#but somehow i only just picked up on the irony of this statement

[bagadew]

Oh that reminds me, my 13 year old daughter will be here in five minutes.

Give her unrestricted access to the courthouse. She will be hitting you with her riding crop.

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

May I please for a scenario or headcanons for poly La Squadra including Sorlato with fem darling who knows about their interest towards her and her saying this:

"I know your interest in me, and I'm willing to return those feelings if you let me continue working in my doll shop and you guys work there. Also, I know your original paychecks sucks, so we all get what we want."

Cool, extra hands to help out? Seems like a good bargain, on the surface, there’s no take backs once you say “yes” and being Yandere they will test their dearests mettle to the limits.

Yandere! La Squadra w/ doll shop owner darling

So whether you repair, sell, make dolls, they’re all ready to help. Which depending on the options could be quite chaotic. There will be times they absolutely make you uncomfortable.

Formaggio probably makes comments of how this is rather a bit girly for him and he’d rather just hang around you, Illuso makes a jab at his statement in which these two have a little back and forth. They don’t really end up fighting but there’s a little intensity you can feel.

He then keeps coming up to you for the smallest of tasks or takes forever on certain bits that should be child’s play. It’s absolutely on purpose and almost impossible to get him off your back.

He also mentions you’re so sweet for paying them. That it’s a good thing that he’s there with the others, otherwise you could get taken advantage of. He’s only allowed to do that, and you can feel the irony of his statement thick in the air.

Sewing/clothing repair is interestingly enough right up Pesci’s alley. He’s worked with fishing line and other thin wires so learning isn’t hard when you teach him. Which you likely praise him for how quickly he’s picked things up.

If you compliment him he gets rather shaky, you swear you see some blush to his cheeks, and Prosciutto scolds him to at least try and keep his composure. His heart flys to the moon if you think his nervousness is cute.

Prosciutto is sort of beaming with pride, but at the same time insists having some time with you himself. There might be a lingering amount of jealousy he had for Pesci’s praise coming from you, but he puts that aside and decides he needs to step up his game.

He gets all professional with you and staring at your stitch work, he’ll immediately help you with any snag/mistake you might’ve made. There’s a point he might even guide your own hands if he sees the need.

He absolutely makes sure you can feel him beside you, and is memorizing every type of fabric you use, the measurements, and accessories. Is he much too close to one side of your ear? That’s a yes. He’ll even tell you it’s absolutely necessary, somehow batting off your concerns as if they’re excuses.

Sorbet and Gelato are an interesting pair that love keeping each other company whenever they can dip out. It feels like they’re unproductive in their work, but by the time you’re closing every little thing you asked them to do is done. It seems they’re rather great at keeping your dolls clean honestly. This does come at a personal cost, if no one else is cornering you Sorbet and Gelato will absolutely be there. Gelato seems to recommend certain dolls be rearranged in a certain way. A couple of them are plucked and the money is all in the register. Sorbet on the other hand seems to be great at seeing which ones have massive value if you received a donation or sale. Telling you them to lock them behind glass, the two of them seem to joke about locking you beind a cute glass display. The way they say it seemingly romantically doesn’t feel like a joke however.

Melone does very well with making sure all of your money is accounted for, somehow he knows all your expenses and other things he probably shouldn’t know about you.

If you’re working in the back and he comes into help with a little dusting or cleaning. He will make pretty suggestive comments about you, and suggests some of the outfits the dolls have would be adorable. If you distract him with something such as horoscopes, he immediately explains every little thing about each sign. How you two positively match and were meant to be. Can end up being rather overwhelming.

He does end up having good suggestions on what people seem to gravitate towards. Which of course he tells you this in great detail.

No matter what job he’s put in he almost always manages to be creepy someway, so you’re likely to have him somewhere out of sight out of mind. He doesn’t consider this a punishment in the slightest, and will certainly take advantage with flirting with you behind the scenes. Having him in front of customers is a big no-no however.

Ghiaccio is another handful of his own, he gets sets off pretty easily so you have to figure out a decent way for him to work on something. He does tend to grab your hand occasionally and gently pull you over to him without warning. (Except around risotto).

He does get very agitated if a customer tries to disrespect you. They may not ever come back if he gets their hands on them.

Insists on having you within his eyesight almost constantly, or at least having you around with whatever task you’re having him do.

You do have to coach him out of his jealousy rages or getting aggravated at another member occasionally. Usually you end up making him some type of tea, he indeed relishes this.

Illuso is likely to be the best at being at the front (aside from yourself or prosciutto). He rather enjoys that you don’t mind him “hogging” the position. It gives him an easy way to be almost constantly in your presence.

He’s thorough on whatever you task him with, he wouldn’t be an assassin if he wasn’t capable after all. He’s so thorough he takes advantage and insists to help you himself. Does his best to make you flustered at any given point in the day.

He definitely stalks you and will chillingly mention a show you liked on tv the night before. Unironically engaging in said show’s contents, all while reveling in your conflicting expressions. He’ll fluster you even more if given the chance, up to the point he’s pulled away to do something else.

Risotto is his another enigma with his obsessiveness, he insists on doing everything during closing hours. Taking inventory/stocking, some of your business side paperwork is done even though you didn’t ask him to. He seems normal on the outside but there’s this aura about him that inwardly sets you off. Like he never wants you to leave his sight.

Any troublesome things occurring outside your business (and your home if it’s not right by) cease. He absolutely follows you home every night and early morning when possible. You’ll never see him however, he makes sure of that. He keeps his team in line when need be, but ironically that means you as well.

He wants you comfortable but he’s not afraid of going right to the edge of insanity to keep you around. He’ll certainly coordinate with other members of the team. He considers your “yes” a contract of approval and will do what he sees fit to keep you around. If that means going to the lengths of threatening others so be it. But he and the others already agreed upon this regardless of how you felt about them.

There are dozens of times he just seems to pop out of nowhere on you. He doesn’t seem to have issue with this in the slightest, if you need your hand held from nearly having a heart attack he’s there to oblige.

Just before he goes out on a mission, he always leaves a favorite food of yours (packaged preferably) on your desk.

If you wonder how he got in without giving him with a key, he likely used Metallica to figure out the shape of the keyhole of your locks.

[avviss]

Roadkill - Statement 0121018

Statement of Lincoln Bolton regarding a car incident he took the life of an apparently unknown thing. Original statement given October 18th, 2012. Statement recorded by the Magnus Institute, London, directly from subject. Transcribed on October 24th, 2022.

---

[Statement Begins.]

You have to understand, I’m a good driver. Hell, the past few years I’ve been working as a delivery driver for this local pizza place, King’s Pizza, and as far as the other guys I worked with, I’d say I’m the best one. Sometimes when I’m driving I’d think about being one of those Formula One drivers, but it’s never made me hit anything before, let alone a human being. At least I think it was human.

Firstly what’s important to know is that as my job as a delivery driver, I have to drive pretty much anywhere at any time for the lazy people who don’t want to leave their homes especially at night. Usually, we’d get an order from the phone telling us when and where our customer is usually with some sort of simple note attached. I thought it was odd this last delivery had a note saying only saying, “Lincoln Bolton.” It unnerved me a tad initially but decided it was probably one of my friends playing a prank on me and wanting to make sure I follow up this specific order.

It had been pouring and thundering all day, the cliché of “On a dark and stormy night” and all kinda stuff. I set out for the address, 5 School Lane London if I remember, I don’t know how I remember, but I guess the mind has a way to attach to familiarity when things go wrong? Anyway, on the drive I had been going down these strange roads I’ve never seen before, a winding downhill road, no cars had passed me for what should have been a few minutes, but it felt so much longer somehow, not only that, but I couldn’t see any city lights in the distance, not even the stars.

I was getting impatient with the darkness and had the thought of increasing the speed just for a little while partly so I could break from whatever place I was in but also a slight hint of F-1 daydreams. As I pushed down the gas, I saw a flash of movement in the road and a hard crack under my wheels. Horrified, flashes of animal guts and carcasses flew into my mind, I hadn’t even thought that I must have hit a person before I stepped out of my vehicle.

The rain was at work washing away the mess, but I smelled that irony scent instantly. Blood covered the front end of my car as well as the wheels, a trail of that fresh blood trailed behind my car to a horribly twisted and mangled…thing. I knew instantly that whatever thing I hit must have been a person because of the wet bits of clothing hanging off of what should be arms and a torso. Panic set into me, this thing could not be alive, had I killed someone?

I won’t be afraid to admit that at that moment tears shed down my cheeks along with the rain. As I came to terms with the fact that I had to attempt to hide this mess, maybe I could say I hit a deer or larger animal, but then I heard it. A cracking sound came from the heap of flesh, and I realized it was clawing at the ground trying to move, it was muttering something.

Morbid curiosity caused me to approach where it then screamed at me. YOU HIT ME, YOU HIT ME it screamed with an impossibly raspy voice, YOU HIT ME, I NEED A HOSPITAL. I was stunned but horrified, by whatever impulse that took over me, I understood that I had wronged it and I must do what I can to help. There was no way a human being would survive that impact, but someone, that thought made me more prone to grab at it and pick it up, it felt like trying to hold up a bulging trash bag on the verge of splitting open releasing its foul innards to the world. I was covered in blood as well as my backseat.

It screamed at me the entire drive to the hospital where I let the doctors handle it. I ended up getting fired from my job for wrecking a company car, they didn’t know what to do with the thing I had hit. All I found out was that the doctors told me that whatever thing I brought them, died the moment I picked it up. I don’t know what I hit, but I know in my gut that it wasn’t human, at least not all of it.

[Statement ends.]

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @chrisgates @realmackross TIMING: Early November SUMMARY: After a chance encounter crashing into each other on a run, Mack follows Chris back to his motel room for a replacement earbud after hers is destroyed during the collision. However, things don't go quite as planned... WARNINGS: Murder mention tw

Chris ran a lot. If someone asked him whether that statement was literal or figurative, he would say ‘yes’ (it was both, in case you wondered). The irony that he quite literally ran from his problems had dawned on him early on. He didn’t just ignore these problems or stuff them in a closet, never under the rug or behind anything. They were never masked or dealt with head on, either. He ran from them.

As he ran, he had a pair of wired earphones in. There was no music that played, only the muffled beats of his heart and sound of his feet against the ground could be heard. Chris didn’t want a complete distraction from the goings on around him, but he wanted everything to feel less overwhelming. Still, he focused intently on the rhythm of his run, so much so that he missed the figure in his peripheral. Lost in thought, he would have otherwise noticed the young woman early on and missed her.

Unfortunately for him, he ran into her. Literally.

With the run now interrupted and the pair having just experienced a ‘human accident’, Chris looked to her from his crumpled position on the trail. He wasn’t hurt, exactly, but he hadn’t been okay for some time now and his body ached something awful. “Shit. Are you okay?” He asked, though he wanted nothing more than to cut his social time and head home despite the concern he showed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see where I was going.”

— 

Running had always been a favorite pastime for Mackenzie. The young actress would head up to Runyon Canyon Park early in the morning before the sun would beat down on Los Angeles, and she’d run until she felt like her feet could no longer carry her. It was the quiet she needed to reset from the previous day’s events and be prepared to face the challenges of a new day. And since leaving, it had been one of the things she had missed most, besides her family and her career.

“Okay, Mack. You can do this. Your feet will adjust.” Of course, since becoming a zombie, running had become harder, and as the depression seemed to set in, so did the effort of wanting to get up off the couch or out of bed that early, especially after a late night binge of stupid reality shows. But today was the day she was going to try, and despite how hard it had been at first, the young zombie found herself in a stride she could handle. It was awkward at first, but she somehow made it work.

With “Body Talks” blasting from her AirPods, Mackenzie wasn’t exactly paying attention to anyone around her, until the collision sent her to the ground with a jolt. As one of the earbuds went flying out, she managed to pick up on the person’s question, and immediately she pressed the pause button and pulled the other earbud out, “I’m so sorry! This is the first time I’ve been running in a while, and I guess I was just in the-” She stopped and laughed softly when he pretty much said the same thing, “That. But, yeah, I’m fine…” Just about the time she said it, she heard the crunch of the AirPod that had gone flying as someone rode past them on a bicycle and ran it over, “But my earbud isn’t.” Her expression dropped as she reached out for the crushed pieces that remained on the ground.

— 

Chris was grateful the other person was physically okay; he didn’t really want to have to deal with an injury, especially one that wasn’t his own. He’d stay if she was, of course — he wasn’t an asshole, but he wouldn’t want to. It wasn’t the ideal situation, so he was relieved to hear that she was actually alright. His face fell, however, when he heard the AirPod’s demise. Oh, no. He’d been there before with wired headphones, but wired or not losing even one was brutal.

“Aw, man.. That sucks, I’m sorry.” No, don’t do it. “If it’s any consolation..” What are you doing? Stop! “I have another one?” Oh, you idiot. “I picked it up randomly on another jog the other day. I was gonna maybe sell it or something but.. Could you use it? I’d rather it go to someone who needs it.” His father liked to call him a hypocrisy — too soft in the heart, but a monster in the brain. Chris liked to hold onto his softness. It helped to let him know that he wasn’t all bad, but it went against everything that screamed inside him. He feared for her safety; he feared for his own.

“I don’t uh, have it on me, though.” He tried to look as unassuming as possible; in a strange town there were strange people and even though he was just a tad bit strange, he didn’t want her to think he had any ulterior motives. Not to mention the room was in such a state he wouldn’t really want her back there anyway. 

— 

“No, it’s…it’s fine. It’s not like the day of headphones with wires, right? Where if one came out, it didn’t really go anywhere, but dangle.” Mackenzie looked down at the busted earbud. Technology was nice, but also could be such a nuisance at times. Airpods were expensive, but it’s not like she couldn’t afford a new set. She just didn’t really want to fork over the money right now. However, it seemed her new jogging buddy had given a solution to the problem. But did she really want a used earbud that had been shoved down in someone else’s sweaty ear? She was a walking corpse, sure, but she still got grossed out by things. She hadn’t lost that part of herself.

“Not trying to be rude here, but is there a way to clean airpods without messing them up?” It was probably a dumb question. She still wanted to know, before accepting the offer, not even thinking if there were any other kind of motives behind his offer. She had just been a zombie out for a run trying to enjoy her day, “You know what? I’ll figure it out. Yes, yeah. I’ll take it, because Airpods aren’t cheap and you’re being so kind.” Mackenzie smiled warmly towards the man in front of her. “But first I suppose we should get up off the ground, right? Then we can figure out a meet up time or I can go with you now? Whatever you want to do.”

Shifting her weight, Mack planted her knees into the dirt path, before taking it one foot after the other. The neuropathy in her feet didn’t help matters, but as long as she could just get her footing, she’d be fine. It was a slow process though, and she felt so much older than she really was; bones popping and creaking as she straightened up. “Shit, I’m getting too old for this.” It felt weird to say, but even as she stretched her neck out it popped. Being a zombie really did a number on a person.

— 

“I mean… I do like not being restricted, but the wire is kind of like a bungee cord.. I guess. They did hurt, though, if you got one of them snagged.” Chris winced as if remembering a past incident, as if he knew the pain well. Airpods were expensive and that’s exactly why he didn’t have a pair – well, a working pair, anyway. And he didn’t even have a pair, he had just the one bud which he offered so freely to the blonde he’d just careened into moments before. That was fine, he wasn’t going to use it.

“Um…” Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure. He’d have to look it up online and see if there was a Youtube video or something on it. He’d imagine there might be a way, but it would take patience and delicate hands, and he didn’t think either of them were keen on giving that a go. “I mean.. Maybe there’s something online? It does sound kind of gross, but.. People clean technology all the time. Like the phone repair techs. They clean some stuff, too, I imagine. I’m sure it’s possible.” Chris nodded. “I guess yeah. Can’t stay down here forever. Um.. Actually, you know what? I’ll leave it up to you… I’m kind of staying in a motel right now and I know how people feel about them.” The Bearcliff Motel was a cute, quaint motel — one he was close to getting kicked out of because of the damage from that one nightmare of a night.

He had to laugh, softly, at her comment. “You?” He was about to playfully ask if she was younger than him, but then realized that it could be something else. He didn’t want to be insensitive. “Are you okay?” He asked instead, choosing concern over a joke. He did have to wonder if he maybe hit her a little too hard.

— 

Once Mackenzie was on her feet and steady, she turned her attention back to the man, “You are right about those things getting snagged. It’s like one minute you’re using an elliptical and the next, you’re choking yourself.” She shuddered at the thought as she slowly straightened up. “And there has to be some kind of video online. It would be ridiculous to think there wasn’t since you can practically find anything.” The internet was a ridiculously great source for finding information on the most random things. It was those moments when you went down a rabbit hole, especially a reddit rabbit hole, that could be scary, but cleaning an earbud couldn’t be that hard to figure out right?

Pulling her phone out, she glanced at the time, “I’ve got all day. And from someone who’s grown up spending the night in hotels and motels, I’m sure it’s fine.” She smiled softly at him as she moved forward, “Name’s Mackenzie, by the way.” Sticking out her hand, she shoved the phone back into her pocket with the other one. He seemed nice enough, and if he tried anything, he’d be in for a real surprise.

— 

The laugh that came out of Chris was more of a bark than anything, but it was genuine as he thought back to the numerous (and accidental) earbud chokings. “I guess that’s the fun of them. They keep you on your toes,” he joked, but couldn’t help the slight groan that followed the memories. “There has to be, I’m positive. I would’ve done it when I first found it but… I only had the one and I’m not really into Apple so…” he trailed off, not wanting to get into it but not knowing how she’d feel. He’d met too many diehards, on both sides, to really want to talk about that in depth. 

Her absolute normalcy towards him staying in a motel gave him a lot of relief. Too many people assumed that if it was a motel that automatically made it dingy, dirty and dank and a breeding ground for all sorts of nefarious activities. The Bearcliff was anything but, despite the only channel available being horror. “Okay cool, that’s a relief.. I’m Chris, it’s nice to meet you.” He looked back to where he had come from before jerking his thumb in that same direction. “It’s down this way, maybe like… a fifteen minute walk. A jog is faster if you’re still up for it?” He punctuated with a sheepish laugh that faded out. God, please don’t be creepy.

— 

“Right?” It was nice having someone who shared her same sentiment on corded earbuds. There had been one too many missteps, so when the airpods came out, it was a nice relief not rounding a corner and snagging the wire on something just to have it rip out, what felt like your eardrum, in the process. “Hey, I get it. The Apple and Android debate is just as bad as politics. To each their own, and I’m just gonna be grateful to have another airpod without buying a new set.” Mackenzie shot him a grateful smile.

“Yeah, no judgment here whatsoever. You’d be surprised at some of the places I’ve had to stay before for my work.” It was true. Some were super fancy, while others had a random bug or two or fifty crawling around when you turned out the lights. That was a stay Mack would never forget and shuddered thinking back on it. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Chris.” She looked past him as if seeing the motel he was talking about up ahead, “I think I can handle a jog as long as it’s not too fast. I might have to stop and walk some, but let's do it.” It’s not like she really ran out of breath, but her feet did do funny things sometimes. However, it would be nice having a jogging buddy this time around, instead of resuming her run on her own. “Lead the way.”

— 

He was grateful that she didn’t fight him on it. That would be a stupid thing to get into an argument over, a stupid thing to get worked up about and end up having a bad day because of it. And he was happy that he could give her a little help — he really hoped that the bud would work, both physically and being able to pair it with the other one. He wasn’t in the know with Apple’s programming, but he assumed the bluetooth would act similarly. “Fingers crossed the little guy works. It didn’t look like it was sitting outside for too long, so maybe the elements didn’t get to it.”

“Oh, good. I mean.. Not good that some of the places are less than stellar. What do you do for work?” Chris’ mind wandered the potential job options that would allow her to travel. Some of them he couldn’t really see her doing, just from knowing her for those short few minutes, but people could be surprising. “Oh no, nothing faster than like… maybe even a speed walk. I am on the tail end of my run…” He would be glad for those moments of walking in between, if only to maybe share a line of dialogue or two before they had to jog again. She was nice and friendly and didn’t think staying in a motel was creepy — he actually wanted to talk to her.

Their journey took a little less time than Chris originally predicted. His anxiety spiked a little when the motel came into view, but he urged on and led Mackenzie from the trail to the sidewalk to the parking lot and then to the front entrance. The lobby matched the retro exterior, maybe even pushing the style further, but it was cozy and what drew him there in the first place. Not to mention its distance from too public of places. “Sorry for the mess… The window, uh, is broken and they still have to fix it. It’s been kind of a headache,” he explained sheepishly when he opened the room door and stepped inside.

“You can come in, if you want. I think I put that little guy.. Over here…” He drifted off as he wandered over towards a bookcase in the far corner of the room, by the bed and by the window. The desk sat on an adjacent wall and a laundry basket sat beside the bedside table. There were clothes strewn beneath the bed and a backpack sat by the bathroom door. Camera equipment and photographs littered every other occupied space.

— 

Her attempt at getting back into physical activity had proved successful in a different way than she had even imagined. Mackenzie was glad to have been on the path to making another friend, and the jog to his motel was rather pleasant. She had explained her career as an actress. Talked more in depth about the earbud that had started the whole thing. And included some other various topics, including mentioning an old lady she had come to know since coming to Wicked’s Rest. It had become a regular thing to take her meals and visit with her.

When they made it to the motel, Mackenzie could totally see the appeal of the place. It was quaint and surprisingly welcoming to look like she was stepping back in time. And as she followed Chris to his room, she took in the sights around her. Maybe a potential location for a movie if she ever got back into things, since Goo Girl was just on the horizon, and the real possibility of what could jump start her career again.

As they reached the room, she glanced back behind her to take note of the other rooms and numbers on the doors, before walking in, “Hey, my house is a complete and utter disaster, so I get it. I’m sorry about the window. I know that’s gotta be annoying, especially since it’s starting to get colder outside.” She moved closer in and shut the door behind her. “Are you a professional photographer or is it more of a hobby?” She had caught sight of the equipment and started to step closer to it, “Do you mind if I take a look?” Mackenzie didn’t want to impose if he didn’t want her to see his work, and stopped moving just until he actually gave her permission.

— 

An actress? In Wicked’s Rest? He had heard about the recent movie that was circulating — an unusual title if he had ever heard one, but who was he to question art? The conversation continued on pleasant enough, until she mentioned an older woman she liked to spend time with. There was something there that made his stomach drop, made him remember the taste of iron and hair. It was pushed away as much as he was able, but it stuck to the back of his mind as they made their short trek.

Chris shrugged at her apology, his smile nothing short of sheepish. “It’s okay, th-... Thanks. Freak accident with a… Tree. I kind of run hot, so the cold never really bothered me much. I mean, I get cold, but it's not too bad..” The moment he heard the door close, he tensed slightly. You’re fine, he thought, you’re fine and she probably wasn’t going to hurt you. Get over it. So he ignored that feeling and opened a box up that he thought he put the bud in. No dice. “Professional, I guess. I do a lot of freelance work, a lot of contract stuff. I’ve been taking pictures my whole life, it feels like.”

He looked from the bookcase to the nightstand and frowned in thought before making his way over to it and the guitar case that looked like it had toppled over in the night. His eyes drifted from the table to where Mackenzie focused her attention on and nodded, “oh yeah, sure. That one has a few buttons that like to stick, just uh… to let you know.” Chris sighed when he realized that the wireless earbud case he had the lone Airpod in had fallen off the side table thanks to the guitar. He must have knocked it over in his sleep.

“I think I found it, sorry that took a minute,” he apologized as he moved the guitar and a jacket away from the corner, hoping to find just the earbud case. Instead he caught sight of a bloodied blouse, blue in color and wildly out of place. With hurry, he covered it the best he could with another clothing item before standing to full height with case in hand. Maybe she hadn’t seen. Maybe she’d be thrilled to see the lone white Airpod and forget the room around her. Or maybe she’d see the stained sleeve of a cardigan that peeked from the hole in a shopping bag that had been tied tightly with at least four knots. It sat by the bathroom door, next to the backpack. 

He had meant to take it out that morning.

— 

It was funny. Someone that ran hot while she ran cold. Did that mean he was something of the supernatural sort too? Mack wasn’t about to ask. That was his own personal business. Just like how her being a zombie was her own personal business, “As long as you don’t mind it, that’s what counts.” Once she was given permission, she began to move forward again.

“That’s amazing. I’m sure you’ve got some great work and experience under your belt then.” She had always loved photography. Photoshoots could get tiring, but she did like how they turned out. She wasn’t always too fond of the editing some photographers and magazines did though. It wasn’t fair to the viewers. People turned to celebrities to identify with them and their characters. How was that possible when you looked artificially made? “I’ll just be a spectator then.”

Mackenzie glanced over towards him and smiled, her eyes falling on the guitar, “Do you play?” One of the things she had missed dearly was making music, “I was just starting my music career when…” She paused and faded off. “Funny how life gets in the way of things huh?” Biting her bottom lip, she continued to tour the room while he looked for the earbud. But her tour was soon cut short at the sight of what appeared to be a bloody sleeve, and Mackenzie’s breath caught in her throat.

Maybe he had just cut himself working on something or maybe…There had to be a number of excuses running through the young woman’s mind at the moment, until she noticed the snag on that particular sleeve covered in a dark crimson, which peering in closer, held the exact same stitching pattern like a sweater that she had specifically told Ms. Bea looked like something her grandmother used to have.

“You know what? It’s fine, if you haven’t found it yet. I’ve gotta get going anyways. Just remembered I was supposed to meet a friend.” Would the excuse work? If he asked for specifics she had friends she could call. Make the excuse more legit and even let someone important know she was potentially in danger…

Mackenzie inched closer to the door trying to stay calm; taking note of everything she could potentially use as a weapon if she absolutely needed to.

— 

“Yeah, right.. Plus, it’s not so bad. I get fresh air now… The window was sticking, so I could never really open it all the way.” It did make him nervous to think that anyone could get in, but it was a good escape route if the door were to ever be a problem. In truth, even though he was pretty sure he was the one who caused it, it gave him some comfort to know that he wasn’t completely boxed in.

Chris shrugged again in the presence of her praise, praise that shouldn’t have been given because she hadn’t even seen his work. She wouldn’t know — she was just trying to be nice. “I guess so. I, um.. I have a website. And I can show you some of the stuff on there if you want,” he gestured to the finicky camera she had pointed out a moment before. “I think that one has a bunch of pictures of flowers. I think. Either that or the ocean…. I can’t remember, honestly.”

He paused in his search to smile at the guitar before he nodded at Mackenzie. “A little. I’m just starting out. I might be tone deaf, though. Or just shit at tuning it,” he laughed as he set the guitar upright. He noted the way she paused, sobered slightly, and chose not to question it. One, it wasn’t his place, and two, they just met. He didn’t expect her to just tell her life story to a stranger. Instead he nodded and offered her a sympathetic smile. “Life just sucks like that.”

Suddenly the energy in the room changed. It felt like it dropped, as if someone had lowered the temperature. He looked up from the case in his hand to the blonde, confusion evident on his face. He was never one to push, he knew better than that, but he didn’t like to be left wondering if he’d done something. It was an unusual situation at best — most people wouldn’t be too keen with following a stranger back to their motel room, especially for a single Airpod, so maybe it was that — but everything had been fine until now. So what changed?

“.... Did I.... Are you sure? I have it right here.. If you need to go you can just.. Take it with you..” He offered the case out at an arm’s length, deciding it was better not to step toward her — he noted the need for distance, he noted the sudden chill that filled the room. He’d been in that same spot and he hated it. He didn’t know what he did, though. He thought everything had been okay; did she see? Is that what happened? Chris felt his throat grow tight. “Are you.. Okay? I..”

— 

Mackenzie hated feeling like this. He had seemed so nice, but she knew within her heart that that sweater belonged to someone who wasn’t him. How could she have been so dumb to go back to his place for an earbud she could have just bought herself. It’s not like she wasn’t stupid rich. Instead, she listened to him speak. Kept her eyes trained on him, refusing to turn her back to him. She would be at the door soon enough and could make her escape right? He wouldn’t come after her. It was the middle of the day. The sun was shining. Maybe she was overreacting, but it was quickly reminding her of the stalker situation that happened years prior to her ever coming to Wicked’s Rest.

“No, it’s fine. You know, now that I think about it, it probably won’t work not being the original that came with the set.” At that point it didn’t even matter. He could keep it. Maybe sell it to someone else. But in that moment, her mind racing with too many thoughts at once, she let her eyes glance from him and the earbud to the bag she had seen with the bloody clothes. Like the ocean sending a wave straight towards her, the air was knocked out of her realizing what she had done. Mackenzie’s eyes quickly darted back to Chris’ to see if he had noticed.

Without answering, she turned and started to make her way to the door, and in a desperate chance at fleeing, started to fumble with getting the door open. Come on, come on, come on!!! Shit. Shit. Shit!!!!

— 

It never ceased to surprise him at just how quickly he was able to mess something up.

And it was usually when things were just getting good — the end of an all around decent date, meeting the same runner on the same path a few times a week, getting to know someone and finding a lot in common. It wasn’t in the beginning or the very end, it was just after the start, just at the apex as the climb started to reach the curve upwards. And then he’d fall, which arguably was the worst part for him. Not the hard hit when he met the ground, but knowing that it was just going to happen anyway and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Of course he followed her gaze. He wanted to find something, anything, that could explain the sudden shift in her mood. When he saw it and looked back to her, he was sure his expression showed how his heart dropped into his stomach. A small flicker told him, no, she didn’t see it, no way, but her immediate and hurried draw to the door told him otherwise. Her fumbling only made him feel sick.

“Waitwaitwait, Mackenzie, it’s not —” he set the earbud case down onto his desk and wanted nothing more than to reach for her, but that was probably the absolute last thing she needed right now, so he kept his distance and begged instead, “— it’s not what it looks like! Just — let me explain, please.”

— 

Mackenzie continued to fight with the door, but couldn’t get it open out of the fear that was behind her. For someone well trained in fighting and already dead, it was the past trauma she had experienced keeping a tight grip on her mind. She had just wanted to escape, but for whatever reason, she couldn’t get the fucking door open, and like a caged and fearful animal, she quickly turned back around, and pressed her back up against the door refusing to move any further, “What!? What is there to explain? That’s my friend’s sweater…and there’s blood on it…What did you do to her?!”

Her eyes were wide and her chest heaved up and down as she glanced from the bag to Chris and back to the bag again.

The night she had come home from a long day on set to find a man she had never met in her life waiting in the dark in her bedroom had been forever ingrained in her mind. And though it wasn’t quite the same situation now, she was trapped with someone who she knew could potentially overpower her. Luckily, for Mackenzie that night, she had used self-defense techniques she had learned to escape what could have been worse than what it had been. But, now, here she was once again trapped in a room with someone she didn’t really know, “Please, please just let me go. I promise I’m not going to tell anybody…” Could she really keep that promise though? That little old lady had a family and friends. People who loved her. Mack had loved her.

Tears had already started coming to her eyes as she pleaded with Chris waiting for him to explain himself.

— 

Chris felt too aware of how small the room actually was when she snapped at him with absolute horror in her voice. It sent a shockwave of guilt, grief and disgust through him, causing him to wrap his arms tightly around himself. This was the first time he was dealing with someone who actually knew the deceased — the meal. His fingertips dug into the pits between his ribs. He started to shake. Regret was surely evident on his face, but that didn’t matter to her. He didn’t blame her for being scared of him or angry. He had… He had killed someone that she loved. He remembered it, most of it anyway. Enough to know that it was stupid for him to feel his eyes sting with tears. He didn’t deserve to feel like that, not with the way she was looking at him.

The pit in his stomach only grew and he felt heavier and heavier with each passing second. Anything he thought to say, that might explain what happened, or help alleviate whatever pain she was going through, only sounded stupid and pointless. There was nothing to say. It all just sounded like an excuse.

A tightness weaseled its way into Chris’ chest, prompting his heart to beat faster. He suddenly felt very warm and a wave of dread washed over him. Oh, no. Not now, please. Pleasepleaseplease, not now. The begging mantra repeated over and over in his head, but it wouldn’t work. He didn’t know why he even bothered. He shook his head quickly, clearly distressed. It was unclear if he was shaking his head at her or his own thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t me.. It was an accident…” Accident. He sounded pathetic and like a liar. “Y-you can.. Go. Just….” He wasn’t trying to keep her there on purpose, the door was just a little shit. But could he really trust that she wouldn’t say anything? “P-pull the.. The d-doorknob out… and then.. just…” 

He dropped his head as a small groan escaped him. The pressure against his side turned sharp and painful. He felt the skin along his arms ripple. A shadow started to creep in from the edges of his vision, but he foolishly tried to fight against it. When would he learn that there was no stopping it?

�� 

Her back remained pressed up against the door as hard as she could, the thought in her mind that if she just pushed a little harder, she could break through. But Mackenzie knew that would never happen unless she were a hungry, raging zombie desperate for blood and flesh. Instead, she watched him. Never letting her eyes leave any part of his body, but something seemed off. His words started to sound different. She knew something about him was off, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on it.

Mackenzie was torn on whether or not she should turn around and take her eyes off of him or stay trained on what was coming, but if it was something bad, which by the look on his face, she could tell it was, what was she going to do?

Making the snap decision to turn back around, the zombie once again fumbled with the door trying to open it. Why did old motels always have shitty door knobs? What was it he said?! Pull and what?! Mackenzie continued every method she could think of, before finally feeling it give.

— 

It was a strange feeling to lose control over the body. The mind went heavy at first, cloudy and dark, until the feeling dropped down to the rest of the body and started twisting the bones and muscles into something else. Chris would feel his consciousness fall into a cold nothingness, but he was still aware of what was going on with his body. He couldn’t stop it, but he could feel all of it. He was paralyzed, reduced to nothing but a suit of skin and meat. A vessel to hold the monster inside.

He knew that Mackenzie was still in the room, still struggling with the door. He could hear the way her panic made the doorknob clink. But he couldn’t call out to her anymore. He was too busy being replaced. It was a jarring sight — the way his body stretched and distorted in that too domesticated bedroom, littered with photographs and clothing and signs of life other than the violence that clawed its way forth. 

It was getting better at this. Coming from behind the mind and stepping into the spine to alter the rest of the man’s body started to become easier, faster. It managed to finish the rest of its fur growth and lock its bad shoulder into place before the woman could get the door open. There was no confidence that their secret would be kept, so in a flurry of anger and fear, the creature lurched forward with its claws and teeth bare, intent on meeting flesh and tasting blood.

— 

She was almost free, but it was too late. The sound of bones breaking and twisting into something new had caused a pause of fear in her. It was something she hadn’t witnessed in person. She knew of them. Her best friend was one. But Mackenzie was now standing in the presence of a werewolf. And any actions to move forward proved unsuccessful as she could barely smell its rank breath from behind. You’re a fucking zombie. Do something, Mackenzie?! However, that something was unreachable at the moment. She didn’t know how to just tap into it. It had always been provoked by injury or death or…fear.

Her mind was starting to dumb down, and her eyes began to glaze over. Mackenzie could feel the feral side of herself starting to come out. A rage of her own started to brew and simmer. One that told her not to back down, but it had also slowed down her reaction time, and when her eyes drifted down to the door, she was still holding onto, she had forgotten why she was trying to leave. Only that there was something in the room that she was longing to taste.

— 

Claws met their mark. They dragged against her back while she remained stagnant by the door. But the closer they were, the stronger that smell was. It was nasty and unfortunately familiar, though largely avoided by the beast whenever it was on the hunt. It had been noticeable before, yet muted and not overly bothersome — until now. Not food. That meant this would be more difficult to handle, to keep quiet and continue to ignore and pretend that it never even happened.

Beneath it all, the odor was able to reach Chris, despite the solitary darkness his consciousness remained in while the furred creature made another move to strike the blonde before it. If she could not be food, then she would be torn apart and buried like the rest. With such a small room and such small prey, despite the smell, the beast was under the impression this would end favorably for it.

— 

As she felt the claws rake down her back slicing through deadened skin, Mackenzie let out a loud hiss that caused her to drop to her knees. That was just the thing she had needed to start to shift into full zombie mode. She would rip into that furry flesh and have a filling meal before it was all said and done. And as she slowly climbed her way back to her feet using items around her, she then slowly turned with no fear whatsoever and a hollow expression and inched forward with arms outstretched ready to grab with her hands and tear with her teeth.

It was then that Mack saw more claws coming at her, but this time they swiped her face leaving deep wounds in the money maker, which had further angered her. An airy demented noise coming from her mouth, she lurched forwards despite already being injured with her maw gaping wide and a mixture of foam, blood, and drool leaving her mouth. One good tear with her teeth in the right place and the dumbed down dead girl would be able to overtake the big hairy beast.

— 

Not normal, not normal. She fell, a success, but then she got back up again, which was a rousing disappointment. Combined with the smell, the wolf was horribly confused. It didn’t like that she wouldn’t stay down, it didn’t like that she seemed to be run on a wire, dead set on meeting it on the other side. No, it didn’t like that at all, and somewhere underneath, Chris really didn’t like that.

Another left hook sent claws like kitchen knives into Mack’s face; they felt the skin give way, and saw the way her meat and blood oozed within their newly formed flesh ravines. And yet she still continued, her face void of any expression the monster was able to read. There was nothing. Nothing but the vacant look in her eyes and the viscous liquids that dribbled from her searching mouth. Worth it? No, not really. She certainly wasn’t food and the brain seemed to disappear, but would it come back, neither of them knew. All they knew was that they didn’t want to deal with this anymore. Nothing changed and she kept getting back up — that wasn’t very fun or fulfilling.

So the beast lashed out again, either to knock her down or mar her flesh once more, and retreated to the window which overlooked the bed and bookcase. A shelf was knocked down in its clamber through the sill, but it offered the blonde a frustrated snarl before breaking what little glass remained and disappearing into the night, leaving Chris’ bedroom to the zombie.

[goddessofroyalty]

Hi, it's me again. I love your posts about a/b/o dressing etiquette, any idea/headcanon of what omega!Rufus and omega!Cloud would like to wear in their weddings?

So both of them it does kind of depend on who they are marrying/when the wedding is taking place.

But omega!Rufus I feel like very much goes for the white paintsuit. Just a somehow even more elaborate one than his normal one. It would be more closely tailored (especially in the legs) and I feel like would likely have a corsetted top (something like this). It's still more 'delicate' than something a beta or alpha male would wear and very much is designed to bring attention to his 'hourglass' figure. But it is very much a statement of power and demands attention.

I also think if his father was alive Shinra Sn would have his own ideas about what Rufus should wear that probably don't line up to it (probably wanting a more 'feminine' omega style like a dress). Of course I could also see Rufus show up in the pantsuit he organised on the side as a ‘fuck you’ because what's his father going to do at this stage? Wedding's already started.

For omega!Cloud, look, I don't think he cares. I feel like he's the kind of person that's almost accidentally fashionable. Ask him and he doesn't care about his clothes - they're comfy and they work for him. They just happen to be rather fashionable and flattering on him. So really if you ask him he'd be happily married in his day wear he doesn't get the pomp around weddings generally.

On the flip side though if he's getting married to people of high social status while Shinra is still in its power than... he's getting bullied into a dress. Well not so much bullied as just completely blindsided and dragged along into being put into a dress and he doesn't feel comfortable enough to argue against it. Like, sure, he's suggested 5 times to whoever he is marrying that possibly they should just elope and get married in what they feel comfortable in? (and honestly unless it's like... Genesis or Rufus his partner agrees that elopment sounds great, Shinra will kill them if they do though). I feel like it would be a very traditional style dress similar to the one below (but with probably a bit more visible lace) Shinra is very much holding him out as the “humble virgin bride” (and not at all because I have a ficlet scribbled somewhere of Rufus commenting on the irony of it only to have the irony of his own white wardrobe pointed out to him with the line “Isn’t that what Shira does? Coat all indescretion in white and hope nobody notices?”), so it’s simple and not overstated but also very much still a sign of wealth and power. It’s not something Cloud would pick out himself but it’s a necessity of playing nice by Shinra and the wedding ceremony is very much about Shinra. 

[anna-justice]

Partners - Upstead

Summary: My take on 8x03 (be ready for some deep analysis and feelings!!)

Warnings: fluff, angst, jay halstead having 27 anxiety attacks

Requested: Yes! #25, “I’m not leaving.”

…

“You catch that?” Jay asked his partner as they exited the interrogation room. 

Hailey gave a quick nod, “Yeah, he knows something. He’s good at pretending he’s not scared though.”

They rounded the corner, picking up their pace to head back to the bullpen, “Hey, Upton.” Both of them turned to face the resident desk sergeant. Hailey immediately noticed the package in her hand, she grimaced internally. “Not just calling me anymore. Now the feds are sending me packages for you.”

Hailey took the package off her hands, keeping her face as neutral as possible. She could feel Jay’s gaze on the back of her head. “Thank you.”

“You’re gonna have to rein this in at some point, not that I don’t like being your mail lady.” Trudy said dryly.

“I know.” Hailey said, wanting out of this situation as fast as possible. “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.” With that she left from the same way she came from.

Hailey looked down at the package, smiling softly. This wasn’t the first package she had gotten and of course she was flattered, but she wasn’t sure the bureau was the best place for her. “The feds?” Jay asked, pulling her out of trance. Hailey grimaced again, this is not how she wanted to tell him. 

A few minutes later, Hailey sat at her desk. All too aware of Jay leaning over her, his hands braced on her desk. (It didn’t matter that his own was less than three feet away, it never had.) He was attentively watching their boss, but she was too focused on him to even hear what he was saying. She distracted herself further by going back to typing on her keyboard, but Jay had other plans. “What did the feds want?”

Hailey took a deep breath, sitting back in her chair. She stared forward for a second. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She remembered why she got the permanent spot in intelligence in the first place. She remembered how stand-offish and lost Jay was at the beginning. She remembered all the times he asked Voight if he had heard from Lindsay, how his face fell when he finally realized she was never coming back. Even if Erin was a ghost now, she wasn’t always. “It’s a job offer.” She grinned at him. Even if it was a hard no, the feds still were fighting for her.

Jay didn’t miss a beat, “Well, that’s good. Where at?” 

Hailey held her breath for a second, “New York.” She said, reluctantly. She looked up at him, hoping to catch whatever feelings he was trying to hide. 

“Cool.” Jay said. They smiled at each other and then Jay high tailed it out of there. He felt like his chest was going to explode. There was this feeling in the pit of his stomach: fear, dread? He had no idea, but it rivaled the way he felt the whole time he was overseas. 

In the span of ten minutes, he felt like he had been transported back three years. As many times as he told himself that Hailey was not Erin, and that he and Hailey were not him and Erin, he couldn’t help but worry. If you look at the facts, it’s clear. Hailey told him she was leaving, she didn’t disappear in the middle of the night with no goodbye. She didn’t ignore his phone calls and clean out their once shared apartment all by herself. Erin did. 

Hailey pulled him out of the dark whole that it caused. She pushed him to go to therapy, she made him talk about his PTSD, she got him help. She was his partner, his best friend. As happy as he was for her, and as sure as he was that she would excel there, he wasn’t ready for that to be over. He wasn’t sure that he could handle it, no, he was sure he couldn’t. He would go with her in a heartbeat. Even though New York City was one of his least favorite places in the world and his entire life was in Chicago, he would drop everything and go with her. She was the biggest part of his life now, what would be left for him here if she was gone?

Hailey watched walk away from her desk, he was only across the room, but he was too far away. How could she ever handle 800 miles?

…

Hailey stood leaned against the wall in the conference room, Jay in front of her, hunched over a chair. She wouldn’t lie, part of her felt stupid about not taking the job. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but nothing would beat the feeling of a foot chase in -6 degree weather in Chicago or an interrogation with Jay. And that moment only reiterated that.

“And as I have said, I’m not asking any questions. I’m just giving him the info.” Hailey stifled a laugh. “We learned that there was a woman inside that house, so clearly, we’re missing something.” 

The lawyer jumped in quickly. “He’s got nothing to say.”

Jay started again, “Look, Truman, you’re gonna get booked on your warrant at the end of the day, so we don’t have to release you in 48. We can keep pressing-”

“All right, this is enough.” The lawyer interrupted.

Hailey locked eyes with the suspect, staring him down in an almost empathetic way while Jay continued to lay out the facts. “You’ve got motive, no alibi, you were in the area. You see how easy I can make it that you and your girl, you go for a little joyride, you’re looking to settle some scores, you entered the house and slaughtered everyone inside?”

“I’d never step foot inside that house.” Truman said, his lawyer pushing him back into his seat. 

Hailey took a step forward, it was her turn. “You would never step foot in that house?” She looked at Jay before locking in on him. “Why’d you say it like that, you would never?” She leaned on the table, getting a little closer to him. Her gaze was intense, but her approach was a little softer than Jay’s just a few seconds before. 

Jay watched Hailey lean across the table, happy to let her take over the questioning. She was so good at her job, and anytime he got to watch her, he savored every moment. She made him a better cop. 

“This little girl,” Hailey said, pulling out photos from the crime scene and laying them out in front of him. “Watched her mother get killed in front of her. Her whole family was murdered in front of her.” She took a breath, he couldn’t bear to look at her. She knew she was close to cracking him. “This tiny kid has to deal with those moments of violence for the rest of her life.” Her tone became more aggressive as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Look at me. You said you would never step foot in that house, and I’m guessing that’s because of retribution, because of Benny?”

His lawyer tried to hold him back, but Truman continued. “It’s not because of Benny. I would never step foot in that house because of her.” He pointed to the picture of McKayla, Hailey looked down, confused along with Jay. “She’s the reason why. She’s protected. I go near her, I end up dead.”

Hailey looked back at Jay, somehow the whole situation was more confusing than when they started. But, even so, they had gotten the information they needed. Hailey left the room with a million questions, but she was satisfied. They were so good together. 

…

After a long few days, Jay and Hailey sat at a bar that wasn’t Molly’s at a bar table by the window. They both had their hands on their beers, resting on the table. If either of them reached out any further they would be touching. “All right, let’s do this.” Jay said, chuckling. “Just rip the bandaid off.” Hailey laughed. “What did the FBI offer you?” On the outside he was joking with his partner, on the inside he was praying that she didn’t care enough about it to tell him.

“Hmm, okay.” She said, looking down at the table. She smiled genuinely, “Joint level task force, with the HIG. All interrogations, all high-level targets.” 

Jay trained his eyes on the table, “Sure, sure, sure, sure. That sounds awesome.” Hailey laughed out loud and Jay shrugged, you couldn’t tell by his smile, but he was losing hope. “Is it good pay?”

“It’s great pay.” Hailey shook her head, “Honestly, it makes me a little embarrassed about what we get paid.”

Jay smiled at her, “Well, you’d probably be really good at it.” He couldn’t look at her, because he was being serious. He knew she would be good at it, but she would have to be good at it in New York.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Hailey said, shrugging.

“You liked it out there, right?” Jay asked.

“Uh…” Hailey trailed off as the waitress set down their check. “I don’t know if I like it. I think it was just what I needed at the time.” She explained.

Jay nodded, “Okay, but you don’t need it now?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like he was asking her something else.

“No, why? You think I need it?” Hailey asked immediately and Jay laughed. “Are you trying to tell me I should take it?” And even though those were the words that came out, it felt like she was asking him something else.

Jay sucked in a breath. “No, uh…” He stared at the table, trying to find the words to say what he knew he wanted to say, they never came. “I’m saying it’s a good job for a good cop.” He was being serious, and honest and genuine. But he wasn’t saying what he needed to say. He smirked at her, just for a moment, but enough for Hailey to catch. He stood up with the check, but Hailey grabbed his attention as he turned back.

Hailey stared at his then empty seat, slightly frustrated. He just didn’t get it, and as much as it scared her, she needed to spell it out for him. Her shoulders met her ears and she talked quickly, “You could tell me you don’t want me to take it.” She shrugged, shaking her head, obviously trying to make the heavy statement a little lighter. “It was an option.”

 Jay opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was at a loss for words. He shook his head, smiling. He wanted to tell her how much he needed her, he wanted to tell her how much he wanted her to stay. But, an opportunity like she had been given didn’t come around everyday, and he refused to be the thing that held her back from what she wanted to do. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.” He looked her directly in the eye and for the first time all night, said exactly what he was thinking. “I’m just practicing self preservation here.” 

Erin. Was all Hailey could think, it was all she could think about all day. She refused to walk away without at least some closure, for both of them. She sucked in a breath. “The agent on the phone said the only reason a good cop doesn’t take a job like this is ‘cause they’re scared.” She finally got the nerve to look at him, because she was, she was so scared. “Implying that I was afraid of change and that I wanted to stay here where it’s safe…” And didn’t she? She didn’t want things to change, she felt safe in Chicago, with Jay. 

“So, he’s a dick.” Jay deadpanned, causing her to laugh. He sighed when finally saw the pained expression leave her face. 

They both laughed for a moment, locking eyes. “I don’t think that’s why I don’t wanna take it.” Hailey let her gaze fall, his green orbs too much for her to handle. She took a breath, “I don’t want to take it because of you.” She confessed. 

Jay stared at her, his brain all together stopped working for a second. All he was aware of was her soft smile and how fast his heart was beating.

Hailey watched his face fall and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or shock, but she knew it was too late to back track. “I’m better, with you as my partner.” Partner, they both had such a love/hate relationship with that word. At this point it felt like a cop-out. “You know, you, 21, Voight. I know I’m better here.” She shrugged, looking down and back up at him. “So, I’m not gonna take it.”

Jay fought the urge to smile, his emotions were all over the place. “You sure?” He asked, and he wasn’t quite sure he was asking her. It could have meant so many things. Was she sure about not taking the job or was she sure about him?

“Yeah.” She said almost immediately. 

The waitress returned with the paid bill, reminding the two that the earth was still turning. And they weren’t the only ones in it. Jay quickly put his card away and Hailey stood up, pulling on her jacket. It felt like so much had changed between them, but really nothing had. 

Jay looked at Hailey, concerned, she looked sad almost and he was worried he had caused it. “He wasn’t really wrong though, was he?” She looked up at him with glassy eyes. “You gain something, you give something up.” He was right, but she didn’t care. She would give it all up if it meant gaining him. 

Jay had only seen Hailey cry two times before then: the night McGrady was killed and the night they fought Booth. Both of those times he wanted to kill the son of a bitch who hurt her so bad, but right now, he was almost sure it was him. “Maybe but, not always.” 

Hailey looked at him and was hit with a wave of something indescribable. She couldn’t pretend anymore, she couldn’t just be his partner. They were so much more than that now. In a span in three seconds it felt like the last three years of her life replayed for her, and she remembered everything. The way he fought to be her partner and actually going to therapy, the way he defended her against Booth, the way she felt when he was shot that night in the parking garage, the way it felt to see him after she was kidnapped, the way it never felt with Adam. The way he tackled her to the ground in that van, completely careless with his own life for her sake, how hard it was to imagine not working beside him. How hard it was not being his partner, how hard it was finding him that day in that room. The way she cried for him in the waiting room, the way she kicked herself everyday for not telling him how she felt. The way he fought for that woman, the same way she wished someone would have fought for her. How much she missed him while she was in New York. She remembered everything. 

She groaned, this was it. “It’s been a long time…” She looked away, she couldn’t take it, wiping a stray tear from under her eye. “Since I saw you as just my partner.” 

It hit Jay like a semi truck, he couldn’t believe what she was saying. He had no idea what to say, so he didn’t. He took a step forward, his heart clenching at the sight of the disheveled girl in front of him. He captured her lips with his, lifted her up off her toes so she could reach. Her arms found her way to his neck, one sliding slowly down his chest. They both thought they were dreaming, they had both wanted this for so long. 

After what seemed like forever, they both finally pulled away. Hailey blushed, Jay’s gaze hot on her face. She shook her head, “No way, I’m not leaving. Definitely not now.” 

Jay laughed, “Is that all I am to you? A piece of meat?” 

“Would you be offended if I said yes?” Hailey smirked.

“Not at all…” He sighed out, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, letting his hands get tangled in her blonde ponytail. 

So there they stood, making out in a bar where no one knew them or their history. They weren’t colleagues, they weren’t best friends, they weren’t partners. They were just Hailey and Jay: they were everything.

…

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I think I’ve watched the episode a million times and this just seemed more fun than posting an analysis! Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading! <3

[frostahesmegabite]

DWC Day 1 - Reunion - Daily Writing Challenge Entry - Mega Goes Home

[ This scene takes place after a two year storyline between the FBC Guild that I’m the GM of and a personal storyline between Megahes and his Fiance, Naturasu. During this time, Megahes was cursed by a Cultist to slowly die from an agonizingly painful hex that was slowly killing him and all hope of its curing/removal was stripped away when this Cultist was killed during the conflicts. Ammaelin came to save Megahes (and acquired some ‘favors’ along the way) by using fractured shards of a Naa'ru to force Megahes into becoming Light Forged in a sense. This process took several years thanks to the manipulation of time via magic and while Mega felt the strain of three-four years of work, for everyone else it was roughly eight to ten weeks before his return. ] The Zeppelin ride to Orgrimmar was agonizingly slow, probably more than any other ride Mega had ever had on one before in his entire life. It was enough to drive him mad and the longer it took in combination with the closer it got to taking him home to Naturasu the worse it became. The goblin fidgeted, tugging at his clothes and making sure all the buttons on his shirt were done properly. His sleeves still crisp and the ironed lined still present. Hell, he even fought with the rolled up sleeves and their buttons that kept them pulled up to his biceps. The wait on returning home was killing him. What was Nat going to say when he walked in the door? This reunion between her and him played in his head a thousand times just today alone, he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he played out similar scenarios while he was away. “Nervousness does not become you Mister Frostbite.” The voice was formal and flat, its source coming from a blinding armor clad Blood Elf that stood several feet higher than himself. Crimson red hair blowing in the breeze thanks to their mode of transportation. Ammaelin, the Blood Knight who was responsible for the absence that proved to be a miraculous, and most likely a very heretical, healing process. If one could butter their bread with his smugness, one’d choke on it just from looking at him. “I’m aware, but that doesn’t make it any less. I been gone for three years now.” He quickly brings up a hand to stop the Elf, they’ve had this conversation several times before already. “And I know, I know. Months for her, for everyone else. Years only for You, Me and the others. But still years for me…” “We did what needed to be done, especially in regards to our agreement. You would have surely died otherwise.” Ammaelin’s head turns if but barely, just enough to cast a glance down upon the golden metal that was imprisoned into Mega’s flesh near his wrists. “You are lucky that you had those shards hidden away. Had any other Paladin known you held those, my brother's curse would have been the least of your concerns. I have no doubt the Church or the Draenei would have come marching on your doorstep…” Megahes’ face contorts as draws upon sarcasm to mock the Elf. “I have no doubt…” Mega blows a massive raspberry in the Paladins direction, which causes him to turn and look back upon the horizon, not giving in to Mega’s provocations. “Look. I know how risky tha thing was and I appreciate what you did and I get that I owe ya. But… all’a that aside. I’m just nervous man. What if…” He just stops and breathes, voice quivering a bit as his eyes begin to moisten, forcing him to stop and look back over the side of the Zeppelin once again. “If she doesn’t approve or she’s moved on due to thinking you dead or not coming back?” “I mean, I could have put that in better words, but yeah.” “I think perhaps you worry too much.” Megahes grumbles and sighs, running his hands up and down his face several times before they slide into his hair, where he just grabs hold of himself and pulls out of frustration only to realize he’d fucked it all up. His head shakes and he sets out to fix his hair as best he can, a nervous tick, to be sure. Mega was about to open his mouth to retort, but the Paladin stopped him by pointing to the horizon. Pandaria’s Jade

Forest. Pillars of tall stone began to rise and fall down into gorgeous forests, rolling hillsides and lily and reed filled rivers. The air was crisp and something about it just filled one's body with a rejuvenating sense of purpose and peace. “We’ll be at your domancile shortly, Mister Frostbite. I suggest you gather your things and we’ll drop you off directly.” If Mega wasn’t nervous before this, he sure as hell is now! His nearly trips… Well, he does actually, right over his own two feet and in a fluster, he looks about for something that wasn’t there before he speedily heads towards the cabins to gather his bag. He’d had this ready hours ago. It wasn’t much, he had no time to prepare for this little ‘retreat’ of his, which he was thankful for now as he threw it over his shoulder. He pauses and looks over at Ammaelin. “For as big of a pain in tha ass ya have been these past couple of years, thank ya. Truly. If it wasn’t for you and them Priests, I wouldn’t be makin’ this trip back.” Ammaelins’ face during this brief statement was a rollercoaster! Disdain and irritation appearing quickly was soon replaced with an oddly peaceful smile by the end of it. “Our time has taught us much, Mister Frostbite, about a great many topics. It has been… enlightening.” His choice of words being an intended pun and irony placed upon Mega. There were no hugs, no great exchanges of physical emotion. The two just look at one another before Mega turns and descends into the bowels of the Zeppelin so he can board the loading platform and get lowered down to his home. Their home. Gold, this was excruciating. The platform lowers slowly, painfully so, at least to him. Each inch makes Mega’s ears pound so hard that he can hear them in his ears and if it got any higher in his throat, he’d choke. “I’m gettin all nervous for nothin’, she probably ain’t even home. Probably in Orgrimmar havin’ some drinks or workin’ at the Knot.” He blows through his lips with enough strength to cause a slight whistle. Stress and worry, all self-induced of course, at how this was going to go. He was happy, no doubt, but worry came natural. The lift jerks as the ground makes contact, nearly sending him sprawling down to the floor of it just for him to look up in utter irritation, sending up a solid middle finger at the crew whether they could see it or not. “Ain’t no wonder these things fall out of tha fuckin sky so much…” He grumbles, straightening himself and clambering off before they end up actually managing to kill him somehow. Once off, the Zeppelin began to hoist the platform once more as it turned to head off towards its next stop. Mega’s red eyes watch it drift off for a moment, offering an overhead wave in case Ammaelin was on deck and looking down upon him. Given time, Mega turns away from it, looking at his pandaren styled home. The smell of the Arboretum orchids wafting through the air hit his senses and caused him to smile and for a moment, peace was welcome until he began to pick up his feet, swearing they are encased in lead the closer to home he became. Much like a scene from one of those cheesy romance books he kept hearing people go on about, he freezes at the door, hand up and ready to knock but nothing comes. No, instead he pats himself down and takes the key out of his shirt pocket and uses that instead. Quietly, creeping open the door slowly as if he expected to walk in and find his place full of cobwebs and everything cold and abandoned. The sight he gets is quite the opposite. Everything was nearly just as he left it. Albeit, more golden now. Naturasu loved her gold and it was a miracle that everything they owned wasn’t gold or khorium at this point in some facet or another. The sight brings a small smile to his face, sucking him into the house where he quietly closes the door behind him, fingers tracing over chairs and couch arms before he lets his pack slide down into the floor where it was quickly abandoned. Quietly, he walks through the house, almost scared to break the silence just to realize that that’s all there’d be

but a sudden clattering coming from the kitchen broke what he hadn’t dared. “Oh gold… what is she remodelling in there now?” It was a good question to ask! Not one that he had malice towards however, as the modifications they’d made thus far were phenomenal. His feet take him into the doorway where Nat can be seen in her usual home attire of thigh-high socks and underwear along with a set of tools, some powered and some not, as she was working on some of their retractable steps that allowed the two of them to cook shoulder to shoulder despite their obvious size differences. And it was this image that made him choke in silence and just stare at her. She was still here and all of his fears, irrational or not, just vanished and all he’s left being able to do is croak out a cough and throat clear. Nat’s voice calls out in irritation as the work clearly wasn’t going as planned. “Just leave tha rollers and frames there on the floor Sugah, thanks.” She must have thought he was someone from the Contingents Engineering or Supply Staff. Had this been any other time, Mega probably would have played into this mistake and taken up the chance to pretend to be said person and elicit some lewd scene, but, no, not today… Well, at least not right -now-. “Sorry, I uhh… must have forgotten them back at tha office. I can go back and get them if ya like.” Mega’s voice quivered in a nervousness that refused to leave his bones that were joining with both excitement and happiness. Naturasu on the other hand, froze entirely just to drop the wrench that was in her hand to the floor. Slowly, she wheeled about, perhaps not sure if she heard the voice correctly or if it was just her senses fucking with her. Whatever her reasoning, the moment her copper colored eyes hit Mega’s own crimson hues, time stood still for them both. No words came, they didn’t need them. Naturasu hit her knees and before she could even get her arms outstretched entirely, Mega was across the room, pinning himself to her and locking his own behind her in an embrace so strong that Titan Steel couldn’t have broken it if it tried. The two remained conjoined and just wept. [ Thank you again for reading my entry to the @daily-writing-challenge ! This is Day One (09/19/2021) and today's words were #Reunion and #Afterlife. I had the choice of using one or both, but decided to run with only Reunion today just in case I decide to pull out some deathly stuff later in the month. ] [ Edit Addition: I apologize if there's some formatting issues. I tried to implant a couple of images to help convey things but Tumblr just wasn't having it, so I had to remove them. I've tried to correct the errors I did find, but I may not have gotten them all. ]

[browsing-my-favourite-fandoms]

MonoTodo Relationship Headcannons: Getting Together

Part one here

One day on the way back after school Todoroki spotted Monoma walking alone

Shoto’s heart totally did not skip and he totally did not wish Neito would come and pick on him like older days. 

He totally did not walk very close behind Neito, or deliberately tried to make his footsteps louder

But somehow Monoma heard and when he turned behind, their eyes met. 

There was so much Shoto wanted to say but the only thing that came out was, “You are avoiding me.” 

It was meant to be a question but somehow it sounded very similiar to a hurt statement. 

For a few seconds Neito could not say a word. 

Everything he had been hiding for so long, every feeling he tried to suppress, all the emotions, all the efforts to control himself and let go of this boy he dreamt of... everything was close to be spilled. 

Man, there was so much he could do. Confess his love. Hold his hand. Go home together. Kiss him

But instead, he put that smug grin on his face and merely stated, “Arereee, did Mr Recommend’s hot and cold side suddenly mixed to fog his high-capacity brain?”

Shoto did not answer his question. Ah, this voice, this tone, this grin... how long had it been to turn him this sappy? 

He was never one to talk much but this time he sincerely wanted to reply back because otherwise it would mean the conversation is over. 

“Not even a word back, huh? And someone said I was ignoring him!” Monoma scoffed. 

It was so hard not to stare at that pretty blank face. So hard not to say how he felt for him. 

The closer they were, the harder it got for Neito to control himself. 

So he tried to wrap off the talk and get going home. 

“I’d be going then~ Don’t wanna be the excuse that superior Class A’s Mr Recommend gives when his marks are lower than us.” Monoma said, waving a goodbye until he heard the softest voice he had heard in a while. 

And for Shoto’s part, it was an accident--- an accident okay?

 All he wanted was to tell Monoma to wait. He did not want to say that and especially not in that tone, “Don’t go now.” 

But somehow that happened and now both of them were standing in the middle of the road, silent.

There’s a limit to what a man can endure and for Monoma that limit snapped. 

He gave a cough, and then cleared his throat, “I s’ppose Mr Recommend from superior class has something to say to me? Something related to spying on our class perhaps?” 

Todoroki tried to look up but man, it was so embarassing, and somehow both sides of his face had heated up.

All he could say was, “You are avoiding me.” 

Monoma took a deep breath. Todoroki looked hurt and it was for him. Whatever the reason maybe, he did not want that. 

Yes, he was a cheeky guy, a sarcastic guy picking on others, annoying people, making fun of them, crazy as heck--- but he wasn’t someone to hurt the people he loved. 

“Is it bothering you?” he asked gently. 

It was Shoto’s turn to be surprised. He had never, ever seen or even imagined this side of Neito. And worse still, he couldn’t answer. 

Neito tried again, “I mean, let’s say yeah, I am not talking with you. Why would you care? All I do is pick on you or annoy you. Do you like people teasing you?” 

Shoto shook his head. 

“Then, it does not bother and you only want to know if your peace is temporary? Well then, good news for you, I won’t be bothering you anytime soon.” Monoma scoffed.

A faint fear gripped Todoroki. He knew this would be the answer... why did he even ask? And why did he care? He didn’t like to be picked on. He didn’t like to get so many texts or notes. He didn’t like talking to people. Then why was he scared to face these days ahead? Why did they seem so lonely? Why did---

“It’s you. I don’t like getting teased. I don’t mind if people don’t talk with me. It’s only because it’s you. I care only because... it’s you.”

Goddamn---what was what. Shoto must be off his mind? Why. the. hell. was. he. blurting. these. out. He wasn’t controlling his tongue. It wasn’t at all like him. Then why? Why the hell did this happen?

And Neito was speechless. His cheeks were getting heated up and there was a strange feeling in his guts. It’s you... What the hell could he mean? 

But Shoto said it, right? He couldn’t possibly back off now, right? What in the world could he say? 

The silence crept on. The irony was this time Shoto was the one desperately waiting for an answer and Neito was the one who didn’t have a word to say. 

After a while that seemed like an eternity, Neito finally managed to say, “So basically indirectly you’re saying that the most talented hotshot of Class A likes me, huh? Good, because yeah, same. I like you.”

“But I never... said I liked you” was all a flustered Shoto could mutter.

And it was then Neito realised what he had done. And there was no way backing out. 

“Kidding! Just kidding! I was just kidding to see your reaction! Arerere,,, did Mr Recommend not understand this little joke? Did Mr Recommend not get the game I was playing? Isn’t it strange?? Arere,,,”

Shoto couldn’t really hide a chuckle. Monoma was blushing as hell and he didn’t know anyone more cute. 

It felt as if the spring had returned to his world, as if the monochrome world was painted in brightest of colours damn, he was being so sappy again

But then the peace became replaced by the fear. What if this became the end? What if he was never to see this side of Neito again? What if they never talked again?

“Monoma,” he began, looking up to the blond’s eyes, “It wasn’t a joke, was it?” 

And what could poor Neito say? His day was already blessed. 

First the boy of his dreams comes to talk to him. Then he sees the most prettiest rarest and most damn beautiful smile in the world. And then his confession didn’t scare his crush away. 

RIP Mr. Reasonable Side of Monoma who said they were not meant for each other.

Neito helpless gave a small nod, eyes still locked with the other boy, as if in a trance. ((What else can you say, Shoto was magical.))

And Shoto couldn’t help himself either, “So that means you won’t avoid me anymore and you would talk to me again like before?” 

He sounded so hopeful that Monoma couldn’t help but nod. 

Both of them stared at each other blankly for a while, neither knowing what to say.

Then Neito broke the silence in a little hesitant tone. “So... what’s your answer? But before you answer, you know I’m annoying right? And also damn cool, smart and handsome.” 

Shoto chuckled again and gave a little nod, “Yes, I know you are an arrogant, obnoxious, loud brat, who can be a devil most of time. But I like being with you more than anyone else. And I hate it most when you avoid me.” 

Neito didn’t know Shoto could be emotional and to think he was the reason causing these just made him too proud. 

“So that’s a yes from you, I take it?” he gave his most charming laugh, “Now let’s walk home together shall we?”

“Whose home?”

“Mine of course! Who would go to that hellish house of yours!” 

“How do you know it’s hellish if you’ve never been there?”

“Secret~” 

Part three here

@gakushuu-doesnt-lose and @sleepis4theweak here’s the next part <3 Hope you like it :)

[blinder-secrets]

Settling Debts - Tommy

‘Can’t we just say goodnight?’ & ‘I don’t trust anybody. Don’t take it personally.’

prompt list

wordcount: 4624

ao3 link

You were twenty-six when you broke Tommy Shelby’s heart. He’d just turned thirty-two, the business in London had settled, and everything was going right again. That is, until you’d told him you couldn’t do it, you wouldn’t, not anymore. Not when he slipped further and further from you each day. Not when the Tommy you’d fallen for had changed in the process, had gotten lost between the canals and the city.

He’d tried to offer you a ring, but you’d said no. Marriage won’t fix it, Tom. You couldn’t be a wife to a man that forgot you existed sometimes. You wouldn’t sit alone in a house, waiting for him to come home, wondering if he was even alive, while you spun the gold on your finger. It wasn’t what you wanted. So, you’d told him that and left before he could change your mind.

It was the only time you’d been grateful of his pride. He didn’t come after you, he didn’t chase you down, his own ego wouldn’t allow him to. You’d broken his heart, and he’d let you. It was better that way.

To say that was the end of your relations, though, would be a lie. You may have ended your relationship, but you couldn’t shift the stain Shelby business had left on your life. No-one would hire you, so you worked in their London offices. No-one would befriend you, so you drank with John, and Isaiah, when they were in town. You saw Tommy at every event, family party, and business meeting. You bumped into him when you were visiting your parents. In fact, the bitter irony of it all, was that you saw him more once you’d left him, than you ever did when you were together. But after a while it became the norm; it stopped hurting once it had.

Then, he had gotten married. You were invited, you’d smiled as they kissed. Clapped at the speeches. Honestly, it was a good night, you were happy for them. Both of them. He’d found someone who could keep him whole, and she did so without compromising on herself — it was what he needed. That should have been cherished, it should have lasted. When she died you mourned with him. For him. You picked up the phone when he rang, but you never went to him, he never asked you to. He grieved alone.

He did the same when John went. Though, that was hard for all of you. His funeral was the one family event where you’d felt you belonged, like you’d be there even without your history with Tommy. John was your friend first.

When the trouble with Changretta was over, Tommy decided to throw a party, though it felt more like an arrangement for us to breathe. A message to the family that it was done and they could finally come up for air. It was only a small guest list, those closest to him, but somehow you made the cut. You almost didn’t believe him when he asked you to come. Me? Why? You’re family, he said, you’re one of us. After the time he’d had, the stress, the loss, you’d told him you’d be there. You’d said it with a smile like it meant something to you, like it felt nice to be included.

The reality is that it doesn’t feel nice anymore, it feels like an obligation. A debt you didn’t know you had been paying since you’d left him. You could end things with Tommy but you could never move past him, not really, not on your own accord.

‘You’re here,’ is how Tommy greets you on the night, his hands limp by his sides as he stands before you in the doorway. He’d come to meet you there once he’d heard the car. No hello, no smile, just a quiet acknowledgement of your arrival.

‘Yes, Tommy,’ you answer, ‘I said I’d come.’ You look over your shoulder, gesturing to Isaiah with a jut of your chin. ‘I got a lift with your youngest and brightest Blinder. He drives well.’

Tommy nods, looking into your eyes for something you aren’t prepared to give him.

‘Are you going to let us in?’ you ask. If he wants to stare, he can do it from the warmth of the inside, and without the company of your oblivious friend.

‘I hope there’s food,’ Isaiah says, rubbing his hands together. He looks between you and Tommy with a grin, unaware of any difference in your behaviours.

His statement works to reanimate your host though, and he steps aside, extending an arm into the house. ‘There’s food,’ he says, nodding again. ‘Come on, come in.’

Despite the circumstances, you are glad you came. There’s alcohol and laughing, conversations you’d never expect to hear from Shelby lips. The food’s good, the atmosphere is easy, the guests are relaxed. Everyone is grateful to be free, to feel free, to have each other still. You’ve never heard Tommy crack so many jokes, dry as they are. You’ve not seen him smile this much since he married Grace.

When Arthur stands, announcing that he has something to say, you can’t help but snort and roll your eyes along with the rest of them. Maybe you are one of them. Maybe once you’re in, you’re never out again. Not while there’s still breath in your lungs.

‘I’d like to make a proposal,’ Arthur booms, ‘to insist that Tommy here, takes some time off.’

You laugh and you aren’t the only one to do so.

‘Time you took a holiday, Tom. Put your feet up. War’s over.’

This one was, but all Tommy knows is war. You can see in his expression, the one beneath the smile he’s giving to his family, to Arthur, that he knows it too. It isn’t in him to rest.

‘Alright,’ he says, 'thank-you, Arthur.’ He raises his glass and the group follows. ‘To peace.’

‘Peace,’ you repeat, catching his eye. He tips his whiskey toward you and then you drink in unison, holding each other’s gaze until the line is disrupted by another figure.

It’s Polly. Her cheeks are rouged from the celebrations, her movement lagging as she sits on the arm of the chair opposite. ‘You never told me what happened to that Irishman,’ she says, ‘the one with the eyes.’

You laugh, letting your focus settle on her rather than the man she’s blocking. ‘I don’t have to tell you things for you to know, Pol.’

After that, the night slips away from you. It’s near twelve when you decide you’ve had enough. You say your goodbyes to everyone, working through the dwindling group, until you’re left with just Tommy and Isaiah to speak to. From the way Isaiah’s behaving, sitting loud and boisterous with Finn, it’s obvious that your driver has forgotten all about his duties. You’re already in your coat, already clutching your bag with your mind set on leaving, but seeing him laugh so happily makes you stop. It’s not too long of a journey, but enough to make you hesitate — if he’s ready to leave is one thing, if he’s in any fit state to man a car, is another entirely.

You’re too caught up in your indecision to acknowledge Tommy arriving beside you.

‘You’re leaving?’ he asks, standing parallel, his gaze on the boys also.

‘Trying to.’ You sigh. ‘I’m at the Midland, though I don’t think we’d make it that far.’

He clears his throat once and says, ‘Leave him be, I’ll take you back.’

‘Really?’ Your eyebrows raise, neck craning to look at him. ‘Aren’t you drunk?’

Tommy shrugs, still staring ahead. ‘Either that, or you go with him in the morning.’

After spending the night, he implies, after staying in the guest room of the house he once shared with his wife. Doors down from the nursery his son sleeps in.

‘No,’ you decide, ‘no, I think I��ll take your first offer.’

‘Suit yourself.’

You explain to Isaiah, who looks very happy with the idea. Not that he didn’t want to take you, of course, not that you were ever a bother to him. You watch him scramble to backtrack with an amused smile.

‘I love driving you places, really,’ he stresses. ‘I just meant it’s great to—‘

‘Siah, it’s fine. Honestly.’ You laugh, letting him cling to your hand still. ‘Just have a good night, yeah? Don’t over-do it.’

He agrees, nodding wildly, then goes back to Finn with a fresh set of bottles under his arm.

After waving goodbye, again, to the room, you follow Tommy down the hall to the door. He takes his coat from the hook, pulling it on as you hurry to catch up to him. For someone so keen to have you there in the first place, he was certainly in a rush to show you out now.

It’s only once you’ve both stepped out into the cold, that you realise it isn’t the case at all. He isn’t keen to leave, just keen to have you alone, to have you by himself with nothing but the quiet and the night.

You’re behind him at first, but when you step down onto the gravel, he turns so quickly that you’re toe-to-toe before you can move out of the way.

‘Tom—‘

Your surprise is cut off by his lips. He has your face in his hands, his thumbs holding you steady by the curve of your cheeks. He’s kissing you. He’s kissing you and it takes you so long to realise, that he pulls back before you can respond to it. You can feel him watching you, waiting for a hint, but your eyes fall to the floor. Your fingertips ghost over your mouth.

Dropping his chin, he steps away and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette. There’s a quiet between you now that neither wants to break. You don’t think either of you know how to, or what to say. You’re still trying to work out if you should have kissed him back.

After what feels like a lifetime, but is really only long enough for half of the cigarette to burn away between his lips, Tommy clears his throat and speaks again. ‘Right, shall we go?’

It’s forgotten to him, then. He’s already buried the kiss under the list of things that happened, and then didn’t happen, and now will never be spoken of. You aren’t sure you can afford him the luxury this time.

‘Is that why you asked me here, Tommy?’ you ask, quietly, like you’re embarrassed by it. You aren’t, of course, you’re just more worried that you’re being assumptive. That he won’t react well to it.

He directs his smoke upwards, turning in the last minute to shrug his eyebrows at you. ‘Forget it, right? Didn’t happen.’

Except that it did, and the more you think about it, the more you wish it had continued. Or hadn’t begun at all. The conflict bites at your throat. One second, you find yourself wanting him for the nostalgia of it, but then in the next, reason corrects you. You know what he’s like. He’s just looking for comfort, something to take the edge off. Something that’ll last longer than booze and drugs.

‘You kissed me, Tom.’

He sighs, his face is pointed to dark sky. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘I can’t be that person,’ you say. You’re reminding him as much as yourself. ‘I know it’s been hard but I can’t, that hasn’t changed.’

‘Have I asked anything of you?’ he replies dryly, then his head straightens and he redirects his gaze to yours. ‘Tell me, who have I asked you to be, eh? Hm?’

You chew the inside of your lip. He’s getting irritated, and once he does the conversation will go nowhere. He’s too stubborn. Too full of pride, and ego, and denial. Too Tommy to make progress.

‘It’s just a kiss, [y/n].’ He can insist all he likes, but you know he’s lying. He wouldn’t kiss you just for the sake of it. At least, not like that.

‘Fine.’ You lift your bag from where it was dangling and set the strap back onto your shoulder. ‘So take me home.’

He doesn’t move, he just looks away again and takes another drag from his cigarette.

Sighing, you rub at your forehead, closing your eyes to save them from staring at him any longer. This was exactly what you feared. Every time you saw him, every time you ended up alone together, you were worried he’d do something like that. Worried he’d undo all the work you’d put in, take down the walls with one stupid, boyish, action. It was always a likelihood — now it was reality. You don’t want to go back to how you were, you’re happy separate from him. But, fuck, he doesn’t half make it difficult. You never question your resolve quite as much as you do when he’s close by.

‘I’m sorry, alright?’ He breaks your train of thought, grumbling the words into the dark. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘What?’ You scoff before you’ve even opened your eyes. When you do look at him, you almost expect him to be smiling, but he’s serious. His expression’s hard. ‘Are you apologising, Tommy?’

His jaw sets. Then, he nods.

‘Wow.’ You smile accidentally. ‘That’s new.’

Shaking his head, he laughs to himself, though there’s no humour in it. It’s one of those disbelieving laughs that’s always grated you the wrong way. ‘Always fuckin’ fighting me,’ he says.

‘I don’t,’ you reply sharply. ‘I’m not.’

‘You don’t trust me anymore, do you?’ he asks, half-smiling, like he’s finally solved the riddle that’s been plaguing him. ‘That’s what it is. After all this, after everything, you don’t trust me.’

You fold your arms over yourself. ‘I don’t trust anyone,’ you quip. ‘Don’t take it personally.’ His swerve in topic has caught you off-guard, and the response that you’d intended to reassure him, had come out so quickly that it looked more like a lie than anything else would’ve. ‘Surely you know what that’s like, Tom?’

‘We’re not talking ‘bout me.’ He finishes his smoke and flicks the butt away from him. ‘You don’t trust me,’ he says, pointing at you, ‘and that’s why I can’t kiss you, at me own party, without a fuckin’ inquisition about it.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘No?’

His smugness is starting to get to you. Everything you’ve ever said, years ago and now, has gone right over his head. It’s barely even grazed the surface. ‘God,’ you sneer, letting your irritation take the reins, ‘you really are insufferable.’

‘Yeah.’ He scoffs, nodding. ‘Yeah, but you still came.’

The tension in your chest snaps. Any grip you had on civility is lost, tossed aside into the stones of the driveway. 

‘Because I feel guilty, Tommy, because I left and your life has gone to shit ever since.’ Your voice is straining in your throat, but you aren’t shouting. Not yet. ‘Do you think I’d even be here,’ you continue, 'if I didn’t feel like I had to be? Like I owed it to you to say yes?’

‘Owed it to me?’

‘Yes, fucking owed, Tommy. We broke up years ago and I’m still here.’ You hadn’t gotten away yet because he hadn’t let you, he pulled you back every time the distance grew.

Opposite, he’s unmoving. His face is blank to your outburst. He just stands there and takes it, like you haven’t dowsed him in undeserving pity. Like you haven’t just taken his hospitality, his loyalty, and thrown it back in his face like you hated him for it. His lack of response is enough to send you tumbling into self-reflection.

‘Fuck!’ You turn away from him, then back again before the regret can sink any deeper. ‘Fuck, sorry. Sorry, Tom, I shouldn’t have said any of that.’

At that moment, at that exact, horrible, moment, your solitude is disturbed. In a clutter of noise, Arthur comes tumbling out of the house, gun raised and pointed vaguely in the direction of the both of you. If it were any one else, you’d be scared, but it’s just him; just Arthur and his habits.  

‘Who the fuck’s this?’ he spits, his words bleeding into one another.

‘Arthur?’ Tommy is first to respond, lifting his hands. ‘Christ, put the fucking gun down.’

‘Oh.’ Realisation stops him dead. ‘I thought you’d gone, Tom,’ he says, quieter but no clearer. His arm lowers sheepishly. He’s so drunk he can’t even stand straight, he sways as he talks. ‘I heard shouting,’ he explains.

’S’alright, brother,’ Tommy says, voice tight. He’s using that tone that he so often does with Arthur. It’s somewhere between condescension and thin, waining patience. ‘Go back inside, eh?’

‘We were just talking,’ you add, hoping it’ll help to usher him away. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Right, right, yeah, course.’ He’s nodding, and waving the gun at you like it’s no different from his hand. ‘Shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘It’s okay.’ You smile at him though you doubt he can even see it through the dark and the blur of the alcohol. Out the corner of your eye, you notice Tommy turning away from him, sighing with his hands pressed to his face.

Arthur just stands there, rambling. ‘Beautiful night, though, beautiful,’ he says.

‘It is,’ you agree, looking between him and Tommy. ‘Sorry, Arthur, we were—‘

‘Yep,’ he barks, interrupting you suddenly. ‘I know, I know, hm, as you were.’ With that he’s away, holding his hands above his head in surrender, keeping them there even once his back’s turned.

You watch him until you cant see him anymore, until the door shuts and you’re alone again, in the silence with Tommy. The previous tension has dissipated, dropped and sunken into the ground beneath. In the quiet, it seems stupid to attempt to carry on with the conversation, you can hardly remember how it had gotten to that point in the first place.

‘I don’t think we’ll ever get anywhere like this, Tommy,’ you say, finally turning back to him. He nods, while his hands push his hair into place, smoothing it over more times than necessary. ‘I am sorry for what I said,’ you add, still feeling the guilt twinge in your stomach.

‘No.’ He shakes his head, pouting slightly. ‘No, you’ve nothing to say sorry for, it’s not your fault.’ His hands tuck into his pockets, his eyelids droop. He looks tired. Whether it’s from you, or the night, you can’t tell. ‘I’m the one who’s cursed,’ he says.

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘You’re the only one.’

‘Tom.’ You find yourself stepping toward him, your hand reaching for his arm. When it settles on his bicep, just above the elbow, his gaze follows it. ‘You aren’t cursed,’ you tell him, ‘you’re just…’ Unlucky? Destructive? There isn’t really a word for it, at least not one that will make him feel any better.

He huffs a breath through his nose. ‘It’s alright,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to.’

You nod. You pull your hand back and hold yourself instead. The empty silence that seems to linger around the two of you is back, though this time it’s sad. Bleak. If there was ever a moment where you felt truly alienated from him, it was now, you were living it. Or, at least, that’s what you suppose it is. You’ve never felt anything like it. He’s looking at you as if he understands at last what was lost between you, like he’s only now realised that you’ve gone. The ache you felt that day has finally been passed onto him. 

Maybe it’s relief, then, not alienation. He understands and he isn’t bitter, he’s sad. You can finally agree on that.

‘Do you regret it?’ he asks. ‘Leaving?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ you answer quietly. ‘It was the right thing at the time.’

He wets his lips, nodding. ‘And now?’

‘Don’t ask me that.’ Your voice cracks slightly. You shake your head like it’ll stop the thought from latching. If you shut it down fast enough, it won’t do any damage, it won’t make you consider.

‘Already have,’ he says. He’s looking for that something again, that hint of desire in your eyes. He stares in wait of it.

You can’t find an answer — your tongue has swallowed itself whole. There’s nothing to push him back, nothing to stop the hope he’s starting to build. He needs telling no, but you can’t find it within yourself to do so, you can’t blink the idea of it back.

‘I’m taking time off,’ he starts as he steps toward you, palms open and reaching. ‘Spend it with me,’ he says. ‘We can go on the road, eh? You and me, travelling. We can see your cousins in Wales.’

‘Tommy…’

‘Or London, we can go back to London.’

‘Tommy.’ You stop him before he picks up anymore momentum, your hand pushing flat against his chest. ‘You’re going too fast.’

‘It’s nothing we haven’t done before,’ he counters.

‘We haven’t even, I mean, we can barely keep a conversation, Tom. I don’t know.’

‘Well, let’s start with that,’ he says, ‘let’s talk.’ He’s stepping closer still, his hands have taken your waist, and he’s looking at your lips. Just your lips.

‘Talk?’ you mirror, feeling the air catch in your throat afterwards. You’re chest-to-chest now and his eyes still haven’t lifted. If he were any closer you’d feel his heart beat with your own.

‘Just talk,’ he insists. His voice is low, dragging. ‘We never talk.’

He’s saying things he doesn’t mean. He’s moved a hand to your face, his fingertips trace the line of your cheekbone, just below your eye. He’s close and he’s soft, and he’s Tommy. He’s always Tommy, your Tommy.

‘I can’t think like this,’ you say quickly, softly, too nervous to add any force to the words. ‘I can’t go away with you, Tom.’

‘I know,’ he murmurs, eyes flitting across every inch of your face. He’s drinking you in. He’s missed you, you can see it, you can feel it in how he’s holding you. He’s cherishing it all over again, taking stock of what he lost. Once he’s satisfied, he closes the gap between you and pushes his mouth on yours.

He kisses you and this time you kiss him back.

You melt into it, letting him part your lips with the edge of his tongue. Your arms go around his neck, your fingers to the back of his head. You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like you’d never stopped doing it. It’s wrong. It can only ever be bad, for you, for him, but you’re doing it. You want it. It fills you with a warmth you’d long forgotten. The taste of him slips down your throat like liquor, burning the sides. Stifling the chatter in your head.

All too soon, he pulls back, dragging your bottom lip with him before letting go. His head tilts, forehead resting against yours, breath shaky and fogging between your two mouths. ‘Don’t go to the hotel,’ he says. His voice breaks from his throat in a coarse whisper. ‘Stay here, with me.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ you tell him. ‘You’re drunk.’ You feel drunk yourself, you lean on him like you’d fall without the support.

‘I’m not.’ He kisses you again and you meet him there, your tongue daring to taste his this time, your lead the one that’s followed.

You let him walk you back, let him put you between him and the wall of the house. His hands are on your face, and then your neck, and then down your sides like he can’t settle. Like he’s desperate to touch every part of you before you disappear again. The kiss breaks and then he’s covering you in them, leaving them wherever he can think to.

‘Tom,’ you whine, ‘we can’t.’

‘Stay,’ he breathes, hiding the word behind your ear. Trailing it down your neck. ‘Stay for now. Stay.’

You sigh his name. ‘Can’t we just say goodnight?’

‘Do you want that?’ His nose brushes your jaw, his lips settle beneath. You sink against the wall.

‘We shouldn’t—’ the sentence is stolen from you, staccato from the feeling of his teeth against your skin. It’s getting harder to let reason win, the more he touches you, the less you care. The more you want. Groaning, you force your eyes open. ‘Tommy.’

He responds quickly, lifting his head to meet you. His palm sits at the base of your throat, not holding, just touching. ‘I’ll stop,’ he says, ‘do you want me to stop?’

The answer should be yes. Any other day it would be, it would be Goodnight, Tommy. Take me home, Tommy. But you can’t say it. You can’t lie to yourself, or to him. You want him to carry on. You want him to kiss you like he loves you, like he’s desperate. You want him to take you into his big house, to adore you, to fuck you like you never broke his heart. Or maybe like you did. It’s weakness, it’s a failure to yourself and your dignity, but, God, you don’t care. You can’t force yourself to.

‘[Y/n]?’ Tommy’s still waiting for his answer, still holding his breath as he watches you think.

You start to shake your head, but desire interrupts. You kiss him and then he knows. Then his hands go back to your waist, pulling you in, pulling you to the side, pulling you around the wall and backwards toward the steps. It’s clumsy, you stumble with him. Your teeth knock together as you move.

‘A bed,’ you say, panting in the breaks apart. ‘Not downstairs, not like a whore.’

He nods against your lips, his arm reaching behind to push the door open. The warmth folds over you, drowning you. You hadn’t realised how cold it was until you're in the house again.

You pull away from each other to get upstairs; he walks in front of you with his hand trailing behind, fingers interlocked with yours. You don’t know where everyone else is, but you don’t care, you’re so trained on Tommy that the stairs could be on fire and you wouldn’t even know. From the heat that creeps down your legs, they very well could be.

On the landing, you’re reunited again. Kissing, grabbing, chasing each other toward the bedroom like you’re newlyweds. He takes your coat off, leaves it by the door. You push his back from his shoulders and let gravity do the rest.

There’s no time to talk, not properly; no space between you is kept long enough to allow words to fall. You devour each other, peel back the layers of clothing, shed the years of discomfort. You let him kiss you, invite him to taste what he’s missed. When he lays you down, you open yourself up to him, you hold him close like you would’ve when you were twenty-five.  

‘I should’ve stopped you,’ he says against your stomach. His hair is messy, like it never is, the dark twists brush your skin. ‘When you went, I should’ve gone with you.’

‘No,’ you tell him, ‘you shouldn’t.’

Everything that happened, still led to this. If it wasn’t broken you’d have nothing to put back together. You’d kiss and it would be empty.

‘Stop thinking, Tom.’

You cup his cheek and pull him upwards until he’s above you. His skin sticks to yours, his heartbeat thumps against you like its your own. He kisses you and he doesn’t stop. You don’t let him.

[dollyshaw]

The Thing About Rain: An Adrienette Story (Part 2)

In which realizations are made.

The wind and rain blew harshly around Marinette as she made her way to House of Gabriel. She’d never regretted not getting her license at 18; she liked to make her way around Paris by foot. It was easier to meet people that way, and she didn’t have to worry about leaving her car somewhere if she ever had to transform on the fly. Today, however, she wished she could drive.

She gripped tightly onto the umbrella that Adrien had given her on that fateful day seven years ago. This was, as far as she was concerned, the greatest token of friendship and affection.

Though this umbrella may have made her feel warm inside at the memories it held, it would not prevent the rain from splashing into her pink rubber boots and sogging the ends of her black cropped trousers. Her tan “Gabriel” trench coat was not even enough to prevent the water from dampening the white blazer and striped blouse of her carefully cultivated ensemble meant to impress her new Mentor, Gabriel Agreste.

Over the years her clumsiness may have soothed itself, but her luck while out of her alter-ego’s protective suit never improved. Her black cat hadn’t even crossed her path today. What irony.

She was relieved when she finally turned the corner to the front of the House of Agreste Studio building. She pushed her way through the gold-plated revolving door as she undid her umbrella and shook off the excess water. She hooked it via a carabiner to her black Chanel side-strap and shed her trench coat as she made her way to the elevator.

She was in the middle of the downstairs lobby before it even hit her where she was. She stopped dead in her tracks in the center of the room, mesmerized by the building around her. She knew Mr. Agreste personally, which made this all the more surreal to her. She noted all of the gold in the room. Gold caulking connecting the ceiling to the white marble walls. Gold crested plates on the ceiling. Gold mixed into the black marble flooring beneath her feet. All of this accented the gold chandelier reaching down from the center of the ceiling, crystals coating its long arms reflecting the lights behind them to give the room a warm glow. She knew Mr. Agreste built this from nothing, which gave her the utmost respect for him as a designer and a business man.

“Good Morning, Maribug.” A voice shook her from her thoughts.

Standing beside her, clad in carefully tailored black slacks, an ironed white chemise buttoned right below his collarbone and the sleeves rolled to right below his elbows, and tan loafers, was Adrien Agreste. Her breathe hitched as she noted the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips as he called her the nickname he coined after calling her his “everyday Ladybug” all those years ago. She knew it was just because of the compliment, but every time he called her “Maribug,” she questioned whether or not he’d somehow figured out her secret identity.

“Adrien Agreste! You scared the life out of me.” She sighed pinching her nose, trying to catch her breath.

“I’m sorry Marinette,” He said helping her pick up the papers she dropped “but look, I brought you breakfast.”

“Awe, you didn’t have to!” She blushed taking the small bag and cup from his hands.

“It’s your first day, Mari. Consider it a welcome to the company.” He smiled putting his hands into his pockets.

“Well thank you fine sir.” She grinned.

“You’re more than welcome, M’lady. May I escort thee to thy office?” He faked a bow and offered his arm. She nodded and took his arm, though she was slightly taken aback by the wave of familiarity that accompanied his statement.

M’Lady? It could have been purely coincidental that he referred to her as M’lady and Maribug on the same day, but it was not lost on her that the only person she’d ever heard use the term was her partner. She’d concluded a long time ago, however, that there was no way Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir could be the same person. Sure, they had a lot of physical similarities and she had never seen them in the same place, but their personalities were drastically different. That and the fact that Tikki did not seem to respond to Adrien in the slightest completely convinced her that Adrien was not Chat Noir.

Marinette, however, was not very observant when it came to Adrien Agreste. When she was around Adrien, nothing in the world around her seemed to matter. Her blissful oblivion was only maximized when they were in close proximity.

Maybe if her arm hadn’t been carefully looped around his, or if they weren’t less than a foot away from each other in an enclosed space, she might have noticed the way that the security cameras turned to follow her and Adrien as they moved through the lobby. She may have noticed the way it took several unusual moments for the elevator to start its ascent, as if it were weighing the odds of bringing them up to the thirteenth floor. If she hadn’t been in an elevator with Adrien Agreste, as she had been many times before, she might have noticed that the odd feeling the rain gave her this morning clung to her through the lobby of House of Gabriel, lingered in the elevator, and radiated around her long-time crush like the fumes of a well-aged cheese.

________________________________________________________

Adrien Agreste was oblivious about a lot of things, but not even he could miss the way his heart sped up a few beats when Marinette Dupain-Cheng took his arm. With her this close, he could feel the warmth of her person, almost like she physically radiated the way she made others feel. He could breathe in the fragrances of fresh bread, rose, and something very familiar that he could neither put his finger on nor could he identify where he’d smelled it before. Her dainty hand curled around his forearm gave rise to a certain warmness in his cheeks and in the pit of his stomach. Any warmness from Marinette, however similar, would always pale in comparison to the feeling his Lady gave him when she so much as smiled.

Adrien Agreste was oblivious to a lot of things, but not even he could miss the odd, almost calculating look on his father’s face as the elevator doors opened on the 13th floor to reveal him. He paid little attention to his father’s face, as he was more surprised that his father was, indeed, standing before him. He’d fully expected to meet his father via a tablet screen in his office rather than face-to-face.

Beside him, he heard Marinette emit a small gasp at the man standing in front of her. True, Adrien had not seen his father in person much in the past seven years, but the public (including his very own new apprentice), had seen him even less. He could only imagine that she had not been expecting to encounter him in person at all during her time at House of Gabriel.

“Adrien,” he began, resting his hands one-above-another on the ball of his ebony cane “Thank you for escorting our young designer on her first day of work. How chivalrous of you. One might even say… heroic.”

Adrien was still too taken aback by his father’s presence to notice the glint in his eye as he finished his statement. Marinette was far too engulfed in anxiety to notice the way Mr. Agrestes eyes slanted and lips curved into a sinister smirk as he spoke the final word.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng,” he continued, taking her hand from his son’s arm and lightly kissing her knuckles, “Welcome to House of Gabriel. We are very pleased to have you with us.”

Adrien couldn’t help but feel a bit angry when his father took Marinette’s hand from his arm and tucked it neatly into his own. He felt his cheeks heat up when his father started walking with her to his office and motioned for him to follow, making polite conversation with his best friend as they walked.

“Kid,” Plagg whispered from the hidden pocket inside his chemise, “You gotta calm down. I can feel the negative emotions welling up so I know ShadowMoth can. I know she’s your girl, but you have to cool it.”

“She’s not my girl!” Adrien almost shouted. He quickly noticed that he was not in a private place and the designers around would most definitely think he was going mental for talking to himself, so he quickly corrected himself by saying “She’s My Woman! Yea! It’s on Jagged Stone’s next album you guys won’t want to miss it.” And then he ducked his head and kept walking.

“Nice going kid,” Plagg tried to emit as much of him rolling his eyes as he could into his tone, “but seriously you’re going to have to calm down.”

Adrien tried to steady his breaths as he followed his father and Marinette into his office at the end of the room. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that his Father had missed breakfast with him this morning, as well as every morning for seven years, and made a point to show up for Marinette’s first day of work or Plagg calling Marinette his girl, but he was sure that the heat in his chest was not because he was jealous of his father showing Marinette off to the office like a trophy. She was just a friend, after all, a really good friend.

A friend with dark navy hair and blue bell eyes. A friend who could light up a room just by stepping into it. A friend that made her friends macarons when they were having a bad day, and stayed up with them until 2 a.m. if they needed someone to talk to. A friend that, if he weren’t obsessed with his partner of seven years, could see a future with.

He was snapped out of his trance by the sudden sound of the heavy metal plated door of his father’s office closing.

“Mademoiselle, as I claimed earlier Adrien and I, as well as the entire staff of House of Gabriel are honored to have you as my personal apprentice.” His father praised as he lounged in the green upholstered armchair by the fireplace of his office.

“Merci, Monsieur Agreste. It is an honor to be learning from an icon, such is yourself.” Marinette squeaked as she took a place on the sofa across from him. Adrien made a point to situate himself on the couch next to Marinette, an odd feeling of protectiveness radiating through him.

“Oh, please darling, call me Gabriel. We will be working very closely together after all.” He responded, glancing at his son the entire time. Adrien instinctively slanted his eyes at his father and twisted the ring on his finger. In the moment, all he could hear was his heart beating out of his chest and the warmth that followed on the tips of his ears and the tips of his fingers. He resisted the urge to call upon his Kwami. He couldn’t figure out the source of this anger, which frustrated him more. He suddenly felt a small hand wrap around his own and squeeze.

“Adrien,” Marinette whispered “Are you alright? You look a little tense.” He noticed that his father had gotten up from his spot across from them to brew some tea at the cart across the room.

“I’m fine Mari, something just feels off.” He grinned tightly at her.

“You feel it too? I’ve felt on edge since this morning and couldn’t place it.”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, not knowing completely what she was talking about.

“I don’t know, just something in the air, I guess. I just have a bad feeli-“

“Mademoiselle,” Gabriel interrupted, sitting back down and handing her and Adrien both teacups, “Have I ever asked you where you got your earrings? I’ve noticed you wear them every time we come into contact. They’re just so… unique.”

“Oh, um, t-they’re a family heirloom, sir.” Marinette grinned, taken aback by his sudden interest in her jewelry. Adrien had never noticed her earrings before. He looked at them now, noting how familiar they looked. Not because he had seen them on Marinette, but because he could swear he’s seen them somewhere else.

“Interesting, they resemble a pair I’ve seen in a book I own greatly.” He continued as he leaned forward. “Would you mind taking them off so that I may examine them a bit closer?”

“I-I’d rather not sir. See, my grand-pere gave them to me as a birthday present and I’d rather not risk losing them.” She tensed. It was at that moment Adrien saw something he was sure he was dreaming. Marinette’s crossbody sat on the floor, slightly open. Had he not been familiar with tiny Gods, Ladybug’s Kwami in particular, he might have thought the tiny red head poking out of the top of Marinette’s bag was a stress toy.

“Mademoiselle, I can guarantee no harm to come to your heirlooms. I simply wish to inspect them.” Gabriel insisted.

“Sir, I will allow you to inspect my earrings when you allow me to inspect your pin. What an interesting pin that is, too. Is it a butterfly?” Marinette responded, more confident than Adrien had ever seen her before. That was when the ground came crashing in on him.

The hair, the eyes, the smell, the earrings, the confidence. How had he not seen it before? He was with her every day. He sat behind her at school. He followed her every move across the rooftops of Paris for the past seven years. He’d fought beside her at every akuma and laughed beside her during group hangout. Marinette was Ladybug. More importantly, Ladybug was Marinette.

“Very astute observation of you, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, or shall I refer to you as: Ladybug. I shouldn’t be surprised that my son, despite being a miraculous holder himself, has yet to notice.” Gabriel taunted.

“I’m sure Chat Noir was too busy fending off your akuma’s to notice that they were spawning from his house.” Marinette replied beginning to stand up. She looked at him as Ladybug did when she was signaling for Chat Noir to prepare for battle, but Adrien had not yet reached the conclusion that she had.

“Marinette is Ladybug.” Adrien reasoned in his head. “Ladybug is Marinette. Marinette knows that I am Chat Noir. My father knows that Marinette is Ladybug. My father knows that I am Chat Noir. My father is a miraculous holder. My father holds the butterfly miraculous. Akumas spawn from my house.”

Adrien suddenly gasped outloud, realization crashing over him.

“Gabriel Agreste is ShadowMoth.” He rationalized outloud from his place on the couch.

“Right you are, mon fils. You should be a little more careful when you leave the mansion. You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat. No one ever specified who's curiosity.” Gabriel cooed at him, standing menacingly by the fireplace. “Nooroo, Dark Wings Rise!”

https://dollyshaw.tumblr.com/post/658612297611264000/the-thing-about-rain-an-adrienette-story-part-1

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.34}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

As was to be expected, they didn't come across anyone on their way back down to the ground level, where they parted ways to see matters through more quickly now. Snape went ahead to get Robin's belongings from the office and then proceeded to his rooms already, perhaps starting on the parchments if there was time. Robin meanwhile went into the opposite direction for now, to collect the girls from the astronomy tower and return them to their dorm. They'd been up in the cold long enough at this point, and she also needed them to confirm her alibi that wasn't quite what they thought tomorrow morning. Everything else would look suspicious.

"You've got twenty seconds before I'm up there, so better hide what you don't want me to see." She called up the stairs in advance to ascending them, after she'd locked the door to the tower behind herself, just to give the girls a fair warning and evade the possibility of having to scold them. Then she made her quick way up the tower and soon was met by four innocently smiling faces. Four, because obviously Jorien had somehow managed to find her way to this little gathering as well once she'd been done with her work.

Surprised, Robin quirked an eyebrow at the girl in question. "How did you get up here?"

"I told McGonagall that you'd sent us all up here to do something important for you, and she let me know that the door would be locked and how to open it." Jorien shrugged easily, but with a bright smile up at Robin. "Now you're not the only one anymore who knows how to open classrooms."

"Congratulations." Robin huffed in irony, and obvious amusement over the girl's excitement. Then again… when she'd first learned the spell herself, she had been quite excited as well. It didn't matter now, she had an alibi to construct. "Either way, I'm back now, so you won't have to hold watch anymore. Thank you though, all of you, for helping me."

"You're most welcome. It was our pleasure, and I'm sure the boys will freak out when they hear about all this tomorrow!" Cas grinned in an instant, but still none of the girls made any move to get up.

"C'mon then, we should all be heading back down into the dungeons. It's nearing one o'clock if I'm not mistaken, and I don't want to be responsible for any casualties tonight." Robin added on after a moment of having all four girls grinning at her with too much mischief on their faces.

"Actually…" Cas started innocently, and Robin already knew this wasn't going to end well for her. "We were hoping that you'd play a round of truth or dare with us. We were just in the middle of that when you came back, and it's a Saturday after all. Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Guys…" Robin sighed in nigh defeat when all four girls looked up at her with desperately hopeful expressions. "Another time, okay? I really don't have the energy nor the mindset for that right now."

"Oh, but we've been waiting for you to come back and sit with us all night!" Cas whined, making the best puppy dog eyes she was capable of. "You'll be gone soon and then we can't have any girl nights at all anymore, not with you at least, and you've never even had a real one! Pleaseeee…"

"Cas…"

"Please Robin, it's not even that late… And you're done with your challenge now, aren't you? Surely you have ten minutes to play a game with us before you go on to do whatever important thing you have going on this time." Melissa picked right up where Cas had stopped, much to Robin's dismay.

"We don't want to hold you up long, really…" Lisa added more carefully. "But we've all really been hoping that you would play a round with us at least."

"We have so little time left with you still here at school." Cas took over the argument again, still looking at Robin almost reproachfully. "You deserve some fun memories! We all do, together…"

When nobody else made an attempt to add any more words of protest, Robin closed her eyes for a second to fight the urge to cry out in frustration. Gods, didn't they understand that she had more important things to do than to play a stupid little game?! Of course they didn't… how could they after all? All they knew was that she was their friend, and that she spent ridiculously little time with them nonetheless. They really did deserve better than yet another adult in their lives who kept on choosing other, more important things over them. Robin had seen enough of that behaviour in her own parents to know how much it could hurt. Perhaps that's why she couldn't make herself say no now.

"Fine." She said instead, more tersely than intended, but it would have to do. "Ten minutes will be alright." With that she dropped down on the blanket they had spread on the ground, and elegantly crossed her legs underneath her while keeping her eyes on the girls around her.

"Alright, if we just have ten minutes then we will have to change the rules a little." Cas was quick to clap her hands with a gleeful smile. "The four of us take turns asking Robin questions, and if you don't want to or can't answer one, then we all have to answer a question of yours in return. Would that be amenable?"

"I honestly don't care." Robin sighed, but her indifference passed by the girls unnoticed. "You have ten minutes, and in those I will comply with anything you make me do. After that however you will return to the dorms with me without protest."

"Agreed." Cas grinned, and Melissa and Lisa nodded eagerly in return. Only Jorien currently seemed to prefer spectating over participating, but Robin let her be, in the knowledge that she would oblige without protest either way.

"Go on then, ask me all you please." Robin said, keeping her back straight and her hands calmly clasped in her lap. "Not that you couldn't do that at any other point as well, but since you obviously prefer this game format, get started then."

For the first few minutes, the girls asked only questions Robin had no problems answering. She didn't deem her answers particularly interesting, but the girls seemed quite content with their game, so she kept on patiently obliging to their every inquiry. It wasn't terrible, but certainly holding her up longer than she had time for currently. Snape wouldn't be all too concerned by her delay, seeing as she'd already told him when they'd parted that the girls most likely wouldn't be brought back down into the dungeons without a discussion. The problem was rather that she currently couldn't focus on much but the sheets of parchment down in the dungeons that likely held the answers to her future.

"Next question!" Cas announced with mischievous grandeur, then turned to her right. "Melissa's turn, isn't it?"

The girl nodded, then thought for a second, and finally smiled broadly. Obviously the topics were about to change from easy to hard now. "Do you have a crush on someone?"

"No."

"Are you currently in a romantic relationship?" Cas asked, obviously based on her prior knowledge and the previous question, and Robin would have glared at her if she hadn't been too tired to.

"Yes." She simply said instead, keeping her facades neutral as ever. Cas, Melissa and Lisa seemed to be rather taken aback by the honest reply in an instant, while Jorien however merely gave Robin a very subtle smile. The girl definitely knew way more than she had told anyone, and Robin was honestly glad for that.

"What is one thing you love, and one thing you don't like about your boyfriend?" Lisa was next to ask, and her question took Robin a few seconds to think about, and even longer not to cringe over. Somehow, the term 'boyfriend' seemed terribly inappropriate to her ears.

"I love who he is. And I don't like that nobody actually knows who he is. In every sense of the statement." She finally replied, which made the three girls frown, but they didn't get to dwell on it.

"Have you ever committed a crime, and if yes, was it by muggle or wizarding standards of legality?" Jorien asked before anyone else could comment on Robin's previous answer.

"Yes." Robin didn't even need to think about the answer to that one. "And both." Again, jaws dropped and eyes went wide.

"What crimes did you commit?" It was Melissa's turn again, and she went straight on with Jorien's clever diversion. "If it's too many, name a muggle one and a magical one."

"A muggle one would be breaking into a gym on multiple occasions. A magical one would be messing with time."

"Have you ever stripped for anyone?" Of course it was Cas again who had to ask a question that was so vague and intimate it would've made Robin blush if it wasn't for her facades.

"Specify." She returned instead, in an attempt to thereby make things better somehow.

"Have you ever willingly undressed for another person who's not you?"

"Specify."

"Gods, Robin, what's so hard to understand about that?! Have you ever taken off your clothes so that another person could look at your body?"

"Yes. And you probably have as well, in the infirmary, at some point." Robin replied neutrally, and Cas only rolled her eyes but went with the vague answer nonetheless.

"What was your first kiss like?" Lisa was next, and that question wasn't even too bad, in Robin's opinion.

"Nerve-wracking. Intimidating. Unexpected." She couldn't help smiling at the memory at last, facades or not. "But also breathtaking, magical, perfect… everything I'd never dared dream about."

"Awww…" Both Cas and Melissa sighed, while Lisa smiled and Jorien smirked. Somehow it surprised Robin that neither Cas nor Jorien, who both certainly knew at this point who her first kiss had been, seemed to care about that fact in the slightest. Obviously there was still hope for bringing them into the same place at some distant point in the future.

"What's the most awkward situation you've ever had at home? With your family, I mean." Jorien's question was next, and while Robin knew that it was only an innocent attempt at changing the theme of conversation to safer territories again, the topic brought a lump to her throat nonetheless. She hadn't thought about her parents in a while now… but perhaps it was time to prove to herself that she was over it indeed.

"My parents invited strangers to live in my room while kicking me out of the house, and when I didn't leave immediately, their guests called me a useless greedy whore, to which my parents said absolutely nothing. During the last dinner before I left, they said that traveling alone with S...someone would result in people assuming I was dishonored, to which I merely replied that it was bold of them to assume that I had any honour left in the first place. That was rather awkward." She explained with a shrug, and unsurprisingly it was all four girls who stared at her incredulously now. Wasn't that something other families did too? No? Well damn.

"They… they just kicked you out of your home?" Lisa ironically was the first to ask in a quiet voice, and Robin immediately felt terrible for spoiling everyone's fun with her story. She'd just meant to answer honestly… Not such a good idea, as it seemed.

"Yeah, well, no, I mean yes they did, but then we all agreed that it would be best if I left and earned my own money." She explained, as if that would make anything better and not worse. Good job, idiot.

"How awful! How old were you?" Melissa went on, as both Cas and Jorien obviously knew better than to ask at this point.

"Seventeen. It all happened just at the beginning of last summer, actually." Again Robin answered truthfully, but more thought through this time. "It really wasn't as bad as it sounds now, that wasn't the point of the story. I just wanted to say the dinner was rather awkward from that point on."

"Right…" Jorien said slowly, then once more was the first to catch on to the desperately needed change of topic. "Next question! We've got one more minute of Robin's ten, so let's do one more round, yes?"

The other girls nodded, then Melissa once more made the start. "It's odd that nobody's asked you this before, but who is your boyfriend anyway?"

"I'm not going to answer that." Robin replied in a surprising ease, as just another fact that she didn't even have to think about. "If I'm not mistaken, that means I get to ask you guys a question now?"

"Yep."

"Alright…" Robin sighed, and the first idea she had was already a decent one, even if it ran at the risk of confusing the girls. "If you had to describe Professor Morgan with one word, which would it be?"

"Handsome." Melissa was the first to blurt out, cheeks tinting red to a degree that was visible even in the very limited light.

"Charming." Cas added next, without even a hint of such embarrassment.

"Nice." Lisa shrugged. "Not quite as much as some other people, but still… He's one of the nicest professors around the castle, to me at least."

"Enigmatic." Jorien finally concluded the round. "I have absolutely no idea who that man really is. I like him, but his ambiguity is odd sometimes."

All girls nodded in accordance with Jorien's statement, but also the previous three descriptors seemed to fall upon common agreement. Robin was both content and unsettled by this development. They really did like him, but except for the strange ambiguity, Robin's perception of Morgan was nothing like theirs. Interesting, from a somewhat objective kind of viewpoint.

"Great, so now I'm next!" Cas announced, and broke Robin out of her pondering. "What's the most intimate thing you've ever done with someone?"

Robin inwardly rolled her eyes, but kept up her neutrality on the outside no less. She might just give them her newfound truth, even if they wouldn't understand it. "Looking into someone's mind and having them look into mine at the same time. I think it's the most intimate you can get with someone, by allowing them to see absolutely everything of you, see exactly who you are without any facades or defenses. To be one for a while, exactly the way you are. And being loved just the same, if not all the more."

"That sounds amazing." Jorien commented quietly, with a serene smile that was nothing of what Robin had expected.

"That sounds boring as hell!" Cas rolled her eyes, which in return was exactly what Robin had expected. "Don't you have any spicy stories?"

"That's not what you asked for, and it's not your turn to ask anyway." Robin gave Cas a pointed look and a humoured smile. Sometimes the imprecision of Cas' language use was a saving grace. Thank the gods the girl hadn't asked for Robin's most erotic experience, because then Robin would've seriously considered jumping off the astronomy tower before she'd turn into a flustered mess. Not that there would've been much to share in that regard anyway, at least not in a way the girls would understand. As of the current moment, Robin's relationship hadn't been on that kind of… physical level just yet. Not because they didn't want to, gods no, but the time had never been quite right for it. Too many late nights working, too many early mornings and other problems, other people, other concerns. Besides, they weren't the kind of people to rush things, especially not when any form of intimacy was new to either of them in the first place.

"Exactly, it's my turn to ask now." Lisa's words came as the next saving grace to Robin's thoughts. Or… something of the sort, at least. "What's one thing that Cas and Jorien know about you but Melissa and I don't?"

"That I was stabbed last summer and almost died from severe blood loss."

"Wait, really?!"

"Yes." Robin replied with a sigh under her breath, and her two roommates nodded in accordance. This at least was a somewhat easy topic to talk about by now… it simply was a fact that wouldn't harm anyone anymore.

"My turn!" Jorien announced before anyone could make a big deal out of it, and once more Robin was more than glad for the girl's brilliant intuition. "What's one thing you wish will happen in your more distant future?"

That was a nice one, actually, and a small smile graced Robin's lips in return. Perhaps she could end this silly game on good terms with the girls after all. "I wish that some day in the future, when certain things are different, everyone I care about will be able to sit at the same table happily. That also includes you guys, just so you know."

"Aww, that's sweet." Cas smiled happily, and the others seemed equally content with the answer. Thank goodness.

"Now, I answered all of your questions and played along nicely." Robin said, then rose up to her feet even as her muscles protested in stiffness from the cold. Bloody hell, she should've cast a heating charm before coming here… At least, other than her, the girls were all wrapped up in their warmest clothes. "Let's get you back down to the dungeons."

"So, you aren't coming to the dorms with us?" Melissa asked, while the five of them made their way down the staircase at last.

"No. I still have something very important to see to, and that really can't wait any longer." Robin sighed as she locked the door to the tower back up behind them, then ushered the girls on into the direction of the dungeons. From now on it wasn't unlikely that Morgan might return, and she wanted to be safe in Snape's quarters before that happened.

They made their way down the stairs and through the corridors the same way they always did, with Cas entertaining the entire group and Robin following silently behind them. To her luck, Robin remembered to say goodnight earlier than she had to, to conceal just where she was heading, but she still let the girls walk a good bit ahead before she herself went on to take a detour to her own destination. Better safe than sorry, after all. Mere minutes later nonetheless, she finally arrived in front of the door to her safest haven, and let herself in like she did so often. What first greeted her on the inside after locking back up behind herself was a welcoming wave of the fire's warmth and golden glow, followed immediately by the sight of papers strewn everywhere across the floor. Most surprising however was the fact that Snape was sitting right among them, knees bent and arms propped up on them while he stared off into the flames with an empty expression. Robin froze in her spot immediately, and her eyes remained fixed on him while everything within her squeezed together with a start.

"I'm going to die, am I not?"

______________________________

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[sign-from-god-complex]

Summary: The two of them were friendly now—the days of hurtful nicknames and angrily putting each other down had long since passed—but even still Virgil was hesitant to open up to Roman. And it seemed as if Roman felt the same.

Pairing: Platonic prinxiety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil wandered down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes and only catching each step with his foot on sheer luck alone. He was barely even conscious—having woken up from a nightmare not more than a few hours after he'd gone to bed—and in his vaguely uncomfortable and jittery state, Virgil had decided that maybe a snack would make him feel better and started his move down to the kitchen.

The light was already on, he noticed vaguely, but it didn't really seem important until he came to the door of the kitchen and was greeted with a sight that woke him up entirely.

"You're crying."

Roman spun around abruptly, wiping at his eyes like Virgil was earlier but in less of an I'm-tired-and-trying-to-wake-myself-up way and more of a trying-to-hide-the-consequences-of-a-3-am-mental-breakdown way. Virgil would know; he had plenty of experience with both.

"I'm not crying, Charlie Frown," Roman insisted, "Your brain is playing tricks on you. Just go back to bed."

"Low blow, blaming a man's faulty brain for something you didn't want me to see," Virgil said, dropping into the chair across from Roman and ignoring the way he let out a sigh as he averted his gaze.

The two of them were friendly now—banter was easy and they were able to discuss things without it heating up to an argument every time—but there was still a layer of hesitancy when it came to being vulnerable. It wasn't just Roman either. Virgil had more than once entirely played off his anxiety or insecurities so that he could go deal with it himself or, if it got too bad, go bother Logan or Patton with it. It was stupid because they were friends and logically, he knew there was nothing to worry about. Even still, he was afraid. And he had a feeling Roman felt the same way.

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

Roman blinked at him. "What?"

"I said, do you want a hot chocolate?" Virgil repeated, getting up from his chair. He threw open a few of the kitchen cabinets, rifling through it to grab the chocolate. "I mean, mine are nowhere near as good as Patton's—I really don't know how he does that—but they're still okay, you know?"

He glanced back at Roman to see him staring at him blankly and raised an eyebrow, prompting Roman to clear his throat.

"Uh, I mean, if you want to."

Virgil nodded, switching on the element and grabbing out a saucepan and milk, not bothering to measure any particular amount as he poured it into the pot.

"So... you wanna tell me what's going on?" Virgil asked, keeping his back firmly to Roman.

It's what he'd want, he thinks, to know that someone's listening without the pressure of having them stare you directly in the face—like, he loves Patton, but sometimes that earnest gaze can be a bit overwhelming.

"I promise, it's nothing. I'm just a bit tired-"

"Roman."

There's a long silence and if Virgil hadn't been listening intently for any sound, he would have thought that Roman had just up and left.

Then, there was a shaky inhale from behind him, let out all at once. "I'm... overwhelmed."

Roman paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts and as he did so, Virgil grabbed a rubber spatula from the jar on the counter, stirring the milk. He wasn't actually sure if it was necessary but it was something to do with his hands that wasn't simply wringing them or biting at the nails.

"Our fans expect a lot from us, you know? And the production value keeps getting bigger and we keep coming up with these new ideas but if we don't execute them perfectly it's going to seem like it was ridiculous for us to even try. And there's deadlines and short videos to keep up with and-" He heaved out a sigh. "There's just so much to do."

"There's always so much to do," Virgil interjected, breaking the chocolate into the boiling milk, "I think that's what life is."

Roman laughed but it wasn't particularly joyful, almost more like a sob than a laugh. "Maybe. I don't know. I just... I want everything to go perfectly but I know that's impossible."

There was something in that statement, some underlying insecurity that Virgil couldn't help but pull apart. With all his years being the literal embodiment of a person’s deepest fears, he’d become fairly well versed in feelings of inadequacy and leaving them alone to fester certainly wasn’t gonna do Roman any good.

"You're right. It is impossible," Virgil replied casually, "But why exactly do you think it needs to be perfect?"

"So that people will like it! People need to like-"

"You." Virgil switched off the element, turning around to look at Roman with something soft and sad in his eyes. "Is that right? You think that if the work we produce isn't perfect, if you don't make things that people love then you can't be loved."

Roman stared wide-eyed at Virgil, lips parted ever so slightly. "I- I just-"

And with a sob, he broke off, face crumpling as he failed to hold in his tears. Virgil winced, suddenly flooded with need to shield Roman from anything that could make him look so devastated.

"Roman, come here."

He opened himself up for a hug and Roman dove forward, gripping at Virgil's hoodie and shaking in his arms as they wrapped around him.

"We love you," Virgil spoke insistently but quiet, as if were he to speak any louder something inside him would break, "We will love you the same if you never create another thing ever again or if you create something new every day for the rest of your life. You don't need to do anything to be loved. You're here. That's enough."

Roman nodded into his shoulder. "I- I know that. I do. And you all keep telling me that's it's fine but-"

"I get it. It's hard. It took me a while to accept that you all love me too, you know? But you'll get there. And we'll be happy to remind you of it any time you need."

Virgil pulled away from the hug, leaving Roman blinking at the ground with still watery eyes. He seemed... more solid, somehow—less like he would shatter if Virgil looked at him wrong—and the relief he felt at that was almost palpable.

"And, Ro?" Virgil asked, prompting Roman to drag his gaze back up to him, "Yeah, the stuff you create may not be perfect but I haven't seen a single thing you accomplished that you haven't done a pretty fucking great job of."

Roman smiled—slight but real and filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Virgil."

"Anytime, princey."

Virgil turned to grab a few mugs from the hooks under the cabinet, placing them on the counter. A quick test of the milk revealed it to be plenty warm still and with a great deal of care, Virgil poured the hot chocolate into the cups, having apparently made more than enough for just the two of them.

The silence as Virgil moved wasn't uncomfortable—much more akin to the kind of silence you expect from two people alone in the kitchen at the early hours of the morning—and Virgil was immeasurably glad for it.

Eventually, he passed one of the mugs over to Roman. He hadn’t really put much thought into which ones he’d grabbed but he noticed now that it was one of Roman’s personal ones and written on it, in curling font, read the words, “Imagine. Create. Repeat.”. Virgil tried not to find the irony in that.

"So, uh, how about we finish this hot chocolate and then we head back to bed, yeah?" Virgil asked, picking up his own mug from the counter and taking a sip.

Roman didn't react for a moment except to rotate the mug he gripped tightly in his hands, holding it up by his face so the steam still coming off it warmed his cheeks. Then, he nodded, a smile barely turning the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, Virge, that sounds great."

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @autism-goblin @camcam774 @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @primaryyblogg @localtransgrape​ @fandomsofrandom​ @gattonero17​ @airiervessel​ @ollyollyoxinfree​ @tired-and-probably-crying​ .

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

A lovely person prompted me with not much more than the word “cooking”. You know how it is, it can get spicy in the kitchen... (2897 words, rating somewhere between M and E, I guess, see for yourself...)

Read “Take hold of the flame” (yes, BG lyrics, again) under the cut or on AO3.

The bed was significantly smaller than what he was used to. So it was hardly surprising that when Emhyr awoke, he found himself lying half on top of Geralt. A whole bundle of white hair tickled his nose. Oddly enough, it smelled faintly of hay. Horse stable, he thought, amused. Apart from that, it just smelled like Geralt, an indefinable, somehow spicy (irresistible) scent. Not quite tangible, not quite real. Like the whole man, actually, which was exactly why he loved him.

Emhyr noticed that his right leg was resting rather uncomfortably on Geralt's hip, somehow entangled with him. Still, although he had pinned him somewhat down with his body in sleep and he was buried in his pillows, Geralt just slept on peacefully. Amazing, how this man could sleep in the most inconvenient positions. As if it was precisely Emhyrs weight that he needed to be comfortable. That wasn't true; he knew that – Geralt was just used to taking advantage of any sleep he could get, even if he had to do so sitting up. Still, Emhyr liked the thought that his husband would sleep better beside him. He did, that was for sure.

That wasn't why he found himself in this ridiculously narrow bed (which Geralt claimed was a perfectly standard size for two people). At least it wasn't the only reason. The fact that they were now married did not mean that they were free of their obligations, and they both seemed to cling to them with unusual stubbornness. So it happened that they didn't see much of each other, especially when Geralt was away on a contract for almost two weeks, as he had been recently, and eventually stopped off at Corvo Bianco to check up on things. But for this case, they had an agreement, as silly as it was touching at the same time. They called it a kind of hiatus, and there was only one person in the palace who was in on it – the court sorceress, and she was necessary to make it work at all.

In this way, Emhyr occasionally spent a night in Touissaint (without his troublesome cousin knowing). Although they usually didn't stray far from the house (the bed), starry nights under Touissaint's sky were always the closest thing to a honeymoon. Now it was morning, and in a few hours, he would be picked up again just as discreetly as he had come here. Carefully, Emhyr tried to untie their entwined legs. Getting out of the tangled hair was much harder; he liked the smell and how savage Geralt looked when the unkempt mane fell over his shoulders. With that hair and all the scars on his body, he was a unique, wonderful sight that Emhyr could never get enough of. Even when he realized, as he did now, that the only reason he saw so much of it was that he had snatched the entire blanket during the night. However, he had warmed Geralt for it with his body, which was probably somehow a compensation.

The golden eyes opened just as Emhyr lifted his head.

"Fuck," was the first thing Geralt said, his voice still hinting sleep.

If there was a way to show amusement only by lifting the eyebrows, Emhyr had mastered it.

"If that is really the first thing you want to do?"

"Not funny," returned his witcher, growling. "You filled me up with your wine last night. I'm having a hangover. Who brings wine to Touissaint anyway?"

"One fine day, maybe this dead vineyard of yours will bear fruit, and then you can retaliate. Besides, you can't actually get a hangover."

"I can get a headache."

"That's gone in a couple of minutes."

"You're heartless," Geralt muttered from somewhere under his tangle of hair. "What time is it? Are you leaving already?"

"No, we still have some time."

Emhyr bent down, wiped some stubborn hair from Geralt's face, and kissed him gently. He still tasted of wine, and they both had to rinse their mouths, but he couldn't help touching those lips with his first thing in the morning. He always earned a smile, as if the sun rose twice. Geralt just lay there, looking at him, regarding him with that mixture of wonder and admiration that hadn't left him in a long time. The wedding hadn't changed that; perhaps it had only intensified the amazement in particular.

"We could still have breakfast together," he suggested. "Although... I told Marlene not to drop by until around noon."

"I suppose you had a slightly different breakfast in mind?"

Geralt grinned, but his traitorous stomach decided to use that very moment to growl.

"That can wait if you want to satisfy another hunger first," he said at Emhyr's skeptical look, grabbing his neck to get another kiss.

But to his surprise, Emhyr replied, "You know, we could actually have breakfast together. We're usually never alone when we do that. I could cook something. It would be peaceful."

Geralt gave him an incredulous look.

"You want to do what?"

Emhyr's lips curled into one of those little cocky smiles.

"You don't believe it? Well, my dear, until my childhood dissolved so rudely into a curse, I did indeed enjoy an excellent upbringing. Strict, but effective. I can in fact do a few small dishes."

Geralt narrowed his eyes, unsure if this was another of Emhyr's strange jokes.

"You want to cook me something," he repeated, without it sounding like a question – more like a not-quite-serious statement.

He should have known better than to challenge Emhyr, of all people.

There was a flash in the latter's eyes. Not only did he love being right, but he also loved each and every one of his little victories over his spouse – each war of words, each stare that he held out longer. So he got up with grace, dressed in no time, and was already halfway out the door when Geralt untangled his hair with his fingers and said in confusion, "You're serious."

Emhyr turned around, the doorknob already in his hand, and replied without any irony, "I'm basically serious about everything. You should know that by now."

Sometime later, Geralt stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wrapped only in the bedspread, still tousled. It was a rare sight: he was completely relaxed, and not just because he was in his own home. Moreover, it was also quite a stimulating sight, but Emhyr was not easily distracted. He had quickly gained an overview of the kitchen, and now he was slicing apples with extreme precision while heating a pan over the fire.

Geralt watched him skeptically as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. In fact, he had never seen him like this before: barefoot in a kitchen, modestly dressed in the same black pants and black shirt he had appeared in yesterday. Yes, the shirt was elaborately embroidered with not very modest gold threads, but by Emhyr's standards, he made a very casual impression. He also hadn't combed his hair yet, which was why some of his little black curls were still visible. Emhyr indeed appeared utterly relaxed as well. And that was even rarer than with Geralt, who stood in the door frame and gave him a look that now trulyindicated a completely different hunger.

However, neither the look nor the sight could distract Emhyr. There was a small bowl in front of him, and he cracked some eggs in it. Then he added flour, grabbed a jug, poured milk into the bowl, and stirred the dough carefully. Checking, he opened a couple of jars on a shelf by the wall, smelled them, stuck his finger in one, and licked it. He gave Geralt a quick glance. He was still standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, and his smile had something moonstruck about it. Finally, Emhyr found what he was looking for and added a pinch of salt to the bowl.

"It looks like you know what you're doing," Geralt said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Emhyr shook his head.

"If I had known how stimulating you would find this, I would have done it sooner," he replied, slightly amused, as he added some lard to the pan.

A slight sizzling sounded, and a pleasant smell filled the room. Something was satisfying about this: an immediate, visible result. An actual change for someone who often had to plan his strategies months in advance. Now he added some apple slices to the pan and sprinkled sugar on top. The smell became sweeter, more intense. Emhyr rummaged in some drawers and sniffed at several small jars until he triumphantly held up one of them.

"Cinnamon," he said, sprinkling a tiny amount into the pan before adding some batter.

Geralt didn't care what he poured into it; he simply liked the sight of his husband, who seemed to be wholly absorbed in his current activity. Who would have ever expected the Emperor of Nilfgaard to be able to make pancakes? There was something satisfyingly meditative about how he baked out one after another and lifted them onto a plate.

"You'll have to eat these quickly; there's no oven here," Emhyr remarked.

Geralt didn't answer; he continued to look at him. The warmth of the fire had reddened Emhyr's cheeks. Eventually, the bowl was empty, the plate filled, and Emhyr said, "Make yourself useful and set the table."

Geralt, who seemed to have been waiting only for this announcement, stepped forward, grabbed Emhyr's hand, and replied roughly, "Oh, I'll set the table," and pulled him along, pushing him against the small sideboard. Almost unexpectedly – for himself – Emhyr did not resist; he allowed himself to be pulled, uttering only a feeble, "I thought you wanted to eat."

"I'll eat, don't worry."

"Obscene."

"Maybe, but you'll still like it."

Emhyr did not doubt that, even more so when Geralt began to capture his mouth with a tempestuous kiss that betrayed his passion almost as clearly as his sight – for now, he dropped the blanket he still had wrapped around him, presenting his hard-on.

Emhyr raised a brow in one of his meaningful, typical gestures.

"This is what you get for watching me cook?"

"You have no idea. But don't worry, no one goes hungry in this kitchen."

"No more kitchen jokes," Emhyr groaned while Geralt was already in the process of relieving him of his clothes.

The room was neatly heated up, and the old house with its few windows was rarely cool anyway. However, the fire's proximity was not the only reason why beads of sweat stood on Emhyr's forehead after a short time.

By now, the whole place was a mess - there lay his shirt and trousers, the blanket, and some stuff Geralt had unintentionally thrown off the sideboard, as he had pushed his husband against it. Emhyr couldn't care less, for now, Geralt had gone to his knees, and he did his utmost to make Emhyr raise his arousal to the same level. This was not difficult – as usual, the sight of the witcher was nearly enough. The golden eyes, half-hidden under all the tangled hair, which he could hardly stop himself from reaching into, sparkled when they looked up at him. And his lips were shiny too, moistened by his tongue, which was now already so close. It was part of the game to hold back a little longer, and he put his hands on Emhyr's hips, also to savor the feeling for another moment. But everything about this made it hard to resist – the warmth of the kitchen, Emhyr's very own smell, now mixed with apparent arousal, that surprisingly soft down of pubic hair for such a large and imposing man, now right before Geralt's eyes. He didn't try any longer.

The heat grew stronger, but now it came from within, rising directly from Emhyr's abdomen, moving upward, spiraling up in lustful waves. The feeling enclosed him, like Geralt's mouth, and his fingers clawed into the wood of the furniture behind him, knuckles almost as white as the hair below. The tongue was a pure provocation, just like the looks. A challenge, the attempt to break through Emhyr's composure prematurely, always in vain. After all, he'd been playing this game much longer than Geralt, at least in this way.

It was time to turn the tables. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the back of Geralt's neck, neither gentle nor firm, his fingers performing a sole impression of possessiveness. It was a power that had nothing at all to do with his status, and it was the only one Geralt had followed – ever since he had first decided that there were situations in which he would deliberately kneel before him. He did not do it for the Emperor; he did it solely for the man Emhyr was besides.

With gentle pressure from his fingertips only, this man now ordered him to stand up. He wrapped his arms around that amazingly slender waist, pulling him closer, while at the same time, his eyes were locked on Geralt's, just as it was the other way around. Both locked onto, both lost in each other. Could it get any warmer in the kitchen? Slowly, very slowly, he bent over, seeking the wet lips, but his own taste on them was nearly too much for him.

Almost roughly, he whirled around, his arms still around Geralt, and with amazing strength (and perhaps some encouragement), he lifted him very briefly until Geralt was sitting on the sideboard. More things fell, kitchen utensils, garlic bulbs, a strangely deformed golden spoon.

"We need some...," Geralt began, a little out of breath from both the kiss and the arousal.

"It's a kitchen," Emhyr interrupted him as his hands roamed over Geralt's body.

He gave his fingers just as much time as his lips, for that was his part of their game, and as expected, his spouse responded with impatient little sounds. But Emhyr had already found what he was looking for. A narrow little clay jug contained oil that smelled very slightly of the olives grown in Touissaint. It was not an unusual tool for what he had in mind, though considerably simpler than anything they usually used.

"Someone's gonna need to clean this place up," Geralt commented as Emhyr yanked a bundle of herbs off a hook on the wall while trying to reach for the jar.

"If you want to make sure your housekeeper doesn't find out what happened in her kitchen, you better do that," he countered.

But then, the time for banter was over. A glance without words, a silent agreement they gave each other over and over again, despite all the passion. They smiled at each other in their inimitable way: a broad expression on one side, a mere sparkle in the eyes on the other. The time had come to stop holding back, and all passion channeled into a powerful first thrust, so hard that the back of Geralt's head hit a wall shelf. His suppressed scream might have expressed pain or pleasure at the same time; it didn't matter.

The kitchen was a furnace now, but most of the heat emanated from their bodies, less from the fire behind them. Emhyr's hands, still slippery from the oil, clawed at Geralt's ass, holding him steady while he kept a ruthless pace. All playfulness had fallen from them, and they pursued their lust with a kind of sacred seriousness.

The sweet whiff of the pancakes had long since been covered by a tangy scent of sweat and passion. Unfamiliar sounds filled the place, usually accustomed only to the hissing of frying food or the clinking of dishes. Now, there was the slapping of skin against skin. Lips, that met each other in the middle of a moan. A word, an invitation, a demand for more. Desire, increasing the more it was indulged, became sounds, became touch, until they indeed became one.

The release was like a fire that never loses its spark. And when it came, it came with a sigh and a groan, with laughter silenced by a kiss. After that, they just held each other until their hearts calmed down. When he had regained his speech - even if his voice still sounded a little flat - Emhyr said, "Your food is cold."

Geralt looked at him, a sheepish expression crossing his features.

"I hate apple pancakes," he blurted out.

A raised eyebrow was the maximum amount of astonishment Emhyr allowed himself.

"You eat them all the time. We have them for breakfast several times a week."

"I eat them because you eat them. You seem to like them; you're the one who keeps ordering them. And you seem to like it when I eat them. That's the only reason I keep doing it."

Emhyr hid a small smile that wanted to steal onto his mouth in Geralt's tangled hair and whispered close to his ear, "That' s idiotic."

"I know," Geralt returned.

"I like it," Emhyr said, and only a very, very careful observer would have noticed that his shoulders moved slightly. As if in a tiny laugh, perhaps.

"I know," Geralt repeated.

He did not hide his smile, and the sun rose for the second time that morning. It was going to be a beautiful day.

[ridingred]

@batclaws continued from x

The dark of the senator's office does nothing to muffle Jason's mutterings as he digs through the wall safe, pulling out a frankly embarrassing amount of evidence to add to the pile. You'd think someone this high up in government wouldn't keep so much paperwork for his ties to human trafficking and captive prostitution rings.

Red Hood and Eccari have been tracking this particular mess from the ground level, when some of the working girls Jason looked after got snatched off their street corners in near to broad daylight. It’s taken months, a lot of bodies, and far too many dead ends to get this far. Sloppy or not, they’ll take the win.

"Aren't cis men also afraid of their prostate health?" Damian asks blithely, forked tongue as sharp as ever before he scents the air again, tasting the balance of wood polish, dust, carpet cleaners and faded cologne. There. Another of those little giveaways; a scent pocket of (printer ink, paper, crisp new metal, sharp the way only locks and guns are), telling him where the next cache is. A quick scan from his mask shows no traps, just an unlocking mechanism that requires the imprint of the senator’s ring, which they don’t have — and don’t need. Easy work to slide a dagger between the panels of polished mahogany and twist. The decorative facade pops off with a crack, leaving another secret compartment wide open; this time nothing more secure than a steel strongbox with a simple lock.

Damian can’t help frowning. If this were Gotham, he’d have had to spend at least 10 minutes defusing a pressurized gas trap, several alarms, and a biometric scanner. New York politicians are daft and soft. For one of top financial backers of the worst trafficking ring of the Eastern Seaboard, this is really embarrassing. Unless... it’s a decoy.

“Are we sure Senator Martin isn’t a red herring?” Damian asks quietly. Paranoia has him picking the lock as carefully as he would diffuse a Gotham bomb. “This seems... entirely too sloppy.”

New York is unquestionably the worst. Jason is aware of the irony of that statement, coming from what many people might describe as a literal hell on earth. But damn, at least the corrupt politicians put a little effort into their criminal enterprises. It was at the least something of a challenge to prove they were shady as all hell.

He assumed that a place with a crime problem almost as bad would inspire some finesse in these matters. He was very, very wrong. Honestly, he’s kind of disappointed. Usually one of these kinds of bullshit organised crime political cases will keep them occupied for a few days, occasionally provides the kind of thrills a good mystery novel does. But that’s in Gotham, and Damian had tracked this ordeal all the way to New York City.

“I dunno, old rich men are a mystery to us all.” A pause. “And yet we are all subjected to their whims.” He muttered under his breath as he dug through more and more files--each more incriminating than the last. Alright. Maybe this was coming together a little too easy. He wanted to believe that Senator Martin was actually this incompetent--but the whole deal traced back too long for Jason to really believe that he could be this incompetent and keep it going. He sighed, not sure if he was disappointed or just tired. “--yeah, this is starting to get a bit fishy.”

If the case was open and shut, then they could go home. But somehow, Jason was getting the feeling this was going to be some kind of ridiculous tangled web of bullshit and red herrings. “There’s no way this guy is getting away with crimes this complex for this long, meanwhile he basically has a folder titled ‘evil plans’ in his office.”

[ladyinsertnamehere]

Dukeceit week 2021, day 2: Green/Yellow

A soulmate au! @dukeceitweek

Warnings: swearing, Remus makes a suggestive joke

Background logince included

Janus Hellicate's favorite color was yellow. He lived in it. Half of his tee shirts, all of his backpacks throughout the years, and one skirt he bought once as a dare but liked too much to get rid of, were yellow. He got a job at a garden center to be able to see flowers and plants in all colors, but mostly sunflowers, daffodils, and marigolds. There was just one small problem working in a garden center. "Logan! Are these leaves starting to brown? I can't tell!" His coworker jogged over to him, muttering "I can't believe you got a job at a garden center when you can't fucking see green." Janus laughed - it's not like that irony hadn't crossed his mind before. "You fucken hypocrite," he joked, "You only started seeing colors a year ago!" Logan Berry was as sarcastic as he was brilliant. He typically tended to look well put together, and was much more honest than Janus could've ever dreamt of being. Maybe that was why Roman Prince was so drawn to him. Roman was eccentric, colorful and flamboyant. He was incredibly charismatic, but a little bit ditzy. He had poured his heart out into grand performances and paintings to distract himself from the fact he would never find a romantic partner. Or so he thought, until poor little fully-colorblind Logan stumbled into his life, and made both of theirs...better. Logan stands by his own statement that "the color red is a triumph". Janus had it significantly either than either of them, only not being able to see one color, and being confident in the fact that his soulmate was out there. He had always wondered what green would be like when he saw it. He knew what blue looked like, and he already adored yellow. But somehow he couldn't...mentally mix them together? He's tried and tried, but he's never been able to conceptualize it. "Oh, by the way, Roman's brother is coming by to pick me up after work," Logan offered. "Wanna lift?" "Yeah, sure," Janus agreed. "Great. Oh, and yeah, these leaves are starting to brown." "Thanks." Janus went back to trimming the plants to get them looking healthy again. Half an hour later, the two of them clocked out, and started waiting outside in the parking lot. Janus had finished up stitching the hole in his gardening gloves, and looked up to see a muddy gray pickup drive into the parking lot. Logan stood up to greet the driver - a pale-skinned man with a mustache, wearing a studded leather jacket and a torn-up beige t-shirt. The gauges in his ears were not too large, but still pretty noticeable. His black skinny jeans were ripped at the knees. He was arguably more extra than his brother. "Hey there, Remus," Logan greets him, "My coworker would like to take a ride as well." "Well, if he's takin' 'em, I'm givin' 'em!" Remus joked, before hopping out of the truck and extending his hand in greeting. "Hi, how are ya?" As soon as their palms made contact, Janus's world opened up. He started seeing lush green grass as it should be seen, and the plants and leaves sprang to life. Remus's t-shirt and truck were a glimmering emerald color, it was...unreal. Janus nearly found himself crying. It looked like Remus was feeling it, too. "Remus, unlock your - " Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw the two of them staring at each other. It didn't take long to connect the dots - "Oh! Remus's favorite color is green, and Janus's is - of course." "Hey - Janus, was it?" Remus remarked, "This place is incredible!" "Yeah," Janus smiled, beginning to see it too. "Alright, you sappy assholes," Logan hurried them along, "You can finish this later. Let's go!"

[taiblogcomics]

Continuity Ex Machina

Hey there, chocolate metaphor poems. We're quite nearly done! This is the last regular issue of the New 52 Teen Titans! Before you get too excited, there's still an annual, and we'll be doing that next week. But the end is in sight! The light at the end of the tunnel is visible! We can get through this together~

Here's the cover:

And, I'll admit, it's a pretty good one. Might even be the best cover this series has had. It's very artistic and eye-catching. Big problem with it, though? Fuckin' Harvest is on it. Aren't we sick of that guy yet? After the Culling, I was hoping never to see him again. But no. He's here, he's fear, and no one's gonna let out a cheer. All in all, at least it's a cover worth going out on~

We pick up where last time left off, with everybody having teleported back from the future, right into a mixup with some shadow people. You know, the usual. The shadows attack Raven, and to her shock, it actually hurts her. And she's smiling about it. It's not a masochism thing, it means her connection with Trigon is severed somehow. This is definitely way before that Red Hood issue where Bizarro was the coolest ever, so I dunno what's going on. This is such good news that Beast Boy opts to hug her in the middle of combat, probably to fulfill some shipper's fantasy.

The two idiots staging this battle, the Light and the Way, begin to get frustrated. Oh boy, guys, and you only came in for the last issue. I've been frustrated since the series began! The only thing they want is Solstice, because they need to drain her light powers to survive. Ah, dramatic irony for them, she's in the future! And just to show you what awful villains they are, they bicker with each other as much as with the Titans. Very pleasant to read. The Light also talks like he's from a few comics eras back. Lots of very grand "as you know" expository statements, you know the type. The Way clearly finds it as exasperating as the reader.

The Light starts shooting his energy blasts into the crowd, blasting both the Titans and the Way's shadow people. Bunker shields them, but his bricks can only last so long. Tim considers waiting out the clock, since they need Solstice to charge and she's not here. Unfortunately, the Light and the Way have Wonder Twins powers and increase their powers when holding hands. Well, at least they're close enough brothers that they don't mind doing this. Good for them! No toxic masculinity! But yeah, the Titans kind of need a miracle about now.

So then Skitter turns up and kills the Light.

No, really. Skitter, of all characters, who hasn't been in the book since issue, what, 9? Disappeared without a word during the Culling? Deus ex machinas out of nowhere, slashes open the Light's back, which also causes the Way to fade out of existance. Oh, and remember how when she last appeared, she was barely above feral and communicated with mostly in snarls? She's able to speak normally now. Of course. All her character development happened off-screen, I guess. With the battle over, Bunker gives her a hug. It's a strangely huggy issue, I guess.

So then a portal opens up, and Amanda Waller riding a tank shows up. She's Skitter's mom. I'm just throwing my hands up in the air at this point. This comic just does whatever it wants. It's the last issue, throw everything we got into it! I also forgot that the New 52 made Waller thin, and I still hate it. I also feel like Skitter being Waller's daughter is another asspull, but here we are. The goons Waller brought with her arrest what's left of the Light and the Way, and now there's just the Titans left. Waller and Tim have a dick-measuring contest, but leave off after a merciful single panel.

With her arrests made, Waller and goons pack up their tank and return through the portal. Skitter opts to stay with the Titans, which I gotta say is pretty out of character for her. So! Flashback time? Skitter explains she's actually a supergenius who interned at STAR Labs in her teens. She made a device that could contact other dimensions. Unfortunately, as these things go, she contacts an evil dimension and is possessed by bug people, transformed into an advance scout for their invasion. In another asspull, though, Skitter was just too willful to be controlled, and just kind of turned into a bug person, driving them off.

Unfortunately, wearing an exoskeleton all the time keeps pushing her further down the feral tree. You know, that old chestnut. Anyways, it was Waller that pulled Skitter out of the Culling, because of course she did. Amanda Waller is the one person in the DC universe that can pull more "oh, of course she was prepared for that" than Batman. And since then, Skitter has been in "rehab", clawing her way back to sanity. And now she's back. But before the reunion can continue, more continuity shows up to slap us in the face.

Hey, do you remember Grymm? Of course not, even I barely remember Grymm. But suddenly Grymm is here, announcing he broke out of STAR Labs to track them down and get revenge. Good job, idiot, it only took you 24 issues. To amplify how pathetic he is, Beast Boy turns into a rhino right behind him and plows him down. He's unconscious in one hit. Not that I'd personally do better against a rhino, but I'm also not a scary supervillain. Either way, threat over before it lasted a full page. To compound that, though, the comic ends with the Titans returning to their old base, only for it to explode as they open the door. See you in the annual~!

Ah, but we're not done. There's actually a couple of backup stories in this one, since it's kind of the last issue. In the first one, I can finish this in a sentence, we see Solstice and Kid Flash protecting each other while serving time in their prison camp. They promise that even in this life, they'll always be Titans. They'll also always be in jail, so maybe not the most heartwarming~

In our second backup, we see how Beast Boy and Bunker (BB&B) spending their time together while the rest of the Titans were Quantum Leaping after Forever Evil. Beast Boy returns Bunker home, flying him on his back as a pterodactyl. Still a better flight than Delta. They land in the little Mexico town Bunker hails from, and no sooner does Beast Boy resume human form, Bunker's already back in the arms of his boyfriend Gabe. While they make out, Beast Boy asks Bunker's sister if she wants to make out too, and he's very lucky she doesn't slap him.

It's been a few days now, and Beast Boy's still hanging out. He's got nowhere else to go, and that combined with how the whole town is basically excited to see Bunker (not to mention having a family in the first place), our red Animorph is a bit jealous. No time for it to last, though, since suddenly some jerk named Brutale shows up. He's all edge, too. He's dressed in stitched-together brown leather with an executioner's hood. And then like... You know those big long strings of bullets you see hanging from a minigun? Imagine four strings of those, but they're throwing knives, all attached to his wrists and ankles, connecting at the back of his waist. And then he's got even more knives tied to his shoulders and head and legs, like he's covered in spikes. What a goon~

Brutale here has been hired by someone to kidnap some metas and sell them off. He reaches for Gabe, but Bunker has quick-changed into his costume and punches Brutale away. Brutale immediately drops into "Let me go, or I kill a hostage" mode, holding a knife to Bunker's sister. And then Beast Boy turns into a rhino behind him, and knocks him out with one trample. I'm not even joking. Is this just his go-to move against grandstanding edgelord chumps? Because, I mean, it's kind of working. Gabe uses his limited psychic powers that I didn't even know he had to read off an image of Brutale's employer for them to track down.

However, they never quite find this mysterious woman. I hope we weren't supposed to recognise her either, because I sure didn't. While investigating her last known hideout, however, the TV starts broadcasting an announcement. Dunno why it was even on, but it sure was convenient. Anyways, the TV is reporting on the events of Forever Evil, and Bunker and Beast Boy realise they gotta return to New York for heroic reasons. Or at least plot convenience reasons. And as they fly off, you realise Bunker can fly with his own powers and didn't need to ride Beast Boy there~

Honestly? Other than this being “the asspull, deus ex machina, and continuity convenience playhouse”, this issue is not that bad. It’s very much “Oh crap, series is ending, we gotta cram in as much story as we can”, but somehow it’s in an endearing way. It’s certainly a brisk pace. Like, if the comic had kept going, who knows how long it would’ve taken for any of this to play out~? Who knew it’d take cancellation for this series to actually get stuff done~?

Next week: our very last issue of Teen Titans~