a few seconds, a *pile* of somethings, before it trucked away quickly as though it had thought better of drawing attention to what it had illuminated. The the thudding snicker from the voicebox shifted, and then it was Rhedd's own laugh exiting the thing for a few seconds before it dropped an octave or two lower again.

"ʜᴇʜ ʜᴇʜ, ꜱᴏ ꜰᴏᴜʟ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛᴛᴀ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴜꜱɪɴ' ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ--ᴏɴʟʏ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴᴡɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ--ꜱᴀʏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀɴʏ ʟɪᴍʙᴜʀɢᴇʀ--"

Rhedd

*GLINTING HAS BEEN NOTICED,* Rhedd literally drops everything (his shadow catches both the can of beans and the opener), and he YANKS open the drawer.

8) knifes.

Engineer

The clatter echoes down the hall. A laugh track marred by an effect that's the aural equivalent of thick liquid dripping downward issues from the two-way speaker. It turns to dismayed screams, and the next sound is a real laugh again.

A quick mental image pops into Rhedd's head. It's a decaying metal carnival feature; the front of a little monorail trolley in the form of a massive clown's face with blacked eyes, rust-streaked cheeks, overgrown and surrounded by grass. It blips away as quickly as it came.

"ʜᴀʜ! ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ--"

Rhedd

Oh-- he was in the middle of pilfering the knives when he'd been given SUCH A SIGHT! Radio dials behind the bag, Rhedd begins juggling the blades.

"Always PRUDENT to keep the mind SHARP! HAHA! *Knife* night for it!!"

<<Why, these jokes were BLADE for you!>>

Engineer

The little microphone *thumped* with vibration. Oh, it had never done *that* before. It buzzed against Rhedd's collarbone and radiated down his chest, and he felt the words in his head, a special delivery sent straight through his skeleton.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴋɪʟʟ! ᴏʜ ɪ ꜱᴡᴏᴏɴ, ᴏʜ ɪ'ᴅ *ᴋɪʟʟ*--ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ;  

ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ, ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ AREN'T ᴄᴀʀᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ... ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ, ʜᴇʜ--

ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ *ɢʟᴀᴅɪᴜꜱ* ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴍʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴘᴏʀᴄᴜᴘɪɴᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ *ꜱᴛᴀʙ* ᴛᴏ *ᴄᴜᴛ* ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ, ᴏʀ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛʏ *ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅ!* ʜᴀ *ʜᴀʜ*!"

Rhedd

Oh-- *oh.* OH! The *buzz* was mind numbing, and quite effectively so. Rhedd's shadow catches the blades as he just drops them altogether, his fixed grin hidden under the bag but the dials have swapped back to his regular eyes. Right, right, always gets a little too manic on an empty stomach.

The blades are returned to the proper drawer, though his ears have *drooped* considerably........... Goodbye..................

"Why, YES, my dear, too true.... You are RIGHT, I should cut it out, I always get a bit STABBY before DINNER! HAHA!......" :(

Engineer

The concentrated red light follows the little slender hands while they put the cutlery away, and then the light disperses a bit so it's softer. It feels like something is dripping from the ceiling onto Rhedd's head, but there's nothing up there.

The light's gone, suddenly. All of it. There's a flash of a single bulb overhead, buzzing, and the backdrop to the room is changed. There's ice everywhere; the swinging illumination glances off the stained interior of a meat locker hung with gently swaying wrapped bundles of a *particular* shape.

One of them shudders and breaks from clear plastic; unfurls into a familiar form in a red suit, red hair dripping redder and sticking to its face, and the hollow-eyed figure with the spidery hands drops to all fours and clicks just close enough to reach out, stretch the terrible spindly fingers, *nearly* touch Rhedd's little face before it's gone in a detuned crackle of voices.

The lights are off and then on again. The backdrop glitches away, the surroundings still consistent with the palace, the search for food, and the dear lad's silly rummaging. The drawer is now closed. It was just a dream, just a little high-frequency tickle to the posterior cortical hot zone, but Rhedd can still see his breath for a second.

The "laugh track" chortles warmly from the speaker again, and the teardrop-shaped red lights dance on the wall.

"ɴᴏᴡ, ɴᴏᴡ, ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ *ʟɪᴋᴇ* ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅᴀɢᴇꜱ... ᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ... ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴛ ᴛɪʀᴇ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴇꜰʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴀʏ, ʜᴀʜ!

ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴɪᴄᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʟᴀɪɴ ʙᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ꜱᴀɪʟᴏʀ? ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄʀᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ, ʜᴀʜ, ᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ--

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ--ᴘᴇᴄᴜʟɪᴀʀ--ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴜʀᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ-ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ɪɴᴠɪᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱʜɪɴᴅɪɢ? ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ *ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱᴇ*, ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ʜᴀ ..."

Rhedd

Oh what a sight-- a sight that might drive anyone *else* to madness. Tears run down Rhedd's cheeks--this always happened when he experienced any of hallucinations gifted to him by The Engineer. His way of his mind decompressing after being so wonderfully overloaded by the display. Not afraid, but oh so feeling of every sensation within him after such a vision. His breath still cold to the room that was now not cold at all, Rhedd's hand moved to his throat which he stroked absently.

Just a dream. None of that happened--none of the juggling, none of the ice. He turns on a heel...ie, and hums as he begins scooting across the floor, "I was THINKING of something more FLESHY! MEATY, you KNOW! I had the most PECULIAR DREAM, just now, MY! DEAR! And OH! How HUNGRY I am just THINKING ABOUT IT!" He draws the shape of hanging carcasses in a butcher's freezer, "Something to SINK my TEETH! INTO! Beans are MERELY an APPETIZER!"

At the notion that Engi wouldn't be naturally invited, Rhedd pulled the mic from his lapel just so, the cable straining just a touch, cradling it in both hands. "WhatEVER do you MEAN? Why, you're with ME! My PLUS ONE! If you want to COME OUT, why, NO CLOSET could ever HOLD YOU! HAHA!"

Engineer

The mic buzzed softly, and the back of it slowly began to warm. It was a little metal disc that was smooth on the other side, and it felt nice in Rhedd's palms, both for warmth and heft.

The red lights dragged their little teardrops down Rhedd's sack-face in a display that would have been lost on the recipient if this were anyone else, but The Engineer provided a point-of-view vision of it, a gentle nudge to that hypersensitive mind's eye. The laugh that blasted from the mic produced a quick burst of air that made the bag crackle, and Rhedd's nose nearly poked a hole in the paper.

"ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴇᴠᴏᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴜɢꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢꜱ--

ᴀʜ, ʜᴍ, ʜᴀ ʜᴀ, ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀꜱᴇ, ᴏʜ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ! ʜᴍᴍ, ʜᴇʜ-ʜᴀʜ, ʏᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ--ᴍʏ ᴇᴛɪQᴜᴇᴛᴛᴇ'ꜱ ᴇʀᴏᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴛ, ʜᴀʜ! ᴏʜ, ᴍʏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇɴɢᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ, ʜᴀ! ʜᴍᴍ... ᴡᴇ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ɪᴛ'ᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ--

ɪ'ʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ, ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴘʀᴇ-ᴄɪꜱᴇ-ʟʏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ--"

A curl of fragrant red vapor like burning autumn leaves rose from the carbon interior of the little microphone and burst into the shape of a blocky flower, which disintegrated tidily into fluttering pixels, and then it was cold and silent, but there was still a little pinpoint dot of red light deep inside the thing. Of course... he would never be *completely* gone.

It was like some infernal game of hide and seek... where would he materialize, and what would happen when Rhedd found him? *Or when he found Rhedd...*

Rhedd

How OMINOUS! Rhedd beamed behind the crinkled bag, enjoying the excited voice of his cosmic boyf.

Well! Then! Hide and seek was it? The canideer replaced the mic on his lapel, pulled the bag from his head (in order to fold it into his pocket) and touched his palms to the floor.

Sniff, sniff. Radio dial eyes barely hidden behind shutter shades, he stands back mostly upright and begins sliding out into another corridor, a horrible ***shunk*** of a sound as the piece of the kitchen he'd teleported in... Relocated itself.

[iam93percentstardust]

Sense of Memory and Desire

So @ad1thi and I were talking yesterday about this post and, well, I’d say my hand slipped but honestly, I’ve wanted to write this for a while.

Rated M

No powers AU//featuring Tony and Steve approximately the same age//also featuring Andrew Garfield as Peter Parker:

Gucci calls Tony first. 

They’re doing an ad campaign, they say. For a perfume inspired by alphas and omegas, they say. They want him to be the omega, they say. Tony knows how these perfume ads work. They’re meant to be sensual, hinting this could be you with a strong alpha or a sweet omega on your arm. They usually come off as oversexualized, almost tacky, instead. But they describe it to him and it sounds tasteful. They tell him who the photographer is and Tony’s knows him only by reputation but also knows that as an omega, he will make it sensual and not tacky.

Tony says, “Sure. Why not?”

And that’s when they spring the big one on him: they want him on the verge of heat, no more than a couple hours away, for the extra sparkle to his eyes, the youthful glow to his skin, the aura every in-heat omega exudes that says come here.

He could probably say no. But he doesn’t, too intrigued by the thought of how the ad will turn out. Instead, he asks, “Who’s the alpha?”

They name him a model. Tony’s worked with him before, even slept with him once back in college. He likes the guy well enough. For an alpha and a model, he’s surprisingly down to earth. If it were any other ad, or at any other time for that matter, he would be perfectly okay with it. But he’ll be close to his heat. That makes things different.

“You need to ask Steve,” he tells them.

They dither.

“Steve,” he says flatly, “or I’m walking.”

They agree.

~

The thing is, Steve is almost never possessive. 

Tony met the man who would one day become his alpha at a benefit Stark Industries was throwing to support and honor veterans. Steve had been a captain in the army—although Tony suspects he was a special sort of captain, judging by the deference often demonstrated towards him. They had met and talked most of the night; Tony had been smitten by the time they finally parted. He’d left Steve with a phone number and a plea to call though he’d fully been anticipating that someone like Steve would want little to do with someone like Tony.

Steve surprises him though by calling him when he’d walked literally two steps away. Tony had turned, a little in awe that Steve was that eager. They ended up going out for burgers that same night and then finally back to Tony’s penthouse where Steve had placed a hand on his lower back, drawn him in, and kissed him sweetly before taking his place on the couch.

It had been like that for months, fun dates and sweet kisses, incredible conversations that kept Tony wanting more, wanting to burrow into Steve’s life and never leave. The lack of sex had worried him though until Steve told him he was waiting for Tony’s heat, an old-fashioned, charming idea that left him melting like chocolate in the sun. 

And Steve had been sweet and wonderful and not at all possessive—until the week leading up to Tony’s heat, when he’d turned jealous and growly and eventually, Tony had locked them both in his penthouse. Steve had apologized for it once, after Tony’s heat had broken, when he’d still been tied to his alpha. Tony had kissed the apology from his lips, rolled his hips up into Steve’s knot, and wailed when Steve flipped them back over to drive his knot deeper into Tony’s willing body.

Steve is just like that before Tony’s heat and Tony loves him for it. No one else has ever wanted him enough to treat him like he was something to be treasured, something to be guarded jealously and kept away from the world.

Letting another alpha touch him, Tony staring up at him with the same adoration he reserves for Steve, ranks at the top of the list of bad ideas.

~

Happy ends up being the one to drive them to the photoshoot. Gucci had been willing to send a car, had even been discussing it with Tony over the phone when Steve had ripped the phone out of Tony’s hands and growled, “No,” into it. And that had been that. Tony doesn’t blame him. He knows how many pheromones he’s putting out right now. Steve had once described his scent as oranges and chocolate, an intoxicating scent at the best of times but when it’s as dialed up as it is before heat…

Well, this isn’t the Dark Ages. Tony doesn’t need to worry about being jumped by rabid alphas but he does turn heads everywhere he goes. Steve doesn’t like that.

They pull up to the studio a couple hours before the shoot for hair and makeup. Steve offers a hand to help Tony get out of the car. It’s something that Tony doesn’t usually like but he adores being pampered in the days leading up to his heat so he takes it and lets Steve lead him into the building. 

The photographer greets them in the lobby, right by the front door. “Peter Parker,” he says, holding his hand out first to Tony and then to Steve to shake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers. Right this way.”

They walk down the hallway, Parker chatting the entire way. As they near the studio entrance, Parker’s steps slow. “I’m really sorry about this,” he says apologetically. “Gucci insisted we bring in the other model just in case Captain Rogers doesn’t work out.” He sounds sincere, which is why Tony stops Steve from moving forward. Parker eyes the two of them, at Tony wearing Steve’s oversized clothes so he’s practically swimming in his alpha’s scent, at the fire in Steve’s eyes at the very thought of another alpha seeing his omega like this, and grins. “I didn’t think we would need him so I sent him to a different shoot in the building.”

“What are you sorry for then?” Steve rumbles. Tony shivers. He loves it when Steve sounds like this. It makes him want to wrap himself in Steve.

Parker pauses with one hand on the doorknob. “He made it into the studio before we could stop him so the room might smell a little like him. But he was the only alpha on set, I swear. I don’t like it when other alphas besides my mate are near me when I’m in heat and he really doesn’t like it so I made sure to hire only betas and omegas.”

“Thank you,” Tony says quietly, appreciating the courtesy. Parker nods reassuringly at him and opens the door. 

There is the slightest hint of another alpha in the room but it’s almost entirely overpowered by the omega staff members. Even so, Steve growls under his breath, only stopping when Tony puts a hand on his arm.

“Just focus on me,” Tony murmurs. “My scent is the only one that matters.” And as he gets closer to his heat starting, his scent will start to overshadow everyone else.

Steve is led away by a couple makeup artists. As he goes, he turns his head so that he can see Tony, keeping his eyes locked on him until Tony eventually has to follow Parker to his own team.

Parker flits off to set up the camera and the lights, leaving Tony in his team’s very capable hands. They start by making him take off his shirt. Tony whines a little, not wanting to lose his alpha’s scent, but they let him keep the pants so he settles. 

“They’re hot,” one of them says, eyeing the way they ride low on his hips. “You wearing your alpha’s pants and all. Peter might even want a couple pictures like that.”

The other one hums her agreement but doesn’t look up from the eyeshadow she’s applying to Tony’s eyes. It’s something dark and a little glittery and he would probably feel ridiculous if it hadn’t been for the dark background he can see behind Parker. The eyeshadow will probably look fantastic against that. She moves on to the eyeliner, drawing a skillful wing shape that leaves Tony marveling at her steady hand. He’s got a steady hand as well, kind of has to as an engineer, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t pull off what she’s doing. She finishes with a coat of mascara and then moves on to lipstick, a deep red shade that makes Tony feel silly until he looks up at where Steve’s sitting and sees the way they’re highlighting the five o’clock shadow he’s got.

Steve’s eyes are dark and hooded as he looks back at Tony, promising filthy things as soon as they get home. Tony clenches his thighs together and whimpers. He wants his alpha now. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?

“Ooh yeah,” the makeup artist says. “If I had an alpha looking like that looking at me like that, I’d be getting wet too.”

Tony doesn’t blush but only because he reminds himself that he’s an omega with years of experience behind him. He wears that experience incredibly well for someone nearing middle age—money talks when he’s hiring personal trainers—but he still has too much experience to be blushing about a lewd comment.

“You two ready?” Parker calls and Tony stands, walking over to join him. 

Steve catches up to him about halfway across the room, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist and pulling him into his side. Steve is shirtless as well, radiating body heat and making Tony luxuriate in the skin contact. 

“You look good,” he murmurs. Tony throws him a questioning look. Steve always thinks he looks good but there’s something about the way he says it that’s different. “When we get home, I’ll show you exactly how much I like it.”

Tony hides another whimper.

Parker is grinning at them when they join him. “Save it for the camera, guys,” he tells them but doesn’t seem too put-out by their flirting.

He gestures at the backdrop behind him. It’s a dark grey piece that’ll probably look black after post-production but likely photographs better than a pure black piece would. There’s a small set of steps that Parker ushers them over to.

“I really want to emphasize the size difference here so we’re going to start with Steve on the top step and Tony on the bottom.” He waits until they’re standing in place before he starts making adjustments. “Tony, move a little bit closer. Steve, I want your hand on his lower back. Tony, can we try you wrapping your back hand around Steve’s neck?”

He snaps a couple shots and then shakes his head. “Actually, lower that hand again.” Another couple pictures. “Look up at him for me, Tony. Tilt a little towards him, Steve. He should practically be supported by you. You’re the only thing holding him up.” Steve moves so that their chests are almost entirely pressed together, parting just a few inches on the side closest to the camera. “Yeah, that’s perfect. I want to get a natural feel for the two of you so feel free to talk, move your heads maybe a little bit but don’t actually move from those spots, ‘kay?”

Steve lowers his head so that his lips are brushing Tony’s ear as he mutters, “I saw what’s under those pants you’re wearing. Are you trying to kill me?”

Tony smirks. “Not at all. Just teasing a little, you know how it is.”

“Is that what you want, sweetheart? Want to tease me?”

Looking up the way he is, Tony can see the heat in Steve’s eyes. He shivers and presses closer to Steve’s chest, craving the touch. His heat will be starting soon. He can feel it creeping up on him, his hole starting to slick up and loosen.

“Maybe I’ll take you home, tie you up, tease you for hours. How does that sound?” Steve taunts. Underneath that, Tony can hear the shutter clicking away but he can’t concentrate on anything but the words Steve is whispering in his ear. “Shove a vibrator inside your pretty hole and let you scream. Bet I could make you come at least twice just from that. Maybe I’ll even draw it for you so you can see how pretty you look, fucked out and covered in your own cum. You want that?”

“Steve,” Tony whispers, eyes falling half-closed as he pictures it, Steve leaving him alone on the bed, one of their toys buzzing inside him, pressing against his prostate until he’s begging and overstimulated. It would be torture but oh god, what bliss.

Steve’s hand clenches and smooths out on his back, traces the dip of his spine, falls to cup his ass and pull him up tight against him. Tony’s mouth falls open in a low keen as his alpha’s thigh presses against his dick. He wants to ride him, wants to push Steve down and shove those pants off his hips, damn whoever’s watching.

“Perfect,” Parker calls, interrupting their moment. Steve snaps his eyes away from Tony and toward the camera, right as the camera goes off. Parker views the picture and lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Are we done?” Steve snarls, gently urging Tony’s hips into a rhythm against him.

“Must be closer than we thought,” Parker comments as Tony bites his lip against a wail threatening to escape. “Not quite done though. There’s two perfumes and they want two ads to go with it. So, for omega, we’re gonna have you switch places on the steps.”

Tony doesn’t like the idea of having to move at all but he obligingly tries to make his legs work. Ultimately, Steve and Parker end up having to move him while he only sort of helps.

“Sweet omega,” Steve croons into his ear as Parker positions them the way he wants. “You’re doing so well. Gonna reward you when we get home. Gonna wrap you up in our nest, keep you as full as you want.”

“Please,” Tony begs. He’s ready. He’s on the verge of his heat, teetering on the edge. God, Gucci better fucking like this because he’s never doing it again.

“I know, sweetheart. You’re so ready for me. You gotta hold on just a few more minutes though.” Steve’s strong arms are supporting him, forming a line against his spine to hold onto his shoulders. He’s done this before, when he’s deep inside Tony and wants to hold him in place. The memories make him shudder, one of his hands coming up to cup Steve’s head, holding him in place as Steve scents his neck, placing teasing, biting kisses along the length of his throat.

Through the haze of his heat, he hears Parker mutter, “Fuck, they’re gorgeous.”

He turns his face to smirk at the photographer. Gorgeous is right. He and Steve have been voted America’s hottest celebrity couple for the last five years in a row. Parker’s right to be jealous of what they have because no matter how good Parker’s alpha may be, Steve will always be better. It doesn’t matter how jealous Parker might be though. Steve belongs to Tony. 

The camera goes off right as he starts to turn, capturing an expression that’s blissful and heat-hazy and just a little bit smug.

“Alright, we’re good here,” Parker calls, voice a little high-pitched and nervous. “Can we get their shirts?”

The shirts are all but tossed at them. Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind he recognizes how embarrassing this is. Heat is supposed to be something private between alpha and omega, not flaunted in front of a screen. The majority of his mind is too focused on Steve bundling him into his arms to care.

“I want to see those prints,” Steve growls as he sets off for the door, practically at a run, Tony cradled in his grasp like they’re once more newly bonded.

“Yep,” Parker agrees, looking anywhere but at the two of them. “Oh and Tony?” The pair stops just a few feet from the door. Parker lowers his gaze from the rafters to the two of them. A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face.

“Have fun.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 27)

The sky was a watercolor backdrop of searing oranges and yellows and pastel pink. Against it, holding a surfboard was a petite silhouette. “She’s too small to be any good.” Chan remarked. 

“I thought that it was the other way around, dude.” Ruon Jian shrugged. 

“Maybe if you have the right size surfboard. That one’s too big for her.”

To this Ruon had nodded in agreement. It didn’t bother Jet like it bothered the rest of the team. Chan and his girlfriend were particularly annoyed by the mistake. They could tell that she was new to the sport, unlike themselves. They have been doing it since childhood. 

Truth be told, they were afraid of her. Afraid that her mistakes would cost their team a victory that they hadn’t even had a chance to begin working towards. That first practice was a mess. Jet had watched her rather closely; every time she lost balance and every time she charged towards the wave too early or too late. She never seemed to have them timed right, could never seem to sense the water in the way a seasoned surfer would. She just didn’t have the connection. 

She took a deep breath. It was an hour and a half into a three hour long practice and she had yet to pull off even the most basic maneuver. But more than anything, Azula wanted to make her father proud. Truthfully, she had come to decide, within the first twenty minutes, that she hated surfing. It didn’t come naturally to her as volleyball did. She was furious with herself for having missed volleyball tryouts in favor of trying something new. 

She could have been on her way to becoming the star athlete of the middle school team. She could have been an hour and a half into praise and cheers. Instead her teammates were glaring at her. Even the coach’s formerly sympathetic eyes were clouding with impatience. She knew that he’d only let her on the team because of her father and his father’s legacy. 

She also knew that it was becoming abundantly clear that she didn’t share the family talent. She cast one more forlorn and longing glance at the volleyball in her sports bag before closing her eyes, readying her surfboard, and dashing towards the water. 

This time she was going to do it. She knew that she had timed the wave right. If only she had timed throwing her surfboard down correctly. Another wave took the board out from under her feet. 

No one bothered to tell her that she was supposed to go belly down and paddle out to the wave. 

Not even the coach. 

She was never one to quit. The only thing more dishonorable than a failure was a quitter. She would ride the failure out and probably with more success than riding any wave. A week into her new sport and she was only just starting to catch onto paddling out.

Azula was certain that balance wouldn’t be a problem. Toph had been kind enough to let her borrow her skateboard. The way she and Toph saw it, skateboarding was basically surfboarding without water. She did just fine maintaining her balance on the skateboard and by the end of the night she was even doing some decent tricks. 

So why the hell couldn’t she catch onto surfing?

She came to find that it was a simple as not being able to catch a wave. As simple as not knowing what to do when she finally did. She knew that once she figured out how to pop up that she would be able to stay standing and ride it out, but the waves were relentless and knocked her into the blue before she had a chance. 

Three days into week two was when she finally broke down. She was crying on Sokka’s bed about how Zuzu was mad at her for trying to one up him and how it wasn’t worth it because she wasn’t even good. How she wished she would have just gone for volleyball. 

He treated her to ice cream that she didn’t think she deserved, but Kya had insisted and Hakoda and Katara made it special.

Jet watched her cross the beach. “I’m surprised she’s even showing up still.” Chan’s girlfriend had commented. 

“I wouldn’t if I was that awful.” Ruon noted. 

“I wonder if her dad beats her for not being able to carry on the family legacy.” Jet didn’t know the girl’s name but even Chan looked at her and muttered, “too far.” Jet might have slapped her if he didn’t have a moral code. 

Azula held her head as high as she could for how many times the waves pulled it under. She had enough grace, he could see it in the way she paddled, the way she cut seamlessly through the waves. He could tell that she was getting used to timing and catching the waves. But she never managed to fully stand up and the one time she did, she hadn’t known what to do next. 

He watched her drag herself and her board back to shore. Long locks of hair hung down her back, shimmering in the setting sun. She wore a seashell bracelet around her slender wrist. Her skin was tanned nicely and her eyes reflected the sunlight so well. 

The rest of the team called her the weak link but he called her beautiful. 

The rest of the team called her the weak link but he called her untrained. 

He spent his entire weekend doing what their coach should have done. And she caught on fast. Who would have thought that actually teaching her what to do would have made such a significant difference.

When Monday came around, she walked onto the beach with a surfboard fitted to her smaller stature and a more confident stride. 

If she could have some success with a board that was not properly sized, she could do wonders with this board. 

For the first time she’d managed to catch a wave. Albeit, not on her first or even fourth try. But ten minutes in, she caught one and rode it out. Practices went that much smoother, she was beginning to learn and perform the basics. 

It wasn’t the remarkable and impressive transformation she had hoped for.

It was so ordinary. 

But it was enough to bring her from dead last to third from the bottom--and on a good night, four away from it.

The season had ended and she vowed to do volleyball next year. But the next year rolled around and her teammates were disappointed to see her dragging her board up the beach. 

A summer practicing with Jet and Sokka had done wonders. 

Chan, his now ex-girlfriend, Ruon, and the rest of the team hadn’t been there to see her practice. It was just as well. It was more satisfying. 

She went first. Her paddling was stronger, her carves smoother, her balance expectedly impeccable. She pulled off her first roundhouse cutback.

Azula was a thrill for Jet to watch, she always was. That determined and driven look and the victorious one that usually followed. They were stunning. She was stunning. Especially now that confidence was thrown into the mix. He more than admired her haughty stride back up the beach and past the rest of the team, “you’re up Chan.”

.oOo.

Azula takes Sokka’s hand and they slowly pad along the sand. He is so close to the sea that almost took him and yet he grins, wide and beaming. It is probably because he is with her. He stops to brush the hair out of her face. 

He leans in for his kiss only to get a mouthful of hair courtesy of the wind throwing it back across her face. He sweeps it aside again and this time she holds it back. 

She closes her eyes and tilts her head up, she looks serene and blissful. 

It makes him want to hurl.

Jet turns away before their lips make contact. With more force than necessary, he takes another bite of his chili dog. He doesn’t even like chili! Yet the flavor is still more pleasant than the look of Sokka locking lips with his ex.

He feels bad for feeling so appalled considering how much less tense she is, but it hits him quite mercilessly that he could have never made her feel that way. If only he’d met her first. If only he had been the childhood friend. 

If only he’d asked her for a date when he’d first had the urge. That day when he saw her silhouetted against the sunset with a surfboard in hand. 

Maybe if he’d held her a little closer when teaching her to balance. Maybe if he’d cheered her on a little more, she would have asked him. 

Maybe he would be walking down the beach with her. Instead he finds himself furious. After everything he’d done for her, she’d snub him like this? It was he who helped her work from no skill whatsoever to the surfer that the rest of the team strived to be. 

He helped get her through the past few months of summer and now she was ignoring him more or less completely.

“Still brooding?” Katara asks. 

He takes another angry munch of his chili dog. 

“Why are you watching them make out if it makes you angry?”

He thinks that maybe he wants to be angry because that is better than feeling let down, used, and miserable. “Maybe if I watch hard enough, she’ll see my charm and makeout with me instead.” He mutters.

“Ew.” Zuko grumbles. Apparently the concept of it is enough to drive him right back to the smoothie bar. Granted, he makes a similar face when he gets within sound range of the couple. Jet swears that if Sokka had the strength, he would quite literally lift her off of her feet. 

Thankfully he is still too weary for that and has to settle for a careful hug. “I’m going to go share a smoothie with Zuko, you want anything?” Katara offers.

He shakes his head. 

“You sure? We’re going to be heading back tomorrow, so now’s your last chance to have one.” 

“I’m sure.” 

He hears that light and warm laugh and frowns deeper. He wants to be happy for Azula, he truly does. But he can’t force happiness. He hears the shifting of sand and a shadow falls over him. 

“Exactly how long do you plan on staring at my daughter for?” 

Jet tenses up. He gives his body enough slack to muster up a single shrug. “Until she stops being so annoyingly beautiful, I guess.” He, to Ozai’s dissatisfaction, slips up. 

“If that is the only reason you are upset to have lost her, than you didn’t deserve her.” 

He wonders how many times Sokka was told that he wasn’t good enough for Azula, if he had been told at all. “It isn’t. It’s just the easiest reason to explain.” 

When the girl’s father doesn’t respond, he continues. “She’s talented and clever. She’s…” his mind wanders back to the stormy beach. “Strong and determined. I think that she might be unstoppable…”

Ozai nods. “Even so. You knew what this trip was about when you stepped aboard the ship. It is not her fault that you were not prepared for the outcome.” He pauses and clasps his hands behind his back, fixing Jet with a stern look. “If you trouble her over her decision, I assure you that there will be a free spot on your surf team.”

Jet suppresses a scowl. The old man did more to hurt his daughter than Jet himself could ever hope to do and he had half the mind to inform him of such. He curbs his tongue. “I don’t want to hurt her.” But he wishes that she wouldn’t hurt him. “Should I talk to her?”

Ozai shakes his head. “Unless it is about surfing or another mundane topic. She will speak to you about it when she is ready.”

Jet sighs and rests his chin in his hands as Ozai makes his way towards the smoothie bar. He feels as out of place as Azula must have while carrying a surfboard much too large for her. He doesn’t belong on this trip. With this family. 

Azula leads Sokka back to their beach towel and, in the shade of their umbrella, begins unpacking lunch. It probably has all of Sokka’s favorites. 

He hears the sand sift again and the clunk of a glass on the wooden table. “There’s a shot of rum in yours. Don’t you dare mention it to anyone on this beach.” 

Jet takes his beverage and sipis it. “And yours.”

Ozai holds out his receipt. There is only one alcoholic drink and Jet can taste the rum on his. 

“You could use a drink, boy.”

Azula settles into Sokka’s arms and Jet can’t disagree. 

[guerilla935]

Review: Persona 4 Golden

On July 10th in 2008 North American audiences came in contact with Persona 4 on the PlayStation 2. After the success of Persona 3 it sold an easy 193,000 copies in its first week. This game is undoubtedly up with Final Fantasy X and Dragon Quest VIII as one of the best RPG’s on the PlayStation 2. Then on June 14th of 2012 on the PS Vita, Atlus releases Persona 4 Golden, a definitive version of Persona 4 that boasts two new social links, new difficulty levels, new music, improved voice acting, new cutscenes, more persona, new events and areas, motor scooters, the SOS Vox Populi system, trophy support, improved skill inheritance, and a new epilogue and ending. So if you were to play this game then obviously you would play this one. The disadvantage being that you probably don’t own a PS Vita and buying the system and the game will run you about $360 USD new and $160 USD used. The following is why this game is easily worth paying either of these costs.

Like A Dream Come True

Persona 4 is set in the rural town of Inaba located in the Japanese countryside. As the anime protagonist you play as a city boy staying with his detective uncle and kid cousin in this town while attending school, keeping up a social life, and  solving a supernatural serial murder case. Inaba is not large, it is maybe 5 or 6 segmented open world areas that open at various times of the day. But each area is lit up with Shoji Meguro’s soundtrack, an epic rock and J-Pop composition, and is populated with familiar faces and beautiful 3D backdrops that bring the small town alive. The ambient air of Inaba bleeds its small town aesthetic and creates a believable home for you for the one in-game year that you are visiting. From every time you hear small town gossip and drama to having to avoid people that you know or make plans with unexpected acquaintances you are always engaged in the town and its inhabitants. The upbeat music and gorgeous anime visuals blend to make a 2008 small video game town feel more alive and natural than most 2019 open world action epics.

I’ll Face Myself

The Persona 4 formula creates a fool proof way to make sure that the player gets emotionally connected to each and every character with enough development to keep you coming back to play the game way more than once. The main story allows you to peer into the teens brains and see vivid and sometimes even frightening representations of their inner struggles. It takes incredibly personal topics like gender identity, society imposed masculinity, female objectivity, and narcissism and lets you cut through it with a huge katana and then validates the feelings. The life that is breathed through each of persona 4′s characters is overwhelming at times and you are always completely engaged in the story because of it. This isn’t just true of the main cast but also of every side character. Throughout your year you’ll meet a gritty detective hell bent on solving a hit and run that killed his wife, a basketball player afraid of losing his family, a rich and pretty girl who uses an ugly personality to mask her fears, and a flirtatious nurse whose loneliness and depression broke her passion. This isn’t even half of them and they are all incredibly gripping stories to attach yourself to. If Persona 4 had one big selling point it would be the individual character development, where the main story stops and starts again at the end of every month the individual characters stories constantly keep you coming back for more. The Persona series is known for its relatable and likeable characters but I fully believe that Persona 4 does this the best. In Persona 3 you see a more niche theme that is more geared toward loss and Persona 5 is very youth centered with a very strong cast, but Persona 4 has the widest range of its cast and the strongest appeal that I doubt we’ll see from the series again. The golden version of Persona 4 adds 2 new characters, original character Marie and fan favorite character Tohru Adachi which are both excellent and add a lot of value to an already stellar crew of characters.

Reach Out To The Truth

The combat in this game is a celebration of the genre, a mash-up of what makes Pokemon, Final Fantasy, and Dragon Quest special. The persona system allows for a full range of customization for the main protagonist. Being able to on the fly change your elemental affinity and move set is a game changer and adds a certain amount of forgiveness for lack of preparation necessary in a game where you might not have another day to go back and change things around. The shadows are all designed in very interesting kind of circus horror type of ways and each is easily identifiable by its visual representation. The dungeons designs become kind of bland after 5-8 floors but thankfully none of them overstay their welcome long enough to be something to make you want a break from the game. The combat follows normal RPG conventions, normal attacks, elemental spells and a few weird ones thrown in there, buffs and heals, its all pretty standard. The set up for combat when all the characters are either surrounding the enemy or are being surrounded doesn’t give you a particular advantage but looks so much better than if they had lined them up for battle like other RPG’s or even against Persona 5 which did away with this feature in favor of the battle line up. This game is before the days of experience sharing so you will have to take multiple trips into dungeons with each of the party members to level them which is something that has kind of been done away with in the past few years and if you are against a grindier experience you could always set the difficulty to the lowest setting (only available in Golden) (This is also how I played my first run of the game) and there is no shame in playing a game on very easy. The addition of new persona in the golden version of Persona 4 will probably go relatively unnoticed by most players just because there are so many in the game already and it doesn’t really give a huge incentive to “catching them all” like a certain other game. You are also not allowed to keep personas past a certain point, you have to fuse or dispose of them in order to catch more so there is no real “getting attached” to them as they come and go so if you were looking for the very popular catch and train method this is not it, you use the persona then throw it in a blender on high till you get something better. And I believe that this approach puts a bigger spotlight on the characters instead of random deities and creatures that don’t add anything to the immediate experience, just the overall mythos and lore of persona which is probably another post in itself. And the characters are where the combat shines, voice lines that don’t become over bearing and cute idle animations with well voiced attack lines give combat a nice touch of personality that feeds into the aesthetic of the rest of the game with its emphasis on its cast.

Verdict

Persona 4 is good by itself but Persona 4 Golden is definitely the way you want to experience this game, I would not even know half of my options for each day without the SOS Vox Populi system. The new events, areas, and characters are just extras but I’m telling you that you SHOULD feel like you are missing out without these. And the new epilogue added is emotional if you’ve never cried after finishing something then you will here. We talk about video games and movies being an escape from real life for some people and Persona 4 not only does that but gives you a home and a life in Inaba that is brief but intimate and rewarding. The 70-90 hours you spend in this game are extremely memorable and unique, if you have the means to play this masterpiece then you are wasting time reading this review when you could be playing Persona 4.

[lonelypond]

Nico Attacks: A Campfire Tale, Ch. 2

LL, NicoMaki, KotoUmi, 1.5K, 2/4

And Then There Were Two

Umi examined the ground where the path opened, her keychain flashlight still working, “Definitely more sets of feet than just Eli and Nico, one of them smaller.”

“So one of the children?”

Umi shrugged, “It doesn’t look like anyone got dragged off so Eli must have gone...willingly?”

Maki was only half listening to Umi. The music had been gone for awhile now, but now a more insistent, probably artificial, wind noise started to rise.

“Something’s going to happen.” Maki hissed.

“Sprint across or move along the trees?”

“If that’s a portable lantern, we should grab it. And I’m going to head for the house. I think it’s that way.” Maki pointed to the right.

“So would that be a predictable choice?”

Maki huffed, “Probably.”

Umi unbelted her hatchet.

“This isn’t war.”

Umi’s face, in the LED bright of the keychain flashlight, was Honoka choosing bread serious, “you know Nico better than I do, what do you think is going to happen?”

Maki deflated, “Yeah, you might have to cut us out of netting.”

“Is everything between you two a duel?”

“Maybe.” Unexpectedly, Maki grinned, “Nico never backs down, never stops pushing. It’s always an adventure.”

“She could decide to call it a night and I would be thrilled.”

Maki chuckled, “Won’t happen.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Maki sprinted for the lantern but as she grabbed it, a howl started, one voice joined by another then another. Maki headed for what she thought was the path to the house but before she took more than two steps, the scarecrow started to move. Umi saw it grab her by the throat.

“Maki!”

It seemed like an hour, but it was probably only nine seconds before Umi moved, sprinting to where Maki was struggling and cursing. As Umi was realizing Maki was in no real danger, Maki threw the camping lantern away, and the scarecrow was dragged forward by the wires attaching it, just far enough that Umi’s legs were entangled as she approached. Umi pitched toward Maki, twisting so the hatchet threatened no one. Maki grumped, skipping to the side.

“Keep that away from me. Nico forgot you’re always armed.”

“I am always prepared.” Umi sheathed her hatchet again.

Maki kicked the scarecrow, then decided to stomp on it for more catharsis.

“That’s Eli’s jacket.”

“I don’t care.”

The howls were picking up, and music was back.

“Really, Nico, can’t you come up with anything other than Bach?” Maki shouted into the night.

“It is a classic horror mood.”

Maki rolled her eyes, “She could have at least thrown in Saint-Saëns Danse Macabre. Or something modern.” Another shout into the night. “It’s not like she doesn’t know death metal exists.”

The sounds started changing, a shift from organ to a screech of metal crashing in a guitar riff.

“Thank you!” Maki shouted.

“Let’s not help the people attempting to terrify us.” Umi was taking cautious steps toward the tree line as branches shook menacingly. Suddenly, a spotlight glared directly in their eyes, and after it dimmed, black spots swimming in their vision, howls and guitars speeding up, gritty voices grinding out indecipherable lyrics, at least three songs shoved into a sonic blender, with that cacophony as a backdrop, the shifting shadows ahead turned animal. And started to growl.

###

When Eli saw the light, it triggered a rushing need to get closer. She couldn’t see anything ahead of her, barely felt anything as she pushed between Maki and Umi, her feet speeding her through the cloying darkness, even though part of her mind was screaming “That’s how the flame gets the moth,” it was not screaming loud enough to silence the terror of DARK.

As soon as there were no tree branches for Eli to thrash through, she felt hands pulling her to the side.

“HE…” She yelled but a grimy, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and two people wrestled her forward. A child stood, shadowed by the camping lantern that was her current obsession, one of the twins.

Eli relaxed slightly when she heard Vik’s bright voice whispering “We’re saving you, Mom.”

Nico and Rin had Eli in a fairly tight grip, Nico hissing, “You say anything or run, I kill the light.”

Vik was smiling up at Eli, in a gray hoodie with adorable wolf ears. Rin and Nico were also wearing them.

“I’m going to sit,” Eli whispered softly, her legs too shaky to do anything.

Nico sighed, but nodded. “Gimme your shirt?”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Vik stood next to Eli, blue eyes wide, “Are Auntie Umi and Maki scared? Dia said her Mama was so grumpy about the pumpkin guts. How come we never have fun like this?”

Because Nozomi doesn’t enjoy terrifying me when small children are awake, Eli answered in her head, but she hugged Vik, “Every family has their own traditions.”

“This is so cool.” Vik was literally bouncing, spinning around the tilting pole while Nico was attaching wires to the scarecrow, while Vik was putting their ballet warm up exercises to good use. “Auntie Nico is the best.”

Eli shook her head, amused, happy that a Vik she was getting too used to seeing sullen and withdrawn was giving every sign they were having a great time. For that, she would forgive Nico many things.

Vik handed Eli a gray hoodie, “Help us howl, Mom.”

Eli thought about the DARK and then she looked at the brilliant smile on her child’s face. This was a crossroad and she knew which path to pick.

“Your mother always says I’d look cute with a tail.”

###

Maki and Umi backed up, instinctively.

“You know that’s probably just Nico and Rin, right?” Umi hissed.

“My feet won’t move forward.”

The shadows pushed closer, the forest was moving forward as metal guitar strings shrieked ‘til they shredded and clanks and chalkboard scratches answered growls. It was amazingly effective,

Umi recovered first. Which Maki only realized when she backed into something solid.

“Nico doesn’t scare me.” Umi stated, with zero conviction.

“Liar.”

And then three running, hunched ‘creatures’ rushed toward them, circling them, growling, laughing, unrecognizable, faces smeared with dark makeup. Umi braced herself, Maki went for the treeline, but the middle ‘creature’, rolled in front, so Maki stumbled forward over them, grabbing at them but only pulling off their hoodie.

Someone pulled Maki up and as she turned, she screamed at a looming HUGE inflatable glow in the dark skeleton bobbing behind Umi. Throwing the hoodie in frustration at Umi, Maki leaned over, hands on knees to catch her breath. “Dammit, Nico.”

And then Umi said something unexpected. “I apologize.”

“For what?”

“This is not solely your fault.”

Umi got weirdly formal at the strangest times. Maki raised her head and waited for the full explanation as Umi examined the hoodie.

“Nico is not working alone. Kotori made these. I recognize them.”

“So what did you do?” Maki snapped.

“Nothing.”

Silence. Bordering on angry silence. Maki never liked teasing. Umi sighed.

“Kotori might have remembered that after the Halloween Hell Cruise, I wrote Aizuwakamatsu no Yurei.”

Her award winning play. Maki knew Umi hadn’t been writing. So Kotori was worried. Ha. Everyone has interfering wives. And the Halloween Hell Cruise had been a Nico Nightmare. Maki shuddered at the memory.

“So if my wife is devious and diabolical, what’s yours?"

“Crafty.” Umi said proudly. “And caring.”

Maki stomped into the darkness, muttering something that rhymed with “tripped.”

Umi stood, watching the bobbing, grinning, glowing skeleton. Then she reached into a pocket, pulled out her clasp knife, opened the blade, and punctured Mx. Bones with one swift motion. Air escaped with a whispering scream. Umi nodded her head, satisfied.

“Hey, that looked fun.” Maki grumped.

"Maybe you shouldn’t have stomped off.”

“Show off.”

Umi grinned.

“So how many more of these do you think Nico has planned?”

Maki shrugged, “She still seems to have infinite energy.”

“So not maturing?”

“Ha ha.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Aren’t you? It’s” Maki paused, “invigorating.” Maki and the lantern did a circle of the clearing, to check for clues, “Why’d you stop writing?”

“Exhausted. Kaito is a fine, intelligent child, but it’s exhausting.”

“I know.” Maki shot a glare back at Umi, “And Dia’s picked up some very judgy habits from a certain babysitter.”

“Your daughter’s manners are impeccable. She’s nothing like Nico.”

“You’re wrong there.” Maki pulled on a wire but it didn’t seem to connect to anything. “‘S funny, when I was younger I would have imagined me at a fancy black tie Halloween charity event with my supportive spouse who did most of the childcare while I lived at the hospital and then I met Nico and here we are.”

Umi considered that, “What else do you do when you fall in love with a brilliant, hard working career woman who wants a family and for you to keep being yourself? Support them like they support you.”

“Yeah.” Maki got to spend every day with music and people she loved. Because of Muse. And Nico. Other generations of Nishikinos had paintings, portraits stiff in oil to hang on walls, but for her family, it was a quick watercolor sketch Hanayo had made while Maki and Nico were having an impromptu concert with their daughters. It was Maki’s favorite piece of art, quick, lively, bright, made with love.

Maki found another wire and pulled. Netting crashed down around here, leaves scraping her cheeks. Nico wasn’t done yet.

A/N: Hey.