#but it also kinda serves as like a post to warn people about my stance on this in case the situation blows up

[demodraws0606]

I don't talk about serious stuff like this usually but I do wanna say something since I primarly watch cc!BBH's POV on the QSMP.

His entire response to the grooming allegations while disappointing and definitely stressful, is not something that will stop me from engaging in his content (of course unless the situation escalates to a certain level).

As much as I wish Dream would just shut his trap and people would just turn his back on him already, it's not fair or realistic to expect people who have been friends with him for years to just stop believing him.

It's just an unfortunate shitty situation but I'd rather target my frustration towards the groomer rather than the potential friends he lied to.

It also is made infinitly worse by the fact that people like BBH and others (Sapnap, Skeppy, etc...) have been hit with actual fake allegations which ends up muddying the waters even more.

[okurrroye]

Ok all I wanted was to laugh about John getting curb stomped but the Ayo tag is a fucking nightmare like wow

Disclaimer I have shit memory so if I say something that doesn’t add up fact wise let me know. But I’m pissed off so here we go-

(FYI all of your opinions should be kept to yourself, so don’t comment if you fail to read my entire post so thanks)

I know this has been discussed, but there are things that have been left out of the argument, or hasn’t even been considered when it comes to the big I speak no I see no I hear no evil scene y’all making it out to be of Ayo disarming Bucky. So gather around here’s the part where you hear me out without scrolling off regardless of your stance on the situation, because I’m here for all opinions afterwards.

First off I can’t even understand why this is controversial at all considering the history that led to this moment. Oh wait I lied it’s literally because either you have your head to far up Bucky’s ass or because he’s a man or because he’s white, or because *ding ding ding * all of the above. And now you’re mad because how dare this black bitch have the nerve-the audacity to do that to poor little old Bucky (now insert the part where you either scroll off, or put your two unwanted cents in before I finish). And this is where you all want to use the empty ass belief that ThE aRm Is A gIfT, or empty ass excuse tHaT’s HiS aRm. Also someone else pointed out well if they didn’t trust him than they shouldn’t have given it to him in the first place. Which yes all are true, but also not at the same time. *Gasp* yes somethings can not be one or other, because ✨ grey area ✨.

Now I don’t know what world you’re living in where you think a gift can not be taken back, and I use the term gift loosely because you can’t even call it that honestly. Because in reality the whole reason he has the arm in the first place is because he needed a new one for infinity war like duh, why have crap heap that’s easily damageable when they can make an indestructible one, to live or not to live like it’s not a hard choice. Then he disappeared for five years so it would be kinda difficult to get an arm back that doesn’t exist anymore. But by the time everyone came back I think an arm was at the bottom of their to do list, or not to mention the fact well it’s already been made, and you probably don’t know how to properly function without both arms yet and can’t afford a normal one yourself so why not just keep it instead of wasting all the time, effort, and resources of making it, but idk I guess that’s a stretch. But since people likes using the gift excuse guess what, a gift is just something you couldn’t afford to do yourself so someone else was kind enough to do it for you (^^^), but in every other since of the word it really belongs to them not you. So let’s give an example shall we, now your parent(s) gave you something you wanted (shit someone else may have bought it for you) but you fucked around and got in trouble and now you’re grounded. Now depending on your parent(s) you’ll either get your ass beat or your shit will get confiscated, or both if you fuck up enough. Now do you think you have any right to say what they can or can’t do? -Yeah I didn’t think so and if you thought otherwise well here comes round two of another ass whopping or the first one if you’re lucky. Or on rare occasions some (white) kids don’t get physically disciplined, but you’re still going to pay the price regardless.

So same situation (yes I know I can’t compare an amputees arm to an object, but I only say that because Bucky is more than that, more than just a arm) but also very much not because in Bucky’s and Ayo’s situation it is much-MUCH worse obviously, but apparently it’s not obvious considering that there’s a debate in the first place. Or in other words you think Bucky’s feelings-FEELINGS are more important then Ayo’s and Wakanda the truth. Which is you’re lucky that it was only his feelings that got hurt, because she (and Yama) could have killed him and everyone else in that room easily so let’s all thank Ayo (and Yama) for her kindness and mercy first and foremost, also for not taking back both the arm and the shield completely. Because that arm and shield is Wakandan property ok so let’s get that straight, so she had every right to take it if she wanted to-whenever or wherever (which also falls into the part where the Dora does has jurisdiction there, and almost anywhere else since most likely every country wants or have vibranium now, and because Wakanda could literally flatten the whole world so yeah they’re going to have a legal pass because who’s gonna want to fuck with them) but she didn’t key word didn’t which should’ve been a clue they would never take the arm or shield back because he is disabled considering even after what Bucky (& John) did.

Not only is it the property of Wakanda but it’s from the only place that was willing, and did help Bucky in every way a person could be helped literally saving this man physically, mentally, and emotionally- like please. Specifically the royal family themselves firsthand which need I remind you is related to the former King that was killed by the man that Bucky escaped from prison without discussing it with them first. That same King, family, and country that Ayo is from, loves, and is to serve and protect. That she will-IS sacrificing and dedicates her life to...she failed them all-failed herself when T’Chaka was murdered like bruh- like that should speak for it self like that is the ultimate betrayal like he literally spat in their fucking face, especially Ayo’s considering she’s the one who gave Bucky back his mind, his freedom and after all that after everything they did for him they still didn’t trust him, and betrayed him by not telling him he had a fail safe in his arm?! Yeah-no big sike, anyone with a brain knows prosthetics because here’s the real kicker ITS NOT HIS ARM thus it’s O M G...removable. Yes you read that correctly r-e-m-o-v-a-b-l-e. Now put that together with the fact that Ayo is highly skilled and an overall badass I don’t think it would be that hard for her to fucking figure out how to dislocate it with a few pressure points considering that’s literally the whole point of striking a pressure point (if he still had his arm then that hit would’ve stopped it from working, but since it’s fake that mf popped right off). Pressure points are used to disable someone, thus Ayo disabling a disabled by disarming his arm to deescalate the situation go figure. It wasn’t a fail safe it’s just skill and common sense that everyone failed to have in the moment and used as a last resort because oh no Bucky’s face, like boo fucking hoo he did it to himself by breaking their trust first, and defending that bitch. Instead of him waiting for the Dora to have Zemo in custody first, what did Bucky do instead? He had the fucking audacity (and that’s how you use the word) to use that same arm against Ayo, against Wakanda. That speaks volumes considering out of respect as a friend or whatever close bond they have (because they definitely have a connection after what they went through together) Ayo still gave him a warning, and time to do what he had to do before they came for Zemo’s ass. Let it be known she didn’t have to do that at all because her loyalty is to and should be to her country first but in those eight hours it wasn’t, it was in the trust of their friendship so therefore she literally was endangering her well being by giving Bucky just that courtesy, and I don’t think you all consider her position in that predicament and thanks to Bucky she could’ve gotten her status revoked, thrown in jail, or worse killed for disobeying orders because let’s not forget Chadwick unfortunately has passed away, and thus it’s a fact that T’Challa is no longer in charge since Marvel will respect that with tampering with his character, so I don’t want to hear she would’ve been just fine because we’ve seen how the royal counsel has a big say on what goes and doesn’t go considering they did not give a single fuck about their own next of kin, Erik who has every right as them, but would have easily killed him just because he was an ‘outsider’ if T’Challa didn’t speak up for him (I mean they abandoned him while leaving him to fend for himself, killed his father and covered it up so wouldn’t put it past them). So if you think when Ayo fucked up again about retrieving Zemo because she trusted, and helped this outsider over her own kind she definitely would’ve been considered a traitor and be punished for her actions.

Can you imagine the hurt, and betrayal they felt? No apparently not, because it’s all about how he’s disabled and how could she take his arm (like uh she literally left it, and the shield for them to keep, and it’s not like he would’ve died without it to begin with unlike Bucky who was willing to sacrifice Ayo’s entire livelihood) when the fact that disabled people say constantly for others to stop putting their disabilities before them, and how they’re just as capable as everyone else. “They are a someone with a disability, not someone who is disabled,” which is absolutely true, because they’re more than that but everyone seems to forget that all of sudden when Ayo detaches Bucky’s arm (I wonder why) and all of sudden he doesn’t have control of his own body like what- he literally used his entire body nonbrainwashed to stab them in the back like miss me with that bs. Him spending five seconds without his arm doesn’t compare especially since they forgave him without even at least an apology at that.

Detaching his arm was a warning that he needed to learn, because they were letting him know, and I emphasize that that arm does not belong to him so how he dare try to use it against the people who gave it to him after they fed, housed, and freed him when no one else could, or would when he’s done nothing in return while as a repayment was being a fucking ingrate. All the while facing no consequences, not even the need for a fucking bandaid *mic drop*.

[miracle-sham]

Seduce a Bat With a Thieving Cat.

| {Maribat2k20 Dickinette – Day 1: First Encounters} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

|Triggers/Warnings: Explicit language/some swearing. |

| It's just another typical night on patrol when the Gotham History Museum is broken into, luckily Nightwing's on the scene, that is until everything goes off the rails. |

| Or alternatively, |

| Marinette's not your typical barista, so when she serves Dick Grayson coffee, everything goes sideways. |

| Word Count: 4751 |

»‹•›«

| A/N: I'd just like to preface this fic by mentioning I had already written 2k of this fic by the time Miraculous786 posted their First Encounters fic and after reading it considering the similarities (Dick's PoV during the museum bit, Marinette wielding the Cat Miraculous and hunting down a Miraculous from a Gotham Museum) I was kinda disheartened because y'know I was worried I might get accusations of copying but as I had already written 2k I decided to keep going because I had a different enough plot and I didn't want to waste what I had written so far. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or senf me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

»‹•›«

The night started out like any other Monday patrol. Except it's Monday, so of course it all goes off the rails not even halfway through the patrol. Because that's just Dick's luck.

 His comm buzzes, as Red Hood of all vigilantes, pipes up. “Just caught sight'a the tiny Catwoman copycat. Looks like she's got her eye on the Gotham History Museum again. O, you got anything on show in there that might pique the kitty's interest?”

 Oracle responds a second later, robotic voice overlay sounding charming as ever. “A bejewelled Armlet, which is the newest piece from the ancient Tibetan Jewellery collection is probably what our copycat burglar's after. She's targeted that specific collection before. Nightwing you're closest to the museum, try to cut her off before she can steal the piece.”

 “Got it!” Nightwing salutes, knowing Oracle is probably watching through a nearby security camera, as you do. He flips off the roof he's on and shoots the grapple mid flip—because he's physically incapable of not being showy, you can take him out the circus but you can't take the circus out of him—to change his route for the Museum in question.

 “Wait isn't that the collection where a bunch of perfectly preserved jewellery pieces were found in a two-hundred-year-old monastery and the pieces themselves are estimated to be thousands of years old?” Robin cuts in, followed by an “Eep!” and a series of crashes and clatters.

 “That's the one,” Oracle responds, sounding faintly amused, most likely watching whatever Robin's doing—which is probably nothing to worry about otherwise Oracle would have alerted them.

 Not that that'll stop me from worrying, Nightwing thinks ruefully.

 Red Hood scoffs. “Pretender, did you fucking seriously memorise facts about some fancy old jewellery?”

 Nightwing can practically hear Robin's frown through the comms, and boy does that make his heart clench.

 He, Robin, hesitates before answering. “I— one of my parent's last few archaeology gigs before they died was in Tibet where they were a part of the team that found a weird frog statue that's now on display at the Louvre. The statue has the same insignia as the box that the jewellery was discovered in.”

 The comms fall silent because well, they've all got their own parental issues so when it's an unspoken rule to not use that as ammo when it comes to bio parents. But the fact that Robin memorises facts relating to digs his parents went on, when they couldn't even remember half his birthdays. It's a painful reminder that the kid still loves his bio parents despite the abuse he suffered from them.

 The comms stay relatively silent (as silent as you can get, with six people's Comms hooked to the same frequency, all echoing in various white noise background sounds from their environments) until Nightwing reaches the Gotham History Museum. When the casual patrol chatter, as opposed to the white noise, starts back up, He filters out the sound out and circles the museum, keeping an eye out for their copycat burglar.

 Twenty minutes pass and there's still no sign of her nearby. Nightwing double taps his comm. “Looks like our kitty cat's a no show. Are there any other places she might tar—” A loud wailing alarm cuts him off. “Shit.”

 He whirls around, searching for the origin of the alarm. There, third skylight over, leading into the ancient Tibetan section added specifically for the bejewelled armlet's appearance at the museum—the section, not the skylight. If the skylight had been added then that would just be bad security choices on the Museum's part.

 “Nightwing. Report.” Batman growls in demands over the comms because Batman's incapable of speaking in something other than growls and guttural grunts.

  “Turns out, Oracle was probably right. I got eyes on the cat.” Nightwing responds, finally catching a glimpse of the copycat burglar, grappling her way out the skylight that the blaring alarm is coming from. Making a split-second decision, he sprint-swings after her. The chase is on kitty.

 “Whatever you do, don't engage,” Batman orders, voice sounding like someone dragged a beat-up thug across a gravel driveway.

 So Nightwing does what any self-respecting rebellious bat does, and ignores the order. “Engaging now.”

 “Nightwing.”

 Of course B tries to use the Robin Listen™ Voice. He pouts, turns off his earpiece midswing and continues to chase after the copycat burglar. He's a good few places behind, but his long legs and familiarity with the museum roof, is slowly but surely helping him catch up to her.

 She glances back at him and puts on a burst of speed, and upon reaching the edge of the museum's roof, pole vaults herself over the edge, just missing the next roof, and hurtling towards the street below—not a dangerous move at all.

 Nightwing has a split second of panic as he watches her as she's seemingly plummeting to her imminent demise, then decides to do the Vigilante Thing™ and dives after her.

 He reaches an arm out and is so close to catching her when the pole she used to vault extends out and wedges itself between the two buildings either side of the street. The copycat burglar then uses the momentum from the fall to perform three pullover flips on the pole-bar—like she wasn't just nearly falling to her death.

 Because of her move, Nightwing's forced to regrapple and swing by her in order to not crash into her. He spots a rooftop with two taller buildings either side and thinks to himself, a good point to ambush her at—provided she heads that way, if not, I can always grapple over to the other side of the street.

 There are gargoyles on both the taller buildings, so it doesn't take much to grapple up to one and hide behind them (like the bat he is)—to keep her from realising he's still here.

 Nightwing watches as the copycat burglar finishes her pullover flips and stabilises on the pole-bar, then walks across it like a tight rope—fortunately heading towards the building that he's planning to ambush her on. Finally, today's luck is looking up!

 Once she reaches the building, she steps onto a window sill and grabs the pole-bar. Nightwing studies her and the pole-bar as it contracts and compacts to a baton size. The copycat burglar attaches it to her belt then scales the side of the building seemingly effortlessly.

 She takes the path of least resistance as she reaches the top. Which is surprising to Nightwing considering she only just "lost" him. She then starts crossing the middle roof with the two taller buildings on either side.

 It's at that moment, he decides to drop in on their copycat burglar. And by drop in on, he means flip over the gargoyles he was hiding behind, and then triple backflips off the roof he's on, so that at the end of his fall he collides with her, pinning her to the ground. Unnecessarily showy, but who's he to not put on a show.

 Nightwing pulls out a pair of manacles and handcuffs her wrists. She turns her head enough to get a good look at him and gives him the most unimpressed glare he's ever seen. And I've lived with Batman, he thinks to himself, surprised at how good her unimpressed glare is.

 He leans down, trying to intimidate her. “Where'd you put the armlet you stole.”

 She hisses—like actually hisses, like a cat or a snake.

 However, having been used to villains making weird noises upon being captured—Manbat anyone?—the sound doesn't startle Nightwing as much as it probably should. That is until he catches sight of her slit pupils, and cat ears and tail twitching. Of course, his immediate thought is and they call Batman a furry.

 Unfortunately, in the split second where his thoughts are distracted, she mutters “Cataclysm,” beneath her breath. There's a horrible creak of metal rusting and warping followed by a clatter, as she yanks her hands away—causing the manacles to shatter in two.

 “Hey, wait a second!” Nightwing protests, he's about to ask what she just did, when she twists underneath his pin and flips the both of them over.

 Having not expected the flip, he's caught off guard once more but his reflexes are too well trained to be completely overwhelmed by the move, so he cartwheels out of the flip and out of her range. “That was my favourite pair of handcuffs you broke!”

 She raises an eyebrow at him and slips into a defensive stance. “You have a favourite pair of handcuffs?”

 Mimicking the action by getting into his own fighting stance, he starts to edge towards her, causing her to edge away from him—forcing them both to circle each other.

 “They were a good pair of handcuffs okay!” Nightwing defends, as he scrutinises her form—Clearly self-trained, considering this stance and her earlier moves. It's similar to Jason and Steph's styles, in the 'learnt to fight to avoid getting hurt worse' kinda way.

 “Emphasis on the were.” Is her dry response.

 He dive forward rolls towards her and jumps up, and using the momentum gained from the roll, throws an uppercut at her. “How about you give me the jewellery as compensation?”

 The copycat burglar narrows her eyes at him and blocks the uppercut with her elbow. “The jewellery is worth way more than your flimsy handcuffs.” She retaliates with a roundhouse kick to Nightwing's chest.

 Dodging with a back handspring, he pulls out his escrima sticks. “No?” He shrugs, “well it was worth a try.”

 She eyes his escrima sticks and gives him a tight-lipped smile. “It really wasn't but go off I guess.”

 That was definitely a twinkle of amusement in her eyes there! Nightwing grins then falters. “Y'know, if you're in trouble, you don't have to do this. I can help you.”

 The copycat burglar scoffs and throws a punch, which he easily blocks with one of his escrima sticks.

 “You don't understand.” She scowls, retracts her punch and spins before trying to jab him in the ribs with her baton.

 He blocks with one escrima stick and strikes back at her with the other. “I don't, but if you explain then I could.”

 Hissing through her teeth in pain, she glares at him, tail whipping viciously back and forth and cat ears laying flat against her head. She counters his block and strike, by swiping at his escrima sticks with her baton, knocking them from his grip.

 “Shit!” Nightwing back handsprings again, to get enough distance between them as to give him enough time to retrieve the sticks.

 She thwacks him in the neck with her expanding baton, throwing him off balance and leaving him breathless.

 With his moment of weakness, the copycat burglar grabs him and throws him at the nearest rooftop wall.

 “Fuck! Me!” He yelps between breaths, temporarily stunned, body aching from the impact.

 “No thanks, I'd prefer to take you out to dinner first.” She mutters, probably not intending for him to hear, as she pins him against the wall before he can recover.

 Blinking and wide-eyed, Nightwing stares at her for a solid three seconds then waggles his eyebrows. “I'd be up for dinner with you, just gotta let me help you with whatever's forcing you to steal the jewellery.”

 She sighs and glances away for a split second, then leans in really close and whispers in his ear. “There's nothing you can do to help me.”

 Leaning back, the copycat burglar places a finger over his lips—silencing him before he can speak.

 Nightwing flushes bright red and his heartbeat spikes.

 “My name is Minou Purrdu, and I'm sorry.” She purrs, pulling something odd out of her baton, a black and yellow spinning top.

 With her finger still over his lips, he's unable to ask what she's apologising for.

 She whispers under her breath, “Venom,” and stabs the spinning top into the side of his neck.

 Gasping, Nightwing is left completely paralysed by whatever the spinning top actually is because it's clearly not your standard spinning top. Unable to move—he can only watch as Minou Purrdu cups his cheek, frowns, pulls away, and begins pole-vaulting her way across the roof and out of sight.

»‹•›«

 Nightwing's not sure how long the paralysis lasted but as soon as it ends, he slumps back against the wall and melts, tipping his head back against the brick. His mind stuck on repeating the encounter as he processes what happened. Shit, he thinks while grinning dopily—face flushing bright red again (not that it faded much whilst he was paralysed), I thought I had a thing for redheads but obviously, I've got a thing for badass ladies instead.

 He's about to get up when Catwoman, original cat burglar extraordinaire, jumps down onto the roof he's on and gives him a very judgemental look. “I'm guessing the kitten got away with the jewellery, hmm? A shame, I quite fancied the look of it.” She stops, tipping her head to the side and raising a hand to one ear. She shakes her head but continues. “Oracle has some things she wants to say to you, I'd recommend turning on your comm unless you want her send Batman, Robin, or Red Hood here to see you like this.”

 Huffing, he rolls his eyes, “thanks,” then taps his comms back on. “Hey.”

 Catwoman nods to him and then takes her leave across the rooftops—Probably to go tease Batman or something.

  The comm buzzes and an unimpressed sounding Oracle greets him. “Clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” She pauses then adds, “I recorded your entire "fight".”

 Nightwing splutters in response. “What.”

 “Awww, did you get your feathers ruffled by the kitty cat, Big Wing?” Red Hood cuts in with a teasing sing-song tone of voice.

 “I hate you both,” Nightwing grumbles, pushing himself up off the ground and wall.

 “Sorry to interrupt, but I was looking through the museum's private notes on the jewellery collection, apparently some of the pieces are thought to be magical artefacts,” Robin interjects, sounding somewhat strained.

 Red Hood scoffs, “so you're saying our copycat burglar's—”

 “Minou Purrdu she called herself.” Nightwing chimes in.

 Red Hood clears his throat. “—Got her hands on multiple magical artefacts and we got no idea why she's doing it or if she's working with anyone.”

 “We might get another chance to catch her, the museum has a few other jewellery pieces from the collection, in the back,” Robin informs them, a familiar thwip of a grapple line in the background.

 “So we'll monitor the museum for any suspicious activity.” Oracle sighs. “Also Nightwing, Agent A's currently dealing with B but he wants to know the extent of your injuries from the fight.”

“Gotcha.” He swipes on his gauntlet computer and sends a quick analysis of his injuries—mostly minor bruising—and sends it to the Batcomputer for Agent A to see. “Done.”

 “B's being grumpy over the stunt you pulled, so I suggest doing a final loop once you finish patrol before heading back.” There's a clacking of keys as Oracle types away at something, most likely checking the security cams nearby.

 Nightwing readies his grapple. “You're a lifesaver O.” Then swings himself off the building to double back to his patrol route.

The clacking pauses and she laughs. “I know.”

»‹•›«

 The next morning, as she's sprinting down the pavement, Marinette's phone starts ringing. She stumbles to a stop, barely managing to dodge the other civilians walking down the path and fumbles to get her phone out her pocket. She curses and glances around her then steps off to the side to take the call. She catches a glimpse of the caller's ID before she answers, “Adrien? What is it?”

 “Ah, you're awake already, mornin' Mari!” He greets cheerfully, sounding far too awake for eight am on a Tuesday morning. Although then again, he wasn't the one who spent last night (morning?) hopping across rooftops at godforsaken hours and getting chased by the local spandex-wearing vigilantes. 

 There's a clatter behind Adrien followed by the whir of an appliance, he pauses, probably distracted by whatever made the noise. There's a faint rustle-woosh as he shakes his head. “I'm just calling to check up on you after your late night last night, after all, today's your first shift at the coffee shop.”

 Marinette huffs good-naturedly, “I woke up extra early so I wouldn't be late,” Translation: I did not get a wink of sleep last night. “I'm less than a minutes walk away right now.”

 Adrien sighs. “Mari, you really need to get better sleeping habits.”

 “Mhmm. Alright, I'm nearly there” She responds, busy checking her surroundings once more.

 “M'kay, chat to you inside?” And she can just hear the feral grin in his voice as he makes the pun.

 Marinette groans at the awful pun. “Really? Whatever, see ya!” And quickly ends the call, before setting off at a brisk pace to get to the coffee shop.

»‹•›«

 Once she reaches the coffee shop, Marinette's just barely on time for her shift. She darts into the back room and throws on the nearest apron of her size and slaps her name tag onto the apron.

 With the apron and name tag on, she stumbles out the back room and scurries behind the counter to join Adrien, who's chatting to a customer; a superhero fan, if I were to guess, from all the superhero badges and patches on their jacket. As she passes by him to get to her station, he raises a hand without glancing back at her. On instinct, she high fives his raised hand.

 Marinette reaches the empty till and waves over the next customer. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Adrien starting on his customer's order. She smiles as the customer she waved over, approaches.

 The customer that approaches, is a pale thin-faced man, with balding grey hair and wearing a shirt and jacket from the latest Gabriel Agreste fashion line. “I need a triple shot, venti, half sweet, caramel macchiato, with three pumps of vanilla and extra whip. And I need it pronto, girly.”

 “Of course.” Marinette's smile turns paper-thin as a wave of fury washed over her. This is not my morning, she internally laments. But at least Adrien doesn't have to deal with this bastard. He doesn't need a reminder of the fact that his sperm donor managed to escape his crimes thanks to being an old, white, corrupt businessman.

 He glares at her, then sniffs pointedly and pulls out his phone.

 Marinette scurries away from the till to go and get started on the order. It's not enough to stop her from wanting to break the customer's nose but it keeps her occupied for the moment being.

 As she passes Adrien, he gives her a concerned glance. She responds with a shrug and the shake of her head, she flicks her gaze back to her customer and then to Adrien; silently conveying it's fine, don't worry. I can deal with it.

 He frowns but doesn't press, instead continuing as he was doing, in taking his customer's order to said customer.

 Sighing, Marinette then gets started on her customer's hell order, carefully making the coffee step by step, to ensure its right. Because as much as I'd love to tamper with his drink, I'd rather not lose my job not even five minutes into my first shift.

 Thankfully it doesn't take too long to make the order but as the equipment isn't that far from the counter, she could hear all the impatient huffs and scoffs from the customer throughout the duration of making the coffee. After she adds the final touches, Marinette carefully carries the order over to the customer and goes through the payment process with him.

 The customer leaves with a scowl. Good riddance, she scoffs internally. She surveys the coffee shop and surprisingly there's no one else in the queue. She shuffles towards Adrien, looking quite pale, as he hands over the change to a customer who then puts the change in the tip jar and leaves.

 Eyeing him carefully, Marinette gently nudges him in the side and softly questions. “Hey, you feeling okay? You're looking kinda pale.”

 Adrien glances back to her and nods. “Yeah, I just…” He takes a second to breathe, “that customer you were serving, he was wearing his brand.”

She makes a pained face. Shit, I was hoping he wouldn't notice.

 He huffs and grins fragilely. “You're doing your 'Heck I had hoped you hadn't realised that' face.”

  Marinette rolls her eyes. “Close, it was a 'Shit, I was hoping you hadn't realised' face but technicalities, technicalities.”

 Just as he's about to respond, three giggling people stumble into the coffee shop, a man and a boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

 Adrien stiffens as they approach, so Marinette does what any good friend would do and grabs him by the arm to tug him a step behind her.

 “Nuh-uh!” She wags a finger at him, “I'll deal with the next customers, you go take a five-minute breather in the backroom.”

 He wavers and glances between her and the approaching group. He shakes his head and grimaces. “Alright,” then scampers off to the backroom in a very cat-like way.

 Some things just don't change, she muses to herself, and tenses, throwing on a quick but genuine-looking smile to greet the new customers.

 As the three reach the counter, the tallest of the three (the black-haired blue-eyed man), leans on the counter and smirks in a way that can only be described as flirtatiously. The other man groans and the woman bursts into giggles.

 Marinette refrains from mentally calling the flirtatiously smirking one 'The Chat Noir of the three'. “Hi, how may I help you?”

 The blonde girl shoves the men and boy out of the way and flashes Marinette a dazzling grin. “Hey, can I get a grande Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate and a warmed coffee waffle please!”

 Marinette nods, quickly racking her brain for the recipe to the Gotham Special, and adds it to the till. “Anything else?”

 The black-haired blue-eyed boy—Who I really need a better internal nickname for him because he's starting to sound like the blue-eyes white dragon with how much I'm repeating that, Marinette thinks absently—half-heartedly glares at the blonde girl before turning his gaze to Marinette and asks, “could I have a quadruple shot Venti espresso with sixteen addition shots of espresso and one of the add energy packets.”

 “Timmy, no!” Gasps the man.

 “Tim, yes.” 'Tim' responds, grinning mischievously.

 The blonde girl barely holds back her laughter, doubling over from the effort.

 Marinette stares at him in concern but as soon as she spots the very prominent bags beneath his eyes, she nods—in solidarity and adds the coffee order to the till. “Okay, anything else?”

 The blonde girl and Tim share a look before darting off to grab a free table booth, leaving the man at the counter with her.

 The man stares after the two before turning his attention to Marinette. “Can I get a grande White Chocolate Mocha, please.” He pauses, “And I'll pay you triple the price of the entire order in tips if you make Tim's drink entirely decaf. Please, he's had three black coffees already today.”

 Marinette nods her head slowly. “I–uh, sure, okay. And is that all?”

 He nods, “Yep, that's all.”

 She adds the final drink to the order and puts it through the till. “That'll be twenty dollars…”

 The man hums thoughtfully and hands over a twenty-dollar bill, “Cool, so I'll pay you sixty bucks in tips if you make my little brother's drink decaf.” He then adds, “I'm Dick by the way.”

 “Marinette,” she points to the little name tag attached to her apron before getting started on the worst of the drinks, the (now decaf) twenty shot venti espresso. “And that's way too much for a tip, I can't accept that much.”

 “Hey, no, you deserve it for making that abomination of a drink that my little brother ordered and anyway it's not like I can't afford to tip you that much.” Dick divulges.

“Oh.” She responds noncommittally, unsure how to respond and so continues to pour the shots of decaf espresso into the venti cup.

 Just as she finishes pouring the final shots into the cup, a customer switches the café TV to a news channel. “Late last night, there was a break-in at the Gotham History Museum. The only item stolen was an artefact from the new Ancient Tibetan display. Fortunately, the thief was caught on the security camera. From what can be seen in the footage, the thief appears to be a Catwoman copycat.” A news anchor reports before cutting to the footage of the break-in.

 Marinette puts the twenty shot venti espresso on a tray and places the tray and drink on the counter between her and Dick.

 “What's your opinion on Minou Purrdu?” He inquires, with a curious look on his face, head cocked to one side.

 Thanks to anxiety, Marinette's immediate response is to laugh awkwardly as she internally panics—Oh fuck, he must be Nightwing. Don't be here to arrest me, don't be here to arrest, please—turning away from the counter, she gets started on the white chocolate mocha. “Uh, who?”

 Dick rubs at the back of neck somewhat sheepishly, “it's that new copycat thief's name apparently.”

 “Huh. I guess the thief must be a fan of puns then.” She comments, avoiding answering his question as she mixes the relevant ingredients into the cup to produce the drink.

 “Oh? What makes you say that?” He asks, body language showing him to be genuinely curious—probably not here to arrest me then, hopefully.

 Marinette finishes making the white chocolate mocha and carries the cup over to the tray, explaining her reasoning as she did so. “Well, Minou Purrdu is a pun. Minou perdu is french for lost kitty, and so by adding a purr to perdu, the thief made it a pun.”

 Dick makes a noise of contemplation, he then spies his drink and grins in a way that's flirtatiously feral enough to rival Chat Noir (she was definitely spot on when she nearly mentally referred to him as the Chat Noir of the three), then points to the mocha, “hey, you mocha me crazy.”

 Marinette sighs in poorly concealed amusement and it's at that moment, Adrien walks out the employee room and joins her behind the counter.

 He glances around and spots no queue, “need any help with the order?”

 She nods and turns to him. “If you could grab one of the coffee waffles and warm it please.”

 “No problem!” Adrien nods and heads over to the glass food display to get a coffee waffle.

 Dick pokes at up his mocha cup and whistles through at the heat. “This coffee's really hot but not as hot as you.”

 Marinette, midway through turning away from the counter to go grab the ingredients needed for the Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate, chokes and flushes bright red. Nope-nope-nope-nope-no! I am not doing this! Absolutely no way am I getting a crush on Nightwing who's currently a civilian and probably is maybe hunting down my secret identity to arrest me!

 Adrien, the traitor, puts the now warmed up coffee waffle on the tray and grabs a napkin. He quickly scrawls down a string of numbers that look suspiciously like her personal phone number. He waggles his eyebrows at her, winks, then hands the napkin to Dick. “She's too shy to do it herself, so here's her number!”

 She squeaks in surprise—ironic considering the drink she's currently making—and covers her face with her hands, thankfully having not been holding the cup of half-made Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate. Otherwise, she definitely would've spilt it.

 Quickly, she finishes the hot chocolate and puts it on the tray. “Here you go.”

“Thanks! and here's your tip.” He places down three twenty-dollar bills on the counter and winks, before picking the tray up and bringing it over to Tim and the blonde girl.

 Marinette spins around to face Adrien. “Oh my god, why would you do that?”

 He smirks, “because we're in a new city, why not have some fun and follow through with your new crush?”

 She groans. “We need to talk in private as soon as our shifts end.”

 Adrien's smile falters. “Alright.”

»‹•›«

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Sixty-One: Raindrops ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Another early Winter day...another bout of rain.

Waking slowly, Hinata peers out from her bed, blankets brought up to her nose. Unlike the chill outside, her room is nice and cozy, the temptation to linger in bed a while longer strong indeed. But eventually she stirs, slipping out from the sheets and making to dress. Tank and shorts are exchanged for a wooly sweater dress. Combined with tights and boots, she’s ready for her day.

The space upstairs isn’t the biggest - much like a studio apartment. The kitchen is tiny, combined with a place to sit and eat. A couch and a desk in a corner serve for as much of a living room as she can manage. Everything is a theme of white and lilac, little space left over beyond the necessities. But given that the shop takes up the entirety of the downstairs, there’s only so much space here to work with.

Not that she minds. Hinata’s always been a bit of a...compact person. While not against open spaces, she just...doesn’t have a use for them. Each square foot has a purpose here, and there’s less room for clutter or a need to be cleaned.

A win in her book.

Breakfast is a simple affair: eggs boiled yesterday are peeled and sliced on top of toast with a little salt and pepper, black tea with a small dollop of honey helping to wash it down as she checks her phone. The news, as is typical, offers only dreary, depressing topics. Her Facebook is full of people presenting only their best sides. Hardly realistic, and inspiring more insecurity than happiness.

But she’s never really been the sort to linger on such things. The social media she has is mostly just to keep in touch with people. The connection and yet distance is just perfect for her. She chats with friends from high school when it’s convenient, but doesn’t have to sit through several hours of in-person interaction that just drains her more than it satisfies her.

Once she’s at least part way caught up with the ways of the world, Hinata tidies up after herself before heading downstairs, unlocking the door at the bottom of the stairwell that leads to the back of the shop.

As always, the smell of flowers hits her like a very pleasant ton of bricks, and a smile blooms over her face. Everything is just as she left it the night before. Shelves of supplies are fully stocked, her arrangements of plants near the windows to entice passersby to come in and take a closer look. The floor was swept before bed, and the lights come on to bathe the room in a pleasant ivory hue.

While some people drudge on in their day to day lives, Hinata counts herself very lucky to have a job she loves every day.

Having twenty minutes before it’s time to open, she does one last sweep of her inventory, making sure nothing is empty or misplaced. The coolers holding cut and pre-arranged flowers hum in the quiet, and Hinata uses the last bit of time to water the plants in the windows. Raindrops slither down the panes, warping her view to the outside like a watercolor painting. The tones beyond are mostly dreary, greyed out by the overcast weather.

But Hinata loves the rain. And Winter as a whole, even if it means most plants are dead or sleeping. In here, and in the attached greenhouse, she gets to be surrounded by them all year round. And help others enjoy them, too!

Just as she finishes, the clock strikes nine, and she flips the sign in the door to, “Open”.

Of course, she doesn’t expect many walk-ins. This time of year, most of her patronage comes online, or on the phone: people ordering bouquets, for the most part. As much as she loves arranging flowers, it does make her sad not to see more potted plants sold. After all, cut flowers only last so long. Pretty and eye-catching...but so quick to wither. A bit of a waste, really.

But not everyone can handle a full-time plant, of course. And she’d rather someone unable use cut flowers than let a live plant fade.

Checking her website in the meantime, Hinata finds a handful of new orders, moving them to her tablet as she gets to work creating the arrangements. Most probably won’t come to pick them up until tomorrow, as per her warning to wait at least twenty-four hours. But she might as well get them done now, just in case something else comes up to -

Jingle!

Coming up a bit short as the bell over the door rings, Hinata blinks wide eyes in surprise. A customer! Given the rain, she’d assumed few would bother to come in!

A man stands by the door, shaking off his umbrella just outside before closing it and stepping fully inside. He gives the shop a curious once over before spying her by the counter.

“Hello,” she greets, giving a smile. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Uh...looking for a plant…”

As always, Hinata withhold a small snort at the comment. Given he’s come to a flower shop, that much is...typically obvious. “Of course! Do you have anything specific in mind?”

“Not really? I...don’t know much about them, in all honesty,” he replies, a hand at his neck.

“May I ask what the occasion is…?”

“Just a bit of a pick-me-up for my mom. She’s got those Winter blues, y’know? And she always has a garden in the Summer, so...I thought maybe having something in the house would give her something to do.”

At that, Hinata perks up. “I see! Does she, um...have any favorites?”

“I really don’t know,” he offers, giving a small huff of sheepish laughter. “I barely know what any flowers are regardless.”

“I see...well, what about a favorite color?”

“Well, most of her flowers tend to be bright. Yellow, orange, red...mostly red, I think.”

“Hm…” Hinata moves to the front, looking over her collection. “Amaryllis is usually a good choice. They’re v-very easy to care for, and have very pretty red blooms,” she begins, gesturing to one she has in a dark green pot. “And she can move it outside in the Summer! Every year it will get a little bigger as the bulb grows.”

“...bulb?”

Hinata hesitates for a moment. “...um...sort of like an onion…? It’s a s-structure for the plant underground, and the plant grows up from it. It allows a plant to be a perennial, meaning...it will come back multiple years, rather than just one, like an annual.”

“Oh...well, I guess that will work.”

...she hasn’t shown him anything else, but it seems he’s not picky in the slightest. “All right! Do you like the pot it’s in? I can change it out if not.”

“That should work.”

“Perfect.” Taking the plant from the display, Hinata sets it on the counter and starts ringing up the exchange. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to have some color in all this dreary weather, huh?”

“Yeah, that was my thinking. Mom’s always been the sort to really dim down during the Winter. She likes the snow when it’s still fresh and pretty, but when it’s just rainy and foggy, it sort of wears on her.”

“Understandable,” Hinata agrees.

“Hey, uh...how long has this shop been here, by the way?”

“Well...let me think…” Hinata pauses, counting the times. “...at least about twenty years?”

“Whoa, seriously?”

“Mhm.” Scanning the barcode, Hinata fiddles with the register. “It was my m-mother’s. She divorced my father when I was very young, and came here. The shop owner employed her, and we lived upstairs. Eventually she managed to buy it. She passed away a few years ago, and...it’s been mine since.”

He suddenly feels rather awkward, shifting his stance a bit at the somber subject. “...I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you…”

“I just, y’know...thought you looked kinda young. I looked online first and saw you run the place.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“Huh, me too. Did you go to school here…?”

“I was homeschooled.”

His brows lift. “Wow...so your mom worked and taught you? She must’ve been one hell of a woman.”

That earns a warm but somber smile. “...she was. Her name was Hanako.”

“Guess that explains why I don’t recognize you. What was your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“...oh! It’s Hinata. Hinata Hyūga.”

“I’m Sasuke Uchiha. Nice t’meet you.”

“You too.” Smiling a bit more genuinely, she gives him his total, accepting cash and giving him the proper change. “I h-hope your mother enjoys her flowers!”

“Maybe I’ll come back and let you know how it goes. And uh...see if I need anything else. Uh...do I need anything else?”

“Not for now, no. I keep everyone properly watered and fertilized, but she’ll likely need some plant food and fertilizer once it runs out. And once it gets too b-big for the pot, it’ll need a bigger one. But she should be all set for now!”

“Ah, thanks.” Cradling the pot in one arm, he prepares to open his umbrella with the other. “Have a nice day.”

“You too!” Skirting around the counter, she holds the door open for him, waving as he makes his way down the sidewalk. Huh...he walked…? In this weather?

...what a strange man.

Curious, she pulls her phone from her pocket, doing a little digging through a few friends’ Facebooks. Within a minute, she finds him: a mutual friend of several of her own. Huh...funny how they’ve never crossed paths until now. Of course, her being homeschooled is likely to blame. She knows a few girls her age through her mother’s friendships with their mothers, but otherwise she’s rather...reclusive.

Curiosity piqued, it takes her a moment to remember she was indeed working on something - or, starting to - when he arrived.

Best get back to work.

                                                        .oOo.

     Random modern flower shop AU cuz...I felt like something a lil fluffy lol - also this idea for the family dynamic wouldn't leave me alone. In other words, Hanako leaves Hiashi before having Hanabi, so she doesn't pass from birth complications. She DOES still die a bit young, but gets to properly raise her daughter on her OWN terms.      Might be something neat to explore in a canon setting at some point, too.      Anywho! Sorry for missing last night, I just...had a day that kept piling things on, so I took the evening off to spend some time with my brother. It was a much needed break~ But! I'll be back in a jiffy to post another so I don't fall any further behind! As always, thanks for reading~

[itsbuckysworld]

HELLO SPRING: DAY 7

Pairing: implied past Bucky x reader Category: N/A Warnings: None i think Word Count: 940         —         this is in the same world as my day 1 and day 3 pieces. It’s a whole sandbox. you can read them in any order. I deleted this post cause it had some mistakes but here it is again, fixed.

Day 7: “Are you in?” for my Spring Short Story Writing Event.

July. Avengers Compound, New York. 11:27 AM

“Are you in?” Bucky says, hurrying his steps to follow you as you wait for the elevator. When the doors open, he steps in after you, and gets a glimpse at Steve Tony and Sam all looking at him with a variety of faces. While Steve looks hopeful that you’ll say yes to joining their team for this, Tony is wary, not sure he’s ready to have an outsider come in, and Sam is nonchalant, he decided he liked you the moment you gave them such a hard time reaching you in Japan. These looks all serve to make Bucky a little nervous.

It had been a little over a week since they had brought you in from Japan. You’d been introduced to Tony Stark, and despite being a little starstruck, after all you really liked tech, you kept your cool and a straight face that stopped everyone in the room from reading you. Well, everyone but one person, although Bucky himself doubted he could read you as well anymore.

You crossed your arms over your chest, sparing a glance at the men in the room you had left expecting. “Kinda late to ask” you swivel your hips to half face the blue eyed man next to you as the doors come to a close, the robotic voice taking you down so many levels “I’m already here” your voice is monotone and uncaring. Bucky remembers what it sounds like when you’re acting extra tough. “I’d get you back home, and you know it” he battles your logic and a small smirk creeps up your features. If there’s anything you and Bucky had said before going your separate ways, was that you both should have a choice. A choice in whether to go back or not. It didn’t matter how from how many miles away he got you from, he’d return you safe and sound and act like none of this had happened if you so much as asked, and vice versa. It was a silent agreement you knew the two of you had.

The elevator dings open and you both exit it, footsteps falling in sync, much like they used to. The hallway is fairly empty, just a handful of people at a distance, busy and unassuming. The high tech equipment decorates every floor it seems, computers, engineers, labs, like straight out of a movie and you didn’t expect any less from anything Stark slapped his name on. Lavish furniture ranging from torture like uncomfortable looking, to things you couldn’t wait to take a nap on, and the A/C blasting, had you not been trained to be unfazed by most climates you would have reached for a hoodie long ago.

But what you like the most is that there’s some sense of privacy, one you didn’t think you’d get. So far you’d only spotted several cameras in different corners and calculated their blind spots. Either Stark was lacking or he trusted his team. For the moment you’d believe the latter.

You make an abrupt stop at the beginning of a narrower hallway, Bucky trekking back to be in earshot.

“Your intel is wrong” you say, barely above a whisper. “What?” “I read what you hand me” there’s an attentive look in his features now as he softly swifts balance from one foot to the other, and this is strangely familiar. Debriefing with Bucky. “it seems fake. Stark mentioned English intelligence, your papers, the photos, they scream Russian spies. It’s messy, and I know avengers don’t do messy”

Bucky pauses his movement, crossing his arms and pursing his lips deep in thought. He hadn’t seen it like that. Something was amiss.

“Why… why are you telling me this?” The shock is evident in his voice, and you’re slightly offended he’d think you’d tell anyone else before him. You scoff. “You don’t just go around telling everyone when you have contradicting intel” it takes Bucky a second to read your defensive stance and how you’re avoiding his eyes, looking around almost frantically, down the hallway, inside rooms, keeping your voice down… You’re doubtful. Oh… “Wait, you don’t trust Steve? You don’t trust Captain America?” He’s amused and you scoff again. “All I’m saying is I didn’t go on the run with Captain America for three years” you state nonchalantly, and immediately things make sense to him. Of course you trust Bucky more than anyone in that meeting room.

You know Bucky. You really, really know him.

He chuckles and nods.

“Ok. We’ll look into it” you give him a pointed look when he says that and he laughs out loud. “I’ll look into it” this makes you smile, feeling more at ease. “I take it you’re in then…?” There’s the hopeful Bucky you hadn’t realized you missed until now. A pointed index finger shows up in his line of vision “One condition” he nods for you to continue “If this starts to turn into anything like our first time in Italy, I’m out”

This time he bursts out laughing, again another thing you didn’t realize you had missed. “Trust me, even I’d be out if that were the case”

You’re shaking hands before going your separate ways and the resemblances don’t go over your head, how easy it is to run confusing details with Bucky, to iron out plans and feel confident about a mission. How he’d asked you if you were in every single time there was a suspicious case you’d be going into. The pair of you made a good team that no amount of years off the grid could erase.

feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. I’ve decided to kind of start a non-linear fic in between these prompts. It still doesn’t have a name but there’ll be more of these two coming. Day 1 and Day 3 of this event also belong to this world. Read them if you’d like in whatever order.

[theincredibleshippingqueen]

Red Handed

@ask-crs-sides @parkersanders

I was bored and lowkey anxious so I decided to write an angsty Patton fic based on your blog to distract myself. It’s also lowkey Patton/LOG-IN even though I ship mechanical heart. I was just going to let it sit in my google drive for the rest of eternity but decided to actually post it because why not.

When Patton was ten years old there was a career fair at his school. He remembered bakers in flour covered aprons surrounded by students as they passed out treats. He remembered doctors in sterile white uniforms and light blue gloves pressing stethoscopes against kids chests and and smiling as they giggled. He remembered the firefighters spraying them with the hose at recess, the kids dancing in the water and splashing in puddles. But more than anything, he remembered the police officers.

The police officers with their shiny badges and flashing lights. With their confident stances as they promised to keep the city safe. He pushed his way through a mass of kids, his eyes bright as he approached them, staring up at them in awe.

“Well hi there, little buddy,” one of them greeted, bending down to ruffle his hair.

He was too starstruck to reply, watching as the other officer noticed his presence, turning to wave at him. Some kind of inhuman squeak left his mouth and his cheeks reddened. The officers just laughed, finding him adorable.

“What’s your name?” One of them asked. She was the one who had ruffled his hair. He liked her.

“Patton!” He answered enthusiastically. “And when I grow up I’m gonna be a police officer just like you!”

“Well Patton, with that attitude I’m sure you could be the chief,” the other officer replied, a fond smile on his face.

“R-really?” Patton asked, his eyes wide.

“I don’t see why not,” he replied. Patton couldn’t see why not either.

The duo led him over to their table, which was littered with police gear. Red and blue lights flashed and he heard a faint siren, likely turned down as to not overwhelm the kids. A much too big police vest was draped over his shoulders and he stood up straighter, confidenter.

“I think he’ll need a few more years to grow into the uniform, Linda,” the one officer stated with a laugh.

“You might be right for once, Sam,” the other officer, Linda, smiled, ignoring Sam’s offended expression. “Don’t worry buddy, by the time you’re ready to join the force it’ll fit like a glove!”

Patton nodded but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, like he let them down somehow.

“Hey, why the long face?” Sam asked and Patton shrugged. “Tell you what, I’m gonna show you something I haven’t shown any other kid. But I think we can trust you,” he reached into his holster and pulled out his gun.

Patton let out a little gasp, taking an unconscious step backward.

“Sam,” Linda warned.

“It’s not loaded,” he assured, but she still looked uneasy. “It’s okay, Pat. I know guns can be kinda scary but it’s not the weapon you have to worry about, it’s the person. See, in a police officer’s hand a gun won’t bring you any harm, it’s a symbol of protection. Understand?”

Patton nodded, taking a tentative step forward.

“Do you want to hold it?”

Sam held it out to him and he stared at it for a few seconds before cautiously reaching out and wrapping his hand around it.

“Now remember, you never use a gun to hurt anyone,” Sam warned and Patton nodded.

He held it for a few more seconds, holding it at arm's length, watching it warily. Sam just laughed before taking it back, securing it back in its holster.

“You’ve been really good today, Patton,” Linda noted and Patton beamed proudly, “I can’t wait for you to join the force. There’s one part of our uniform that’s one size fits all,” she pulled out a plastic badge, pinning it to his shirt.

“Now remember what this badge means, Patton. As a police officer you must strive to protect every citizen and do your best to never harm anyone. Do you swear to abide by these moral codes?” Sam asked.

“I do,” Patton swore.

That ten year old kid was gone. His innocence killed by the very gun he nervously held. As if he knew what he’d do with it. What it’d do to him.

He’d promised. He’d promised and he’d broken that promise.

Broken himself.

Patton could see the body on the ground. A fellow officer. Blood seeping from his wound. He’d done that.

His hand shook as he pulled the small badge from his pocket. It used to be a reminder of why he joined the force. A reminder to serve and protect.

Now it was a reminder of who he used to be. Who he could never be again.

He tried. He tried so hard. He thought that maybe if he could save Connor everything would be okay. That if he could save someone it’d make up for the harm he’s caused.

But he’d only caused more harm.

Now Mrs. Sandlot was dead because of him.

Now Roman had lost a loved one because of him.

It was all his fault. Why couldn’t he stop hurting people?

He threw the badge as far as he could, watching it land somewhere on the dirty level five streets. He didn’t deserve that badge.

He looked down at his hands and let out a choked sob. They were dyed crimson, drops of red falling from his fingertips. They were covered in blood. He rubbed them against his pants but the stains remained.

He knew he could never get rid of them.

He let out another sob and LOG-IN held him tighter.

One day LOG-IN would realize how much of a monster he was.

How his midas touch stained red rather than gold.

Roman already knew.

Maybe Virgil did too.

They should all know. He didn’t deserve their friendship. He deserved to be left behind, where he could no longer bring them harm.

“She’s dead because of you, Patton!” I didn’t mean for this to happen.

“This is all your fault.” I’m sorry.

“You’re a horrible person.” I should have listened to Roman.

I messed up. I messed up. I messed up.

Patton was screaming, his throat raw as tears streamed down his face. He could feel the other’s eyes on him but he ignored them, hiccuping out a sob and letting snot and tears stain his face. He didn’t care if he looked pathetic. He was pathetic.

A police chief who couldn’t even protect his friends.

A moral person who couldn’t do anything right.

LOG-IN held him closer, shushing him and petting his hair. Trying his best to offer him comfort, as if he deserved it.

“I-I-I-” he tried to speak but couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” LOG-IN reassured him, but he shook his head. It wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered to LOG-IN from where he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“I know.”

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he said again.

The words felt hollow as he said them. Intentions didn’t matter.

“I didn’t mean to,” but he did.

“I didn’t mean to,” it was only a matter of time before he did it again. Before he messed up again. Before he hurt someone else.

“I didn’t mean to.”

LOG-IN listened to him silently, rubbing circles on his back as he muttered that statement to himself.

He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He didn’t mean to mess up. He didn’t mean to turn into a monster. Didn’t mean to dye his hands red. Didn’t mean for the color to spread. For it to seep from his fingertips and stain his friends.

“I didn’t mean to.... I’m sorry.”

But sorry was just a word. Sorry couldn’t bring anyone back. Sorry couldn’t fix his mistakes. Sorry couldn’t stop him from messing up again.

“It’s okay to make mistakes.”

“No! I hurt Roman. I-I-” Patton sniffled, hugging LOG-IN tighter. “I’m a terrible person.”

“I don’t care if you messed up, that doesn’t make you a terrible person and it would be illogical to assume that it does.”

“Why don’t you hate me right now?” Patton asked, pulling away.

“Because I care about you Patton! And I refuse to give up on you or let you give up on yourself.”

Patton didn’t reply, just let a few more tears slip down his face as he pulled LOG-IN back into a hug.

Maybe he could learn to forgive himself. Maybe he could make it up to Roman. Maybe he could stop making mistakes.

His hands were red, covered in blood.

But a heart beats blood.

Patton was a heart, emotions pumping from him like blood through a person’s veins. He spreads love, his red color painting all those he comes into contact with, decorating them with smiles.

He might be broken, but with love he can heal. His friends will help him.

“Thank you,” he whispered and LOG-IN smiled, pulling him closer.

LOG-IN would hold Patton until he’s beating again.