#but y'know he has... plausible deniability

[seawitchkaraoke]

I love how much Joe just loves helping people, like a hermit will say on stream ''hmm where did my silktouch shovel go'' or ''hmm i need some nametags'' and Joe will log in 3 seconds later and appear in their base 5 seconds later like ''hi! i have the thing you need, here you go!'' and then disappear again like some benevolent faerie or something

which is also why, out of everyone, Doc really can't blame Joe for covering the perimeter, because the buttercups asked for help! it's instinct! Grian, Scar and mumbo probably went ''hey we need some help-'' and Joe was logged in before they could even finish the sentence ''- covering Doc's perimeter''

Like the other hermits likely helped partly because it's nice to have something to do while having a meeting and partly because fucking with Doc is funny but Joe? No Joe simply can't not help someone!

(Of course this does also benefit Doc because Joe already gifted him a bunch of shulkers full of sand when he heard about Doc's sand problem without even needing to be asked)

[delphi-shield]

Variations on a Theme

Claire Redfield x Leon Kennedy wc: ~2.6k post-vendetta, pre-death island. short fic that wouldnt leave me alone so i had to write it down. might write a continuation. happy sept. 30th, i miss my babies. dividers from @/adornedwithlight

summary: Sherry organizes a memorial service; Claire and Leon try to put aside their grief to mourn the way she does.

The call comes through at 11 PM the night before. Leon ignores most calls to his personal cell after nine, but for Claire, he makes an exception.

She never calls without purpose. Not anymore. There had been nights in the past when it had been anything and everything and the nothing in between that had kept them up until early hours of the morning. Calls crammed between operations and meetings, voicemails that still haunted his inbox. They had been better at this once.

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.”

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

Yeah, right. His girls are gonna burn an ice cream-shaped hole in his wallet by the end of the night.

[linkito]

Okay okay so, y'know how in fics and writing and such around avians, wings and feathers will get ruffled sometimes? Maybe sometimes just a natural reaction to a breeze or something? Take that thought, throw some superstition on it - avians summon winds! Put that in a time period when people are more willing to believe tall tales? Sailing ships have avians on them, happy avians bring good luck and fair winds! It is in fact just tall tales, avians don't control the winds at all. But luck and superstition and all that. And maybe that feels a bit wrong, but its just common practice! And sure usually their wings are clipped to prevent them from flying off, but Most avians on Most ships are treated well (you're bring this person on for good luck, if you think they can control the winds, why would you mistreat them?) (a ship that wouldn't probably wouldn't dock anywhere that would care about their avian's well being anyway)

Scar in this au has his own little sloop with Jellie, just the two of them (he was looking for a cat to deal with rats, these days he'll openly joke that actually she's the captain and he's just her first mate). Officially, he's a merchant ship, for hire to take your goods from port to port. Unofficially, for the right price, he'll take on some unsavory cargo, make sure it gets past whatever port authority there might be.

Imagine one day someone comes up to his sloop as he's getting ready to cast off with a last minute request and a chest they really need to get to the next port over. Scar of course would charge them a lil extra for the late cargo boarding and his discretion and all of that, but really he'll be at that port by tomorrow afternoon, easiest gold he's made all year. But Jellie will not stay out of the cargo hold! She's never that interested in anything down there. As Scar is getting her out yet again, maybe there's a noise from the chest? Was there an animal in there, maybe? Is that why Jellie is so interested? And Scar wasn't going to open it, he wasn't. Plausible deniability is his legal lifeline. But there really doesn't look like there's a lot of air holes... Imagine his surprise when he lockpicks the chest open and finds a trussed up avian. And Scar is not about shipping people. (its also just an excuse to make Scar say 'well ahoy there' xD)

-🎀

WELL AHOY THERE LMAOOO

amazing yes infinitely more of this please

also ooohooohoo we love a sketchy smuggler with a moral code and I love the phrase “plausible deniability is his legal lifeline” LOL

this sounds very much up ange’s alley too— reminds me a bit of the spirit au ehehe

[stickthisbig]

Kinktober, Day 4

Using this opportunity to post some things that are a little less polished, and/or were supposed to be standalone stories but never quite clicked. So! Kink of the day is prostitution, here's some Edvard/Kasimir/Zillah.

There isn't a specific sign that people who buy and sell use. You just kind of know; more importantly, you just don't know. Nothing to flag it for the bluecoats, a nice bit of privacy and plausible deniability. Kasimir is just sitting at a table, surveying the patrons and looking dangerous, and that's all it ever has to be.

Edvard appears, cutting off his view of most of the bar. "Good evening," he says. "I wondered if I might have a moment of your time."

Kasimir takes a long sip from his pint, looking Edvard up and down, making him wait. "Depends on what you want it for."

"I'm perfectly willing to make it worth your while," Edvard tells him. "I understand that time is coin."

"Then have a seat," Kasimir says. 

-

"The only issue is that I feel certain that we'll get caught," Edvard says.

"Doing what?" Kasimir says. "Playing pretend ain't illegal." 

"Yes, but what will people think?" Edvard says. "They know us there." 

"I don't live in the kind of world where people get precious about hustling," Kasimir says. "They've seen us together loads of times. Worst case, one of them goes 'Why's he making the little guy pay for it?'"

"You're the little guy, surely," Edvard says. "I'm two inches taller than you."

"You're definitely the little guy, y'know, spiritually," Kasimir says. "Lilith said that's called a short king."

"You're both the little guy," Zillah says. 

--

"You see, it's not me asking for myself," Edvard says. "I'm very happily married."

"That doesn't stop a lot of men," Kasimir says.

"Perhaps not," Edvard says. "I want to engage your services for my wife."

"Because you can't deliver?" Kasimir suggests. "Need to hire extra muscle?"

"Oh, no," Edvard says with a smile. "That isn't it at all."

Kasimir cocks an eyebrow at him. "Then what is it?"

"My understanding is that you can be quite cruel," Edvard says. 

"Only if your lady wife is into that stuff," Kasimir says. 

"It matters to you?" Edvard asks. 

"You want an assailant, mate, you can buy one anywhere," Kasimir says, unimpressed. "That ain't what I'm selling."

"A finer product, then," Edvard says, and Kasimir shrugs expressively. "She's mine, and she'll do as I tell her. I want to watch her take it. I want to prove to her that she loves it." Edvard leans forward. "I want that woman obliterated, and I want to hear her beg for more."

"Then we might be able to do business," Kasimir says. 

--

"Yeah, but what's the point?" Kasimir says. "What's the object of doing it like this?"

"Apart from wanting to watch?" Edvard says.

"Yeah," Kasimir says. "I'll show off any old time."

"It's really hot?" Zillah offers.

"I need a little more than that," Kasimir says. "Sometimes that's good enough, but sometimes it isn't."

"Why wouldn't I want it?" Zillah says. "My handsome, kinda sadistic husband brings home help as a mindgame? Torn between being righteous and being good? I dunno about you two, but that sounds like exactly the kind of shit I'd be into."

Kasimir pauses. "Well, when you put it like that."

"Trust me, Kasimir," Edvard says. "It'll be fantastic."

--

Kasimir stands at Edvard's shoulder, hands gripping the finial of his cane. He looks like a brute, a bruiser, the kind of man you wouldn't want knowing your address, much less coming inside.

Zillah's wearing the only frilly thing she owns, a dressing gown Edvard bought for her when she saw it in a shop window. "This can't be what you want me to do," she says, holding it closed even though it's tied at her waist.

"Of course it is, dear," Edvard says. "The sooner you let the nice man fuck you, the sooner we can all move on."

"Why should I do a thing like that?" Zillah asks.

"Because I told you to, darling," Edvard says. "You already know you'll do as you're told."

"No offense, mate, but let a professional handle this," Kasimir says, pushing Edvard back none too gently.

"I beg your pardon," Edvard says.

"By the end of the night?" Kasimir says. "I bet you will."

Zillah doesn't speak, just letting Kasimir approach. "Don't worry about him, angel, he's just the money," he tells her, in his most ingratiating voice. "I'm Kasimir. Let's get a little more comfortable and see how long it takes your husband to realize he dug his own grave."

"This wasn't the arrangement," Edvard says.

"I'm sure you didn't think it was," Kasimir says.

"Can I get you some tea?" Zillah asks. "Or maybe something stronger?"

"Oh, you can get me something stronger alright," Kasimir says, taking her by the arm and conducting her towards the bedroom.

"This is an outrage," Edvard says, following along quickly. He might get left if he doesn't keep up, and what if he has to be outraged out in the hallway alone? Honestly, it doesn't bear thinking about.

[ramshacklefey]

Y'know how in older movies and shows, kids always have a spot that's their spot? That's a third space.

It creates an area for play or community gathering that's public (doesn't require invading anyone's private space to use), easily accessible (no entry fee), isn't specifically designated as Working Space (you don't have to be Doing Something to use it), and isn't supervised (or only to a mild degree). Some examples of third-spaces for teens might include:

That one corner of the park where you and your friends always hang out;

The mall (the crowdedness can create plausible deniability to avoid charges of loitering);

The basement in That 70s Show (Redd and Faye mostly stay out of it);

The school library in Buffy (Giles is there, but the kids basically get to use it as their place, and he often acts as a group member rather than simply an authority figure);

A schoolyard after hours;

That place where everyone goes to park their cars;

After school club rooms in anime.

To some extent, kids' time in third spaces has always been limited. You can go hang out, but be home for dinner and make sure your homework gets done. Certain rules have to be followed (sexual morés, rules about drinking/smoking, etc). You aren't supposed to act in a way that's actually going to disturb other people who might be trying to use the space. Adults face some limitations as well though. The guy who went out to the bar/tavern after work (historically a common third space) and never came home til late at night was violating a social norm about the use of that space.

I'd argue that the internet isn't inherently a bad thing for people to use as a third space. Gaming communities or Twitch chats, Tumblr, some old message board sites, and Discord servers can be healthy spaces to spend recreational time. The problem arises when you have people spending inordinate amounts of time on social media sites that are deliberately geared at parasocial relationships and unhealthy engagement. This chips away at the whole purpose of a third space, which is to facilitate genuine social connection with the rest of your community. Similarly, because online third spaces encourage primary socialization with people outside your physical community, they tend to also erode the formation of in-person community. It used to be that you'd spend a lot of time in third spaces with your co-workers, neighbors, or classmates.* A lot of gossiping happened, but gossip can be a healthy means of easing social tensions and resolving disputes without a direct confrontation.

Online third-spaces also, somewhat by their nature, tend to start invading private spaces (different topic, but this may also go hand-in-hand with the misconception of internet sites being private). Because of that, I don't think that limiting kids' screen time is necessarily a negative thing. Separation of home and third space is, imo, as important as separation of work and home.

Anyway, third space fulfills a genuine human need, not only for teenagers who are learning social skills and finding their niche in a community, but for adults to maintain and strengthen their existing social connections. Getting rid of them or splitting your social interactions in third space completely from your interactions in physical space puts strain on communities.

*Yeah, I know that this has always been different for people who were forced out of the social circle.

[tomwambsgans]

i fully believe that (on top of likely a conservative and/or catholic upbringing) tom has managed to totally repress his homosexuality by rationalizing his lack of real for desire for women as simply having really high standards. shiv was a fixation of his for the promise of power that a relationship with her wielded, which he internally attached to her objective physical asthetic and his sexual narcissism that allows him to be aroused by the mere concept of sex that involves himself. plus frankly inside of him, underneath all his bullshit, is a genuine drive for romance and true love and specifically monogamy, the romanticization of which is yet another factor in his attachment to shiv. yes, he loves her, but a lot of circumstances outside of him being innately attracted to women had to come together to make that happen. there's a lot of sense of obligation, both to her as a person and to his duty of being successful. of being the right kind of man.

ntm that when they have their stag night arrangement, part of tom struggling to get someone is def partially that he's using rules outside of himself to decide what woman he wants. as in, trying to decide which women he's supposed to want. ultimately the woman he chooses looks a lot like shiv - objectively striking, with cat-like features. it's really easy to think that you're attracted to women when you simply tell yourself that your type is the ones that "look interesting" (which i say from experience, lol)

and y'know it's funny, for all that tom clearly turns his desire for men into violence and control and other classic toxic masculinity-esque type shit, he still has a genuinely kind of... foppish way about him? like, yeah by definition all these rich guys technically do, but tom is different, and not just because he wasn't born into it. if the roy boys have the zuckerberg vibe, his is dorian gray. he's airy, he's dramatic, he's... dare i say, softer? in a way that there's plausible deniability for - the way that wealth is often correlated with some effeminacy, especially for british old money types. moreso, the way that money is an excuse for effeminacy. when a working-class guy cares about designer brands, is extremely hygenic, loves wine, etc, he's automatically assumed to be gay; when a rich guy cares about all those things? no one bats an eye. and i really do think that if it wasn't a factor in him pursuing it in the first place, then tom at least now essentially uses his exuberantly wealthy lifestyle as a tool to buffer his inclinations. perhaps even to the extent that he can sometimes have this sense of awareness of what he is and that he only chooses not to do anything about it.

which is then wild for its self-fulfilling nature - he's deeply ambitious for the sort of power that can protect him, but as he's moved higher and higher his environment only became more and more hostile to actually being himself.

......and THEN of course along came greg, who is genuinely key to tom accepting himself somewhere down the road (or at least coming the closest that he COULD get) bc he's the man through whom tom is gonna be able to subvert the heterosexual path that he'd set for himsef - push his wife down the stairs and marry him instead - proving that he doesn't need all that in order to Succeed with a capital S. at which point would at the very least be the thematically, narratively perfect moment for him to be fully grounded in what he really wants. he just needs to see with his own two eyes that it's not going to be world-shattering and then he can take it.

[prince-of-elsinore]

It's so crazy to me how a CW show sort-of-barely managed to skirt around the edges of such a subversively unconventional relationship. Make it the focus of a fifteen-year series and yet always maintain just enough plausible deniability. Like, the casual viewer just sees two intensely loyal brothers who stick together to stop apocalypses and fight monsters, because they need each other's help to do the job. The general audience is meant to admire Sam and Dean's brotherly devotion and not examine it too closely. Because as soon as you pick and poke at it, you realize just how insane it really is. Their whole lives have revolved around each other, from the start, at the expense of just about every friend they ever made, and even family. They can't--choose not to--maintain romantic relationships while the other is around. They settle down in an underground bunker together. But the GA can tune in to the middle of Sam and Dean's "tangled up crazy thing" and just see two dudes hunting ghosts, bros being bros.

And then there's the finale! Apocalypses are over and these guys are still living in their bunker, apparently in their form of domestic bliss. I mean they have a dog together, you guys. The brothers adopted a dog. Together. And they take a trip to a pie festival, just 'cause. That's the sort of thing they do together. With each other. They have grocery shopped together, vacationed together, lived together, for years. And they seem perfectly happy to stay on that course, no mention of getting out or getting married or, y'know, anything remotely normal. This is their lives. As soon as there's no threat on the horizon that they have to team up to fight off, it throws the weirdness of their relationship into relief. And well, the show can't have that. Can't show, too directly, that these two brothers are queerplatonic life partners. One, queerplatonic relationships in general are not well-understood by the general public, and two, they're brothers! So even if the relationship is platonic, the fact that they are so clearly life partners is weird.

So, if you kill one of them off, it solves the problem, right? Nope. Because there's an afterlife in this universe. And sure, one of the brothers did get out, settle down, maybe got married, and had a kid--but only because he had to, without his brother around. Does the GA think about that? Idk man, idk. Then there's the real kicker: the heaven reunion. The GA thinks aw, that's nice. Good, they're together. They're happy. But wait--what about Sam's blurry wife? At this point, you have to believe one of two things. Either blurry wife gets to heaven and Sam's like 'oh sweet my wife's here, well I will see you around Dean' and peaces out while Dean, who got to heaven and was like 'not perfect without my brother' is left partnerless in the afterlife, just driving around in Baby on his own and occasionally stopping by to visit Sam and his wife--you know, normal brother stuff. But anyone who's been watching the show would be kidding themselves if they believe that's the case. The other option, the one true to Sam and Dean's characterizations for fifteen years, is that they are spending eternity together. Maybe Sam visits his blurry wife, maybe he doesn't. Either way, it forces you to realize that blurry wife, whether really a wife or just a co-parent... wasn't all that important to Sam. Not saying he couldn't love her, but the only way it makes sense is if their relationship was not afterlife-partners material. In fact, it wouldn't be fair to her if she saw Sam as the love of her life, her soulmate. I hope blurry wife has someone else (I hc her as a widow when she met Sam) or is a very independent spirit, because she's not living (after-living?) with Sam in heaven.

The show just leaves the brothers together on the bridge, but the implications are pretty staggering when you think about it. Does the GA think about it? Because the idea of two brothers' souls spending eternity together in heaven is definitely unconventional and yeah, even subversive. So much so that the show seems to shy away from its own suggestions. It literally can't linger on them too long or the GA would think it's weird. BECAUSE IT IS WEIRD.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Float Like A Butterfly... Ch. 8: As It Should Be?

Summary: An unexpected revelation.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Father hasn't said anything so I don't think I can go out," Adrien stated gloomily, shoulders drooping.

"Dude, that sucks!" Nino scowled through the screen like he was contemplating giving Gabriel a piece of his mind. "... Waddya mean? Did he, like, ignore you?"

Adrien flopped onto his bed, holding the phone over him. "That implies he actually met with me," Adrien scoffed. "No, I asked Nathalie."

"Every time," Nino muttered, glaring past Adrien at the absent so-called parent. Shaking his head, Nino's expression softened as he refocused on Adrien. "We could video chat like we're doing now? Won't be the same as you being there but it's something."

Adrien smiled at Nino's thoughtfulness. "That sounds-"

Terrible.

Expression falling, Adrien pressed his lips together. Spending any time at all with his friends was always great. But... But he could be there! With them! Having fun instead of watching them have fun!

Adrien set his jaw and furrowed his brow. "Y'know what? No. I'll meet you guys at Alya's."

"You gonna sneak out!?" Nino leaned into the camera, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Plausible deniability!" Adrien countered, trying to keep his twitching lips from morphing into a smile.

Vibrating in place, Nino's grin got even bigger. "Ooh! Whatever you say, bro. See ya there!"

Ending the call, Adrien leapt to his feet. "C'mon, Pollen! We're going to see my friends!" Adrien took out the Bee's comb and used it to anchor his ponytail.

Finishing the last of her brioche, Pollen dabbed at her mouth with a mini handkerchief.

Adrien resisted the urge to comment on how adorable she looked. "So cute," he whispered. Dang it.

Zipping toward him once she was done, Pollen dipped in a bow. "Alya, Nino and Marinette, yes?"

Brightening in excitement, Adrien nodded. "We're all going to Alya's place! I've never been but Nino and Marinette have gone tons of times!"

Pollen smiled softly as Adrien practically bounced on his feet. Hands animatedly flowing with his words.

"This'll be the third, no fourth, time I've been invited to a friend's house!" Adrien grinned. "I haven't hung out with them since..." He looked down, smile slipping hands falling to his side. "Since..."

"... Well, then we better make this time count," Pollen prompted gently. "Let's go have fun!"

"Yeah." Adrien shook his head and set his jaw. "Yeah! Pollen, transforme-moi!"

--------------

Aristos detransformed as he landed in a nearby alley, hanging back until his friend's arrived. Pollen ooh-ing at the Cesaire's apartment building. Adrien's foot tapping against the concrete.

"You mentioned that Alya runs the preeminent information network on superheroes in all of Paris?" Pollen asked.

Adrien felt a twinge in his chest at the mention of the Ladyblog but Pollen's curious eyes soothed it. "That's a good way to put it. Alya gets the best videos," Adrien smiled fondly, "She's a little too cavalier about rushing into danger though."

"How industrious," Pollen praised. "And Alya is courting Nino, your bond brother, correct?"

Adrien hid a giggle behind his hand. "I wouldn't call it 'courting' but yeah. Nino's the coolest! He always has my back and tries to include me in stuff. Like now, actually."

Catching Adrien's giggles, Pollen smiled. Watching Adrien light up as he spoke about his friends was definitely a highlight to being outside the Box. "And Marinette?"

"Oh, she's so thoughtful and compassionate and I really admire her for standing up for others." Adrien rubbed the back of his head. "I'm, so lucky to have them."

Pollen floated a bit closer to him. "I'm sure they're lucky to have you too, Adrien."

Adrien's smile softened at her words, ducking his head a bit. Eyes flickering to the alley's entrance he spotted an unmistakable red cap. "They're here! C'mon, Pollen!"

Zipping into his pocket Pollen peaked out as Adrien ran towards the entrance.

"Bro, you made it!" Nino offered his fist in greeting.

"Wouldn't miss hanging out with all of you, dude!" Adrien bumped it with a grin.

"Adrien! I'm-" Marinette cleared her throat. "Happy you could come."

"Right!?" Nino wrapped an arm around Adrien's shoulders. "It's been forever, dude."

Pollen felt Adrien lean into the contact as his heart sped up, just a bit.

"Yeah... Missed you guys." Adrien smiled softly.

Nino grinned. "C'mon, I wanna see if we can beat Alya and Mari's high score!"

In the end Adrien and Nino held the top spot just long enough for Alya and Nino to take it back. Adrien may have had more practice at dance games but that was by himself. Playing as a team wasn't the same. It was much more fun!

Sneaking a piece of Mme. Cesaire's cooking to Pollen when no one was looking, Adrien held a finger to his lips.

Giggling silently, Pollen nodded as she accepted the treat.

"They're so in sync," Marinette commented as Alya and Nino mirrored each other's dance moves.

"You're right," Adrien agreed, smiling fondly. "Someday I hope I'll find someone I can share everything with...like they... do..." A pressure bloomed in his chest, expression falling as Adrien gripped his arm with his other hand.

Marinette's brow furrowed as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Adrien, you okay?"

"Big finish, here we go!" Nino flourished his arms over his head and stood on one tiptoe. "Yeah!"

Alya laughed at her boyfriend's pose. Nino grinning at the sound.

"Ah, shoot! Did I miss the ballet?" A mocking voice called from the entryway. Alya's older sister stood there with a bag slung over her shoulder and boxing helmet still on her head.

"Nora? Is your match over already?" Alya asked, surprised.

Adrien tried to shake off his melancholy. It was the first time he met Nora, or, uh, Anansi, after all. But still he could only focus on every other word. Like Nora being a professional boxer. That was cool. Adrien wondered how different that was from being a professional fencer. Besides the level of injury, obviously. Maybe he should ask her-

"-can go with Model Boy if they want but you're staying here! It's way too dangerous!" Nora declared.

Wait, what? Adrien's mind sprang back to the present.

"But Nora, I mean, Anansi. You can't do that!" Marinette protested.

Okay, if Marinette was against the idea it was probably bad.

"Yeah, no way, dude! We're not going without Alya!" Nino crossed his arms.

Oh, they were talking about going to the Place de la Concorde! Adrien smiled to himself for piecing it together. Then frowned as he realized Nora -Anansi- didn't want Alya to go with them.

"Listen, I appreciate you worrying about me and all," Alya began reasonably. "But I'm not a little girl anymore. Besides, Maman and Papa are totally cool with it!"

Nora tsk, tsk, tsk-ed at her sister's argument. "There have been way too many akumatized peeps in Paris these last few weeks. Look how many times you've been in direct danger! So you're staying home, safe and sound, period."

"That's so ridiculous! The twins were akumatized right here at home!" Alya pointed out.

"Well, that would've never happened on my watch! I won't let anybody mess with my family!" Nora boasted, slamming a fist into her palm.

Alya gave her a look. "You mean like the other day at the square?"

Adrien remembered hearing about the M. Banana incident. Oh, he'd needed that laugh!

"Uh, er, how was I supposed to know it was just some stupid costume? And besides," Nora deflected, "what would happen if the Ferris wheel stopped working 'cause some akumatized dude refused to pay his fare? Once you flyweights can actually defend yourselves like me-" Nora released a rapid series of attacks to her hypothetical opponent, "-we'll talk about it." 

"It doesn't matter because Ladybug and Ch- Ladybug would save us if there were any problems!" Marinette piped up.

"And she'd have Aristos' help!" Adrien felt pink tinting his cheeks for including himself but he wasn't wrong.

"Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do if that pair of bugs gets hit with bug spray? What'll you do then?" Nora challenged.

Nino stepped up. "I can protect Alya if I have to!"

Nora laughed. "Yeah? And how exactly are you planning to defeat the villain? A dance off?"

"I-" Nino's brow furrowed, eyes downcast. "I'd do anything to protect Alya."

Alya looked at her boyfriend. Not quite able to place the feeling Nino's statement inspired in her chest.

Adrien placed a hand on Nino's shoulder. "And besides, he's got me backing him up!"

"You?" Nora scoffed. "What's a baby handed pretty boy like you gonna do?"

"Thank you," Adrien was oddly pleased Alya's sister thought he was pretty.

Nora's brow furrowed for some reason.

Pressing on, Adrien squared his shoulders and pointed a thumb at his chest. "I've been fencing since I was three and I'm the number one-" Number two but Nora didn't need to know that. "-fencer at the best school in Paris."

"Oh, really?" Nora leaned down so her nose was mere centimeters from Adrien's.

Suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat Adrien refused to break eye contact.

"...Heh. Alright, Alya can go with you."

Adrien blinked, a smile blooming on his face. "Really? That's-"

"But I'm going with you."

------------------

Alya smiled tightly as Nora scanned the Ferris wheel for threats.

"Are you sure it's okay that she came along?" Adrien asked with a frown.

"Yup! No problem. Why would it bother me that my older sister feels like she has to chaperone me?"

Adrien patted her on the back in sympathy.

Alya sighed. "Still, thank you. It's not easy changing Nora's mind, believe me."

Rubbing the back of his head, Adrien's smile softened. "I had to back up my bro."

They glanced behind them were Marinette was making progress with a slightly sulky Nino.

"Besides, I... know what it's like not being allowed out."

Alya bumped shoulders with Adrien and gave him a grin. "Good thing we have you then."

Eyes widening, Adrien averted his gaze. Suddenly warm and fuzzy all over. "Yeah-" he grinned, "-guess so."

---------------

"I can't believe you got akumatized over this!" Alya exclaimed, masking the tremor in her voice with annoyance. Anansi, currently a badass looking spider, unfortunately webbed up the Ferris wheel's workings so she could more easily grab the glass bubble they were trapped in.

"Told ya it was dangerous, little sis!" Anansi leapt from the wheel to the ground-

"WHOA!"

-and grabbed Alya from inside.

"Alya!" Nino grabbed for her but his hand closed around empty air.

"Thought you said you could protect everybody, Blondie!" Anansi called down from her perch. "Come and get her if y'all aren't flyweights!"

"No no no no!" Nino bolted after the akuma, dodging the webs she shot back.

"Nino!" Adrien and Marinette called in unison.

"I'm not a flyweight and I don't need your help to prove it!"

Adrien stared after him as Nino crawled over cars to avoid the webs. Hand outstretched...

"Adrien we should find somewhere to hide!"

Shaking his head, Adrien looked at Marinette. "Right... Probably better if we go separately."

"We don't have to- I mean! Yes, absolutely! It's... safer that way."

I don't need your help.

Shut up! Adrien ran as his heart was squeezed in a vice. He didn't mean it like that!

I don't need your help.

Finding a secluded corner, Adrien paused and took deep breaths.

I don't need your help.

Pollen flew out of his pocket and hovered uncertainly.

Exhaling shakily, Adrien glanced up at her. "That is the upteenth time... Hawkmoth has ruined my day."

"... Then we should educate him on how valuable a king's time can be, Adrien."

Adrien wiped at his eyes, which narrowed dangerously. "Hell, yeah. Pollen, transforme-moi!"

---------------

Ladybug swung down and transformed back into Marinette. Practically running towards Master Fu's door. Worry Nino might do something foolish gnawing at her insides. Aristos would come, Marinette knew he would, but he couldn't purify the akuma without her.

And that meant, she knocked loudly on the door, that she had to hurry!

The Miracle Box was barely open before she was reaching for his ring again.

"Marinette."

Something in Master Fu's voice made her hesitate.

Clearing his throat, the Guardian continued. "This is the fifth time in a row you've chosen the Black Cat Miraculous."

"I know, Master. But it's the only one that stands out! All the other Miraculous blur together but Chat's- I mean, the ring, calls to me... Because I know that he should still be by my side." Marinette gave him a pleading look.

Master Fu sighed, looking away. "Be careful, Ladybug."

Face falling, Marinette nodded. "I will, Master." And took her partner's ring from the Miracle Box for the last time.

--------------

Nino was being an idiot. He knew that. Letting an akumatized villain bait him into confronting her head on? Total noob move.

Still. Turning back never crossed his mind. Nino had always been the protective type... Granted his protection generally took the form of staving off Adrien's loneliness as much as he could or reminding his little brother to share his toys.

But still! Nora wasn't wrong. Nino did feel like he could be doing... more.

Hence him 'fighting' Anansi with a random pipe he found lying around.

"Babe, your doing great but I really think you should let the heroes handle this one!" Alya called down from the web Anansi had spun between the pillars of the Arc de Triomphe.

Nino swung again as Anansi easily evaded his attacks. "Everything's fine!"

"Psh! You haven't even landed a hit!"

As soon as the taunt left Anansi's lips Nino connected with her face. His pleased expression fading as she turned her glare on him.

"... Heh."

Nino was sure his screams could be heard in the next arrondissement as he sailed through the air.

"Gotcha!"

The sound of whirring preceded Nino's sudden shift in direction. Looking up from the strong arms keeping him from going splat he saw yellow. "Aristos!"

"Sorry I'm late!" The Bee grinned. "A naughty spider trapped a buncha people on a Ferris wheel!"

"You're not going anywhere!" Anansi launched a strand of webbing at the Bee; latching onto his ankle.

"Whoa!" Aristos curled around Nino as Anansi pulled them to the ground. Taking the brunt of the impact.

"You're just a little bug trapped in my web!" Anansi leapt forward with her right arms cocked back.

Without thinking, Aristos rolled over his best friend, back to Anansi. Nino's eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen.

"NO!"

Anansi was yanked backwards mid leap. Landing awkwardly as Ladybug reeled in her yo-yo, which was tied around two of Anansi's right arms.

"Not this time!" Ladybug called.

Turning on the ball of her feet Anansi rushed towards the hero. "Finally! You show up!" Her fists crack the asphalt where Ladybug was just standing.

Leaping over her opponent's long limbs Ladybug set her foot against Anansi's back. Taking the opportunity to tie her yo-yo around a left arm she pulled tight.

"Hey! Let go!" Anansi struggled against her restraints, muscles straining.

Ladybug's grip slipping. "Aristos now!"

"Venom!" Aristos launched himself forward.

Right as Anansi wrenched Ladybug off her feet.

Aristos had just enough time to twist his top away from Ladybug as they collided in midair. Top spinning away from him as a black blur did the same from her. Landing roughly in a tangle of limbs.

Anansi loomed over them with a triumphant grin. "Ha! Got ya now you flywei-"

There was a clanging sound as Nino got his second swing in. The metal pipe bending in the middle where he struck Anansi. Who slowly turned to face him. Glaring murder. An I'm-totally-gonna-die grin on his face.

But before Anansi could literally tear him apart Ladybug leapt onto the tall supervillain's back and wrapped her arms around Anansi's head. "Get him outa here!"

The breath was knocked out of Nino as Aristos tackled him over his shoulder none too gently and bolted.

"Get off!" Anansi pulled Ladybug off and hurled her away.

Only for Ladybug to wrap her yo-yo onto a nearby lamp post and use her momentum to swing herself into a flying kick.

----------------

"Um, dude, I think we're safe now."

"Right!"

"... You can put me down now, dude."

"R-right!" Adrien put Nino back on his own two feet and awkwardly gave him a once over. There was a beeping sound from his comb. "You seem okay..."

Brow furrowing slightly, Nino pulled out a small, octagonal, black box. "Yeah, but Ladybug dropped this when Anansi sent you two crashin' into each other. IDK what it is but..."

Adrien stared at the Miraculous box in his hands, mouth parting in a silent exclamation. He- He knew those symbols.

"Uh, dude?"

Reverently taking the box Adrien took a deep breath and opened the lid.

A blinding flash of green light shot out and materialized into a familiar face.

"Well, it's about time!" Plagg said.

"Plagg!" Adrien reached out and cradled the tiny god in his palms. "I- Um..." He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Me too, kid." Plagg zoomed to Adrien's chest to give him a hug.

Nino gapped at them as the realization that Aristos was Chat Noir clicked.

"... Ahem, well enough of that mushy stuff. We've got an akuma to catch!"

Wiping at his eyes, Adrien nodded. "You said it!" A spark of mischief lit up his face. "Hey. Hey! Let's have Nino use the ring!"

Nino shook his head to clear it. "Say what now?"

"Someone has to use it and it can't be me! We have to give you back after." This last part Adrien directed at Plagg.

"... Well, we don't have to."

Aristos snorted. "Tempting as that is, Ladybug has enough on her plate without losing half of the most powerful Miraculous."

"Bit late for that," Plagg snickered.

"Be nice."

"I'm always nice!"

"Sure you are." Adrien pet Plagg's head with a fond smile.

"Wait... You mean... I'm going to be Chat Noir!?" Nino pointed at himself in disbelief. "He's- I mean, you're, my favorite hero dude! It sucked when you disappeared. Man, I- Hey, you alright?"

"Yup!" Aristos squeaked, blinking back tears that had no business coming this easily damnit! "Totally fine!" Clearing his throat, Adrien straightened his shoulders and offered the Black Cat Miraculous to his best friend. Another beep sounding from his Miraculous. "What about it? Wanna help us kick some butterfly butt?"

Nino grinned as he accepted the ring. "Hell yeah!"

---------------

"Oh, Teacher's Pet has some backbone!" Anansi shot out webs in rapid succession.

Ladybug sidestepping them as she retreated. Anansi was too strong to take on directly; she really hoped Aristos would get there soon so she could tag out.

"Is that all you got?" Ladybug bluffed.

Smirking, Anansi grabbed a nearby car and threw it at the Bug.

Sliding underneath it Ladybug hooked her yo-yo around the vehicle and spun it back at Anansi.

The supervillain easily dodging as she raced toward Ladybug.

Bringing her yo-yo up as a shield Ladybug used her smaller size and greater maneuverability to evade Anansi's punches. Even with all the arms she had.

"Hold still!" Anansi demanded as her swings got more precise.

Taking a risk, Ladybug leapt back. "Lucky Charm!"

Anansi aimed three fists downward and struck the ground. Concrete cracking as the force of impact knocked Ladybug off her feet.

"Ugh, ow. Hey!" Ladybug protested as she was hoisted by her ankle. The world turning upside down as her Lucky Charm was kicked away.

"I said-" Anansi pulled her arm back. "Hold-" Aimed up. "Still!" And pitched Ladybug into her web next to Alya.

Squeezing her eyes shut as the web shook with the impact, Alya popped one eye open. "... This can't be good."

"Ha! Gotcha! Now there's only one left!" Anansi hit her fists into her palms in anticipation.

"Well aren't you buzzing with confidence," Aristos called from atop a lamppost.

Head whirling to the sound of his voice the supervillain zeroed in on the hero. "If Teacher's Pet over there didn't stand a chance against me what makes you think you do, Bumblebee?"

"What's the matter? Scared?"

Taking the bait Anansi charged at him.

"At least he's got his top again," Alya noted.

Just as a new face showed up.

"Uh, hey girls." The new guy balanced on a staff that extended all the way to the ground. Wearing a mostly black costume with green gauntlets and boots that went up to his elbows and knees. A hoody with cat ears framing a face covered by green tinted goggles. The Black Cat symbol emblazoned on his chest.

Ladybug's face drained of color as her eyes widened. Unable to pull her gaze away as her fingers clenched into fists.

"Alright dude- er, Ladybug."

Alya gave the cat an inquisitive look.

"Get ready to drop!" Wrapping an arm around Alya's shoulders he held the other above Anansi's web. "Cataclysm!"

Ladybug fell on her feet as the web turned to dust. The unknown Black Cat descending with a tight grip on Alya. Forcing her thoughts to move, Ladybug shook her head. "We have to help Aristos."

"Uh, I think he's done du- Ladybug." The Black Cat pointed at Anansi in a frozen position on the ground.

She blinked. "Aristos?"

"Here!"

Ladybug spotted his hand waving from beneath the akuma villain.

"A little help?"

Ladybug rolled the frozen Anansi over and gave Aristos a hand up.

"Thanks. That was a close call-"

Ladybug's grip tightened involuntarily. "W-why does he have that?"

Aristos followed Ladybug's gaze to see Alya asking for Nino's superhero name. Who was puzzling out how to break Anansi's helmet without Cataclysm.

"That's Chat's ring!"

Cruel warmth panged in Adrien's chest. Chat's ring... "Easy, Ladybug." Aristos placed a gentle hand over her own. "He's gonna hand it over-"

Ladybug's earrings beeped. "Like you did?"

Aristos stepped back, breaking contact, as he scowled. "Lucky for you he's not me then."

Wincing, Ladybug tried to backtrack. "I didn't mean-"

"Sure, sure."

"It's just... The Black Cat Miraculous is the most dangerous one of all. If the wrong person is chosen to wield it..."

"I think I know my Miraculous better than you, tha-" Adrien snapped his jaw shut.

A vice gripped Marinette's heart. "... Your Miraculous?"

Aristos backed away as blood drained from his face. "Slip of the tongue." He pulled out his top, ready to launch himself away.

"Chat wait!" Ladybug reached for him but her fingers stopped just shy of his suit. Her earrings giving out another beep.

Chat Noir stood stock still as his Miraculous echoed hers.

"Wait! Just... wait."

Adrien's shoulders hunched as he kept his eyes on his shoes.

Ladybug's chest felt like it would choke the words down. But she swallowed down the lump in her throat instead and forced them out. "Are- Are you okay?"

Hand going to the back of his neck Adrien glanced up at her. "I'm... doing better."

"Come back."

He jerked ramrod straight.

"Please, come back."

The beeping became more insistent.

"I'll... Think about it."

And then he was gone and Marinette had to catch a quickly tossed Lucky Charm, a Bee comb, so she could call down Miraculous Ladybug.

-----------------

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Adrien shoved the voice down as he made his way to Nino's. A question turning in Adrien's head. Aristos landed at his open window silently.

"Okay, so how is this gonna work, little dude?" Nino watched in fascination as the kwami ate triple it's size in cheese without gaining an once.

"Eh, beats me. Don't know what she's thinking but Ladybug always has a plan," Plagg said before swallowing another wedge.

"O-kay?" Nino didn't quite follow but it looked like Plagg was going to stay a while. "Make yourself at home?"

"Trust me, he'll do that whether you like it or not," Aristos announced himself.

Nino jerked as he spun around. "Holy sh- You can't sneak up on a dude like that!"

"Sorry." Adrien gave a rueful smile as he rubbed the back of his neck.

The movement drawing Nino's attention for reasons he couldn't quite place.

"So she left the Miraculous with you?"

"Yeah, how did-"

Aristos pointed at the Miraculous on Nino's finger.

He blinked. "Oh yeah." Nino pulled it off and offered it to Adrien. "Dudette said to give this back to ya. Said it belonged to you anyway."

Adrien stared, eyes wide, as his heart hammered against his chest. Uncomprehending despite the simplicity of Nino's statement. Just like that? Ladybug wasn't one to put something like this in another's hands. Wasn't one to bend the rules more than necessary. She was too stubborn for that. But she had. For him. For him Ladybug had said fuck the rules.

Nino shifted awkwardly on his feet as Aristos just stood there.

"A-" Plagg hiccupped green bubbles. "Chat Noir?"

"...Fuck the rules." Aristos pulled his comb out, letting his transformation drop to reveal Adrien once the light faded.

Nino's jaw dropped.

Adrien's hand going back to rubbing his neck. Not quite looking at his best friend.

Pollen gave an encouraging nod which Plagg quickly copied.

"Um, hi?"

"...Bro." Nino's shock melted as his lips began to tremble. "Bro." Stepping forward, Nino placed a hand on both of Adrien's shoulders. Squeezing hard as his red eyes watered. "Bro." Nino pulled Adrien into a tight hug.

Adrien's arms returning the embrace, his surprise at the contact fading. Burying his head into Nino's shoulder as his face burned with it's own tears. Adrien's legs giving out as he sagged against his best friend. Body trembling as he took slow, shaky breaths.

"I got you," Nino promised, holding firm. "I got you."

[pretty-little-martyr]

for me i am constantly having the pharmacy talk down to me when i go to pick up my T or my needles. i quite literally had a cis dude working at the local pharmacy try to explain to me how i needed to take my T intramuscularly or it wouldn't work, completely counter to what my doctor told me to do, and when i informed him of this he got very snippy about it. this pharmacy is the only one in my city that takes controlled substances (it's Publix, for anyone wondering and/or wanting to commiserate), and my experience with this chain across cities has been that their employees are transphobic in that uniquely passive aggressive way. That part isn't unique, but if T weren't a controlled substance, i wouldn't be wrangling with this kind of thing, y'know? they would obviously be bullshitting instead of having plausible deniability

at a few points, ive gotten fed up with Publix's bullshit and gone to the CVS down the way for my needles specifically, because Publix loves to just, give me Not At All What I Asked For then insist that was my prescription. Once in the town i used to live in, someone edited my prescription to be a type of needle not compatible with my syringes, and i had to get my dad to help me by calling corporate fucking Publix because the employees in that town's Publix insisted their system (which they can edit, freely, at any time) couldn't possibly have been wrong, despite my doctor not having changed my prescription, my not having asking for that kind of needle, no one having given anyone anything to change. a few times at my local CVS when ive asked to buy needles over the counter, the person working there has suddenly decided there's a rule saying they cannot under any circumstances sell me any needles until i prove i have a prescription specifically with them (they refuse to deal in controlled substances, so, that's impossible). now, i don't know if that is genuinely a policy, but i will say if it is, it's commonly ignored. and it's worth noting that the people who've cited this policy often call me "ma'am" much louder than any other word in their sentence. i find it doubtful that it's policy as a few times when this happens, a different tech who knows me (i go to CVS for my mood stabilizers and anxiety meds) will interrupt and take over the transation, and i get my needles. Sometimes. they do love to give me insulin needles instead and then refuse to take them back once i've touched them, which i feel guilty as fuck about.

(i also of course being a floridian trans deal with the average bathroom harassment, threatening behavior, misgendering, deadnaming etc that comes with the territory of being here, but that's not unique to me and i'm just including it here so nobody can claim the pharmacy techs being difficult with me is all i face. lol)

i say this is likely transmasc specific because in my experience it occurs simply because T is a controlled substance, but obviously, outside of a transgender lens, many disabled and chronically ill people with controlled-substance medications deal with similar bullshit. they just probably still get called their proper name, during. i've commiserated with a few about this bullshit before.

on a more interpersonal level i have peers irl who frequently forget that i am trans (they have said so*) and express confusion when i talk about things like abortion rights and how male victims of sexual violence exist (i myself am a male victim of sexual harassment and the like, hi!) because apparently to them cis men don't care about that? this is more a footnote as it's been 1) personal to me and uncommon and 2) something i dont exactly have definite proof of, just the feeling of my words being completely dismissed, often by people just, changing the subject or flat out carrying on like i did not contribute.

*this part is very strange as i quite literally wear my transness on my sleeve. my battle vest has several pins and patches relating to my transgenderness and i wear bracelets with my pride flags on them. i mean i knew we were invisible but that's a new level lmfao

❗️❗️ This is asked entirely in good faith. This post is intended to open dialogue and help with solidarity and understanding. ❗️❗️

I would like to hear specifically from trans men and trans mascs how the system of [whatever the fuck you call the intersection of transphobia, misogyny, and specifically your gender- whether transandrophobia, isomisogny, antitransmasculinity, transandromisia, transmisandry, or any that I have missed as there are a lot of words to describe similar concepts] uniquely targets and affects you. Things that you feel other demographics do not experience. Reblogs and replies are very encouraged! If you would prefer, you could dm or send an ask to be added anonymously by me.

This is in the spirit of wanting to understand. I am listening. I encourage all non-trans-mascs to not speak on this topic and let trans mascs and trans men do the talking here. Reblog the post to spread it, but please say nothing.

Any and all people who identify as trans men and/or trans mascs are encouraged to participate.

This is not bait to start a fight. I will block without hesitation anyone who is actively being a shithead on this post. I want to hear and uplift your voices by getting it directly from you.

Click this to access the trans fem and trans women version of this post.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

BRO YES. I love Toriel but oh my god she's so flawed. Like in neutral endings Toriel just comes back and RECLAIMS THE THRONE and puts in her own rules about not hurting humans EVEN IF THE HUMAN KILLED PEOPLE? She ABANDONED the throne and her people and doesn't care what they think. If she's not with Asgore anymore she has no right to pretending she's still the queen. Not even mentioning how when Frisk leaves the ruins she's just like 'okay bye forever I want plausible deniability'.

ANON WE ARE ON. THE EXACT SAME WAVELENGTH HERE

like ok before i start really ranting: im not making a moral judgement on any of the undertale characters because that's kind of silly, in general, to like say this character from a viddy game has objective moral right or wrong. it's just UT toriel and asgore are both characters who've been through a lot of trials and reacted in their own ways and i think it's really really interesting to talk about!

but yeah!! like first of all, from asgore's own words, as well as the way other monsters talk about him - he's not like, just murdering kids because he's sad or whatever. in the wake of asriel and chara's death, he chose to declare war on humans because the entire underground had lost in the hope. -and this in the wake of losing BOTH HIS KIDS, my god, can you imagine how hopeless HE must have felt? the temptation to just give up and shut himself inside, let the rest of the world go to darkness because what does it matter anymore, must have been SO STRONG. but he didn't. he was determined to do whatever he needed to to make sure all the other monsters still felt hope. to make them feel like maybe they wouldn't be trapped down here forever, yeah?

and even after that - you can't look at asgore, asgore canonically, and tell me that if a human child had fallen into the underground and tried to stay, had found a home and friends and wasn't hurting anyone, that he would go to them and murder them in cold blood. if a human had asked him, genuinely, please couldn't they just stay and live out their life, he absolutely would have let them! he literally offers frisk that at the end of their fight! but the tragedy of the situation is that the humans who fall into the underground want to go home. they want to get out, and so they and asgore HAVE to fight, one of them has to claim the other's soul. and no matter how hopeless asgore feels, he will not leave his people leaderless if he can help it, so he won't just lie down and die for them.

on the other hand!! YES to everything you said about toriel!! i mean, i have no idea how the monarchy in undertale works so who knows what the status on toriel's claim to the throne is or if that even matters (seeing as apparently Literally Whoever's Around can grab the throne once you kill asgore in a neutral route), but to everything else? toriel just, fundamentally, prioritizes her own feelings when it comes to humans and asgore. which is an obvious survival mechanism in the face of losing both her children, but like- she LEFT. she just LEFT. even in the middle of grieving, she must have been able to see why asgore said what he did when he declared war. at the very least, they ruled together! she could have talked to him and they could have worked out a balance together. instead she leaves and shuts herself in the ruins. and she's not just leaving asgore- she's abandoning all of monsterkind to their grief and hopelessness, because her own is more important.

(also hey toriel THERE WERE MONSTERS STILL IN THE RUINS WHEN YOU SHUT THE DOOR? WHAT THE FUCK? how many monsters did she trap in there with her because she wanted to sulk?)

and then of course it takes her until at least human number seven is almost to the end of their journey, to actually leave the ruins and do something concrete about it. like if she cares so strongly about this, she could have gone and stopped asgore WAY earlier, but she waited instead, because i guess it was easier to hide and keep - y'know, "meekly hoping another human never comes" - than step out and try to reason with or face asgore herself.

and the alternate solution she offers to asgore at the end of a true pacifist route to scold him - leaving once he got one human soul, killing six more, and shattering the barrier - is like. as a queen she should be able to see the obvious problems with that. "seven humans fell into the barrier accidentally, they fought me to go home, i killed them, and eventually had enough souls to break the barrier" has some plausible deniability diplomatically. "i went out and murdered a bunch of you" is grounds for another war.

tl;dr i'm an epic divorce man apologist and milf anti apparently

[shyrose57]

Thats Fair I imagine Lady Death would like her husband to visit from time to time. Tubbo though, with Tommy and Ranboo around he will finally awaken his long slumbering Gremlin, the castle guards wont know what hit them. Tommy was bad, but both? The moment they met every Guard felt a shiver run down their spine. Something Horrible had awoken. lol

She would, but she's very patient, and she knows they'll meet again eventually, one way or another.

And, yeah. Just, yeah.

Tubbo's had to lay-back the gremlin-ing a lot on the run, if only for lack of supplies for his mischief, but Tommy only has to vaguely hint at some chaos, and Tubbo is immediately on board, and plotting alongside him.

Ranboo just averts his eyes and reads a book, because plausible deniability is important, y'know?

[charlesoberonn]

I know you're a huga Atla fan and you have a lot of ideas for a series so I just wanted to share mine. My idea takes place one avatar after Korra in a post-modern setting, y'know smart phones internet with a funny little owl mascot, economic and political disparity, the works. The White Lotus society has taken up the role of training the avatar in the absence of the past lives and as such have taken great lengths to try and obtain/record as much information as possible. 1/2

However, over the course of the years and with droplets of information on the last avatar they've become a sort of Knight Templars/Freemasons type organization. (The previous isn't responsible they're just not the focus.) And as such the current avatar faces a kind of troubling up bringing as the WL take him away from his against his protests as a young child. He grows up striving to be the most efficient he can so he can finally return home. In doing so, he reads and memorizes the WL's 2/?

Library of Avatar History and comes to the conclusion that the world is better off without the avatar due the seemingly endless cycle of "Avatar shows up, ruins everything for everyone, cleans up after themselves, and then dies a 'Hero'". Not wanting to be associated with this perceived cycle in conjunction to wanting to just go home and move on with his life, he vanishes from the WL temple/castle/compound thingy building idk yet... After he goes home and catches up and learns things he 3/?

He should've as a kid, he decides to strike out on his own as a young adult and make something of himself. But what can he do? He has no real, in his words, worthwhile skills to do anything to make a living, all he has is bending and obscure knowledge. He then gets the idea start up his own business that would allow him to make use of what he has but also keep the plausible deniability of him not being the avatar. So he decides to build a glass working shop. 4/?

So in using a combination of bending techniques to actually form the shop out of raw materials in the forest, he creates his shop and gets to work trying to use a kilm only to find he's using bending too much. So he gets the idea instead of bending the entire process, to just bend the sand, this proves to be a grand success as he bends the molten sand into beautiful statutes with ease. After compiling a good stock of goods, he bends his entire shop into the ground to pop up in an empty lot. 5/?

This would be his main mode of transportation when he needs to flee the WL. I had some ideas like the WL being not well liked due to their uniform appearance and obsession with the avatar as an outside perspective, but they are huge arbiters of peace though their methods of espinoge and doing things quietly don't help. And him making friends with the new firelord to be and finding her story similar to his and bringing in lessons of child development. sorry it took so many asks 6/6

I like the concept, seems like it’d make an interesting story we haven’t seen before in the Avatar universe. More focused on daily life than on adventures.

[curuniel]

Men are just gentler in that book than the modern male power fantasy, or even male cultural ideal generally. They're all intellectuals, and emotional people, who care deeply for others and rely on each other. They treat Mina differently because she's a woman, but that's an extension of not an exception to these traits (just, y'know, with underlying cultural sexism).

The modern (American or American-influenced) hero has an intellectual sidekick but disdain for intellectual interests. He's a man of action, who does what he wants and breaks rules. He may care for other people, but he must always have plausible deniability in that; part of what makes him manly is his effort to conceal and deny his emotions, and all the men in Dracula are tearfully declaring their feelings all over the show.

Reading this post made me realize something, that in retrospect is pretty obvious, but it just hit me differently right now for some reason.

Toxic masculinity and ableism are definite reasons why Jonathan is treated the way he is in most adaptations, but there’s also the element that the male writers who do that to him likely don’t care that he’s the one to kill Dracula, or even hate him more for being the one to do that, because Dracula is their power fantasy. They probably hate that he was killed by a man who they don’t see as “manly” enough, because they wish they could be powerful and feared and have three hot ladies (who they decided are Brides, no matter the fact that it’s never said in the text) living with them, and still go and be with another one, who would be grateful to them for “freeing” her from her “not many enough” fiancé, despite the fact that they abused her best friend.

It reminds me of that post from ages ago about a dude who genuinely thought women thought the hottest Disney character was Gaston. Because that’s the Disney character he wanted to be, I guess. There’s a type of guy who wants to get away with abuse and be seen as misunderstood and charming for treating people like trash, and that’s also a reason why Jonathan is treated the way he is. They can’t handle their power fantasy being killed by someone they look down upon, for the mentioned above ableism and toxic masculinity.

[ethereousdelirious]

Fandom: The U. mbrella A.cademy

Characters: all the sibs

Pairings: N/A

Tropes: just fluff

Summary: request fill for anon! D.iego gets the flu and it fucks with his powers and he starts freaking out thinking that he's worthless

Warnings/Notes: very short, vague depiction of a character having a mild panic attack

I'm posting from mobile so if the formatting gets fucked up or the post gets cut off, I can't fix it for another like 4 hours give or take

Set in some idealistic Avengers Tower AU (y'know when ppl would write those fics where the Avengers all lived in the tower and would like bro out and actually talk about their problems. Yeah. That, but TUA)

--

When it came to solving problems, Diego Hargreeves tended to beat them into submission with brute force and the liberal application of knives. If he couldn't solve a problem in this manner, he tended to ignore it until it escalated into something he could solve via incredible violence.

Unfortunately, today's problem (inevitably the first of many) was 0% knife-able.

That morning found Diego curled up in bed with a bad case of vertigo and a stinging pain in his throat every time he dared to swallow. He forced himself to get up anyway and had to brace himself against the wall for support as the room spun and his chest began to spasm with the need to cough.

Keeping his wits about him, he stifled the coughing fit behind closed lips. If his siblings found out he was sick, he'd never hear the end of it. They'd think he was weak. That he was useless. After all, Luther never got sick.

The sheer spite made Diego straighten up and get dressed. Fatigue made his joints feel sticky and painful, so he decided to skip his morning workout. Just getting through the day like this would be enough work as it was. He brushed his teeth quickly and decided not to take his temperature-- better to not know. Plausible deniability.

He had to take the stairs at a pace that felt excruciatingly slow compared to his normal light-footed jog. He clung to the banister, painfully aware of the fact that any one of his siblings could pop out onto the landing to witness his pathetic descent. He was just so dizzy and his body ached like he'd spent the night jogging instead of sleeping.

Finally, he reached flat ground and was able to stagger to the kitchen. He wasn't really hungry, but there was no way he was going to skip breakfast and risk losing his hard-earned gains. Besides, maybe he'd feel better after eating.

"You're up early."

Diego jumped and instinctively flung a knife, just barely managing to dampen the force behind his throw as his brain caught up with his body. The knife clattered to the floor, a clumsy, straight trajectory, not at all what Diego had intended. "Hi," he said lamely, not looking at Five.

Five looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Your ninja skills are getting a little rusty."

Diego continued to stare at the knife on the floor. He'd meant for it to curve and stick in one of the cabinets. "Uh, yeah." He bent to pick up the knife and had to pause and steady himself.

"Your Neanderthal impression on the other hand…" Five put his hands on his hips. "Perfection."

"What's got your shorts in a twist?" Diego asked, not really caring about the answer.

Five got up on his tiptoes, reaching for one of the cabinets. Diego nudged him aside with his hip and got a clean mug down for him.

"Thanks," Five said begrudgingly. "And to answer your question, I'm used to having my morning coffee alone."

"Oh." Diego opened the fridge and muffled a short cough into his elbow, trying to relieve some of the aching pressure in his chest. "I can fuck off for a bit. If you want."

"It's fine."

They were quiet for a moment. Diego stared at the contents of the fridge. Something with protein would be good. Eggs sounded like too much work, too much standing. He wanted to sit. Protein shake? Even the thought of making that sounded like far too much work. Sighing, Diego grabbed the milk and poured himself a glass while Five watched in silence.

"You didn't work out this morning," Five said.

"Is that a fact?" Diego shut the fridge and went to the living room.

Five phased in ahead of him and sat down in the chair Diego had been heading for. "Your hair is dry."

"And?" Diego contemplated just sitting down on Five, but didn't think he'd have the energy for the subsequent wrestling match. He threw himself down on the couch instead.

"And, you always shower after your morning workout."

"I'm cutting," Diego lied. "I'm going for a jog later."

"Interesting. Don't care."

Diego sniffled, annoyed to find that his nose was starting to run. "Why'd you bring it up, then?" he asked, looking around for a spare napkin. Finding nothing, he sniffed again.

"Just letting you know: I notice things, so don't try to pull any shit. And blow your damn nose, you sound like a coke addict."

One by one, the rest of the family came down the stairs and joined them in the living room. Diego tried his best to ignore them, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in the kitchen, but it was hard to concentrate when no one would leave him the fuck alone.

He kept having to leave the room to blow his nose and muffle coughs into his shirt collar, and every time he came back, the ambient noise of his siblings' conversations seemed to grow louder and louder.

"What's got you all broody?" Allison asked upon seeing him return from yet another trip to the bathroom.

"I'm not broody," Diego said, at least vindicated that he didn't sound sick.

"He dropped a knife this morning," Five said to her.

This started up a round of ribbing and teasing that chafed at Diego more than usual. His weak attempts at defending himself went ignored until his ears started to roar. He pulled out a knife and threw it at Klaus, intending for it to stick in the chair's armrest, right between his fingers.

It missed by a mile, thudding against the wall and knocking one of the paintings crooked.

Everyone went quiet.

"Uh, Diego?" Luther asked. "Did you mean to do that?"

"Yeah," Diego said, glaring at him. "Fuck that part of the wall in particular." Despite his best efforts, he started to cough. He managed to choke the fit back into something more manageable, but the damage had been done. Everyone was looking at him.

"Are you okay?" Vanya asked meekly, eyes wide.

"I'm fine."

"That didn't sound fine," Luther said. "You sick?"

"You're sick," Diego said, knowing he sounded like a petulant child but unable to bring himself to care.

Allison studied him. "He's shaking" she said to Luther.

"I said I'm fine," Diego said, batting her hand away. "Five, tell them I'm fine."

"He's sick," Five said to Luther.

"Vanya? Klaus?"

"What are we supposed to do?" Klaus asked.

"Back me up!" Diego ran a hand through his hair, dismayed to find that his forehead was a little sweaty. A thrum of fear had started up in his chest, something he couldn't really explain. He was fine, he could still fight. He wasn't useless.

Luther pointed to a discolored spot on the wall. "Prove it."

"What?"

"If you're fine, hit that spot."

"Fine," Diego growled, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his throat. He took out another knife and just held it for a moment. He had to concentrate, that was all. He'd been sick before and it didn't affect his powers. He was just psyching himself out, that was all.

He took a deep breath and threw the knife. It was over in a blink. The knife traveled straight forward, whizzing by Luther's head, and stuck in the wall across from Diego, nowhere near where Luther had pointed.

Diego's head went fuzzy.

He could feel his body shaking, hear his siblings' voices. He caught sentence fragments, words without meanings attached to them.

"Allison, move."

"Get his head."

"How long has he been like this?"

The world tilted, sickening. He fought for breaths, trying to clear his head. What was happening? What if his powers never came back?

"Diego?" Hands on his head, fingers tracing patterns against his scalp.

Diego took several deep breaths. He had been moved so he was on his back, and he was holding himself stiff.

"Look at me," the voice said. Unable to connect it to a face, Diego looked up. He'd been manhandled from seated to a supine position with his head in someone's lap, so he had been expecting to see Luther's face.

Instead, it was Klaus who stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Diego said shakily.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay," Diego said. He was hot all over and his hands were shaking and he couldn't use his fucking powers. "I'm useless." He remembered how they'd all treated Vanya, remembered all the awful, cruel things their dad had said about her, that they had said about her. "I'm fucking useless."

"Hey." Allison appeared in his periphery. "Your powers will come back." She put her hand on his cheek and drew it back in surprise. "Luther, he's burning up."

"You're telling me." Klaus shifted, one hand still gently tangled in Diego's hair. "It's like being trapped under an electric blanket."

"So move," Diego grumbled.

"No."

"Why don't I go get a cold compress?" Vanya said from somewhere down by Diego's feet.

"I got it," Five said. The subsequent flash of blue stabbed into Diego's eyes and made his head ache.

"What am I gonna do?" he said.

"What do you mean?" Luther asked.

"Without my powers, I… I'm nothing."

"Oh, you were serious about that?" Klaus said. "I thought you were just being dramatic."

Diego was too tired to point out the irony of Klaus accusing him of being overdramatic.

Another flash of blue. Five leaned over Allison and, with surprising gentleness, laid a damp washcloth over Diego's brow. "You're not useless," he said. "In fact, out of all of us, you might just be the most powerful without the help of spooky extraordinary powers."

"Yeah, right." Diego brought up one hand and coughed into his wrist, prompting a quiet "eewww" from Klaus.

"No, he's right," Vanya said. "You work your ass off every day. Even if you really did lose your powers, you'd still be a badass killing machine."

"And you're the only one of us who kept doing heroics after leaving," Allison said. Luther made a noise of protest followed by a grunt, presumably after Allison nudged him in the side.

"You guys… Do you really think so?" Diego asked. Despite the pep talk, he still couldn't really picture himself without his powers. Without them, he wasn't himself. "I feel like… I mean, what's the point of me if I can't use my powers?"

"Lots of things," Klaus said. "I'm pretty sure you're singlehandedly propping up the leather industry in the US."

"You're a good person," Allison said firmly. "And there's more than one way to help people." Pointedly, she added, "Isn't that right, Luther?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah," Luther said. He sighed. "I really do admire you, Diego. You're so obsessed with saving people it's almost pathological." He chuckled. "I mean… Your biggest character flaw is that you literally care too much. Not many people can say that. You're a hero no matter what."

"Besides," said Five. "Your powers will come back." It's probably just the fever that's screwing with them, same way it's screwing with your emotions and making you all vulnerable and adorable."

"Oh," Diego said thoughtfully. "Shit." He rolled over onto his side and started to cough, finally letting loose what he had been stifling all morning. He curled his head down and did his best to breathe through the spasms that tore through his chest and seemed to rip his throat open until everything from his ribs to his head was on fire.

"Please don't die in my lap," Klaus said. "I don't think I could handle the trauma."

"God, I feel like shit " Diego said, his face buried in Klaus' shirt.

"That tickles," Klaus said.

"Have you taken any medicine, Diego?" Vanya asked.

"No," Diego said.

Klaus wriggled. "Diego, seriously!"

Sighing, Diego rolled over again to face his siblings. "I haven't taken anything."

"Or eaten anything," Five added. 

"M'tired," Diego mumbled. The proximity to Klaus' body heat was overwhelming next to the fever simmering under his skin. He wanted to get up and crawl into bed, preferably naked, and sleep. He was in no mood to lie here and listen to siblings squabble over medications. He sat up, prompting a chorus of protests from his siblings.

Luther planted a hand square in the middle of Diego's chest. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"Going to bed," Diego said, anger flaring up at the thought of Luther trying to push him around. He swiped Luther's hand away and got to his feet, pleasantly surprised when he didn't immediately collapse back onto the couch.

"I'll help you up the stairs," Luther said.

Diego stepped away from him. "The hell you will."

"You're not going alone," Luther shot back.

"Guys." Vanya stepped between them. "I'll go with him."

"You gonna tuck me in, too?" Diego scoffed and started to walk away. Vanya matched pace with him but didn't touch him. "Thanks, Vanya," Diego said when they were out of earshot of the others.

She shrugged. "You're just sick, it's not like you need to be babied."

They took the stairs slowly, with frequent breaks so Diego could catch his breath. "I just hate feeling like this," he said.

"I know." Vanya smiled sadly. "It's so ugly and… It just makes you feel so small."

They reached Diego's room. He pushed the door open and got into bed without bothering to take off any of his clothes. "Vanya," he started, unsure of where to go with him the rest of the sentence.

"I should go get the others," she said, hovering by the doorway. "Before they kill each other arguing about, I don't know, Aleve versus Advil."

"Vanya," Diego said again. "I, um. I want to teach you how to fight."

"What?" She looked at him, baffled.

"I know you don't really need it, I just… It's something I want to do."

She smiled, an actual, genuine smile. "I think I'd like that."

"Good."

"Do you want anything to eat?" Vanya asked. "Allison is probably going to make soup, but if there's anything you want in the meantime..?"

"I don't know." Diego leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Water would be great."

"Don't go to sleep yet," Vanya said. "I'm sure Five will be here with medicine any second now."

"Yeah, yeah." Diego waved a hand.

Vanya laughed quietly. "I'll get you a glass of water."

"Thank you, Vanya." Her footsteps faded away and Diego sighed.

Maybe it was time to drop the lone wolf thing and start embracing life as a pack member.

[piet-ra]

Here are my thoughts on the whole supernatural thingy:

(Spoilers for spn and she-ra i guess)

I don't know if I'm happy for it even existing, if I'm mad at the writers for not doing it sooner, if I'm mad at myself for being slightly pleased that the bare minimum exists when we clearly deserve so much more.

But mostly I think I'm just annoyed and angry. My devotion to the fandom and the show died many years ago and now I just casually read something here and there about the show. Even though I watched 9 seasons non-stop and was a very dedicated Destiel shipper.(and yes Carry on my wayward song is still great and now I can associate it with the actual developed gay couple of Carry on - Rainbow Rowell) So, when I heard "Destiel is Canon" it felt like I never left seeing how excited I was. Then, I was surprised. I felt like it came out of fucking nowhere. And very late at that. I go watch the rest show. Surprise surprise it did come out of nowhere. I had a hard time processing it. And now Imma lay down my reasoning behind being mad even though no one actually gives a shit.

First, right out of the gate, what pisses me off is the lack of actual build up. Yes, the fans have been calling it for years. But the fans were also searching for breadcrumbs due to a lack of representation. Fans were projecting and trying to find subtext. I was one of them. Never there was explicit enough reasons to canonically think they were a thing or would ever become one. And now the writers went there and gave us a feeling of false vindication by saying "you were right all along, we were dropping hints" when it has certainly not been the case. I doubt (like rly rly doubt) that their intention when writing spn back then was to make destiel a thing. They hadn't even planned for half the shit that went down but y'all want me to believe destiel of all things was the exception? Meh. But even if I'm being really generous and giving them the benefit of the doubt, it still stands that they could have done it a long long time ago. Which takes me to the second reason why I'm mad.

The timing is ridiculously convenient for the writers. The show has been running for FIFTEEN years, it has FIFTEEN seasons and they choose the third to last episode to make it happen? And then HE DIES AND IS SENT TO MEGA HELL after confesssing his gay feelings??? With only two more episodes left, I'll let you wager on how much of actual destiel we'll get. That is, if Dean EVER reciprocates, because it was not explicit at all.(c'mon Jensen, you can do better than that) The dying thing is a massive problem, but not as much as when it happens. Because this is still supernatural and everyone has died and come back to life at least five hundred thousand times before. They could have kept the scene as it was, only a few seasons before. Then we'd actually have decent moments of consequence to the confession, conflict, build up to an actual romantic relationship if they did not mean for it to be one sided, dean confronting his feelings and all that jazz. But no, we get the bare minimum and after this the show ends if people are upset about it, they will no longer have to deal with that shit.

Even though they knew destiel was immensely popular in the fandom for AGES, it seems that now that some popular lgbtq+ couples/shows have arisen and have been received (mostly) positively, they wanted to jump in the band wagon, but not so much that it would anger their straight prejudiced viewers. Cw shows, huh? It's like we're doing it, but we're not committing to it. And if you don't like it, we have already milked everything from you anyways, cause y'know the show is ending in a couple of weeks. AND WHAT IS WORSE. If Destiel didn't happen, I don't think it would be a Sherlock case where something feels off and weird and the lack of it feels forced. Since Dean has been stablished since the beginning as liking women and all indication of otherwise can fall under plausible deniability and fans reading too much into it, I don't really think they would receive big amounts backlash for not doing it or be criticized for it. Fans really have resigned themselves years ago that Destiel wouldn't ever happen. And if they are doing it just to avoid backlash is bad, but if not, then why? To make the show relevant again by trending Destiel? To play on the popularity of the ship? Idk and Idc. They can have the bestest of intentions, but it was done poorly. And now, since the lack of build up is a problem, it - and it reallly pains me to say this - feels forced/aka censored. (I hate myself right now for saying this aaaaaaaaaaaaaa).

It is not good representation. (And seeing as my tumblr is basically she-ra focused, I'm anticipating people saying that that also happens in she-ra. But when the show has never shied away from representation, good casual represation, like having two dads, two moms, a married lesbian couple, a non-binary character amongst other things, I can't find it in me to say it does not have good representation. And the characters only getting together at the end fits their development and personality. And we had a whole season to develop them coming to terms with loving the person who's supposed to be your enemy, but was once your best friend and now fights alongside you and you now realized you love. Supernatural feels like fucking pandering.)

However, it is kinda maybe sorta representation still. And - that depends on how they play it out on the next two episodes - I don't feel it is particularly damaging(except the mega hell thibgy, but again, it is spn); It was not advertised as an lgbtq+ show nor used the couple to promote their season, so yeah kay fine, I'm still gonna laugh at ya.

So, having already had a weak spot for Destiel in the first place, I can't stop feeling a bit happy that at least Cas fessed up and we might get something. It can't be used as a example of great representation, but I'm not mad the ship exists. I'm just really really mad at how it was done.(not only because y'know, I'm queer, but also because the fans and the couple deserve better.)

[riddlesandqueries]

Valentine’s Evening

A roleplay between @themarmaladeblog and myself, concerning the relative conditions of a civilian, a rogue, and the unspoken.

It was… a date, right?

 It’s Valentine’s day. 

Bruce waits in a small cafe he’s fond of, where he knows the food and coffee are good and the people are friendly, where there’s quiet tables, and enough interference between them for a modicum of privacy. The atmosphere is close, and… affectionate, given the day, and the other diners. 

He’s dressed in blue. Edward’s suggestion, when they first had dinner together at the manor. He said he’d look better in color, than black and white, and Bruce had taken it to heart. ….He’d accepted. Edward had accepted the invite for dinner, and Bruce stresses over this, twisting his napkin between his fingers and nervously watching the door. Of course, the word ‘date’ had never been mentioned, it was just…. dinner.  - But, it’s a date, right….?

Oh, god, is this a date? Is this what dates are like when you actually care? Edward scowled against his nausea, parking the car and giving his hair a quick comb. This is probably what Hell is like, isn’t it. Just nothing but doubt and insecurity and never getting answers. The last one was his least favourite thing in the world, and it burned in him like an ulcer. Adjusting his tie, he strolled inside despite his stomach ache. “Hello, Bruce.”

God, he’s cute. Bruce muses, through a faint and worryingly earnest smile. 

Does he… look? As smitten as he feels? Bruce hopes not. It would be a terrible idea to actually… date, Edward Nygma. 

Nygma, A man he’s personally concussed three times, and locked in the VR, who’s tried to kill him on multiple occasions. He couldn’t in good conscience date Edward Nygma. Not when he still can’t actually tell him who he god-damn is. 

(Not that Bruce’s put on the cowl in some time. His heart, just…. hasn’t been in it, lately.)

Bruce finds himself searching Edward’s face, trying to discern his expression, weigh the amount of affection he can find in the other man’s eyes, see if it matches his own. He should’ve brought flowers, god. 

No, god damn it, under no circumstances should I be buying him flowers. 

“Hey, Eddie.“ His smile, despite his better judgement, grows just a bit. "Had a good February?”

“All half of it? I’ve had worse.” Edward says, taking a seat. He’s in rich green, so dark it’s almost black, with bright accents in white and gold and purple in his details. “How about you? You’ve been quiet.”

“Heh, it’s one of those dark months, I think, that kind of… carries me off into thinking…. So, uh, lost in thought? Lots of days in the gym, staring into space.” 

Bruce pauses, as dimly it occurs to him that he should at least greet Edward properly. “…You look fantastic. Heh, no surprise, though….”

“Dark months? Do you get that seasonal affective disorder?” Edward frowns curiously. “There’s light box therapies for that, you know.”

“Oh - no, nothing like that, I just… deeply crave it to be light enough to go rock climbing. I get nostalgic for warm-weather sports as the winter drags on, but it’s not depression, I don’t think, so much as I zone out easier on exercise machines.” Bruce rubs the back of his neck, a bit. “Easy to get lost in thought on an elliptical. I mean, I guess it’s good for my creativity….”

“Bruce, that’s dangerous.” Edward gently chides. “You could mash a toe.”

The first instinct is to object, to protest that he’s done it a hundred times before, that he’s had worse, but… Bruce quashes that reflex. It’s honestly kind of nice, he decides after a half-second pause, to be worried after. By someone other than Alfred. 

In fact, it would be nice if it was anyone worrying after him, he tells himself, the fact that it’s Edward has nothing to do with it. Bruce absolutely insists upon this fact mentally, though he can’t even manage to convince himself. He smiles, sheepish. “Yeah… you’re right. Old habits aren’t easy to break, though, y'know?”

“Oh, sure.” Edward chuckles wryly, looking over the drink menu. “Even new habits are hard to break: they’re there for a reason, after all. But I hope that things lighten up for you soon.” Bruce still has a tan. Maybe he should be a snowbird.

“Yeah, soon as the sunlight lasts past when I tend to leave the office.” Bruce laughs, a cheerful sound that briefly fills the small cafe. They’re smiled at, by a waitress, though ultimately she passes them over for the nonce, as Edward is pondering the offerings – largely Greek fusion – and Bruce picks up the drink menu. 

He’s, ah, quite thirsty for some reason, and… has the sneaking suspicion that this evening will go smoother one cocktail in. Just one. Don’t want to get sloppy drunk around a crush. 

…Come off it, it’s been months. I think we’re a bit past the whole 'crush’ bit. - Bruce just about catches himself before he sighs heavily at his own thoughts. - Knock it off. Focus on the drink menu.

Edward remains oblivious. Oh, that laugh…as cheerful as ever, if maybe a bit more honest than during his usual social performances. He swallows his thoughts, and decides on a simple sangria, as well as spanakopita: he hasn’t had the latter since the summer.

“They’re supposed to be really good at uh, traditional dishes here, according to all the reviews I read.” Bruce decides, silently, on Lamb Kleftiko, and he ignores the fact that 'stolen lamb’ is weirdly thematic given his company. It prompts a quiet chuckle, under his breath. Stolen - well, that’s fine.

“I was, going to get a drink while it’s still early, did you want to look at the wine list, or…?”

Edward wiggles the drink menu he’s holding. “I’m getting the house sangria to see what all of the fuss is about.”

That begets a fond grin. “I’ve only had it once….” Bruce considers, warmly. “If you get the white wine peach version, I’ll split a pitcher with you?”

“Done deal.” Edward grins. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but I’ve poked my head in and gotten takeaway pastry a couple times on the way home from work. If the rest of the food is as good as the baklava, we’re in for a treat.” Bruce’s grin is broad and easy when he talks about food. This is, good, this is fine, this isn’t weirdly awkward or yearning, he can do this. 

It’s probably not even a date. It might be a date. Bruce might not be great at spotting a date. He could… ask Edward if it was. But that way lies danger. No, maybe he could just,  just, see if Edward seems to think it a date, that’d… - Except, we really shouldn’t be dating the Riddler.

“If we aren’t, you owe me a decent meal.” Edward teases, smirking. This if fine. What was he ever worried about? Liking Bruce’s smile too much? …That sweet, endearing, dogged smile? AUGH.

“Work’s been all right?” asks Edward lightly.

“I mean, it’s been work.” Bruce laughs, lightly, rubbing his cheek. “Not that, you know, I’m really complaining. I do, honestly… find what I do to be, fulfilling. Busy, though, pretty much… all the time. Just, you know. It’s not a vacation in Hawaii, but…” His grin is his best attempt at disarming. A joke, right? 

No harm in jokes, not even if it is the flirtatious ones.

“If only it could be, huh?” Edward grins. “What a trip that was: I still haven’t gotten all of my photos developed. Kind of makes me wish I’d brought a Polaroid.”

Bruce’s face lights up. “Oh, hey, I didn’t know you were taking that many, I got… a handful, but…Man, remember the volcano summit? At sunset? That was amazing.”

You were amazing.

God, Bruce quietly chides himself, he almost said that out loud. 

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Edward hums fondly. “It makes sense that people climb mountains, when they want to be that close to the sky. Makes me feel kind of bad for being such a city boy.”

“I mean…. if you wanted to travel again, it was… it’s something I’d love to do with you in the future. Not like we wouldn’t come back.” HI, MAYBE AVOID THE ‘LOVE’ WORD, BRUCE. GET YOUR HEART OFF YOUR ARM. 

Before he can freeze up too terribly, though, the waitress swoops in.

If only we could. Edward smiles kindly to the waitress, and asks for the pitcher of white peach sangria…the spanakopita, and… ”What was it, Bruce?”

“Oh, ah, lamb kleftiko. And bread, please?”

“Pita?” asks the waitress kindly.

“Yeah, just, something to soak up any leftover sauce.”

“Sure thing. Be right back with your waters!" 

Edward waves after her. "I don’t think we could do that again, Bruce, considering your schedule.”

“…Yeah, probably not this year.” Bruce mutters, gloomy. It seemed different, out of the city, more plausible while they’re away. 

I should tell him. Bruce muses, glum. At the end of dinner, like… like ripping off a bandage. I can’t keep talking to him if he doesn’t know I’m Batman.

Edward casts Bruce a sympathetic look. “I am sorry for that fact. It’s not easy, I can tell.”

Bruce chuckles, though there’s little humor in it, rueful. “I mean, half of it is, I think I got attached to having you around.” Mumbled. That was a bit more honest than he meant to be, but… well. He lives in a big empty house, right? He has… plausible deniability behind why he would miss something like that..

Oh… Edward smiles slightly, a bit of colour in his cheeks. It’s a lopsided smile, a bit bashful, a bit bare when he’s off his rhythm. “I bet you say that to just anyone.” he chuckles, brows raised. “That’s quite a compliment.”

Bruce can’t quite hide how… pleased he is at that smile, certainly not fast enough. He does his best to quickly look off to the side, but is visibly charmed. Pink, in his ears. In a way he can’t pretend is sunburn, not now. “I dunno. Never been on vacation with anyone else, I’ll, have to get back to you on that one. If, uh, if it ever happens.”

“As long as I’m out of lockup, I suppose I’m available.” Shut up shut up shut up and STOP STARING 

 Water is brought around.

Available. God, if only that were true. Bruce takes to the water, almost… gratefully. It’s going to be a long, long dinner, huh.

Edward sips his own, taking in and letting out a slow breath. This is torment. Say something. “So, it’s Valentine’s Day, huh?” - GOD DAMN IT NOT THAT - “I expected Calendar Man to do something.”

Oh. He noticed. Of course he noticed, why the fuck wouldn’t he notice, it’s a holiday. “Yeah, uh, heh, happy, uh - happy Valentines, Eddie.” 

The quiet as Bruce fishes for something else to say nearly deafens him. “…Could I... get you dessert, maybe?”

“Pick each other’s desserts? Sure.” - I swear by all that’s holy Edward do NOT overthink this.

Bruce nods. That’s agreeable, and… segue to small talk, maybe. Just, try and talk a bit… The romantic atmosphere is not helping, not at all. He shouldn’t have asked him out, not tonight, he knows this now. Jesus, uh… “I, missed this, you know? Dinner together.”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Edward grins. “We should just try out restaurants, I had a few friends back home who I’d do that with. Once a month, go try somewhere new.”

If you’re willing to speak to me after tonight, that sounds like a lot of fun. That thought translates onto Bruce’s face as a somewhat unusual, wistful smile. “That sounds fantastic, honestly.”

“It’s fun! It always keeps everything fresh: no falling back on old standards, and you can’t repeat a dish.”

Bruce grins. “I take it these rules are tried and true?”

“Absolutely.” Edward affirms. “Otherwise, someone orders the same baseline dish for every kind of restaurant they go to: tacos at every Mexican place and such.”

Bruce smiles a bit, nodding. “Anything you absolutely won’t eat? Don’t want to commit some kind of faux pas.” Food. Food is a safe topic.

“Me? Not really…it’s all worth trying twice at least, just to dispel bad first impressions if any.” he hums, thinking. Is there any food I don’t like..? Edward’s successfully been derailed.

“And no allergies, then?” Bruce asks, “Because I’m up for anything, yeah?”

“None I’m aware of, but if some develop, that’s a surprise for everyone.” Edward chuckles.

“God, I hope not.” chuckles Bruce, fond.

“Me too, frankly. Do you have any allergies?”

“No, not to food! Thankfully.” Bruce waves the notion away, “I don’t always get along with, uh, some kinds of polyesters, but that’s all that comes to mind.”

“Oh, I understand. The first problem is that you were wearing polyester.” Edward smirks.

Bruce grins. “…You were right, about the blue suit.”

“Hm? Well, you look good in it.” Edward says, gesturing to Bruce. “Do you like it more?”

“I mean, yeah. Brown and black all the time is, boring. I’ve gotten a lot of compliments today, too, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You look good in black, but colours are a nice indulgence against the status quo.” Edward grins.

“I mean,” Bruce hums. “You always look amazing in green. I don’t think I’ve seen that suit before?”

“No, not this one. Bright shades aren’t for winter, not for me.”

Bruce’s head cants to one side. “They aren’t? …I wish I was half as good at clothes as you are. I don’t get seasons at all.”

“Black is never wrong. The rest of it’s made up, largely, so do as you will.”

Bruce smiles faintly, nodding, as food comes around. Smelling, as predicted, fantastic. It’s easy enough to keep up… this vein of comfortable, pleasant compliments and arm’s reach affection. It’s for the best, he tells himself, as dinner wends towards dessert, and they huddle together to pick what the other is going to be eating. He expects they can probably split it between them anyway. 

It’s for the best, because Edward’s definitely never going to speak to him again.

As a surprise for one another, just for extra fun, they order one another dessert: Bruce receives a chocolate torte with strawberries, and Edward receives a chocolate baklava, which he’s very pleased to see. “Perfect…geez, maybe I should have been more on-theme.”

“Well, on the bright side, I love strawberries?” says Bruce earnestly. (You keep using the love word, Bruce.)

“Hard not to. Bon appetit!” smiles Edward.

Bruce lifts his spoon in a lazy toast, and sets into it. Quiet. Right, he’ll break the bad news any minute now. Any minute. He just, needs to bring it up, so… like ripping off a bandage. Easy.

….Bruce takes a sip of the sangria, frowning into it.

“…Does it taste wrong?” Edward frowns.

“No, I uh…” Bruce stalls. Come on, get it over with. “I need to tell you something, Eddie, it’s…. it’s important.”

“…Yes?” Edward asks carefully, raising an eyebrow.

“…You probably won’t want to hear it.” Bruce mutters to himself, unable to keep his gaze. “I, uh. I’m…. I’m, um…” 

Go on. 

“I’m… I’m kind of smitten, with you.” 

BRUCE. WAYNE. WHAT, PRECISELY, ARE YOU DOING?

“…What?” Edward utters, gobsmacked.

THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAY, BRUCE. Yes, well, that doesn’t make it less true!

 “I - I, yeah. I um….Look, I know it’s… stupid, of me it’s… You’ve mentioned yourself, you don’t, think of people. Not like that, and…..God, I tried, you know? To put it aside, especially after Selina, this is, I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but. …It’s valentine’s day. Lover’s day, you know? It, I’m having trouble not talking, suddenly, feel free to interrupt me at any time, just...”

I wonder if this is what a nervous breakdown feels like. What was that checklist on therapy? The fact I can’t remember offhand says everything about the situation. Edward takes a big sip of his sangria, and takes a deep breath. “We should not discuss this in a public restaurant.”

…That makes it easier. Okay. Just, smile, and, it’s fine. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably best. Okay.” Softly. Resigned, Bruce’s eyes fall to his plate, and he grows quiet to come to terms with what is at least seems like it will be a polite rejection. What did he expect, anyway? At least you can move on, Bruce. …Just focus down dessert, and steel yourself for heartbreak.

“…” Edward picks at his dessert, then sets down his fork. “Let’s get these to go.”

“ - Yeah, okay.” Check: paid. Not like he really has his appetite, anymore.

Boxes gathered, and they’re out the door. “…Somewhere private?” Edward murmurs.

“…Your house? My, house?” Personally, Bruce would prefer Edward’s, if he’s going to be shot down, but…

“That cliff on the outskirts of town, maybe.” says Edward firmly. Neutral is best.

Jeesh, punch me in the gut while you’re at it. “Yeah, okay, I can drive.”

“I’ll need to be brought back to my car eventually.” Edward warns, following along to Bruce’s car.

Stop complaining, Bruce, the horrid little voice in his head chides, this wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just confessed what you were supposed to confess. 

“I mean, yeah, that’s - “ Bruce flounders, numbly “ - it’s just weird to head up in, two. Cars, I mean.”

“Is it? I don’t know the protocol.” Edward mutters, getting into the car.

… On the bright side, I suppose it does solve the moral dilemma of crushing on someone you’ve hurt so many times. Now he even gets to hurt you back. You deserve this, Bruce. You know that, don’t you? Even if he doesn’t know why, never knows he’s got it, at least he’ll have his revenge.

Bruce is quiet, as he drives. A bit to shake off traffic… then not much longer, once the city loses its grip. “… Sorry.” is all he can manage, in a small voice, as they park.

Edward holds his dessert in his lap, staring determinedly out the window, thoughts almost visibly ticking like clockwork around him. "Sorry?” he says, snapping out of it.

“For shoving that off on you.” Bruce mumbles, finding that he can’t, actually. Look. At Edward.

“I’m, not angry.” Edward frowns, bemused.

“… Oh.” Bruce murmurs, also bemused. “… You, um, wanted to talk.”

“Yes, just not in the restaurant. People, paparazzi, there’s nothing I hate like gossip I didn’t start personally.”

Bruce nods, mute. For want of avoiding foot in mouth disease, Bruce very carefully has nothing to say.

“You like me, as in, romantically?” Edward asks, dissecting the words carefully.

“… Yeah. I - I know it’s, you’ve said on your blog yourself, you don’t… I’m sorry for inviting you to dinner with ulterior motives.” Bruce says this all so quietly, and he stares at his own hands in guilt. “I knew all that already, but…”

“Bruce.” Edward prompts.

Ah, Bruce. Even when he’s talking about his own feelings, he’s putting other people first. He’s rationalising rejection before it’s even been delivered. Giving Eddie an out. “I know.” he says softly. “ - Sorry, yeah, go on. I’m listening, I promise.”

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with liking me.” Edward says primly. “I’m wonderful. But I’m also a very dangerous criminal, and you should not date me under any circumstances. I’m not good for you.”

Bruce pauses, reviewing the statement. That… that isn’t, that’s not really a rejection. Is it? He blinks up at Edward, visibly confused.

Edward looks stern. Determined, even.

“… Yeah?” Bruce almost sounds, hopeful, bless him.

“I can’t be in a relationship with you.” Edward says plainly. “You’re only going to get hurt and you don’t deserve that.”

Yes I do, that’s a fucking lie, I’ve hurt you more times than I can count, thrown you in Arkham… “I don’t know, it… Can’t be much worse than friends, can it…?”

“…Can it?” he asks, wary.

“And you’re a fantastic friend.” Bruce adds.

“People are going to threaten your life over this, Bruce, it isn’t a game.” Edward says, annoyed. At least, this part isn’t, anyway.

“… No, I mean. I know.” Bruce condedes. “You’re right. You’re right, Eddie. People could try to hurt you through me, they could try to use me to get close and do terrible things to you.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand that.” Edward sighs.

“I know you’re right,” Bruce continues on, “But the feelings are here anyway… And I mean, it’s not like I don’t already hate to see you hurt.”

“Maybe I don’t want to see you get hurt, have you thought of that?” he snaps quietly.

Bruce rubs the back of his head, quiet. I should drop it. Drive him back to his car, and pretend this conversation never happened. 

Against all wisdom, Bruce pushes on: “… I can’t pretend it’s not a nice feeling to know that you care, either.”

“…” Edward huffs, sitting back in his seat, looking away.

“… So, um, thank you for that.”

“One of us has to keep his wits, I suppose.” Edward snips.

Bruce chuckles softly. “You always were smarter than me. … I know it’s a terrible idea. I know I shouldn’t, I know I should drop the idea and run. But I… I can’t. I’ve been trying to rationalise it away for months and, no matter which angle I look at it from, no matter how bad an idea this could be, it… I’m more attached to how, nice it might be, more than I am scared of the opposite.”

“How nice that must be.” Edward grumbles.

“… Honestly, it scares the shit out of me.”

“…” Edward looks over, incredulous. “You just said…”

Bruce rubs his nose, frowning. “… I’m not scared of being hurt, Eddie. I’m scared of… you leaving.Walking away, wanting nothing to do with me. I’m scared of, how hard it is to put this crush out of mind.”

“I’m not going to do that, Bruce.” Edward mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes with a sigh.

“… Penny for your thoughts?” A pause. After a moment, Bruce adds,  “… You know, you haven’t actually turned me down.”

“I know.”

“.. Do you, want to talk about it...?”

Edward takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out in a sigh. “To me, a river bed is better than water beyond grasp, and food in the air is better gone than present in despair.”

Bruce frowns at that for a moment, scratching his palm with the opposite fingernail. “… Is that…Do you mean like, Greek Mythology? Tantalus?”

Edward nods, lips pursed. It’s always so hard to speak, when it’s important.

“…All right….” Bruce mumbles, slowly. “To extend the metaphor, um… If, you do want I - I’m offering to bring you a cup. Or pick the fruit, so the trees can’t bend out of the way anymore.” Softly.

“You’d be cursed too, if you did such a thing.” mutters Edward, glancing away.

“… Yeah, maybe. It’s - I’ve been trying to tell myself this is a bad idea since the spa day, Eddie. I know this isn’t… wise. … But if it’s at least mutual, I’d… I’d prefer to, you know.” 

“… Try it with company, instead of alone.” Bruce’s laugh is tired, and hollow. “Even if it is a bad idea, at least it’s one I get to make with you, instead of in spite of you.”

Since the spa day? Geez. “What do you mean by that?”

“No matter how bad an idea it is to date you,  I still want it… And if that’s mutual, at least I wouldn’t have to navigate whatever comes next by myself. And neither would you. Which… you, implied was the case?”

Edward sighs, tired. Damn it. “Mhm.”

Bruce gives a brief nod, then stares out the windshield, frowning. You shouldn’t have brought it up.

Just because I’m struggling to communicate doesn’t mean you have to match it. Edward rolls his eyes, and grabs Bruce’s hand to hold it, chin propped in the other as he frowns out the window. Stupid crush. Stupid words, thoughts, FEELINGS.

.

… The pessimism vanishes, just… briefly, as Bruce squeezes Edward’s hand. “Let me try this again.”

“Go on.”

“I think you’re wonderful, Eddie. The smartest man I’ve ever met, fun to talk to, and company I treasure. I cannot really… put into the right words, in the right order, how glad I am to be able to call you at least my friend. I think you’re about the most attractive man I know, and I actually fancy you rather a lot. It’s a bad idea. For a lot of reasons between your… vocation, and my publicity, this could blow up in a bunch of ways that could hurt one or both of us. And despite this, I still think it’s worth it to… try. If you feel the same, I think it’s… worth being a little selfish. Just this once… but at least, I can’t just, sit on that anymore.”

“…I’m already holding your hand, Bruce.”

“Yeah, but I made a mess of the words.”

At least you can. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It certainly won’t be,” Edward says. “But I’ve had some nagging issues on my mind myself, shall we say.”

Bruce nods, and is quiet for a moment.“… I was ready for rejection, you know.”

“What? Some genius I’d be, turning down a catch like you.”

Cautiously, Bruce shifts to lean against Edward. “… I’m not great at being selfish.”

“It’s a nice trait about you.” Eddie murmurs, leaning in a bit himself.

Faint smile. Oh, that’s all right then. Bruce settles, a bit less nervous. “Even if I treat myself, this once..?”

“…do you know who you’re talking to?” Edward grins.

“I’d hope so, or this has all been a terrible mistake.” A glib joke is a good sign.

“If you’re Clayface, you’re dead.”

Bruce has a brief flicker of existential horror. “God, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“At this point, it’d be a hell of a long play.” Edward snickers.

With a faint grin, Bruce rests an arm around Edward’s shoulders. It’s not unlike the visits leading up to the new year, he decides, when a sleep-deprived Edward would lean on him. Except Edward’s not sleep deprived. 

You’re in trouble, Bruce, Warns the little voice at the back of his head.

Just… let me have this. Bruce pleads back at it, in turn. Let me enjoy it while it lasts. “… It’s a, a shame we missed sunset.”

“There will be others.” A promise, that. Edward’s nervous, despite the calm demeanor and measured words.

“… Eddie?”

“Hm?”

“Just…I’m here, yeah?” This is an effort to be comforting, complete with hopeful smile.

“You are, yes.”

“… I’m nervous too.”

“Why? I said yes.”

Bruce sighs, softly. “I’ve never really had a good relationship, before? Selina’s the closest thing to… and it’s not really the same. So this is all going to be new territory.”

“I’ve never had any. I’ve never had these feelings before and they’re not even slightly comfortable.”

Bruce slowly nods, taking that in. “… If I can, make that easier on you…I’ll, try. Though I don’t know how.”

“The concept as a whole is like a movie about a pandemic, such that everyone else around me always seemed to be getting infected and I was assumed immune…and the twist ending is that I’ve been a carrier, asymptomatic.” Edward shudders. "Obviously, I’ve made some degree of peace with it: I did that on the drive over, I was banking on it being one-sided, after all. It’s not all bad, it’s just a relatively immediate change after a lifetime of nothing, and it’s dreadful in every sense.“

“… I’m sorry, Eddie.” Bruce murmurs, not an apology this time at least, but compassion, emphasized by another gentle squeeze. 

Privately, he considers, yeah, it does sort of seem like a disease. It’s not like he hasn’t been arguing with his own head for months, trying to plead his way out of infatuation. Though he’s not sure he’d call it a virus; it’s not like it’s contagious. It’s more like dementia. Not the time to correct him, maybe. “I was… I assumed the same. That it’d be one sided, that… you remember in Hawaii, when you went to the porch for a bit? I thought you’d noticed, that I was too obvious, that you were upset.”

Edward had, in fact, considered it as such, but dementia was even less comforting as a prospect and he didn’t need the stress. "No…that was the time I’d realized what had changed in me, and why I kept feeling feverish with an uneasy stomach.” His analogy holds water. “I was upset, yes, but that was because I didn’t want to have a crush. I still don’t, but here I am.” Edward laughs weakly. “So what choice is there, but to pursue it?”“There’s always a choice.” says Bruce quietly. “I don’t want to make you sick.”

“I didn’t want to go through this like Tetch.” Edward frowns. “So I tried to outthink it. Like being on a diet, perhaps. But…yes, Bruce, there’s always a choice, and I made it on the drive over.” he hums, glancing over as he pats Bruce’s hand. “Keep up, I’m just monologuing a little, it’s my turn.” A half-joke, in these trying times.

He gets a quiet laugh at that, and Bruce defaults to nodding, resting against Edward’s side. God, this isn’t even a little bit comfortable with the gear shift between them, but who cares.

“But really now…a rogue and a civilian, it’s dangerous…I really don’t want to drag you into that swamp, that’s why I’ve never told you about any of it, plausible deniability and such. But now especially.”

“…Yeah, you still shouldn’t tell me any of that, I don’t think.” Bruce murmurs.

“I never will.” Edward promises. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk, it’s recognition of what I do not need to share.”

Edward is quiet for a moment, frowning. “…you’re really going to be all right with dating a super villain? I’m still doubtful about that, we’re notorious for being a handful.”

“I promise I know that already, at least. I’ve had a thing with Selina for… God, a couple years now.” Bruce replies quietly. “Different MO’s, maybe, but I’m at least, familiar with the idea of turbulence. I’m, honestly, more nervous about dating a man. You’re not the first guy I’ve had a crush on, but I’ve never actually brought it up with any of them before now.“ By this time, he’s quieted to a mumble.

"What do you think the difference will be like?”

…Softly, Bruce hums in thought. “I… have absolutely no idea.”

“…can we go somewhere that there isn’t a gear shift in my ribs?” asks Edward gently.

“Yeah, wanna go grab your car and just… head to someone’s couch or another?”

“Yes please.”

“Your place or mine?” Bruce asks as he leans away, stretches a bit, and puts the car back into gear. Seatbelts, seatbelts… “…God, that sounds like a terrible pick up line.I - I promise I don’t mean it like that.” Bruce says with a flustered chuckle.

“You, not flirting? Casanova himself?” Edward says, settling back into his seat with a grin. “Let’s do yours.”

“Yeah, all right.” Bruce grins faintly, pink in the ears, and heads back to nab Edward’s car before the lot closes. And then, off he drives for home.

Edward follows at his own pace, back to Bruce’s, pondering. This is unturned ground for him, after all. Could be gold in those hills. This could be fun, actually, couldn’t it? It’s new, It’s interesting…yeah. Yeah!

Meanwhile, Bruce takes the drive back home to overthink. God, he should’ve put on cologne. Does he need mouthwash? That wasn’t even what I was supposed to tell him in the first place fuck damn it, how long do you think you can keep it hidden now? From the smartest man in Gotham? 

You’re a fucking idiot, Bruce.

…Maybe it won’t be so bad. Bruce finds himself hoping, against all hope. Maybe he’ll forgive me. Maybe he’ll never find out. Even if it blows up, I just… I want to enjoy this while I can.