#but I just spent all day being put on the backburner by my family

[l3ominor]

mmmmmph I want attention

[thezolblade]

rl and fandom update

Fatigue's been getting better in the last year or so, with at least one cause identified. Since I've gone from a few years of barely managing much, to gradually starting to get a bit more energy to walk around for a few hours per day, I keep trying to do things and tiring myself out, and then napping and zoning out rather than getting other things done too.

Switched my laptop and the old family computer over to linux, to avoid forced copilot on one, and make the other usable again after windows 8 end of life. I may have lost some files despite my best efforts. Backing things up and following the process took a lot of time despite the process being as straightforward as it could be, and I love linux but I'm still picking it up. I wish I'd had that time for other things when there was so much else going on. Hate windows so much for forcing all that bullshit, but at least I've gotten rid of it now.

Goal next year is to retain more energy until the evenings so I can really get back to fun things that require focus. Fandom's been partly on the backburner; on good weeks I've managed to focus on short projects, but I haven't been able to maintain a focus on long projects. The list of games/books/shows/writing that I want to get back to feels motivating, like I'm reminding myself that whenever I have any time, there are still lots of things where I can feel some enthusiasm, even if I can't get through them all quickly like a to-do list. Gathering thoughts on the main ones:

Disco Elysium

When I played it in 2019, it was really good, but parts of it were slightly too much in a grim way, like the death notice; I remember thinking that I wanted to replay, but I needed a gap first.

Heard about the Sacred and Terrible Air fantranslation this year and took that as a cue to replay, and this time it's been fantastic. Knowing what's coming takes some of the bite out of the rough parts, along with getting invested enough to want to explore all the dialogue options to see the characters from all angles. Kim gets so sassy and creative when Harry fucks up. The playthroughs are going slowly but I've seen almost everything that I kept getting spoiled on when I slipped into reading fic earlier in the year. I've made it through a few chapters of the book pdf, it's heavy going though. To be continued.

FFVII

Picked up the reboot, it feels odd to be so late to the party with my fave game. To play when I have the energy for sitting up with the steam deck, rather than resting with something turn-based open on a laptop.

TMA

So so many wips that I want to finish, but I'm still reeling from getting put off from season 4 onwards. That got pretty tangled with pandemic stress, at the same time it was getting unfun and I couldn't get another interest to catch alight the same way to take my mind off things. The wip files are long enough I need a bit of focus back to tackle them.

Now the TMP sequel's out too, and I lost all interest when I found out that Jonah Magnus is still a character, despite the show sounding at first like a universe where he was killed off for real and other characters actually, finally, get to drive the plot with their own character arcs in a cathartic way, instead of everyone just rattling around where they're trapped the whole time. I'll probably read a summary at some point, as it does stuff with characters from TMA, and falling out of date with the canon really shows in fanworks. Don't feel like it yet.

Golden Sun

Every few years I've gone back the to longfic WIP that's still on fanfic.net and spent a few weeks trying to reread/edit/get past the block point, before getting tired out and taking a break from it again.

Lately I'm thinking, I always had point A at the start and point C at the end planned out, but getting there with the long detour through point B, well, that's the part where I'm stuck, and where a lot of the old writing that makes me wince is, which I keep changing without quite being happy with it, and which I can't cut for the way the plot hangs together. So maybe I should just cut out the side plot that takes up most of point B, even though what's posted is all setup so far and it was going to be the payoff next, and there are parts I really like. It'd make the fic much shorter, to go straight from points A to C; chapter 4 or 5 would move on to one or two chapters of wrapping things up, in a relatively quick and easy way for the characters. No big parts for Sheba and Ivan, no flashbasks to the heroes' history from Sheba's pov. I probably won't manage to finish it otherwise, so it's worth a try. Need to wait until I have some time off work to take a run at it.

PMMM

I still need to watch magia record, and read some of the comics... It's been too long since I've rewatched my fave show.

Harvest Moon / Rune Factory / Stardew Valley / Pokemon / indie relaxing games

Relaxation. Gotta pick them up again before I forget where I was up to.

Slay the Pricess

Play the Pristine Cut, and try the Disco Elysium crossover mod.

Fallen London

Nice to have a browser game on my phone. I keep putting off progress with the stories that'll shed some light on the lore, for a better day. Intriguing world anyway.

Omori, Deltarune, Dredge

Play more when my sister visits, and when she's not tired out from work too. Good to have some shared activities.

Fire Emblem 3 Houses

Finish the last route... I don't have to replay the shared chapters again at this point, just finish the blue route...

Saiyuki

See how many more of the comics are out in English than, uh, more than 10 years ago.

Avatar last airbender & korra

Catch up with the comics.

Arcane

Almost through season 2, TV evenings with my parents. Pretty effects. Kinda makes me want to know more, but I don't think I'll ever play league of legends. Maybe something to expore via youtube someday.

Star Trek

I watched ToS with my parents last year. Next, time to watch all the next gen episodes that I somehow never caught when it was on TV growing up, even though watching whatever was on meant I saw some episodes 2 or 3 times. And there's that new short film going around.

[ofbravedemons]

Continued.

@tightensthebolt

Feeling small almost broken. It had been years since Billie had let her fall apart from that night. The night she lost a piece of herself. A night she had stopped trusting men and relationships. Not to say Billie didn’t spend time with men since she was 13 because that was a lie. She slept with men that wanted no strings, that were one night stands. She built herself up, she put herself onto a pedestal because she wanted to protect herself. Two dreadful days in her life; the day she found out she had been taken advantage of by Porter and that same day she found out she was pregnant. The other was a vague memory of holding her son for the first and last time before she let him go. 

A toll she now carried with her, all the demons she hint to be the surgeon she was. Numbness, emotionless it’s who she was. To avoid being hurt. But the looming truth of Porter his crimes sitting in the backburner it now haunted her. Billie had to consider Trevor which is why she had stayed silent, AJ had warned her the birdy in her ear to let her know her son wanted to find his dad; and she lied. She felt helpless even now as she felt on edge. She felt Conrad’s syspathic gaze, it was sweet he didn’t try to tell her he understood, instead he fought his own anger urges; the tightness of the line veins on his forehead; on his neck said it for him. Instead he was just a friend; someone she could lean on. A gentle smile a real one lifted to her brims as she pushed her coffee into her hand. She was preoccupied enough to reject coffee which was the indication Billie was far from okay.

“ Thank you, for being an ear, for not telling me you understood. I don’t want to feel broken. I’m better than this.” Brokenness written in her voice when it cracked. She hated being vulnerable so she was almost relieved when Conrad changed the topic to his debate on career moves. Billie offered a gentle smile as she lifted herself onto her feet. Forgotten coffee had fallen to the trash as hands fell to her sides. She listened intently to Conrad speak; she understood. She did. Because since Nic; he never wanted GiGi to be without a parent or feel abandoned it was part of the why he went to a private practice to begin with. Why we were forced to have coffee meet ups with my busy schedule, being the Chief of Surgeon now; the title made my heart leap on its own content. The brunette gave a silent nod as she stepped outside as he held the door for them both. 

Not that Billie didn’t see Gigi all the time, I spent Sundays at the house, we had little tea parties, and if Conrad ever had to work late I’d be the one he called to help him. We were family; Nic’s absence was heavy in our hearts; but I knew Nic, she would never want him to give up on his dreams, and it sounded like he was settling for what worked best for Gigi. I could tell with the way he spoke regarding the private Practice. A hand extended out to pat his forearm touch lingered briefly. 

“ It wasn’t all Bell.” Lips pulled together in amusement. “ At my Tea Parties with GiGi I may not have mentions all the rainbow fish books she adores on full display, along with the astronomy books I know she’d love. Cause she’s a astronaut in the making, Hate to break it to you.” A laugh escaped her lips as she dropped her hand before turning serious as our walkway path inched closer to Chastian. “ I think you’re settling for her benefit. And Nic wouldn’t want that for you or her. Talk to Kit explain you’ll come back but shorten hours only work morning shifts unless emergency came up. That you’re a devoted dad, but you do desire to return. But on your terms.” Conrad was a big part of our team; something told me Kit would give him whatever he wanted if it meant Conrad was a doctor had Chastian again. 

Just my two cents.

[agenderashswag]

a retrospective:

around 6 months ago, i've arguably posted one of the most important fics for me, personally

i started writing in it in november, on the couch at my school, and in that ending i just. poured out my soul. thought about my friends and all of the feels and just channeled it into a few paragraphs. because i was thinking about my friends, about how much i loved fandom, and how badly i wanted a hug. i just took all of those feelings, distilled it to the very basics of what i was feeling, and poured it all onto a page.

i think it's one of the best endings i've written. tired, wanting to be held, and yearning for someone to love me unconditionally, that scene where it was just a hug in an apocalypse because you love someone so much and you don't know what to do, and having coffee in the morning because you'll always hold your promise. and that you love them. did i mention that you love them? you really do love them.

as i started working on it during november and through december, i'd started getting out of my shell and start talking to people in my fandom without being explicitly invited to things (wowie!!!)--and that's one of the best decisions i've ever made. instead of constantly being on the sidelines, i'd started to interact with people more. started laughing with them. shared my insane au ideas with them. and started being friends with them. friends who i hold dearly in my heart because they're lovely people to talk to.

mostly because the first friend i made in the fandom was off of another fic, a fic where i commented, mentioned the basic idea of the fic i was working on, and reached out to dm it on tumblr. where it invited me to a server where i'd meet new people and start talking to them.

i really thank it for it, and i really appreciate it as a friend. and if i never commented on how much i loved its fic, i would have never became friends with it and so many other people. i really do think its one of the things that's kept me sane even despite everything

but onto the actual fic, i think it's the fic I've put the most consideration in. thinking about every line, every bit of dialogue, how to get the emotions even stronger. and doing something that i still value to this day: having my friends read and rip apart my work. without their help (esp aj's: hi if you're reading this!!!), i don't think i would have finished it the way i did, working on countless edits until i thought it was the best thing i had ever written.

eventually, as the fic started to become done, finals were coming up and i was preparing for that--until i got sick. i got sick with a sinus infection and i couldn't take my finals in time. throwing all of my studying plans down the gutter and forcing me to stay cooped up in my room all day.

so as i started to finally feel the sinus infection start to fade away, my fic on the backburner, it ends up my entire family but me got covid, forcing me to quarantine from everyone else in the house. alone in my room again, just as winter break was starting, i was forced to go crazy in my room with only an internet connection to keep me enterained.

i didn't vc anyone, so it was really, really, lonely. i didn't tell anyone outside of my irl friends, but i was really, really lonely during that time. i could only really open my door to see the outside of my house a few times before i shut my door.

during that time, i finally put my head down and started working on other fics. started working on that one fic again, slowly adding and editing to it as i saw fit.

eventually, it was christmas day, and my entire family was celebrating except me. where for 15 minutes, i had to watch my family celebrate on my phone screen without me, and when i finally posted my fic that i had spent so much time on.

and the reception i got was wonderful. i'd spend so long working on it, and to see so many people appreciate my fic was wonderful. someone even wished me a happy christmas, which i really appreciated considering the situation.

no one but me will really know that whenever i re-read that fic, i'm reminded of all of the friends i'd spend late nights texting and the quarantine, but i know it when i read it. i can see the feelings i felt when i was writing it, and i'm delighted it serves as a time capsule for my feelings, even if i'm the only one who can read it

a few months later, as things started ramping up in my personal life, in the car ready to drive to prom, i saw the email notification that the same person who had wished me a happy christmas re-commented again. and how this fic helped them on a bad day

and that's always resonated with me, you know? in that moment where i felt that i was so tired and i couldn't catch a break, i was suddenly transported to being stuck in my room in quarantine, but staying sane because of my friends. and how i needed that pick-up during that time. so to see proof of that working for someone else? it was amazing

and that's always resonated with me. as i started to feel my writing stagger, i started zooming out of my situation again and resisting my old work

and when i got to that fic to fix up some formatting, i read over it again and realized it's been 6 months since i've published it. and i realized truly, how much has changed since i've written it. but even then, i could still relate to the words i wrote on the school couch.

and i'd figure i'd write my feelings about it. my life is still a whirlpool and some of my friends i've made from fandom have left or have been busy, but i don't regret making them. i still miss them sometimes, but i just really want to say that i hope they're safe and they're having a good (or at least, better) day. because even though i haven't talked to them in months, i still love and appreciate them and i could, at the very least, wish for their wellbeing <3

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

ASK TO BE TAGGED!

SEND IN REQUESTS!

[michals]

That post reminded me I never actually posted this and it's one of those ‘kind of embarrassing I spent so much time on it but I’m posting it because I spent so much damn time on it’ things.

Klaus and Luther similarities/parallels

So the show doesn’t give us a ton of Luther and Klaus interaction but I think just them being the characters they are they’re really similar and have interesting parallels.

Of all the siblings I think it’s actually Luther and Klaus who are the most diametrically opposed in terms of their place in the Academy and their childhood. Obviously there’s the dynamic between Reggie explicitly calling Luther his favorite and Klaus his biggest disappointment, both of them had high expectations thrust upon them and one excelled and the other failed. But then again Luther was set up to excel and Klaus to fail. For all that Reggie wanted from Klaus he went about it in entirely the wrong way which only hurt Klaus’s abilities, and comparatively Luther’s powers are very straight forward so his training had to be mental in that he became exactly what Reggie wanted him to be.

Basically: Reggie’s abuse had opposite effects on them. Luther was brainwashed and isolated, Klaus was discarded and left to fend for himself. Luther loves/trusts his dad, Klaus hates him. Luther thinks they have a purpose and what they did was worthwhile, Klaus thinks it was all a big joke and meant nothing beyond Reggie’s little experiment. Luther’s at one end of the spectrum, Klaus the other, and everyone else falls somewhere in between.

How they show the effects of their abuse however, is actually more in sync. Klaus has a habit of either ignoring or talking around problems, acting like they’re not problems, or being flippant about them. Klaus acknowledges Reggie’s abuse but it’s usually in a jokey, casual manner, he usually moves on from talking about it quickly without getting too deep. He knows Reggie did a number on them but confronting it head on is difficult. And this is from a character who’s been in multiple rehab centers that obviously include some kind of therapy sessions.

Luther of course outright denies it until he’s faced with it in the worst way, and even then he can’t really get his head around it. One of the first things he did when landing in the 60s was to go to Reggie and expect him to welcome him, even though he doesn’t even know him. And then for all his talk in s2 about having moved on it reads like lip service, it sounds like he knows that’s what he should say, what he should feel, but it’s not entirely working. It’s like he’s just trying to dismiss it to the point where he will literally run away from the conversation. I still think the moment of him telling Sparrowverse Reggie that he’s happy they’re all home and together is a huge sign that he still thinks of Reggie as his dad no matter what.

Klaus and Luther either don’t know how to talk about their trauma or aren’t willing to. Whether it’s that Luther still doesn’t want to face up to it completely or that perhaps he does have the littlest bit of hope that actually Reggie did care and there was/is a chance he might care yet, or with Klaus trying to put the trauma on the backburner so he doesn’t have to relive it or process it in a way that means he won’t be able to drink it away or perhaps be forced to confront the powers that have caused him so much pain.

I also think they are genuinely sensitive. Not in the same way the others are, but empathetic and gentle in ways they never got to explore as children. I think that emotional wounds go much deeper than they let on. They’re always on the cusp of reaching out but not only do they not like dealing with their problems, they were taught not to. If given the chance they’d probably be happy to play support for the others but that wasn’t Reggie’s goal. I can easily imagine Luther as the kind of leader who takes everyone’s plans and thoughts into account and makes sense of it from there, who’s better at dictating than just demanding. And I imagine Klaus would probably be capable of understanding and connecting to his ghosts in a way that helps both him and them if he had been given different training.

Next is how both of them have poor self esteem and what comes across as a passive view of self preservation. Klaus has a very conflicted view of his place within the Academy. Apparently he was regulated to being the ‘look out’ often and wasn’t as active as the others. Obviously this is because of his complicated relationship with his powers and how Reggie treated him within the group dynamic. If he didn’t think Klaus was important (because he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to) then he wasn’t important. Now, having embraced his place as the black sheep of the family, Klaus still doesn’t know where he fits in and often comes across as “useless” (in quotes cause obvs that’s not the whole story, just a simplification).

Just in general he sees himself as an outsider. For all that he’s flippant and casually cocky he’s not actually all that confident in what he’s capable of to the point of not even trying sometimes because he’s convinced he’ll fail. It’s a smokescreen. It goes hand in hand with him not confronting his feelings or trauma, easier to play like he’s confident than to deal with it.

Luther’s self esteem came entirely from his place in the Academy and his father’s opinion and what Reggie made him. Even then his confidence gets shaken all the time when someone doesn’t listen to him or when they argue with him. He too tries to cover this up, Klaus is glib Luther is bossy. Then there’s the whole gorilla body thing, which he is very obviously mortified by. (Side note: interesting contrast in Klaus being usually the least physically covered up sibling and Luther being the most.) He’s wildly ashamed and embarrassed by his appearance. (There’s a whole other point I could make about how Luther only willingly shows his body when he’s being exploited and pummeled – or high – but that’s another post.)

Then Luther’s whole foundation crumbles with the discovery of Reggie’s true nature. He doesn’t have much left after that and then he’s dropped into a foreign world with no one and no way of coping and then Reggie once again lets him down. What’s he do? Gets into a situation that mirrors his relationship with Reggie, lets himself be taken advantage of, does what he’s told to the point of physical harm - because he knows nothing else and the bet is he doesn’t think he deserves better. Then he spends all of season 2 saying that he messed up, he’s not a hero, he’s not a leader and that he has no place thinking highly of himself. Guy straight up doesn’t have any self esteem at this point.

(Klaus also doesn't see himself as a hero even though he was on a literal superhero team.)

And in terms of their sense of self preservation: Klaus obviously has very little regard for his own health and wellbeing. Even if he doesn’t throw himself in front of bullets he’s still drinking and doing drugs to an extreme degree, to the point where they’ve actually killed him. He knows it’s bad for him, he knows it’s dangerous but he doesn’t care. Even with Ben in his ear he continues. When he dies in s1 he’s relieved.

Speaking of throwing one’s self in front of a bullet: Luther does this 3 times that we see. This comes obviously from his protectiveness as a leader but there’s an undercurrent of other people surviving being more important than him getting hurt. And when Five comes to him to say the world’s ending again Luther says he doesn’t give a shit. The Luther from s1 was all about saving the day, s2 Luther is shrugging and saying ‘yeah well, so what?’ and when he does start to care it’s mostly because he’s looking out for Five.

(Sidenote: I realize that my headcanon that Luther is becoming an alcoholic and has an unhealthy relationship with drugs is probably me reading into things but were the show to go in that direction: that they both would find comfort or an escape through substances would be another thing to tie them together and explore how their traumas affected them and what they do to deal with/avoid dealing with them. They’ve become pessimistic about the prospect of answers or catharsis so they look for escape instead.)

(Also also pointing out that the two times Luther was the most candid about his trauma was when he was drunk/high and one of those times was with Klaus – who for the first time in probably a long time, or ever, got to be the shoulder someone cried on. And what a great thematic idea that it’d be the two of them that’d be the most honest and open with each other eventually.)

Bonus item: Luther and Klaus have both died outside of their apocalypse related deaths (pretty sure Allison never actually died in s1 but was close) and in ways that none of the others were there for. Neither of them have talked about it. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to seem weaker than they already are, maybe it’s more of that ‘let’s not talk about trauma, let’s just get drunk’ mentality, or maybe it’s because they don’t think anyone would care. None of the others have really talked to Luther about the accident or the aftermath, none of them have approached Klaus’s addictions as an actual problem. Whatever reason why it would probably do them a world of good to find out they have that in common in the same way it would be good for Luther and Five to talk about their isolation.

They really seem like they should be very different characters in all respects and they really are in a lot of ways but there’s also this laundry list of ways they mirror each other or are similar and I hope the show takes advantage of that.

[dorminchu]

ALL THESE THINGS THAT I'VE DONE

The war against Paradis is over. Eren and Annie are forced to confront their mortality in a world that seems to have no need of them, and their significance to each other. [Post-Canon]

I didn't know there was an ereani week this year until a couple days ago, but I figured: cool, I should probably post something. Title comes from the track of the same name by The Killers.

The prompt is: Day 3 (4/12): "I love you" / "I loved you"

[Ao3 | FFNet]

i.

When the war was over, it was Armin who took the glory. That was a new look for him, Eren thought. Smart but eternally overlooked until he inherited the role of the Colossus Titan. Willing to carry the burden of humanity's savior without much complaint, unlike his teenage self who had always been plagued by doubts and fears. Eren wouldn't have thought Armin would be ready to chew the bullet while he quietly slipped into the background—but he was the leader, and Eren had always been accustomed to his status of figurehead.

Their roles had inverted with age.

As part of an overarching deal with Queen Historia, Eren was granted quarters—a cabin ten miles from the border of what had once been Wall Rose—and a modest pension, as long as he held his tongue and did not make any attempt to intercept the negotiations between Paradis and the surrounding countries. Eren put in an application for professor at the local military academy and spent the days trying to record what he could remember of his experiences in Marley.

The cabin had been around since the start of the war. About ten or so miles from the nearest village. Perhaps even before Eren was born, when Paradis was just a penal colony in name and the boundaries on inhabitable territory were less strict. The pipes still worked and there was evidence of an outhouse as well as quarters for a small animal—he wondered if it had been a hunter’s lodge.

After growing up in the back end of Shiganshina for the first nine years of his life and living in barracks and halfway houses for the next ten, it was a lot quieter. He felt oftentimes as if he were on a permanent state of leave, awaiting orders that would never come. There was so much time to fritter away now, without a war on the backburner.

ii.

In a bid to lessen the severity of his scarring, Eren tried growing a beard. He couldn't sprout a full one like Zeke could, just the chin-hairs, an innate reminder of his days in Marley. Most often he kept his hair pulled back in a short ponytail or else cut it short in the warmer seasons, though never as short as it had been in his days of adolescence.

He'd regenerated his leg and other limbs since the ceasefire, regained his motor functions in a week-long, agonsing process that he was sure Hanji would've loved had she been alive to witness it—but a day or so after settling into the cabin the old pain was flaring up again. He had a vivid memory of asking Commander Hanji once, at seventeen, after exhausting his father’s journal, but the only conclusion either of them could come up was phantom pain. Even if he were whole and unmarred, he did not anticipate sleep as any source of relief. Colours in his right eye gradually turned dull and it was getting harder to read even by candlelight, disorienting to walk out into harsh sunlight. Eventually he just began wearing a patch for the sake of simplicity. His other eye was unaffected.

He could still remember Ramzi's face better than most of his dead Scouts and it kept him up at night for hours. His way of life—the Titans, ODM gear—was quickly being phased out, trading blades and canisters for rifles and ammunition. His place among the armistice seemed moot.

Eren thought more often of his father. He did not wish to, explicitly, but the memories of him that popped into his head were usually indecipherable and triggered by stress.

The doctors in Marley would define this as shellshock. Other times they left impressions like the outline of the sun under closed eyelids; warmth, family, agony, guilt that would eat away at him for the rest of his remaining life.

Eren was, at least, confident in the fact that he was nothing like his father. He didn't pretend he was doing anything morally righteous, nor had he allowed himself to be molded into a pariah like Zeke. He had only accomplished what those same men were afraid or unable to do. It was nothing to crow about. He did not blame Zeke for that upbringing. Eren had taken action, knowing he would be hated and feared by his own comrades. He could only leave behind his memories in print, and if by some Godforsaken chance they somehow managed to fall into the hands of a like-minded company—well, perhaps one day he would be understood or misconstrued further. Rotting in the ground he could not defend his truth or bias.

But while he was alive, he could not rest. He knew better than most that all of this was fleeting.

It wasn’t as though he was out of shape with all the walking. He still stuck to drills in the morning to keep himself busy; awaiting orders that would never come. It sounded like something Armin might say. But Armin was content to busy himself with the sons and brothers of deceased bureaucrats; the succeeding generation to the brilliant men and women who'd led them right into the mouths of hell and out again.

Commander Hanji was dead. Commander Irvin had been dead four years now. Captain Levi was on his way to retirement and attempting to get Mikasa to replace him.

After seven years of military service his soldier’s inclinations remained unshakeable. He'd wake up every morning, going through the motions as though he were still a stowaway in Marley. He'd never allowed himself to consider a life beyond the pretext of enlistment and eventual expiration within the Scouting Regiment, much less the seemingly endless war between Paradis and the rest of the world. In the best case he had assumed he would die eventually, of old age or a more unheroic death out in the field. He'd never allowed himself to be ruled by that fear of mortality because he had to eradicate the Titans first—it was a child’s logic that had gotten him through military academy. Yet here he was, nineteen, with four going-on three years left to kill. Annie had three, going-on two. That was the only certainty she'd admitted to him without need for prying.

So Eren had to be sharp for the rest of their sakes. The war on Paradis had ended and brought with it economic turmoil. A mourning period that seemed to extend indefinitely. The next decade of prosperity would not be won in a year, nor three, and it would come on the backs of the losing side and breed the same old resentment, and then inevitably the same slow descent towards outrage and madness and oppression. Always in the back of his mind like the learnt urge to drink, or his inherited memories—he could almost convince himself of his hard-won stability. It was a good enough reason as any to stop answering Mikasa's letters.

iii.

The door opened to reveal the very last person he had ever expected to see again. She was every bit the woman he had seen in Marley and little of the girl in the crystal remained. What could he say to a four-year old crush-turned-heartbreak whose face he could scarcely recall among the hundreds of thousands of other casualties? "You shouldn't have come back."

When he moved to close the door, she stopped him with her heel. "I'm no longer a Warrior, nor a soldier. I have nowhere else to turn. You and I understand each other, so there's no point in bloodshed."

He gauged this, chewing his tongue. "Did someone send you?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "No one you'd know."

"I suppose you were sent here to finish the job for Marley?"

"No." Bluntly, she forced herself into the doorway. "I came here on my own. I just—"

"—all right, it seems like there's been some kind of miscommunication between you and whoever sent you."

"I was told you'd be able to accommodate me." 

"I don't need anyone else here."

Annie squinted at him. Her hand was clenched tightly on the doorjamb. "You must get bored living up in the mountains. And you could use another pair of hands if you're not regenerating." Eren said nothing. "Did you carve your eye out again?"

"Goddamn you," he growled, and wrenched the door open.

He let her walk past the threshold. Looked at her once, and then away. "I'll set a place aside for you to sleep," indicating a well-worn sofa, "you can stay as long as you need to until you find somewhere you like."

"I don't know why you're so upset. You could have killed me years ago. You've had every opportunity, and yet—"

"—I've moved on." He said it flatly, almost resigned. "You haven't, obviously."

Annie didn't flinch. "So you're just going to stay here and wait to die?"

"I keep myself busy."

"What do you do?"

"I teach the new cadets over at the Academy. It's about two hours from where we are; nothing special, but they seem eager to learn."

"I see."

He turned finally to face her. "What about you?"

Annie hesitated. "Used to work with the other displaced soldiers up until a few days ago."

"How'd that treat you?"

"It was all right. Why, are you too good for it now, now that you're a war hero?"

Eren ignored the barb. "It's been a while since everything settled down, so I wondered how you would fare."

"What, so you just popped up in this house?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. There was a tribunal, and it was decided to let me live on the condition I'd be kept far away where I wouldn't bother with anyone. I can't say the same for the others."

"You sold them out?"

He chuckled. "I didn't have to say much. They did it to themselves. We shared a common goal at one point but never the same ideology. At the very least, I can say I took no pleasure in what I—"

"—Ackermann gave you an out?"

Eren gauged the sharpness in her tone, the stiffness of her posture. "I didn't ask her to." He frowned. "You never told me how you got here. Did Mikasa have something to do with this?"

Annie froze, then averted her eyes. "I didn't have much of a choice. It was either come here or work myself to death doing manual labor. I wouldn't have minded that."

"Why didn't you tell me that she sent you?"

"I don't know. She seemed to pity you."

"Oi, it's not your fault. She can feel however she wants." He sounded bemused, scowling. "What the hell else she she think I'm going to do in four years? I have no plans to start another war."

Annie finally eyed him in her peripherals. "We didn't talk much other than that."

Within the next few hours he'd gotten a few more details out of her. In exchange for agreeing to be quartered here, her record was wiped clean. She had recently reapplied for the MP brigade under a new name and secured a position as secretary in the Karanese district headquarters. She had also admitted to him that she was dying to get back onto the streets again.

As a bedfellow Annie was, in some ways, more than he could've hoped for. Despite the introduction, she talked far less than they had as cadets. She did not seem particularly happy or unhappy, just neutral. She woke up each morning at six hours and left to do her drills. She would come back in an hour and offer to help him with whatever menial tasks needed doing, as if they really were holed up together in the remnants of a cabin lost ten years ago to a threat that would live on in sordid, haunting memory. The kind of life one would find beyond the realm of a weathered photograph. 

Unobtrusive without becoming idyllic. The best outcome he could afford her was three years of uneventful domesticity.

They didn't spar anymore. Not for lack of want, or kicking the habit. Eren just couldn't keep up with her the way he used to. His leg was shaky and she pointed it out first. It would have an impact on the kind of punishment he could take as opposed to when he was fifteen and shrugged off every injury like it was nothing. His eye was not healing. 

Annie was in better condition. Just by studying her gait it was obvious that she'd taken better care of herself. She had not had to bunk up with a gang of stinking, vulnerable soldiers riddled by shellshock. Trying to communicate with them in German worked, but it got him a lot of funny looks and no end of comparisons to fathers and grandfathers enlisted or long since dead.

Annie wasn't interested in his stories from Marley but she didn't brush him off either. She just tolerated it in a much more polite way than Mikasa or Armin would.

At twenty years old she came up to his chest. Either the crystallization had stunted her growth or she was naturally short. She was also scarred enough down her face but it was of the same sheer consistency as her hair. You would only know what she was if you were paying close attention.

She got skittish and temperamental if he tried to push his luck training with her. Initially it had pissed him off:

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

She'd looked at him bluntly. "You're still recovering. Why overexert yourself?"

He'd never told her about his injuries but the idea of her picking up on it this quickly rankled for reasons he did not care to discuss. "I'm not a kid."

Something flashed in her eyes. "I'm not going to push you."

And that was the end of it. He'd decided that this ritual mattered more to her than him, and respected her space. He still did his own drills.

But every time they locked eyes now he'd get that same, absurd itch in the back of his mind from a year ago. Sharpened his tongue and made him want to speak in ways he didn't think he should attempt to justify whilst sober.

iv.

Days passed. He did not always see her until late in the evening.

In the middle of the night he rolled over onto his bad leg and the pain woke him. In silence he got up, not enough to require medication but still pretty uncomfortable.

“Eren?”

He went still. Annie was up herself, over by the window, staring at him as though he were on his deathbed. In the low light her eyes looked strange and luminous. “Does it hurt?”

“Does—what?”

“Your leg.”

Eren sat up slowly as not to aggravate his condition. She didn't say anything else. “It’s not so bad that I can’t sleep.” He studied her face for signs of age, finding naught but scars, a weariness in her eyes he could speak to. She didn't frown. She just watched him coolly. Eren shrugged. “You can’t sleep either?" No answer. "Thinking about to-morrow?”

“I can get you something for it.”

Eren shook his head. “That's not necessary."

"Don't be stupid."

"This isn't something I can just take pills for.”

"It's chronic." Her tone pregnant with incredulity. "Why haven't you seen a doctor for this?"

"Annie, what the hell is a regular doctor gonna do for either of us? We already fix ourselves. There are other veterans that have been stranded here, they aren't growing their limbs back. They need all the help they can get. Anyway, it's only, what, three more years of living? I can take three. Fuck, I've taken ten."

The more he kept talking, the darker her eyes became. Clench in her jaw, tautness of her shoulders, pronounced enough to notice from a distance—an involuntary reflection of his own revulsion.

"I don't know how you managed to win one war, let alone, if you can't even prevent yourself from running into the ground." Her voice was icy and distinctly contemptuous. She stalked over to him. Cold fingers dug into the meat of his naked shoulder, pushed him upright between the wall and headboard; tight, controlled movements. "Four years later and you still want to pretend you're a fucking martyr. It might've worked on Mikasa, but I'm not your sister. I'm not going to help you hurt yourself."

She kneaded at his leg in a much brusquer way than the way the orderlies in Marley. Eren didn't argue. She was not going to take no for an answer. When it was done she coaxed him to lie down again. He stiffened as he felt her weight join his on the mattress, curled almost tentatively against his chest. She didn’t try to hold him, just huddled as though for warmth. She did not explain herself.

Eren had a vague recollection of the last time this had happened. Back then she came up to his chin, rather than the middle of his chest; their disparity was only thrown into relief. He could feel the human warmth of her through the thin undershirt, the softness of her hair on his cheek. He’d dreamt about this a lot when he was sixteen, while the tragedy of her betrayal was no longer fresh but still painful in his mind. He had no energy left to hate her then, for she was not his enemy.

He heard her breathing even out.

She had stayed this long. There was no sense in abandoning her now.

v.

Sometime after that, Eren started noticing her in more tangible ways. Smell of her hair. The subtle glint in her eyes in lieu of a smile. She'd wait up for him in the mornings before he left. He'd tell her good-bye.

When he came home he’d catch her eyes lingering on him in profile.

Just one day too many of the same quiet inactivity. The fact that they had slept in the same bed was just a catalyst of how familiar they were with each other already.

She woke up an hour later than usual and, fuming, went out to train. A light rain had started. Eren made breakfast. Over the next twenty minutes the light sheet became much more torrential. Annie came back in about half-an-hour, dripping water all over the floor. He would've told her off but she grabbed his wrist. He turned as she leant up and took his face in her hands and kissed him like her life depended on it.

Maybe the situation had always been building to this. He had forgotten about its immediacy until the moment presented itself. But now there was nothing left to say. So he gathered her up and placed her on the counter, kissing her breathless, bunching up her threadbare shirt, palming her tits through the military-issue brassiere—he muttered, "see, I thought you were just being nice," and she scoffed, set her heel to the small of his back even as he put his mouth on her. She was chilled from the rain; it was not yet summer. Half-dressed and needy, he took her right there on the countertop. Afterwards, there was no shame or lingering uncertainty that would have been present as cadets. She pressed her cheek to his.

"I'm going to be away for a while. It's higher pay if I stay in Karanese. Maybe two or three weeks." She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright but her tone was stoic. "I just…" She trailed off because he was only looking at her face. Eren smoothed her damp hair away from her cheek.

"I love you." Then he stopped. Like he was finally coming to grips with the idea. Annie blinked rapidly. A crease formed in her brow. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. Eren kissed her chin. "But, if you're gonna be trackin' mud everywhere you'd best clean it up after yourself."

She finally came back to herself. Shoved him lightly in the chest. "Fuck off." Then hoisted herself off the counter, fixed her trousers, and asked in a dry voice where he kept the washbasin.

vi.

On his own the cabin felt distinctly empty. Sometimes he'd wake up hard and just—take care of it. Annie on top of him. On her knees. Pulling him up to her. He missed her a lot more than he'd care to admit to her face and it wasn't just in the sense that she was available. She'd probably just smirk at him anyway.

But when she returned it was nice to have her around, even for a little while. She kept to herself and he gave her space; it was as though she had never left.

It was still morning. He was working when he felt her come up behind him, hands slipping over his wrists. “Oi,” he muttered, “I’m a little busy.”

“You’re just sitting there.”

He scoffed. “Really? How would you know what I’m doin’?” No answer. Eren closed the book. “You really are demanding, ain’t you?” Faux-annoyance. But he turned.

She looked prettier in uniform. Hair pulled back into less of a bun, more of a severe ponytail. She was looking him up and down as though deciding something for herself.

She leant down, kissed him firmly, nipping at his lip until went with it, half-amused. She stepped back, breathing evenly, eyes glinting. She cupped his face, a vestige of tenderness he did not anticipate.

Then her eyes shifted, something empty, strange. A harsh crack against his jaw he could not anticipate and he took it, worked his jaw, blinking rapidly. “What the hell are you—?”

Annie jerked her head back slightly, fixing him with the same expectance he realised he’d completely misinterpreted. “Hit me.”

Eren didn’t move. Her jaw trembled, then set. He caught her wrist. “That’s enough.”

“Why?” She sounded annoyed. “It’s all right. I can take it.”

“What is this?”

“I’ll be dead before you anyway, it would be easier just to take—”

“—I said that’s enough,” he said, terse. “I’m not going to do anything to you."

Her brow furrowed. "I thought you understood.”

Eren just stared, fighting to keep himself calm when he wanted to grab her shoulders and demand her to justify why the hell she wanted to be hit. "What am I supposed to understand?"

Annie’s eyes darted over his face and then to his wrist. “I want you to hit me back.”

“I’m not going to do that.” He cupped her jaw and she almost flinched; his stomach twisted. “Do you understand me?“

Silence built up between them. "I know you’d stop if I asked you to.”

“I’m not going to wait until after I’ve hurt you to stop.”

Annie pressed her face into his chest. He took her by the shoulders, watching her stiffen.

“Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

"Why d'you want me to hit you?"

"Do you want a list?" He gripped her tight enough to make her flinch and immediately regretted the look of fear that came across her face. He let go of her. "I’ve been complicit in the death of your comrades.” Her voice thickened. “And I’ve taught you everything I know. You don't need me here for anything other than your own gratification.” Returning to the facade of impassivity with unnerving ease. “So, there’s no point in comparing our tallies.”

“Annie—"

“Are you stupid?” Annie spat, the most emotion she had exhibited thus far. “You've taken my country and my life and my father and you—now you want me to love you back. You want to marry me as if we're ever going to—I'm the one who killed your friends, why would you ever want to be reminded of—"

"You love me." She looked helpless in her vulnerability. "What? What's the matter?"

"Why would you want me? I—I can't even have children. I'm going to die in four years. I'm going to watch you die unless I kill myself fir—"

"—Annie—"

"—you could fuck anyone you wanted!" she exploded. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Because you don’t have to earn anything from me! I just want to be around you—can’t you accept that?”

Annie kissed him hard. He trembled though he was holding her.

“Take me to bed." Eren opened his mouth and she kissed his chin. “I want you to take me to bed. I—”

Even then, he was hesitant to touch her. She led the way, stripping down to skin and splaying on his bed. He caressed her when she asked him to, a gentleness in his hands that betrayed his own sympathy; for once she didn’t chastise him.

Her scarring was far more pronounced in the light. He'd noticed before, briefly on the counter and more clearly with enough attention, but not like this. It clustered around her sternum and down her spine. He wondered, briefly, if that was why she'd wanted to do it quickly. Now her eyes were bright and shimmering but she took him into her, reached for him.

"Is this OK?" His voice was a croak.

Her eyes flickered to him. Cautious, sure. "Yeah."

He was on his knees, lifting the small of her back, working her towards a much sweeter surrender. He slid one arm around her waist to support her and touched her breasts, the side of her neck, cupping her jaw. His thumb ran over her scarring.

“Annie.” She gasped at the sound of her name. “Ann. Look. Come here.” She was biting her lip. Head fallen back, her hair was almost diaphanous in the light. He murmured her name and she was shivering with emotion. She turned into her elbow and told him in an unsteady voice to go faster, and the bed creaked to match him.

Her body arched, jaw slack. She wouldn't stop shivering. Her voice did not rise in expectation. It just wavered, edgeless.

He took her wrist away from her face and—she flinched. This serrated, ugly, sound that jerked out of her body. He pulled out, holding her. “Look at me,” his voice hoarse and horrified, “please.”

Annie curled up against his chest and shook. Eren just kept apologizing. She didn't push him away.

Eventually she stopped. Raised her head. Their eyes met and she lost composure again. He brushed her hair from her face. “Stay,” she croaked, “please. I need you.”

He kissed her brow. She almost flinched. He tucked his chin into her shoulder, arms around her back, until she’d calmed down.

"You don't have to do anything," he said quietly. "Do you understand that?"

"I know."

Laying prone, she only came up to his sternum. Annie sat up first. She got to her feet and went over to the window. Her shoulder was parallel to the glass. His attention stayed firmly on her profile. “You’re gonna get colder than hell. Come back here.”

She turned and glanced at his forearm curled half-surreptitiously against his stomach. Scar tissue along her breasts was prominent. In the dead light of this cloudy, April afternoon she finally looked her age.

There was a naked uncertainty in her eyes that made him freeze. "You're not my father and you never will be. You've been kinder towards me than I deserve, given the circumstances. I wish I could despise you."

Eren rolled his shoulders. The silence held for a while. "I don't know if what either of us have done can be forgiven. But, as long as you’re here, I want you to know that I don't hate you." All she did was stare, a slight crease in her brow. “I never could.”

“You love me,” she said. Not with scorn. Like she was testing the idea in a way they would have shied away from as kids. She averted her face towards the window.

She watched him get up and tensed. He limped towards her in a couple strides and draped the blanket around her shoulders with the same tentativeness. She did not put her arms around him. She pressed her face into his shoulder. His arm came around her back and she closed her eyes, just existing in the cold slats of wood against her feet and the rise and fall of his breast.

He put the blankets around her and laid beside her.

He’d always supposed he would heal with enough rest. He didn't know how to put what he felt into words, but eloquence had never been his forte. It was not unlike laying on your deathbed, mulling over all the things that hardly seemed to matter until there was no time left to spare.

There was no pain now, just certainty in the presence of another—the old urge to drink was absent.

This is a cleaned-up version of a couple tumblr WIPs + some old/new material blended in for fun. Think of it as a pilot episode for a much larger fic.

For what it's worth I did like the ending of AoT. Elements of that ending will likely factor into the aforementioned larger fic. I am totally disinterested in arguing about ships or wasted potential—at this point, I’d rather write whatever seems interesting, and leave it at that, canon or not.

And hey, if you think acknowledging canon will override my crippling addiction to the "morally challenged antihero/problematic blonde" dynamic… I really don't see that happening. Even after exiting this fandom, it's like, ALL I've been writing for a year (looking at YOU Insult to Injury) and I feel like I'm going insane. Back on topic though: Now that AoT has concluded, I find I am far less stressed at the prospect for writing for this series again. It won’t be my main focus, but I do like this fic’s concept enough to flesh it out.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively��

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[lyssismagical]

Hey, you know... if you ever wanted to write another Parkner glee au (bc i found the other two you wrote and I'm obsessed) I think the Bash episode in s5 would be pretty cool. If you can't swing it, that's fine. Just a suggestion but mostly good job I love what you've done with the others 💖💖💖

Glee AU #3 – Bash (S5 ep15)

{TW: Homophobia, Violence}

 Ever since they moved to Boston together, things had been relatively calm. There hadn’t been any conflicts between any of the roommates, no terrible injuries, no issues with moving out, they’d been happily enjoying the adult life.

Harley and Peter were going to MIT, MJ going to Harvard, and Ned at Tufts University.

They were living in a decently nice apartment not far from all three of their campuses, and close to where Betty, Ned’s girlfriend, was going, Yale.

It was theirs in a way that most things weren’t. They paid for it all on their own, and they were continuing to pay rent, pay their bills, and buy groceries all with their own hard-earned money.

For Harley, the best thing about the past couple months in Boston was Peter.

They’d been dating since Junior year and now they’re living together, sleeping in the same bed, going to school together, having date nights all the time.

At first, MJ had said, quiet and concerned, that she was worried this would be too much for their relationship. She’d always been observant, and it was true that they were used to a lot of time apart. Especially with Harley spending the summers in Tennessee and Peter spending most nights Spider-Manning, they’d never really spent this long together.

But their relationship flourished.

Instead of feeling claustrophobic in their relationship, they basked in the time they could spend together.

They had more arguments, but they had a lot more time to communicate their problems and work through them. They were good for each other in that way.

The peace they’d all been basking in made it so surprising when the first headline appeared before them.

A friend of a friend was in the hospital after being beaten up in an alleyway, left unconscious in the rain, simply for being gay.

Peter hadn’t been Spider-Man in months. After Mysterio the summer before and the additional stress of moving to Boston and MIT, he’d made a deal with May and Tony that he’d put Spider-Man on the backburner unless absolutely necessary.

Everybody had expected, sitting around their dining room table, newspaper laid out on the center of the table, that Peter would be swinging through the streets to bring justice.

Instead, Harley found Peter in their bed, blankets tugged over his head like he was hiding from the horrors of the world.

“You okay, darling?” Harley asks gently. He sits on the edge of the bed and waits patiently as Peter slowly pulls the blankets off his head.

“No,” he says, eyes wide and glossy. “I know Travis wasn’t the only one with that way of thinking, but I guess it felt like the world was righter after Travis had changed for the better.”

Harley silently curses himself. Of course a headline like that would bring back unwanted high school memories.

Travis Wright had bullied Peter for three years, even going as far as threatening to kill Peter after he’d kissed Peter. A year or so later, after Harley and Peter had met, Travis had found Peter again, had admitted to being gay himself, had been projecting his own internalized homophobia on Peter, and told Peter he was becoming a better person.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Harley murmurs, tugging Peter into a hug. “I promise you, you’ll be okay. We’ll keep you safe. We can have MJ’s boyfriend bodyguard you or something. Or we could even call Happy, get a real bodyguard-”

“I’m Spider-Man, Harls, I’m my own protection. I just- I worry about you. I know you’ve always been the kind of guy to fight back and you’re strong, but these guys- they’re always stronger and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Harley smiles gently at his boyfriend, kissing his forehead. “Is this the perfect excuse for you to walk me to class in the morning? I wouldn’t mind riding the subway with you.”

It’s a silly kind of joke to be making in such a scary time, but Harley’s always been the kind of person to make badly timed jokes.

It does it’s job, though. Peter offers a watery smile and links their hands together.

Peter does end up walking Harley from class to class, even if it means being late for his own, and even if it means nearly losing his job when he’s late.

He’d do anything to keep Harley safe, that had never been a question.

Except for the small fact that Peter’s a busy guy. He’s always been the kind of person to fill his workload to the very brim, to never give himself even a second of spare time.

So he’s not too surprised when one of the days, he’s waiting just inside the autoshop he works at, waiting for Peter to show up, when MJ hops out of a taxi instead.

“Peter called,” she explains, looping their arms together to start their trek back to their apartment.

If anybody threatening shows up in their path, they can just pretend to be dating instead, so neither of them are very worried about anything happening. And either way, it’s only a fifteen minute walk back to the apartment.

“Did he get caught up?” Harley asks, not a hint of anger or disappointment in his voice.

“A coworker asked him to cover her shift because her sister got in an accident. You know how he is. He called me on his break, very flustered and asked if I could walk you home.”

Harley frowns. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“He knows that,” she says, squeezing his arm. “He’s just protective and he worries about you, about all of us, really. He’s even had Ned being careful not to take any shady routes home after classes.”

They make it home without any problem, unsurprisingly. Ned’s sitting on their couch, video game controller in hand. Betty’s stretched across the cushions, head in her boyfriend’s lap. She’s staying the long weekend at their apartment.

Harley immediately makes his way to the kitchen to start making dinner, and he hears MJ talking to Betty and Ned in the living room.

Maybe that’s why, when the call comes, it’s such a surprise.

It’s supposed to be a domestic, sweet Friday night with the five of them, eating Harley’s homemade dinner and bickering about which movie to watch.

It’s supposed to be the kind of night where everyone turns in early from a long week of hard work, followed by a late Saturday morning breakfast of Peter’s wonderful pancakes and MJ’s expensive coffee.

It’s supposed to be followed by Saturday Dinner Potluck where Flash and Harry come to visit, and Gwen sometimes makes it out to join them, and everyone makes a bit of food to share.

That’s not how it goes.

*

It’s late and the four of them are half-asleep around the living room, not worried about their missing fifth member, unsure when he’ll make it back from his late shift.

Harley’s phone rings from the kitchen, just loud enough to heard over the Friends episode that plays on the TV, more background noise to their hushed conversations than anything.

Harley extracts himself from the couch, coaxing MJ’s legs out of his lap and Ned’s head from his shoulder, socked feet padding quietly across the hardwood to the kitchen.

“Hello?”

As soon as the news is delivered, he slips into one of the breakfast bar stools, heart pounding in his chest as he utters a quick goodbye, fingers moving to dial Harry.

Harry, living just a few hours away in his own house with his boyfriend, answers his ringing phone, assuming wrongly that it’ll be Harley confirming Saturday Potluck.

Flash stirs against his chest when Harry drops his phone in horror and surprise at the news.

Tony’s asleep when his phone rings.

Pepper and Morgan are sleeping on the couch next to him, the credits of a Disney movie rolling on the TV.

The news is told before he can even get out a greeting.

He wakes Pepper, tears already shining in his eyes.

May’s working a night shift when she gets the call. It’s late and the worry spikes faster than imaginable. She’s gotten too many late night calls from any of the kids to know what it means.

The news still makes tears spring to her eyes and her knees go weak.

Harley’s been pacing the waiting room for nearly two hours by the time Harry and Flash burst through the doors, faces echoing Harley’s panic.

“Is he okay? What happened?” Flash demands, hands trembling as he grabs Harry’s and squeezes tight.

Harley opens his mouth to explain the story he got from the man who talked to them earlier, but nothing comes out.

“There’s been a few attacks recently,” MJ says, materializing at his side, hand on his shoulder. “A group of people who aren’t happy with the positive changes with gay rights who’ve been targeting people. I guess… There was this guy, Charlie, who was getting attacked in an alleyway, and- you know Peter. He’s never been the kind of person to stand by while someone else is in trouble.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Harry asks, paling when Harley and MJ are quiet for too long.

Harley swallows thickly. “He should be. He’s got Spider-Man on his side, and Charlie called the cops as soon as he got away. But the group, one of them pulled a gun.”

The boyfriends sink into a set of chairs across from them, knuckles white where they hold hands.

“But is going to be okay?” Flash’s voice is shaking almost as badly as his hands. “This isn’t even close to the first time he’s been shot.”

Before Harley can give an answer, not that he can really think of anything good to say, a nurse comes out of Peter’s room.

“Parker family?”

They must look like a strange bunch. Harley, MJ, Betty, Ned, Harry, and Flash, but the nurse barely even blinks when they turn to her.

“Is he going to be okay?” Flash repeats.

The nurse smiles. Not one of those plain and sad, sympathetic smiles, the kind of smiles that Harley was given when he was told his dad was never coming back. The kind of smiles that he was given when the principal at his first school told him there was nothing he could do about cruel words.

It’s not that.

It’s a genuine, good news smile.

“Yeah, he’s going to be just fine. His body’s still working through the anesthetics from the surgery, but everything went well and he’s all patched up. You can go in to see him, but I’d recommend not crowding his room when he wakes up.”

All eyes immediately turn to Harley. He’s Peter’s boyfriend, he’s not exactly sure if that takes priority over best friends, but he understands that they’re giving him the opportunity to see Peter first and his heart warms.

He nods quickly, thanking the nurse as quick as his clumsy tongue will let him, and his shoulders finally relax.

“He’s in room 248 whenever you’re ready.”

The nurse smiles once more before she heads back down the hallway she came from.

“Are you sure?” Harley asks when the two couples sit down again.

MJ smiles, patting at his shoulder. “Go see him. Come get us when you’re ready to. We’ll all be okay waiting for a little while longer.”

That’s all the reassurance he needs before he hurries down the hallway, awkwardly trying not to sprint, but desperate to see his boyfriend as quickly as he can.

He barely manages to slow himself when he bursts into Peter’s hospital room, eyes wide and burning with tears.

This is the one downside with being in love with Peter Parker.

Having to get used to seeing his loved one in a hospital bed too often, even if it’s never for very long. With Peter’s enhanced healing, he’s never been in the hospital for more than a couple days, but it also makes him think he’s invincible and jump into fights without a second thought.

Even now, in a scenario where Peter was supposed to be walking home from a shift at work, where he was supposed to join them in their living room, maybe offer to crack open a bottle of wine for them, snuggle up against Harley’s side.

Even then, Peter ended up in the hospital.

How much is the world going to throw at him for simple existing? How unfair is the universe for throwing this at him too?

Harley finally moves, eyes unable to stop staring at the cuts and bruises that litter his love’s pale skin.

He carefully slides into the space next to Peter in the bed, tears burning at his eyes as he gently presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“Nothing’s going to harm you, not while I’m around,” he promises.

He presses his nose against Peter’s neck, tucking his head in the crook of Peter’s shoulder, and he tries not to make it too obvious when the tears fall.

*

Harley jerks awake when he feels a kiss to his cheek.

His eyes dart around the room, remembering where he is and why, and the pain sparks in his chest, nothing physical but something so deeply emotional because his Peter was hurt.

“Hi,” Peter says, squinting up at Harley. His cuts have mostly healed, red lines left in their wake. The bruises have gone from the scary hues of black and purple down to softer yellows and greens. He’s half-smiling but there’s something awfully wrong about it.

“Are you feeling okay?” Harley asks, immediately regretting the words. “I mean, obviously you’re not, but I just- I don’t know-”

Peter winces and he rests his mouth against Harley’s jaw for a long moment to compose himself.

Eventually, he sighs and says, “I’ve been shot before and this isn’t my first being beaten up, that’s for sure. It’s not even my first time being beaten up for being bisexual. That was pretty much my whole junior year.”

Harley nods silently, gently threading his fingers through Peter’s hair. They’re close enough together, squished up in the hospital bed, that Harley can see the flush of Peter’s cheeks and the tears that pool in his eyes.

“But this felt so different. Travis, at least he knew me, right? He was never going to kill me, despite the threats he made. He was just a scared kid, you know? Those people, they saw a guy with a rainbow pin on his bag, and they wanted to kill him. They saw me protecting him, and they wanted to kill me too. That’s not- That’s not right.”

“It’s not,” Harley agrees because he isn’t sure what else he’s supposed to say. “I know, but Charlie, the guy you saved, he gave a full statement to the police, and it should be enough to track those people down and have them arrested.”

Peter sniffles, chin wobbling. “I’ve just never been that scared before. I was so worried for you that I wasn’t even thinking about me when I was walking home that night. I thought- I guess I thought I’d be okay because I’m Spider-Man. But I wasn’t Spider-Man.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harley says. He kisses his boyfriend’s forehead, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. Peter’s knuckles are busted, blood still staining his fingers.

*

Peter’s released from the hospital that night.

He’s still weak and beyond tired, but he throws on a brave smile as Harley helps him up and into the sweatpants and t-shirt MJ brought for them.

Harley hails them a taxi and he never lets go of Peter’s hand for the whole trip home.

“You okay?” Harley asks for the thousandth time when they reach their apartment door.

“I love you,” Peter says instead, kissing Harley before he smiles. “I’m good, I’m alright.”

Harley opens the door and leads Peter into the apartment.

The dining room, kitchen, and living room are all filled with people.

May, Gwen, Tony, Pepper, and Morgan made the four hour road trip to Boston. Harry, Flash, and Betty are still hanging around. Ned and MJ are setting the dining room table. Abbie and Macy got the nearest flight from Tennessee.

There’s food laid out across the table and MJ spots them first, lighting up in a smile.

“Saturday Night Potluck,” she explains, jogging over to pull Peter into a tight hug. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear me?”

“No promises,” Peter says, but he’s smiling brightly and he looks so much younger, worry lines smoothing out and the nicks and faded bruises look more like tricks of the light, not a traumatic experience painted so much deeper than his skin.

Tony’s there next, but he doesn’t take it as well. “Are you kidding me, Parker?”

Harley can tell the anger comes from the right place, and he rolls his eyes. “You couldn’t wait even one day to reprimand him?”

“Was I stupid to think you’d be safe here?” Tony demands, completely ignoring Harley. “Was it stupid of me to think that sending you off to University would mean you’d be safe? What were you thinking, Parker? What if they’d all had guns, huh? What if- They could’ve killed you.”

“I know.” The smile’s faded from his face and it makes Harley want to punch Tony. “But I’ve been dealing with these kinds of people for as long as I can remember. I’ve got my healing, Tony. I can’t just stand by when things like this happens.”

Tony’s expression crumples and he tugs Peter into his arms. “Please, for the sake of my old heart, please don’t do anything like that again. I can’t handle getting anymore calls like that, okay?”

Peter squeezes Tony, but doesn’t bother making that promise.

Everyone knows, all too well, that Peter’s guilt complex mixed with his heroic compassion, he’d never be able to give up helping people. It’s just what he does.

“Saturday Night Potluck!” Ned calls out, arms spread wide to show off the arrangement of too many lawn chairs around their much too small table, covered in different dishes and foods. “Come eat!”

Harley smiles and wraps an arm protectively around Peter’s waist to lead him to the table.

Life is about weighing the good with the bad, and Peter, despite having been through so much bad, still has plenty of good constantly surrounding him.

He has his strange, inexplicable family. He has Saturday Night Potlucks and Friday movie nights. He has this.

Harley squeezes his hand.

He’s still here, still standing, still going to view the world in the same optimistic, hopeful way that he always has despite everything that’s told him not to, still going to stand strong and brave, still going to stand up for what he believes in despite the consequences he might face, still going love because love is enough to conquer hate.

He’s still here.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10  

[tamayokny]

family shopping trip; kanera week 2020

Hi, everyone! I hope you have all enjoyed Kanera Week. Here is my small contribution to it. I wrote this the week before I started back university, and I found myself enjoying it as I stressed for the first week! Now here I am, about to continue on to week three and still in an uproar, LOL. Seeing all of your creations, though? It has brought relief to me. I hope this gift returns the favor!

Special thanks to Nikki and Sara for hosting @kaneraweek. Seriously, you guys are amazing!

[AO3 LINK] 

sypnosis: Kanan, Hera, and their family take a last minute trip to Walmart. It goes as well as one would expect.

For Kanera Week, Day 7: Family.

(I apologize if formatting is weird. We’re currently having disagreements with each other.)

Sitting in the Walmart parking lot at 9:50 in the evening was not part of Kanan’s Wednesday plans. Yet here he was, in the passenger seat as Hera maneuvered into one of the parking spaces perfectly, van jerking when she set it to park.

“When we get inside, you get what you need and go. We are on the clock, there’s no time for games,” Kanan warned his family. “Once you’re done getting whatever it is, you find Hera. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Ezra, Sabine, and Garazeb echoed altogether, slight wit in their tones.

“He especially means you, Ezra,” Sabine quipped from the middle row, a teasing grin forming on her face.

“Shut up!” Ezra retaliated, swatting at Sabine’s head. Sabine dodged out of his reach and pressed herself against the car door.

“Don’t fight in front of Jacen,” Hera chided.

“Knock it off,” Kanan translated. “Everyone know what they need?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Ezra and Sabine rushed out of the van, charging through the parking lot and into the store. Garazeb was climbing out from the backseat, grumbling about how those good-for-nothing kids just left him behind.

“You think you would get used to it,” Kanan mused as he unbuckled his seat belt and proceeded to get out of the van.

“Oh, not you too!” Garazeb groaned, slamming the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Kanan and Hera were the last ones to get out. Hera was busy with making sure the headlights were turned off before exiting the driver’s seat and getting Jacen. Kanan was busy making sure he was exiting the van safely, getting his white cane ready as he had to venture into a hellhole with his chaotic family.

“You ready?” Hera came up to his side, Jacen curling in her arms.

“Yeah,” Kanan replied. “Let’s go.”

The couple and their small son walked briskly across the parking lot, the tapping of Kanan’s cane echoing off the asphalt.

“Remind me again: why are we here at ten o’clock at night?” Kanan asked Hera, trying his best not to sound agitated.

“Because Ezra and Sabine forgot that they had projects to complete, and Zeb came along for a beer run,” Hera reminded her husband as she grabbed a cart, promptly placing Jacen in the child seat. “We also need to restock on groceries, we’re running low this week.”

“It’s what we get for sending Zeb and Ezra out to do the shopping on Saturday,” Kanan sighed. Hera laughed.

“Well, it gives us a family adventure. How many can say that they take a trip to Walmart at 10 o’clock on a Wednesday night?”

“A lot of people.”

* * * * *

When Hera said that they needed to restock on groceries, they really needed to restock on groceries. 

“This is going to take longer than expected,” Hera noted in an apologetic tone.

“When it’s our family, expect the unexpected,” Kanan mused. He smiled as he felt his son’s chubby hand toying with the hand Kanan had resting on the handlebar. 

Hera snorted as she grabbed the next item from her grocery list. “You got that right.”

“Besides being out so late, I am enjoying this,” Kanan added thoughtfully. While it’s true that he wasn’t exactly happy with Ezra and Sabine’s forgetfulness, he did enjoy the time he spent with his family.

“Well, you always did like to do the grocery shopping,” Hera smiled. 

“You can thank my mom for that. I always loved running errands with her,” Kanan reminisced. “And wherever you go, I go. Mostly.”

“Right. I don’t think you could do my job,” Hera joked, before reaching up to kiss her husband. “Now—what is it?”

Kanan had frozen up on the spot, a certain feeling of intuition washing over him. This specific feeling happened when—

“Ezra and Sabine is doing something dumb. I know it.”

GARAZEB. GARAZEB. GARAZEB.

Kanan sighed as his phone rang. Having a feeling knowing what he was calling for, Kanan answered the call.

“Yes?”

“Ezra and Sabine are arguing about movies.”

“Put me on speaker.”

Garazeb followed Kanan’s command, putting his phone on speaker. He could hear the two teenagers bickering (something about Studio Ghibli? Kanan wasn’t totally sure), and he was sure that Hera and Jacen could hear the fight, as Hera shot him a perplexed look while Jacen babbled happily, recognizing the voices.

“Hey!” Kanan barked out. The arguing ceased almost immediately as Ezra and Sabine heard the authority. “What did I say? Get what you need and meet Hera and I!”

“But—!”

“No buts,” Kanan interrupted. “We are out late enough already, and Jacen is getting tired—”

“Unlikely.”

“—and need I remind you that you both have school tomorrow?” Ezra and Sabine didn’t say anything else, which made Kanan feel triumph. “Good to hear.”

Kanan hung up without another word. Hera looked at him, and Kanan didn’t need his sight to know that she was thinking.

“Why is Zeb with them?”

“I—” Kanan began but stopped short. She was right. Why was he with them? He should be in the frozen foods and alcohol aisles of this stupid store.

“And did you really use our son to control them?”

Kanan smirked as he could hear the teasing in Hera’s voice.

“They don’t always listen to me, you know. Sometimes, it’s good to guilt-trip big siblings.”

“They know Jacen is somewhat of a night owl,” Hera pointed out.

Kanan shrugged. “Yeah, well...they’re going to get back on track.”

“You think?” If Hera had to be honest, she knew Sabine and Ezra were going to cause more ruckus. Kanan had to know as well, but he was holding on to some shred of faith that they would get their act together.

It was going to be an interesting trip, as if it wasn't already. * * * * * Hera had to get more underwear and Kanan was wondering if she had put everything on the backburner, because purchasing underwear was not on their weekly shopping list.

“Why do you need it?” Kanan asked.

“The wire broke in one bra, and both Ezra and Zeb need more boxers,” Hera explained. She began to walk around a rack when she suddenly stopped.

“What’s going on?” Kanan asked, sensing her still figure.

“It’s Ezra and Sabine. Ezra’s holding a bra out in front him. I think they’re goofing off.”

“EZRA!”

“GAH!” Ezra yelped, throwing the article of clothing away from him. He ran off, Sabine right on his heels, laughing, before either Kanan or Hera could question or scold them.

Kanan felt like he aged ten more years. This was starting to be a long night for him.

“For the love of—let’s just go.”

The couple continued to navigate through the aisles, with Kanan pushing the cart and entertaining their young son while Hera picked out what they needed. Hera would talk to Kanan often, asking his opinion on what they needed and if he had any preferences. She would make jokes that would cause Kanan to laugh, with Jacen giggling along as a result.

Kanan cherished these moments. This family that he had: Hera, Garazeb, the kids...despite what he may say or present to the world, he loved them. 

SABINE. SABINE. SABINE.

For the second time that night, Kanan’s phone rang. This time it was Sabine. Kanan was quick to accept the call.

“Yes?” Kanan answered.

“What’s our budget?” Sabine asked. Kanan exhaled in relief, knowing that she was at least focused on her task as of right now.

“Depends on what you need. You know our budget system.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

Sabine hung up, leaving Kanan to put his phone away.

“It sounds like Sabine is on track,” Hera observed.

“Better than Ezra,” Kanan agreed. “I know he’s trying, but he cannot afford to fail his assignment...that’s due in fourteen hours.”

“He’ll get it done. It’s not that hard, is it?”

“It sounds like it’s not, but you know how he is. Procrastinating until the last minute, goofing off in the meantime...”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Kanan scowled. “I know you’re not talking about me.”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten all the stories your mother has told me?” Hera questioned. “All about a rowdy little boy, who, while doing his work was also known to be quite the troublemaker?”

Kanan deflated, knowing Hera wasn’t far off. 

“I wasn’t a troublemaker. I just caused mischief,” Kanan half-heartedly defended. “And don’t forget inquisitive. I was always asking questions.”

“Sounds like a teenaged boy we know now.”

Kanan stopped, as he heard familiar yells from the back of the store.

“Isn’t that Ezra and Garazeb?” Hera asked.

“Yes,” Kanan gritted out. “I’ll be right back.”

Kanan left Hera and Jacen, navigating his way to the sound of the yelling. As he got closer, he could hear hollow plastic bouncing and clattering against each other. Kanan narrowed his eyes.

“Ahem.”

Kanan couldn’t see them, but he was sure that they froze in position, with one of them dropping the item in their hand.

“What aisle are we in?” Kanan asked, even though he already had a good idea already.

Garazeb was the one to speak up.

“The toy aisle.”

“And why are we in the toy aisle?”

“...because we’re bored?”

Kanan sighed, shaking his head as his hands found purchase on his hips. He was sure he was mimicking both Hera and his mother’s “mom pose”, but he found himself not caring in the slightest.

“Garazeb, you go finish your own shopping list. Ezra, lead me to the art supply aisle. Now.”

“Alright, geezer, I’m leaving,” Garazeb informed Kanan. He then leered at Ezra, ruffling the teenager’s hair. “Have fun with daddy.”

Ezra scowled, swatting at Garazeb. “Shut up, you weirdo! It was your idea to battle it out!”

“Watch it, kid!” Garazeb retorted, pushing Ezra slightly. 

“Hey! You—” Ezra started, but stopped when Kanan tugged his arm.

“Let’s go. Now.”

Ezra grumbled, but led Kanan to where he needed to go anyway. Kanan made sure to send Hera a text (with Ezra proofreading), letting her know that he was with Ezra. * * * * * Jacen was playing with Hera’s phone when it rang. Startled by the vibration, Jacen threw the phone up in the air, but Hera was able to catch it. She scanned the ID, answering quickly.

“Yes?”

“I’m with Ezra, but Sabine’s not here. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Hera drawled out. “Is she in need of the same supplies as Ezra?”

“I think so,” Kanan answered. “...but I don’t know.”

Hera said nothing.

“Kan—”

CRASH!

“Shit!” Hera heard a loud curse from the next aisle over. She knew who it was by the sound of their voice.

“Hera, what was—”

“I gotta go. Bye.”

Hera hung up, throwing her phone into her purse before she pushed the cart and ran to the next aisle.

Hera found Garazeb in the aisle, looking as if he was about to lose it as he stared at broken bottles and alcohol substances on the floor.

“Uh, Zeb?”

Garazeb, who was staring at the mess, slowly looked up to meet Hera’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine.”

“Zeb—”

“Really, Hera. It’s okay. I’ll even pay for this mess,” Garazeb stopped her, as he picked up a new case and placed it on the bottom rack of the shopping cart. “I’ll pay for this, too.”

“It’s fine, Zeb. We’re part of the same household,” Hera told him. 

“No, I insist.”

Hera opened her mouth to speak but shut it and shook her head to herself, ultimately deciding not to argue with Garazeb. She had to meet with Kanan, Ezra, and Sabine soon.

“Alright. Do you need anything else? I think all of your usual requests.”

“Yeah. I need a pack of cigarettes.” * * * * *

Everything was not fine.

Kanan was standing in the craft section of the door, arms crossed as he heard Ezra freak out over what to get. Apparently, the teenager either forgot or did not plan this out. Kanan was sure that it was a mixture of both scenarios.

“What is the assignment? It’s not like it’s the same as Sabine’s, is it?” Kanan questioned.

“No,” Ezra huffed, furrowing his eyebrows. Kanan could sense that he was frustrated so instead of teasing him, the older man decided to guide Ezra the best he could.

“So, what’s the assignment?” Kanan repeated. Ezra told him, which led to Kanan nodding, a sign that he was actively listening. “Okay, so you’ll probably just need some cardboard, some colored paper, and markers. Those are probably some of your starting items you need.”

“Okay,” Ezra said before he began to mumble to himself, a sign that he was focused on the task. Kanan hummed in contentment, sensing that Ezra’s frustration had begun to ebb away. As he stood there, however, he realized something.

“Where’s Sabine?”

“How should I know? Maybe she’s back with Hera,” Ezra suggested.

“I heard my name?” Hera popped out of nowhere, with Garazeb carrying Jacen in tow. It appeared that he was both keeping him entertained and helping Hera in regards to storage. The shopping cart was almost overflowing, especially since her organizer (Kanan) had disappeared on her.

“We were talking about Sabine. Have you seen her?” Kanan questioned.

“No,” Hera shook her head. “She’s not around here?”

“I haven’t heard anything that indicated so,” Kanan answered.

“I haven’t seen her,” Ezra confirmed.

“Me either,” Garazeb added. 

“That’s strange. Where could she—” Kanan began, but stopped abruptly. Realizing that if she wasn’t here, then she was in—

“I’ll be back,” Kanan huffed. 

“I’ll come with you,” Hera said. She looked up to Garazeb. “Zeb, watch the cart and the kids.”

“Hey!” Ezra shouted. “I’m not a kid.”

“Yes you are,” Kanan told him. He motioned for Hera before turning to walk away. Hera was right by his side in seconds.

“Where do you think she’s at?” Hera asked, as she glanced through the aisles that they passed.

“If you were obsessed with constantly changing your appearance, where would you be?” Kanan asked.

“Of course!” The realization hit Hera. “Of course…”

The couple found Sabine in no time in the hair product aisle, inspecting boxes of…

“Sabine.”

Sabine’s head snapped towards the sound of Hera’s call, dropping her shopping basket in process. Hera could see that Sabine had items in the basket, indicating that the girl had picked up what she needed, and had decided to take a quick stop in this section.

“I got what I needed, I swear!” Sabine proclaimed, picking the basket back up. She began to list off all the stuff she had.

“We believe you,” Kanan told her. “But do you really need to dye your hair again?”

“Yes,” Sabine answered. “I won’t do it tonight, but I want to get this color before they sell out. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Hera and Kanan glanced at each other. Hera’s face showed perplexity, and Kanan showed similar sentiment. 

“Kanan?” Hera questioned.

“Aren’t you coming back later?”

“Just let her get it. It does look like they’re running low on what she wants.”

“Fine.”

“Yes!” Sabine cheered. “Thank you, thank you! You guys are the best!”

Sabine ran towards the married couple, hugging Hera first before Kanan.

“You’re sweet, Sabine,” Hera smiled at the teenager. “Now, come on. We should get back to—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

Hera and Sabine glanced at each other and at Kanan, who could only sigh heavily for what must have been the thirtieth time since they’ve been at Walmart.

“Kanan,” Hera began.

“I’m strangling them both,” Kanan said. “Do not wait for me.”

It didn’t take long for Kanan to find Ezra and Garazeb, seeing as they weren’t being quiet in their bickering. It also helped that Jacen was babbling and laughing at the scene in front of him, only getting happier when Kanan returned.

“Dada!”

Judging by the pitter-patter sounds, Jacen was moving towards Kanan. Kanan knelt down, holding his arms out and caught his young son in his hold, picking him up and giving him a kiss.

“What’s Uncle Zeb and Ezra doing?” Kanan asked Jacen. 

“Fi!” the young boy answered, glee in his tone. 

“Fight?” Kanan mused, as if he didn’t already know what Garazeb and Ezra were doing. His head tilted in the direction of the bantering. Kanan didn’t quite catch what they were fighting about, but he would bet that Garazeb provoked Ezra in some manner. It’s what he did best.

“Are you two done?” Kanan asked, and almost flinched at the exhaustion in his own voice. He must be more tired than he realized. He wished he knew what time it was, besides the fact that it was past his own bedtime.

Garazeb and Ezra froze, their attention gravitating towards Kanan. They could tell by his tone and body language that he was exhausted...exhausted of their antics. Deciding not to talk back (this time), the two sighed in defeat.

“Yes, sir,” Garazeb and Ezra echoed.

“Good,” Kanan nodded. “Ezra, did you get what you needed?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go!”

* * * * *

The ragtag family returned to the house around 11:30. As soon as Hera parked in the garage, Sabine and Ezra booked out of the van and into the house so they could work on their projects. Kanan and Hera could only chuckle at their antics, not surprised in the slightest.

Jacen was fast asleep in his car seat, and Garazeb offered to put him to bed as Kanan and Hera took care of the groceries.

“Just don’t wake him up,” Hera agreed to Garazeb’s helping hand. “We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“We certainly don’t. You can leave my stuff out, I’ll take care of it,” Garazeb told the couple up front before he carried Jacen out and into the house.

As soon as Garazeb entered the house, both Hera and Kanan sighed in relief.

“That was a trip,” Kanan was the first to speak.

“You know something like this happens whenever we all go out together,” Hera pointed out, smiling in thought. “You know you love it.”

“I don’t,” Kanan said quickly. 

“I don’t believe you,” Hera told him.

“I know you don’t.” Kanan leaned over the PRNDL, giving Hera a chaste kiss on the lips. “Come on, let’s get this stuff put away.”

* * * * * *

Some notes:

Basic title because I forgot to actually come up with a title.

Kanan is blind from an undisclosed accident. He has a folding white cane, but does not always use it.

The scenarios that Ezra and Sabine are put through are based off my own experiences with my friends at Walmart. It's also the only place you can hang out, especially if you're under the age of 21 LOL

Zeb is semi-inspired by my aunt's brother. Zeb definitely gives the vibe of  the middle-aged, single uncle that consumes alcohol and cigarettes.

Chopper is the family pet. I was thinking of a shih tzu (because...they're chaotic). I haven't finalized my decision, so any input on what animal Chopper would be is welcomed.

Thank you so much for reading!

[t100ficrecsblog]

an interview with @osleyakomwonkru (she/her) what are you working on right now? Several things! I’m the queen of many WIPs (let’s not even talk about the ones that are languishing in the limbo of old fandoms). But my priorities right now are my own Season 7  and the promptfills that I’m doing for Bellarke Writers for BLM (but not for Bellarke). I started working on my Season 7 fic last summer as soon as 6x13 aired because I couldn’t wait nine months to find out what happened to Octavia, I needed to answer that myself. So I spent months writing and planning and researching and compiling lore so that I could answer that question myself. Started posting it episode by episode at the beginning of 2020. Then pandemic got in the way of me finishing it before the official season 7 started airing, so right now the first 9 episodes are up, and the last 7 will be up after the official season 7 is finished. So if you want a season 7 that has a bit less planet hopping, more Bellamy, more TALKING and characters taking the time to sort through issues rather than the season 7 we’ve been having, then please check it out! what’s something you’d like to write one day? I’d like to actually finish and publish the myriad of original works I have in a state of perpetual incompleteness. I’ve been writing stories ever since I could hold a crayon, and I’ve never stopped. But the past decade I’ve been focused on a lot of fanfic. what is the fanwork you’re most proud of? Well, I love all of my word-babies, and I’m super proud of my S7 fic as mentioned above, but outside of that series, the fic that holds a special place in my heart is “fly away to heal my broken spirit (there might be peace on the other side)”, which is an Octavia-centric character study written between seasons 5 and 6, whereupon landing on the new planet, Octavia takes off on her own and takes the time she needs to heal from the pain of her past. why did you first start writing fic? Well, the reasons why I first started writing fic are perhaps different than what they are now. I started writing fic when I was a child, when I didn’t even know it was something other people did, let alone something people shared with one another (this was back in the Days of Yore before the Internet, so while now I know fanfic was going on at that time, it wasn’t easily accessible). The longest fic I’ve ever written was when I was a preteen, and it was 943 pages, handwritten, and it was a self-insert RPF where I became best friends with Alanis Morissette. Back then, I wrote fic because I wanted more stories, more adventures with the characters I loved, and in the case of that self-insert, I wanted to be a part of those adventures. But now I write fic for different reasons. Now I write mostly because I want to address the parts that canon leaves out. The parts that aren’t “exciting” for a TV audience, because they’re not full of flashy explosions and fights and whatnot, but that I want to see because they’re a vital part of the character journeys - the talking, the healing, the things that should be addressed so it makes sense to go from A to B in the storyline but tend to be swept under the rug. I’m in a fandom for the characters, so I want to see them and their thoughts and feelings addressed properly and not just get shuttled from one Plot to the next. So as this applies in this fandom, that mostly revolves around letting characters take the time to talk to each other, to sort out their issues, stuff like that. Because after everything they’ve been through, they need this! what frustrates you most about fic writing? Too many ideas. I have so much I want to write, but I also don’t want to abandon projects so it hurts to have to put ideas on the backburner. Also - middles. I often know how I want a story to start and how I want it to end, but the part in the middle is always a bit fuzzier. Middles are hard. what are your top five songs right now? Lunatica - Heart of a Lion (perfect Octavia song!) Icon for Hire - Supposed to Be (also a good Octavia song) Beth Crowley - Don’t Think Just Run (ditto) Really Slow Motion - Unbroken (same) Miley Cyrus - Mother’s Daughter (Hope’s theme song) what are your inspirations? Music is a lot of my inspiration. I have an entire Octavia playlist, and Spotify is really good at recommending more songs to go on it. Spotify has the only useful Internet algorithm. Also, just those moments in canon where you go WTF and you’re like… I need to fix this. Or, “there has to be more than just this”. A lot of scenes demand more than what we saw on screen, so I’m here to provide.

what first attracted you to Octavia? what attracts you now? I started watching t100 between seasons 4 and 5. The specific reason why I started watching was Chai Hansen (Ilian), because he’d just been cast on Shadowhunters, and he was hot, so I went looking to see where else he’d appeared and happened upon this show. So I watched some of his scenes on YouTube, and was intrigued by this chick (Octavia) he was with. Then the next scene I saw was Octavia winning the Conclave in 4x10 and making her speech of unity, and I was sold. I was all “I need to know who this girl is and how she got here”. 

So I went back to the beginning, and yes, she was the one. I have A Type when it comes to fandom favourites, and she fits it to a T - the misunderstood badass with a tragic past and a dark side. Octavia Blake, Regina Mills, Magnus Bane, Eliot Spencer, James “Sawyer” Ford, Juliet Burke, they all fit that same archetype. 

 I just love Octavia so much, because she’s been through so much and she’s still standing and she’s grown and changed and evolved and it’s all been beautiful. Even the dark parts. Especially the dark parts. Because without them she wouldn’t be who she is now. I hate it when people say she’s “back to her old self” now. No. No she’s not. She’s a stronger, wiser and more mature version of herself, and she wouldn’t be that without her darkness or without her healing. I could go on more, but for that you can just go to my blog and read all of my meta. BESIDES Octavia, what character or pairing do you like best on t100? Uhhh… well, Octavia’s kind of my brand. So everything does kind of revolve around her. But I also adore Echo, Diyoza (sob!) and Hope, and I’m so glad that canon Hope is like the Hope I wrote in my S7 fic - fearless, reckless, committed to her family and questioning what makes otherwise sensible women willing to die for Bellamy Blake. I ship Niytavia, and a fair amount of my Niytavia fic is written from Niylah’s point of view rather than Octavia’s. I’ve also written some bunker-era Mackson as best friends to Niytavia, but Miller being a jerk in season 6 has kind of soured that ship for me. But after 7x10 I’m hopeful that he’ll pull his head out of his ass so that I can like that ship again, because Jackson is still all kinds of lovely. 

But if we REALLY need to depart from the Octavia sphere, then Murphy’s my man. I don’t have a horse in the race as to which ship he’s a part of, because I can low-key ship him with just about everybody (even Octavia).

why did you decide to start writing for bellarkefic-for-blm? Because I wanted to do something to contribute to the BLM movement, but since I live in a tiny northeastern European country and have no money, going to protests or making donations myself isn’t something I can do. But I can write words so other people donate money, so here I am! 

what’s your writing process like? I don’t have a set process. Sometimes a story just FLOWS and I’ll get it done in a few hours. Sometimes it involves a lot of throwing stuff at the wall and hoping it sticks and days and weeks of contemplation and starting to write and hoping it’ll come together at the end. Same applies regardless of what I’m writing, be it my own idea or someone else’s. what are some things you’d like to recommend? My partner in crime in plotting my S7 epic, who I’ll message at 3 in the morning looking to brainstorm ideas, @easilydistractedbyfanfic . You want Murven? They’ve got you covered. Also, tacos, cheesy pasta, and sushi. Because food is delicious and I’d like to be in a country where I can get tacos again, so if you’re in a position to be able to eat tacos, eat tacos. They’re not available everywhere in the world. You can find @osleyakomwonkru here on Tumblr, or you can find her on AO3 here. If you’d like to request a fic written by her, you can do so via @bellarkefic-for-blm.

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last -Chapter 1

‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and they had. They did. But he was Hisirdoux Casperan, and it wouldn’t be true to form if he didn’t somehow manage to botch up being wiped from existence too.

(Posting this on Tumblr too, a week late without starbucks.)

Notes: So, it has been a good, sweet while since I last posted anything to an audience outside of my family and friends. This here is my attempt to shake off the rust and be active again, and hopefully get back into the habit of writing on a more regular basis once more. We'll see how that goes, and maybe I'll finish some of those requests/projects that have been on the backburner for far too long.

A couple of free warnings before you start reading:

1. There is angst. This is me, there will always be angst, which will be peppered with comfort and friendship and all those great things this show brought to the table. I am a believer in happy endings, so provided we make it that far I will not leave you wallowing with a tissue box.

2. I'm not being super canon compliant here. The last time I wrote something for a fandom I spent hours researching, rewatching, and analyzing. Not this time. This time we are ad-libbing, and hopefully not completely self-destructing the canon whilst we are at it.

3. I have a buffer of chapters at present and will be spacing posting out to try and keep that. That being said, posting schedules and me have a complex relationship. I make no promises.

4. Douxie does not deserve any of this, but I'm putting him through it anyway, because that's what we do to the best bois.

5. It's been a rough year, guys. Take care, be kind, and stay safe.

   Chapter 1

Top Ten Reasons to Avoid Temporal Accidents

It started as a dream.

He knew he was dreaming because just a moment before he had been pouring over a new spellbook, enduring Archie’s indulgent amusement as the fatigue of the day’s activities warred with the excitement thrumming through his veins. He must have been tireder than he realised, he reasoned, to have drifted off in the middle of studying every last detail contained within those precious pages. He was probably drooling on said pages now, and Archie was probably laughing at him. The traitor.

So he was dreaming, even if tonight’s nocturnal adventure seemed to be a departure from the usual fare. He was sitting in the midst of nothingness. Not dark, not light, just absence. Emptiness, yawning and deep, that swallowed all sound when he opened his mouth to speak. He could see clearly enough, despite the lack of light, except there was nothing to see. He didn’t know how he had come to be there, but he knew he was waiting, sitting still with a sense of quiet patience that would have had his master’s eyebrows climbing right off his head in disbelief.

The cold crept in slowly, brushing over his skin like a frigid breeze from an open window, closing about his wrists like icy fingers with a death grip. An uncomfortable sensation of heat sparked beneath his ribs at the same time, drawing his eyes downwards as he blinked in surprise. There were dozens of threads attached to his torso, red and blue lines trailing off into the nothingness. Morbidly curious, he tried to touch them. His hands passed through the mingled colours as easily as they seemed to have passed through him, not ending where they touched his skin, but stretching beyond what his eyes could see.

The first tug took him wholly by surprise, a flash of terrible pain making his sight white out as he threw a hand down to catch himself. The pressure eased in the next moment, though the threads remained taut. He had barely had a chance to regain his breath before they started pulling again, viciously hauling on something beyond the physical, as if they were trying to pry his spirit out of his body.

He toppled forward on hands and knees, submitting to the pressure in an effort to relieve the awful tearing sensation inside his chest, but it made no difference. He grappled to hold the bindings, to tear them away. His hand passed right through the threads again, as insubstantial as the part of him they seemed determined to claw free, deaf to his pleas to stop, immune to the magic he slammed against them in a frantic effort to halt their steady pull.

“Please.” He was sobbing now, the pain overtaking all else. He needed it to stop. It had to stop. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. “Please, don’t...”

Pale green washed over him in a gentle wave, a bubble of safety that encased both him and the instruments of his agony. He drew in a wheezing breath, fighting to get upright as the soft touch of kind magic slowly enveloped him, the scent of old wood and ancient greenery as familiar as it was strange. There were flowering vines wrapping around his limbs, twining around his arms and curling in repeated circles about his waist. Their grip was careful but unyielding. He had only a moment of dawning horror to realise what was coming and try to prevent it.

“Wait! Stop!”

The vines wrenched him backwards, painfully fast. Perhaps it was meant to be kindness, salvation, but the threads still caught. He was torn to ribbons, pieces peeling away in strips like he was made of parchment.  He felt the fracture of something that was never meant to break, a pain that went far deeper than any physical wound could. His magic flared in panic; A wild, desperate attempt to save himself from certain death.

Too late. Too late. He had already lost too much, and still they tore at him, taking more and more and there would be nothing left...

    He came to shrieking.

This was a vast improvement on not awakening at all, a miracle he was not in any position to appreciate as he opened his eyes to find himself floating amidst a maelstrom of miscellaneous objects. The moment he came awake the magic gave out beneath him, dropping him like a stone to crash against the floor. He hit his head on the descent, a minor complaint drowned out beneath far more immediate concerns.

Everything hurt; A terrible, all consuming agony that bloomed outwards from his chest and set all his nerves alight. He knew he was screaming, knew the sound grating against his ears was his own piercing voice mingled with the shouts of others. The world was awash with vibrant blue and that was his fault too. He just didn’t have the presence of mind to stop it. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, except he was fairly certain that had already happened. Ice in his chest and fire in his veins and a broken voice screaming his name.

He could still hear the echoes. The voice was different now. Less of devastation and more of brimming alarm. Magic crashed against his own in a tidal wave of calm that made the colours swimming before his eyes flash from blue to gold. He was being smothered, crushed beneath a weight that was meant as kindness, arms wrapping around him and pulling him upright. He cut his own screams off in a breathless gasp when the motion tipped excruciating pain back towards inescapable agony, a hand — his own — trying to burrow into his chest to find and destroy the source of his torment.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing.

He had failed.

He had failed and there was no fixing this.

The arm curled about his spine tightened, the hand to which it was attached gripping his waist firmly as he was pulled closer and tucked gently against the source of the voice now peppering his name through nonsense sentences that would have meant something at any other time. He could feel the vibrations of speech, hear a heartbeat thudding slightly too fast that was not his own, and belatedly realised that someone was gently running their fingers through his hair.

“It’s alright.” Clarity of thought was returning as the pain eased to a manageable level. Enough for hysteria to try to creep in in its place. “It was just a nightmare. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

He wanted to laugh; He wasn’t safe, none of them were. It came out as a sob instead. The soothing words continued above him as the arcane light in the room faded away, his own magic wilting beneath the determined presence of another’s. He turned his head on instinct, hiding his tears in fabric and distantly hoping whoever’s shirt he was ruining right now wouldn’t mind too much.

His companion started rocking gently, humming a soft tune that was as familiar as it was wrong. He hadn’t heard that song in centuries; Not since the last occasion he’d spent time with Morgana, right before things started going horribly awry. It shouldn’t be possible to hear it again now, and certainly not from her.

“Breathe.” Oblivious to the fact she shouldn’t exist, Morgana continued to cradle him gently as they both knelt on the uncomfortably hard floor. He could feel her magic still drifting lazily over them, the calming enchantment she was weaving into her voice. “Just breathe, Douxie.”

It was easier to do as she said than question what was happening. He was absolutely exhausted, still aching, and suffering the fleeting remnants of a terror whose source he couldn’t quite remember. Focussing on his breathing, on counting each inhale and exhale, was far safer then prodding the sleeping beast lurking at the back of his mind.

“You’re bleeding.” Untroubled by his lack of response, Morgana moved to brush his hair aside, her fingers treading carefully around the edges of his self-inflicted injury. “Archie, do you have anything to wrap this with?”

“Uh, oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

There was a clatter, the sounds of someone rummaging, a quiet ‘thank you’ from Morgana as she accepted whatever offering had been brought. Fingers again, this time unwinding fabric about his head, pressing against the source of sticky dampness. It stung, he recognised that much, but the ability to react, to do anything other than maintain his stuttering breaths was absent. He felt like an observer in his own body; An observer who couldn’t see a thing.

“There you go.” Morgana finished her ministrations, settling beside him as she moved a hand to his back, rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his shirt. His shoulders were still hitching on every second inhale, but her spell had done its work, and the sense of wild panic had been muted by a fragile veneer of calm. “Why don’t we—”

The door swung open with enough force it crashed against the stone wall. The noise startled his companion, her arms closing about him protectively once again. His own nerves were too numb to respond to the intrusion in any way beyond slumping further against the source of his support, letting her shield him from the coming storm.

“What in the name of—”

“Don’t you dare!” Softness gave way to sharpness in an instant. “Close that door.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by his ragged breathing and a rumbling that had settled against his folded legs in the interim. Then the door closed with far more care than it had opened, green light expanding slowly to fill the small space as the intruder spoke in softer tones.

“Hisirdoux?”

That was his name, wasn’t it? Though there was really only one person who used it like that. The thought hurt, he didn’t answer, and the next words were sharp again.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Footsteps drew nearer, steel striking against stone, pausing a short distance away. He didn’t lift his head. “I found him like this.”

“And that?”

“Archie said he fell.” She paused, awaiting another question. When none was forthcoming she asked her own, “Where is Arthur?”

“Handled, for the moment, though who knows how long that will last.”

“I could hear the shouting from here.”

“The entire castle just got turned inside out.” He knew that dry tone, all too well. “You’re lucky he wasn’t the one kicking in the door.”

This... this was wrong. Impossible. Neither of these people should be here, though he was struggling to remember why. Everyone had been dying, hadn’t they? He had been dying, he was sure of it. Not with the blissful unawareness of his first go around, either. This had been vengeful, painful. ‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and of course she was right. So how? How was he still alive, still breathing when he shouldn’t even exist anymore?

“Douxie?” The voices above him were still arguing; This quiet inquiry came from below. He blinked, bringing some focus back into his world of blurred colours, and chanced a glance down into worried eyes. “Are you alright?”

The last time he had seen those eyes they had been wide open and blank. That had been his fault as well. So many mistakes. Except a wizard didn’t make mistakes, so what did that make him? What did that make this?

It wasn’t real. That was the only explanation he could think of. This was an... an illusion, a refuge he had created for himself in order to escape the pure horror of his last moments. But there was something else. A lingering memory of golden eyes, filled with grief but equal parts determination, and powerful, ancient magic wrapping itself protectively about him, binding him together as other hands tried to tear him apart.

‘You can’t have him!’

Nari. Nari had been there, and she had done something. To save him? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t make sense of any of it. Couldn’t comprehend how this could be happening. They’d already done this, hadn’t they? It had to be an illusion, a—a mirage, a refuge his mind had created. A falsity that felt real.

“Douxie?”

Archie’s soft bunting against his hand prompted him to respond, illusion or no. His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him, moving parts that no longer worked together as they were meant to, and it took more effort than it should have to make his hand drag its way along his familiar’s spine. He doubted it was comfortable for Archie either, despite his obnoxiously loud purring.

The gesture, clumsy though it was, was enough to quiet the conversation happening overhead, and coax an effort at softness out of his most certainly dead master.

“Hisirdoux?”

He swallowed, acutely aware of how raw his throat felt. He had been screaming, hadn’t he? Because he had been dying. He hadn’t imagined that. It wasn’t the type of experience one forgot in a hurry, and the second time hadn’t been any more pleasant than the first. Worse, actually. He’d kind of slept through the first.

“Hisirdoux.”

Fingers closed about the hand not currently locked in Archie’s fur, the hold gentle yet firm. That was oddly patient of his master. Merlin had never shied away from being hands on when he thought his apprentice was moving too slowly. A tug here, a shove there. Maybe that’s why he’d been too slow to dodge that last blow. He was still waiting for Merlin to push him out of the way.

Bodily.

With his staff.

“I don’t think he’s all the way back yet.”

That’s right, Morgana was here too. It was probably her shirt he’d ruined. Or nightwear, at this hour.

“You don’t say.” It was nice, having that droll sarcasm pointed at someone else for once. “Hisirdoux, look at me.”

He could do that. Probably. Even with the strange disconnect between his body and his thoughts right now. If he had been brought back from the dead he had a feeling they’d done it wrong. Put his soul in upside down or something. That would be just his luck.

The hand on his cheek was more demanding than gentle, drawing his gaze up and away from Archie’s mournful stare to the judgemental blue of his master’s usual scowl. He hadn’t seen Merlin this angry in centuries. Oddly enough, the elder wizard didn’t seem to be glaring at him. He was still holding Douxie’s hand, gaze intent, staring at something other. He didn’t realise what until a magic that was not his own probed against the brittle edges of his soul. What had been holding together through dumb luck and desperate hope just splintered, and his magic flared to life of its own accord.

He didn’t blast the entire castle this time. The wave of energy was more contained, weaker, sending Morgana and Merlin back no more than a few steps as Douxie fell onto his side, hands tearing at his own clothes in an effort to rip out the burning brand that had impaled his breastbone.

Fuzzbuckets, but that bloody hurt.

“—told you to be careful! Douxie? Douxie! Can you hear me?”

“Arch...” he croaked the word, reaching out blindly until he felt his feline companion slip beneath his fingers, instinctively drawing the familiar’s warmth close.

“I’m here. We’re here.” Archie’s cool confidence was missing from those shaking words. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Douxie? It’s important.”

“I think...” Speaking was painful. So was everything else right now. He persevered. “I think I messed up, Arch.”

“Messed up? How?” The familiar was being awfully pushy, wriggling his way closer so he could stare pointedly into Douxie’s blurring eyes. “Doux?”

“I let you all down.” He couldn’t tell if his fading eyesight was due to the fresh tears or the slow darkness creeping in. This all had to end soon, surely. How much longer could he really expect to avoid the truth? “I’m sorry. Tell Nari... I’m sorry.”

“Nari? Wait, who is Nari? Douxie? Douxie!”

He closed his eyes, and the pain finally ended.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Being Claudia Donovan's brother and dating Steve Jinks

Co written with @inhumanshadows

· You didn't start dating Steve until a year after he joined the team 

· For one reason you thought dating a co worker was a bad idea 

· And more importantly your sister was his best friend

· And that was another can of worms.

· However after a year... you decided to talk to her about it.

· And by talk you meant “frantically run to her room shouting ‘crisis!”

· "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

· "I uh.. Want to ask Steve out on a date" 

· "Well finally" 

· "You knew i liked him?" 

· "Everyone knows dude, even Pete figured it out"

· “Wow... that’s uh... kinda sad honestly...”

· “Yeah... so go ask him out.”

· You asked Steve and out and he happily said yes 

· There isn't much to do in south dakota so your first date was just to a dinner in town

· The date was pretty nice. You guys just sat there and tried not to talk about work. But with your job kinda the only thing.

· Then Steve wanted to know about the other cases you guys had before he came along.

· You spent hours telling him all about the dumb shit Pete got into before Steve joined

· And how Claudia accidently magnetized herself to the warehouse

· “Wait wait she what?”

· “Oh yeah. Alessandro Volta’s lab coat. Then there was the time the place almost exploded cause of silly string.”

· You end up kissing him goodnight outside his bedroom at the inn and Pete see's who tells Claudia

· You definitely heard someone scamper down the hall.

· but you didn't care, you just wanted to kiss steve again

· You made out in the hall until Myka left her room to find Leena and stumbled upon you guys 

· "Oh come on Myka don't ruin the mood" Pete yells from down the hall

· "Great Pete you ruined our cover" Claudia then yells 

· "Claudia, Pete knock it off," you yell at them

· Said guilty parties pop up from around the corner.

· “Really? Really what are we 5?” You ask.

· “It was Pete’s idea!” Claudia points

· “What!!”

· You guys go on a few more dates and eventually have the are we officially boyfriends talk

· You’re laying in your room, away from the nosey coworkers and family.

· “So... boyfriends?” You ask. 

· Steve nods. “You know Claudia had a pot going for how long it would take you to ask me out?” 

· “I’m gonna kill her....”

· Nobody ships you guys more than Pete not even Claudia 

He's always trying to set up cute moments for you two 

· Like putting up the mistletoe on christmas

· “Haha very fun Claudia...” you say, pointing to aforementioned plant.

· “Wasn’t me I swear. You guys are cute but I don’t need to see my brother and bestie sucking face.”

·"Where's Pete" 

· "Damn i was so close"

· You shake your head and give Steve a quick peck. 

· Pete: “aww I missed it.”

· One of the perks of dating another warehouse agent is getting to see the world with him

· Granted most of those involve artifact related high jinks and chaos. Of course you claudia and Steve are a team.

· Which means many times your delightful sister has gone “hey lovebirds! Artifact!”

· Claudia now makes Artie book her a room on a separate floor after the incident where she could hear you guys going at it next door through the thin hotel room walls

· Josh is very nonchalant about his younger siblings dating 

· When he met Steve it was just alright cool and that's it

· You look to Steve “Relax. He’s telling the truth.”

· double dates with Myka and HG often

· Going out for drinks and having to help HG carry a tipsy Myka home

· Or HG casually dropping that she knows whatever historical figure Steve brings up

· She’s like “[insert historical name here] Very homosexual. Revolving door of men.”

· Arties like a dad, the moment he sees you kiss even just a peck he looks away

· You wear Steve’s jacket and artie is like “is that new?” Pete and Claudia : “it’s steves.”

· Or having to hurry to get dressed in the morning for a mission and not realizing you're wearing each other clothes until later

· You guys have a break and you realize you got your pants right but shirt and jacket and even your underwear once got swapped

· You and Claudia tried to throw a surprise birthday party for Steve and it was a disaster

· There was screaming and flying cake. but it did end in laughter

· And Steve pretended like he didn't know but he secretly got Pete to tell him days ago

· You find out while you and Steve share a shower. “Pete Really told you....”

· “Yes. But I appreciate the effort.”

· You and Steve are always trying to set Claudia up on dates

· You also debated tracking down Todd

· "I do not need help finding a boyfriend" 

· "And how long have you been single for again?" 

· "Shut it"

·  “What was that? T-t-two years?”

· “I’ll murder you...”

· You and Steve end up getting a dog who becomes the team dog

· You guys come home and announce “trailer has a brother!”

· You got him mainly because you were jealous that Artie was trailers favorite

· He’s a corgi named Max

· You guys spoil him, he has so many toys and everyone always sneak him treats

· He’s your little loaf. And myka wants to steal him

· He's a bandana boy with a rotating attire 

· He even has a pride bandana that Pete got him 

· "What kind of gays are you not even getting your pet a pride outfit"

·“We have you pete. We knew you’d do something.”

· “Oh yay! Points for uncle Pete.”

· When you get hurt Steve drops everything to nurse you back to health

· He’s a mother hen and goes a bit overboard but it comes from places of love.

· Max's new home is your chest when you get hurt

· "Did i just get replaced by the dog?" 

· "Babe there's enough space for both of you" 

· He's such a cuddler

· Claudia Totally secretly plans a wedding

· And denies the hell out of it

· "Claud, Steve and i aren't planning on getting married for many many years" 

· "You can never be too prepared bro"

· Pete: “especially in our line of work!” “See pete gets it!”

· Oh boy. Steve’s mom meeting you.

· She won't stop telling Steve how handsome you are

· And she’s just so happy. Steve is blushing and hoping she doesn’t bring up any stories

· And she sneaks Steve the family ring

· "For when you're ready dear, I know you're gonna marry that man one day"

· Meanwhile you’re over by the family photos. “Is this you in high school?!? You had BLUE HAIR??!”

· "The teenage angst was real in high school" 

· "Oh god i can't believe you had a nose ring"

· His mom is like: “he had his he combat boots and eyeliner too...” “ma!!” “Please go on!!” Steve: “what have I done...

· You feel bad so you share some of your own embarrassing stories from high school

·“I once got caught making out with the coach's son

· "No way" 

· "Yeah i got banned from the locker room"

· “What else?” 

· “Um... can’t tell that one in front of your mother... oh I once made got into class through a three story high window”

· "You could have gotten seriously hurt" 

· "I was 16 i wasn't thinking"

· “Unbelievable.” 

· “Oh come on. You have to have done stupid stuff

·"I guess i did ride a skateboard into a pool once..."

· “A full pool” His mom tacks on.

· “Ma!”

· Vacations with Steve are tough because he's constantly checking his phone for an artifact sos

· You helped Claudia build more tiny artifact ping things and have them on your person.

· "Steve we're on a beach in the Bahamas, they can handle the warehouse for one week without us"

· “I know... I just... you know?”

· “I do... and I get it. But right now you and I are on mandatory vacation so let’s enjoy it.”

· You make Steve turn his phone off and take a long walk along the beach

· That walk is empty enough for the occasional ass grab from you.

· Once Steve truly starts to relax you guys explore the island taking in all the information the tour guides give you

· You guys spend the rest of the first day getting ideas on what to do. Now you’re back in the hotel room. You decide to shower, now covered in sand.

· one of the days you found out there's a hot surfer giving paddle boarding sessions

· After your paddle boarding lesson you returned to your room both you and Steve blushing about how hot the guy was

· “Can I just say that instructor was very hot!! Not as hot as you Steve but...”

· "That was one gorgeous man, think we should try to set him up with Pete?" 

· "Honey Pete is straight" 

· "You sure about that?"

· You think for a minute. “Well... now that you mention it....”

· You keep that idea on the backburner as you grab the phone to order some room service 

· "Tomorrow's the last day what do you want to do?"

·  “Honestly? Let's relax here maybe get a massage and then order in.”

· The next day you do as Steve suggests and just relax

· You sleep in and have lunch 

· Get a couples massage and end the day with one last walk on the beach

· At the end of the walk Steve stops you before you return to the room 

· "Y/N there's something i want to talk about" 

· "What's that?" 

· "Us"

· “Okay... should I be worried?”

· “No! No! Nothing like that.

· "What is it then?" 

· "You know i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life with you" 

· "This is sounding like a proposal Jinksy" 

· "Don't worry I'm not proposing, we're not ready for that right now but one day I want to"

· You smile. “I’d like that too... one day... that isn’t today.”

· “I love you Y/N.”

· “Love you too Jinksy”

·  "Wait till Claudia finds out" 

· "I'm more worried about Pete, he's been waiting for the engagement since our first date" 

· "We really need to set him up with the hot surfer" 

· "Yes, yes we do" 

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hi, I saw you're doing matchup requests so maybe I could try? I am a 5'4' curvy female, really vibrant chocolate eyes, brown hair, little freckles on my nose and cheeks. I am honestly super loud and out there, addicted to Monster Energy so I can be hyper. I am fiercely protective and I can be aggressive defending things I care about. I love animals (sneks and tarantulas :p) and I care and breed them! I act tough but deep down I am insecure and deal with bullying a lot :/ I hope that's enough! ty

Arthur // wc: 660.

Arthur is 5′8 so he’s got the height advantage when it comes to hugs and the like. There’s nothing he loves more than pulling you into him and resting his angular chin on the crown of your head. It makes him feel needed to have you tucked against his chest like that, because it’s like he can protect you from the world and perhaps even from yourself when you’re wrapped in his arms, shielded from all evils. Eye contact is super important for Arthur; everything is in your eyes, and he feels like he can get lost inside them forever. So when he kisses you, his hands cup your cheeks and his thumbs stroke across your face, his fingers in your brown hair and his lips hot against your own. You’re the prettiest person inside and out in all of Gotham, he tells you. You smile and thank Arthur, but all the while you’re thinking the exact same as him. He would never believe you if you told him, though, and so you resolve to simply show him each and every day. 

Arthur would admire you for your outgoing personality and he’d find any excuse he could think of just to spend as time with you as he could, thinking that if he spent enough time with you - not that you can ever spend enough time with the one you love - your social side would rub off on him, too. He would be concerned with the amount of Monster you drink, though he wouldn’t say anything about it beyond a frown you catch from your peripheral vision every now and then, because he smokes at least a pack a day. You’ve been making a concerted effort to cut back and you’re doing so, so well, and he would be so very proud of you. Sweet boi is your number one cheerleader!

You are protective of what’s yours, and that includes your favourite animals and your loved ones. The first time you picked Arthur up from work as a surprise, you overheard Randall and some of the others ripping into Arthur, and you marched right into their locker room and told Randall where to shove it. Arthur stood off to the side, the cutest blush on his face, his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile on his face as he listened to you. He would feel less ‘manly’ about you defending him, but that’s only because he’s been taught for as long as he can remember that the man of the house defends himself, that he looks after himself, but he finds that he really doesn’t mind when you grab his hand and leave with him, leaving Randall stammering like the clown he is. “It’s just another day in Chuckletown, isn’t it, Randall?” are the parting words you throw over your shoulder, leaving Arthur giggling and in awe of your protective streak. He won’t defend himself but if you were the one being attacked in any way? Oh, honey, he can and will throw punches for you. You care about and for and breed snakes and tarantulas, and though he would be apprehensive initially, Arthur would grow to love them as much as you do!

Your tough exterior may fool those around you and at times, it might even fool you, but it doesn’t and will never fool Arthur. He can see right through you but he never directly addresses it; it just seems like he knows just what you need to hear. When it’s critical, though, he does call you out on it, and he listens very attentively to you and he does what he can to help you, even if he has to put his own needs on the backburner - which he does for you more times than he’s willing to admit. Arthur is super proud of you for getting through everything that you have to and he loves you so, so much.

Phoenix!Joker // wc: 817.

Joker may enjoy having an audience and he may love having everyone in the vicinity paying attention to him, but even in a large crowd can he spot you easily. Your eyes seem to have a magnetic pull, and you are his favourite audience. He could have all of Gotham at his feet, but you are the only participant in the audience that he gives a single shit about. He loves your hair, your eyes, those little freckles across your face. When you’re laying in bed together or when you’re lying atop him on the sofa, he likes to trace the constellations that he swears are there dotted across your nose and cheeks. You’re just so beautiful and he loves all of you. That’s one thing that has never changed, just like the man Joker is at his core. He’s more likely now to make jokes about your height, even though he’s only four inches taller than you physically; with his new confidence though, he is much, much taller. 

You’re outgoing and where he used to think that if he spent enough time with you, it would rub off on you, now he’s almost certain that you were a key part of his metamorphosis. Your love for him didn’t cure him or fix him, but you gave him small pieces of yourself day after day after day and through that, you gave him the confidence and the ability to say and do things which were just for him; to say no to people, to stand up for himself, so yes - you were a part of the equation which led to him becoming the person he really is. It’s been a long time since the two of you started dating, and long gone are the days where Arthur would buy you - somewhat reluctantly - a can of Monster alongside his cigarettes. Now, you’re trying to cut back, and I feel like Joker would try to do the same with his cigarettes? Just one is the rule - you cut back on one can of Monster, and because he smokes at least twenty a day, he equates five cigarettes to one can of Monster, so that’s his side of the deal. Everything is together for the two of you - it’s the only way either of you will succeed in things like this. 

Long gone, also, are the days where Arthur would allow someone to walk all over him. Now, he is as equally and as fiercely protective of himself as he is of you. The two of you, with your tarantula and snek family, are very happy together; and often when Joker goes past the pet store does he struggle with not stealing you another gecko or something similar. You both care for and breed your little family, and you were the one to teach Joker everything he knows. He has a newfound appreciation for the ‘ugly’ in life; he finds things beautiful where others may see ugliness because you taught him through your love and devotion towards your favourite animals. You didn’t mean to teach him, but just through watching you did he learn. The first time you came home to find Joker and not Arthur, he came armed not with a gun but with a tarantula which someone else in the apartment complex was getting rid of. He came with the cage and everything else, and that small piece of your life together was enough for you to coo over the creature as you put it with the others in its new home, and then you flung your arms around Joker’s neck and welcomed him home. 

You have never been able to fool Arthur. Never ever ever. Where Arthur wouldn’t press you in the past, now that he’s grown into himself, he’s not above literally pouting if you don’t tell him the second time he asks if you’re okay. The first time, he’ll allow you to say no and to delay the inevitable because he understands that you need time to work out what you’re going to say, how to approach the topic and the like. But the second? He will literally barricade the door with his own body and yes - persuasions of that sort can and will be used if you still won’t tell him even though you want to. If you genuinely don’t want to talk then he’ll let it go, but he’ll make it clear that he’s there for you all the same. You deal with a lot of bullying and that really isn’t something which Joker will tolerate. He appreciates and admires the way you can hold your own but if things get beyond what even he considers to be a joke, then he’ll step in and you’ll think it lucky that he wears so much red - it makes getting the stains out of his suit much easier.

BONUS BC ILY AND WANNA GIVE BACK -

Ledger!Joker // wc: 642.

Omgggggg you two!!! I cannot ship you two any harder if I tried! Joker really really really loves you. He never says it but he doesn’t need to because you know him. You know him and you see all the little things with which he shows you, instead. It’s the way he brings home a new pet every time you have an argument, or in the way he leaves behind his purple trenchcoat when it’s really cold outside so that you have something to wear - and yes, the knives in the sleeves are left there as a gift of protection. It’s in the way he has three of everything - one for him to wear while the other is being washed, and one for you. When you wake up in the morning, you awaken to a chorus of, “Hello~, beautiful” and when you open your eyes, it’s to an intense pair of dark brown eyes which glitter with mirth and with love - he doesn’t say it, he doesn’t need to, but the way your hand wraps around the back of his neck as you tug him down into the first of many kisses that day and the way he practically purrs in satisfaction is all you need to know that you are loved by Joker. 

You’re chaotic and hyper and loud and Joker thrives on it. He loves it so, so much. In the early days of your relationship, Joker always made his presence known to you by leaving a can of Monster lying around with a Joker card set carefully on the top. Once he sees that you’re cutting back, Joker is all for it. He would replace the cans with something else which is kind of close to Monster, like a can of coke or, heaven forbid, a can of decaf Monster. He would be very supportive of you and all of your endeavours, but if you experience any negative drawbacks then he would plonk a can beside you and rub your shoulders in a massage as he bends down to nip at your ear lobe, his painted lips smirking against your skin. He knows exactly what he does to you and he loves every second of it.

Joker loves it when you get fiercely protective and defensive of the things and people you love. If you ever ripped into someone in front of him, he’d lean against the nearest wall with his arms crossed and the most manic grin on his face. Cackles will quickly accompany his genuine amusement, and when you’re finished, he’d applaud your performance. “That was quite-ta show, Lilith” and you would smile, anger sinking deep into your system. It’s okay, though - Joker will help you to burn off the excess energy ;) He’s not fased at all by your love of insects and tarantulas, sneks and the like, and in fact he loves the way you love them. The way you look when you’re cooing over your pets just makes him want to melt and if you’re quick enough, you’ll catch the complete love of adoration on his face - he won’t deny it if you ask, so kiss him, please. And yes - there is a slight blush underneath all that greasepaint.

You act tough but you suffer. Joker sees and knows everything. He hears what you say but he listens to what you don’t, and these are the things he tends to most of all. He would be proud of you for standing your ground and for dealing with your insecurities as best as you can, but he would never want you to think for even a second that he isn’t completely knocked over by you. He loves you so much. So, so much. He’s proud of you, too, and he tells you in his own ways every single day.

[hufflepuff-ravenclaw-reviews]

Titans Season 2

So I wouldn't exactly say that Titans season 2 was bad, exactly. But I felt like it kind of meandered through a bunch of different plot points without actually seeming to go anywhere?

And I was thinking about the constant “five years ago” backstory episodes, and I was like “But they make sense”. So it's not like things felt... unnecessary, by any means. However, I felt like the plot kind of zig-zagged around a lot different points, zipped back to a couple different backstory episodes, rerouted back to the present for something completely different, and then... somehow managed to wind up at episode thirteen (the last of the season).

We left off in season one with Rachel's demon father literally being brought to the human world, and all hope seemingly lost.

However, the entire subplot of resolving this barely lasted for five minutes, when all way said and done. Most of the first episode was just these darker timelines in which every one of Rachel's new-found friends and adoptive family sunk into evil ways. But not to worry, because Rachel was able to just talk to them and remind them of how much she means to them.

And then she stopped her father. Somehow. I can't swear that Princess Celestia didn't show up and preach about the power of friendship.

It was such a huge build-up in the first season, and the fact that it was resolved so quickly in the first episode of season two is honestly the first of many let-downs, I felt.

Following this, Dick is adamant that he take the new kids to San Francisco, where, with Bruce's permission, he's going to start up the Titans again.

Back in the day, it was Robin, Hawk and Dove, Wondergirl, and Aqualad. You might remember that we've met all of these characters from the first season... except for Aqualad.

And if you're wondering if he died... bingo. You win a prize of a depressing episode in which we're introduced to his character and his budding romance with Donna Troy... only to have him be murdered by a man named Slade Wilson.

This asshole was the entire reason why the original Titans broke up. See, following Aqualad's murder, Dick got it into his head that he could befriend Slade's son, Jericho. And the others were on board with this, because their friend was killed. But when they actually got to know Jericho, they all felt bad.

Until they find out that Jericho has “body snatching” powers, and can “possess” other people so long as he has initial eye-contact with them. And then suddenly, they tell him everything and even make him an official member of the team.

And that's all fine and dandy, but Slade is upset over this and murders his son. Because reasons.

And all of these memories suddenly being brought to the surface because of Slade's reappearance cause a break in Dick's already fragile psyche and he starts to have intense hallucinations in which Bruce Wayne follows him around and offers advice. It got old after a while.

Eventually, it reached a point with Dick this season that he went out and punched a security guard at the airport just so that he could be locked in jail. And this subplot dragged on forever, and never seemed to actually go anywhere.

But eventually, Dick made nice with the suit maker who seems to supply all of the suits for all of the heroes. Bruce had already designed the Nightwing costume for Dick, although this didn't make an appearance until the final episode.

Kori does have a lot of interesting developments this season, but a lot of them are seemingly being put on the backburner for the next season. She goes off for a while to help Donna do crime-stopping stuff, and ends up getting “kidnapped” by a guard from her homeplanet... Who also is a former lover of hers. He tells her that it's time to go home and rule, but Kori decides to go to California and help Rachel instead.

Eventually, her lover is taken over by her sister, Blackfire's mind-controlling jelly-thing, and Kori ends up needing to kill him in order to help stop her sister.

And then... that's it. Kori's duties are literally never brought up again for the rest of the season. Or the fact that Blackfire killed her entire family and seemingly started some sort of war on the planet. Kori can't even be bothered to tell Blackfire that she would prefer to stay on earth. Just... okay, this is a thing that's happening. BUT TITANS. Ugh.

There is a little teaser of Blackfire taking over some random lady at the very end of the last episode. But, as I said. Season three material.

Hank and Dawn... exist. That's pretty much the only thing that I can say about their characters this season. They simultaniously don't want to do crime-fighting anymore, yet refuse to actually walk away. Hank eventually pushes Dawn away to the point where he suggests that they should break up. And then he goes off the deep-end and starts doing hard-core drugs.

Anything that happened with them this entire season could have literally been cut out, and I doubt that the overall plot would have changed much.

I feel like the same could probably go for Donna as well. Although she had two exciting parts. One with her lover dying. Which... felt weird and forced and I honestly couldn't care either way about Aqualad's relationship with Wondergirl.

And then Donna herself died. Which was just so random and seemingly out of the blue. Especially because they'd just gone done taking down a mind-controlled Superboy (I will get to him in a second), and she had a full-powered fight with him. And then she'd killed by a ferris wheel falling on her.

And then Rachel says that she's going to go with the other ladies and probably learn how to better control her powers for next season. I don't know, and at that point, it all just seemed like characters moving around without having any actual motive.

And then there's Jason Todd. His plot basically revolves around Slade giving Jason PTSD, and then Jason fucking Slade's daughter, Rose.

When the season started, and it became clear that Jason was going to be on the team as the official Robin (leaving Dick to take over the role as Nightwing), I had really hoped for some decent character development from him. But instead, all we get is thirsty asshole with daddy and authority issues. Moving on.

And speaking of Rose... I felt like her character was given the proverbial shaft. She has an interesting character of being the daughter of a villain, but wanting to break away from her father after coming to understand a few things about found family.

She realized that she had healing powers, and told her father. He then trained her, and used her to further his own goals. Meaning to get vengeance on the Titans for using Jericho to get to him. But after having spent some time with Jason, Rose decides not to have anything to do with her father at all.

In the end, Rose and Nightwing team up and take down Slade. Which is something that the original Titans said that they'd struggled with “the first time around”. So how is it that “circus boy” and “girl who can heal herself” can do what actual super-powered Wondergirl, with the help of Robin, Hawk, and Dove failed to do?

All in all, the take down of Slade coupled with the destruction of Rachel's father is leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Don't get all excited over things like the build-up of villains, because the show will probably let you down in this regard.

And then there's Rachel. So much time in the first season was devoted to building up her character and everything, that it was honestly kind of disappointing that she seemed to take a back-seat in the second season. There was too much going on.

On top of a pointless side story where Rachel ran away from Donna and beat up some girl's father. It went nowhere, none of this was explained, and it was almost like the development of Donna, Dawn, and Hank.

Finally, the introduction of Superboy. For those not familiar with DC lore, Superboy is a science experiment to basically make an mpreg baby between Lex Luthor and Superman. He's got all of Superman's powers, and all of Lex's intelligence. However, the thing that comes out from the CADMUS lab is as innocent as a newborn baby... which makes him insanely dangerous.

There was a really long and honestly kind of tedious episode where he escaped from the lab with Krypto the Superdog, and how the project lead came to find him.

And then he went off and saved Jason from falling to his death, thanks to Slade. Only to be shot with kryptonite bullets for his trouble.

When Connor wakes up from this shooting, it's to find that Gar is the only one remaining at Titan's Tower, the others having taken off because of REASONS. However, Gar is certain that teaching Connor how to do proper hero stuff, that it'll make the other Titans want to come back. But circles around to Connor's innocence, he goes off and attacks a bunch of police officers.

This results in CADMUS breaking into Titan's Tower. Once the leader sees what Gar can do, they take him, too.

They then brainwash both of them to follow orders without objection. For Gar, this means transforming into a tiger whenever classical music is played, and killing anybody who is nearby.

This comes to a head after the others have taken down Slade. Gar attacks a street carnival, and Superboy is sent in to “stop” him. However, all of this was a ploy of CADMUS in order to convince people to buy Superboy for millions of dollars.

Rachel is somehow able to un-brainwash Gar simply through THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP. And Dick is able to get to Connor again, using nothing but talking. AND THEN EVERYBODY SANG AND THERE WERE MAGICAL BIRDS AND A UNICORN SHOWED UP. /sarcasm

Overall, this season wasn't bad. It was trying REALLY hard to be good, I felt. But I also felt like it was trying to do too much in just thirteen episodes.

[fmstevie]

              *    ╰              waddup   y’all   ruby’s   back   2   annoy   u   all   w   a   lil   british   fuckboi   action   .   here’s   stevie   ,   inspired   by   matty   healy   n   thinkin   she’s   a   god   among   men   .   i   don’t   recommend   u   read   on   but   in   case   u   do   i   pray   u   forgive   me   enough   2   want   plots   w   that   like   button   .   🤡

                new   york’s   very   own      𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄   ‘   𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘   ’   𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄            was   spotted   on   broadway   street   in   doc   marten   smooth   leather   chelsea   boots      .   your   resemblance   to   diana   silvers   is   unreal   .   according   to   tmz   ,   you   just   had   your   twenty   -   second      birthday   bash   .   while   living   in   nyc   ,   you’ve   been   labeled   as   being         𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐬   ,   but   also   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞   .   i   guess   being   a   cancer      explains   that   .   3   things   that   would   paint   a   better   picture   of   you   would   be      erudite   inclinations   informed   by   a   god   complex   ,      melodrama   as   your   magnum   opus   ,   &   the   world’s   most   secretive   love   life         .               (   i   had   a   secret   marriage   that   lasted   6   months   but   ended   due   to   my   fear   of   my   family’s   mafia   ties   getting   in   the   way   .         )      &      (   cis   female   &   she   /   her      )

𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆      :      stephanie   charlotte   greystone 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔      :            primarily   stevie   ,   although   her   stage   name   is   ‘   grey   ‘   which   has   caught   on   as   a   go-to   nickname   .   takes   little   to   nothing   else   wilingly 𝒂𝒈𝒆      :            twenty   -   two 𝒛𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒄      :      cancer    𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏      :      professional   musician   with   a   voiceclaim   of   lorde   ,   on   temporary   hiatus   to   write   grey3   .   casual   photographer 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓      𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒚      /      𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔      :      cis      female      /      she      her      hers 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏      :      pansexual   w   strong   female   pref   but   tbh   if   u   can   handle   her   energy   she’ll   b   down   WKERWJER 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕      :      5’10  🤤 𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒔      :      the   hedonist   ,         the      aesthete      ,      the      opaque   ,      the      vainglorious      ,      the      prodigy      ,      the      intangible   concept       𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈      𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔      :      rhiannon      -      fleetwood   mac      /      WHAT   U   CALL   THAT      -      chase   atlantic    /      iceberg      -      borns      /      UGH      -         the      1975     /      boss   bitch      -      doja   cat      /      elephant      -      tame   impala     /      black   hole   sun      -      soundgarden      /      black   madonna      -      cage   the   elephant      /         this   charming   man      -      the   smiths     /      swim      -      chase   atlantic      /      1999   WILDFIRE         -      brockhampton

tw      drug   mention

𝒊.  𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

there   is   perhaps   no   more   a   formidable   surname   in   the   organized   crime   circuit   in   all   of   europe   than   greystone   ,   a   name   risen   to   fame   through   countless   court   cases   and   highly   publicized   trials   .   dubbed   ‘   el   chapo   of   the   old   world   ,   ‘   liam   greystone   makes   his   reputation   known   as   a   ruthless   and   conniving   leader   of   a   million   dollar   cartel   business   ,   distributing   to   most   of   the   UK   and   eastern   europe   .   it’s   perhaps   an   even   greater   shock   to   find   even   as   public   enemy   #1   ,   he   takes   a   welsh   wife   by   the   name   of   marissa   and   weds   her   in   a   lavish   and   very   public   ceremony   ,   surmounting   crowds   not   unlike   those   of   the   royal   weddings   .   such   a   decision   is   a   clear   power   move   on   his   part   ,   flexing   the   pure   influence   it   would   require   to   have   such   a   public   family   life   with   no   fear   of   repercussion   from   rivals   or   enemies   .   

it’s   several   months   following   their   wedding   that   james   is   born   ,   with   nicholas   taking   a   few   years   after   .   elite   prep   schools   in   the   most   posh   london   neighborhoods   were   abuzz   with   equal   parts   curiosity   and   concern   to   be   sharing   streets   with   the   most   feared   mafia   family   in   their   whole   country   ,   though   the   elite   nature   of   liam’s   new   societal   presence   meant   he   took   to   his   ‘   dealings   ‘   with   a   but   more   subtlety   than   before   his   rise   to   power   .   something   of   a   media   frenzy   ,   it’s   the   talk   of   the   town   when   marissa   falls   pregnant   another   time   ,   nearly   a   decade   after   nicholas’s   birth   ,   this   time   with   a   baby   girl   ,   something   that’s   all   the   sun   and   mirror   can   seem   to   post   about   in   their   celebrity   tabloids   section   for   weeks   on   end   .   her   birth   raises   questions   of   immense   speculation   :   what   will   the   world   do   with   a   greystone   girl   ?

as   it   would   result   ,   they’d   worship   her   .   stevie   found   herself   raised   in   a   world   that   sought   her   out   at   every   turn   ,   cameras   pointed   towards   her   at   every   outing   .   james   and   nick   ,   now   teens   by   the   time   she   enters   primary   and   just   as   big   of   terrors   as   their   father   ,   view   their   lavish   lifestyle   as   the   result   of   some   bigger   destiny   for   greatness   ,   as   their   father   had   always   fed   to   them   ,   something   they   passed   on   to   their   baby   sister   who   took   it   as   her   mantra   .   one   of   the   earliest   manifestations   of   a   rather   intense   personality   ,   stevie   takes   this   to   an   extreme   ,   turning   her   unwanted   stardom   into   a   fuel   for   an   ever-increasing   god   complex   to   develop   .   the   apple   of   her   father’s   eye   and   every   bit   as   quick   ,   her   instructors   note   a   dedication   to   perfection   and   an   obsession   with   accomplishment   ,   along   with   a   natural   intelligence   that   leads   her   to   blast   through   her   studies   with   relative   ease   .   

she’s   just   16   when   she   completes   her   schooling   and   already   has   a   reputation   that   will   precede   her   ,   just   as   her   surname   had   before   .   relaxed   and   observant   ,   her   voice   never   peaks   higher   than   a   low   alto   with   her   charming   londoner   drawl   ,   a   facade   never   cracking   from   her   knowing   poker   face   .   there’s   something   about   being   so   above   everyone   (   even   if   it   is   a   self-imposed   superiority   )   that   leads   stevie   all   but   to   the   brink   of   isolation  ��,   finding   solace   only   in   the   words   of   a   self-deluded   father   and   her   own   scribings   in   a   leather   bound   notebook   .   piano   lessons   since   early   childhood   lend   themselves   to   melodies   following   melodies   ,   and   before   she’s   even   able   to   legally   drink   ,   she’s   released   her   first   album   under   the   moniker   ‘   grey   ’   titling   it   pure   heroine   as   a   cheeky   nod   to   the   inevitable   accusations   of   it   being   her   family   ties   that   got   her   a   record   deal   .   but   as   streams   of   the   melancholy   tunes   begin   to   pick   up   fans   worldwide   ,   the   album’s   themes   of   isolation   ,   abandonment   ,   and   wasted   youth   hit   harder   than   ever   anticipated   from   the   youngest   greystone   .   she   leaves   home   to   tour   the   world   with   the   album   reaching   #1   in   countless   countries   ,   forging   her   own   path   with   a   maturity   beyond   her   years   and   a   vision   beyond   this   world   .   

    the   tour   ends   and   she’s   smitten   by   the   charm   of   new   york   ,   opting   to   move   to   continue   to   pursue   her   music   away   from   the   tangled   complications   of   family   life   in   england   .   barely   18   and   perhaps   intoxicated   with   the   loneliness   of   a   life   spent   in   the   watching   eye   of   others   ,   the   semblance   of   privacy   is   something   she   takes   to   like   an   addict   ,   exasperating   prying   paparazzi   with   her   notorious   refusal   to   comment   on   details   of   her   personal   life   .   she   builds   a   wall   between   herself   and   the   world   ,   keeping   out   prying   eyes   with   a   tight   -   lipped   grin   .   its   at   this   time   that   she   lets   the   first   person   into   her   life   perhaps   ever   ,   a   whirlwind   romance   so   intoxicating   it   results   in   a   courthouse   marriage   done   in   secret   .   never   to   be   seen   together   ,   never   a   word   spoken   to   anyone   else   ,   stevie   relishes   in   the   secret   which   is   soon   to   sour   upon   the   passing   of   their   honeymoon   phase   .   with   her   brothers   expanding   their   reach   into   the   US   for   their   unsavory   dealings   ,   it’s   not   long   after   her   marriage   begins   that   the   conflicts   reach   a   breaking   point   ,   an   annulment   following   barely   6   months   after   they   had   traded   ‘   i   do’s   .   ’

she   takes   to   the   studio   with   a   new   resentment   of   the   concept   of   love   and   even   more   sequestered   heart   ,   producing   melodrama   which   takes   the   world   by   storm   ,   snagging   her   a   grammy   win   for   album   of   the   year   .   fatigued   from   the   constant   go-around   of   keeping   her   secrets   her   own   except   for   when   they’re   taken   to   radio   streams   ,   she   does   a   limited   tour   for   melodrama   and   lands   herself   right   back   in   new   york   at   20   ,   putting   grey3   on   the   backburner   as   she   takes   to   all   the   hedonistic   engagements   she   had   indulged   herself   in   during   her   time   on   tour   .   she’s   kept   herself   busy   between   mindless   flings   and   days-long   benders   with   hobbies   such   as   photography   and   writing   ,   the   former   of   which   is   building   her   a   rather   impressive   reputation   in   the   arts   world   .   

𝒊𝒊.  𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 .

if   y’all   ain’t   tired   of   me   yet   god   bless   u   .   ..   .   bc   i   straight   up   b   tired   of   myself   :/

anyways   dis   is   stevie   ,   also   accepts   grey   the   same   way   ppl   talk   abt   lorde   n   switch   between   ella   n   lorde   !   she’s   not   picky   :~)

major   inspos   are   matty   healy   from   the   1975   n   hayley   kiyoko   if   she   was   less   of   a   try   hard   .   little   bit   of   kristen   stewart   in   there   ,   big   2016   ruby   rose   energy   n   brie   larson   top   me   tomfoolery   as   well   !   

basically   da   fuckboi   of   ur   dreams   ..      ..   .   lil   devilish   londoner   who   stays   thinkin   she’s   the   closest   thing   to   a   god   on   this   green   earth   !

notably   ,   she’s   incredibly   intelligent   and   profound   ,   tends   to   take   on   a   rather   patronizing   and   condescending   tone   bc   she   straight   up   b   thinkin   she’s   usually   the   smartest   person   in   the   room   (   how   annoying   )

so   laid   back   n   observant   ,   rlly   has   no   need   to   raise   her   voice   ever   bc   her   arguments   b   runnin   circles   around   ppl   !   imagine   the   way   harry   styles   talks   low   n   slow   n   calculated.   .   .   .   .   cameron   from   love   is   blind   ,.   ..   .      kristen   stewart   lowkey   sometimes   ..   ..   ..   das   grey   .    sexy   ass   alto   monotone  🤤🤤

i   dont   wanna   use   chaotic   bc   she   rlly   isnt   the   WILDEST   bitch   but   that   god   complex   means   she   deadass   thinks   she   can   get   away   w   what   she   wants   n   she   usually   does   ?   less   of   a   chaotic   evil   n   more   like   a   neutral   evil   lmao   she   can   follow   rules   just   fine   she   jsut   prefers   whatever   suits   her   better

on   that   note   —   OBSCENELY   self   obsessed   .   follows   her   own   natural   whims   n   impulses   bc   that’s   just   what   appeals   to   her   .   is   inclined   to   follow   rules   if   she   calculates   itll   work   in   her   favor   bc   she   also   doesn’t   like   to   look   sloppy   !

super   secretive   and   OBSESSED   w   her   presentation   .   every   movement   is   calculated   n   she   doesnt   want   anyone   seeing   a   side   of   her   that   she   hasn’t   designated   for   them   !   she   doesn’t   care   what   other   ppl   think   but   she   DOES   care   abt   what   she   sees   herself   doing   n   her   vision   .   doesnt   fit   the   vision   ?   will   NOT   happen   in   her   book   .

straight   up   a   WHORRE   lmao   she   likes   2   fill   the   void   left   by   a   lack   of   human   connection   w   sexual   intimacy   n   then   is   like   nice   imma   have   u   leave   now   love   LMAO   .   does   not   discriminate   and   is   rlly   inclined   to   follow   any   sexual   impulse

this   was   implied   but   her   relationships   are   super   messy   ?   does   the   leonardo   dicaprio   thing   where   she   will   never   fuckin   discuss   her   love   life   in   interviews   or   anything   so   ppl   just   gotta   SPECULATE   .   she   lets   ppl   post   all   they   want   abt   her   but   she   wont   say   a   WORD   abt   them   JWHEKJWH   her   socials   r   basically   just   abt   her   n   her   music   we   said   SELFISH   lads   .   she’s   bad   @   bein   tied   down   n   is   probs   polyamorous   as   it   stands   but   im   p   sure   she   has   cheated   on   every   single   person   she   has   ever   been   with   lmao

lowkey   a   shit   friend   most   of   the   time   lMAO   she   can   b   really   unreliable   bc   u   guys   can   have   plans   n   then   she   takes   someone   home   n   misses   yalls   plans   n   then   texts   u   4   hours   later   after   all   ur   missed   calls   n   is   like   my   bad   bruv   i   got   tied   up   AS   IF   THAT   FIXES   IT   KWEJKWJEKWE

chain   smoker   n   its   nastie   but   lowkey   sexy   somehow   :/  ,   will   ONLY   wear   outfits   that   r   equal   parts   thrifted   n   designer   ,   always   has   her   hands   in   her   pockets   n   if   her   jacket   has   a   hood   its   UP   like   a   big   ole   homo   ,   is   rlly   annoying   bc   shes   good   looking   n   KNOWS   it   so   she   uses   it   to   her   advantage   ,   wants   2   get   her   motorcycle   license   ,   judges   u   based   off   the   music   u   play   in   the   car   ,   judges   u   on   everything   tbh.