#forgive whatever is going on in the background and that railing

[mispatchedgreens]

drift compatible bitches bc like knows like

[heliza24]

In which I try to figure out Armand:

My brain has been ticking away thinking about Armand ever since episode 2.1. I have been fascinated and irritated by Armand in the off-season, so to speak, because I love Daniel and relate to him so much, and I know Armand is going to be very important to him. But we were given so little of Armand last season it has just felt impossible to get a grip on what his deal is. I am admittedly not a book reader, but I also feel like these feelings are still justified because the show version of Armand is so different than the book, in circumstance at least. So he’s the character I’m most interested in this season.

We still didn’t get a lot of him in ep 1, but I’ve been thinking about him and synthesizing some of the stuff that people have been saying about him in interviews, especially about his relationship to control. I’m specifically thinking about Hannah describing him as “Louis’s creature” and saying that he’ll do whatever Louis wants, and that this is part of their sexual dynamic as well. I think this makes sense with what we’ve seen in the trailers; it seems like Louis is the more sexually dominant one between them. So Armand is happy to be more of a sub in the bedroom and in their original flirtations. Maybe in their earlier dynamic as a couple too, we’ll have to see. Meanwhile, he’s in the background, arranging scenery, pulling strings, trying to do everything he can to hold onto Louis and keep him at least passingly happy. This, by the way, perfectly meshes with his role as director at the theatre. Never in the limelight, but always in control. (The stage management school of sexuality, if you will.). I think that emphasis on control probably becomes more pronounced as the years go on, and Louis is sitting in his grief for Claudia and more of their initial spark dies. But it also perfectly explains the Rashid act. Armand is comfortable playing a servant role. He’s comfortable observing from just off stage. He’s comfortable doing those things if it means ultimately having a better grasp on the way the scene unfolds.

For his part I think Louis is probably drawn to the way Armand seamlessly irons out the bumps in his life. The penthouse is a cage, but Louis is his own jailer; Armand isn’t the one keeping him there. There’s probably an interesting comparison to be made against Lestat here. Lestat revels in melodrama and high emotions, while Armand is intent on maintaining a facade of calm stability. It makes sense to me that Louis would have leaned into this facade, even if he knew it was partially a falsehood, after losing Claudia. I think this is true even around Claudia’s death. It was easier for Louis to forget and forgive whatever part Armand played in it, and allow Real Rashid to hide those diary pages away, than to really reckon with Claudia’s death.

I think Louis requested the interview as part of his general goal to narrativize and soften his own memories and grief, and Armand acquiesced in order to keep Louis. The original goal of the interview was for Louis to convince himself he really had killed Lestat, literally and maybe emotionally too. I think it’s possible that Lestat is back in the picture somehow and the interview is Louis’s last ditch effort to convince himself not to return to his maker. But then of course the whole thing goes off the rails and Louis ends up facing down his true memories for the first time in years. It makes sense that when put in an uncomfortable situation- watching Louis talk about Lestat- Armand would default to his old role of manipulating things from the wings of the metaphorical penthouse stage. Him stepping into the interview is a big departure from that, and shows how effectively Daniel has rattled him.

So how this plays against Daniel is interesting. Armand is putting on a big show about how he and Louis were able to manipulate Daniel in San Francisco. But I wonder how true that ever really was. I imagine even in San Francisco, Daniel represented a completely opposite dynamic to Armand’s relationship with Louis, which would have hooked Armand’s attention. If Louis appeared in control on the surface, but relied on Armand’s ability to arrange the periphery of his life, Daniel would have appeared to be easily (and perhaps happily) dominated, but resistant to Armand’s larger attempts to control his life. Obviously I don’t know exactly how they’ll play out a 1970s devil’s minion scenario. But I imagine that Daniel’s addiction, and Armand’s misguided attempts to protect him from it, will play a role in whatever kind of break up and memory erasure ensues. Whether it was the addiction or his personality or something else, there was some element of Daniel that was too wild for Armand to tame. He threw him back into the pond, all memories of being snared on the fishing line erased. And it’s entirely possible that Armand feels this loss of control very deeply. As heartbreak and loss, but also as a scary moment when his grip on the love that he needs in his life faltered. It’s possible that the break up with Daniel made him even more determined to control outcomes with Louis. And it’s also possible that the pain that he felt when he originally lost Daniel is causing him to revise and edit his own memories of his relationship with Daniel. If Daniel broke Armand’s heart, it would be a lot easier to remember him as a silly boy Armand manipulated in tandem with Louis than someone Armand actually found fascinating. Admitting otherwise means admitting his own weakness. So memory becomes the monster, again, even if you are the one controlling the vampire amnesia.

For what it’s worth, I currently think that Louis doesn’t know about Armand’s past with Daniel. I don’t think Louis would be as vulnerable with Daniel if he knew. And that would point to Armand once again subtly manipulating and managing Louis, completely hiding his connection to this mortal from him.

Regardless, I don’t doubt that Daniel was less fearsome in San Francisco than he is now in Dubai. (The show’s insistence that an elderly disabled man is just as powerful in his own way as an immortal vampire is perfection, and it makes me want to kiss all the writers on the mouth). He’s even less controllable by Armand than he once was (if he ever was), and he’s intent on finding out Armand’s truth, and the truth of their connection. I was really struck by Assad saying in an interview that the thing that Armand wants most is acceptance. He craves love and acceptance, but is terrified to show his real self and be vulnerable. Thats why he’s continuing to play stage manager to Louis’s love. But Daniel is coming for his true self in Dubai whether Armand wants it or not. And I imagine that is both extremely confronting but also ultimately attractive to Armand.

I deeply hope we get to see Daniel crack Armand’s sense of control. I hope we get to see Armand being vulnerable to Daniel and Daniel being receptive to that. I also hope we get to see Daniel facing down Armand as the source of his trauma (because being stalked, bitten, and then having your memories forcibly repressed is trauma, even if Daniel was attracted to Armand through it). I hope we get to see the way that trauma and fear and desire and love intermingle. And I also hope that when Daniel breaks Armand’s sense of control and sees his true self, he still likes what he sees. Because I would like Armand to get that acceptance from someone, even when his worst tendencies are laid bare.

(Oh, and while I’m making predictions- I’m not worried about 70s Devils Minion not happening, or them interacting in the 70s but it not turning into some form of romance. There is simply no better way to add stakes to the Dubai iterations of the characters than to give them this hidden history, and Rolin has talked extensively about needing to bring Daniel into the story in a personal way and crank up the conflict happening in Dubai. The penthouse is no longer just a framing device, but a site of active conflict and growth, and the only way you do that is exploring past and future DM dynamics. In ep 1 it’s still mainly acting as a frame, but I’m really excited to see its importance grow over the season).

Armand is such an intriguing mystery, but if I’m right about some of this stuff I actually relate quite strongly to him too. (I am reminded of a Brennan Lee Mulligan quote, where he describes characters you love/play as being garages attached to your actual personality of a house, and sometimes some piece of writing or improv shoots a sniper rifle perfectly through the garage door into the house and hits you in the heart)

@bluedalahorse warned me that this is how you really get stuck on a ship, when you see pieces of yourself in both characters, and I do fear that she is right.

So we’re really in it now, is what I’m saying. Send me your Armand thoughts, I want all of them. I will be counting down the days until episode 5 and obsessing until it airs. I’ll check back in on this meta later, I guess, to see how correct or incorrect I was.

[unsoundedcomic]

Hey Ashley! Forgive me if you've been asked this before (wish tumblr had better search) - what do you like to have on in the background while you work on comic pages? Is there anything that helps you focus on the grunt work of comicking? When you're at that point where you've drafted the major parts, and know what you want the page's final result to be. And are at that step where you have to physically put in the time to finish it off/refine everything? I have trouble focusing in silence, but music or videos/shows seem to also be distracting!

Hey Anon!

Each page takes two days, and the first day is the drawing and the thinking day. I can't have anything on but ambience. I usually go with rain, an aquarium, or rail cams on youtube. Here's a particular favourite of mine, it's like turning my second monitor into a window open to the PNW~

But I know just what you mean about needing something to power through the grunt work. Day two is inking, flatting, and colouring, and that can be a slog. Have you considered podcasts or Youtube? We get too used to music and start to tune it out, and yeah, videos require your eyes. Youtube really works for me. I even pay for it and then deduct that off my taxes as a work necessity. Because it is!

I like Red Letter Media, NPR, various sceptical programming like Paulogia, Gutsick Gibbon, Bart Ehrman, The Line Network, and small travel vlogs like The Carpet Bagger; in the past I've gone through great shows like My Favourite Murder, and the entire video catalogue of Ask A Mortician.

Whatever your interest, there's an expert on Youtube talking entertainingly about :) Try it!

[errorscriber]

observing the camera angles in half (with brief analysis)

feeling very fucked up thinking about how Kazui's theatre has balcony viewings, or the reason why the creators chose this theatre as a metaphor for kazui's story.

like aside the fact from the obvious symbolism of how indifferent and indecisive kazui has felt towards his life, or how hes too analytical to a fault where he has no choice but to watch his life unfold, it's just kinda funny and sad that the other reason why is because they have a second floor with balcony viewings. of course!

in the latter half of Half (lol), where Kazui is mask-less, the camera puts a lot of emphasis towards the audience.

the sequence begins with kazui looking upwards to the audience. (you can tell the stage is at the back with the lines and the front having reddish blocks)

kazui turns away from the audience. hes moving as if hes in an argument or in a confrontation with someone. you can see the curves in the side of the room, and the railings next to it. i find this scene to be very notable out of the rest because this is one of the only scenes where we can see the balcony floors in its fullest view.

kazui goes to the front, bowing towards the audience. (again, you can see the lines at his back; that's the curtain/stage walls + before he goes down u can see the stage light at the ceiling) is he apologizing to someone? did he see something fall?

camera changes again. he looks aside police kazui (or the chair), looks at his hands, and then puts his arm up at the air, as if he wants to catch someone? he's staring and putting his arms out towards the balcony floor, as if someone was going to fall. his palms open, and then he grasps them tightly in this scene; did he manage to catch whatever he wanted to catch? is he begging for mercy? is he trying to catch his dreams?

was it futile? the shot of his face prolongs for a little while. we can see his eyes slant. whatever he wanted from up there, it seems like he failed to get what we wanted.

the stage scenes end with kazui bowing towards the chair, like he just finished explaining things, or probably wanting to apologize towards the chair.

...meanwhile, when Kazui was still masked:

the camera is clearly Within the audience, shooting Kazui on the stage (vs the camera With kazui when he's mask-less, shooting Kazui's perspective of him to the audience).

there is no emphasis on the background, but instead, focuses more on kazui himself and what he's doing on the stage.

a lot of people think about the final bits of Cat, or the brief flashbacks in the screen at the final seconds of half as what happened before hinako's death, but i wonder if the mask-less stage scenes have the answers we need? maybe if we combined all of them together...

i have always interpreted the maskless scenes as Kazui re-enacting everything that has happened, and the info we have from Cat proves this even more to me tbh.

thank you for reading this far if you have! this is my first time trying to make a big post about milgram so please forgive me if this was hard to read, idk how to format these types of posts ;;

(this might've already been obvious to some people but I just felt like it was cool to point out, with the information we have from Cat.)

[ineffable-endearments]

This is the most specific season 3 "prediction" I have so far. I'm not very committed to it and there are SO MANY loose ends I'm aware it doesn't tie up, but pieces of it feel right enough to put here for curiosity's sake.

Background: This is not something I know much about, but I'm pretty sure the Book of Life is what determines who is Saved when the Second Coming happens. In other words, it doesn't work immediately, as Michael threatened, but people who are not in there will eventually be erased. Michael doesn't have the "authority" to erase anyone because they don't have the ability to start the Second Coming.

Imagine: Aziraphale spends years thinking he can rules lawyer the Second Coming by adding literally everyone to the Book of Life. He works his ass off, simultaneously following all of Heaven's rules and editing the Book during every moment he would have to actually think about anything.

Except when coming up with Great Plan-related stuff, Aziraphale does not think. Does he miss Earth and its people, its hot chocolate and concerts and wine? Well, he would, if he thought about it, which is why he doesn't think about it. Instead, he adds names. Even the names of people who've been in Hell for millennia. Forgiveness is one of his favorite things, and as long as he moves the Great Plan along, nobody cares if he hands forgiveness out like candy.

Over a hundred billion names he has to add. It wouldn't be possible for a human, but this is the scale angels work with. Still, it keeps him busy.

Yes, it will mean sacrificing Earth as a physical thing, the natural wonders and the material pleasures. But everyone will be together for eternity. It's an opportunity to ensure no one has to lose anybody ever again, to take away all the pain of mortality. Loss, programmed into the fabric of the universe?! If Aziraphale thinks about it - which he doesn't - it seems like a stupid idea. Surely the Almighty, being, well, Almighty, could have come up with a painless existence, right?

BUT.

The Book of Life will only recognize Heaven-given names. It's all in angelic language, whatever that language is that we see in S2E6 when Crowley is in Heaven. The Book of Life is, after all, a tool of the system that created it.

And guess who's erased his own former angelic name from...well, from everywhere, including his own head, leading to patchy memories? The one person Aziraphale wants to Save the most.

Aziraphale comes to Earth with Jesus on some kind of pretense, but the real motivation is to come find Crowley again and try to figure out how he might be able to figure out his angelic name.

Crowley flatly refuses to even try. You'll have to let them destroy me, he says, if you go through with this bullshit. Creation has value besides as a temporary testing ground before the Afterlife. It's not just here to twinkle. Maybe Crowley even says this as an Archduke of Hell. Maybe he took that position specifically to fight the Second Coming.

That's how Aziraphale realizes consciously what he actually loves about Crowley: his love of choice, his fierce individuality, the very way he has connected Aziraphale to life on Earth. Perhaps there are adventures on Earth that help him extend this realization well beyond Crowley, too, to the rest of the world, to the material things he assumed could be sacrificed for the sake of the people. But he's troubled. He knows the Heavenly machine is way bigger than him. Accepting that the Book of Life plan is wrong would also mean giving up any hope of controlling the damage that Heaven intends to do.

At some point, the Metatron, having realized his Supreme Archangel went predictably off the rails and withheld information until this very moment, tries to tempt Aziraphale by revealing that he alone remembers Crowley's angelic name, and if Aziraphale proceeds with the Second Coming, he can easily save Crowley.

But Aziraphale is now armed with the understanding that Crowley isn't truly himself when he's in Heaven's Book. His most Unpredictable Decision so far is to refuse the Metatron's offer. And the Second Coming starts, and Aziraphale and Crowley once again have no plan but show up anyway because they care too much to lie down and die without a fight, and humanity saves them once again.

Yes, obviously in all this, Aziraphale becomes disillusioned with Heaven. But it's more about figuring out that he doesn't want a universal Goodness Police than about any one particular incident.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

Hello mossy I’m late but thoughts on Star Wars rebels (whatever part you’d want to talk about)?

LEAAAAAAA bhlgkjsdlgkhksd right okay. in advance this will be long HSLDKFJ

Star Wars Rebels is my favorite piece of SW media to this day largely because of the incredible family dynamic happening in the show, but also because of the absolute love that goes into so many of the characters and the story??

It has an amazing narrative about a boy consumed by fear and survival, realizing he has the potential to extend what he’s learned to those around him, to save others and to save his home, and dear GOD the way it all ends up panning out is such an incredibly poetic echo of how the show begins, it’s a masterpiece. Ezra himself is just an incredible character, one so deeply steeped in the concept of ‘being surrounded by love and support will allow you to be a more loving and supportive person, and that connection to compassion will strengthen you beyond anything you could achieve alone’ and it makes me INSANE it makes me insane!! He’s only able to unlock the true extent of his powers when he first forgives someone who he believed had wronged him, he openly admits to being terrified and out of his depth, he cries when things get overwhelming, he loves with his whole chest and he’s overly eager and enthusiastic and he’s best friends with dozens of cats.

Every moment in the show, even at its cheesiest, is just jam packed with love (between the characters or love for the characters and the legacy of the universe), to the point where you can feel it, and you just have to root for these kids. Every single character has so much depth and dedication put into them, and they all feel like fully rounded people.

I’m trying not to go too off the rails but also special shout out to Sabine Wren, a graffiti artist who paints everything she touches, and has a love for mixing gunpowder with spraypaint. Special shout out to how the crew gives her various things to design across the show so they can carry personalized art from her on their armor, on their helmets, on their ships. Special shout out to how she comes across a relic of her people in season three and shatters, finally revealing the fear and guilt she’s been holding back for years. Special shout out to how she gets to take up the sword once corrupted by the sith and return it to her people, triumphant. I love her so fucking much.

Also, just a fun note that really makes me happy abt this show is how everyone comes from such different backgrounds/lives, and throughout the show, everyone has to go on side quests/ arcs that involve all of those backgrounds, and everyone else in the found family is totally supportive?? There’s never an element of ‘no, you’re with us now, we have missions to do and we won’t make a stop for that’, it’s always like “Hey, this is important to you! We’re dedicated to you as an individual and recognize that won’t always align with our job in the rebellion, so we’re willing to go out of our way and support you” (this is based on dialogue from an actual scene), and THAT HAPPENS SO MANY TIMES THROUGHOUT THE SHOW

there’s just so much grace and humanity in this family, more than star wars usually has the time/care to put into their narratives, and it actually unhinges me

also bonus points for the fact that the entire main group of six people doesn’t consist of a single white human! 

TLDR: swr has a massive heart and i will always treasure the fuck out of it

[foodieforthoughts]

Hi, my darling! I love your writing and I have a special ask for you: my birthday is in July 14th, a big and important holiday in France. So, how could it be if Henry brings me to Paris to celebrate my day (this is one of my biggest dreams)? (in case to describe the reader's physical characteristics I'd like it to be a plus size one, please ❤️) P.S.: Forgive my writing. English is not my mother language.

Honey! I know it has been ages since you sent this but now seems the perfect time. Happy birthday to you in advance sweetheart. 🤗❤️

Also, I only know about 14th of July celebrations from what's available on the internet, if I have made any mistakes I'm sorry about it. 🙈 Also, also, I haven't described the physical attributes of the reader. I hope that is okay. 😇

Title: Mon amour

You were pretty sure Henry was going to miss your birthday this year, what with him being away for filming and only a couple more hours until your birthday. But you were completely taken by surprise when he called, asking you to head out to the airport and pack whatever you deemed necessary.

"You are crazy, Henry!" You exclaimed on the phone, standing outside the airport in the night with a hurriedly packed bag. "What is happening?!"

"Hurry up, love." You nearly shrieked when out of nowhere Henry came up to you and grabbed your hand. Tugging you along to follow him, instructing you to take out your passport, Henry led you through the gate inside the airport.

It was only when you saw the boarding pass, your happiness knew no bounds as you realised he was taking you to Paris for your birthday.

Being in Paris for July 14th celebration, an important day called la fête nationale, was at the top of your bucket list. Henry explained how he had meant to come home one day prior but bad weather and some delays with filming had pushed his plans to the last minute. He had apologized for it but you assured him there wasn't any need for them. There was nothing to forgive, on the contrary, he got a big kiss and a tight hug when the plane took off. You were pretty sure your were floating to cloud nine even before the Eiffel Tower came into view.

Henry had left no stone unturned to make your stay special. A room in Shangri-la with an amazing view of the Seine river, complimented by the giant, wrought iron symbol of love for romantics, was already booked for next four days and decorated with balloons for your birthday. You felt your heart could burst with the surprises he had planned, unfolding one after another and making you teary eyed, only for Henry to take you in his arms and kiss the tears away.

"Good morning, love." He greeted you the next day, naked and still in bed with his arms around you. Running his hand through your hair and kissing your lips, Henry wished you a 'happy birthday' again.

Despite sleeping only for a few hours, both of you were eager to spend the day out and about it in the city. Henry had to try to blend in with the crowd, wearing a cap and casual clothes yet still managing to look like an adonis, making you laugh when he hung the DSLR from his shoulder. Luckily for him with the moustache he had going on for his upcoming movie, he looked almost, if not entirely, unrecognizable.

After watching the military parade in Champs-Elysées, he took you for a dessert splurge around the avenue. From all the crêpes, éclairs, madeleines and macarons, you were getting a sugar rush, joking and laughing with a constantly soaring high. Since Henry was on a strict diet, he only had taken a small bite from your crêpe, sitting and listening to you, amused at the sheer level of your excitement.

Lucky for you, before you could go on a downward spiral from the drop in blood sugar, Henry got you hydrated and tucked in the bed for a nap. You had protested initially, but all your complains vanished when he started kissing you and whispering in your ear in his low, gruff voice, how much he had missed you.

It wasn't until late afternoon that you finally woke up to find Henry in the balcony, sipping on tea and basking in the evening sunlight. You sneaked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking in a deep breath of his scent while resting your face against his taut back.

"How did I ever become so lucky to have you in my life?" You mumbled against his shirt, smiling to yourself as you said it.

"I am the lucky one to find you." He placed the cup on the railing, twisting to pull you to stand in front of him. Trapping you in between his arms, he kissed your nose causing his moustache to tickle your skin and make you giggle.

You sighed happily, throwing your arms around his neck and running your hand through his hair. Gazing at him with a smile, you were mesmerized by his captivating blue eyes like it had been the very first time.

"We better start getting ready to head out again." He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he spoke.

"Yeah? We could stay in though. Maybe continue from when you stopped in the afternoon?" You winked at him, making him chuckle.

"Later tonight, baby. I have one more thing planned for you."

When you stepped inside the Bateaux Parisiens, you knew why Henry had asked you to pack 'something fancy'. Donning a sleek blazer suit himself, Henry looked dashing as always. Live music playing in the background, an elegant menu of scrumptious food, glasses of Champagne Jacquart Brut Mosaïque, accompanied by the love of your life while cruising down the river with magnificent view of the city on both sides, you knew dinner couldn't have been any more lavish than this. Henry was recognised by few, approached for photos which Henry would have generally declined but you insisted he should go for it. Their smiling faces and elated shrieks only somehow lifted up your spirits even more.

When the boat stopped near the Eiffel Tower with only a few minutes until the fireworks display, Henry grabbed your hand and took you up to the deck. It was already crowded but he managed to find a spot at the far end of the boat. He draped an arm around your shoulder, yours enveloping his waist as you waited for the fireworks to start.

Everything about your birthday was perfect. You were brought to tears as the vibrant colours of the fireworks glowed in the night sky. Henry hugged you closer, kissing the top of your head and watched the beautiful display with you.

Through the crackle of the fireworks, glimmer of the colours sparkling in his eyes, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his soft lips.

"Thank you for making this day special, Henry." You whispered in his ears, placing another kiss on his cheek.

"Special day for a special lady." He winked at you, before leaning down to kiss you deeply.

[anagentinwriting]

Lifeline - Part 18

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 3800+

Warnings: Angst, blood, violence

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

After receiving information from dispatch about the location of Billy’s cell phone, Thor called in an anonymous tip to Fury’s team, but instead of waiting around, Nat and Thor pulled onto the interstate, following the cellphone south to San Diego. 

Thor stared out the window, resting his elbow on the window railing with his chin in his hand. “I’m sorry, Natasha, for acting like a jerk earlier. I know you were doing your job and following orders. I would’ve done the same.”

“We’ve good,” Nat replied, giving him a once over. “You doing okay?”

“I keep thinking everything will be okay, and everything will work out--” he rubbed his eyes “--but um, I don’t know… I don’t know what we are going to find when we get there? Is she gonna be mad at me, is she going to be hurt, is she gonna be…” Thor took in a sharp breath, clearing his throat. “Billy threatened to kill her once before, you know, and he almost killed Steve. I’m afraid of what we are going to find.”

“Don’t think like that,” Natasha reassured, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll find her.” She bit her lip, nodding to herself for her own reassurance. “YN’s strong…and with everything she went through, she rebuilt her life and herself. Billy might have her, but I have a feeling he has no idea who he is dealing with now.” 

Thor nodded, “If Billy lays another one of his grimy hands on her, he will suffer a fate worse than death. He’ll be…”

“More dead?” Nat asked, trying to contain a chuckle in this highly stressed situation. 

“Yes, but I was thinking more like being stuck in rush hour traffic for the rest of his life,” Thor smirked, trying to keep the conversation light. 

“Oh yes, that sounds so much worse.”

_____________

“Where are we going?” You questioned, sneaking a peek at Billy, gripping the steering wheel. 

“We’re starting over. I’m saving us from this tricky situation you put us in.”

You leaned back into your seat, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Right, because everything is my fault,” you grimaced, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you get it over with and kill me? I mean, isn’t that your plan.”

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA,” Billy retorted, widening his eyes. “I can’t imagine my life without you. Why would I want to kill you, YN; I love you. You’re all I have.”

“But, that’s it, you don’t have me,” you mumbled, wringing your hands together. “I just never got a say in the matter.”

He huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “What’s with this attitude?”

“Well…what more do I have to lose? I lost my friends and family…like yesterday, and now, you’re all I have,” you admitted with a shrug. “It’s what you wanted, right? Me and you, both ghosts, living in the shadows, or did this car come with new identities, too? Oh wait, is that what’s in the duffle bag in the backseat?”

“Why would you think that?” He narrowed his eyes, licking his lips.

“Well, a creepy guy with a scar and milky eye drops off a car at a gas station. Now, doesn't that sound like the start of a bad joke? I mean, he definitely didn’t look like a criminal or a bad guy in his dark suit, and his name sounded so original, Agent Orange. I think I know a few people by that name.” You pressed your lips together, tilting your head. “On the other hand, if he looked like a dad, wearing crispy white boys on his feet, jean shorts, and a polo shirt. It would have been an immediate red flag.”

Billy smirked, shaking his head. “Luckily for you, you don’t have to worry. I have our lives all planned out, but I did miss your snarky attitude. Whatever happened to it?”

“I will give you a hint,” you leaned over the center console, “if you look in a mirror, you could probably spot the reason.” 

“Touche,” He added, cracking a smile, making the corners of his dark eyes crinkle. He gently grabbed your hand in his, sending an unpleasant shiver through your body, and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. You tried not to make a face as he lowered your conjoined hands back onto the center console. 

“I want you to know it isn’t going to be like this forever. We’ll get past this like we always do. I will forgive you, you will forgive me, and we’ll start over in this new city, meet new people, and create a whole new life for ourselves.” He squeezed your hand. “You can forget about the life you created yourself because you're never going back to that. This is our chance to start over...together.” 

____________

Nat pulled up behind two other police cruisers and a Chrysler 300 Black Sedan. Thor jumped out before she could get it into park and jogged up to the Chrysler but was stopped by Fury's hand. 

“Thor, for what do I owe this pleasure?” Fury asked, his one eye-widening, looking him up and down.

“Is she here? Is my sister here?” Thor gulped, looking past Fury to try and get a better look, but the officers were retreating away from the vehicle. 

“No, she’s not.” Thor’s shoulder sank, letting out a breath. “But, I assume you were the one who called in the anonymous tip.”

“Me… anonymous tip…no, no, that doesn’t sound like something I would do.” He shook his head while Nick stared him down.

“Odinson, I listened to the tape, and it sounded just like you.”

“Did it? Huh?” Thor rubbed his chin, staring hard at the ground.

“Seeing it will be better if we just work together at this point. I want you to know that we were able to recover the video surveillance from your sister's home, and we can confirm it was her husband, Billy Russo.” 

“I told you this. I told you the night it happened.” Thor shook his head. “And it’s her ex. Ex-husband,” Thor corrected, placing his hands on his hips. “So what…we have nothing now?”

“Russo is smart and is playing his moves carefully. He knows what he is doing, making all the right moves, but he'll mess up, and when he does, we will find him.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from him given his background,” Nat stated, coming up to stand next to Thor. “Are we even sure this is the right vehicle?”

Fury narrowed his eyes at her, raising his voice. “Believe it or not Ms. Romanoff, but we do know how to track a phone and find a vehicle.” She smirked at his change in attitude. “And for your information, there was a 911 call placed earlier this morning from a gas station near San Diego. A mother and daughter found a note with YN’s name, Russo’s name, the vehicle description, and the license plate number. It said to give this information to the police. This would explain how Russo’s phone ended up in this car.” Nick pointed over his shoulder at the Chrysler. “YN made a smart move, but Russo must have pulled a fast one on her and switched cars at the last minute, so it doesn’t do us much good right now.”

“Did they see YN at all? Was she okay? Was she hurt...”

Fury held up his hand, and Thor shut his mouth. “Yes. The woman mentioned her looking a little beaten up but seemed hopeful.”

“When I find this bastard, I am going to…” Thor bit his tongue, clenching his fist and punching it into his palm. He mumbled to himself, shaking his head, stepping away from them.

“How’s your friend in the hospital? Any word yet?” Fury asked Nat, who narrowed her eyes at the scene behind him.

“He’s in recovery now. They're keeping a close eye on him.”

“Good.” Fury’s eye caught on to Thor’s unexplainable gestures while he paced back and forth. “What would you say about getting your friend a bulletproof vest; he looks like he could do something reckless.”

“I do have an extra one in the cab; I’ll give it to him for safe measure.”

“Excellent.”

“Since this is the correct car, who is the man behind the wheel? Any connection to Russo?” Nat questioned, staring at the black sedan. Thor returned, giving Nat a reassuring nod.

“We haven’t looked into much yet, but his name is William Rawlins. He is the COO of Cerberus and says it’s a company vehicle but doesn’t know who used it before him. He checked it out to run a quick errand over his lunch break, but we are headed back to his office now to look over the record logs.”

“What’s Cerberus?” Thor asked, looking between Nat and Nick for more information.

“It’s a security firm in San Diego, but I think they have different branches all over the country now. It protects public officials, and they also have a private investigating sector that started up a few years ago. I was on a case with one of their ‘agents’ as they call themselves, and he was an asshole.” Nat informed him, Nick nodded in agreement.

“Sounds a lot like Anvil,” Thor added, rubbing a hand over his scruff. “If this is a company vehicle, then someone must be helping Billy. For all we know it’s this Rawlins, and he’s playing us.”

“As much as we want to speculate at this point, it’s too early to tell.” Nat shrugged, and Fury nodded.

“Why would Cerberus remind you of Anvil? What is this Anvil?” Nick inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, it’s a security firm Billy works at in New York City. He’s in the private investigating sector there.”

“Is there any reason to believe that Anvil is a branch of Cerberus?” Nat raised a brow at him, and Thor narrowed his eyes, processing the information.

“If there is a connection between the two, this could be it,” Nick answered.

_____________

You sat back in the passenger seat, opening up the glove box, seeing a map of California, New Mexico, Nevada, and Arizona. “Where is this new home of ours going to be?”

“You’ll see,” Billy replied with his elbow resting on the door and his head in his hand.

“What are you going to expect me to do? Am I going to get a job, or are you going to make me stay at home and be your trophy wife?”

“Would that be a bad thing? It’s not like you liked being a 911 dispatcher.”

You swallowed, wringing your hands together. “But, I did.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.“You like being in the action, getting dirty in the line of duty, and seeing it first hand. You don’t like being behind a desk, waiting to answer a monitor every time a call comes in.”

“I might not be where the action is, but I am still helping people. I might not see them or get to meet them, but I’m here to help them with whatever they are going through. Using your voice to help is hard, but sometimes that’s all people need to hear to put them at ease and give them a sense of safety.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he snorted, smirking into his hand. 

“You have to give me something.”

“I don’t have to give you anything,” he grumbled, running his hand through his hair. 

“Well, how do you expect me to trust you again if you don’t tell me what’s going on?”

He licked his lips, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Trust me; You want to know how you can trust me? That’s rich because I could ask you the same question. Can I trust you?” 

“You don’t have to trust me, but don’t you think I should know what we are getting into. Shouldn’t we at least have a plan once we get to where we are going? People ask questions, Billy, and don’t you think it would be a good idea to figure it out before we get there?”

Billy remained silent, gripping the steering wheel tight. He licked his lips, scrunching up his face enough to form a crease on his forehead. “Do you think I’m an idiot? How do I know that if I tell you, you aren’t going to use the first phone you find to call someone.”

“You don’t,” you answered with a shrug. “But you’re gonna have to trust me a little eventually if you want to make us work again.”

He glanced between you and the road, fighting a battle in his head. He clenched his jaw, letting out a defeated breath. “You’re right; you’re always right.” He licked his lips, shaking his head. “I’m giving us the fresh start we both need, and everything we need is in the bag in the back.”

You turn in your seat, reaching for the bag, and put it on your lap. You unzip it, staring at the contents inside. A rubber band was wrapped around new Arizona IDs and new passports with new names on them. A container with an assortment of keys and enough cash that could get you through at least a few months. 

You reached into the bottom of the bag and pulled out three framed pictures of you and Billy. One of you posing and smiling at each other when you first started seeing each other, another one of you at the wedding altar saying I do, and the third, standing close to each other on your honeymoon with the ocean behind you. You swallowed, staring at each one. They were supposed to bring back happy memories, but it only brought back the nightmares this relationship turned into. 

“It’s not a home without a few personal touches, right?” Billy shot you a warm smile, and as much as you wished it was sincere, you knew it wasn’t.

“Right,” you breathed, putting everything back and tossing it in the backseat. “So we are moving to Phoenix, then what?”

Billy raised his eyebrows. “We’re going to lay low for a bit until this mess dies down, and I can trust you again.” He throws you a quick glance, rubbing his gauze-wrapped wrist where Cosmo bit him. “Then, once we are a happy couple again, I’ll be taking on a new position at the Cerberus Phoenix branch.”

“What do you expect me to do once we are a happy couple again?” You bit your lip, feeling a lump rise in your throat. 

“Let’s not get into specifics right now.” He reached over and grabbed your hand.  “I want you to focus on forgetting about your life in LA and everyone in it. They’re not important anymore. It’s you and me, together forever, like we always planned.” He nodded, squeezing your hand for reassurance. 

You gave him a quick nod, fighting the tears threatening to escape. You turned your head to look out the passenger side window. The world outside was becoming a blur, and you were stuck inside with Billy, and there was no way to get out. He had a solid plan that left little room for error. Once they arrived in Phoenix, you wouldn’t exist anymore; Billy wouldn’t exist anymore. You would disappear, and those you cared about would be left wondering. Wondering if you were okay; wondering if you were even still alive; wondering how they let this happen to you. You blinked, feeling a few tears escape down your cheeks as you swallowed back a sob. Your friends, family, and Steve were gone, and right now, you might as well be too. 

____________

The police unit pulled into Cerberus, following the Chrysler through the electric gate and up the short drive until they came across a facility beyond the gate. It was a modern building, heavily secured and well secluded from the main road. 

Fury and Nat walked behind Rawlins while Thor stayed towards the back, taking everything in. He readjusted his bullet-proof vest underneath his shirt and sweatshirt, trying to get used to the tight feeling around his upper body. He didn’t want to wear it, but Nat insisted.

Inside the building, everything had white and gray tones to it from the furniture to the walls. Everything looked pristine and clean, almost like they were hiding something. Thor smiled at the lady behind the front desk, causing her to blush. He continued following the rest of the group up the floating steps to the second floor to an office at the end of the hall.

Fury and Nat began questioning Rawlins, sitting behind his desk. Thor stood off towards the back of the room, half-listening and half scanning his surroundings. If something was connecting him to Russo, he wasn’t going to talk about it; instead, he would have to search for it. 

His office looked like every big wig’s office he’d seen in the movies.  Floor to ceiling windows, showcasing a beautiful view of the trees on the property. Another wall was lined with artwork and a few bookshelves, filled with books that were probably more for show than actual reading. Thor’s eyes traveled to the walls behind him, noticing a bunch of framed photos hanging on the wall in sort of a college way. He took a step closer, noticing how each frame had an engraved plate under it, stating what branch of Cerberus it was and its location.  

“Would anyone else have access to company vehicles?” Fury asked with his pad and pen in hand.

“No, only company employees.”

“Does that include employees from other branches of Cerberus or just current in-house employees, so to speak.”

“Nope, all employees from any branch are welcome to a vehicle as long as they have proper ID,” Rawlins answered, leaning back in his chair. “Who is the young lady that is missing? Maybe one of my teams can assist you. We don’t do many missing person cases, but we are more than happy to help.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” Fury replied, holding up his hand. “But, we do have reason to believe you know the captor.”

“I’m sorry.” Rawlins looked taken aback, and in some ways, offended. “But this is news to me. I have many employees, so you will have to be more specific.”

Thor read off the frames one by one and glanced at every single picture. He needed to find a connection so he could find you. He clenched his jaw, reading the plates: Vistacorp, Arizona; Vancorp, Texas, and his eyes stopped on the next photo. He didn’t even need to read the plate to know it said Anvil, New York City. He narrowed his eyes at the picture, seeing Rawlins shaking Billy’s hand, and he had that stupid smile on his face that could win everyone over. 

“His name is Billy Russo.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recall anyone by that name.”

Thor growled, tearing the picture off the wall, starling everyone, and marched across the room. “Don’t know him, then why are you shaking his hand in this picture,” Thor shouted, throwing the picture on the desk. 

“Oh, look at that he works at the New York branch.” Rawlins scanned the picture before placing it back on the table. “Why are you including me in this accusation? I don’t have anything to do with him or this abduction. I didn’t even know he was in town.” He sat up straighter in his chair, folding his hands together, and placed them on the desk in front of him.

An officer opening the door pulled everyone’s attention away from Rawlins and to the female officer. She handed Fury a piece of paper, whispering something in his ear. Fury nodded, dismissing her. He unfolded the paper, reading what it said before folding it backup and stuffing it in his pocket. “It’s a bit funny how this picture is saying one thing, and you’re saying something completely different. It’s like the picture is lying, and you are telling the truth. I don’t know what I am supposed to believe.”

“I am telling the truth. I have had no contact with--” he pulls the picture back to him “--this Russo since this picture.”

“Then, why was Russo the last person to check out the car, and according to this, he has yet to return the vehicle back to this facility. So how did you check the car out at noon if it wasn’t even on-site?”

Rawlins sat on the other side of the table, staring blankly at the three of them. He licked his lips and tilted his head at them. “Huh? How about that?” He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, I honestly thought it was going to take you longer to figure it out, Detective Fury, but you surprised me. All of you did.” He pointed to each of them, his sinister smile never faltering. 

“Where is she?” Thor growled, leaning over the table mere inches from Rawlins's face.

“That’s the thing about Billy,” he licked his lips, challenging Thor. “He is sneaky and quiet. He can hide in plain sight, is fast on his feet, and knows just the right time to strike. If you haven’t found them yet, you aren’t going to. They're both gone, and you’re going to have to live with the fact that you failed her.”

Without further hesitation, Thor punched him straight in the face and knocked him to the floor. Thor slid across the desk to find Rawlins, clutching his broken nose as it bled into his mouth. Thor grabbed him by the collar and punched him again when an officer rushed over and dragged Thor off of him. Thor grunted, pushing the officer into the wall with his nostrils flaring. He headed right back for Rawlins, but Nat stood in his path, pushing on his chest and forcing him to stop.  

“Forget about him. Don’t listen to him, Thor,” Nat commanded. “He’s not worth it; put this energy into finding YN and Russo, and then take it out on him.” Thor stopped in an instant, giving her a quick nod.  

The officer that held Thor back went over to Rawlins and put his face down on the hardwood floor. He started reading him his Miranda Rights and slipped the cuffs around his wrists.

“You’re lucky only your nose is broken, and both your eyes don’t match, asshole,” Thor threatened as Rawlins was escorted out of the office. 

“Feel better?” Fury asked, standing up from his seat.

“No,” Thor answered in a gruff voice, leaning against Rawlins desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “He’s right, you know…Billy is good at hiding. I mean, we didn’t even know he was following her.” He ran a hand down his face. “He does this for a living. Reads crime scenes, follows the evidence, finds suspects, and solves cases. He knows what we are looking for and makes sure to drive us in the opposite direction. He is good at what he does and probably even better at making someone disappear.”

______

 AN: Thanks for reading Part 18! Just when you think they have something to go on, they are one more step behind. Thor sure did sack Rawlins pretty good though, but he did deserve it. And it's a good thing Rawlins was slacking on his paperwork, or maybe he just didn't have time to change the name to who checked the car out! 🤷‍♀️ On the plus side, at least they were able to track Billy's cellphone (the wrong one, but it was something), they know about the note she left in the gas station, found 'the other guy' but still got nothing...or do they?! 🤔 Not sure if any of you understood the crispy white boys reference, but it's usually the white tennis shoes dads wear on their feet! It's an Instagram reference me and my friends use all the time now! 😂😂 I will say she is getting more confident and seems to be pushing all the right buttons to get information from him, but he isn't giving much away. And can she trust him enough to know that he is telling the truth? The plot thickens...as always thanks for reading! Comments are always welcome! 

[ohctranscripts]

Naughty Till New Years: Ninthly, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner!

[Ambient outside noises, voices in the background]

Narrator: Late afternoon, the janitor is hiding in the shadows at the base of the Eiffel Tower.  He peeks across the way at the ticket booth and the line of tourists that formed in front of it.

Chouinard: Julian!

Narrator: Mr. Chouinard comes storming up!

Chouinard: Julian!  Julian!

Narrator: He marches right up to the janitor.

Chouinard: What are you doing?  I look for you everywhere!  I—I look in ze closet, I look on ze girders, I look in ze commissary behind ze case of chocolate croissant and you’re not zere!

Narrator: The janitor starts turning colors.  He’s willing Mr. Chouinard to speak quieter!

Chouinard: What are you looking at?  It’s a ticket booth!

Narrator: People on line are looking over.  The ticket booth clerks are looking over!  The janitor, his face bright red, turns and runs off, away from Mr. Chouinard, into the Eiffel Tower, and takes full flight up the stairs!  Watching the janitor go, Mr. Chouinard turns to the people on line.

Chouinard: Pardon, did any of you happen to see ze man I was speaking to just now?  Er… anyone?  Pardon, madam, have you seen ze man zat I was talking—no, okay.

[Echoing footsteps]

Narrator: Meanwhile, the janitor runs up and up, and higher and higher, and, reaching the top, the janitor runs out on the deck and feels suddenly as though he’s going to throw up!  He lurches to the railing and leans over it!  A terrible idea!  A truly terrible idea!  For on this tower, it not being of the leaning variety, he is directly above the ticket booth!  You get the idea.  He’s too nauseous to move.  He—he tries desperately to keep from throwing up, but nothing seems to help!  He… quick!  Try to imagine something!

The janitor glances downward and sees something!  Thank heavens!  It captures his attention.  He—he’s forgetting about his nausea!

The janitor sees… John Cameron.

Of course, you could never recognize him from this far up.  He looks like a flea, though I don’t think John Cameron would appreciate that comparison. Nevertheless, the janitor watches this flea-like figure flitting about, leaping from spot to spot, signing autographs, stopping to shake hands with delighted tourists.  And at last, coming to rest on the ticket booth, chatting with the clerks.  Seen from this far away, John Cameron looks especially thin, and charming, and everyone he approaches seems injected with an itch for life, to be bitten with a burning hope, awakened as if pinched.  It’s almost as if John draws out the mundane pulse of existence and replaces it with a feeling of growth that swells from within.

And the janitor wishes he, too, could have this effect on other people.

[Music starts]

Meanwhile, in the Broadcast Ballroom, we find our stagehands busily preparing for tonight’s show.

Laeticia: You know, I think ze janitor has a crush.

Jacques: What, Moppo?

Laeticia: Psh.  What?

Jacques: Moppo.  The janitor.  You know, like the Marx brothers, but, uh, like Harpo, only like… with a mop.

Laeticia: Oh, no, zat is terrible.

Narrator: Forgive him.  Let’s just pretend we didn’t hear that.

Jacques: What were you saying?

Laeticia: Oh, yeah, about ze janitor.

Jacques: Yeah, yeah.

Laeticia: I’m not sure.

Jacques: Moppo.

Laeticia: Eh, whatever.

Narrator: But Laeticia pauses.  Out of the corner of her eye, she has noticed John Cameron come stumbling backstage, as they say, two sheets to the wind.  She gets rid of Jacques, and keeping her eyes on John, still fully intercepts him in the hallway.

Laeticia: John, you’re drunk.

John: Ha-ha, I’m happy.

Laeticia: You’re bumping into walls.

John: Happily!  Have you ever noticed the ticket booth clerk down there?

Laeticia: You too, huh?

John: What do you mean?

Laeticia: Well, you’re not the only one who has a crush on the ticket booth clerk.

John: I don’t have a crush on the ticket booth clerk!  Can’t I look?  There are lots of beautiful people in the world as there are trees, it’s a happiness.  It’s a—what is it?  It’s a mitzvah to just notice a tree in the forest, not just wander past.

Laeticia: Yes, well, you just keep on wandering on past, alright, Mr. Lumberjack.  Well, how’s Archie?

John: I am not a lumberjack.

Laeticia: Okay, no.

John: I’m an arborist.  I care for the trees.  I prune them.  I [bleeping].

Laeticia: What are you saying?

John: Extending the metaphor!

Laeticia: Careful where you extend your metaphor!  Besides, I asked you a question.

John: What?

Laeticia: How’s Archie?

John: Oh.  He’s in Hollywood, doing god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.

Laeticia: Oh, John, Archie is not like that.

John: You misunderstand.  We have an omniscient relationship.

Laeticia: Open relationship?

John: Omniscient.  We can do what we want as long as god knows.

Laeticia: Well, John…

Narrator: I should explain that John Cameron has had, for some time, what in repressive times would be called a “friendship” with a certain internationally adored movie star currently living in America, whose backstage visits cause quite a stir at the Orbiting Human Circus.  Archibald is his name.  That’s not what he’s known as in Hollywood.  Now, I grant you that it might be fun getting carried away trying to figure out who this beloved movie star is, but let’s not get carried away.  Granted, our lawyers probably will, but who’d carry out a lawsuit in a case like this?  We’re not saying who it is.  Besides, whoever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.

And now, back to the conversation.

John: So, who has a crush on the ticket booth clerk?  You?

Laeticia: No, ze janitor, I think.

John: [Laughs] The janitor.

Laeticia: No, but really.

John: He doesn’t get crushes.

Laeticia: Oh, but he does.

John: Well, let’s see, they’ve probably got 30 or 40 good years ahead of them.

Laeticia: Why?

John: That’s about how long it’ll take for him to talk to ‘em.

Laeticia: Oh, come on, he’s not that bad.

John: Yes, he is!  He’s—well.  To be honest, he’s better off.  He’s a monk!  You know, I’d like to be like the janitor, you know, secret crush.  It’s the sweetest thing.  If I was him, I would never talk to the ticket booth clerk.

Laeticia: If you were him, you would have already slept with the ticket booth clerk.

John: Laeticia, flattery will get you nowhere except my dressing room.

[Door opens]

Come in!  Would you like a drink?

Laeticia: John, this isn’t like you, you never used to drink.

John: Have a drink, stick in the mud.  We’re celebrating.

Laeticia: What are we celebrating?

John: Archie is coming!

[Laeticia gasps, music plays]

Narrator: We will return in just a moment.

[Christy Gressman break]

[Music, singing saws]

Narrator: We return to the janitor’s closet on the Eiffel Tower.  The janitor stares into a shoe box and he won’t let me see inside of it!  Now, I know what you’re going to say.  Shouldn’t I be able to see what he sees?  I’m a figment of his imagination!  But that just means he makes the rules.

Julian: What?  Big secret.  You talk a lot.

Narrator: But you know, don’t you?

Julian: Yes.

Narrator: [Groans] You’ve got to tell me what was in those shoe boxes and what happened to those people!  Please, tell me, tell me, tell me!

Julian: That’s two big secrets.  If I tell you one, will you leave me alone for a bit?

Narrator: I solemnly promise.

Julian: You’re sure you want to know?

Narrator: Yes!

Julian: Alright.  The shoe boxes were empty.  There was nothing in them.  Nothing at all.  Just like this one is.  Look.  They saw it all themselves.  Just like the fireflies.  Because they wanted to.

Narrator: So, they disappeared, none of their friends ever saw them again, they had the boxes over their faces, he gave them a push towards the sea… tell me what happened to the people!

Julian: Well, it only took my great-grandpa a decade to figure out.  You know, if you start working on it now, you’ll be good enough.

Narrator: Wait… no… but yet… [gasps]

Julian: That was quick.

Narrator: Will you tell me if I got it right?

Julian: Well, what is it?

Narrator: Did they walk into the sea?

Julian: Yes.

Narrator: That’s horrible!  How could he?

Julian: He had to.

Narrator: Do that?

Julian: Well, it woke them up, it snapped them out of it.

Narrator: Well, then what happened to them?

Julian: They started new lives.

[Bells, music]

[Knocking]

Chouinard: Julian!  Julian…  It is Mr. Chouinard.  I have been cleaning ze tower all night and all day and all night and all day and all night.  For Wind’s Daughter, you know?  Julian.  I am going to die.  I cannot do it.  I cannot stay awake anymore.  I go home and my children do not recognize me.  You may be a figment of my imagination.  You may be a ghost zat only ze night watchman and I see.  Whatever you are, if you do not help me now, zis is ze end for me.  My boss is coming to ze tower tomorrow.  Ze birds have been to ze observation deck.  Zey have landed on ze telescopes because somebody put birdseed zere!  Julian, can I put my head through ze door?

Julian: Okay.

Chouinard: Thank you, Julian.  Will you clean ze observation deck for me before morning?  Ze entire observation deck is painted with ze poop.

Julian: Yes.

Narrator: The janitor was astonished by the effect this word had on Mr. Chouinard.  Mr. Chouinard smiled, a single tear dropped from his eye, and he suddenly looked 20 years younger.  The janitor was amazed that one word from him could have such an effect on another person.  Mr. Chouinard strode into his closet, sounding a different man.

Chouinard: Thank you.

Narrator: But Mr. Chouinard’s look suddenly turned stern.

Chouinard: [Voice deeper] You know where ze polish is?

Julian: Well, yeah, it’s in the… it’s in the thing.

Chouinard: In what thing?

Julian: It’s on the—on the shelf.

Chouinard: On ze shelf?  Which shelf?

Julian: I know where it is, Mr. Chouinard.

Chouinard: Show me.  I have a sick mother.

Julian: Mr. Chouinard?  This is it, right?

Chouinard: Yes, zat is ze polish.  Do you know how to use ze polish?

Julian: Yes.

Chouinard: I believe in you, like, 50% right now.

Julian: I’ll do it, sir.

Chouinard: 42% right now I believe in you.

Julian: I’ll do it.  I will.

Chouinard: Thank you.

Narrator: That was almost camaraderie!

Chouinard: Your stove is going out.  You’ve learned how to tend it!

Julian: Coco helps me.

Chouinard: You have to learn yourself!  Here.  Like zis, see?  Look at my hand.  You see my hand?

Julian: Yes.

Chouinard: Zis, like this, okay, you see?

[Crackling]

Julian: Didn’t know you’re supposed to put polish in a stove.

Chouinard: Look, look, look, look, look, okay?  It goes un, deux, e trois.  Okay?  Zen it won’t go out!  And when you come back from ze observation deck, it will still be warm in here, okay?

Narrator: Did the janitor just make a joke?

Chouinard: Okay.  I’ve got to go to sleep.

[Door closes]

Narrator: Mr. Chouinard has gone.  The janitor, looking determined, takes his polish and makes his way to the observation deck.  But there, the sight that greets him shakes his confidence.

Julian: This is insane!  This is impossible.

Narrator: In the janitor’s defense, it does seem a good deal more than he could ever clean.

Julian: Alright.

Narrator: But the janitor dips his rag into the polish, determined to try.

[Julian sighs]

And as he does, his eyes lose focus and his gaze grows soft.

Meanwhile, in the Broadcast Ballroom, it is the middle of the night.  We find chief stagehand Laeticia clutching a tall and crumpled piece of telegram she’s picked up off the floor, on which she can make out the words “delayed”, “reshoots”, and “Archie”.  She glances from this to a pile of empty liquor bottles stacked outside of John Cameron’s dressing room door.  Looking worried, she strides into the ballroom, which is filled with gigantic crates!  The stagehands are working through the night, as they do every year in preparation for the big holiday show.

Jacques: Two thousand telescopes.

Laeticia: I know, Jacques, saying zat over and over isn’t going to make there any less telescope.

Jacques: What can I say to make there less telescopes?

Laeticia: Come on, Jacques, get to work, huh?

Jacques: But there’s so—

Laeticia: Now!

Narrator: Yes, in every available bit of stage on the stage not filled by the giant crates is filled by stacks of brass telescopes!  And, increasingly, the styrofoam packing peanuts in which they were packed!  Stagehand Margot stands up to her knees in them!

Margot: This is going to take until showtime tomorrow to get done!

John: What’s this goop all over these telescopes?

Narrator: The stagehands turn, shocked to see host John Cameron standing there!

Laeticia: John, what are you doing here?

John: Nothing, I couldn’t sleep.  What are you looking at?  I stayed overnight!

Laeticia: Oh, John.

John: What is this all over the telescopes?

Laeticia: Well, some of ze packing peanuts, zey melted, you know, zey came from someplace hot.

John: We’re gonna have to clean them, we can’t have them looking like this!

Laeticia: We’ll clean them, John, don’t you worry.

John: I would stay and help, but you know I have an important…

Laeticia: A what?

John: Don’t put me on the spot.

Laeticia: Okay, of course.

John: I have important things to do!

Laeticia: You do, of course, you do, John, you—

John: I do have important things to do at 4 a.m.  Don’t patronize me.

Narrator: John Cameron wades through the sea of packing peanuts with extraordinary dignity!

Margot:  He’s getting weirder and weirder!

Laeticia: Oh, he is a very stressed for life.  Okay, okay, we going to get the rest of zese things loaded, we’re going to clean them.

Jacques: Two thousand telescopes.

Laeticia: Jacques!  Go see if we have anything to clean them with, huh?

Narrator: Jacques goes off, wading through the peanuts, pantomiming the breaststroke as he goes.

Laeticia: Jacques’s a clown, eh?  We get him a red nose, we put him in ze show!

Narrator: Jacques makes his way to the backstage props closet and rummages around.

[Clanking]

Jacques: Nothin’.

Narrator: However, not being in any hurry to make his way back to the stage, he thinks of the janitor’s closet, and the pleasant walk that looking there would afford.  And if he doesn’t find anything in the janitor’s closet, he’s pretty sure he has something at home that might work.  Enjoying the cool air, he strolls slowly, savoring every moment of precious freedom.  But as he approaches, he hears a strange sound coming from within.  Could that be the janitor?

Jacques: Hello?  Kid?

Narrator: He opens the door, and—

[Door opens, roaring, screaming]

Jacques: Polar bear!  The be—the— [panting] everybody!  Oh, god, it’s the polar bear!

Narrator: He runs into the Broadcast Ballroom and onto the stage, falling face-first into the sea of packing peanuts which is now waist-high!

Laeticia: Jacques!  Calm down!

Jacques: Polar bear!  It’s the—

Laeticia: What is it?

Jacques: It’s the polar bear, it’s back!

Narrator: Laeticia can see that Jacques’s terror is real.

Jacques: He’s in the janitor’s closet!

Laeticia: Okay, if zis was anyplace else I would not believe this but here is what we do.  Pierre, you get some torches.

Pierre: Get some torches!

Laeticia: Francois, you put down ze chain.

Francois: Get the chain!

Laeticia: Hey, all of you back there, stop working!  You three, you grab one of these crates, the empty one, you bring it to me.

Lily: I’ll bring you a crate, honey.

Laeticia: Merci.  We will lure ze polar bear in zere and trap it!

Narrator: And so the whole of the ballroom crew approaches the janitor’s closet stealthily, Laeticia’s fingers over her lips calling for silence, torches brightly burning.  Everybody stops.

Laeticia: Okay.  I’m going to open ze door.  I will lure out, er, ze polar bear towards ze crate.  Okay?  Everybody, er, you got it?

Pierre: Yeah.

Jacques: We got it.

Laeticia: Okay.  And everyone, before we do this, I want to say, no matter what happen, er, I have enjoyed working with you.

Narrator: A deathly silence.  Laeticia approaches, puts her hand on the knob, and—

[Door opens, cricket noises]

Laeticia: Jacques?

Jacques: Uh, yes, Laeticia?

Laeticia: Zere’s nothing in zere, Jacques.

Jacques: But, look, I just saw it, I’m telling you.

Laeticia: Jacques.

Jacques: Yes, Laeticia?

Laeticia: Zis closet is not big enough to hold a polar bear, not with ze curtains and ze stove.

Jacques: But, but, I’m telling you—

Laeticia: Jacques.  You’ve been smoking something maybe.

Jacques: Oh, not when I’m working.  There was—look, I swear, I opened the door, Laeticia, I opened the door.

Laeticia: Mm-hm.  Somebody pick up ze coat, maybe ze polar bear is hiding under it!

Jacques: Now you’re fuckin’ with me.  Great.

Laeticia: No, I want to check.

Jacques: Why would you make fun of me like that?

Laeticia: No, here, I’ll do it.  Oh, let’s see, no.

Jacques: Okay, alright.

Laeticia: No, there’s nothing in zere.

Jacques: When the polar bear becomes back—

Laeticia: Nothing under ze coat, maybe, uh, behind the broom, let me just—oh!

Jacques: That’s gonna be real funny when he comes back and he—

[Voices overlapping]

Narrator: Suddenly, a terrifying sound from behind them!

[Gasps]

It’s the janitor!

Julian: What… my closet!

Laeticia: Oh, Julian, er, I’m sorry, we, er…  When we, er…

Jacques: He would keep a polar bear in there!  Everybody knows it!

Julian: What does he mean?

Jacques: Well, he’s—

Laeticia: No, nothing!  Quiet, quiet.  Julian, we’re sorry.  Come on, er, everybody, back to the ballroom, you know, we have to work.  Somebody grab ze crate and, er, you extinguish torches.

Francois: What do you want me to do with these chains?

Laeticia: Take your clothes off, wrap yourself in them, and do a goth nightclubber.

Francois: I—really?

Narrator: Laeticia walks away.  The rest of them follow, leaving Francois with his chains.  Crew carpenters Lily and Margot approach Laeticia.

Margot: Do you want us to kill him?

Laeticia: Who, Jacques?  Mm, no, not yet, anyway.

Lily: Okay.  When the time comes, don’t hesitate to ask.

Laeticia: Merci, Lily.

Lily: Mm-hm.

Francois: Uh, I guess I gotta do somethin’ with these chains.

Narrator: Meanwhile, the stagehands reach the Broadcast Ballroom and wade into the packing peanuts.

Jacques: The, uh… the janitor looked pretty sad, huh?

Laeticia: Oh boy.  I mean, wouldn’t you be sad a whole bunch of strangers barged into your room when you’re not there?

Jacques: Hey, we’re not strangers.  I mean, psh… hey.  What if we, uh, what if we asked him to come, uh, help us?  I mean, look, he’d love it, you know?  I mean, he’s weird, I—

Laeticia: Okay, okay, Jacques, you wanna make it up with your little friend, go get him, but tick-tock, tick-tock, okay?

[Music starts, footsteps]

Narrator: Jacques knocks on the janitor’s door.

[Knocking, door opens]

Jacques: Uh, hey, kid.  Look, I’m—I’m sorry about that, alright?

Julian: It’s okay.

Jacques: I was actually—I was actually comin’ by because we got a crazy bunch of work to do down there.  Um, we got these telescopes, two thousand of ‘em, actually, and, uh, well, we could, uh, use your help.

Julian: My help?

Jacques: Yeah.

Julian: Really?

Jacques: Yeah!

Narrator: The janitor follows Jacques back to the Broadcast Ballroom.

Julian: Look—look at this!  Wow.

Jacques: Packin’ peanuts.

Julian: They’re up to my chest.

Laeticia: You’re going to help us?

Julian: Yeah.

Laeticia: Mm-hm.  We’re going to get ze goop from ze packing peanut off of ze telescope.

Narrator: And he never worked harder or more happily in his life.  And soon the goop was off of a great many of the telescopes, and with the last of the crates unpacked, the packing peanuts were nearly up to the stagehands’ shoulders!

Francois: Hey, the orchestra pit’s like a swimming pool.

Jacques: I’m gonna throw the janitor into the ring.

Julian: No, no, no!

Jacques: Ah-ha, I’m gonna do it!

Laeticia: No, Jacques!

[Peanuts moving]

Jacques: I think you’re right, Laeticia, I think I killed him.

Julian: I’m alright, I’m alright!

Laeticia: You swim like a fish!

Julian: Backstroke!

Laeticia: Okay, okay.  It’s time to clean all this up, huh?

Narrator: And the janitor worked like he never did before, and the stagehands watched him and marveled.  And two hours later, the Broadcast Ballroom was clean.

Laeticia: Okay, you cleaned, so, let’s go get some breakfast.

Pierre: You comin’, Julian?

Francois: Yeah, you comin’, Julian?

Pierre: An all-night cafe we go to.

Julian: I can come?

Jacques: Can you come?  You worked hard, kid, of course you’re comin’.  Come on.

Narrator: And so off into the new morning they went, the street still dark in the first light.  And as they reach the all-night cafe, bustling with Parisians who, like them, have not yet been to sleep, the stagehands pour in and do not notice that the janitor has stopped.  Seemingly in shock, he stands there, his eyes are wide.  Jacques, the last through, looks back and waves him inside, but the janitor does not come.

The janitor has been here before.  He doesn’t know how, or when.

Julian: I can’t go in there.

Narrator: This begins to feel very important.  He—he’s turning away to go!  No, wait, Julian!

Julian: What?

Narrator: Stop.  Do you remember what you told me earlier?  The secret about what happened to the people with the shoe boxes?

Julian: Yes.

Narrator: Then you can’t run away from what makes you remember anymore.  This is where you turn around and go in.

He’s listening to me!  He’s turned back around.  He’s gazing at the stagehands through the window.  They found a table!

[Laeticia laughing]

They’re laughing.  He wants to be with them.  He walks in…

[Bell jingles, ambient noises, talking]

…and walks right up to the table!

[Laughing]

And he pulls up a chair and sits down, too.  Jacques is describing the bouquet of a very fancy scented candle on which he spent his entire last paycheck.

Jacques: It’s scents of, like, of, like, rainforest, with, like, a hint of, like—

Laeticia: Animal fur.

Jacques: The mist, this specific type of mist that comes off of this.  In fact, I’m not even gonna tell you I lit it, you’re gonna walk in, and you’re gonna be like, oh my god.

Laeticia: I’m gonna tell you something.

Jacques: This is transcendent.

Laeticia: I like expensive things, too.  But you have to admit it, that that’s what you wanted it for.

Jacques: I don’t know, I’ve researched it, so…

Lily: You ain’t burnin’ no hundred-dollar candle, I’m sorry.

Jacques: What are you gonna do with it?

Lily: I’m gonna let it sit there!  Unless it’s like some crystal vase or something.

Jacques: The idea is that the—the fragrance is so pungent and unbelievable that you can never achieve that with another candle.

Narrator: Yes, well, anyway, they talked about all kinds of things.  And then, Pierre told a joke, which we won’t include, just in case there are children listening.

[Laughing, Laeticia gasping]

And the janitor is laughing with them.

Jacques: Everybody, wait, listen.  Listen.  Quiet down.  Listen.  Listen to what they’re playin’ on the radio.  It’s us!

[Slight music]

Laeticia: Oh, zey re-broadcast ze show, huh?  Is it that late already?

Jacques: Shh.

John: Well, that’s all for this week, ladies and gentlemen.  This is John Cameron.  Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower, the Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a good night.

[Applause, music]

Francois: These candles are an achievement, then.

Laeticia: Yeah, these candles are underachievers, these candles are like C-minus candles, huh?

Francois: What did you pay for that, twenty dollars?

Jacques: They live by the sea…

[Music swelling over music, laughing]

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

(sees another fandom that I can ask you about and cheers) Orphan Black! Thoughts? I don't know Dr Who but Tatiana is one of my favorite actors period.

Anon you are so sweet! I'm always happy to chat about fandoms and characters and whatnot, and I will never not appreciate the majesty of Tatiana's acting. That is one of the greatest parts of the show hands down.

Orphan Black, to me, is a show that had incredible potential, but didn't really live up to the excitement it created. (Loooong post ahead.)

The thing is, Orphan Black builds a chilling mystery and background, the world it gradually creates as it goes for about the first two seasons, got be very invested and made me wonder a lot about where it was going to go and what the answers were. The setup is brilliant, right from the start with that iconic cold open of Beth's suicide. The unknown is what really helped this show get as thrilling as it was, because the actual answers behind the unknown were kind of hit and miss, and it seemed like far too often, the show just wasn't interested in telling it's story. Hijinks where the clones impersonate each other in slice of life events? That's fun at first and it really works well as they're still getting to know each other. But after a while, it gets tedious, and it seems like the show would rather fuck around and have dance parties (seriously, that scene was such a #BigLippedAlligatorMoment) than focus on the story and the threat that the sisters are facing. Virtually all of Allison's plotlines are like this, they feel like they belong in a different show, and for some reason the writers insisted on giving her one of these storylines like, every season. After Allison passively murders her own friend out of suspecting that she's spying on her, I just don't feel like an arc about her running for some PTA office position even matters. It doesn't feel right.

Speaking of that, here's another example: Donnie. Why did the end of the first season suggest that he was this secret mastermind working for Leekie? The whole idea just deflates in Season 2 and doesn't really go anywhere. He just goes back to being the bumbling sweetheart he was before. Why even have him be the spy? Maybe it should have been Ainsley. Do you want to know the exact moment that I think Orphan Black went wrong? Like, the specific scene? When Leekie was killed off. The character who had thus far been the Big Bad, gets taken out in the stupidest possible way, a literal accident on Donnie's part, and it's even played for laughs. After that point, the show really struggled to regain it's footing, though I don't think it completely went off the rails until about Season 4, and it was still generally hit or miss. Like, some stuff was really good. The introduction of the Castor clones, the development of Rachel's character (I'll get to her, trust me.) and the reveal of Kendall Malone. But it seemed like so much else was just forgotten or otherwise not resolved. Whatever happened to Cal? Sure, the show wanted to focus on the sisters...but Kira deserves to know her father if she wants to. That's just one example. It's a crying shame because this show is sometimes incredible. The metaphor that I always use for situations like this, is a card game. The show has all the right cards in its hand, they're just not being played.

The two strongest characters, at least to me, were Rachel and Helena. One of these characters was superbly written and went through a devastating arc. The other was Helena. We need to talk about her. In Season 1, she really cemented herself as a memorable presence with her trademark accent, her scars, her whole damn personality (again, hats off to Tatiana) and of course, that iconic screechy theme music that accompanied her. Which at first made us jump, but eventually made us cheer. I adored Helena, and I loved the development of her relationship with Sarah. Who went from shooting her in Season 1, to being deadset on rescuring her in Season 3, being furious with Siobhan for betraying her. (This is unrelated but Siobhan has the same " twist villain fakeout" at the end of Season 1 that Donnie does, and it's quite frustrating.) And yet, I swear, the writers just didn't know what to do with Helena half the time. They put her on a bus for long stretches, including one point where she just up and leaves Allison's house in Season 4, for no given reason. And the characters just kind of...don't care. The same thing happens when she gets arrested. No one cares to try and find Helena, even though she's unstable and often a danger to those around her. Even though she's by herself with no real ability to function in society. Even though she's pregnant. There is no excuse for this, and no Sarah, that "I'm sorry, I avoided you" scene in Season 5 is not going to cut it. It's such an afterthought.

I'm being rather critical, but I hope you can tell that this is from a point of passion. I genuinely enjoyed this show and getting to watch it. Just that sometimes it didn't feel like the show cared that I was watching. However, this was not true whenever Rachel was onscreen. Look, I'm a Merula Snyde stan, so you can probably already guess how I feel about Rachel. Despite her crimes, despite her constant slipping back the dark side, I felt so bad for Rachel at the end of it all. That scene with Kira really sums it up. "Who hurt you?" "All of them." And no scene is more intense than when she stabs out the eye cam. Like, I'm sorry, I pitied Rachel pretty much from Season 2 on. Her parents were horrible to her, and I'm supposed to think Ethan is the good guy here? He kills himself in front of his own daughter, telling her that she doesn't deserve him. And then Sarah shoots a pencil through her eye, causing brain damage and requiring a long recovery. I'm not saying that Sarah was wrong to do what she did, just that if I were in her shoes, I'd still feel a degree of guilt for Rachel's condition. In the end, I'm devastated that she was barred from Clone Club, when she made the right decision at the point it mattered. But there's just too much history there, and Sarah won't ever forgive her. (Though again, I do feel as though there's blame to share.) Rachel is my favorite character and I never expected her to be. But she's just so complex. Side note: "Enjoy your oophorectomy" is so damn quotable. I don't know why but I love that line.

So, Rachel's my favorite. Who's my least favorite? It might surprise you. It's Delphine. I'm sorry, but I just...I couldn't get on board with C*phine. Not after Season 3. I was waiting for the point that the show would push to finally redeem Delphine for her turncoat role, for all of the hell that she put Cosima through. By Season 5 though? I realized that as far as the writers were concerned? She already was redeemed. Even though she did nothing to earn it, except be presumed dead by Cosima. The way she treats Cosima in Season 3 is actually disgusting. Her reasoning for breaking up with Cosima is circular. She has to love "all the clones" in order to be with Cosima, and the way to do that is to take over Rachel's job, which means they can't date anymore? I'm not the only one who thought that didn't make sense, right? Oh and let's talk about how she stalks Cosima's date, breaks into her house, and threatens her life. Red. Flags. Cosima even says the line, "If you're not going to be with me, just let me go." I'm sorry, that should not be something she has to beg for. Delphine's behavior made me want her to stay far, far away from Cosima. Who is, incidentally, a sweetie and I absolutely adore her. I legit have trouble remembering that Tatiana's playing her because she just looks and acts so different. That said, even though I immensely disliked Delphine, I am so very glad that they made one of the clones gay. Just like I'm glad that they made one of them trans. (Though...Tony wasn't handled especially well.)

In general, I do think the earlier seasons were stronger. The Brightborn arc, while interesting, didn't really contribute much to the overarching narrative. We got the backstory on Beth's suicide and finally learned the truth about her, I suppose. Still, even though Beth is one of my favorite of the clones, and I never expected her to be either...I feel like the actual reason given for why she took her own life was rather illogical. She apparently did it because the investigation was putting the clones in danger of another Helsinki. Okay, but just because Evie Cho says you should off yourself, doesn't mean you have to. You could just, like...stop investigating. And if you die under mysterious circumstances without explaining anything to the sisters, they're not going to be put off from the investigation. They're going to look into this even more, because they don't know why they're not supposed to. The reveal that she and Art fell in love toward the end adds an extra gut punch, but it also doesn't make sense because wouldn't Art have referenced it during the period that he thought Sarah was Beth? On the other hand, Season 4 also introduced MK. And I have such a soft spot for her. I adore that sheep-masked sweetie. Everyone always asks "Which clone would you date" (because fandoms can think of nothing else I guess) and I never see anyone give any love to MK. Her death absolutely tore me apart. I am glad Siobhan avenged her even if she went down at the same time. Side note, her last word being the affectionate "Chickens..." Broke me.

Season 5 was a strange beast. In general, it seemed like we were finally getting some answers to the questions that were hanging over us. Exploring the deep mythos. But then they kind of turned it around and made it just be a Wizard of Oz style fraud twist. Westmoreland isn't really inhumanly old, he's a charlatan. I don't know why that was necessary in a science fictional show. I've seen the interviews and I get what they were going for, it just feels like it would have been cooler and far creepier if he was actually that old. The puppet master pulling the strings the whole time. We also finally get some answers for Kira's superhuman healing abilities (though we never learn how she's telepathically connected to the clones) and I'm loving it, but the trouble is, it's inconsistent. Ethan "Why is this guy so popular, he's an asshole" Duncan told Rachel specifically that Sarah being able to have children was a fluke, that the clones were "barren by design." I don't know, the whole concept of Revival and of the "magical island" was really foreboding and tied in with the earlier references to The Island of Doctor Moreau. Especially that song about "Revival's Children" just...the shudders, man. But just having it be a regular old scam is...a letdown. I know it may be more realistic, but I don't always need realism in my scifi. The finale is interesting, in that it's mostly an epilogue. I'm glad the clones (sans Rachel) got to live happily ever after, but there are two gut punches right at the end that are total nitpicks but they bother me. Helena naming her kids after Art and Donnie? And writing a memoir that she names "Orphan Black?" Those two tropes can go die in a hole. They can enjoy an oophorectomy, because I'm so sick of them.

The potential of Orphan Black was practically infinite. The results of Orphan Black fell frustratingly short.

[be-not-afeared]

Black Sails fic recs

Working titles: 12 fics for christmas? 12 days of ficmas? 12 fics none of which actually have anything to do with christmas?

OKAY, so I love nothing more than a fic rec post, and I’ve seen a few Black Sails rec posts floating around but they mostly seem to be a couple of years old and they all recommend a similar bunch of fics (and deservedly so! they are all amazing!). But I thought I would make one to highlight some newer or less shouted-about fics, because I may have only been here for a couple of months but jfc there is so much talent in this fandom and more of it deserves to be hyped. 

So, here are 12 of my favourite fics for the 12 days of christmas! (i.e. an excuse to put an arbitrary number cap on the list or we’d be here all day)

The majority of these are Silver/Flint and the ones that aren’t still all feature Silver prominently because that boy owns my soul, sorry for who I am as a person.

we should rip it straight out by minormendings

45K (Silver/Madi, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

Madi has always wondered if Silver understands what is between him and Flint as well as she. To her, it has always been obvious, from the way the two of them had fit together, had worried about each other, had acted as one. She had tried to bring it up with Silver back when they were together. But Silver had shaken her off, too enmired in the idea that he or Flint would prove each other’s downfall. Or perhaps just unwilling to open his eyes to the fact that he had loved Flint.

It was, unfortunately for the both of them, even more obvious after the thing between them had broken. Just as Silver had thrown away the war out of love for her, Flint had let Silver take away the war rather than kill him.

God. What a group the three of them were, showing love by betrayal.

Post-canon. Madi and Flint find their way back to Silver.

This fic diverges from canon right at the end of the 4x10; Silver has Flint held in a cell in Port Royal and Thomas delivered to him rather than taking him straight to the plantation. It is a BEAUTIFUL character study of how Flint and Madi could both come to forgive Silver, and has a great FlintMadi dynamic too. It also centres Madi’s struggle between wanting to provide for her people and wanting to experience the freedom of piracy, and fleshes out Julius’ character in a way the show never did. 

we can lose and call it living by I_wouldnt_be_one_of_them

31K (Silver/Flint/Thomas, Silver/Flint, Flint/Thomas)

It's been twelve years since everything fell apart, and John Silver is settled in New England. He has a nice house and a job he likes, and he's gotten used to the loneliness. It's a good life, he thinks, but of course that's cast into doubt when James Flint and Thomas Hamilton show up to find closure and, apparently, to see whether he's happy.

This is an inverse of the ‘silver arrives on flint and thomas’ doorstep’ trope and has Flint and Thomas instead being the ones to interrupt Silver, who is living a sad and lonely existence post-series. I love the ThomasSilver dynamic here. And this Silver feels so true to canon he makes me want to WEEP.

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more by Craftnarok

21K (Silver/Flint)

In the year 1725, or thereabouts, John Silver finds himself driven by a storm into an inconsequential little port town, barely a speck on any civilised map. Returned to the life of a drifter, tired and rough around the edges, he is resigned to waiting for the weather to pass before he can sail on again to the next town, and the next, and the next. That is until he overhears a conversation in the inn about a local fisherman, one Captain Barlow, and his tall tales of tempests and becalmings, devils and sharks, and Silver finds a new future opening up to him, haunted by the spectres of his past.

All of Craftnarok’s fics are amazing but I am particularly drawn to this one; it’s set 10 years post-series and is a delightfully angsty exploration of how Flint and Silver could find their way back to each other in a scenario in which Thomas wasn’t at the plantation. It doesn’t let Silver off easy and I love that.

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages

3K (Silver/Madi, Madi & Julius)

The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

Post-series, Julius teaches Madi how to fight. This fic is BEAUTIFUL - give me anything that centres Madi post-canon - and it explores Madi’s relationship with both Julius and Silver so well in so few words. 

Always In Season by mycapeisplaid

60K (Silver/Flint, past Flint/Thomas, past Silver/Madi)

Towering sand dunes, crystal-clear water, miles of forest, vineyards, orchards, and very spotty cellular service -- John Silver finds himself in a part of the state he's never been before and decides to take on seasonal work. Meanwhile, back from his yearly wintering in Florida, James Flint thinks that perhaps he'll take on a new business venture, even though it means he might have to interact with people other than his two close friends. Their summer employment fosters a friendship that could become something more. Like construction season in Michigan, the two must navigate through their own obstacles in order to seek an alternative route toward happiness.

This is an AU and so much fun!! Silver finds himself in Michigan and takes on some seasonal work at Guthrie Dunes. The whole cast features and the setting just WORKS SO WELL. And this Flint feels brilliantly in character despite the difference in setting.

to make a life by gone_girl

53K (Max/Anne, Max & Silver)

“What am I going to do with your name?” Max asks, a little incredulous.

“Whatever you want,” the salesman says. “Didn’t you want something real?”

Max heard a story once about the importance of answering questions like that carefully. If something emerges from the forest and asks for your name, don’t give it up, the story went. Offer only what you know you can live without. She’s never heard a story that tells her what to do when something emerges from the forest and offers its name to you.

I literally only finished this this morning but holy shit this fic is amazing, it’s a Max-centric AU set in Missouri the early 00s and it’s all about found family and building community and platonic love and it has a brilliant SilverMadi dynamic. And there just aren’t enough fics out there that focus on Max & Silver!! 

the straight walk home by vowelinthug

73K (Silver/Flint)

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez…

Obviously vowelinthug’s fics are recc’d all the time and rightly so as they are AMAZING, but one that I don’t see featured as often as the more prominent ones is this incredible Western!AU. It’s 73K guys!! It adapts the canon narrative into the Western setting SO well!! It has background Vane/Billy which I was not at all sure about going in but just WORKS!! Go read it.

The Truth about Eros by Aisalynn

21K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi, Flint/Thomas)

Silver understood one thing very well.

Being Fated did not mean you were safe.

It did not mean you were loved.

This one is hot off the press! I am not normally a fan of soulmate AUs but this is such an interesting take on the trope, and the world building fits around the polyamory theme of the show really effectively! And it is SO well written.

With Nothing on My Tongue by RosieTwiggs

13K (Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

"Silver thinks: Maybe God likes it when I fight with him.

He wonders now, whether he’s been playing into God’s plan all along. Because no matter how angry he gets, how defensive, how many “fuck you”s he flings to the heaven, isn’t it all just proof that he still believes God is there, despite it all?

Silver doesn’t know how to counter that.

Maybe he doesn’t want to anymore."

An incredibly well written (and angsty! read the tags!) Jewish!Silver character study. This one has really stayed with me.

Maybe in Another Life by samedifference61

31K (Silver/Flint/Madi, Flint/Madi, Silver/Flint, Silver/Madi)

At the rail of a ship James doesn’t command, they stand shoulder to shoulder.

“John still thinks you’re dead,” James states, because it’s something that needs to be said aloud before they continue.

With eyes unblinking toward the rolling sea, Madi says, “And he still thinks you should be dead.”

James’ lip curls in anger. The wounds of betrayal are too fresh for either to say anymore.

Canon-divergent from 4x09, this is a brilliant MadiFlint centric fic exploring their relationship post Silver’s betrayal, and how he could find his way back to them both whilst acknowledging the weight of his actions.

in a vault of starlight by whimsicalimages

7K (Silver/Madi/Flint/Thomas)

The distance between Nassau and Savannah can be measured as: six hundred and thirteen nautical miles, five thousand pounds’ worth of pearls, or four extraordinary lifetimes.

Alternatively: in the aftermath, Madi writes her own story.

There aren’t enough Madi centric fics out there! This one is a lovely extension of canon with a great MadiSilver dynamic in particular.

the aftershocks remain by pdameron

31K (Silver & Miranda, Silver/Flint)

For as long as he can remember, John Silver has been able to see ghosts. He has no trouble keeping this secret from Flint - until Charlestown. Until Miranda.

Again all of pdameron’s fics are brilliant but I loooove this SilverMiranda centric one, plus who doesn’t love a ghost!au.

[arinmelnikov]

B L O O D   F R O M   A   S T O N E

     Another sunrise. The tall, opaque windows in their apartment were a pink and yellow gradient, the sun chasing away the grey of the predawn murk and setting the room alight, liquid gold glowing on every surface. Arin had finished narrowing down the buildings to look at in the woods, and was preparing to leave when his phone buzzed – twice. He crossed the room to it and picked it up, glancing at the screen: Ivan. The first text was a picture, the second a question mark. Zooming in on the picture, he saw it was taken in the street; a brick wall, or the side of a building, plastered with wanted posters, some old and faded, some just printed. Three of them were his, grouped together in a triangle as if one wasn’t enough to get the point across, but that wasn’t what the photo was of. Across them, written in red spray-paint, was a message: IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER COME HOME. Arin called instead of wasting time writing a reply, speaking the second Ivan picked up.    “Где это?”      “Повсюду. Я видел по крайней мере четверых.” He was still outside, the sounds of traffic and the public burbling in the background, underneath his voice.    “Они все одинаковые?”      “Да. Что происходит?”    “Ничего. Я разберусь с этим.” Arin ended the call, putting his phone away. He knew he’d been right about the fucking Bentons, and yet having it confirmed made him more furious still, Gerard’s subdued but smug face sneering at him in his memory. If you want to see her, come home. There was no doubt who the message was for, and there were no doubts as to its meaning – not to him. Perfectly fucking tailored; to anyone else, vague and meaningless, and to him, crystal fucking clear.

     Another sunrise, another trap – and just like the first one, he had no intentions of walking into it unprepared.

     He hadn’t set foot in or near their old apartment building since they’d abruptly vacated it in the middle of the night, and it was a little strange, seeing it still standing when the last two places he’d lived before it had been razed to the ground. Assuming they’d be watching the street, he approached from the back, out of sight of the apartment’s windows, through an alley that snaked between two of the nearby buildings, over a tall chainlink fence and into the private back area. He stood on one of the dumpsters that were lined up along the wall there and climbed the fire escape up to the fourth floor, approaching the window on the far right and glancing in through it before he stuck one of his blades in between the rails, coaxing open the basic latch that held the lower sash in place. Arin pushed the window open and stepped through, closing it quietly behind him and redoing the latch once he was in. The apartment was still, and its sixty-something alcoholic occupant was nowhere to be seen or heard; the only trace of her was the musty smell that was probably ingrained in the fucking walls by now, and the cloying tang of brandy hanging in the barely breathable air. If he was lucky, she was sleeping. If he was even luckier, she was out somewhere, more likely than not meeting with whatever hookup bitter old cunts had for liquor.      Soundlessly, he moved from the hallway he’d landed in and towards the living room and kitchen, looking around but seeing no movement. The glass door to the balcony wasn’t far, but he had to slow down once he reached it, because he needed to be completely silent – he didn’t want whoever was waiting for him on the other side of the wall to be forewarned and ready. After unlocking the door, he carefully slid it open (as small of a gap as he could fit through), internally demanding from the old bag who lived there that she not pick now to fucking show up as he slipped outside and pulled it shut once more.

     For a moment, he paused there in the sun, listening, his back pressed against the smooth limestone wall, his breathing slow and even… and he heard it. Voices coming from their old apartment. It was impossible to distinguish what they were saying, nor if they were ones he’d heard before – but it didn’t really matter. Arin, not giving himself another second to consider shit that could go wrong, stepped onto the railing and pushed himself into a standing position again, balancing on the metal banister. His eyes locked on the next balcony, and he jumped, sixty feet of nothing underneath him for one exhilarating heartbeat before he reached the opposite side. He let his boots touch down on the other railing briefly, slowing his momentum but not landing fully, his soles slipping off and hitting the ground with a jolt that he absorbed by letting his legs bend, dropping into a crouch. No time to fucking waste. Unsure if the assholes inside the apartment had heard him, he moved quickly, tugging the gas mask that had been resting on top of his head down over his face and tightening it, freeing the SMG from its holster at his rib, switching off the safety – extracting a gas canister from his pocket and pulling the pin. As it started smoking, Arin pointed his weapon’s muzzle at the bottom left corner of the glass in the door and pulled the trigger. The glass shattered, a hail of glittering shards raining down on him as he threw the hissing canister into the apartment, closely followed by another he’d yanked from his left pocket, the sound of both of them rolling across the floor drowned out underneath the shouts that erupted from inside. If Queenie was in there, she’d forgive him.

     Gunfire came next, through the door, hitting the frame and the balcony’s railing, shattering the window above him where he sat crouched against the wall. Arin counted. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. The shooting died down, replaced by indistinct thudding, muted sounds of struggle. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.      He let a full minute pass before he got up, stepping through the broken door, glass crunching under his boot as he entered the apartment. All their shit was gone – whether it had been cleared out by the Bentons or the building’s owner, he didn’t know, but it was immaterial, and not what he was focused on at the moment. Four bodies in black tactical gear lay strewn close to each other near the doorway, two on either side. Arin approached one of them, not caring that his carbine was still in burst mode as he aimed at the head of the closest unconscious form and squeezed the trigger, and it was fucking cathartic – the rapid torrent of the three shots exploding through the room, the weapon kicking in his grip, the blood spattering the floor, the wall, him. It wasn’t the actual Bentons – not yet – but it was a step closer than Noriko’s disloyal ass, and it felt fucking good. He moved on to the next soldier, another headshot, and the next, another; three dead pieces of shit, nine bullets, three pools of crimson spreading on oak floorboards, soaking into the wood.

     In front of the last soldier, he dropped to a crouch, hands dipping into pockets and patting over hiding places as he stripped the man of any and every tool he had on him. His weapons and ammunition went skidding across the floor, pushed away, his phone was thrown out through the windowless door and off the balcony, plummeting to the ground several stories below, and the communication device in his ear was taken out and stepped on. Arin grabbed the soldier by the collar and hauled him up, propping him against the wall before he brought the back of his hand hard across the man’s face, stirring him from his unconscious state. His movements were dazed, slow at first, confusion glazing his eyes for a long moment before they finally focused on Arin and he tensed, feeling the muzzle brake that was digging into the center of his chest. Arin pushed a little harder, his index finger resting against the side of the weapon, just above the trigger. He wanted to shoot; wanted to look the soldier in the eye, see the realization flash in them, the fear, before the abrupt departure of the fickle little spark that was life – Government fucking filth – but he couldn’t. He needed this one… for now.

   “It’s your lucky day, asshole.”

[slightlymore]

Snail

Disclaimer: I do not consider Jaehyun a fuckboy in the derogatory sense of the term, he’s just very flirty and cocky in this piece for entertaining purposes okay lol alright let’s go; also, no, the snail title has nothing to do with the sexy situation lol dw, it’s a cursed one but not that cursed Words: 5K Warnings: mention of blood (regarding a little cut on the hand, nothing serious) related to the plot not the sexy bits | manhandling and rough | oral (both) + swallowing + face fucking 

As the floor trembled and your escargot went flying all the way until meeting the handsome face of a stranger, you promised yourself to learn how to say no more often. You had no idea why you accepted to be on a cruise in the middle of the Pacific. Wasn't the Pacific supposed to be, you know, pacific? Or were you just that clumsy? 

Your mouth was open and it continued to grow ever wider at the look of one escargot sliding slowly on the man's eyes. He was standing there, with hands wide open in front of him as if someone splashed a bucket of cold water on his whole body. "I am-" you got closer with the first napkin you could find, "-mortified" you added, trying hard to build up courage and wipe the garlic off his nose. But you didn't manage to as he preferred to wipe his whole face with his palm instead. You watched him with a sorry and disgusted face, while awkwardly holding the fabric with both of your hands. Then he suddenly opened his eyes and gave you the most assassin of looks. His wet eyelashes accentuated the growing redness and his furrowed eyebrows created a deep, scary shadow. You gulped loudly and jolted as he slid the napkin from your fingers with a violent movement. "I apologize, I didn't-" you tried to speak again but as the man finished to wipe his face he turned his back to you and walked away throwing the napkin at your feet. "-mean to…" you whispered without completing the phrase as no one was there to listen to it anymore.

Your sister laughed loudly for a solid minute into the phone. You sighed but you felt the chuckle warm up your chest and you found yourself grinning as well. "I can imagine his face even if I don't know what he looks like-" she spoke again but choking on the words as another laughing fit interrupted her. You shook your head as if pretending to be disappointed by her behavior. "It was terrible. I've been here for 20 minutes and I've already made a fool out of myself," you commented. "Y/N, I know you don't like stuff like this, but that fundraising party is vital for the image of my company," your sister finally was able to catch her breath. You rested your elbows on the iron rails and looked down at the shining water. "Yes, don't worry, I can deal with all of this". "Just smile and shake hands and tell people who is giving the money you're giving," you listened to your sister's voice through the phone. The sun was so bright that it was almost difficult for you to keep your eyes open. You suddenly started to feel hot and tired, already socially exhausted after interacting with only one person. Turning around, you stared at the colorful clothes people were wearing, yellow, red, green, white, pink, bright blue and your head started to hurt. Everyone was chatting loudly, holding drinks, telling each other about their last investments, yachts, airplanes, jewelry, celebrity parties, vacation plans. What in the world would you talk with them about when your dress was $15 and your earrings probably plastic? You sighed again. "-and remember to talk to the fundraiser. He's a pain in the ass but rather charming if you know what buttons to press," you listened to your sister's last words while wondering what she said before that. "Alright, get well soon," you replied, eager to sit somewhere in the shade with a nice refreshing lemonade or something. You walked around the deck, thinking about how nice it would be to put your hot feet inside the cool water of the pool. But no, the fundraiser wanted a chic, semi-formal look for the party. As if anyone cares. You rolled your eyes, having a full-on conversation with yourself inside your mind, hovering over the refreshments. You poured yourself whatever looked fresh and not too sweet and downed it all. It was only when you turned around, hearing the mic being hit as if someone was trying to grab everyone’s attention that you realized you just had a big ass glass of alcohol. “Thank you for being here,” said the man. He was on top of the small stage from where the live band was providing people with background noise. People clapped and you imitated them, trying to walk at the front and see the fundraiser’s face. Finally, he was speaking. Afterwards, it wouldn’t be that weird to just go inside your cabin and chill for the rest of the day until dinner, would it? You “sorry, uhm, excuse me, haha, mind if I just-, thank you” ed you way until being able to see the man’s feet. First thing: boat shoes. Okay, you were on a boat, kind of, but, honestly? Come on. Then you raised your eyes to see his cream shorts and sighed. In the end you eyed his red shirt with black palms on it. What a rollercoaster. But it wasn’t until you saw his face that you felt like falling down.  “Snail man!” you gasped covering your mouth with your hand. Curious eyes looked at you from left and right and the man himself stopped from talking and looked down at you. You didn’t yell that just now, did you? Now you were definitely going to be thrown off the ship. Snail man’s eyes were firing but his lips smiled when he cleared his throat and just continued the monologue as if you were a little fly not worth his attention. You pressed your lips together, hoping that your warm cheeks would be mistaken for sunburns instead of killing mortification. After everything was finished and the band started playing their music again, you debated whether talking to the fundraiser or not. He didn’t look very pleased to see you and you were afraid you were going to embarrass yourself even further, but your conscience didn’t let you just run away. You didn’t apologize properly and your sister would be upset that you didn’t talk to him at all. “Uhm, excuse me,” you spoke to him, rising your hand a little as when you’re too shy to call the waitress to ask for more breadsticks. He turned his head to look at you, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding a glass of champagne. His eyebrows got furrowed very quickly and you sensed that he was doing everything in his power to not roll his eyes. “Ah, snail woman herself,” he commented with a dry voice. You walked towards him hurriedly as if glad he gave you a chance to talk to him. “I wanted to properly apologize for the incident. I didn’t do it on purpose… uh…” you knew his name was Jung Jaehyun but he was too young for you to use honorifics with him. At the same time, he definitely looked like someone wanting to be called Sir. He sighed. “Call me Mr. Jung,” he told you. Yep. “Mr. Jung,” you repeated. He sipped on his drink again. You stared. Uhm?? He should tell you that he’s forgiving you now, right? That’s how human interactions work. I’m sorry. Oh no, it’s alright. “Is there something else you wanted to tell me?” he spoke after the awkward pause. Was there something else you had to tell him? You were kind of panicking. How do rich people talk? “I am Y/N?” you question, hoping it was what he wanted to hear. Nice to meet you Y/N, let’s just pretend that we didn’t have an abrupt first contact and let me help you feel less embarrassed. But no. He laughed at you. Yeah. Just like that. He laughed loudly for everyone to hear while your whole face got even more flushed than before.  The people that were close enough to you to hear your conversation, chuckled secretly, giving you weird stares.  You stared at his face.  If you didn’t feel a slow-boiling rage inside your chest, you might have considered his laugh charming, with those white teeth and deep dimples of his. But you were indeed starting to feel rather irritated. You did splatter him in buttery escargots and called him a snail, but you apologized and he definitely saw how mortified you were. Was this a way to make you pay? You looked around and felt the urge to hug yourself but you didn’t want to look more vulnerable that you actually were. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he talked again and you locked eyes with him again. He was still amused but a softer light adorned his eyes. “I’m messing with you. It’s fine. We’re cool, don’t worry about the snails,” he added, walking towards the refreshments table and looking around, unsure. You tailed him to be able to hear what he was saying. He was probably those types of people that were used to just walk around a company while six people surrounded him taking notes and helping him to take off his jacket. “Escargot,” you whispered. The man shrugged. “Snails that you eat. Besides, you called me snail man, not escargot man”. You took a glass of orange juice while he smelled some pastries. “Unless you wanted to say that I look like a snail,” he considered. “Oh no, you don’t look like one at all,” you assured him. “And how do I look?”. “Very handsome-” you sputtered before being able to stop yourself.  Okay, what the actual fuck? There were legit thousands of different ways to say it. You look fine. You look nice. You look good. Nonchalantly Y/N. More casual. As if you don’t care. No. You look very handsome. God. To the snail man that embarrassed you just 1 minute ago. Mr. Jung looked at you with the corner of his eye and smiled. Who knows how many times he has heard that before. “Honestly, you caught my eyes as you entered the cruise. I was there when you tripped because I was coming to talk to you,” he confessed. His tone was flat though as if he was talking about the weather. Your head jerked into his direction.  How does one reply to that? Thanks? Should you feel flattered? Okay, he was a very handsome man but if he needed only a piece of garlic thrown to his face to change his mind about you (when it was an accident) then you didn't want it. “I see,” you talked awkwardly while your hand tried to put down your empty glass. “Hey, caref-” Mr. Jung warned you but it was too late. Your nerves were so thin that you didn’t realize how fragile crystal glasses actually were. “Oh, shit-” you stared at the shattered pieces in your hand. One of your fingers was quick to bleed little beads of blood. “I am so sorry,” you apologized for what you felt was the 20th time that day. For no reason.  “Let me see,” Mr. Jung ordered, carefully cleaning the skin of any remaining fragments after you opened your hand. “I have a first aid kit in my suite. Let’s go,” he spoke again and taking your other hand he just walked away, as if completely sure you'd follow him. You tugged a little trying to convince him that you were fine. “It’s alright. I have a band-aid in my purse”. Mr. Jung just stared at you without saying a word as if his eyes were powerful enough to command you to do what he wanted. Not negotiable, they were saying. You softened your grip and let yourself be dragged away with a sigh.

His cabin didn’t look like yours at all. It was much more spacious and elegant. His bed was round and luxurious. It looked so sensual with its red and black bedding that you had to look away. Your heels got buried in the soft and thick rug placed in the middle of the floor. Mr. Jung’s perfume impregnated the whole room and you felt a little light-headed. He took you to the desk in front of the big windows that were showing the lazy waves underneath the cruise. Leaving you there to rest your hips on the wooden furniture, he opened a cabinet and retrieved what he needed to disinfect your cut. When he turned around and got closer you could see how his expression was serious and stern, no trace of the flirty light from before. Maybe he didn't want you to sue him for hurting yourself on his cruise? You breathed sharply through your teeth when he placed the cold and wet cotton on your finger and he raised his eyes to look at you. You returned the glare. “It’s alright,” you whispered, inciting him to go on. You had no idea why you kept your voice so low. Maybe because he was standing so close to you, almost touching your knees with his thighs, or maybe because he looked so concentrated, his plump lips slightly open and a little line between his eyebrows. As he was looking down on your hand, you looked at his face for the first time without feeling shy. You didn’t like to see blood or maybe it was the sun hitting your head but you suddenly felt all your limbs very weak.  When he was done and looked up, you swallowed and made sure to be caught gazing at the surroundings instead of the nude collarbones his unbuttoned shirt revealed. But maybe he wasn’t that stupid. “You look very pale,” he commented while raising a hand and brushing his thumb on your lower lip. “You also look a little shocked,” he added more amused when you jolted at his touch. Yeah, because you’re touching me, not because of the cut.  What was he doing? Do rich people think that they own people as well? You tried to express that with your eyes but he looked unfazed as if doing that was as easy and normal as to shake someone’s hand. You knew you had to move away, tell him that you just need to get some rest, maybe lay down for a bit. But your limbs wouldn’t move.  You cleared your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured moving your hand as to indicate what you were referring to.  Mr. Jung was just staring, apparently not used to reply to gratitude, eyes slightly narrowed as if analyzing you, then they went down and openly looked at your breasts. 

Okay.  Alright. You didn’t wear any bra because it would have ruined the dress silhouette and you were already anxious out of your mind wondering if your nipples would show or not, so you definetly didn’t expect people to just staring at it. You gulped and let out a little nervous laugh while shifting your body, trying to do something that would distract him from staring at your boobs, not because you hated it, but because you suddenly felt exposed, shy and, God save us, maybe a little turned on. You shouldn’t have drunk that glass of alcohol. “Your suite is very nice. The color scheme is intense but charming-” you started to cary the conversation but felt your breath hitch as he got suddenly even closer as if not listening nor caring about what you were trying to discuss. “Please, don’t stop talking,” he purred. “I love your voice,” he added distracted.  “You’re not even listening to me,” you replied with a tiny sound. “Mm, you’re right, I’m focusing on other things right now,” he smiled finally lifting his gaze on your face. “Your dress has a blood spot right here,” he pointed to one of your nipples, touching it, definitely feeling how it got hard because of it. You quickly dropped your head to your chest to see. Damn it!, that was a big ass spot on your fucking bright yellow dress. “Why did you wait so long to tell me that?” you jerked your head up again.  He shrugged. “I got distracted”. And you knew what he meant with that. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms on your chest and puffing your cheeks. He found that very funny and just laughed at you. Again. “I think I should go now,” you nodded to yourself as if building up the courage to get up. “Yeah”, Mr. Jung agreed. But you didn’t move nor did he. So, he tilted his head on the side and wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue,  getting as close as to whisper on your lips.  “Or maybe you’re waiting for me to help you get undressed?” he asked teasingly. His hands were pressed on the desk around your body, his arms feeling like a cage and his presence so intense that you physically shivered. “You- you should let me go,” you stuttered, even if you both already understood that you had no intention to go away. Mr. Jung let his dimples appear in a shiny smile. "What if I want to do something else?" he asked without breaking eye contact. You kept in a whimper, not used to hear people talking to you like that. "You'd have to at least buy me dinner first," you tried to joke and keep up with his vibe. "I'll fill you up so well that you won't want to eat anything else," he whispered and you've never felt your guts do what they just did ever before. Fuck.  "I-" you blinked unable to look at his eyes. What was happening? Why was the fundraiser flirting with you? Why weren't you already on your feet walking towards your cabin? Why were your fingers moving slowly to touch his wrist? Why did you were feeling the urge to let it brush his skin and follow the vein on his forearm until reaching the bicep then upon his shoulder, caressing it when it reached the soft part of the neck trying to understand if his pulse was beating as fast as yours or not. He let you do that as your eyes followed your hand and when it was close to his face you saw his jaw clench. You stopped.  "Go on," he ordered but you couldn't bring yourself to, feeling your cheeks suddenly burn. So he took your hand and forced it down on his chest, slowly, letting you feel his muscles underneath the thin shirt fabric, going down on his abdomen, making your breath hitch as he flexed his abs on your fingertips, not stopping, letting it slide on his cold belt until your palm was all the way on his turgid length. He pressed his hand on yours even harder, letting you understand what you were dealing with, not looking away from your face, loving your reactions. Oh, you were wet, fuck you were so wet. "Okay," you breathed out, "okay, okay, you won Mr. Jung". "But there is no game," he explained with a sly smile. "If you're trying to make me pay or embarrass me because of the incident, then I'm sorry again Mr. Jung-” you spoke trying to keep your composure that was holding itself on the thinnest thread ever. He chuckled. “I’m trying to tell you that I want to fuck you, miss Y/N,” he whispered against your ear, articulating every word, slowly, as if he was touching you already with his voice alone. You let out a tiny moan that became suddenly bigger as his tongue lightly traced the curve of your neck, making you stretch it to the side. Then he just bit down, hard, with no warning, sucking on the skin, grabbing your thighs, digging his fingers into your flesh and lifting you into his arms. You yelped and tightened your arms around his neck not expecting the movement and not expecting his throwing you on the bed either. You exhaled sharply as it knocked all of the air out of your lungs and he didn’t even give you a single second to breathe in again, that he was already on the bed, on his knees, between your legs. Oh, God. It’s about to happen. But he didn’t do what you thought he would do. His smile never flattered and his eyes never let you go while his palms caressed your legs slowly, from your calves, going underneath your knees, tickling your sensitive skin, then upon your thigh where the dress split started. You looked down at his hands and just gasped loudly when he held the fabric and just tore it apart. “It was ruined anyway, baby girl,” he assured you seeing your shocked expression. You jolted again when he touched your stomach and ripped your dress again, this time until the tear reached your chest and you felt the material sliding off your skin to the sides. Naked in one second, you shivered certain that your cheeks were burning. You wanted to say something, but you had no idea what should one say in these types of situations. “Would you help me take this off as well, babe?” Mr. Jung smiled. “I can’t possibly tear that apart,” you sat up shocked. Jaehyun’s deep laugh tickled your ears. “Just unbutton it, love, it’s enough,” he suggested and you obeyed lifting your hands to rest on his chest for a moment then slowly tackling the task. You felt Mr. Jung’s gaze on your body just as present as his fingers drawing little circles on your bare thighs. “You are so beautiful, miss Y/N,” he suddenly said making your hands tremble on the last button. His compliment didn’t linger in your mind too much though as the image in front of you knocked your thoughts out of your mind. You touched him, starting from the bottom, pressing your hands hard then going up scratching his skin with your nails. He breathed out as your fingers spread on his chest and you expected him to finally kiss you but he just raised one hand and cupped your face, feeling your cheek with his thumb then letting it descend on your neck, massaging your throat, applying some pressure, enough for you to open your lips in an attempt to breath better. Your legs squirmed around him, trying hard to get together, indicating him that something between them needed attention. But he just smiled and didn’t budge. His hand continued to go down on your body until reaching your soft breasts, cupping them, feeling the smoothness of your skin and the plumpness of your hard nipples. You whined at the touch and your eyes implored him to go faster. “Be a good girl for me, or I will stop,” he warned you softly. “You want me to stop?” You shook your head quickly, so easy to submit yourself to him. He smiled as if pleased and let your breasts go to unbuckle his belt. His pace was so calm and slow, so different from just a minute ago when he literally ripped your clothes off your body. He was a surprise and your core felt even wetter at the thought of what he might do next. When he let his thick cock out, pumping it slowly, licking his lips teasingly, you thought he wanted you to go down on him, and oh, you were so eager to do it, letting your tongue feel his veins and taste his flavour.  But he clicked his tongue with a dimpled smile as if reading your mind and directed his length on your breasts, hitting your nipples with the tip of his cock, little drops of precum smearing on them, making both of your breaths hitch. You looked down at how it moved and promptly grabbed your chest, tightening it around him, opening your mouth and letting a trail of saliva fall on it. Jaehyun hummed appreciatively and moved his hips between our breasts, loving the way your skin felt on his hot cock, grunting every now and then and biting his lower lip. You, on the other hand, were panting loudly, soon shut up by his fingers shoved inside your mouth to suck on them. Your tongue wet them well while looking up at him with lusty eyes as if asking if you were being a good girl or not. The answer was that you were so good that he had to feel that tongue on his cock as well. So he just grabbed your head by the nape and filled your mouth all in one go, hitting the back of your throat with the hottest groan you’ve heard a man do before. “Oh- oh fuck, fuck-” he managed to say as his adam apple went up and down, swallowing hard. He was so hot, rolling himself on your tongue, chocking you, thrusting fast, holding your face with both of his hands, staring down at how his cock disappeared between your lips. You whined at his size and you would have let him know that it was too much if he didn’t release right at that moment with a shudder of his hips. His expression was pained from pleasure and he tried to pull out but you grabbed his sides to keep him in place and he cursed again, feeling his cum slide down your throat as you swallowed around him, adding to the euphoria. A little trail of it came out your lips and down your chin that you promptly collected with your finger and licked off, slowly, not breaking eye contact.  “You are driving me fucking crazy,” his voice came out deep and dangerous just like the look in his dark eyes and just like his manners.  He grabbed your shoulders and pushed you down on your back but not giving you a second to catch your breath as you were already turned around on your stomach with a dull thud, his hands forcing you to get on all fours in front of him. Your panties were quickly dragged down your legs but your needy core wasn’t left bare too long as his tongue replaced the fabric, hugging your form tightly, vibrating restlessly on your bundle of nerves, smacking it by tugging it with his lip, caressing it with his thumb, stretching you out to fuck you with his fingers. Previously upright on your hands you just had to let yourself fall on the mattress, not having a single ounce of force in your arms anymore, pressing your face on the covers, mumbling nonsense as Jaehyun was sending you into pure bliss. His teeth followed his tongue on your thigh, biting the soft flesh and sucking on it hard, adding to the sensation his fingers provided so deep inside of you. “S-sir,” you whimpered breathlessly, “don’t stop, please,” you begged. And he didn’t. “Does it feel good, princess?” he asked before going back to tease your clit.  “Y-yes, yes, please, I want-” you whispered.  He knew what you wanted.  He kept on pumping your core fast even when you let out a high pitched sound, gripping the sheets underneath you and squirming restlessly. Your legs were still shaking in spasms when he rolled your over on your back again digging his fingers into your skin, not worried about leaving marks. You looked at him and whined seeing his cocky smile, knowing that nothing good would come out of it. Sprawled like that in front of him, letting him look at every inch of your body in broad sunlight, with your head clearer thanks to the explosive orgasm you’ve just had, you let your hands cover your breasts as if helping to cover you a little. A little tingle of shame caressed your spine and you couldn’t bear to look at Jaehyun in the eyes. He smiled placing his hands on your waist and dragging your body towards him, opening your legs around his hips with a rough movement. “Are you getting embarrassed for behaving like a little slut just now, angel?” he teased you, caressing your thighs. “Let me see everything, put your hands away,” he ordered. You looked at his face for a brief moment and gulped, nervous, still very turned on but so shy at the same time.  “I said,” he lowered his voice by a few notes, making your breath quicken, “put your hands away,” he added, intimidating as never before.  His expression was lusty but dangerous and you were about to obey, but he didn’t have much patience. He came closer as lighting and grabbing your wrists, he pinned them above your head, keeping them down in an iron grip. His chest was almost touching your breasts and his cock was laying between your wet folds. Jaehyun started to slowly roll his hips and you felt him harden at every movement, twitching on your raw clit, making you jolt. You breathed on his lips, thin moans forming on your tongue, mind starting to get foggy again, your everything telling you to just let yourself go.  “Please- please I want-” you mumbled choking on your breath while his other hand traveled south, kneading your hip and pressing your leg against himself even harder. “Yes, darling?” he whispered back, pelvis moving at a slow pace, driving you crazy. “Please- I want to feel you inside,” you confessed with a tiny voice before suddenly losing all air in your lungs as he penetrated you in one go, burying himself deep inside, thrusting hard as to make your body shift on the bed sheets back and forth. “Like this, baby?” he asked with a broken voice. “You wanted this? To feel my cock stretch your sweet little pussy like this, huh?”. You tried to hum back but only high moans escaped your mouth as he was pressing so hard into you, isolating his pelvis movements as if hammering, making your toes curl and legs tighten, all of your muscles tensioned and twitching underneath his weight. “My little disobedient princess had the courage to ask for my cock? Now, you’re going to get it” he got up on his knees again, caressing your stomach then sliding down and rubbing your clit with his thumb.  You arched your back, eyes rolling back in your head, hands shifting while trying something to hold onto.  When you lifted your hips so close to coming undone yet again, he descended again, stopping with a deep thrust. Remaining still inside and holding you tight, he wrapped your body with his, squishing your breasts with his hard chest. You whined, clenching around him, so so close, please, you were so close. Against your neck, you heard him breathing heavily and chuckle before leaving wet kissed on your skin. Reaching your lips he thrust in again, pushing you into the mattress, repeating the same movement as before, knocking the air out of your lungs, making you moan as never before. You wanted him to move, you wanted him to continue to hit that sweet spot again and again until you would lose your fucking mind. But you had no force to articulate any words so you just wrapped his neck with your arms and dragged him down in your first kiss, letting your tongue communicate what you couldn’t say, whining and wincing, making him growl as you clenched around his throbbing cock while he let his hips move again until they lost rhythm.

[mlb-au]

The Things We Lost

This is my attempt at writing an angst MLB au where Marinette is too overwhelmed at everything she has lost to Lila and loses control. This story does contain suicidal thoughts, strong language, and suicide so be warned.

If asked a few months ago about what the young girl was like, people would talk about how sweet and caring she is. She works hard, puts others first, and is a bit clumsy but is so loving and helpful. They might also say how expressive and optimistic the girl is, like she’s a ball of sunshine. Cut back to the present and none of these words would be used to described the baker’s daughter. Marinette knew that Lila could be trouble. She was telling so many lies, each one getting bigger and more threatening, how could she not be concerned. She had hoped that after everything Lila had done that people would stop believing her. They did not. Instead all blame was placed onto the dark haired girl. Thief. Cheater. Liar. Jealous bitch. Bully. These words and more were thrown at the girl until she felt like they coated her body like a second skin. Even when she was adorned in her red and black suit, she still felt the presence of these comments. It was a miracle that she hadn’t slipped up and allowed Hawkmoth to akumatize her yet.

Her friends, classmates, teachers, and even parents were against her. Her only comfort was the kwamis. Each night they would comfort their guardian in hopes of doing something for the girl. Each night she cried herself to sleep. Each night she hoped that tomorrow would be a better day. It seemed like her wishes never came true. She went through the day like a zombie. She walked into class and went into her seat in the back. People’s eyes putting holes into her body as they whispered about her. Freak. Stalker. Crazy. Jerk. She stare blankly at the front as class went on. If she was lucky, she could go home without being stopped. However most days she wasn’t.

Lila would corner her. Her smirk and eyes were like daggers into Marinette’s soul. She would bark and laugh about how she was good on her promise to rid Marinette of all her friends. Somedays she left it at that. Other days she would hit her or push her. Of course no one noticed her bruises. They even failed to notice the scars forming on her arms, just hidden by her jacket. Marinette stood on her rooftop balcony. She was in her pajamas, and the wind stung her freshly made cuts. She glanced down wondering what it would be like to jump. Tikki and the other kwamis gently nudged the girl back inside. She couldn’t leave them.

Even her partner noticed the difference in her behavior and tried to ask her about it. He expected something simple and easy to fix. He never would have expected what she said next. “I’m looking for a new Ladybug.” “What, why?” Ladybug stared out onto Paris. “I can’t do this anymore. If I continue to be Ladybug, then Hawkmoth will win. I’ll continue to be the guardian, but Paris needs a new Ladybug.” He looks sad but then turns it into a smile. “So does that mean I can find out who you are?” Marinette didn’t even have the energy to yell at him. “I’ll let you know when I find one.” She stood and swung off, leaving him to wonder what he did wrong. Marinette detransformed and couldn’t quite understand why she was crying.

She eyed everyone in the city closely. She needed to sink into the background, and the sooner she did that the better. She did discover someone. A girl her age who went to a different school. She had some friends, did a school club, and most of all was kind and selfless. She waited for a few more days, watching in the shadows, before approaching the girl. Her name was Raven, a nod to her parents dark black hair. Marinette came to her as Mutlimouse. (Only Chat knew that Marinette was Mutlimouse, and it wouldn’t matter once she was gone.) The girl was shocked, but trusted the hero’s judgement. She helped trained and coached the girl, and it was time for the world to have a new, permanent, hero. Mutlimouse and the new Rubybug met with Chat Noir. Chat Noir didn’t even give Marinette a second look.

Over the week she carefully watched the two worked together. It was a bit of a shake up at first, but Rubybug was able to save the day and gain the love of Paris’s citizens. At the end of the week, Marinette said her last goodbyes to Tikki and that was that. However, Tikki had one last parting gift. Hidden in Marinette’s sewing box was a small book. Tikki had wrote out so many messages, all comforting her chosen one. For the first night in a while, the tears she shed were happy. One thing was clear though, she needed to escape more of her life.

Marinette carefully worked. She found a place hidden in plain sight. It was fair enough from her old life yet close enough to be reached in case a different miraculous holder was needed. Not to mention that it wouldn’t be searched or questioned. She moved as much stuff over to the new location as she could without raising suspicion. Then she waited for the day. The day when she would no longer be around. Everyone at school made sure to mention the date. Lila had been working on her final scheme: to get Adrien to be her’s. They would have a date and talk while going to André’s ice cream stand. They would get ice creams that matched each other and would kiss. That was Lila’s plan.

Marinette stood on a newby building, as Scarlet Vixen, and waited. Sure enough Adrien and Lila came around the corner. The rest of the class waited and watched. Alya was recording the whole thing in a livestream. Scarlet Vixen waited for the right time. Lila had just gotten her ice cream, and it matched Adrien. Now it was time to get his. “Strawberry for her blush, blackberry for her hair,” Adrien couldn’t help but get a sense of dread in his stomach. Something bad was about to happen. He glanced around and noticed Marinette standing on the railing. As André said “blue bell stare”, Marinette’s eyes turned to him. She had tries rolling down her eyes, and before Adrien could process it she jumped. Alya had turned her phone to record the girl moments before she jumped, so the whole livestream saw it. The class around her stared at where the girl once stood. She never did resurface from the water.

*

*

*

It was a week after the incident and Lila had a sick feeling of pride. She had done this all before. Take over the school, have everyone love and fawn over her, and destroyed anyone who opposed her. However she never had someone so distraught to have killed themselves, but it’s whatever. She can use this to her advantage. Claim that the girl had really wanted attention so badly she was willing to jump for it. Maybe state that the incident has made herself distraught and needs people to love and support her. But things were different than what she had planned.

First was Marinette’s parents. The night of the incident, Sabine was calling for Marinette to come down and banging on her trap door. Earlier that day she and Tom had yelled at the girl for hurting Lila again, and the girl ran up to her room to hide. Now Sabine was going to yell at her daughter for her grades. It got to a point where she had Tom take off the trap door. The bedroom was a mess. Things were thrown around and out of place. The mom was gonna yell at her daughter for having a  temper tantrum when she spotted the blood. A small box cutter laid on the ground, with fresh blood still on it. As Tom looked around, he found a note on their daughter’s bed.

“Dear Mom and Dad,

I know that I am an awful daughter and don’t deserve you. I am sorry for causing trouble and for making me mad. I know you can never forgive me. I won’t come back, so I hope you will live a happier life.

- Marinette”

It was thirty minutes later when they were informed that their daughter had jumped into the river never to be seen again. The parents were in shock, and they had the bakery shut down for the rest of the week. They could only walk around their house, staring over to the opening where the trap door to the pink room once was. They hadn’t expected their only child to just be gone.

Next came Alya. She was at first in denial. There was no way that Marinette would do that. Bully and hurt Lila? Sure. Steal important test papers to cheat? Of course. Throwing herself into a river was not on the list of things that girl could do. It took her several minutes after seeing the incident to realize that she was still recording. The next day she woke up thinking everything was a bad dream. Or even some sick kind of joke that the brat pulled in hopes of gaining attention. However, when she checked her phone to see several messages concerning the content on her blog, she realized it was real.

Next was her general classmates. They didn’t want to believe what they saw at first, but what else was there to do? They couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

However the person who was effected most was Adrien. He had reluctantly agreed to go on the date with Lila, as pushed by Nino and everyone else in the class. He expected his ice cream to be like what he had ordered the first time, to represent his love of Ladybug. However André said said something different. Strawberry for her blush. He had never seen Ladybug blush before, it was never in her nature. The only girl with blue bell eyes and dark hair was... Marinette. The last time he saw her was when she jumped into the river with tears in her eyes. He didn’t know what to think. Why would she jump? She was always so happy. “Not when she was getting harassed and bullied.” Plagg supplied with a scoff. “So much for take the highroad.”

As the week of the incident progressed, the world seemed to stop. However once the week was up the world unpaused, but only to show the darkness of the situation. The bakery was permanently closed when Tom and Sabine were charged for Marinette’s suicide and providing an unsafe home for a child. Alya’s blog was shut down for recording a suicide. The students kept staring at where the girl used to sit, feelings of guilt leaking in. Adrien could barely function, and Gabriel had to rework his schedule to try to get Adrien under control. Adrien was even effected as Chat Noir. While Rubybug was sweet, quirky, and hardworking, he couldn’t help but miss the old Ladybug. The one who, while she would be serious most of the time, was always looking out for him. Rubybug had to save Chat Noir several times during attacks since he began to get distracted so easily.

Lila had expected things to be easier for her. She tried to do some sob stories about how much the death was impacting her but it backed fired. Not because they didn’t believe her, but because the school was now being forced to give more counseling and care when it comes to bullying. Lila was put into therapy and had her lies backfire on her when concerned classmates filled in their teacher on the awful things Marinette said and done to the girl. Not to mention all those other things. Her mom and the school had a several hour long discussion before the truth was exposed.

The school year continued on. The class was two students down for the count. One was simply transferred out and the other was gone forever. Sometimes the students would forget that Marinette was gone. Alya had gotten to talk to the new Rubybug and was about to call Marinette to talk before remembering that she was gone. The members of Kitty Section were discussing new costumes before remembering that their old designer couldn’t help anymore. Her parents still felt like they could hear their daughter’s voice coming from the bedroom. Adrien sat on top of rooftops at night staring at the lucky charm Marinette had made him. Their everyday ladybug. Gone without a trace and never to be seen again.

Of course, she was still around. Hidden away in the shadows of Paris. The miracle box and kwamis as her sole companions. Waiting for when her new bug would come by to seek out help. She saw the world fall before her and watched. Her soul had died long before. It didn’t matter to her how any of those people felt. After all, she had lost more. She had lost her family, friends, dreams, hopes, and her partner in one go. Why should they care about her now that she’s gone. It’s not like they lost everything. No. They only lost one stupid girl. She didn’t matter to them before she was gone, why did they care now that she was gone. Ah, such is the way of life.

[quickspinner]

Sorry Not Sorry

The first one didn’t seem to work quite right, so I’m reposting this separately...sorry if you saw it twice!

From the @mlweeklyprompts

A: You kissed me. B: You kissed me back. B: And I’m not here to apologize.

The tension was thick and felt foreign on the open air of the Liberty’s upper deck, a place where she’d always felt safe and calm and...free.

Loved.

Luka was leaning against the rail, staring not at her, but at the deck between his feet. 

“You kissed me,” he said quietly. 

“I did,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. This was just wrong. Usually he was the one with the steady gaze and she was the one who couldn’t look at him. This was all just...so wrong. “You kissed me back,” she pointed out, and Luka groaned, putting his hands over his face. “And...I’m not here to apologize. Not for kissing you. For a thousand other things, but. Not that. I’m not sorry, Luka. I’m sorry about the timing, I’m sorry it upset you so much, and most of all I’m sorry that I waited so long. I’m sorry for taking you for granted, and dragging you back into it when you thought you’d moved on, when that—when moving on was something you apparently wanted so badly, but—” 

“I haven’t moved on,” Luka mumbled from behind his hands.

“S-sorry?” Marinette said, blinking. She couldn’t have heard that right. 

Luka took his hands from his face and leaned them back on the rail with a white-knuckled grip. “I haven’t moved on. It’s true that I wanted to, and I’ve been trying, but I haven’t. I’m still as in love with you as I ever was. If I’d moved on I would have just asked you to stop and told you that door was closed. But i didn’t do that.” 

He hadn’t done that, it was true. He’d kissed her back so hard they’d fallen back against the wall. Heedless of his stage makeup or the fact that he had to perform in minutes, he’d kissed her like it would kill him to stop, until he finally pulled back with an expression so tortured that she felt a physical pain in her chest.

Then he’d gone on stage and delivered the most moving, emotional, heart-wrenching performance she’d ever heard. Everyone had loved it and the merch they’d brought with them sold out. 

Marinette still wasn’t sure whether that was a good sign or not. He could have kissed her back for a million reasons in that moment. Luka was Luka and so she didn’t think it was just...revenge, or entitlement, or any of the darker options that occurred to her as she lay in bed simultaneously horrified at herself and incredibly proud of him and how far he’d come as a man and an artist. 

Luka took a slow breath, bringing her back to the moment, and the slump in his shoulders, the way he curled in on himself a little bit, made her heart beat for all the wrong reasons. Why was she always the one hurting him? Why couldn’t she be for him the way he was for her? Why was it she couldn’t seem to give him anything but pain?

“Stop it,” he said, closing his eyes though he still hadn’t looked at her. “I can hear you spiraling from here.”

“Sorry,” Marinette whispered again, and her breath hitched, and no, no, this was all wrong, she was supposed to come here and be mature and sensible like he was, and say all the right things and make him feel the way he’d always made her feel, like his love was a gift and not a burden, that he offered it only when it would be a comfort and a help to her. 

She was not supposed to come here and cry and make him put aside his own feelings yet again to comfort her in a situation that was entirely of her own making. Marinette couldn’t fathom how Luka had managed all these years. Had he really not felt any of this? Was his love really that pure, or was he just better at hiding the pain than she was?

She half expected to feel Luka’s arms coming around her even now, but she didn’t. He wouldn’t, not at a time like this. His love had always included forgiveness for her mistakes, but he’d never once stopped her from taking responsibility for them.  She struggled for a moment more, and at least that much he was willing to give her, the time to get herself together to do the right thing. 

Marinette wiped her eyes quickly with her thumb and straightened her back and shoulders, lifting her chin. “I’m sorry for my bad timing. I know how much your stage career means to you and I should have been more sensitive, even though you handled it...amazingly.” She gave him a quick smile but he still wasn’t looking at her. “I was wrong to let my emotions get the better of me in that moment. I should have waited and talked to you at a better time instead of just jumping you in the heat of the moment.” 

Luka raised his head a little, still looking off at the lights over the river rather than at her, and she could see him swallow and sigh, and if she’d been making that face it would have come with tears. 

Marinette took a deep breath, and continued, determined to get through what she had to say. “I didn’t—I want you to know, this isn’t because you’ve been pulling away. I understand why you did and that you needed it. I’m not going to say I didn’t realize how important you were to me because I did. You’ve always, always been important. I’ve always loved you on a level that—it wasn’t romantic, it didn’t start out that way, but as a—as a—” She didn’t know how to finish that. She didn’t want to hurt him the way she’d been hurt, and it wasn’t right to call him a brother either. “Confidant,” she said, finally. “Someone who protected me and was there for me...I don’t know how to say it—” 

Luka shook his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I’ve always known that.” 

Marinette nodded slowly. Of course he did.

“I don’t really know when it started to be something else,” she said quietly. “I was...I was busy, you were busy, there was no, no time, no good moment, and then you were dating and I thought, I didn’t...I didn’t want to get in the way if that was what you wanted, and then...and then you weren’t dating and then you were and…” She stopped abruptly, suddenly aware Luka was cringing. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She didn’t know the details of his relationships or why they had ended. She hadn’t felt like she had the right to ask, and the one time she had even hinted in that direction to Juleka, the look Juleka gave her said that Juleka thought so too. 

However, Marinette wasn’t stupid and she knew Luka. She knew that Luka was a compassionate person who believed in honesty and communication, and he might not have named names but none of the people he dated were stupid, either. She’d found herself drawing back just to ease the strain on Luka. Apparently, it was much easier to accept that he was trying to move past feelings for someone else than it was to accept that he still worked closely with that person. Marinette had quietly offered to step down as his personal stylist and Luka had refused so simply and matter-of-factly that she hadn’t had the guts to push harder. 

“I thought, I should be flattered,” he said softly, shifting his weight. “That they were all so sure you were in love with me too and it was only a matter of time before you confessed and I dumped them. I thought I knew you well enough that I would have seen it.” He finally looked at her then, sadly. “Now I’m wondering when I stopped being able to read you. When you stopped being open and sincere with me.” He was silent a moment. “Why, Marinette?”

Marinette shrugged, fingers digging into her arms. “I didn’t feel like it was right to let you see how I was feeling until I was sure. I’ve hurt you for years by not loving you, and I just...I didn’t want to give you that kind of hope when I still didn’t know what I wanted. I mean, I knew what I wanted, I just didn’t know, if...if I could have it. If it would even be right to ask for it, after all this time.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “It all sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

“Maybe you should have tried that sooner,” Luka pointed out, the corner of his mouth quirking up, though there didn’t seem to be much humor in the tiny smile. 

Marinette dropped her gaze to her feet, and it was almost comforting, a return to the usual dynamic. Except that it wasn’t comforting, because he was right, and he was disappointed in her.  

“I’m sorry for that too.” Marinette sighed. “When have I ever done what I should have done when I should have done it outside of b—an emergency?”

“That’s a fine,” Luka reminded her with a quiet chuckle. “No negative self-talk.” Marinette smiled tightly in spite of herself at the memory of the jar she’d decorated so long ago in purple, pink, and blue, that had sat proudly on the Liberty’s galley counter for years now. Luka sighed and she came back to the moment. “You were on a streak, too,” he pointed out, and then he chuckled again. “Must be going around. Juleka broke her streak this week too.”  

“I’m sorry,” Marinette said automatically, and then shook her head. “Maybe I should just...I should just go.” 

“Marinette,” Luka said, and she lifted her eyes to his in one last act of courage. “Say what you came to say,” he told her quietly, and she swallowed hard. Okay. Maybe that wasn’t the last. 

“I’m in love with you,” she said simply, determination alone keeping her feet rooted to the deck when the panicky part of her brain insisted that she flee screaming. “I want to be with you. But I’ll respect whatever decision you make just like you’ve always supported me. And, if moving on is what you want...then I’m okay being in the background for a while, or whatever you need. I’ll do my best to get over it so we can be friends again.” 

Luka sighed, finally shifting his weight off the rail and back onto his feet. He flexed his hands as he let go and Marinette winced slightly at the thought of how sore they must be from clinging there so tightly. She held her ground, trembling slightly, as he advanced on her and looked in her face, taking a deep breath and sighing it out through his nose in that very Luka way. 

Marinette held her breath as Luka leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, his hands coming up to curl lightly around her arms, his thumbs rubbing against the goosebumps the chill breeze had raised. 

“You make me so stupid,” he sighed, a quaver in his usually steady voice. “Why am I such an idiot when it comes to you?” 

“That’s a fine,” Marinette whispered, and her breath hitched when he slid his hands down to pry loose her grip on her own arms. “There goes your streak too,” she managed to add, as he tugged her hands away and down and tangled just the tips of his fingers with hers.

Luka grunted. “It doesn’t count if I’m quoting Jules. I guess she was right after all.” 

“Right about what?” Marinette whispered, almost afraid to move. 

“I’m just going to be an idiot forever,” he said, and closed the last bit of distance between their lips. 

[hqprotectionsquad]

Hello! can I request a hc of Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo and Ushijima’s reaction to their s/o who’s titled as the goddess of volleyball who also won the nationals but unfortunately fainted or fell sick right after the competition. Sorry for my grammar and if the idea is quite weird 😅 Thank you in advance thoo! I hope you have a nice dayy! 💜

Oikawa, Bokuto, and Kuroo reacting to his S/O getting hurt during Nationals

A/N: hi! thanks for your request! i basically took in the request as the s/o’s team is going to nationals or is also going, and then took it from there! so not exactly the same, but slightly more realistic! also i expended all of my energy on the three of them and i don’t have any more brain power to think of ushijima 😭i’m sorry!!!

Oikawa

He’s definitely supportive of you no matter what.

Oikawa shows up to the end of your practices with your favorite snack. (He also eats like half of it before he even gets to you because he just came from his practice.)

“Hey Y/N-chan, I got you your favorite snack!” He says as he holds out the plastic bag to you.“You definitely ate part of it.”“WhaaaaaAAAt no! Why would I ever do that?”

You’re really appreciative of everything he does for you because he is oh so whipped.

Since his team didn’t make it to the spring nationals, he takes his loss in stride. Yes, he’s upset, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. ;-;

He loves the fact that you’re so excited to experience this new thing since it’s your first time going to nationals!

You two have been to Tokyo once as a special date, but to experience it together as a participant and their supporter is really awesome!

Oikawa takes the opportunity to know what it’s like to be an audience member and not on the court. Sure, he has watched games but usually to analyze them. He isn’t saying he won’t but he definitely wants to try to take a step back.

(He also uses this time to eat. I mean, they have so many food stands! He slips away to find a street market and dig in while you’re in practice.)

Your matches go splendidly and you’re more than thrilled when your team earns a place in the finals.

“Y/N! I’m so proud of you!”

But the match isn’t going as well as you had hoped to.

As your team’s libero, you’ve grown accustomed to smacks to the face and hits that hurt your ribs for days.

However, one of the last spikes in the game takes you out of commission as it totally knocks the wind out of you and you can’t get the air into your lungs without the medical team bringing you to their wing.

At that moment, Oikawa wanted to rush the court and help you even though he isn’t experienced like the nurses are. He just felt so helpless, who wouldn’t?

For whatever reason, significant others aren’t allowed in until after the athlete should be okay to go on their own, but it’s Oikawa. C’mon. The man knows how to get through anything and everything that’s in his way.

"Y/N-chan, what did I tell you about taking it easy, now look what you did to yourself.” He scolds you teasingly as you are resting on the nurse’s bed. He whispers a bunch of cute little things to you while your eyes are shut. He knows you can’t hear him, but he says these things anyway.

When you wake up, he leaves so that you have some time with your parents.

And when he comes back, the first thing you do is wrap your arms around him so tight that he forgets to breathe.

“You’re breathtaking.” His eyes flicker at the pun and you smack him a good one. “Ow, Y/N-chan! They should’ve put you back in the game, you’re fine now!”

Bokuto

The two of you are dating long-distance, so although he couldn’t be there for all of your games, Bokuto made sure he sent texts with lots of love before and after each one.

However, he made a trip to your part of Japan and he was there when your last play was the one where it decided you were heading to nationals!

Bokuto was extremely surprised at how amazing you blocked the ball and it went straight to the floor. Your teammates crowded around you and all jumped for victory.

But was he surprised that your team was heading to spring nationals? Of course not! Your team is one of the most hardworking teams out there.

He takes you out to eat after your match, as a good gentleman should.

“I can’t wait to see you in Tokyo next month! You’ll finally see where I live!”

When your team arrives for the spring nationals, Akaashi holds him back from meeting you before you settle in.

“What?! Why can’t I see her once she comes in?”“You’re going to bother her team.” (cue emo Bokuto)“But—” “You’ll see her later.” (cue happy Bokuto)

He finally takes you out on that date he’s planned since months ago. Minus all the ice cream you were going to eat together, so now he’ll have to eat it by himself. (He’s not really complaining.)

When your matches begin, he’s in the crowd as often as he can. He arrives as early as you do, making sure he gets a seat super close so he can take photos. (Yes, Bokuto is aware he’s also competing at nationals. He still does it.)

Bokuto on snapchat: “THAT’S MY GIRL 🥵😭SO GOOD BABY!” (He is definitely that cringy, but I feel like he doesn’t know he’s being cringy.)

The worst thing is that some of your matches coincide with one another, but you make sure to catch up afterwards. It doesn’t bother you as much as it does Bokuto, but you know in an ideal situation, you both would be able to support the other full-time.

What’s even worse is when your team arrives to the semifinals, you’re over for the game because of a rough shot right to your fingers. The nurse talks to you as she tapes your fingers.

“Luckily, nothing is dislocated—”“So I should be good to go back in then?”“You didn’t let me finish. I don’t recommend you going back into the game if you think you’ll continue onto the finals. You have a better chance then because your hands might be semi-healed.”

You return to the court, but on the bench. Head hung, but you’re hopeful for the rest of the game, as you cheer on your teammates.

The game came out close and your team had the upper hand this time around.

“(Y/N)! We heard what happened!” Bokuto rushes up to you after both of your games are finished. Akaashi trails in the background and silently provides his condolences for your fingers. “Are you okay?” Your boyfriend hugs you gently, which could leave one with their mouth open, but he has always made sure that his hugs never hurt you despite his stature.

“I’m okay! I should still be able to play in the finals in two days. How did your match end up?”“Ah, we ended up losing. I’m still recovering from it. Right, Akaashi? Tell (Y/N).”“Yeah, he’s still working on it. Clearly.”

Bokuto and Akaashi are in the crowd for the finals. They originally sat but every time you blocked the ball, Bokuto would raise to his feet and start cheering for you. The people in his section kicked him and Akaashi out for disrupting. Now they’re standing by the railing and Bokuto doesn’t even have to get up because he’s already—you guessed it—standing.

Your team was not the better six this time around, but lucky for you, you have Bokuto and Akaashi to comfort you with hugs (Bokuto), handshakes (Akaashi), and ice cream.

Kuroo

Kuroo's been excited for you and your team since the start.

"I know you guys are going to make it to nationals. Have you seen your team? You all are much more talented than some of the people here.""That's not very nice to say, Tetsurou.""I'm just saying the truth. I'll be at the match."

Kuroo's usually busy, but hearing that he'd be at the match makes your heart squeeze.

You're the outside hitter/wing spiker of your team and you love know that any time you get a shot in, Kuroo's cheering for you in the crowd.

After the match, he’s waiting for you outside of the court with a small bouquet of flowers. (From where he bought those, you have no idea and he has no intention of letting you know.)

“You did amazing, I’m so proud of you,” he says while squishing you in a tight hug. You can’t breathe anymore, but who really cares for necessary human functions?

“Thanks for the love, Tetsurou. Let’s go out to eat!” He has to choose the restaurant because you can’t choose; everything looks good to a hungry athlete!

You two have never been at a tournament together, competing together, so please forgive him when he spends his break with Kenma because he forgot that you had a match.

It's really exciting because Kuroo is the captain of the host representative team and even though it doesn't mean he's the king of the world, he's the king of your world.

To experience Tokyo at this bustling time alongside your lover is beyond words. To have him by your side instead of through a screen is so much better.

Your last match is unfortunately pretty rough. You dug for the ball, just as another girl had. You heard a crunch and you couldn't tell who it came from.

This is the only match Kuroo could attend and he winces in pain seeing the collision on court. He soon realizes that it's you and exits the top floor to come down to the court floor.

You're able to get up after the medic stretches your limbs and it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong from a first glance. They take you in for a full exam.

Kuroo isn't ready to freak out, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't suppressing any feelings. He needs to be strong for you. He plays games on his phone to distract himself, sends a few texts to the team to let them know he'll be late to dinner.

You come out with a smile that grows wider seeing him. "You were here the whole time?"

"Of course." Don't mind him, he's crying on the inside because he feels like he's so lucky to have someone who is actually sunshine. "You were amazing out there, and I don't want to hear anything about your cute ass complaining you didn't do good enough."