#foggy writes

[foggystarrs]

After an abrupt encounter with Sun, you’re wallowing in self pity before Vanessa and the Glamrocks have deemed that they’ve had enough.

Suddenly you’re shoved in a cave with two mers and won’t be let out until the three of you have a much needed talk.

Chapter 13 is out!!

Chapters: 13/15

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Moon/Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, Daycare Attendant (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader

Characters: Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), Moon (Five Nights at Freddy's), Reader, Vanessa A. | Ness, Gregory (Five Nights at Freddy’s), Glamrock Freddy, Roxanne Wolf, Glamrock Chica, Montgomery Gator

Additional Tags: MerMay, Merperson Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), Merperson Moon (Five Nights at Freddy's), Sun and Moon are Separate Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Siblings Moon and Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, No Smut, Gift Giving, Sleepy Cuddles, First Meetings, Slow Burn, for reader anyway, sun and moon fall for reader first, Courtship, Cultural Differences, Mutual Pining, Eventual Romance, Soft Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), Soft Moon (Five Nights at Freddy's), No use of y/n, POV Second Person, gender neutral reader, Vanessa is your mother figure, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bioluminescence, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, but it’s just reader being oblivious, Feelings realization, Angst with a happy ending, Love confessions, Getting together

Summary:

You find two merpeople stuck in a fisherman's net and decide to help free them.

You don't expect to see them again after that night, but it turns out that they have other plans. As you're suddenly being showered with gifts and shiny trinkets from the depths of the ocean, you start to wonder what you've gotten yourself into.

After all, you didn't expect the two mers to suddenly start courting you.

or basically, Mer! Sun & Moon try to romance the reader, but reader is as dense as a rock.

[foggyfanfic]

Vent Post about Writing Woes

They weren't lying when they said middles are hard. Just finished part one of my current big project, and I got part two mapped out in a very broad sense, but I just, I am struggling. I am writing the same version of the scene below the cut for the third time and I don't know if I'm happy with version three either. I love this AU I've come up with, and I love the ending I have planned, and other than the fact I wish I had a team of researchers to help me with historical accuracy I love the world building I've done, but this scene! I've tried skipping ahead a little, and coming back to it, I can write it out again and again but each time it just doesn't hit the write notes and I love the character interactions but it's just not... it doesn't have quite the right punch.

This is the version I definitely won't be using, because as much as I love Leandra, when I decided I would reuse my OC's for this AU it was more because I needed side characters, not a protagonist. She's too centered in a scene that is ultimately supposed to be about Pepa, her anxieties, and her relationship with her family. The current iteration I'm trying is just between her and Bruno, time will tell if that sticks for me.

Anyways, I'm just venting, I'm frustrated; context (including the scene in question) under the cut.

Context: The premise of the AU is that Pepa is a Disney Princess tm except instead of a Disney movie her story is a political intrigue set in the Disney Princess Extended Universe (the DPEU if you will). In Disney Princess tradition I have come up with a fake country that is totally not Colombia in the same way Arandelle is totally not Norway or Denmark. It is ultimately an 1850-60's Pepa/Felix fake dating AU and in the scene below Leandra is in the process of being pulled into the Madrigals' orbit because I needed a character to play spy, she's pretending to be a man because 1) plot reasons and 2) I had an idea for the funniest idiots to lovers plot for her and Bruno.

The next morning, Leandra was woken by one of the Madrigal sisters shouting, “You agreed to do what?!”

Leandra drummed the fingers of her good hand on the blankets of her borrowed bed, then decided that yes, she was more nosy than was ultimately sensible and she needed to know what had been agreed to and why it was shocking. Or she would die, probably.

She grabbed the medallion holding her glamor off the bedside table and put it on, then grabbed her trousers off the bed post and stepped into them. When she peeked her head out her door she briefly made eye contact with Bruno, who was doing the same, then immediately whipped her head towards his sisters in hopes that he wouldn’t see her blush. The witch had said the glamor would basically just be her, but male, so she couldn’t count on it to hide her expressions. Anything more complicated would have been out of her budget and would have taken too long.

“-not that big a deal, geez Juli, you’re acting like I joined a death cult. And look, you woke up Bruno. And…”

“Raul,” Leandra supplied.

“Right… Raul.”

“You agreed to ‘fake’ court the king, who you happen to have a crush on, knowing damn well becoming queen would be your worst nightmare,” Julieta said, crossing her arms, “it might not be joining a death cult, but it’s certainly a brain dead decision.”

“It’s to help draw out whoever’s trying to kill Bruno!”

“How does uh how does you making yourself the protagonist of a cheesy romance novel draw out the person trying to kill me?”

“Maybe the killer likes romance novels,” Leandra said before she could think better of it, “have we tried leaving a few under a box propped up by a stick?”

Both Julieta and Pepa sent them “shut up” looks, so Leandra raised her hands in surrender and backed into her borrowed room. She left the door cracked open while she tied her sash and buckled her belt, so she could continue eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I am actually confused,” Bruno said, “h-how does this draw out the person trying to kill me?”

“By putting a target on your sister’s back,” Minister Alma’s voice joined the conversation, dripping with disapproval, “if the purpose of these assassination attempts is to weaken this kingdom, our killer will go after anyone the king shows signs of potentially marrying.”

“Which is exactly why it needs to be me. Because I can protect myself.”

Leandra nodded along with Pepa a little. She had heard tales of how powerful Pepa was, only an idiot would attack her. She frowned and popped her head back out.

“Everybody knows you can shoot lightning, the fact that it’s you might actually dissuade any attempts,” she pointed out, accidentally cutting off whatever Minister Alma was about to say.

The minister did not seem put out by the interruption however, instead she gestured at Leandra and said, “That’s an excellent point. You doing this might not even work. It’s entirely likely that the only thing that will come out of this is a broken heart.”

Pepa scowled at Leandra, “Oh, who asked you?”

“Um, kind of sort of the king,” Leandra said, shrugging her good shoulder, “he wants me to help catch the guy so…”

“I thought he wanted you to guard me?” Bruno said, then sputtered, cheeks bright red, “n-not that-! I-I mean, that’s j-just what he told me, you don’t have to-.”

“Both, technically,” Leandra said, trying to spare the poor man the embarrassment of further rambling, “he wants me to do both.”

“Ah,” Bruno said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ah-ha!” Pepa suddenly shouted, pointing a finger at Julieta.

Julieta scowled at her, “No! No 'ah-ha', I didn’t say anything!”

“But I saw it, I saw that look on your face, you just had a thought you don’t want me to know about. Probably because it’d prove that I should totally do this!”

“You don’t know that, maybe I was just thinking that your hair is stupid,” Julieta sniffed, pointing her nose in the air.

“Your hair is stupid,” Pepa retorted.

“Girls,” Alma said, sighing deeply, “you’re adults.”

“Exactly, I’m an adult, which means I get to make my own decisions and I’ve decided to try and trap the asshole trying to kill my brother.”

“Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you’re a smart adult, apparently,” Julieta said.

“Except I am a smart adult, and you know it, because you just had ‘Pepa has a point’ face,” Pepa accused.

Julieta didn’t say anything, she just scowled at her sister.

Leandra shuffled her feet, examining Julieta, then slowly guessed at what Julieta had been thinking, “Having Pepa on his arm will probably dissuade any attempts to attack the king directly?”

Julieta whipped her head around to scowl at Leandra again, “Oh, who asked you!”

“The king did,” Pepa said, smugly, “and it is another excellent point. Thank you…”

“Raul,” Leandra reminded her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Thank you Raul.”

“It might be an excellent point, but it is one that contradicts your stated reason for doing this,” Alma huffed, “you can not help draw out our killer if you are also dissuading them from acting through your mere presence.”

Pepa frowned, but apparently didn’t have an argument ready for that.

“Are uh are you sure you’re not just doing this so you have an excuse to flirt with the king?” Bruno asked.

From the way Pepa grimaced, Leandra knew that was at least part of it. From the way she set her jaw, Leandra could tell it was only part of it.

“No,” Pepa said, then spent a few seconds struggling to find the words.

“You want to help and don’t know how?” Leandra asked.

“Sí,” Pepa said, at first triumphant, happy to have the words handed to her, then a little sheepishly, “sí, I… hate that somebody is trying to hurt my brother and I don’t want to just wait around for each assassin they send. I want to stop them. Don’t you guys?”

“Not if it puts you in danger,” Bruno immediately huffed, drawing Leandra’s attention. He had taken her by surprise before, so she studied him carefully while he spoke, “the last thing I want is you putting yourself in danger for my sake.”

“Well the last thing I want is for you to be in danger, so I guess you’re just going to have to deal.”

“Except you’re out voted, I would also like it if you didn’t put yourself in danger,” Julieta said.

“Sí. If I had my way, none of you would be in any danger, ever. It’s one thing that outside forces keep endangering your brother, I don’t need you endangering yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Pepa waved their concerns off, “and even better, I will be involved in the investigation. I won’t have to wait around and hope, I’ll be doing something. That’s- you can’t stop me.”

Leandra leaned against the doorframe and watched the other occupants of the room to see who would break against Pepa’s stubborn will first. She expected Minister Alma to be the strongest hold out, but she broke second after Julieta, it was Bruno who held out the longest. But eventually he sighed and shook his head, then turned back into his room.

See what I mean? Leandra is too centered. Tried writing the same argument without her there but then I have to make the Madrigals way better at communicating with each other as a whole than they would be. That's how I arrived at doing this one on one, if their dysfunctional family is anything like mine then they are way better at talking to each other in pairs than they are all together. It's going fine but I'll have to see if it's still fine when I've finished writing this scene again, I'll have to see if the mood flows from the chapter before this one, into this, into the chapter after this well. Then I'll go from there.

Ugh! Whatever. I refuse to give up on this AU but part two is definitely kicking my ass! Might continue ranting about this one to help myself stay motivated, because I will finish this one. I will.

[chuuniversal]

cw: rough sex after an argument, brat taming, bratty! fem!reader, maybe ooc zayne, mentions of spanking, not really proof read thoroughly. i was hacked idk this is straight up smut…. @zehrbear <3

thinking about being fucked by zayne after a heated argument, his papers and notes scattered on the floor along with your panties and his black tie and slacks. it’s been non stop with you today, distracting him at work, picking unnecessary fights, and the worst offense being eating his parfait in front of him. he’s fucking had enough.

he has you bent over the desk, pretty fucked out face pushed against the cool surface while he pounds into you mercilessly. he’s tired of your fucking mouth, sassing him non stop and being catty. if you’re gonna talk the least you can do is moan his name, and that you do.

oh f-fuck! zayne! z-zayne please! s’too much- oooo!!

the grip he has on your doughy hips is lethal, fingers sinking into your skin as his hips collide with your ass. it’s embarrassing how wet you are, slick coating the length of his dick as it pushes in and out of your greedy pussy. and fuck you’re tight too, warm soft walls squeezing him tight every time he lands a smack on your ass. you can feel him so deep it makes your mind numb, you can’t help but inch away any chance you get. unfortunately for you though he’s not letting that shit slide, pulling you closer to him as he fucks you deeper.

mm no, angel. don’t run from it now, what happened to that fight you had earlier? don’t tell me you can’t take it?

his thrusts become thunderous and the desk you’re being fucked against bangs against the wall, loud thuds in rhythm with your cries and his strokes. you swear you’re gonna cum, all you can think about is zayne’s dick hitting that spot over and over and it’s making you go crazy!! your cunt flutters around him and you grab onto the desk for dear life as you try to ground yourself, your thighs uncontrollably shaking from your orgasm.

you’re such a fucking mess after too, pretty lashes wet and mascara smeared and runny, your cunt leaking a mix his and your cum down your thighs. you just wanna catch your breath and regroup…. that is until zayne turns you around and lifts you up so that you’re sat on the desk he just fucked you against. he grabs your chin and shoves his tongue in your mouth and a sloppy kiss, and you can’t help but whine against his lips. he hooks his arms under the backs of your legs and lets his throbbing cock rub against your puffy cunt, the tip bumping against your clit hungrily.

since you have so much to say, say it to my face, yeah?

he continues rubbing in between your sticky cunt as he taunts you, it’s so twisted how he’s taking joy in the fact that you can’t even speak or form a thought. only worried about having your greedy cunt filled full and getting what you want. it’s not long before he slides his dick into you again, eyes never breaking contact with your teary ones as he fucks into you slowly, each stroke hitting deeper and deeper until he quickens his pace again.

nothing to say now, right?

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ “i can’t…” prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “i can’t believe you lied to me.”

²⁾ “i can’t do this anymore.”

³⁾ “i can’t talk about it. i want to, please believe me, but i’m just not ready.”

⁴⁾ “i can’t sleep. mind if i join you?”

⁵⁾ “i can’t stay with [name] when i still have these feelings for you.”

⁶⁾ “i can’t wrap my mind around why it happened.”

⁷⁾ “i can’t be the only one who sees how she looks at you.”

⁸⁾ “i can’t keep putting you in danger! being with me isn’t worth your life- you must realise that!”

⁹⁾ “i can’t find it in myself to care anymore.”

¹⁰⁾ “i can’t watch.”

¹¹⁾ “i can’t stand by and look on while you keep putting yourself through this.”

¹²⁾ “i can’t keep this from them and you knew that when you told me!”

¹³⁾ “i can’t stop seeing it. every time i close my eyes it’s like i’m right back there, reliving it over and over with no way to change the outcome.”

¹⁴⁾ “i can’t believe you remembered.”

¹⁵⁾ “i can’t face them on my own- please come with me.”

¹⁶⁾ “i can’t be with you like that. not anymore.”

¹⁷⁾ “i can’t tell you how much i appreciate this.”

¹⁸⁾ “i can’t break the lock! how are we going to get out of here?!”

¹⁹⁾ “i can’t stand him. please bail me out of this, i’ll owe you forever.”

²⁰⁾ “i can’t shake the feeling that something bad’s about to happen.”

²¹⁾ “i can’t keep lying to everyone… it’s killing me.”

²²⁾ “i can’t possibly ever tell you just how much i adore you, but i’ll damn well spend the rest of our lives trying to.”

²³⁾ “i can’t bear that prick.”

²⁴⁾ “i can’t believe you drinking straight bourbon in a paddling pool isn’t the weirdest thing i’ve seen this morning.”

²⁵⁾ “i can’t get to you, and neither can the team. you’re- you’re gonna have to make it out of there on your own, kid.”

²⁶⁾ “i can’t get passed over for this promotion again, not after working myself like a goddamn dog to see it happen.”

²⁷⁾ “i can’t be expected to feign interest in a conversation whilst you look as good as this, now can i?”

²⁸⁾ “i can’t walk in there dressed like this- in your clothes!”

²⁹⁾ “i can’t shake the feeling that something bad’s about to happen.”

³⁰⁾ “i can’t believe a bullet wound still isn’t enough to get you to lay off those stupid pickup lines.”

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 29]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.4k

ao3 link

Foggy never thought he would be babysitting Matthew Murdock’s kid.

As much as Foggy loves Matt - and it is a lot - he is the first to admit his best friend is more than a bit of a disaster. Matt is brilliant and kind and truly a good soul, but he is also a self-destructive idiot with more baggage than any airport in the nation. He always tries to do the right thing, but the right thing never seems to involve taking care of himself. And that doesn’t even include all the Daredevil bullshit.

If Matt had come to him a few months ago and told Foggy he wanted to be a father - to go out and have a kid at that exact moment - Foggy would have beat him over the head with the nearest solid object. Matt can barely run his own life - there was no way he could raise a child.

Matt was still working on even managing to have friends and a real life outside of his mask and his ability to balance it all had been on thin ice. Matt getting into a serious relationship had been a laughable idea and that relationship leading to a baby wasn’t even a thought. 

As far as Foggy had been concerned, as long as he was Daredevil, Matt was destined to be a bachelor. 

So, of course, God’s favorite punching bag was told he already is a father. 

The change in Matt isn’t what Foggy expected. He expected panic. He expected Matt to be in Church for eight hours a day praying for guidance while he had a crisis. He expected Matt to spiral.

He hadn’t expected him to take to being a father like a duck to water. He hadn’t expected it to completely rewrite his best friend’s DNA. 

It seemed like overnight the dumpster fire of a man he knew was replaced - born from those ashes was someone who Foggy almost didn’t recognize. 

It was a Matt who cares about himself. One who isn't being reckless. One who no longer hides things from Foggy and Karen, who lies about injuries and thinks he is a one-man army. 

In the office, if Matt isn’t working, he’s listening to self-help or parenting books. He talks to other people, and he actually makes an effort to not look like he’s getting abused. He’s focused in a way Foggy hasn’t seen since college and it makes Foggy so so happy. 

But it also terrifies him because he doesn’t know how long it will last. Is this a temporary change or has Matt finally learned he isn’t alone, and his actions affect others?

It is too early to tell and Foggy feels like a complete asshole for doubting his friend and waiting for the ball to drop, but he feels like he’s also being realistic. 

Matt has hurt him so much over their friendship - and Foggy has hurt him, too - and his sweet angel of a child doesn’t deserve to have that be a possibility for her. 

As far as Foggy can tell, Minnie inherited all the best parts of Matt - his smile, his charm, and his inherently good nature. He knows if Matt doesn’t manage to fuck it up - and Foggy prays he doesn’t - she is going to grow up to be a beautiful woman, heart and soul, with no reason to yell at God. 

He couldn’t ask for a better little girl to babysit. 

All she wants to do is watch Lady and the Tramp over and over and Foggy couldn’t be happier to oblige. It is easy to sit back and watch the movie - he hasn't seen it in a long time, and he forgot how charming all the characters are.

It is halfway through the third viewing of the movie when big brown eyes finally tear themselves away from the screen. Foggy watches curiously as Minnie slips off the couch and toddles over to her toy chest in the corner of the room. She methodically begins going through her things, lifting up each toy and giving it a good once over before setting it back down.

“What’cha doing, squirt?” he asks.

Minnie does not look back to him as she replies, her tone making him feel like it is the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m gonna make dinner.” 

Dinner was had before Foggy arrived for babysitting duty, so he guesses it is time for some make believe. He is very much used to this from watching over his nieces and he wonders what kind of play will be in store for him. 

The first toy she deems worthy to have a seat at the table is a Barbie and the second, almost immediately after, is a floppy looking bear that clearly has had another life before this one. The pair are transported to the coffee table and delicately sat down before Minnie whips her head around to look up at Foggy.

“They need says-or-eases,” she says seriously. He can barely get out a confused ‘okay’ before she’s scampering down the hallway to the bedroom. He decides to sit and wait to see what is going to happen. Moments later, the little girl is back in the living room with an armful of supplies. He can make out a lot of costume jewelry, and among the fake pearls and gems, a pair of fake glasses. 

It is all dumped in front of the table unceremoniously before she is off to collect something else. 

Foggy stays on the couch as markers and a variety of play food join the pile on the floor. He has no idea what could be going on in the mind of the toddler, but it is amusing that she is so determined in her task.

Finally, everything is gathered and Minnie plops down in front of her toys, mouth turned down as she focuses. She starts sorting through things, making multiple little piles, and Foggy can’t help but ask, “Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m a Big Girl,” she replies factually, not even bothering to look up. She’s completely locked in on whatever it is she is doing, and since she’s doing nothing deemed risky, Foggy lets his eyes go back to the movie. 

As Lady roams the streets of some unnamed city, Minnie dresses up her toys. Barbie gets draped in so many necklaces her torso is no longer visible, and the bear gets the glasses. She hums and haws over the positioning on his muzzle for a good minute before she takes them off and disappears from Foggy’s eyeline. Her feet pop up a second later and he determines she is laying tummy down on the ground.

He checks his phone as she plays - replying to messages from Marci and Karen and going through a few work emails. 

He is in the middle of checking his calendar when Minnie’s curls reappear in front of him and she is back to trying to balance the glasses on the bear’s face.

Except, now, the lens of the glasses have been colored over in red marker and Foggy knows exactly who the floppy bear is meant to be.

“Is that your Daddy?” he asks, not at all containing the glee in his voice. Karen is going to Love this. 

“Uh-huh,” the baby tells him as she finally manages to get the accessory to stay on. She grabs the doll next and holds it up to show it off. “This is Mommy.”

“That’s Mommy?” Foggy confirms. He quickly switches his phone over to his camera app to start taking a million and a half pictures.

“Uh-huh. They are on a date. Like Lady and Tramp,” she explains, “We gotta make them dinner.”

His heart absolutely soars and he knows this is one of those stories he is going to tell everyone - Matt’s precious little daughter pretending her toys are her parents on a date, while her real parents are out on their first date. It is some of the cutest shit he’s ever seen and he’s glad he’s the one who agreed to babysit. 

He pushes himself up into standing, so ready to get in on this make believe action, “Of course. What are we making them for dinner?”

They spend the next five minutes rearranging things - the play kitchen set is moved into the real kitchen and Foggy drapes a throw blanket between two chairs so the dining guests can’t see the food being prepared. Mommy Doll and Daddy Bear get a plastic Pooh Bear plate between them, and an LED candle is scrounged up to give the date the right ambience. 

Foggy gets designated as the Waiter - he even slicks his hair back and lets Minnie draw a pencil mustache under her nose and she, of course, is the Chef, as well as puppeteer of the toys. 

Once everything is set up - the make believe begins.

“Oh, ho, hon,” Foggy says in a horrible French accent as he kneels beside the coffee table, a pad of paper and a pen in hand. “What a lovely couple! You are looking so beautiful this evening, mademoiselle!” 

“Thank you!” Minnie chimes, altering her voice just a little to be higher as she takes hold of the doll to make it bounce as it ‘talks’. “You are beauty-fulls too!” She then grabs the bear with her other hand and shakes him just a bit, making him sound gruff as he chastises, “What about me?”

“You are as handsome as ever, sir,” is his cheesy reply. With too much flourish, he brings up his pen and positions it on his paper, “What drinks can I get started for you? Water? Juice? Wine? May I suggest a bit of hot cocoa?” He over emphasizes the last word, making the little girl start to giggle.

“We don’ts have cocoa! Only water and appy juice!”

Foggy dramatically throws his hand over his heart, “My apologies! The chef has let me know our options tonight are Water de Aqua and Appy Juice.”

“We want appy juice!” Daddy Bear tells him, and he makes sure to write the order in nice big letters.

“A wonderful selection, sir! We get it from the finest grocer, and it is chilled to perfection. Shall I get you started with some appetizers?”

Minnie squints over to him, tilting her head to the side and doing a wonderful impression of Matt as she asks, “What is an appy-tiger?”

“It is a snack you get before dinner, so you don’t get hungry while the Chef makes the food,” he explains in his normal voice. 

The toddler nods like she really understands what he means, then she turns her two toys to face each other. Mommy Doll is moved first, “Do you want an appy-tiger?” 

Daddy Bear’s head nods as Minnie grumbles out, “I want a cheese stick and ice-cream. Please, thank you.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Mommy Doll replies. She is turned towards Foggy so hard her necklaces clatter together, “I want a cheese stick, too. Please, thank you.”

He writes down the request and promises, “That will be right out.” As he pushes himself up onto his feet, Minnie streaks past him to get to her kitchen before him. He purposefully takes his time, letting her get herself set up before he arrives. “Order up! We got two cheese sticks and an ice cream for the couple at table one.”

“Two cheese sticks and ice cream!” The little girl calls back excitedly. She moves to start digging through her plastic food, but then she freezes, and she gets a look on her face Foggy has seen so many times on Matt’s that he’s lost count.

She’s heard something. 

Before Foggy can ask what it is, the unmistakable sound of a fuse being blown fills the air and the power dies, leaving them in a deep darkness. A brief panic takes a hold of him - he’s been in far too many situations where this sort of thing means danger - but logic prevails, and he rushes over to the window to assess the damage. 

The neighboring buildings still have their lights on, so someone in the building must have overloaded something. It happens all the time in the heat of the summer and not a cause for him to go into fight or flight mode.

“Looks like it is just us,” he tells Minnie as he turns back to her. He can only just barely make out her outline - there is only one window in the room, and it faces an alley. There is next to no light filtering in and the only thing still going in the apartment is the weak LED candle.

He expects Minnie to be scared - after all the sudden lack of light is kind of terrifying - but she seems completely unaffected. 

“The tee-vee turned off,” is what she replies with, sounding annoyed as can be. 

“Everything turned off,” Foggy counters. “We’ve got no electricity. We have to wait for it to come back on.”

He hears her huff as he makes his way back to the couch. He’s careful as he moves, not wanting to accidentally crush any of the playthings that have been spread around. 

“Do you still want to play Dinner Date?” He asks. It is pretty dark, but if they just stick with going between the couch and the fake-kitchen, he thinks things should be okay. 

“No, I wanna watch Lady and Tramp.” There is a slight whine in her voice that makes him think this might turn into tears and his heart breaks a little. He doesn’t want to be the one to deny her anything. 

“The power is out, squirt. The television isn’t going to work. We have to do something that doesn’t require power.” 

“Why?” He can hear the underlying Murdock Anger in her question, and he notes it is something he’ll have to tell Matt.

“Do you know how it usually makes this sort of noise?” Foggy asks before humming. He can sometimes hear electricity, so he knows she must know what he’s talking about. She confirms with a little ‘uh-huh’ and he continues on. “Well, that means it is getting power and can work. It’s not getting power right now, so it can’t work.”

He hopes the logic makes sense in her little brain. 

She doesn’t respond right away and that worries him. He plucks the little LED candle up from the coffee table and holds it up like a torch. It barely casts enough light for him to see his hand and does nothing to help him locate the curly haired toddler. 

He walks slowly over to the kitchen, hoping to find her pouting by her toys, but the area is empty. He did not hear the pitter patter of feet and groans at the thought of another ninja in his life. 

Of course, Matt’s child would be able to sneak around in the dark undetected. Why wouldn’t she?

“Minnie,” he calls out softly, hoping this doesn’t turn into a game of hide and seek. “Where are you?” 

He turns in place, trying to remember if he left his phone on the table or on the couch. The battery is in the forty percent zone, and he’d rather save it than use it as a light source. He’s pretty sure he was told there are flashlights under the sink, but he can’t remember if it was the kitchen or bathroom sink. 

He decides to try the kitchen sink first and blindly makes his way there. He admittedly doesn’t have the best vision anymore and his eyes are taking forever to adjust to the meager amount of light, so he has to move slowly.

“Will you read me Lady and Tramp?” a tiny voice suddenly asks from right beside his knee and Foggy totally doesn’t scream.

“You totally need a bell,” he tells the child before rubbing at his face with his candle free hand. “If you help me find a flashlight, I can read to you.”

The noise of annoyance Minnie makes is right from Matt’s playbook, “why do you needs a flashlight?”

He wonders if this is the first power outage she has experienced, but if that was so, he doubts he would have been told where the flashlights were. Though, Minnie’s mom is a bit paranoid and anxious, so it could have been a ‘just in case’ thing, but who really knows.

It is a question for later. Right now, he has an annoyed toddler ready to bite his ankles over Lady and the Tramp.

“It’s too dark for me to read,” he tries to explain, hoping she will accept the answer. 

She doesn’t.

Instead, he gets sassed.

“It’s not dark.”

“It is, too,” he counters. 

He can perfectly picture little hands-on hips as she doubts him, “Not-uh.”

He resists the urge to say ‘uh-huh’ and attempts to rationalize with her, “Mouse, I can barely see past my nose. It’s too dark for me to read to you without a flashlight. Can you help me find one?”

He can just see her curly head of hair looking up at him and he doesn’t need to see her face to feel her judgement. With the huff so haughty it could rival Marci, Minnie plops down to the ground and drops something that sounds like a picture book in front of her. 

His suspicions are proved right when he hears the soft fluttering of pages. 

“El…ay..dee..why. El..ay..La! La..dee…Lay..dee..Lady!” Her little voice is full of frustration as she tries to sound out the word Foggy knows she can’t really see and his heart pangs in sympathy.

“Minnie, don’t strain your eyes. Let’s just find a flashlight, it’s too dark to read.”

“I want Lady and Tramp!” The little Murdock barks at him, “I can reads it!” He hears what must be her finger hitting the page and he pictures her trying to trace the words. “La..La..lady. Lady. wuh…wuh..double-you ay ess. Wuh…Wuh-ah…Wuh-ah..”

“Was?” he tries to supply, feeling so guilty. He should just step away and find the flashlight before she really hurts her eyes, but he doesn’t want to leave her when she’s getting into a mood, even if it’s a few feet.

Apparently, helping is not what she wants, because he instantly gets her tiny wrath, “I can reads it myselfs!”

Foggy’s hands shoot up in front of him in the universal ‘my bad’ pose and he apologies, “I’m sorry. Let me get the light and we can read together.” He decides, if anything, he’ll just go grab his phone and waste the battery. Anything is better than upsetting Minnie the first time he properly babysits her. She’ll never want to stay with him again and he’s pretty sure Matt would easily bend to her will. 

“But I can sees it!” She practically yells it at him, her voice getting wet and wobbly. There is a hint of desperation in it that makes Foggy feel like an absolute villain for not believing her. “I can sees it and reads it by myself!”

He gives up on trying to convince her and pivots to go to get his phone. As he carefully steps around her to find his way back to the couch, she picks up her watery ‘reading’ again.

“La..Lady wuh-was a…Lady was a..el..el you..el you see kay…”

Foggy locates his phone on the coffee table and it wakes up as soon as he picks it up. The light hurts his eyes, and he has to look away so he isn’t blinded by it. 

Daddy Bear looks up at him from his interrupted coffee table date, beady little black eyes hidden behind red lenses and so suddenly, with enough force to cause him mental whiplash, Foggy feels like a complete idiot. 

He turns to shine his phone on Minnie, who is hunched over her book, trying her very best to sound out the words. 

“See..Kay…Luh…Luh..see..kay..why..Luh see kay why.”

She is trying to read the word ‘lucky ’he realizes. He knows kids can memorize stories, but there’s no way such a little baby can memorize how to spell all the words and pretend to read them out loud. 

But this isn’t just any normal little baby. 

This is Matt Murdock’s little baby. 

Matt Murdock - who has enhanced senses and passed them on. 

Matt Murdock - who is blind and wouldn’t know what it would be like to have enhanced eyesight. 

“Holy shit,” Foggy says to himself. “She’s got dark vision.”

--

a/n :

i'm sorry, this chapter fought me so much. Foggy refuses to cooperate with me :( this is nothing like i was planning and I kinda hate it

--

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[laurachouettepoetry]

WE ARE OUR OWN CREATION

How high a sinful mind can wander before it reaches heaven?

How deep a second love can run before it is forgiven?

How many lines a poet can write before being criticised?

How many lines can a painter create before being copied?

I say, there is no limit to any of these for we are still our own creation.

- LAURA CHOUETTE

[aiktad]

"you don't actually take selfshipping seriously, right?" i do yeah. im holding the plushie i named after him. we're watching roblox video essays until my melatonin kicks in

[foggynelsonslucioushair2]

Bagginshield 2024: Khuzdûl

It was a typical evening in Bag End.

Young Frodo had run off to the pub, leaving Bilbo and Thorin to “totter around the house like a pair of ancient wizards,” as Bilbo was fond of putting it. He was currently at his writing desk, quill in hand and fingertips stained in ink as he scribbled on his latest project, a Sindarin to Westron dictionary that would be useful for Shire-folk. From the fireside seat where he sat idly plucking at his harp, Thorin could see the ink smudges on his dear hobbit’s lips and cheek, sure signs that Bilbo was deep in thought.

Thorin’s fingers froze on the harp strings when Bilbo suddenly turned to him and, with a bright smile, called out “Thîr vain chîn darn thulen!”

“What… What was that, my love?” said Thorin, sitting back from the harp and turning towards Bilbo.

“Thîr vain chîn darn thulen,” said Bilbo a bit slower, although it still meant less than a bit of rock in a miner’s hand to Thorin. “It’s a Sindarin phrase meaning ‘you are so lovely you stop my breath,’ or perhaps ‘you are a breathtaking beauty.’ But that translation still doesn’t perfectly convey the awe in the original Sindarin…”

Bilbo began muttering, once again turning back to his writing, and Thorin watched him for a moment, bemusement warring with affection in his heart. He supposed Bilbo’s love for words was similar to his own love for jewels and skillful craftsmanship, but flowery language wasn’t anything he himself understood. Words should be practical, solid, and useful, like those in Khuzdûl: Ibinê, my gem. Bunnel, Treasure above all treasures. Âzyungal, my One. How lovely and straightforward these words were, and so fitting for one as precious to him as Bilbo.

Thorin was startled from his thoughts as Bilbo whirled around in his chair again. “I’ll bet in Khuzdûl, you call those you love something like ‘precious gems.’”

Thorin tensed, wondering for a brief moment if Bilbo had somehow acquired the ability to read his mind somewhere along their travels.

Bilbo evidently took his tension another way, chuckling as he said “I suspect I’m right, but don’t worry, my dear. I won’t let this knowledge slip to anyone. I swear it on the fullness of my pantry and the hairiness of my toes. And that’s a promise that means something to a Hobbit, just so you know.”

Thorin’s shoulders untensed slightly. “Of course I trust you, Bilbo, and it’s not as if you actually know the Khuzdul word. I just hope you can understand that this is the one thing I cannot share with you, even though everything else is freely yours.”

“Oh, hush, Thorin. Of course I understand. I wouldn’t want you to speak your secret language to me any more than I’d expect you to ask me to freely give away my mother’s spoons. I may be your husband but I’m not a dwarf, and it just won’t do.”

“Well, I may not be able to speak Khuzdul with you, but may I sometimes call you ‘Treasure of my treasure’?”

Bilbo’s teasing grin turned soft. “That will do very well, my dear.”

I'm late!!! Oh, well. Here's the first of a series of mini-fics I've been working on, trying to get motivated to write something again. Since dwarves keep their language a secret from anyone who's not dwarvish, I wondered how Bilbo would deal with that. And of course, domestic fic because I want these two to be happy!

[sunflowersandsapphires]

hello my darling love i would like to purchase a peony!

Matt and Foggy trying to cook dinner in college once they finally get a room with access to a kitchen 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

i just think they’d both be hilariously clueless

Flinching at the sound of thick metal slabs clanging together, you dug your nails into clammy palms. “Are you sure you don’t need any help in there?”

”NO!“ ”All good, bug!“ Were the two responses that flew from the warm light of the kitchen, the men yelling them still concealed by the thin wall separating you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you willed your anxiety to quiet, running through the quickest route out of the building in case a fire broke out. Which seemed far too likely at this point.

You couldn't blame the boys for their excitement, living a whole year without a kitchen must've been torture. But you didn't quite trust the pair of them with knives. Or open flames.

Unfortunately for your anxiety, they'd insisted on cooking you dinner when you got back to town. It was sweet and so adorably them that you agreed to the idea, only regretting it when their smoke alarm was set off. For the third time.

Abandoning the code of manners you'd been bound by, you darted into the kitchen, fanning a hand in front of your face to waft the pale smoke away from your nose. Blinking through the sudden irritatant assaulting your vision, you made out the shadowy outlines of your two best friends, the shorter of the pair straining to reach the ceiling to reset the smoke detector. Poor Matt had his hands mashed over his ears, hunching further and further in on himself as the white disc shrieked from above.

Jogging past Foggy, you placed a hand on Matt's shoulder, leading him out of the room when he toppled into you with a whine. Once you'd half-walked, half-carried Matt over to their second-hand couch, the beeping ceased. Both of you sighed heavily, tilting farther into each other's space with relief.

”Ow,“ Matt chuckled weakly, nudging your pulse point with his nose.

Humming sympathetically, you brushed his fringe from his forehead. ”You should take some aspirin before you get a migraine.“

”I would, but all my stuff is still in boxes.“ He murmured with a shudder.

”Well,” Foggy entered the room, looking like a weary housewife with a scorched tea towel hanging over his shoulder and a fraying apron tied around his waist. “Chicken's toast. No coming back from that. Ideas?”

“Pizza?” Matt suggested, his voice still hushed, as if he were still hearing the beeping and his vocal chords hadn't adjusted.

“I could eat pizza.” You agreed, stomach grumbling its assent. Looking to Foggy, you beamed at him when he gave a firm nod.

“Great plan kids. Hang tight.” Whipping out his phone, he paced toward an armchair while dialing.

“Probably for the best,” Matt remarked with a smirk. “There was no way you were making it out tonight without food poisoning if we cooked for you.”

With a shrug, you elbowed him gently. “Cut yourself some slack, trouble. You have plenty of time to practice.”

[demonzoro]

anyone got art/writing/life goals for the new year?

[foggyfanfic]

The House is In Danger

Summary: Watching her granddaughter risk her life to save the candle while her oldest friend falls to pieces around her ears, Alma sends out a desperate prayer for the chance to fix her mistakes. The prayer is answered and soon Alma finds that she can spend more time with her family, she can say all the right things, she can be exactly the woman she wishes she was, but no matter what she does, Mirabel was right. The house is in danger.

Or Read on AO3

Loop 1

Alma watched, frozen, as Mirabel climbed the improvised ladder Casita had provided for her. Her grandchildren were focused on the candle, Mirabel wasn’t the only one risking her life to save it, she was just the one that had gotten the farthest. Casita crumbled to pieces as Mirabel soldiered on, desperation seeping out of her. Abuela could feel Casita’s panic, could feel the question circling through whatever mind and soul the house had “Will I last long enough to protect her?”

Casita was dying.

And Mirabel could die too. Mirabel could die right now. For a candle.

Alma squeezed her eyes shut and reached back to Casita trying to pour whatever strength she had through that strange connection she’d always felt with the house. In return she felt something mournful echo back at her, she didn’t fully understand the sentiment Casita was trying to communicate but she got that the basic gist was “It’s too late to save me”. She tried to argue, tried to bolster the house with her own strength of will, but Casita was so certain, so insistent that all they could hope for was that Mirabel wouldn't be crushed when Casita gave out. There wasn't enough time to truly argue either, Mirabel was climbing the roof and the tower above her was swaying ominously.

Fighting off a sob, Alma switched focus. She reached out to the candle and begged it to save her granddaughter, to save Casita, to give Alma a chance to fix her mistakes.

Something inside of her lit up. Then the sounds of panic and destruction faded away. She waited with baited breath, but didn't hear her family cry out in either dismay or relief. Alma opened her eyes and found the whole world had faded into a gray fog. Instead of her entire family standing behind her, instead of the chaos that had been before her, Alma was alone in the fog, there was no sound, there was no shadow, there was nothing.

A part of her mind, a detached and distant part, just sighed tiredly. She didn’t grow up with magic, and although she had now spent more of her life surrounded by it than not, it still took her aback every now and again.

She waited, but once the fog had set in, nothing happened. Slowly turning in a circle Alma searched the endless gray for some hint of what the candle had done, but no hint popped out at her. She could still feel that odd glow in her chest, the one that appeared when Pedro died and continued to flare up throughout her life, so she knew something was happening. She just couldn’t tell what.

Not sure what else to do, Alma whispered, “Please, let me fix this.”

A second or two passed, then Alma heard a voice, a familiar voice shouting familiar words, “The house is in danger!”

Two seconds passed.

Alma blinked and she was standing on a dance floor, music crashing out of existence as suddenly as it had appeared while startled players turned to watch Mirabel run up to Alma. Mirabel was still talking but Alma didn’t hear her.

She looked around, at all the faces, at Antonio’s new room, at her familia. Although she knew her family’s magic was capable of great miracles, her first thought was that she was simply dreaming she was back at Antonio’s party. That a bit of falling house had hit her head and now she got to spend a few hours imagining that she had made a different choice when Mirabel first tried to warn her. But this didn’t feel like a dream. She pinched her palm and almost flinched from the sharp pain.

This was real. Somehow, this was real.

Mirabel reached her and finished her warning with the most damning words Alma had ever heard, “And the candle almost went out.”

Alma looked at her, really looked at her, then slowly stepped forward and hugged Mirabel as tightly as she could. She wanted to sob, wanted to cry and wail and tell Mirabel how sorry she was. But the village was relying on her. As the reality of her situation sunk in, so did the weight of her neighbors’ stares. So she took a deep breath, then stepped back, gently holding Mirabel’s startled face.

“Are you alright?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I-I… yes,” Mirabel said, sounding uncertain.

Alma nodded, she had to pause for a beat to think, then turned to search the crowd, “Dolores, did you hear the cracks?”

She must have, right? She must have heard the cracks. Why hadn’t Dolores said anything?

Dolores let out a little eep as the entire party turned to look at her, then slowly she nodded, “They’re already closing though.”

Whispers spread through the crowd, Alma couldn’t hear them all, but she did hear the phrase “What does that mean?” come from a few different people.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Alma pointed out.

Dolores gulped, then with red tipped ears said, “The cracks open and close all the time, Casita has never been worried about it, so I-I think it’s normal.”

More whispering followed this statement. Alma nodded. She didn’t say anything at first, she knew it wasn’t normal, she knew where the cracks would lead. But there were so many questions that needed answering, the main one being how she was back here in this moment again, that focusing on Dolores’ erroneous assumptions hardly seemed to matter.

And there was a village to be kept calm.

“So, we are safe,” Alma concluded, because she knew that they were, it would take another couple days for the cracks to tear the house apart.

“This has happened before? Normal?!” Mirabel echoed, she didn’t shout or hiss, her voice trembled as she gaped at Dolores.

Alma looked at her again, then said as she herself realized the truth of her words, “That must have been very frightening to witness.”

How scared had Mirabel been? How hadn't Alma considered that before?

Mirabel laughed, an ironic gasp of air as she at first nodded, then shrugged, “I thought... I thought Casita was about to collapse with…”

With the entire village inside.

Alma gulped, a few people sucked air in through their teeth. The mood shifted from anxious to something much more sympathetic, although Alma may have been projecting on her guests. Mirabel suddenly looked so young to Alma, fifteen suddenly seemed like such a minuscule number. Alma searched the crowd until she found Julieta’s eyes and nodded at her.

“Go with your mother, I will be right out. Dolores and I both will be right out,” Alma said, “I would like to know more about these cracks that come and go.”

Mirabel nodded, allowing Julieta to lead her away.

Faintly, Alma heard Julieta say, “Ay mija, what happened to your hand?”

“I uh a shingle fell off the roof and when I picked it up I-, yeah, this,” Mirabel said, showing her Má the hand that presumably had a cut on it. Alma couldn’t see it for herself, but the people Mirabel and Julieta passed on their way out the door craned their necks to see it and some grimaced at the sight.

Alma watched them go, then turned her attention to the expectant faces of her neighbors. For their sake she slapped on a weary smile.

It took her a second to find the right words, but eventually she said, “Well! It looks like tomorrow I will have quite a lot of work to do. And I’m sorry to say, I will be looping some of you into it too. For tonight, let’s drink, celebrate our blessings, and most of all, put our worries off for a few more hours, eh? The miracle is strong, and so are the drinks, so come, come, play the music, enjoy the food! Tomorrow there is work to do, but now? Right now, let us celebrate!”

This got the party back on track, although a few people stopped Dolores on her way towards the door to ask that she was sure the cracks were normal, to which she replied, “I’ve heard them come and go since I got my gift.”

That seemed to put the last few guests at ease, surely if the cracks had been appearing and disappearing by themselves for sixteen years there was nothing to worry about.

Alma knew better though, so she did one more round at the party then joined Dolores, Julieta, and Mirabel in the kitchen. She hugged Mirabel again, because she could, then had her walk Abuela through what she saw. When Abuela asked Casita about the cracks, Casita had fewer answers than Alma would have liked. All Casita knew was the cracks happened when and where Casita felt weak.

When she had run out of leads for the night she dragged Mirabel back to the party, keeping her granddaughter close at hand as she mingled, scarcely letting go of her shoulder for a single second while she played the part of cheerful host. Every time she blinked she saw a flicker of that last second before she started praying, Mirabel reaching for the sputtering candle while the tower began to fall on top of her. When the night was over she found herself reluctant to let Mirabel out of her sight.

But how was she supposed to explain what had happened? How was she supposed to tell Mirabel and her parents that she almost watched the girl die for a candle? How was she supposed to explain that she already did all of this, that she already lived this day, and the next, and some of the day after that? That she had failed so severely, that she had allowed her own arrogance to literally tear their home apart? She couldn’t, she barely understood it herself, so she gave Mirabel one last hug and sent her off to bed. She tried going to bed herself, she really did. She would need plenty of rest if she was going to fix things.

When sleep evaded her, Alma took her locket and her rosary and walked over to her window.

“Ay Pedro, what is happening? What am I supposed to do?” Alma whispered, “How do I keep this home from falling apart, how do I keep Mirabel-.”

As she spoke, Alma turned her head towards the nursery to gesture at it, and caught sight of a dark brown curl visible just past her window sill. She braced herself on the sill and leaned out. Mirabel stood on the roof outside her window, she had herself plastered to the wall, and although her face was obscured by her hair, Alma could see that Mirabel was starting to cringe.

“What are you doing?!” Alma hissed, then much louder, “You foolish child, get down from there before you fall to your death?! What are you thinking? It’s not safe! Do you have any idea what it would do to this family if you-!”

“I was just trying to find signs of the cracks,” Mirabel cried, even as she carefully scooted down the roof tiles.

“There is such a thing as a ladder!” Alma snapped, “And that would be ten times safer than you climbing around on a roof that you just saw crumble to pieces.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, I just wanted to help,” Mirabel groused, then carefully lowered herself down from the roof and out of Alma’s line of sight. Alma huffed and turned from the window, speed walking to her room’s door. When she left her room, Mirabel was apparently undeterred from helping and instead she was now investigating the walls between the doors.

“Mirabel, go to bed,” Alma ordered, “this doesn’t need to be any concern of yours.”

Mirabel got a look on her face usually reserved for when Isabela or Camilo said something Mirabel thought was stupid, “What?! I-I’m supposed to just… go to sleep?! The candle almost went out Abuela, it-, our house-! Our home-!”

Alma drew in a deep breath, Mirabel’s words echoed Alma’s own thoughts, and that somehow made the argument that hadn’t yet happened worse. This is what Mirabel had been thinking for the past forty eight hours. While Alma was trying to hold everything together, Mirabel had been doing the same.

“I’m not the one hurting this family,” Mirabel had yelled, “you are!”

“Uh Abuela?” The Mirabel of the here and now said, taking a step forward and holding out her hand.

Belatedly, Alma realized she was crying, she drew in a breath to say something, but it shook and catched. She tried again but this breath sounded almost like a sob.

“Shit,” she breathed, eliciting a gasp from Mirabel even as she covered her face, but there was no covering what was about to happen, no putting it off. She was lucky she had made it this far before the inevitable happened.

Mirabel and Casita almost died. Mirabel almost died trying to save the miracle, trying to protect their family, trying to save Casita from whatever Alma had done. And the last thing Alma would have said to her-. The last words Mirabel would have heard-.

Mirabel took another step, and Abuela snatched her close, held her tightly. She almost lost her, she almost lost another kid, just like she had lost her son. Alma almost lost her home again, not just her home but her oldest friend. And she may have lost her entire family if the miracle hadn’t decided to intervene, how would they ever have forgiven her for what she’d done? For all the ways she let them down? For the things she’d said to Mirabel in what would have been her final moments?

Living, and whole, and so very kind, her granddaughter rubbed her back and tried to sound comforting and confident as she reassured Alma they would figure it out. But she didn’t know what Abuela was actually crying about, she didn’t know what had Alma falling to pieces.

Mirabel and Casita almost died, Mirabel and Casita almost died, Mirabel and Casita almost died, Mirabel and Casita almost died, Mirabel and Casita almost died.

“Um, Abuela…?”

Who cares about saving the miracle, what good was it if her loved ones died.

“Um!!” Mirabel all but shouted in Alma’s ear, going completely rigid in her arms.

Alma lifted her head and found Mirabel staring at something behind her. She turned to follow Mirabel’s gaze and her breath caught in her throat.

The candle had gone out.

As soon as Alma noticed the candle had extinguished itself, the walls exploded with cracks. They spread quickly, much quicker than the ones that had consumed the house after her argument with Mirabel. Before she had time to do anything but shield Mirabel’s head, the house fell, with her entire family still inside.

There was a split second of pain, then the world was once again gray, once again nothing but fog.

Alma’s arms were empty. She stared down at them for an unknowable length of time, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. She felt the past few hours she had spent reliving Antonio's birthday party settle into her memory the way a very vivid dream might. It hadn't happened, not truly, but it had been real, she had experienced it. The changes she had made were erased, but the slight shift in her perspective remained. Mirabel hadn't left any warmth behind in Alma's arms, but she had warmed her Abuela all the same.

Without any sun, moon, or clock, Alma had no idea how long she spent contemplating the strange circumstance she now found herself in, or how long it took her to decide what to do next.

She closed her eyes and once again said, “Please, I just want to keep my family safe. Please, let me fix things.”

A couple seconds passed.

And then, “Má, I’m not trying to hurt people, I’m not trying to hurt this family, I-I just I don’t know how to…! I don’t know how to-.”

[etiamverba]

Went for a walk and got lost in the fog

[mmmurdockss]

Am I the only one who really didn't take kindly to Foggy and Karen treating Matt like an addict for his Daredevil-ing? I don't think there is ever any mention about the dehumanizing effect that has on Matt. It makes it look like it is justified for Foggy and Karen to call Matt that because the writing made it want to look like he mainly goes out at night just because he's angry and likes taking out that anger on criminals/craving for violence when that's not the case. One of the main reasons he can't give up Daredevil is that his senses allows him to hear the cries for help from people every night. And doing nothing would eat away at the soul of anyone who has even an ounce of empathy in their heart, but most especially Matt who we saw drop everything even when he was in critical condition to save a little boy.

Additionally, Matt's suicide attempt in Season 3 was never addressed by anyone at all, or when he showed suicidal ideations in front of Karen during the scene with Jasper Evans and the show just proceeded like normal and focused more on having them be mad at Matt for being a bad friend and nothing more.

I suppose I'm just scratching my head at the kind of callous attitude by the show's writing of Foggy and Karen towards Matt's clear mental illness. This is not to say mental illness is an excuse for every behavior, but if the writers can have Karen showing empathy towards Frank Castle and his PTSD then they could have the same for Matt's friends for his obvious chronic depression and suicidal ideations.

[amhrosina]

oh god, i made more. i can’t stop. here’s more marvel textposts (seriously sos i can’t stop).

[misskohane]

"In the mood for a gothic mystery..."

Nov, 2024

[foggynelsonslucioushair2]

Tails

The dragon’s roar echoed through the tunnel as Bilbo fled along it, the panic in his mind blocking almost every other sensation. He almost cried in relief when a glimmer of daylight, so different than the flickering firelight he was leaving behind, appeared farther along the passage. The open door finally appeared as he turned the last corner, the light gloriously strong, and in the light stood a figure that Bilbo would know anywhere despite the strong light obscuring all of their features.

“Thorin!” he gasped, coming to a stop before him, putting his hands on his knees and pulling in thin breaths.

Warmth enveloped his shoulders, and Bilbo glanced to see Thorin’s hands resting there, strong enough to steady him yet gentle enough not to press down on his smaller frame. After the fear of the dragon, Thorin’s touch was even more welcome than usual, and Bilbo pressed his own hands to Thorin’s, finally looking up at the dwarf.

“Thorin, I’ve spoken to the dragon,” said Bilbo. “I managed to put him off his stride a bit, but it didn’t do much good. Not that I know much about dragons, but Smaug seems like he’s going to be a real challenge.”

Thorin’s eyes gleamed, and he nodded. “That he will be.” Thorin lifted his hands from Bilbo’s shoulders before drawing him forward. “You’ve done well. Come and rest. Bombur, some tea and food for Mister Baggins.” He glanced down at Bilbo again. “And Ori, where are those healing herbs and bandages?”

Bilbo found himself seated on a somewhat comfy log by the fire, in a seat partially sheltered from the winds that roared down the sides of the Lonely Mountain. The dwarves bustled around him, some clapping him on the shoulder as they passed by, others nodding at him from afar.

He was studying the flames and shuddering at the remembrance of the fire following him down the passageway when a bulky presence dropped next to him on the log, and he turned to find Thorin there, holding a bundle of bandages and herb concoctions. Wordlessly, Thorin took Bilbo’s closest hand, turning it over and rinsing off the scrapes with water. Bilbo stared at his own hand in Thorin’s, stiff and unsure. Thorin had never done this for him, nor for any other member of the company that he could recall. He had assumed that Ori would be the one bandaging him up.

Working carefully and competently, Thorin bandaged Bilbo’s hands and the bottoms of his feet, and the small cuts and scrapes on his face where he had bounced off the stone in his hurry to escape. Bilbo sat through it mostly silently, with as straight a face as he could manage. He could feel the glances of some of the other dwarves, although now they were keeping their distance, preparing the food and organizing the supplies, chatting and playing a bit of quiet music together.

He wasn’t paying complete attention when Thorin took his shoulders and turned him slightly away, but he jumped when he felt a soft touch on his tail. Bilbo gave a yelp and leapt to his feet, then froze in place. He could feel every eye in the camp now on him, and he slowly turned to face Thorin, who thankfully looked more worried than stunned. “The burns are fairly bad, Mister Baggins, and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, but I promise that this salve will soothe them in no time.”

Bilbo felt himself begin to stammer, and took Thorin’s assumption as the safest explanation he could offer. He couldn’t for the life of him bring himself to admit what touching a hobbit’s tail meant in his culture, not with all the dwarves’ attention on himself and their king. “Oh… Oh, yes, it did hurt… I’m sorry for startling.” He forced himself to sit back down, and although everything within him was screaming worse than it had been when he faced Smaug, he sat still and calm while Thorin once again took hold of his tail, this time even more gently.

The salve did indeed burn for a moment where it touched the burns, but then there was a cooling relief. Bilbo could hardly believe how gentle Thorin’s calloused hands were on his tail. He’d seen the king wield swords and paddles, occasionally cook by the fire, and steer ponies among the best of them. He could imagine Thorin’s hand swinging hammers and handling hot iron in the forge. But he could never have imagined, before this moment, the proud dwarf touching Bilbo with such tender care—and on his tail, no less!

As Thorin began putting the finishing touches on the bandaging, Bilbo had a momentary urge to tell Thorin that touching tails in such a way was only for close family or spouses, and would that mean that Thorin would be proposing marriage any time soon? Another unbelievable idea, so unbelievable that Bilbo chuckled to himself for a moment, trying to disguise it as a cough. Ever serious and concerned, Thorin released Bilbo’s tail and came to crouch in front of him.

“Did you inhale much smoke?” he asked. “It’s probably best if you try to stay out of the way of the smoke from the campfire.”

Thorin’s face so close to his, those steady blue eyes gazing into his own, those gentle hands hovering over Bilbo’s, were almost worse than the touches to his tail. Bilbo resolutely cleared his throat. “I’m fine, Thorin. I just need some water and some rest and I’ll be right as rain. After all, there is still a lot of work for this burglar left to do.”

Thorin looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Which is why we need you in tip-top shape. I’ll leave you to it, Mister Baggins. I’ll have Bombur fetch you that tea and some water. Get some rest.”

And with those final words, Thorin was gone from Bilbo’s side, back to his usual self, issuing commands and standing around looking majestic and inspiring. Bilbo accepted the tea and water from Bombur and then was generally left alone to rest, which meant he was alone with his thoughts. Not that his thoughts were very scrutable at the moment. He felt a bizarre mixture of leftover fear from the encounter with Smaug mixed with pride at the skill and cunning he had hardly known he possessed. To face a creature so deadly and survive! Not many could say the same.

And then there was Thorin. Bilbo could still feel those phantom touches on his hands and tail. They made his chest feel warm and his cheeks hot, and Bilbo wasn’t sure he wanted to interrogate why. Especially after Thorin’s final dismissal. Of course, Thorin only saw Bilbo as the company’s burglar. He might appreciate Bilbo’s skills and see him as a valued companion, but there was doubtless no more than that. With all that already weighed on the dwarven king’s heart and mind—lost treasure, a stolen home, a company of dwarves to wrangle, a dragon to face—surely there was no room left to even consider, well, whatever it was that Bilbo was secretly yearning for in his heart.

Bilbo absentmindedly whipped his tail and winced at the pain that lanced through it. But the jolt helped him leave his wandering thoughts, and he shifted his mind to the dragon that lay in wait for them tomorrow. What Bilbo wanted could wait. First, they had an unwelcome house guest to get rid of.