#he is either much worse at math than i thought... or... its the fear speaking

[leona-florianova]

‘Must I put on silk stockings?’ ‘Certainly you must put on silk stockings. And do show a leg, my dear chap: we shall be late, without you spread a little more canvas.’ ‘You are always in such a hurry,’ said Stephen peevishly, groping among his possessions. A Montpellier snake glided out with a dry rustling sound and traversed the room in a series of extraordinarily elegant curves, its head held up some eighteen inches above the ground. ‘Oh, oh, oh,’ cried Jack, leaping on to a chair. ‘A snake!’ ‘Will these do?’ asked Stephen. ‘They have a hole in them.’ ‘Is it poisonous?’ ‘Extremely so. I dare say it will attack you, directly. I have very little doubt of it. Was I to put the silk stockings over my worsted stockings, sure the hole would not show: but then, I should stifle with heat. Do not you find it uncommonly hot?’ ‘Oh, it must be two fathoms long. Tell me, is it really poisonous? On your oath now?’ ‘If you thrust your hand down its throat as far as its back teeth you may meet a little venom; but not otherwise. Malpolon monspessulanus is a very innocent serpent. I think of carrying a dozen aboard, for the rats – ah, if only I had more time, and if it were not for this foolish, illiberal persecution of reptiles … What a pitiful figure you do cut upon that chair, to be sure.

Barney, Barney, buck or doe, Has kept me out of Channel Row,’ he sang to the serpent; and, deaf as an adder though it was, it looked happily into his face while he carried it away.

--Master and Commander, Patrick O'Brian

[always-and-forever-pan]

Miraculous Ladybug Character Observations

Edit - have been asked to tag this as Salt. Don't see how it is but I've updated that.

I was unable to sleep last night and I re-watched the Miraculous ladybug series up until season 4 and I had a few thoughts about the character Arcs we’ve been shown so far.

Marinette - sweet, kind, selfless, brave, naïve, obsessive, kind of a stalker but done with good intentions, passive when not in the mask, insecure, nervous, indecisive when not spur of the moment, catastrophizer. I could go on. (I mean the schedule when I say kinda salkerish. It’s weird as all get and a major red flag but it’s got ALL of her friends schedules on it so maybe it wasn’t meant to be as weird as it was? but combined with the modelling photos. But she’s also an inspiring designer and all the photos are of the Gabriel line or group friend shots so again weird but not as weird as it could be. It leaves us in this position of hating it but also loving it which adds to the discomfort)

Adrien - does not understand the world outside of TV shows, his entire life has been spent being told only what his father wants him to know. This has resulted in immaturity, 'innocence', a lack of empathy on some things because of this lack of understanding, and a child-like understanding of friendship. Due to only having seen romance on TV and his father's attitude of "Pursue until you succeed" he has a tendency to be mildly sexually harassing of the female population (note i do not mean rape please understand degrees of severity. As CN he does not take no for an answer, continues to push his feeling and wants onto LB despite her clear rejections but he never actually does anything explicitly sexual either which leaves us uncomfortable and unable to put reason as to why), he is a passive bully (by not calling out the bad behaviour of his friends he allows it to continue), he is manipulative (threatening to give up his miraculous if Plagg doesn't tell him the secrets). With a little help and experience he could grow up, could be a decent person but that's not going to happen until someone points out his flaws. I’m actually the most mad about Adrien, I loved the soft fluffy boi at first but they’ve done him so dirty and I want to but cant Stan him if they’re going to accept his behaviour and use him to teach people that it's okay.

Alya - Brave, passionate, energetic, and confident. She is a ride or die, type of friend. However, she is also stubborn to a fault, loyal to the point of enabling bad behaviour, her passion for superheroes leads her to danger and she doesn't think about hers or the people she's dragging into the situations safety or wellbeing during those times. Alya doesn't like to be wrong, combined with her stubbornness this at times ends up with her being wilfully ignorant of things (like Lila's lies)

Nino - enthusiastic, friendly, compassionate, a follower, a strong sense of right and wrong, argumentative. Not a bad person it's just that he is more of a follower than a leader so when someone he trusts tells him something he will follow it through (e.g. when Alya all but tells him she believes Lila over Marinette Nino does too)

Chloe - Due to Chloe's dad not being a parent but trying to buy Chloe's love all her life Chloe is a brat, is spoilt, has delusions of grandeur. Due to a mother who left when Chloe was a baby and can not even remember her name, or birthday, or even that Chloe exists half the time it has lead to Chloe having some very severe abandonment issues. And a Flaming Heap of mommy issues where Chloe needs to be perfection personified otherwise she'll never be remembered. This leads to Chloe lashing out at anyone who can do anything better than she herself can.

Lila - proud, loves attention, hates being called out, unashamed to put someone down if it lifts her up, not a smidge of remorse in her body, no empathy. Pathological lying and manipulation, no morality, narcissistic, superiority complex. She is actually the ONLY character we’re given who has ZERO redeeming qualities (They even tried to give Gabriel that weird ‘doing it for true love’ story).

Rose - sweet, cheerful, bubbly, naïve, optimistic, feels deeply about things, open and honest. Her naïve nature means that at times she is taken for granted.

Sabrina - meek, mousy, loyal, book smart, follower. She has a warped sense of how friendship works. Sabrina is willing to do all sorts of cruel things on her friend's orders. 

Nathaniel - an introvert, imaginative, artistic, quiet, shy, pan boi, observant, non-confrontational most of the time, jumps to conclusions if he feels he is being teased but will feel bad afterwards for acting negatively.

Max - gamer boi, is mathematically gifted but does not understand human interaction (can calculate exactly how fast Kim has to run but can't see that giving Chloe a gift is a bad idea?). is proud to the point of being selfish in his success (games and maths) but can still back down from his pride if it will mathematically work in his favour. He seems to try to be kind but his lack of understanding makes him stiff.

Mylene - has a crippling anxiety that comes with panic attacks (see horrificator) though she tries to be brave. Is ashamed of her fears, seems to know they are irrational, this leads to her being very sensitive about it. Once she manages to get past the initial fear she is kind, and loving, trying to see the best in people

Juleka - Has Crippling Anxiety, has panic attacks. Can not think of anything worse than having to speak in front of people. This means she is quite often passive. Due to her near-silent nature, she is often forgotten, this leads to Juleka being quite observant but also having what seems to be abandonment issues. These issues could also come from the fact that Jagged Stone is said to be their father and didn't even acknowledge them until season 4.

Ivan - is quick to anger and tends to express his negative emotions through violence, but he's been working on that (in origin's he goes to hit Kim for teasing him but is later friends with him. I call that growth).

Le Chien Kim - VERY competitive, is loud and at times abrasive. He is a jokester who likes to make people laugh but sometimes takes it too far. He will always feel sorry when he does take it too far. Kim can be hot-headed and rude at times but it stems from a place of being firm in his beliefs (even if they are dumb).

Alix - probably the most well-adjusted character on the show if I'm honest. She's impatient, pushy, stubborn, competitive, a little be of a problem with responsibility and authority but not much. Despite all of this we also see her acting patient, selflessly, unmotivated, obeying authority and taking responsibility for things. It makes it hard to hate her or like her. It also makes it hard to assess her in terms of character flaws, possible miraculous, what relationships could grow all of it. (Personally, I think this comes from the fact that she was once meant to be in a trio with Chloe and Sabrina so she's more a prop than a character in the early storylines, I really hope they flesh her out some more in season 4 the way they seem to be doing)

[sarcastically-defensive17]

ahhh 25 and 12 or 6 with calum hood please!!

I AM SO SO SO SORRH RHAT THIS TOOK SO LONG I HAD A SUPER LONG HIATUS FOR PERSONAL REASONS AND I HOPE YOURE STILL INTERESTED AND NOT MAD AT MEEE 🥺LOVE YOU AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING YOU ABSOLUTE ANGEL LOVIEEE

Help me - C. Hood

6: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

12: “N-no, it’s alright, come here.”

25: “Please talk to me about it.”

GIF is not mine

TW: DEPICTIONS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE/ ABUSE BY A PARENT. MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND WOUNDS, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF FAMILIAL VIOLENCE, SELF-LOATHING THEMES AND PHYSICAL INJURY.

If this content can potentially trigger you, please do not read. Your mental and physical health is important, so please, take care of yourself. My inbox is always open.

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Please do not copy, reproduce or repost without credit or in a manner than removes my username, and/or ownership from the work. Stealing isn’t cool, peeps.

<><><><><>

Not much was known about Y/N. In the entire school, she was the enigma. She had her friends, she was average in her classes, but still, her personal life was kept out of the general knowledge of the student body. Even the teachers knew little about the girl.

Her parents would come to every interview, every ceremony. She would go on trips, she would join in on the fun. She even attended the two week camp they held last semester, and it was the happiest that anybody had seen her.

Calum often watched the girl. He could see how her smile would drop when nobody was looking, how she would constantly flinch whenever anybody would raise a hand or wave an arm around her. He observed her more often than not, as stalkerish as that made him sound.

He was friends with the girl. They shared English and Math and some of the same friends. He enjoyed speaking to her, he loved to see her smile - genuinely smile.

He couldn’t deny the growing feelings he had for her. She was intelligent and kind, her smile could knock the breath out of him, and had done so many times. He seemed to lose all train of thought around her and the feeling was addictive. He had no idea if she felt the same, but he felt his own emotions grow tenfold every time she placed her hand on his arm, or offered her assistance when he was unsure about something, or simply when she laughed at a horrible joke that slipped from his lips.

She was angelic and he couldn’t put his finger on why such a beautiful person could look so skittish at a sudden movement.

He had his suspicions but he knew better than to pry.

However, his mind couldn’t be set at ease when they were placed into a group together. Their due date for their English project was impending, and as his mother was working from home, he chose not to offer his residence for the pair to gather.

“So, your house?” He was waiting by her car at the end of the day, unnoticed by Y/N as she rushed to her vehicle in the same manner she always did. She hadn’t expected him to be there, so when his voice travelled to her ears she couldn’t help but flinch and shy away. He frowned softly at her, “you okay?”

She blinked, tilting her head to look at him. “Excuse me?” Her keys were clasped tightly in her hands and her gaze kept flicking between her door and Calum.

He chose not to focus on the tension she held in her body. “The project?” He reminded her. “It’s due in two weeks and if we keep showing up with nothing done, Stone will be on our asses until we graduate.” He snorted, the sound bringing a small smile to Y/N’s face.

“I, um, I don’t think my house is a good idea,” her voice was soft - fragile. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do it during study? I can’t be out too late.”

“All of my study’s are designated to soccer practice, sorry,” he pursed his lips, pushing off of her car. “I would offer my place but I think my mum would genuinely murder me. She’s working from home and my sister is in the process of taking over all available space in the house with her loser friends.”

Y/N seemed to think over it for a minute. She knew that it would be a bad idea to have Cal come over, but she had no choice. She sighed, nails working carefully to pick at the skin around her cuticles - a bad habit she had adopted.

“Alright,” she nodded. “Hop in, just, there are rules you need to follow, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirked, pulling the drivers side door open for her when the lock mechanism clicked open.

Her heart pounded in her chest the whole way home. The mere sight of the two story residence made her feel queasy on a regular day, but the upbeat boy sitting beside her made the thought of being at home much worse. She put the car in park, turning to Calum.

Her eyes rarely met his, he noticed.

“Um, you can’t be here after 5. My parents get home around then and they don’t really like visitors.” She pulled her keys from the ignition, clamping her eyes shut for a brief moment. Sure, Calum was her friend - he was a great guy, and Y/N genuinely enjoyed his presence - but she couldn’t shake the feeling that having him at her house would end horribly. “No shoes inside, we need to stay in the dining room and please, if you use the bathroom, put the toilet seat down.”

She didn’t invite people over for a reason, but she dropped the desire to have friends over when her home began to break more. Y/N could barely remember a time when she fell asleep to anything but the sound of expletives, breaking glass or pure aggression.

Instead of questioning the barrage of instruction as she would expect, Calum simply fixed her with a warm smile, “Your wish is my command.”

She had long wished for her parents to go their separate ways strictly to save her from the fear that enveloped her the minute she stepped foot inside, however, she knew it fruitful because she couldn’t go anywhere but with one of them, and even when apart, they were harmful.

Calum followed her rigid form into the house, kicking his shoes off and placing them on the designated racking as instructed. The house was in pristine condition. It was as if there were no life in the environment unless a human was present - it felt cold.

The house was so different from his own. His mother had made sure to hang photos of both him and his sister, pictures from family outings, vacations. His father bought his mother flowers regularly and they always sat on the kitchen counter. His sister even had her own little belongings in the family areas as did he. Y/N’s house had nothing. There was not even a picture of her with her parents. The house was near void of any sort of familial comfort that it made him feel uncomfortable.

He followed her into the dining room, waiting for instruction. The atmosphere put him incredibly on edge and he could feel that there were many rules to be followed to perfection in the house.

Y/N pulled her bag open, placing her books on the table before stashing the bag into a designated nook in the entry way. The table caught his eye. Only two chairs. Both her parents lived with her, but there were only two chairs.

She returned, taking a seat at the small round table. Her eyes darted nervously to a clock mounted on the wall before softening and focusing on Calum’s standing form.

“Take a seat?” She offered. “We have just over an hour and a half until my parents get home.”

He nodded, slumping down in the seat and retrieving his own items for their project.

The time flew by quickly, it seemed. Calum’s presence was warm and he shone like a beacon in the barren home. She could barely take her eyes off of him for fear that he too would burn out like all who have entered before him.

If she could, she would have captured the moment in its entirety, preserving it for the lypophrenic moments that visit her almost nightly.

She was in the process of laughing at a joke that slipped from Calum’s lips when her eyes absentmindedly crossed over to the wall clock.

It was 3 minutes past 5.

Calum needed to leave. Fast.

She was on her feet, face paleing and her hands working to slam the books in front of her closed. She needed Calum gone and she needed to be in her room before either of them got home.

Calum raised an eyebrow at her, following her movements with caution. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“You need to go,” she was breathless despite the meager activity. It wasn’t the actions that made her breath escape, it was fear. She knew what would happen if either of her parents arrived home. She knew what would happen if they saw she was in the dining room, or if she had company. Nevermind if that company was a male.

“Oh, sorry,” he smiled softly, helping her clean. “The time sorta slipped away from us. It’s only a few past 5, I’m sure your parents will understand-“

He was cut off as she shoved his books against his chest, “they can’t know that you were ever here.” She felt horrible for rushing him out; almost as horrible as she felt for her lack of hospitality, but she needed him to go. She couldn’t bear the consequences.

She handed him his shoes, opening the front door and pushing him out. His expression was full of confusion and for an instance she thought she saw hurt flash in his whiskey coloured eyes but her state of anxiety was growing and she couldn’t bring herself to react.

“Sorry about going overtime. I’ll see you-“ the door slammed in his face, footsteps hurrying away from the wooden barrier almost exactly after, “- tomorrow?” He finished dejectedly, slipping his shoes on and starting down the path to his house.

He lived in close proximity to Y/N, but the walk did little to quell the hurt in his chest.

Y/N rushed around as soon as the door was closed. She needed to clean everything up in the dining room before one of them got home, but her efforts were fruitless.

A few minutes after she rudely shoved Calum away, she heard an engine die in the front yard. The door opened carefully and closed very soon after. The sound of heels on the floorboards alerted her to the fact that her mother was home. She was in perfect view, still trying to clean away any evidence that she inhabited the dining room.

“What the hell have you done to my house?” Her mother hissed, the sound of keys being thrown onto the hall table bouncing off of the walls, setting the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck on edge.

Y/N felt her shoulders flinch, acting on their own accord. “I’m sorry, mum. I just felt like studying down here today-“

Her mother was next to her within seconds, cold eyes scanning over every item in the room. “This is a pig sty!” She growled, despite the only objects out of the ordinary being y/N’s textbook, a single pen and a bottle of water. “I go to work, busting my ass to pay for things you need and this is the thanks I get?”

The laughter that fell from the older woman gave Y/N goosebumps. Both of her parents were vindictive and nasty, but her mother was the worse of the two. Quick with her hands, nastier with her words. She has once thrown a plate at Y/N because she dared to ask to add salt to her dinner.

Her father, on the other hand, was a drunk who would prefer to scream insults at his daughter and wife for anything. Despite this, y/n had less fear of the patriarch.

Y/N stayed quiet, too frightened to say anything or to even move to finish cleaning. Her mother didn’t like that and wound her hand in Y/N’s hair, gazing down at her with malice as she yanked her head back violently.

“You ungrateful little brat!” She growled. “You were the worst thing to happen to me, yet I still feed you, and clothe you and keep you here while you sick the life from me like the parasite you are, and this is how you repay me?”

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she struggled against her mother’s hand, “Mum, mum please,” she pleaded. “You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt me every day that you’re still here, it’s the least I can do to repay the favour.”

Y/N grabbed her mother’s hand, attempting to pry it away from her hair, but in the process, her nail scratched her mother’s hand.

Y/N didn’t realise until she was knocked to the ground after a force connected with her cheek. Her head connected with the floor boards, blood quickly spilling from her brow and her lip and cheek throbbing.

“Don’t you ever touch me again, you little bitch!” Her mother screamed in her face, cradling her barely wounded hand like she would a baby.

Y/N struggled on the floor, slowly trying to climb to her feet despite the ache spreading through the left side of her face. She shuffled back, hoping to get closer to the hall so she could get up to her room. Her mother had other plans.

The sound of the cupboard door opening was evident and Y/N barely pushed her disheveled hair from her eyes to see a glass hurtling towards her, connecting with the wall next to her.

The sound was near ear-piercing, a few glasses catching her arms and shredding the skin in various places. Crash after crash - she finally ran out of glasses, starting to move to the next cupboard.

Y/N took the opportunity to get to her feet and run. Her feet carried her to the door, and she was thankful that she always kept we car keys on her person for fear of moments like this.

Her mother called out expletives behind her, but she didn’t bother to turn, instead allowing her body to act on its own volition, climbing into her car and pulling out of the drive as fast as she could.

Her vision was blurring, tears staining the clarity of her sight. Her hands were shaking so ferociously that she could feel the muscles in her shoulders twitching. Her mind was anywhere but the road, but it felt like she moved between destinations so fast, barely paying mind to the road in front of her until she pulled up at a park in the next suburb.

Her fingers worked on the screen of her phone, acting of their own volition until a voice was sounding through the speaker into Y/N’s ear.

“Y/N?” The voice asked, confused, anxious even.

“I’m at the park, on Macquarie Street. I need help.”

To anybody outside, Y/N would have been a terrifying sight. Blood pouring down her face, starting at her brow, a bruise forming quickly on her left cheek, a slight swell misshaping her lip and cuts all over her arm with their own trails of blood.

For Calum, his heart near stopped when he saw her sat on a park bench with her knees pulled to her chest. The sight was a beat more than terrifying. There were no more tears in her eyes, but her cheeks were wet with recent drops. She was staring out into the green landscape as if she no longer inhabited her body. The sun was starting to set behind her.

It took all of his willpower not to rush towards her, simply so he didn’t spook her. She was as rigid as a scared animal, any sudden sounds causing her to flinch.

“Y/N?” He tried softly, stepping cautiously. Her bleary eyes shifted towards him slowly, looking down at his feet before settling into his eyes. Her face shifted into a small smile as she locked onto the warm brown. “What happened?”

With his words, the semblance of a smile dropped. She frowned deeply, a dimple forming softly on her chin before a sob ripped through her chest. Her breathing heaved her body, rocking aggressively as she poured the emotion onto her knees once again. He walked to her faster, resting a hand on her knee and the other on her head.

“Y/N?” She shook his hands off, flinching away from his touch. “Y/N, baby? What happened? Please talk to me about it.”

She gasped, knees unfurling from her near iron grip. She knew the feeling well, it being her third panic attack since she left her home - not her home - the place she used to live. She couldn’t go back there.

Calum knew the signs. He had helped Michael through many attacks before and he acted beyond thought as he sunk to his knees before her, kneeling between her opened legs. His fingers moved to the side of her face gently, as to not cause her any more fear.

The tears had halted again, but she could barely catch her breath. He pulled her head down into his chest, thankful that with his added height against the small park bench, it was not so much of an awkward angle for the frightened girl.

It took all of 2 minutes for her breathing to balance. It was a trick he learned long ago - sometimes physical contact could help Michael with his attacks, and it had proven to be helpful to Y/N.

The silence that followed was pregnant as she rested her head against him. Her fingers had clasped so tightly in his hoodie that he could barely move until she loosened her grip. Slowly, she began to peel her body away from him.

“I- I’m sorry. There’s blood everywhere. I’ll let you go,” she sniffed, her voice airy as she tried to relax her muscles.

“N-no, Y/N,” he stood slowly, choosing to sit next to her instead of on the ground in front of her. “It’s alright, come here. Only if you want to.” He held his arm out, allowing her to make her decision. Slowly, and cautiously, she moved towards him, seeking the comfort of his soft hoodie and his warmth. She let out a shaky breath as she settled in to him. He shushed her softly, moving his arm to loop around her back slowly. “It’s alright, you’re safe, darling. I won’t let you go.”

She mumbled a soft “thank you,” wrapping her arms around his waist delicately. Her forehead nestled into his collarbone, allowing the lower portion of her face to be angled so she could resume her breath maintenance.

“Who did this to you, daring?” His voice was soft, his eyes anywhere but the girl below him. The mere sight of her eliciting a burning rage within his chest. Y/N was so pure, so happy. So kind. The thought that anybody would dare to hurt her - to him, it was blasphemy. “What happened after I left?”

“It was my mum,” her words were incredibly faint, yet Calum’s attentive ears heard every syllable. He tightened his arm around her slightly. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

He moved his hands to her shoulders, pulling her off of his chest so that he could survey her face. His fingers were calloused from the strings of his bass, but he made sure to keep his touch featherlight as he ran his finger along her wounded cheek.

It was no, that he finally realized the small scars decorating her eyebrow, her jawline, and even her neck.

“She hurts you?” The thought was unbearable, how could a mother hurt their child in such a way. Y/N was in bad shape, and to know that it was somebody who should love and protect her that did so - he was shaking from fury. “What about your father? Does he-“

“Dads always too drunk to care. He spends his time sucking down beers and verbally abusing us rather than paying attention to the constant crap I get from my mum,” her scoff was full of malice. On the outside, Y/F/N had it all but in reality, her world was a steaming dumpster fire and she spent her time yearning for love. “My parents never wanted me and they have made it obvious. This,” she gestured to her face with a sliced up arm, wincing slightly at the shift of her flesh. “Is because I had stuff in the dining room. Mother prefers I keep my life confined to my bedroom where she can pretend I don’t exist.”

Guilt washed over Calum’s face, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have pushed to go to your house.”

“It’s fine, Cal. There was bound to be an issue tonight anyways, it’s just our routine,” she sent him a small smile, eyes full of apology and sadness. “Thank you, for coming to my rescue.”

He let his thumb run across her cheekbone, relishing in the feeling of her skin underneath his palm. “Whenever you call, I’ll be there for you Y/N.” There was nothing in his actions to suggest anything but sincerity, specifically in the way his eyes lingered on hers for a second longer than normal. “You can’t go back there, darling.”

Her head hung slightly. She had nowhere to go but there. Of all of her friends, not one of them would take her in and her closest family was out of state. She had no options.

“That’s the only place I have,” she smiled at him, a miserable smile, but a reassuring one. “I’ll be okay.”

“Come to my house,” he offered, eyebrows raising slightly, a pleading pout on his lips.

“Cal, I can’t impose-“

“You’re never imposing, Y/N.” His brows furrowed. “I’ll always keep you safe, I promise.”

A sigh left her chest, her breathing smoothing and functioning correctly on its own accord, before she nodded. Fighting against Calum was a losing battle, but she wasn’t entirely against the idea. There was something drawing her in to him. Something that she couldn’t identify. Whether it be the damsel-in-distress complex that she had adopted that night, or the butterflies that erupted in her belly when he held her close, she wanted to go with him. She wanted to be safe in his arms.

So she nodded, smiling small up at him, her fingers reaching up to hold his own that were still resting on her scarred face.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, a delicate gesture full of comfort and with an inkling of the love that she so desired. “I’ll always protect you, darling.”

Tag list: @starshonerose @mantlereid @killerqueenishere @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @another-lonely-heart

[books-fishlegs-was-awesome]

So... I wrote something!

It's for the HTTYD movies (though I am working on a books!verse fic currently as well) and mspec Snotlout because I'm projecting. (It's part of a oneshot series of this headcanon, though I've only written one chapter so far.)

You can read this work on Archive of Our Own here, however I do understand that some people do not want to visit that site. Therefore, I have also included my writing below the cut.

Still, it would really be appreciated if you read it on there. (Though not necessary!!!)

Find a happy place, find a happy place...

Details: Angst, Hurt Comfort, General Mspec Snotlout, (If You Squint) Romantic Ruffnut/Snotlout, Mentioned Hiccup/Astrid (sorry), Mentioned unrequited Snotlout/Fishlegs, Set sometime in Race To The Edge and after Big Man On Berk.

Cw: Very tiny mention of iternalized bi/panphobia, Struggling with identity.

~

A blush was spreading across his face, creeping down his neck, splotching onto his chest. It burned. He didn't want it to burn, he didn't want to feel this way at all! (But there was nothing he could do to stop it, some things were just out of his control- no matter how hard he tried to keep them in his grasp.) So he turned away from the window, looking away from where Hiccup and Astrid were laughing and joking (as lovers like them did). He sunk down to the floor, sliding his back down the wall until his knees were brought all the way up to his chest- arms wrapped tightly around them. Squeezing his eyes shut, the dragon rider tried to stop his heart from racing so fast. Deeply breathing, he slowed the approach of the eventfully appearing chance of tears. He didn't like when he cried, it made him feel weak. (Like any teenager born and raised on Berk, he didn't like feeling weak.) Sure, he knew that it wasn't bad to cry; Hiccup had told him that. And though it had been reassuring at the time, it just made him feel worse when he thought about it when he felt like crying. Especially if part of the reason he felt like crying was Hiccup himself. Or maybe it was Astrid? It was getting harder and harder to tell as the days went on, like each second that passed was another second where the lines blurred. Another second where he felt bitter about this whirlwind of emotions- of attraction. Another second where he didn't know what to do. A strangled sound left his throat, he couldn't stop it. (The noise was drawn from in his chest, he could feel his lungs punch out the air even though he didn't want to breathe to get it back in. It was somewhere between a sigh and a groan, coming out sadder than he had meant it too. More pained than he even knew he could be.) That was why it was weird, because he wasn't expecting to hear something that represented how he felt. Because he didn't know if there was even a way to capture the internal conflict he had been experiencing over the last few months. (Had it really been that long? How could time fly and yet crawl so slow at the same time, how could this have started then if it felt like it was only yesterday? And yet, how was it that it felt like years since he hadn't felt unsure of what he 'liked'?) He didn't have answers to these questions, except the first one because he knew what day it had been when this had really started. He had been having questions for a while before it, years back even, but they had really gotten stronger ever since that whole fiasco with Fishlegs. Now, that was something he didn't have words to explain. Why had Thor Bonecrusher just been so... Really, there were no words that could show how he felt! Nothing stronger to explain the bitter anger that he had with himself after coming to his senses, after Fishlegs was properly back. No way to show the way his heart did a little dance whenever he thought about the series of events, even if it was laced with the fury and jealousy that came with knowing that if he hadn't accidently hypnotized the blond in the way he had he could have pushed off this identity crises for later. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut? Now he had to relive so many of those emotions again and again, every time he looked at his friends. (Even Tuffnut was doing something to him, and that wasn't very normal.) He curled into and even tighter ball, hitting his helmeted head against his arm again and again, the strength of the action getting weaker each time until it was only a light tap. How was he even supposed to deal with this? Was the answer just giving up; or was it admitting to himself the truth (but, in that case what was the truth)? A whistling sound disturbed his thoughts, and he whipped his head up, turning to face where the noise had come from. Immediately, he made eye-contact with the person standing in the doorway. (He hadn't even heard it open.) Ruffnut. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, the teasing smile that had been on Ruffnut's face disappearing as she made out the intense- real, fear on the

ravenhaired dragon rider's face. Maybe she had been expecting to be able to tease him a little bit, in a friendly way of course, because he had managed to mess up at something again. But no, she saw the emotion behind his eyes before he could realize and put up a mask or anger. She swiveled her head to look out the door, and then turned back to him. "Snotlout?" she asked, "Are you okay?" His face twitched as he tried to smile (managing only something more akin to a pained, teary eyed, grimace). But when he started an attempt to jump to his feet and act like nothing was wrong, Ruffnut rushed forward. She pushed him back down to the floor again, hands on his shoulders and her face full of concern- but firm. "Stay sitting," she demanded, the insistence coming as a surprise to the other as she didn't wait any longer for him to respond. As she went back over to the door and shut it, he tried to argue back. "Why should I listen to you?" he scoffed- though he feared his voice cracked a little in the middle and made the sentence less imposing. But even if this extra emotion wasn't added to the statement, Ruffnut just rolled her eyes as she walked back over and crouched the the ground besides him. "What's wrong?" she asked, taking him off guard with the further worry about his emotional state. "Nothing?" he lied, clear in the fact that the response came out more like a question of it's own. She scrunched up her nose, "You don't sound very sure about that," He was silent. There wasn't any way to keep the 'truth' in his answer evident if he spoke again, so he had nothing else to say. But Ruffnut wasn't taking that as an answer, so she shook her head and reached out, cupping Snotlout's face in her palm and forcing him to face her. "Hey," she stared into his eyes until he flicked his own away, hating to maintain eye contact, "You can tell me, I'm not mean all the time you know," He swallowed, but didn't say anything else. In response, she sighed and let go of his face, leaning her own back against the wall and copied the other's movements- staring forward into the darkness that was the rest of the unlit, empty dragon stalls. Almost in sync, they both wrapped (or re-wrapped) their arms around their knees. Ruffnut smiled at this, turning to see if Snotlout had noticed as well- but he didn't seem like he had. He was still staring forwards, a blankness in his eyes that made it hard to see what he was thinking. Hard to see how he felt. Her face fell once more, and she turned towards the dark parts of the building again- they weren't lit up by the light that made its way through the window behind them, or under the cracks in the door. The dust that floated in the air created little specks of light further in, reflecting what little brightness made it to them through the thickly shadowed space. Trying to keep her spirits up, Ruffnut hummed, "Welp!" She exclaimed, sounding awkward even as she tried to fit in with the shadows and sadness that laced the room. "I don't think this has been a very helpful conversation, but I do really want to help you. I don't bite, you know," Snotlout groaned and put his head in his hands, sounding more aggravated than sad or scared now. Ruffnut bit her lip, "Oh come on, it can't be that bad! I'm not that judging!" Snotlout gave her a look and she thought about it harder. (When she thought about it, it was fair that he didn't trust her fully. Still, this wasn't something she wanted to spread rumors about. This sounded serious.) She had a heart! "Okay," she started. "I'll go first then! I have plenty of things that are stressing me out, and you do too but you're not telling me what's wrong so I'll just talk instead," Snotlout groaned and she looked over at him, "Do you want to speak? Because I'm getting pretty mixed signals here," He didn't respond, but she didn't speak either. She was waiting for him to say something, or leave. He wasn't the type of guy to hide in some stable building and feel bad for himself- usually made some sort of show out of it. Acting like it wasn't that much of a big

deal, so the seriousness he was treating this with was honestly scary. But finally, after minutes that seemed to stretch into years, Snotlout opened his mouth to speak. "I've just been having a lot of questions recently," he said- but it definitely felt like he wasn't telling her the whole deal. "What kinds of questions?" She asked, "Because if it has to do with math or hair care I can't help, sorry," He stared at her, seeming unable to read if she was serious or not. She bit her lip, "sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, please continue," Snotlout shook his head. "No, it's nothing," he stated simply, "I should stop wasting your time- go out and build a tower or something," Frowning, Ruffnut shook her head. "You're not wasting my time! I had nothing better to do anyway," "Sure," scoffed Snotlout, "I'm sure," Ruffnut frowned, "Seriously man, please tell me what's wrong. I'm getting worried, you know we both hate to be worried!" Snotlout rolled his eyes and both the dragon riders went silent again. Ruffnut was waiting for the other to speak, while Snotlout was honestly just hoping and praying that she would leave. He was pretty tired already, even if he knew that there really wasn't another way out of this situation. Even if he left, she would be able to track him down if she felt like it. Honestly it seemed like she might feel like it, the worry in her voice seemed genuine, no matter how little he wanted to believe it. (He sort of hated the idea that the people he knew were thinking about him, which was odd considering how much he normally enjoyed the thought. Maybe it was because he felt weak, he didn't want that to be interpreted in anyone's eyes. Things seemed to be changing with him recently, maybe this was the next thing.) It took a long couple of minutes of staring at the dust that floated in the air before the male dragon rider sighed, seeming to give up on the idea of Ruffnut leaving. "Things to have a kind of been on my mind since..." He trailed off, staring into the distance for a second before shaking his head as if coming back to the present. "...since the whole Thor Bonecrusher fiasco," he finished. Ruffnut stared at him for a good long moment, so long, in fact, that he began to wonder if she was judging him. But when she spoke it was clear that she wasn't, "Yeah," she sighed. "I get that," Snotlout blinked, "you... what? With Fishlegs?" The confusion was clearly evident on his face because Ruffnut shrugged, "I don't know man, I guess? But what you would relate to more wouldn't be with him," Suddenly it clicked, "You mean," Snotlout started, sounding quite oddly joyful indeed, "you know what it's like?" Ruffnut cackled, "Of course I do, duh, identity crisis is basically in my name," "Not quite?" Snotlout tried to butt in, but was cut off as the other continued. "Plus, Tuff's also been through similar things- and I'm always right by his side to see it. Though, I guess this is more of realizing that some people actually... are attracted to people and realizing that he's not 'normal' or whatever," The twin turned to smile at Snotlout, "People like you and I go through more questions like 'is it even possible to like everyone?' 'are these emotions even real?' You know?" Snotlout blinked, much of his earlier panic forgotten. She really did understand. He had to admit, it was kind of strange to all of a sudden realize that he wasn't alone in this. That there were other people like him. But it was a good sort of strange. (Something more akin to joy.) It felt... nice to not have to be alone. It was going to take some time to get used to, this solidarity between him and Ruff, but he liked it already. (The plush was returning, but it wasn't bad at this time. It felt sweet, even.) Yeah, he thought as Ruffnut continued on with whatever she was talking about, he could get used to this.

(2,218 words.)

~

Sorry if there are mistakes I was extremely sleep deprived and sad when I wrote this.

[aizawa-needs-coffee]

Hi!! Could I have a matchup please? I'm 18, pronouns she/her, I'm fine w any gender though I have a preference for males

If its of any relevance, physically I'm about 5'8 tall and on the chubby side, green eyes, brown hair (with blonde streaks) and I wear glasses

If you're into astrology/ mbti, I am a Sagittarius w both moon and rising in Cancer and I'm INFP

So I'm quite emotional lol. Usually very in touch with my emotions and quite perceptive of other's feelings as well. I have a huge saviours complex especially when it comes to feelings (i love helping others figure out their feelings, being a shoulder to cry on or even offering comforting hugs) but I try my best to keep it control cause I don't wanna be suffocating

On the outside I'd say I'm fairly organized, I keep my room clean and all of that, I'm a lil bit of a perfectionist but mentally I'm all over the place. I tend to get carried away by thoughts and emotions and end up procrastinating a lot; anxiety makes it all worse. In short, I suck at time management

To most people I may seem quiet and reserved but I actually really enjoy talking to people; I'm really insecure about not being funny or interesting enough tho. Around my friends I'm more relaxed but still have moments of self doubt

I can also be quite obsessive. If something really catches my interest I won't stop until I search all there is to know about it. For example I watched bnha, read the manga, the spin offs etc all in less than a month and now I'm indulging in fanart and fanfics because I need m o r e c o n t e n t hsbsb. I'm also that kind of person that listens to a new song they like on repeat until they hate it. Speaking of music, I can't say I have a taste lol. My fave genres are rock, pop and indie but I hear smth I like, I listen to it, whether its "high quality" music, basic or weird. Lately I've been listening to a lot of epicore which is literally the type of music thats used in fantasy and sci fi movies askfkdk

I like expressing myself through writing, singing and dancing but I really can't say I'm talented at either of those, it's all in good fun. I also enjoy reading (fiction, non-fic books bore me like hell; my fave genres are fantasy, sci fi and crime) but I haaate literature in school. I'm actually a bit of a math nerd and this year I'm starting uni, studying computer science!! Oh! I've also taken drama classes for 2 years (despite the fear I loved being on stage and plan on starting again once I'm done w the baccalaureate), I love playing D&D and while I woulnd't quite call myself a gamer, I love role playing video games. I'm also almost always down for any kind of multiplayer video games w friends although I have no experience

I'm not a sportive person, I go on walks or do a few exercises every now and then at home but I'm willing to try stuff out like a new sport or going to the gym w an s/o. I do plan on starting self defense classes soon and maybe taking up sword fighting (I love swords hehe)

Tbh I've never been in a relationship so I'm not really sure how I would act w an s/o, nor what I'm exactly looking for. I best express my affection through physical touch tho and that includes my friends so I'd like someone who isn't bothered or can get used to that (s/o would still receive the most hugs/ cuddles etc). I'm not that comfortable w the other love languages for friends and family, but I think I'd be a lot more eager to express my love through them for s/o. If I'm on the receiving end, my weakness is still physical touch :)) but I also need words of affirmation every now and then cause insecurities 🌠 and while I wouldn't ask for anything, especially objects, I am a hoarder and I'd keep any kind of gift like its a national treasure simply bc its from someone I love.

In addition, it doesn't really matter if s/o is more on the emotional or rational side a long as they dont invalidate my feelings; it angers me a lot and makes me feel even more insecure. I tend to isolate when I'm really really upset about something so I need a lil bit of pushing to talk abt it; I'm open to talk abt my feelings but I need the verbal confirmation that they care and wanna help, its not just cause they're being nice

Wow that is a lot of rambling jeez ajsjsjs sorry. Thank you so much if you've read throught that all and ty for the match up!!

Me and my wife literally having a ten minute debate on who we’d pair you with before I made my choice. Thanks for all the details and I hope you enjoy the match up!

I match you with Sero

I feel he’s outgoing and extroverted enough to help you with your anxiety and always reassure you that you are good at things and he does love you, he’s also so chill and laid back that even if you were clingy he’d not mind, he’d embrace it, his chill nature would help balance you. He would help you feel grounded and have a ‘you don’t have to do it all now’ attitude but would happily help you out. You need help going to the store? He remembers the list you wrote, having trouble fitting in lunch while you study? He’ll come to your door with pizza.

He’s determined and outgoing but isn’t aggressively positive and loud either which I think is why I picked him over Kirishima for you.

+++

“Hey babe, whatcha reading?” Sero asked sitting next to you on the sofa, he handed you a soda which you gratefully took, not looking up from your laptop screen.

As soon as he was sat down comfortably your hand grabbed his, clasping your fingers together as you managed to tear your gaze away from the Wikipedia page which was still open. You blinked up at him and shook your head.

“Oh just something I learned about today and wanted to do some.. extra reading” you explained.

He nodded his head and drank his soda watching as your face lit up as you started to ramble about the topic, he didn’t really know much about it but the way you told him about everything, the way you happily expressed your interest towards the topic made him happy. He gave you his big grin when you finished.

“Sorry, I rambled..” You felt bad, you always felt nervous when you info dumped on people.

“Nah, it’s cool, I didn’t mind at all” he brought your hand up to his face and gave it a kiss, your face flushed at the gentle gesture which caused Sero to laugh playfully.

“Well, if your sure… I just wanted something to take my mind off chores”.

“It’s the weekend, you don’t have to rush anyway.. and if you don’t feel better by tomorrow I can help, you can wash the dishes and I’ll dry?” he suggested still peppering kisses on the back of your hand before you set your laptop down and crawled closer to him.

You nodded softly, that sounded a lot more manageable, you felt your anxiety settle down from a raging nagging feeling to something easier to tolerate. He was such a good influence on you. Sero set down his drink and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to his chest.

“The guys want to come over and say hi later, maybe get pizza… but I can tell them not tonight if you aren’t feeling it… maybe you can play that new game you got? I liked watching you play the other night” He suggested as he nuzzled your head, enjoying how your hair felt on his face.

“Maybe… can I give you an answer later?”

“Yeah, no rush babe”

You smiled softly feeling the lanky boy kiss the side of your head and listened as you carried on talking about the trivia of your current interest.

[silwenworld]

Sudoku - Chapter 2

Summary: Nicholas Rush was like one, giant, brain-damaging sudoku which when one thought to have all figured out changed all the variables, leaving them in no better position when they had started, but when an accident during exploration of the newest part of the ship has dire consequences for the scientist the rest will have to do their best to help the man they had all thought to be an emotionless bastard. [Chapter 1] [AO3] Drifting in nothingness, not knowing who or where he was, was a weird, if not unsettling feeling. He was a person, a male, a... husband? Or at least he had been, once. Not anymore. Or maybe?

He wished he could understand what was happening to him.

Nick. It's not real.

Wasn't it?

*

Colonel Everett Young swept his hand over his tired eyes, sighing as he lowered himself into the chair. Rush had been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days, and one could only guess how he would act each time. It wasn't constant - and TJ couldn't explain what was happening to the man even if she wanted to. She was just as lost as the Colonel.

One could think that being stranded on an alien ship in a faraway and foreign galaxy was the worst thing that could happen to a person. Young could believe that it had been what everyone had thought, at least at first, but it seemed that with every passing day, the universe made its sole purpose of proving to them that they had been, in fact, very wrong. In the latest couple of days, the Colonel grew to realise that losing one's mind was, in fact, the worst thing that could happen - Not being left for dead on an unknown planet, experimented on by the aliens, nor losing someone who you had probably loved. No.

Watching Rush was painful, to say the least. When awake, he would either be confused, angry or scared. Young had seen how fear had looked like in the other man's eyes, but this time, it was eternally different. It was a deep and profound dread of not knowing who or where one was and so unfitting for Rush that it left Young deeply unsettled every time it had happened.

There had been days when the scientists didn't recognise any of them - not Young, not TJ, Eli, or even Chloe. The only person he would have vaguely responded and actively had searched for had been his wife, whom - at least to Colonel's knowledge - had been dead for quite some time, which was problematic on a whole different level. But now, as he watched Rush flinch in his sleep, Young didn't know which was worse - that or when the man woke up with no recognition at all.

"Get your hands off me!"

"What's going on? Stay the hell away!"

Everett could feel the chill going down his body at the memory of those empty and scared eyes, so unlike Rush's that they could belong to a different person.

"What's happening to me?"

He shook his head. It was a good thing that Rush lost consciousness even quicker after those episodes than the other ones. They were disturbing but rarer as time went by, and they still didn't know why.

It almost looked as if...

No.

"I'm doctor Nicholas Rush. I'm a math teacher, not a soldier or any of that stupid stuff, and I don't know any of you. Have you seen Gloria?"

Young swallowed. If Rush's brain was resetting itself, one could only hope it would come on the right track with time. But knowing their luck, it would be anything but that simple.

"Don't hit me!"

Young just hoped he would be wrong for all their sake.

"Um, I think I hit my head or something? I hate to be a bother..."

He sighed again and looked down at the time on his wristwatch. If the pattern had been any clue at all, Rush should be waking up in about three minutes. But would it be Rush or the man who Young didn't recognise at all?

*

Eli dried his sweaty palms against his trousers as he walked to his destination. Truth be told, he had avoided the infirmary like the plague. That one time when Rush had woken up screaming and trashing still hunted his dreams, but with each passing day, Eli felt more and more guilty. And if Colonel Young, whose dislike for the Scotsman was no secret, could sit with the man more times than not, then so could he.

And honestly, he missed Rush, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. It had been awfully quiet without the man, and even Brody had remarked the other day that not hearing Rush's complaints had been just weird. He took a deep breath and shook his shoulders. He was no Rocky, but it felt as if going to the ring nevertheless. Exhaling, he hit the button, squinting his eyes as the door opened.

The first thing that Eli noticed when walking in was a tense atmosphere. There was just something in the air that spoke of tension, thick enough to cut it with a knife, slowly suffocating and making him absently reach to the collar of his hoodie. Then there were voices - raised and almost close to shouting. Or at least one was; the other sounded a lot calmer as if trying to pacify the first. It was easy to distinguish which belonged to whom just by the tone alone.

Rush was awake. And judging by what Eli was hearing, he wasn't pleased, but he sounded so much like his old-self that Eli felt his heart beating faster with hope. Hope that extinguished quickly like a fragile flame as soon as he got closer.

"Rush, calm down," Colonel Young said in a tone suggesting that it hadn't been for the first time. He held his arms outstretched, palms open, trying to look as unthreateningly as possible.

"Calm down? I am calm!" The scientist shouted, clearly agitated. "It's you who seems not to understand the simple aspect of question and answer!"

"I've already answered your question."

"Well, you're wrong! But what else could I expect!"

Eli didn't understand what was going on in the slightest, but even if it was the first time since days that Rush had looked and more or less acted like himself, but judging by Colonel's posture, something was still very seriously wrong.

"Um," Eli took a shaky step forward, waving awkwardly in greeting, hoping to defuse the tense atmosphere, even if a little. "Isn't it the right time?"

Rush's eyes darted towards him, and Eli could have wept at the recognition visible in them.

"Tell him, Mr Wallace," Rush said, which made him even more confused.

"Tell what?"

"She's not here, Rush," Young interrupted.

"I didn't ask you!" He snapped.

"Guys? What should I tell?" Now, Eli knew that something was definitely wrong. He didn't like the way Rush looked now. His skin became sickly grey in a matter of seconds, his eyes glistening.

"That she's on the ship!" Rush shouted over Young protests, his gaze fixed pleadingly on Eli, his hands twisted in the sheets to the point there were completely white.

"Who?"

"You know who - Gloria! My wife!"

What?

"Rush - "The Colonel tried once again, taking a step forward and putting his hand on the man's shoulder, which seemed to be a mistake.

"Don't 'Rush' me!" the scientist threw Young's hand away, almost backing against the head of the bed. "I have evident memories of coming to this ship with my wife, so stop fucking around!"

Eli could only stare, lost for words as the Colonel tried to pacify Rush without simply knocking him over the head. This was bad. No, worse - just what exactly did it mean?

And Rush was getting paler by the second and not calmer at all. Young seemed to notice it also because he clutched Rush by the shoulders, ignoring the other man's protests.

"Eli, get TJ," he said.

"Don't you dare -" Rush tried to get himself free.

"Eli. Now," the Colonel repeated, not taking his eyes off Rush. Eli nodded, and with a final distressed look over his shoulder, he ran.

Young's focus was eternally on the scientist who tried to wrestle himself free, but his struggles became weaker with every second. The Colonel felt like shouting and punching something, and this time, surprisingly, it wasn't the Scotsman. Everett should have sensed that Rush wasn't alright, but when the man had woken up and recognised him, Young had felt so relieved that it took him a moment to notice the signs. It hadn't taken long for the scientist to complain about the music that only he could have heard and then to insist that there should have been someone else in the room too. The noise Young could ignore, but the indication that one was insisting on the fact that his dead wife wasn't, in fact, dead, he could not.

"Let go of me, Colonel."

"You're not well, Rush."

"Why the hell are you lying?!"

There was sweat on the man's braw that hadn't been there before, and his skin looked grey, almost ashen.

"I know what I know. What have you done to her?!" The man struggled again.

"I did nothing -"

"If you harmed her -"

"Rush!"

"You were speaking with her, for God's sake! I know she's here!" the man's voice hitched with desperation, breaking at the last word, similar to a broken sob.

That gave Young a pause. He knew he didn't, so why did Rush remembered something that clearly hadn't happened? He didn't have time to ponder about it nor answer because the scientist suddenly doubled over, clutching his head and groaning as the Colonel tightened his grip around his shoulders, almost taking all his weight.

"Rush? Talk to me," Young tried to catch the man's attention, but it didn't seem to work.

"It's louder," the scientist gritted through his teeth.

"What is?"

"The music, It's - God," Rush groaned louder, bitting on his tongue to stop himself from shouting as he sagged against the Colonel.

Where the hell was TJ?

"Come on, stay with me, genius. Come on, Rush."

"It's not your head -" the man mumbled, but suddenly he gagged, and Young had only a split second to turn him to the side, preventing him from throwing up all over the bed.

"TJ!" He shouted. How could it get so bad in such a short time?!

"Coming!" Tamara appeared beside him, quickly asserting Rush's condition with a concerned frown. She had to dodge the man's arm that somehow broke free of the Colonel's hold.

"Sedate him," Young met her eyes over Rush's shoulder, making it an order. Rush was bearly coherent now, groaning in pain yet still straining against Young's attempts to hold him down.

"Gloria..." The word was bearly audible, but Young had heard it enough times already to recognise the meaning behind it. His face hardened.

"TJ. Now."

She nodded, and when Rush sagged in his hold minutes after the injection, Young took a step back and dragged a hand through his hair.

"What the hell was that?"

Oh. He nearly forgot about Eli. The younger man was staring at them with unease in his eyes, arms close to the chest as if trying to separate the scene in front of his eyes from himself. Young dipped his head and sighed.

"That's what I would like to know. TJ?"

He turned back to her, waiting for her reply. The frown on her face grew deeper as she listened to Rush's heart through the stethoscope. Her fingers never leaving the spot on the man's neck.

"His heart rate is all over the place," she mumbled. "Eli, could you bring me the pressure gauge? It's on one of the tables over there."

"How is he?" He asked as Eli ran where directed. TJ removed the stethoscope from her ears and proceeded to fill a new syringe.

"Not good, but that's not a surprise... How long did it take?"

"He woke up just fine. Knew where and who he was and recognised me."

She glanced up.

"That's a new one."

"Yeah. He sees his wife or thinks she's here on the ship. One of the two," he added, wearily.

TJ stilled before administrating the medicine, frowning at Young. "Isn't his wife...?"

"Dead. Yes," Young confirmed, glancing down at the now unconscious scientist. "As far as I know."

She nodded and proceeded to treat her patient, and Young closed his eyes briefly. God, he needed a drink.

"Sir, you said that he appeared fine after waking up," TJ started after covering Rush with a blanket, making Young open his eyes. "When did it got worse?"

Young frowned, thinking hard. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment. They had been shouting, and then Rush almost doubled over, but it couldn't have happened so quickly...

"The more the Colonel insisted Rush was mistaken, the worse he looked," Eli spoke slowly, and all head turned towards him.

"What do you mean?" Young asked.

Eli handed TJ the pressure gauge and scratched his head. "When you insisted on his wife not being here -"

"Well, she's not."

"Yeah, but it seemed to make him worse."

Young turned to Tamara.

"TJ?"

"I need to scan his head," she said, not looking up. "You got that ancient device working? The one that probably works like MRI?"

"Yeah, I think it works," Eli nodded. "You want me to get it?"

"Please."

"I don't think I like the look on your face, lieutenant," Young waited until Eli had left, but there was no denying that something didn't sit well with Tamara.

"I think it would be better if I was the one he wakes up to next time, sir," she started. "There's something I need to confirm."

Young searched her face for any clues but found it impossible to find any. She looked tired, though, and it had him wondering how bad he must be looking. He glanced back at Rush. Thankfully, when sedated, he didn't look in pain.

"All right," Young nodded. "Keep me posted."

*

It wasn't the violin this time, but the soft sound produced by a precise and gentle touch of piano keys. He felt as if he could stay just like that - lost in the sound. There was no pain nor confusion in here, just darkness that embraced him from every corner yet strangely soothing.

Rush remembered as he played those soft tunes. He wasn't the best player, a moderately good on the best of days, but Gloria liked to listen to him playing. It relaxed her, drove her worries away, and he was more than willing to do just that for her. No one else had heard him playing. Never. Just her - only for her.

Yet this time, he knew it wasn't his fingers gliding across the keys. His arms lay limply by his sides, unmoving, but the music was still playing. He looked around, but there was just nothing out there. He was alone. So, where did the sound come from? And why did it feel like somebody was caressing his hair?

Come on, Nick. Wake up.

The touch became firmer, and the sound of the piano morphed into sharp violin sounds, too loud to be comfortable. He winced at the sudden stab of pain behind his left eyeball and almost missed the darkness changing to grey smoke. Slowly, he forced his eyes open. He didn't succeed, not at first as his eyelids felt heavy, and the light that struck him when they lifted forced them back down. It took a couple of tries and then some to get the room to focus, but it wasn't hard to guess where he was - Destiny's infirmary had a specific pattern to its ceiling.

His mind felt groggy, but it was no surprise, considering the last thing he remembered was the feeling of the anaesthetic entering his system. Slowly, Rush turned his head to the side and smiled slightly.

"Hey," his voice was hoarse from the drugs and vomiting, but it still won him a smile back from the person sitting beside him—the same one who was still stroking his head as he leaned into the touch.

"Hey yourself," she answered tenderly and scooted closer, kissing his hand. "You had me worried."

"Sorry. Ugh," moving hadn't been the right choice, it seemed, as his whole body felt stiff and painful. He wondered if it was due to being thrown across the room or staying too long in bed. Maybe both.

It all felt like a dream.

"Don't move, or you'll tear the stitches," she gently pushed him back against the hard mattress, and he went down without protest. He could never say no to her. "You know it almost feels like payback," she added, and he raised an eyebrow. "You stayed by my side so many times that now it's my turn, but please, don't make it a habit."

"It's not intentional."

"And antagonising the colonel?"

"Still, not intentional."

She smiled slightly at that and stood up from the chair, a few blond locks escaped her bun, and he had to resist the urge to tuck it back behind her ear.

"I'm going to get Lt. Johansen," she bent down and kissed him gently on the lips that he returned without hesitation. "Don't rush it," she warned, and he grinned at the pun.

He watched her walk away, and the feeling he got at the sight didn't sit well with him at all. It was as if something wasn't as it should be, and a profound fear twisted his gut.

"Gloria?" she turned around with question in her eyes. "I love you, you know that?"

"Of course I do. Rest. I love you too."

Rush didn't want to close his eyes. He wanted to see her come back like he wasn't entirely sure she would, but he didn't know what could prompt such fear. He could hear the soft hum of Destiny's engines, comforting him at the same time as her lights blinded him and before he knew it, his eyes closed. When they opened, it wasn't Gloria leaning over him but Lt. Johansen, and he couldn't help but look around, searching.

"How are you feeling?" the medic asked, and he rubbed his eyes.

"Is the Colonel here?"

Johansen's mouth twitched. "No."

""Then like shit."

The woman smiled. "I can imagine. Any double vision?"

"A little blurry but not double. No."

"We really need to get you new glasses somehow," she admitted. "It's good to see you awake and coherent, to be honest."

He smiled slightly, trying to relax, but somehow he found it very hard.

"Yeah, so my wife told me," he frowned. "What's that face for, lieutenant?" he asked when spotting TJ expression. Was it something he had said? But she shook her head and pulled out her flashlight.

"Can you follow the flashlight for me? Only with your eyes, keep your head straight."

"All right."

"Let me know if you get double vision at any point."

He nodded and let her examine him while not being able to shake the feeling of wrongness that rolled off her in waves. When she got to the halfway point into his cranial nerves examination, he grew impatient.

"Lieutenant, stop betting around the bush and tell me what's going on."

She stopped in the middle of checking his facial muscles strength and looked for something in his eyes. Rush didn't know what it was or had she found it, but then she sat back in the chair and leaned towards him.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"You plunging a syringe into my arm, but somehow I got a feeling it's not what you're asking about." Rush narrowed his eyes. His head began to throb slightly, not hard enough to be a bother but still not eternally possible to ignore, but he focused on TJ that fidgeted slightly in her seat. "Ugh, a robotic wire throwing me against a wall... I think I sat on the chair?"

TJ nodded, confirming his suspicions. Well, the neurological exam made sense then. "And before that?" She added.

He frowned, thinking. Why was that important?

"I think Gloria's nagging that I should tell the Colonel where we were going? I asked her to do it in my stead. Young has a lot better tolerance for her than me," He chuckled, but it died down as soon as he saw TJ expression. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath in.

"I have reasons to believe that the machine - the chair, had done something to your brain. We still don't know what exactly, but it looks like it tried to rewrite your cortex."

He didn't like the sound of it.

"To what point?"

"We don't know. But you may experience two sets of memories. One true and one -"

"Think very carefully about your next words, lieutenant." He cut in, his voice cold as a steal.

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you're going to insinuate - the Colonel went exactly the same route even if less sophisticated. Now, let me tell exactly the same thing that I've told him - that's bullshit."

"Doctor Rush -"

"How should I know that this is real, then?" he said pointedly. "That this conversation is really happening?"

"What?"

"I have a very vivid memory of holding my wife's hand when going through the stargate," no chance in hell it wasn't real. Why wouldn't it be? "I remember Mr. Brody making her a violin from spare metal parts that sounds dreadful, but she was as thankful for it as if he had given her the Stradivarius. How can you even think that any of it is a lie?" His tone became desperate as he searched for any indication in TJ eyes that he didn't make that all up. They were the ones mistaken! Not him! "Shit!" He clutched his head that suddenly felt like somebody had split it open with a machete, and Johansen jumped from her seat.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Head. Again." He groaned. Just what exactly did that bloody chair did to him?

"Doctor Rush, I need you to focus on something else," Johansen's voice sounded detached, and it took him a moment to understand and comprehend the meaning behind her words.

"Come again?" Was that his voice? It sounded too strained and far away.

"Your brain is forcing you into a seizure. I need you to focus on something else and not giving it a medium to feed on."

He could feel his leg twitch uncontrollably, and a sudden fear gripped him. If what TJ had said was true, then nobody knew what a seizure could do to an already damaged brain. Rush tried to push his thoughts away from the arising conflict in his head, but no matter how much he tried, the pain only grew worse. Because how could somebody insist that Gloria wasn't real? What had happened to her, then? How -

" - need to ho...d.. it.. to...ther. Your wife will be here in a moment."

"What did you say?" He groaned, blinking.

"I sent her to get the Colonel."

Johansen didn't look comfortable, far from it, but that fact escaped him entirely. All he could focus on was the case that the splitting headache, so profound just a second ago, now seemed to be only lurking somewhere far away, like a distant memory.

"It's... It's gone..." he whispered, confused.

TJ nodded, but she was unable to meet his gaze. There was sadness in her that he didn't understand and something more... something that kept escaping his mind.

"Try to relax, alright?" she asked while standing up. Somehow he wasn't reassured by the fake smile on her face. "I need to scan your head. Eli got the ancient MRI working. I'll be back in a minute."

"Lieutenant?" She turned around at his voice. A sudden spike of pain behind his left eyeball made him wince, but he swallowed the groan down, clenching his fists to distract himself. "If what you say is true, then how can I be certain what is happening and what isn't? Can you prove to me that this conversation right now is really happening?"

This time she didn't drop her gaze.

"We'll figure it out," she said.

He didn't feel better at all.

Nick. It's not real.

Wasn't it?

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

Solace in Plato

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Chiron

Summary: With the now rather alarming prospect of actually reaching adulthood being a reality, Nico has agreed to tutoring under Chiron's guidance. When Plato is suggested as something to study, Nico is not impressed and avoids it. A few weeks later and Will Solace asks him whether he's actually read Plato or just an abridged version.

Just a little fic exploring their relationship and Nico's internalised issues with being gay.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32634607

“I hate Plato.” Nico muttered, staring at the book placed in front of him as he sat in the library of the Big House. Having not had any formal education since the ‘30s, Chiron had taken it upon himself to help educate Nico should he wish to get exam results - which would be useful for getting a job or Athena believe it, going to University. Neither was a prospect that he had ever really considered possibilities but the alternative was staying here and helping out with the new recruits while Will went to University in a few years time or doing the same thing but in New Rome.

Because Will insisted that he wanted to help the world, not just demigods. Nico didn’t deserve him.

So he’d agreed to go along with this and when Chiron had asked him if there was any subjects he thought he might take at University (and after Nico had suggested undertaker, mortician or detective based on a TV show Will had told him about, don't ask) he had begrudgingly admitted that he had more than a passing interest in Classics. Try as he might, his childish obsession with mythomagic had left him with more than a passing knowledge of Classical characters and he got a strange, warm feeling in his chest when he knew the answer to ‘how do we kill this obscure monster’ and no one else did.

Based on these answers, he had a somewhat tailored learning with Classics in both Italian, English and the Original Ancient Greek (his Greek was amazing for his age - a by-product of being a half-blood - but apparently his English reading skills were that of a kid and his Italian not much better, Hades knew why) and more than his fair share of biology and chemistry. Will had been only too delighted to help him with the sciences, although was suspiciously absent when it came to physics and math, but that was OK, really, and he probably wouldn’t make a good mortician anyway because he shouldn’t pick careers based on how many spirits he could raise, tempting as it was. The rest of his schooling thought? That fell to Chiron.

And today? Well, apparently they had progressed onto Philosophy and a man who's work made Nico's stomach plummet. Plato.

“Why is that?” Chiron asked, a patient expression on his face. Nico just glowered at him but like Will, he seemed impervious to it. It was irritating when people did not cower and cave in to his glares. He was used to inspiring fear in others.

“Do I need a reason?” Nico his arms, leaning back on the chair, returning a dark gaze to the book as if he could cause it to wither and crumble under his gaze. If he could do it to food, why not books? Plato sat cheerfully happy there without so much as a speck of mold coming to grace it.

“When discussing philosophy, it can be rather helpful.”

“Well I just don’t like him. Pick some other philosopher.”

Chiron had stared at him for a good few seconds before relenting, choosing some other book and asking no further questions about it. Nico hated that he could feel just how his heart rate had picked up, thundering in his chest as if it would crack open his rib cage. He knew people suspected… that the people he tolerated as friends already knew and accepted him for his inclinations… for what he was… but he wasn’t ready to confront the proof that he was different. Wrong, a voice always threatened to whisper in his ear. An abomination. A freak of nature. Nico knew that he couldn't read Plato, not with Chiron standing there and dissecting the merits of this particular work. It was never easy to look in the mirror and see just how messed up you were.

Despite the time it took for his heart to return back to normal, he did manage the text they’d chosen and perhaps sensing his unease, Chiron had used it as a chance to work on his reading more than the philosophy. He even finished the lesson with a kind smile and was informed that his modern language skills had far approached where they should be for someone his age. This followed with a suggestion that he could go into translation work. It was tempting, he would be better able to hide away in a darkened room as a translator than becoming an academic (sadly, these days academics had more obligations to teach), so Nico nodded and promised to think on it.

Two weeks later found Nico sitting in the shadows of the forest while Will quizzed him on anatomy which counted as studying for both of them. Annoyingly Will was refusing to sit anywhere other than the sunlight and so had coerced Nico into what they had settled on as being called ‘a potential threat to his aesthetic’, or in other words, dappled shade. It had promised to be a rather lovely day until a topic best avoided reared its head.

“Why do you hate Plato?” Will asked suddenly, looking up at him with those bright eyes and that warm smile that made something in his stomach twitch and his throat clench. Nico knew he shouldn’t feel so ill at ease with these feelings. They hadn’t put a word on it but it was a thing that they were doing. Having feelings together, exchanged smiles and moments of laughter when he thought no one was watching. Once, Will had even placed his hand down a mere inch from Nico’s and he had let his little finger flicker to just once lightly tap against Will’s in thanks for the silent support. He’d felt sick with guilt afterwards, but what was new? The little moments of happiness more than made up for it.

“I just do. And Chiron shouldn’t have told you that.” He muttered, shifting to move back under the full shade of a tree, pulling his legs in to his chest as Will closed the book. Right, study was over. Nico wrapped his arms around his legs, finger shifting the skull ring as he felt the pressing anxiety to run and escape the potential fallout. How many people knew? No doubt his unnaturalness was being spoken of throughout camp as he sat here. They would prove Jason wrong that times had changed. Their eyes would follow him, judging and radiating hate for someone who was so different. He’d have to leave and go back on the run, abandoning all he had built here. Nico closed his eyes as the feelings became overwhelming and claustrophobic, grass yellowing beneath his feet.

“He was concerned.” Will said softly, shifting over to sit next to Nico and breaking his silent panic.

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Is it Plato’s Sympo-?”

“No.”

“Hm. That’s what Chiron thought as well.” Nico could hear amusement in Will’s voice and concern. He dropped his hands from twisting the ring, suddenly subconscious of his tell and instead twined blades of dead grass between his fingers and yanked. His hand opened to let the picked grass tumble back to the earth.

“Did you read the original or just hear an abbreviated version?” Will pressed.

“Have you read it?” Nico challenged, ripping up more grass.

“Not until last week. Chiron sat me down with it and we discussed it.”

“Then you know why I can’t stand Plato.”

“Abbreviated version, huh?”

Nico looked over to Will who did not look disgusted, upset or any of the other myriad of emotions that he would have expected. Did he not read the whole mankind were once male and female, now split and eternally trying to recombine with their other half? Which left them and whatever they had rather in the dirt. Because if there was one thing that was worse than knowing he wasn’t right, that there had been some huge mistake with his creation, it was knowing that someone as good as Will Solace had the same affliction. Sure, he could be annoying but Will deserved more than that. He shouldn’t be a broken half. If anyone deserve to be able to become whole once more, it was Will. Will, who was staring at him like he expected some answer and Nico shrugged, yanking more grass.

“So what? I was like eleven. Not exactly likely to go and read the actual version. I deserve credit for even doing that much.” He couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. He had found out that it was from Plato's Symposium after he knew the story, that much he knew. He assumed either he had read it very young or perhaps some ghost had told him. Most of his pre-Camp Half Blood lessons had come from ghosts in one form or another.

“Perhaps you should. I rather liked the bit about the straights all being nymphomaniacs and adulters.” Will smirked.

Nico frowned, his body freezing as he blinked very slowly trying to make what Will had said align with what he knew. A frown tugged at his brow.

“What… do you mean…?”

“Well, the whole bit about there being people made of two parts, either two men, two women, or a man and a woman, always trying to get back together. And the same sex ones generally being the better lot. Well, more the two men combos because they weren’t necessarily the most progressive in Ancient Greece. But in the end, that’s just a story that Plato had Aristophanes, who was a comedic playwright, tell. It’s not really anything to be taken too seriously.”

How had no one told him that? A dark anger settled into the pit of Nico's stomach and he found himself wanting to track down whichever spirit had lied to him and- Will continued speaking, his voice too light for Nico to continue his thoughts and the seething hatred dissipated.

“Honestly, read it if you don’t believe me. Chiron sat me down and took me through the whole story, every boring line after every boring line. I’m not supposed to tell you this because he’d rather you told him when you’re ready but he kind of clocked that you and I-” Nico shot Will a death glare and Will held up his hands.

“I was going to say get on well! And yeah, considering your aversion to Plato, he thought it might be you heard a misrepresented version of that story. We both know about festering wounds so agreed you should learn the truth of the matter. Preferably not by forced study so I kind of had to get an impromptu philosophy lesson. I think Chiron intended me to be rather more subtle about his involvement but my assessment is that it is better to know that you’re not alone and that it’s OK.”

Nico did not want to stare at Will. He did not want to look shocked nor rattled. He focused on plucking more grass and trying not to feel pleased that Will could sit in silence, knowing he needed time to speak and for it not to feel awkward.

“I just.” Nico frowned. The story had not exactly haunted him but it had lodged itself into his chest as further proof of all he had been raised to understand. It felt like a screw had been loosened somewhere deep within. “It isn’t saying that… well…?”

“No,” Will smiled. “And, I mean, the best thing about it is Plato actually wasn't arguing for the gays or the straights. There’s just like this collection of discussion by some old dudes on the meaning of love and then Socrates comes in boom at the end and we get Platonic love , or the basics of it. Big advocation for love being about the search for the meeting of minds rather than physical stuff, which I think is a rather good way to look at it. It goes on to being about then true love is a love of knowledge. That’s what the whole thing is kind of about. I think. Most of it went over my head.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Nico admitted, his hands winding around some grass but not yet pulling. He focused on the texture of it in his palm and it ground him.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s the be all and end all.” Will continued. “It’s just some guy arguing about love two thousand years ago and what do they know?”

Nico hummed, chin resting on his knees as he stared out at the camp below them. Will moved to sit closer, mirroring his position merely a foot away. If either of them leaned just a bit, their head might rest on the other one’s shoulder and Nico did not shift away.

“I just… As long as I can remember I’ve always been told that love is between a man and a woman. I just seemed inescapable. It didn’t matter who was teaching…” It wasn’t easy and words caught in his throat.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and none of this is going to be easy but I just want you to know that if you need to talk about something, you have me. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then Chrion is there too-”

“No.” Nico said hastily, blinking in surprise at that. “That is… I’d rather talk to you than Chiron. About things.” He noticed that at some point, Will had placed a hand, palm upwards between them. Hesitantly, Nico slipped his hand down, ghosting his fingers over Will’s. He did not move or even look at him and somehow feeling safer in that knowledge Nico let his fingers intertwine.

It was better than the grass.

“But when I’m ready. There’s… I’ve got a lot to figure out about all this but I know whatever I think, I enjoy what we have and I don’t want to not feel this.” He twisted their hands so Will’s was on top now and his fingers brushed against Will’s knuckles and down the proximal phalange before circling the knuckles again. Will’s thumb brushed against his and Nico felt his body begin to tense against the warmth and sparks of feelings. In moments like this, it was hard to believe that what they had was wrong.

“I don’t want to not feel like this either.” Will smiled and the distance between them seemed less, although Nico could not say how the gap had closed.

If they really were two halves of a whole, Will had to be his better half, Nico reflected as he felt his head drawn to rest feather light on his… on Will’s shoulder. Yes, it felt like this might be completion or at the very least something that Nico had not felt for an even longer period: contentment.

[thgfanficinspo]

Fear of the Water - Ch 18

Finnick deals with the fallout from Annie’s breakdown (some sexy Capitol Finnick) (Henry Cavill was my fancast for Finnick before the movie came out)

My AO3 - Chapter 1 - Jonsa - Coryo - Discovery of Witches

(ANNIE)

When I wake up, I’m in a white tube. It’s small so small and I’m strapped down – arms, legs, body, even head. There’s a whirring, buzzing sound coming from within the walls. Then there are voices.

“Aw, shit, she’s awake.”

“Should we put her back down?”

I struggle against my bonds. Are they going to kill me? Why am I here? What are they doing to me?

“Yeah, she’s gonna fuss.”

There are footsteps now – coming toward me. I try to tear my arms out of their bonds but nothing happens. I scream. The voices yell to one another and I scream and I scream and I scream. I don’t want this. Finnick and Mags said it was over now and I was safe and I don’t think they’d lie to me but maybe they did or maybe they never said it at all I don’t want to die.

There’s a sharp pain in my right thigh. Then it goes dark.

(FINNICK)

We’re supposed to go back to that damn waiting room with the grey walls and floor-length windows and fake orchid.

I skulk around in the hallway after the others have gone inside, hoping to catch a moment alone with the female doctor who flirted with me. She comes out through a doorway which she locks behind her. She’s too distracted by the papers in her hand to notice me. I clear my throat and she looks up.

“Mr. Odair. Shouldn’t you be in the waiting room?”

“It’s a bit stuffy in their for my taste,” I say. “Especially after all that drama.” I straighten up and close the space between us.

“Yes, that was really something,” she agrees. Her eyes rake my body up and down. She has to turn away.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

“I haven’t personally.”

“No?” I’m not nearly as smooth as I usually am. I’m too anxious to be charming. “Annie’s something special then.” I step up behind her and move her hair away from the side of her neck. “Like you.” I press my lips to the side of her neck and she nearly collapses. I keep my arms tight around her waist and pull her against me.

She gasps my name.

“Will you tell me something?”

“What?” she asks breathlessly.

I flick the tip of my tongue over the pulse-point of her throat. “What are you planning to do with Annie Cresta?”

“Anthea!” We both look up. Her male colleague is standing at the other end of the hallway. He’s a good ten years younger than she is, but he has an air of superiority about him. And he looks pissed.

The woman – Anthea, I guess – goes ramrod straight and tosses off my arms. “It’s not –”

“We need to talk,” he says simply, his glaring eyes locked on mine. Anthea hustles down the hall and through the door the male doctor came through. He and I maintain eye contact as long as possible, until the door shuts behind him.

I growl under my breath. “Fuck.”

I’ve definitely made things worse. If that other damn doctor hadn’t come in . . .

Mags is pacing around the room with one of her hands over her mouth when I come in. Proteus stands a few feet away from me, apparently deep in thought. Eefa has made a surprise visit, which she clearly regrets. No sign of Broadsea, but that’s no surprise. He’s probably passed out in his own puke by now. I normally wouldn’t care but I feel that since Eefa made it here, he should’ve at least tried.

Proteus raises an eyebrow at me, silently asking what I found out. I shake my head.

The same two doctors as before come out to speak to us after about twenty minutes of waiting. They’re much more serious. “She did suffer trauma to the head while in the Arena,” the man says.

“But you don’t think that’s what’s causing her issues,” Proteus says.

Anthea nods. Gone is the quivering woman in the hall, replaced with someone cold and angry. She’s going out of her way to not look at me. “The tasks we had her do when she first woke up didn’t indicate any neurological or physiological issues. We did scans, too, after her tantrum at the recap, and they didn’t show anything out of the ordinary.”

“Tantrum?” I repeat.

“Then what’s wrong?” Proteus asks over me.

“We believe it’s mental illness,” the male doctor says.

None of us know what that means. We don’t have mental illness in the districts, at least not the words to describe it, but the Capitol has words for everything. They have enough leisure time to think about things like that, to come up with ailments to explain their every mood.

Our faces must betray our inability to understand because they take a different route.

The female doctor is the one to speak. “We are going to have Annie Cresta declared mentally insane.”

“What?” I spit.

Proteus speaks over me again. “Isn’t that a bit premature? She hasn’t been out of the arena for long.”

“We believe a swift announcement is in her best interest at this time,” the male doctor says.

“Her closing interview with Caesar Flickerman has been canceled,” the female says, totally ignoring our reactions. She may have succumb to my charms and looks before, but now she seems immune. “President Snow will make the announcement during that time slot instead.”

I don’t know what to say.

“What would you like us to do in the meantime?” Proteus asks after a moment, voice totally neutral. The crease between his eyebrows is the only sign that he’s troubled by all of this. The only sign.

I could kill him.

“She’s currently under anesthesia, but I recommend you board the train back to your district soon,” the woman continues. “Before anyone gets wind of this.”

“Why?” Eefa asks, brows creased.

“What do you mean, Why?” I ask.

“Why are you declaring her insane? What exactly is wrong with her?”

“Why do you think?” I snap. The first thing I hear her say in a week and she asks something stupid like that?

“I’d like to hear the diagnosis,” Eefa says.

The woman doctor sighs and looks down at her clip board. She knows we won’t understand any of it. “She shows symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, attention def –”

Proteus holds up his hand. “That’s enough.” He has no idea what any of it means, either. “Eefa?” he asks, turning to her. She nods, satisfied with what she’s heard. Maybe she was making sure they covered their bases; we generally accept that mad people are mad, but you need real proof to declare a victor mentally insane before the whole country.

“There is one piece of permanent physical damage I ought to mention,” the female doctor says. “Due to the stab wound in her abdomen, she won’t be able to conceive or carry children. There’s too much tissue damage.” No one really cares about that right now. What we care about – what I care about – is getting Annie out of here without adding to the damage that’s already been done. “I thought one of you ought to tell her once you’re back in your district and she’s had a chance to calm down.”

“I think you should get ready to leave,” the male doctor says. “She’ll be up in –” he checks his wristwatch and bobbles his head as he does the math in his head “– ninety minutes, give or take.”

“Yes,” Mags says distractedly. “Yes, of course.” She blinks several times.  “I’ll start preparing. And have Brae send for the train. Proteus, please get Annie’s stylist so we can get her ready to go.” The others go – Eefa practically sprints out – and I want to move, too, but my muscles won’t let me. Mags’s hand finds my shoulder. “She’s alive, Finnick. That’s what matters.”

I nod again because I can’t think of anything to say.

“Go. Clean up. Clear your head. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I just want to check in on her.”

When I get upstairs to our rooms, Greer rushes towards me and starts making a lot of gestures. I’m not sure what she’s asking until she runs her hand down her hair in a smooth, wavy motion. Like the way Annie’s hair falls.

“Annie?” I guess.

She nods.

I’m too tired to explain it all. “She’ll be all right.”

I start undressing before I make it all the way into my room, discarding my clothes as I go. Somes picks them up as he follows behind me.

I blast the water in the shower to its highest setting and make the temperature as cold as I can bear. I only take hot showers in the Capitol when I’ve just seen a patron. Different temperatures for different problems. It helps me compartmentalize. Keep my head straight.

I’m good at that. Compartmentalizing, keeping my mind focused on the task at hand. I always have been. A lot of victors simply can’t do that – it’s why they turn to drink or drugs. But I haven’t. And I won’t.

I don’t notice the slip of paper folded on my pillow until I start dressing. The paper is off-white and thick – the sort of expensive, heavy stuff they only use in the Capitol. I open it up, and the custom watermark at the top of the page informs me that this is from C.X.S.

President Snow has left me a handwritten note of congratulations.

The others have all gotten them, too.

Mags says he always does for the victors of the winning district. Etiquette, she says, is the most important thing to Coriolanus. Not for the first time, I wonder how well Mags knew him when they were young.

Broadsea whips a lighter out of his pocket and sets the note on fire before dropping it in an empty metal bin. He hasn’t even opened it. Eefa drops her own note into the bin; Mags gives Broadsea her letter to burn, too. I don’t know if she’s read it. Proteus tucks his away in his jacket pocket and tells me to do the same if I want to be smart. I don’t have a reason to save it; I’ve already memorized every word. But I decide to keep it anyway. In case I ever need a reminder.

Mr. Odair,

Congratulations on your very first victor. This is an exciting time for your fellow victors and all of District 4. It is an especially important time for you, as this is your first time mentoring a victor.

Of course he adds a little statement of regret at the end of my note containing a veiled threat:

I hope that you will not be bogged down by the weight of responsibility. It would be unfair for anyone to expect a young man such as  you to take on the burden of Miss Cresta’s care.

It seems innocuous enough, but it’s another little reminder to stand back and just let things unfold. Men like Finnick Odair don’t get involved with that sort of thing, and girls like Annie Cresta never really go home.

My best regards to you and your new victor,

President Coriolanus X. Snow

[youseissi]

The Dark Witch Next Door

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

The man that just moved in next to Hongjoong might be too kind for his own good and the witch's totally not worried about him.

or

Kim Hongjoong is a dark witch that specializes in potions and when herbs from his garden keep going missing he's pretty sure Park Seonghwa is the culprit. After all who else would need fern flowers besides the white mage living next door.

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Onesided Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, someone dies but not really, tsundere hongjoong, Necromancy

Notes: This is the first story in a series of short stories for a witch au.

Warnings: Non descriptive gore (necromancy).

Arcana Series: TDWND ✧ TWND ✧ TBC ✧  AO3

Hongjoong counts the little sprouts on the garden floor. He finishes and starts over not quite satisfied. And then one more time. A couple of them were missing. Again. It took weeks to grow those and every single time at least a couple of them went missing, if not up to half of the batch and he needed those. He didn’t have time to wait for another month to continue to brew his potions.

He knew who always did this and, unlike that doofus, he had actual clients to tend to. Saying that Hongjoong, the village's dark witch, was furious was an understatement.

“Having problems with wild animals again?” His neighbour’s annoyingly angelic voice sounded over the fence. Ha. As if it wasn’t that little familiar of his that snatched all his ingredients away.

“I guess so, you don’t happen to know anything about it, do you?”

“Haven’t I answered this question a few too many times before? My answer haven’t changed.” Seonghwa replied, a soft smiled contradicting the tone of his words.

“Yes, yes I know. I just feel the need to ask since these herbs…”

“Are very important ingredients for very expensive potions, I’m aware.” The white mage completed his phrase with a chuckle, having heard the speech way too often. “I really don’t know anything, but I’ll let you know in case I do.”

His two tailed cat chose this moment to cut in between them, sprinting between Hongjoong’s feet and jumping onto the fence, mewling quietly for its owner and Seonghwa promptly took it in his arms excusing himself.

Hongjoong just hummed in response, going back to tend to his destroyed garden. One day he would catch the older in the act, he promised to himself mindlessly as he plucked the remaining blossoms and replaced them with new seeds. It had to be him, after all who else would need fern flowers besides the white mage living next door.

✦

“That’ll be fifteen gold pieces for a good harvest potion, per field of course.” Hongjoong declared matter of factly as he wrote down on a piece of paper with his crow feather quill, doing the math for how much the final price would be.

“Can’t you lower your price? Isn’t that a little too expensive? People are dying, you know.”

Yes, he knew. Tough luck, that was the cycle of life for a mere mortal, get over it. He couldn’t lower his price for a simple reason like that as Magic wasn’t free for him either. Every single ounce of mana needed a sacrifice to be turned into magic. No matter the use, it had a price, always and forever that was the universal truth for every supernatural being. So the whole town could die if that was the case, but he was getting paid for his sacrifice.

“I’m aware of the situation, this is the best price I can do and it’s already severely lowered. Also I need at least half the pay beforehand for ingredients. Would you like some tea while you go over the papers?”

“Sure…”

Hongjoong didn’t stay out of the room for long, just quick enough to grab the already boiling kettle and pour the tea onto some fancy china cups he used for clients, but immediately he knew something was amiss when he stepped back into his living room.

“Have you reached a decision?” He asked with a fake condescending smile.

“I- I’ll speak to the other farmers.” The villager sitting at his couch mumbled.

“Okay, just decide before the next moon cycle or it’ll damage the quality of the spell.” Hongjoong warned eager to get it over with, gathering the papers from the table before getting up to show his client to the door.

He opened the door facing away from his seated guest slowly, stalling a bit until he heard surprised gasps turn into loud screams. The smile in his face turned genuine as he turned back to face the distraught villager.

“What have you done to me?” His guest exclaimed frightened off his mind as he stared at his arms, little mushrooms growing not only there, but all over his body. A harmless prank, if you ask Hongjoong he deserved much worse.

“A little curse, this one for free even! I don’t take kindly to thieves around here, if you could please put back the bottles you took from under the window sill.” The dark witch replied with a fake sweet tone, smiling wide.

“Here, here just stop it please!” The man took out of his jacket pocket a few bottles and even a little jar of stardust that he hadn’t noticed it was gone, surely more valuable than any service the man could buy. Tending to humans was so bothersome, perhaps he’d only take requests from unworldly beings from now on.

“Good boy, now come closer so I can undo the curse.” Hongjoong commanded.

Naively the man rushed to his side and the witch only pushed him out the door, swiftly closing and locking it up on his face.

The man knocked loudly and yelled angrily, with empty threats of burning his house or some other stereotypical bravado humans liked to throw at them. A real witch has nothing to fear against such bigoted ideas, as if his small territory wasn’t strongly protected already.

He giggled as he took the cups back to the kitchen. On one of his windows the neighbour’s cat sat there staring judgmentally, his two tails swinging uncoordinatedly against one another. Not that he expressed any judgment, but Hongjoong just felt his disapproval somehow.

“What? It’ll wear off in a week, stop staring at me.” He excused his actions annoyed.

The cat only started back, letting out a yawn and pawning at his ears. The back of his paws a familiar blue and green that could only be found on the dark witch’s yard.

“You little…”

The smart kitty ran away before he could finish cursing under his breath.

✦

Usually at that time he'd be having tea with the herb thief that was his neighbour. Not that he enjoyed his company or anything, or at least he wouldn't admit to it, it just became their ritual not long after he moved in. Seonghwa knocked at his door with a basket of baked goods inviting him out for a cup on his first day and it stuck. The man might be a petty thief, but he did make great cookies.

The dark witch came out to his front yard with a spring in his step that day, excited to confront Park Seonghwa about his sneaky familiar. He had caught the pesky little animal red handed! He even brought out his favourite cups, brewed his fancier tea leaves, the ones he had imported from lands far beyond their little edge of the forest, and spiked it just the littlest bit with alcohol. Hongjoong was one to celebrate his victories in life no matter how small they were.

Yet as tea time approached Seonghwa’s voice sounded through the fence just out of his sight, covered by the wall of mismatched planks that were higher at the side of his small outdoors resting area. It seemed the white mage had guests. Rude ones for that matter, did no one respect tea time anymore these days? A sacrilege if you asked him.

“Oh dear, what has happened to you?” The mage asked, concern loud and clear on the other side.

“The evil dark witch! He has bestowed an horrible curse upon myself, can you believe it? But that is not the reason I come to you today, no need to worry about such trivial matters.” A familiar gruffy voice answered and Hongjoong groaned quietly at the reappearance of his former client, if the cheapskate could even be called that. Humans like this one just did not know when to give up.

“I’m sure he must’ve had a reason, have you done something to offend him again?” Seonghwa still seemed very concerned with that matter regardless it seemed.

“Not a thing! I swear that witch is the devil.” The villager exclaimed as if it was true and Hongjoong had to remind himself that it was rude to interject into conversations he was not invited to. It took him all his self control as he had quite a few things to say, most of them not pretty words, that's for sure.

“You should be more careful from now on, let me take care of this for you.”

A moment went by without voices, Hongjoong sipping on his tea slowly. Seonghwa’s tea would get cold if he didn’t hurry up, the witch thought impatiently.

“Oh, honorable white mage, I’ll forever be in debt to your generosity.”

Tch, his curse wouldn’t get to last a week it seemed. The overly polite flair in that man words annoyed Hongjoong so much he considered muting the man for a few days. Give him a scare that made him think twice before speaking.

“That’s nothing, please. Now why have you come here? You mentioned you had something to ask before.”

“I fear I might fall into even greater debt for I’ve come to ask for a favor, if you’d be so kind to hear me out.”

A favor? If it was the same he had asked from the dark witch than that man really had no shame downplaying a service like this. Seonghwa shouldn’t have bothered undoing his curse, now it’ll only waste him more energy to cast a new one. Making little of a witch’s work, there was no worse offence and Hongjoong was expecting the white mage to repay the man in kind.

But it did not come, the situation developing in the complete opposite he’d expect. The man did ask for an enchantment that assured a good harvest, the last few ones having been miserable it seemed, and the village starved under his rule. Seonghwa seemingly empathetic agreed to go and asses the situation for him, to see if there was anything he could do and of course there was.

The way Seonghwa was talked to unsettled the dark witch, he’d better charge a great sum, because of course he could help and at a much quicker and effective manner than Hongjoong could. But at greater cost as well.

If he were to do something to this degree for free, where would he draw the line? There was a difference between being kind to being a pushover and it needed to be clear. At least that's the work ethic witches had to live by, magic was an expensive craft after all.

Soon enough the sky began to darken, Hongjoong not quite knowing if he should just go back inside. It wasn’t like they had arranged anything, he only came out to his yard out of habit. Who would even want to meet Park Seonghwa, the stupid fern flower thief that kept undoing his curses? Not him, that’s for sure. The fancy tea he had put out for him had gone bitter after the first hour anyway.

The witch was about to go back inside, the dishes floating back through the window at a wave of his hand when Seonghwa finally appeared, passing by the dirt road in front of his house.

“Oh, Joongie! Have I made you wait? I’m sorry, I should’ve let you know I’d be busy.” The older said with regret, but all Hongjoong could focus on was since when did the white mage called him by Joongie ? It short-circuited his brain for a few seconds before he answered with a rosy tint to his cheeks.

“It's not like I was waiting for you, I was just enjoying my afternoon tea. I finally made some from that exotic blend you’ve been nagging me to make, but oh well guess it’s too late now.” Hongjoong downplayed it as he got up to follow the cutlery inside.

“Aw, you ought to make it again tomorrow.” Seonghwa whined bringing a hand to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulder to keep him there.

“Hmmm… I don’t know, I already wasted a lot of it today.” Hongjoong tried to answer calm and collected, but a thumb rubbing at the base of his neck had him sidetracked.

“Please? For me?” The white mage pleaded with his best puppy eyes and Hongjoong started feeling very suffocated all of a sudden, heat crawling up his neck and tightening his chest.

“Oh, get over yourself, Park Seonghwa.” Hongjoong muttered under his breath, inaudible to the older as he retreats inside hurriedly. Stupid charming mage with his stupid starry eyes. If his ears burned red it had nothing to do with him.

✦

He did not make the tea the next day, or the next one, or the next next one, or…

It had been over a week before a day came that Seonghwa did not start the day announcing he’d be busy and to not wait for him. Hongjoong appreciated the daily notice, as excessive as they sounded, not particularly curious for what was keeping the mage busy. It was probably just a busy time for his business.

When they finally sit down together again the long awaited reaction to his findings were quite underwhelming, the older just chuckled at how worked up he was, but Hongjoong did not relent.

“If I catch this little rascal anywhere near my herb garden again...” He threatened, trying to express how serious this was to him as he poured himself more tea.

“Yeosangie likes sweets, it’s not his fault! I’ll try to discipline him better from now on.” The white mage continued to make light of it with a soft smile, not convincing Hongjoong for one moment that he’d tell off his beloved pet.

The dark witch eyed the cat resting over his fence with distraught and Seonghwa made a motion for the cat to jump on his lap, stretching his arm to catch him into a protective hold as his shirt swayed around obnoxiously. Usually what would catch the witch’s attention was the veins popping in his hands, the way his collar bone poked from under his skin and his muscles flexing, Hongjoong wasn’t blind after all even if he liked to pretend he was.

But that wasn’t it today. Seonghwa quickly fixed himself, noticing where the other’s eye fell and how his expression turned sour.

“Working a lot lately?”

“Yes, I suppose it’s been busy.” The white mage averted his eyes.

“And getting fairly rewarded, I assume?” Hongjoong asked, even though he could guess the answer. He wanted to reach and touch the plethora of scars covering from the tip of the other's fingers up his forearms, he almost did.

Hongjoong was a dark witch for he poured his magic into potions and that dealt with the dead rather than the living. A technicality really, only categorized by the facts that all his ingredients were either already dead or would be by the time his potions were done.

Yet for white magic as it affected the living it required live sacrifices. Seonghwa didn’t look like the type to use animals and such, the practice was not well seen by the community to start with and he didn’t keep any besides the cat as far as Hongjoong knew. So there was only one source left to drive mana from. Himself.

“I only wish to help, it’s no trouble.” Seonghwa dismissed his worries with a weak smile.

Hongjoong considered it to be all the trouble, but oh well.

“You are an absolute fool Park Seonghwa.” His voice came out harsh and sharp, Seonghwa immediately hurt by then. Not offended, just sad to have upset the dark witch so much.

Hongjoong got up quickly to go back into his house not feeling in the mood for tea anymore, a pout and puffed cheeks hidden away from his companion.

✦

“Mister! Don’t you think you poured more blood on his field? Pour some more on mine too!”

“What?” Honestly Seonghwa was getting a lightheaded at this point, this was supposed to be the last one for the day.

“Oh, mine too! I don’t think you did enough today.”

“No! Mine is more important, don’t listen to them!”

“Wait, I’ll-” The white mage tried reasoning, but soon a crowd started forming and it wasn’t long before it started going out of control, no longer just words being used to try and grab his attention.

✦

The dark witch was drinking his precious tea with a different guest from faraway that eventful morning. Very far away considering how painfully slow it was to make a gateway from the underworld, be it through a spell or potion or however method used. It was a long time coming that meeting, months in the making.

The summoner in front of him talked excitedly about all the new pets he found on his latest journey there, eager to show the hellhound he had the pleasure to domesticate and Hongjoong was about to scold Mingi for even suggesting conjuring one on his living room close to all his precious tomes when he felt a crippling cold at the back of his neck, an eerie omen and he just knew something had to be wrong.

His neighbour's cat appeared tapping frantically at his window not an hour later, paw scratching at the glass with sharp screeches and desperate mews to catch his attention.

Oh, humans. Such selfish creatures, they just couldn't help themselves, could they? Once they found something that gave them even the littlest bit of edge over the others, any way to make their lives easier without working for it, they needed to capture it, hog it for themselves, grabbing and pulling without a care for the source.

And that was exactly what they did in this case with the treasure that was Park Seonghwa. The villagers fought nail and tooth for a piece of him, blunt claws showing themselves to paint the fields red till there was no more, leaving his remains to dry up. 'It can't be helped', they thought as their precious magic spell could no longer work for them, losing interest without a second thought.

With blood and flesh at his feet the dark witch saw red with rage, cursing at their fields, at the air they breathed and at the water they drank. He cursed and cursed till there was nothing left uncursed, loud cries and screams sounding all throughout the small village cursing back at him uselessly, but they did not dare raise a finger against him as they knew Hongjoong wouldn’t be merciful like their beloved white mage.

All the pain and misfortune that would befall the village served them right, the witch laughed through tears.

✦

“You’re so lucky I have a necromancer friend that owed me a favor.” Hongjoong continued to tell off the white mage that struggled to look up at him with the unusual height difference, his head laying on their garden table surrounded by flowers to cover the gruesome details of his severed neck.

“Yes, yes I’ll be sure to repay Wooyoung properly once I’m back on my feet.” Quite literally, the bodiless head meant. “Speaking of that, when do you think that will be?”

“It looks like it might take a while, we’re not paying for it after all. And he’s been very preoccupied lately with a jinx that went south.”

“Oh really?” The mundane chit chat was oddly nice, the witch had been extra prickly since the incident and Seonghwa had no choice, but to listen to his nagging now. Not that he minded, if asked he’d tell without an ounce of hesitance how much he loved to hear Hongjoong’s voice, be it sharp remarks or embarrassed squeals.

“He’s been using up all his energy trying to exorcise his boyfriend for a month now.” The dark witch commented absentmindedly as he stirred some powder into the bowl in his hands.

“Oh my, what a predicament. I think I have a spell that might-”

Seonghwa did not manage to finish his phrase as a spoon full of soup was pushed into his mouth.

“Even after all this you’re still wanting to help people? For free? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” Hongjoong asked incredulously.

“Haha, I’m sorry I guess it’s an habit.” The older just chuckled. “Are you mad?”

“I am! You need to take better care of yourself! It’s not like I really care about what you do or anything, but, you know… I- I… I don’t know what I’d do if you really died. Be more considerate.”

Seonghwa swore the blush in the younger’s cheeks was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He might just die a few more times if it meant he got to hear such words and see the expression again.

“You’re too kind, Joongie.” The comment only earned him another forced spoonful of soup through his smile.

[theropoda]

thinking about mirei...major spoilers for yakuza 5 and a bit of 4

mirei def has her flaws but when i see that people hate her (like specifically Her, not her writing, bc i agree w ppl who hate her writing) it really just strikes me as "fictional woman is Rude and gets called bitch but male characters worse than her dont get as much hate" syndrome lol

also tw for discussion of age gaps :/

i liked mirei a lot she rlly is gatekeep gaslight girlboss, she's cool. but she's also, scary in a way. i remember reading that someone described her convincing kiryu to let haruka become an idol under her agency as emotional manipulation and they're right...

you watch that scene and it honestly is clear she is using kiryu's fears against him, he doesn't want to do this but he's lead into thinking it's the best decision (it isnt!!!!!!!!!! imo).

and mirei's own motivation for this...haruka says that she thinks mirei wants her to succeed and become an idol with a japan dome debut because mirei wanted that but she didn't get it. im sure she also wants to see haruka shine but i bet those lost dreams of mirei play a rather big part in her motivations tbh

it's not like haruka's being forced to do this...haruka definitely wants this. to become a star and all. but the weight mirei has put on her makes me uncomfortable about it, idk how to explain it. i honestly think she's really hurt kiryu and haruka and i wish she lived long enough to be able to reflect on this. and for kiryu and haruka to realize that they've been hurt in the first place honestly.

mirei is a cool character, i like that she has her flaws, but what. is the purpose!!! of making her do that if you AREN'T going to make her realize what she's done and atone for it in some way. AND I WANT HER TO MEET MAJIMA AGAIN

AND SPEAKING OF THAT-- i honestly...have mixed feelings on her connections with majima. on one hand i like that in majima's past, which is riddled with so much crime and conflict there's This Part--him and mirei-- that is proof he had some...semblance of normalcy for a while. as crazy as his life has been, yeah, he was married like any other guy (but ofc you dig deeper and its not at all happy as it seems, or so it didnt end that way) so i like that they gave that to majima, it makes him feel more human in a way.

on the other hand, is their ages. this is the part i warned you about because uh

if my maths is right, that's an entire decade of age gap, 28 year old majima marrying 18 year old mirei. this is literally something that is deserving of being stoned to death imo LOL i cannot fucking wrap my head around the fact they just DID THIS AND DIDNT THINK ABOUT IT?

"ah but the events of yakuza zero, when majima was 24--" Cool. y0 didnt exist, in game form or THOUGHT form when yakuza 5 was made and up until this point all the lore we had on majima was "he was 21 when he was tortured by shibata and co" and thats IT.

why couldn't've majima been younger? 23, 24, with mirei being older? 21, 22??? i literally cannot wrap my head around either this, or the people who thought this and were like This is fine. it's Not!!!!!! Lol!!

the rest of their relationship bothers me a bit, too. i don't know why but it just does. as much as i do like the way that the factoid of majima being married makes you go "oh, shit, really? there was a time in his life where majima goro had an intimate relationship outside of the yakuza, outside of a life of crime and violence,when he had something...normal?", the way it makes him more human and reveals a softer side to him capable of love... the idea, and the rest of the story doesn't sit right with me at all. just can't explain why, but it simply does.

it....honestly MIGHT be the fact that i once read someone say "it feels like they gave majima a wife just to prove he's straight cause god did he look gay as hell in the past 4 games". MIGHT be. and whether or not this WAS rgg studio's intention. it feels like it but I Hope Not!!!!!!

[goattales]

Caught in the Act

Plot: The reader catches Jasper and Alice making out and he starts avoiding them cause he's way to embarrassed to deal with that. Note: the reader doesn't know they're vampires

You, in general, didn't really fit into any of those neat little groups the school divided itself into. You weren't sporty enough to be a jock, you didn't wear enough black to be a got, and you weren't popular enough to be, well, one of the popular kids. You were just Y/N L/N, some high school Senior that kept his head down. The universe had no plan for you, you were merely wandering this earth as a bystander.

But that didn't mean you didn't want to be part of a clique, because it gave people a deeper sense of belonging, a reason to act the way you want to, dress the way you like, do things you enjoy, all with likeminded individuals! But it was too much stress, you preferred to just bounce between interests- sports, art, history, books -without having to be tied to one forever.

And with all that running around your head you started to shove your books and pencil case into your bag, barely even letting the bell ring before you stood up to go to lunch. Nothing fancy in your bag today, just some leftovers from last night's dinner and a bag of candy you had been slowly working through all day.

Despite not being in a clique, you didn't sit alone; you sat with Angela, Mike, Eric, and Jessica. Bella use to sit with you guys too, before she started to sit with the Cullens, now her relationship to the group was more a see-eachother-in-the-corridor-and-smile sort of deal.

That wasn't so big of a concern for you, though, in fact the first time you saw her sit at the table you knew she wouldn't be sat with you all for long, she had one of those popular looks about her, so when she was hand selected to join the five person moping party that was the Cullen table you weren't too surprised.

In some other timeline maybe she would have gone on to joint the nerds in the back table near the stage, or maybe she would have taken to the goth table that was in the corner near the fire exit. And maybe there was even alternate universe where she stayed at this table, but that would be something you may never find out.

Not, at least, with Mike Newton pulling you back to real life with little care for your ears.

"Y/N! Are you even listening?!" Mike dragged you out of your train of thought by waving a hand in front of your face and screeching at you. That was surprisingly subtly by his standards, though.

"Mike, leave him alone, he just got out of maths. He's recovering, aren't you, Y/N?" Jessica came to your defence with an elbow in Mike's ribs and a soft sort of grin for you, and you thanked her with a small smile before you spoke.

"It's okay, Jess, but thanks. I was just thinking about existence and how absolutely infinite it is" you shrugged.

"That much, huh? Deep, L/N, deep." Mike seemed stunned, or maybe he just regretted prompting you to talk, but either way he didn't try to drag you into the conversation again, and you took the opportunity to fall back to your thoughts gratefully.

When you all parted ways for the last five or so minutes of lunch everyone waved, some hugged, and Mike and Jess walked off attached at the hip. They were together again, though who knows how long it will last at this point. You and Angela were talking the other day, and agreed that they were probably so on-and-off because they were lonely and the other was close enough to fix that for a bit.

You shook your head and huffed quietly, rounding one corner after another and then climbing a set of stairs only to realise you left your coat in your last classroom, and with a great deal of frustration you turned on your heels and took a brisk walk back. You were hoping, no praying, that the room would still be unlocked, because the teacher would have left by now and the room won't be used until tomorrow.

By some streak of luck it was, but when you pushed the door open and made a grab for your coat- laid out on the teachers desk, predictably -the shuffling of other people's clothes made you look up so fast you hurt your neck.

Stood in the back of the room were Jasper Hale and Alice Cullen, both very disheveled and looking rather like deers caught in headlights. Even from as far away as you were, you could see that Jasper's shirt was almost completely open and the straps of Alice's bra and vest top were a mess around her forearms, more of her chest on show than usual.

As they rushed to correct it and called out for you to wait, though being vague as opposed to a name-you heard a very light "h-hey, you with the coat, wait!" as you made a break for it.

You decided in that moment that you would have to move schools, because the most they did was hold hands when other people were around and there was no way you could face them after seeing that, so you spent the next three days avoiding them as much as possible.

The next day you barely dodged Alice in the hallway, narrowly avoided Jasper in the bathroom, and didn't go to lunch at all for fear of them cornering you as you entered the hall. The day after that it was sunny enough for their mum and dad to yank them out of school. The third was more perilous, you had History and sat a seat in front of Jasper, but you managed to talk the guy in front of you into switching, and you made a show of hanging behind to talk to the teacher until everyone else had left.

But the fourth day it was all over. You thought that maybe they had just dropped it, because when you sat to eat and glanced over at the table with as discrete of a gaze as you could manage, Alice caught your eyes and just looked away.

You were actually just leaving as you were bumped out of the stream of teenagers and then grabbed by what you would maybe describe as the ice cold grip of death himself, but looking down you saw it was just Alice. Little Alice with the big eyes and pretty lips, lips that right now were pressed into a thin, terrifying smile.

She dragged you into a classroom, where Jasper was sat on a table, hands clasped together in his lap and shoulders stiff.

You were actually terrified, because in the few seconds between being grabbed and then getting pushed into this room you had convinced yourself that you were going to get murdered.

"You know, my family is gonna worry when I-I'm not home by four, so killing me w-would be a real bad idea" your mouth ran despite your better judgement telling you to keep it shut, though your fear died in your chest when Jasper snorted.

"What?" Alice let you go and raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you'd grown a second head. "Y/N, we're not going to kill you, where did you even get that idea from?"

"W-well, I walked in on you two the other day, a-and you've been ch-chasing me down ever since" tripping over your words, you were scratching the back of your head as though it would wake you up, because that would be really good right now.

"Only 'cause you've been running away." Jasper spoke this time, and you looked over to see him staring at you much in the same way Alice was.

"We just wanted to apologise, because the way you found us was kind of..."

"Unbecoming" where Alice trailed off, Jasper picked up, and you found yourself rushing to speak.

"Oh! Oh- no it's fine, I've walked into worse. This is a high school, freshmen are practically feeling eachother up in the halls every day. I just, well you two don't even hug around other people, s-so I assumed you would be super annoyed that I walked in"

Jasper shrugged and Alice shook her head, laughing softly.

"No! We were just really ashamed that you had to see that, especially Jazz." as Alice spoke, Jasper nodded along, and spoke only when she had finished.

"I hope this has not altered the way you see us, Y/N, though perhaps we can build a friendship from this experience."

Lost for words, you nodded, and something inside of you starting to warm up at the idea. Perhaps the universe, in all its vast and unpredictable glory, had a plan for you after all?

[s-oulpunk]

Here’s the third, and final, of the unfinished fics.  It’s just over 3k words and was last edited February 25th.  It was meant to be a fic going through the movie plot, but with Richie originally being part of Bowers’ Gang (and with more reddie and stenbrough).  Over time he ends up being friends with the Losers and leaving the Bowers’ Gang behind.  But I only ever wrote the beginning.

-

“Ya know, Rich, I was thinking.  I think it’s time for initiation.”

Richie glances up curiously.  Henry’s a bit blurry through the recent exhale of smoke, but his smirk is still clear as day.  It makes Richie’s stomach twist and curl in on itself.

He takes his time removing the blunt from his lips.

“Initiation?” he says.

“If you want to be part of the group…” Henry trails off, leaving Richie more anxious than before.

“I thought I was already part of the group,” Richie says.  He shoves all the words out at once, as if he can’t stand the taste of them in his mouth.

Henry laughs, loud and boisterous.  It makes Richie flinch.  He does his best not to show it, but judging by the way Patrick grins at him, lips pulled back and teeth bared, he’s not sure he does a great job.

“Not officially,” Henry says.  He takes a drag of his own. “But don’t you want to be?”

Richie shoves his blunt back between his lips, if only so he doesn’t have to answer.

“C’mon, Tozier,” Patrick drawls.  He speaks around a blunt of his own, muffling the words slightly, and twirls his favorite lighter between his fingers.

Richie suddenly feels incredibly small.  Henry’s gang towers over Richie, who’s sitting with his back pressed harshly against the grill of Henry’s car.  His knees are pulled up to his chest, and he hopes it looks casual, but he’s hugging them closer and closer like he’s a spring ready to shoot forward.  Henry’s gang are all standing, lazily leaning against any hard surface they can find.

Their stance is casual, but they’re watching Richie like a hawk watches its prey.  Like they’re waiting to pounce.  Like they’re waiting for him to break.

But if there’s one thing Richie will never let them do, it’s break him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I do.”

Henry grins wider. “Good.”

“So what is initiation?” Richie asks, forcing himself to hold eye contact.

“You’ll see,” Henry says.

“Don’t worry,” Patrick says. “It’ll be fun.”

And that is truly terrifying.

Because anything Patrick Hockstetter deems “fun” has to be some psychopathic level shit.

“Alright,” Richie murmurs, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say? “Are we gonna do it...right now?”

“You ask a lot of fucking questions,” Henry huffs. “No, we’re not gonna do it now.  Clearly.  I don’t have any of the stuff.  Jesus Christ, use your head.”

“How am I supposed to fucking know that?” Richie snaps, because he doesn’t know when to shut up apparently. “You brought it up!”

“Shut it, Tozier!” snarls Henry.

So Richie shuts it.

“We can do initiation tomorrow,” Patrick says casually. “Should be easy enough.”

Easy for them, maybe.  But Richie’s sure it’ll be hell for him.

He forces a grin anyway. “Great.”

-

Richie had been half hoping that something would postpone initiation.  But, sure enough, Victor Criss intercepts him on his way to the arcade the very next day.

“Already?” Richie squeaks out.

Victor almost looks sorry for him. “Already.”

Richie’s legs feel like jell-o as he follows him through town and deep into the forest.

He hears Henry’s gang long before he sees them.  He can hear their jeering insults and pointed laughter, and he can hear someone else.  Someone whose voice he doesn’t recognize.  Someone who’s screaming insults like his life depends on it.

But then Richie rounds the corner and his heart drops.  Because he does recognize the person.  Not enough to know his favorite color or why he wears a fanny pack or any of that dumb stuff.  But he knows he’s one of Stan’s friends - Eddie something - and he’s pretty sure that wasn’t an accident.

He feels out of it, like he’s watching the debacle from somewhere outside his own body.  But then Henry says, “Tozier!” and suddenly he’s standing at the foot of the crime.

“Hi,” he says, because he’s lame like that.

Eddie doesn’t look too roughed up.  He’s got a scrape going down the whole left side of his face, and there’s a noticeable handprint on his arm.  But that’s practically nothing compared to Henry’s usual work.

Richie swallows thickly. “Initiation?”

Henry looks pleased that he’s figured it out. “Yup.”

He shoves Eddie with perhaps more force than necessary, sending him flying to his knees at Richie’s feet.  He can hear Eddie hiss in pain as various rocks and gravel dig into his knees.  It makes Richie wince.  Which can’t be good, because he’s sure he’s supposed to be doing more than just staring at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Tozier!” Patrick snaps, making Richie jump nearly a foot in the air. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just - give me a minute,” Richie says.

He glances back down at Eddie, which is a mistake because he looks like he wants to murder Richie right about now and it makes Richie’s entire throat close up.  His unease must show on his face because Eddie’s on his feet in a flash, squaring his shoulders and trying his best to look tough despite being a good four inches shorter than Richie.

“Who the fuck are you?” he spits.

Richie glances helplessly towards Henry.  Richie isn’t supposed to be at the front of the lines.  He’s supposed to be at the back, cheering Henry on and pushing back any lingering feelings of guilt.  But Henry isn’t any help now.  He just shrugs, his face emotionless, which is basically code for: figure it out, bitch.

“What’s wrong, Tozier?” Patrick drawls. “Scared of some little fag?” He cocks his head curiously. “Or maybe you’re one of them.  Maybe he’s caught your attention.”

And Richie’s not sure what it is.  If it’s the fact that Eddie’s stare is starting to make him feel a little frozen, or if it’s the fact that Patrick’s words hit a little too close to home.  Either way, Patrick’s barely finished the words before Richie’s grabbing fistfulls of Eddie’s hair and chucking him back to the ground.

Eddie hits the ground with an ‘umph,’ landing face first in the dirt.

Richie can hear Henry and his gang spring to life.  They’re cheering and screaming and it’s all making Richie’s head hurt.  But the silence is worse.

“Is that true, Eds?” he taunts. “Are you a fag?”

Eddie grits his teeth. “That’s not my name.”

“Oh, but the rest of it is true?”

“Fuck off!” Eddie’s stumbling to his feet faster than Richie can comprehend “Why don’t you just go and fuck off!  What the fuck do you know?”

Richie can feel his stomach churning.  And yet he pushes forward anyway.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Henry and his goons are howling around them, only spurred on by Eddie’s reddening cheeks. “Tell me, is it exciting being surrounded by this many men?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie repeats, weaker now.

Richie forces himself to grin, doing his best to copy Henry’s shark impression. “Don’t you want my - Oh, fuck!”

“Oh my God!”

“What the fuck?”

“Dude?”

“Tozier, what the hell?”

Richie coughs wetly, still doubled over at the waist.  He does his best not to wince as spit dribbles past his lips, landing in disgustingly large drops on Eddie’s shoes.  Not that it matters much.  He’s already covered in Richie’s vomit anyway.

“Sorry,” Richie whispers, because he’s an idiot.  Eddie, who's taken to gagging loudly, doesn’t seem to hear him.  Which Richie supposes is the best case scenario based on their situation.  But he still can’t help but wish Eddie had heard him.

“I’m - I need - I can’t-”

“Calm down,” Belch huffs. “It’s just some vomit.” He shoves Eddie harshly, hardly blinking as he lands on his hands and knees in the vomit pile.  Eddie gags loudly, loud enough that Richie fears he might vomit himself, but doesn’t dare get up again, not with Henry looming over him like he is.

“C’mon, Tozier,” Henry hisses.  His eyes are lit up, making him look even more crazed than before.  This is fun for Henry, Richie realizes.  Not only hurting Eddie, but torturing Richie into doing it as well. “Hit him.  Just once.  Just once, and you’re in.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and pleading.  They remind him of the look the mama birds would give him and Stan if they crawled too close to their nest.  Quiet and wary and silently begging them not to come any closer.  That feels like an eternity ago.  He always used to complain when Stan would drag him out to go birdwatching, but currently he would give anything to be there instead.

Unfortunately, he has nothing to give.

“C’mon,” Henry repeats.  He sounds more frustrated now, and it makes Richie flinch. “It’s not that hard.”

“I - I can’t-”

“Sure you can!” Henry chirps, as if they’re talking about a math problem he can’t solve. “It’s easy.”  He swings his fist out, pulling it back mere centimeters from Eddie’s face.  Though it doesn’t make contact, Eddie still lets out a yelp and flinches backwards. “See?”

“I don’t - I dunno-”

Henry sighs heavily. “Do you want to do this another day?”

Richie perks up a bit at that.  That’s an option? “Can I?”

“Of course,” Henry says flippantly. “Probably better anyway, we can find someone more suited for the position.”

He doesn’t name a name, but the threat hangs in the air anyway.

Stan.

Before Richie can second guess himself, he pulls his fist back and swings it against Eddie’s nose.  The smaller boy flies backwards, landing with a thud backwards on the ground.  His hands are pressed up against his nose, fresh blood spilling between the fingers, and his eyes are squeezed shut.  Richie thinks he can see a few stray tears escape.

For a single, ridiculous, moment he wants to rush over and wipe them away.  But then Henry’s clapping him on the back and Patrick’s congratulating him, and Richie is harshly reminded of his place in the world.

-

Richie does not go home after that.

Instead he walks the all too familiar pathway to an old friend’s house.  The roads haven’t changed, he doesn’t think anything’s been renovated his whole life.  It’s almost painfully nostalgic.  A reminder of an easier time.

Stan is the one to answer the door, thank God, and while he doesn’t necessarily look disappointed to see Richie, he definitely looks less than happy.

“Rich?” he murmurs, glancing around like he expects someone to jump out at him.  Richie supposes he can’t blame him. “What are you doing here?”

“Stan,” he whimpers.  He finds he missed the feeling of his friend’s name on his tongue. “I did something bad.”

This, to his horror, starts the waterworks.  Tears come pouring down his face at an alarming speed, dripping down his cheeks and fogging up his glasses.

Luckily, Stan doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.  It’s been months since they’ve had a proper conversation, but he doesn’t waste any time wrapping Richie in his arms and tugging him close.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, though Richie’s sure he knows it’s a lie. “You’re alright.  I’ve got you.”

“I-I didn’t wuh-want to,” Richie moans brokenly, trying to ignore how his voice breaks. “I swuh-swear I didn’t, Stanny.”

“I know,” Stan mumbles. “It’s alright.”

Except it’s not alright, because Stan doesn’t know. The thought just makes Richie cry harder.

“Hey, hey,” Stan coos. “Do you wanna come in?  I can make hot chocolate.”

Richie finds himself nodding before he can fully process what he’s doing.  Not that he minds, he’s missed Stan a fuckton in the last few months.  And, besides, Stan makes the best hot chocolate in the world, even if he doesn’t put in nearly enough chocolate.

Richie’s dragged inside the Uris household, where luckily Stan seems to be the only one home.

Stan grabs a chair from the dining table and drags it into the kitchen, setting it gently next to the stove so Richie can sit with him as he warms the milk.

It’s silent, for the most part.  Richie sits, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, and Stan stirs the milk gently.  He doesn’t press for information, which Richie is grateful for.  He doesn’t know how he would explain.  But a part of him thinks Stan only refrains from asking in fear of what the answer might be.

Richie hardly notices Stan’s finished the hot chocolate until he’s pressing the mug into Richie’s hands.  Richie takes it gratefully, clutching it between both hands as he raises it slowly to his lips.  Stan even put extra chocolate powder in for him.  That thought alone is nearly enough to make Richie start crying again.

Stan kneels next to him, one hand gently resting on Richie’s knee, the other reaching out to intertwine their fingers together.

“You don’t have to hang out with them, you know,” Stan murmurs.

The sentence makes Richie’s throat close up again.  He desperately wishes that it were true.

“Who do you suggest I hang out with instead?  Your mother?” Richie jokes lamely.

Stan rolls his eyes. “My mother is the one who bought that hot chocolate mix, show some respect.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Uris.”

Stan chuckles quietly. “I’m serious, though.  They’re awful people.”

“So am I,” Richie huffs. “Who else is gonna handle my annoying ass?”

“Well, I’ve been doing it for eleven years.”

“Yeah, need to give you a break,” Richie grins, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Anyone stuck with me for that long is bound to go crazy.”

“Believe me, I’ve gone crazy.  And I’m sure my friends would all love you, Rich.”

Richie bites back a wince. “I dunno about that,” he mumbles, barely audible.

Stan cocks his head, as if he’s about to ask why, when the phone rings.

“Hold that thought,” he sighs.  Stan walks away and Richie immediately feels a wave of cold wash over him.  He wants to call out to him, to ask him to come back.  He can’t stand the feeling of being in his own head.  But he’s asking so much of Stan already. “Hello?  Oh.  I’ll - Yeah.  Jesus Christ.  Okay.  I’ll be right there.”

Richie knows what’s just happened before Stan even turns around.  All he can do is sit and wait, heart nearly beating out of his chest, as Stan stands, steaming, next to the telephone.

“Richie,” he finally says. “Did you punch Eddie in the face?”

Richie tenses, his grip tightening around the mug. “I threw up on him too.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, and for one ridiculous moment, Richie can’t help but notice how much he looks like his father.  It makes Richie feel like a little kid again, about to be scolded for spilling his mac and cheese on the freshly cleaned couch.

“Why?” Stan says. “Why’d you do it?”

Richie just shrugs.  Because what answer could he give that would satisfy him, anyway?

Stan stares at him for a moment longer, as if he still expects an answer.  When one doesn’t come, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I have to go.  You’re welcome to stay over if you want.  I just - I’ll be back later.”

And then he’s gone and Richie is, once again, alone.

-

Eddie does not look good.

His nose is swollen, there’s blood caking his upper lip, and he still smells vaguely of vomit.  It makes Stan just a little sick himself to think that Richie caused this.  He’s sure that it would be worse if one of Henry’s other goons decided to pick on him instead, rather than forcing Richie to do their dirty work, but it’s still strange.  The Richie he knows wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Holy shit,” Stan croaks out.

“I know,” Eddie groans.  His words are slightly muffled by the pack of frozen peas Bill is holding to his face. “They said it was for initiation.  Bowers’ gang officially has a new member.” He fakes a weak cheer.

“I don’t understand why anyone would want to join that group,” Mike says, shuddering.

“He’s probably a psychopath,” Bev grunts. “You would have to be.  No sane person would willingly associate with Henry Bowers.”

A part of Stan wants to jump to Richie’s aid, to insist that he’s just a confused kid.  He’s no different from the rest of them.  But another part of him agrees.  Richie has to be crazy to continue putting himself in situations like that.

“But why Eddie?” Ben frowns.

“He www-wuh-was just at the wrong place at the wrong tt-tuh-time,” Bill says, eyes never leaving Eddie’s bruised face. “It could’ve b-been any of us.”

Except it couldn’t have.  Because the Bowers’ gang has been going surprisingly easy on Stan ever since Richie started hanging out with them.  It’s not much, he’s still getting shoved into lockers and tripped in the hallway, but he’s never cornered when they spot him alone anymore.

A part of him is glad, it’s nice not to watch his back anymore.  But another, bigger, part of him is overrun with guilt.  He hates seeing the fear in his friends’ eyes when he knows he has nothing to worry about.

And yet he still fears the day it all comes to a halting stop.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Stan murmurs. “That’s fucked up.”

“So who is it?” Bev asks. “Who’s our latest torturer?”

“Richie Tozier,” Eddie says. “That asshole from english who talks way too loud.”

“Oh,” Bev murmurs. “That’s - That’s not who I was expecting.”

Bill finally tears his eyes away from Eddie, insteading blinking curiously at Bev. “Yuh-You know him?”

“I didn’t know he had any friends,” Eddie grumbles.

“We’re not -  We just smoked together a couple times freshman year,” Bev shrugs. “He seemed alright.  But, whatever, fuck him.  He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, fuck him,” Eddie mumbles.

“Maybe,” Stan starts, then immediately tries to fall back.  But the whole Losers Club is staring at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.  So he does, “Maybe he’ll have a change of heart.  You said it was only - only his initiation, right?”

Eddie scoffs. “Please.  As soon as you willingly choose to hang out with Bowers, you’re unredeemable.”

“I dunno about that,” Mike says, because he’s the kindest soul Stan’s ever met. “I think everyone’s redeemable on some level.”

Bill glances at his curiously, a fond smile on his lips. “E-E-Even Patrick Hockstetter?”

Mike chuckles. “If he worked really hard, yes.”

-

If you liked the story, feel free to reach out and maybe I’ll continue!  I don’t write for Richie much anymore, but I do still really like this idea, and I have a few scenes for this fic that I never got to write.

[ft-dads-au]

Once Upon a Nightmare - Chapter 2

Shadowlight Week 2020 Prompt: Duality Pairing: Sting x Rogue

A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Next: Ch 3

Summary: After learning what happened to Rogue in his absence, all Sting wants is to talk about it and support him as much as he can. Rogue, however, just wants  to pretend it never happened, like he's done all along, leaving them on opposite sides.

Chapter 2: Duality

Rogue didn’t want to be by himself, but the alternative was even worse. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Sting’s face when he found out what had happened. Had never wanted him to find out in the first place.

In hindsight, Rogue wondered what he’d been thinking all this time, offering half-truths and distractions just so he could keep running from his nightmare, knowing god damn well he had nowhere to run. Now his nightmare had finally caught up to him, swept his legs out from beneath him, and caused him to inadvertently hurt Sting in the process. That was something he’d never considered during all those moments when he’d had the chance to be honest. One by one, he’d let them slip away, and now shit was going to hit the fan, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

What would Sting think of him now? Would he believe him when he said he hadn’t wanted it? That he’d fought Maru off as best he could. Or would he see those as excuses?

Rogue's hands shook as he reached for his pack of cigarettes, desperate for something to do to help take his mind off what was happening in the bedroom. He felt caged, like an animal with nowhere to go but with too much energy to stay where he was. And as much as he’d love to step outside, he knew he’d only feel even more vulnerable. That left him only one choice - the basement.

Rogue descended the stairs to the basement his father and Gildarts had finished years ago, flicking on a single light and walking over to the large bar to examine its contents. He settled on a bottle of the whiskey Gildarts preferred, poured himself a drink, and lit a cigarette as he sat down to wait.

0-0

Sting felt sick to his stomach all over again, and yet he’d read every word twice to make sure that he wasn’t imagining things, letting the sentences they formed sink in one by one. Once he was done, he was still staring blankly at the page, defeated and numb from learning the truth he’d been so eager to learn.

He hadn’t really had any idea what to expect, but a violent sexual assault had never entered his mind. A part of him understood why Rogue hadn’t been willing to talk about it. Another wondered how he’d been able to carry it around for- he quickly did the math- almost 7 months. And all this time, he’d had no clue.

If only he’d been more observant, maybe then he would’ve caught on to the fact that there was something more disturbing going on in Rogue’s life than just the issues regarding his family.

If only he’d taken that little voice in the back of his head more seriously when it had been expressing concerns during the time they’d spent together around Christmas.

If only he’d known sooner so Rogue wouldn’t have been dealing with this alone for so long.

Screw that. If only he’d never left, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Sting dropped the notebook on the bed as he hid his face in his hands. All the why’s and if only’s were going through his head, repeating themselves like a broken record as he picked at his memory and felt the guilt weigh him down until they led him back to the events of that day. Specifically that morning, when he’d found Totomaru on their doorstep.

“I didn’t know you were back.”

“I was hoping to speak to Rogue?”

Speak to Rogue? What the hell was this sick fucker getting at? Sting tried but failed to stop himself from imagining what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there. If Totomaru had shown up a week or even a few minutes earlier. He should consider himself lucky that Sting didn't know then what he knew now, because if he did, not even his own mother would have been able to recognize him. The towel around his waist would have done nothing to stop him.

Sting knew he couldn’t stay in this room for much longer, Rogue was bound to be waiting for his reaction, and it wouldn't do him any good if he'd let his emotions prevail, but he couldn’t seem to make himself move. He didn’t know what to do or what to say, and within him, there grew a great fear that somehow he’d only manage to make things worse. Do or say the wrong thing.

But doing nothing at all would be the worst thing he could possibly do. So with no clear idea or plan, he forced himself to calm down and get up from the bed, returning the journal to the drawer from which Rogue had grabbed it, knowing intuitively that his boyfriend wouldn’t want to see it when he returned.

He left the refuge the bedroom afforded him, and when he didn’t find Rogue in the living area or the backyard, he made his way down the basement stairs.

0-0

Time had ceased to have any meaning for Rogue as he sat on a barstool in the near dark, its passage only marked by the number of cigarette butts that littered the ashtray and the ounces of whiskey he’d downed as he waited. Its smooth taste bitterly reminding him of better times he’d spent in this room and the people that had been part of them. People that had left him behind or that he had sent away.

The sound of Sting’s approaching footsteps sounded loud in the otherwise silent house, and Rogue could feel his heart begin to race in apprehension. What was he going to say?

His hands, which had finally settled, began to shake once again. In the time he’d sat there, he’d managed to run many scenarios through his head, but he still didn’t know what to expect.

He moved towards the wall where they kept the cue sticks for their pool table, realizing he didn’t want to be found wallowing in alcohol. He grabbed a stick and approached the table, not bothering to set up a game, merely going after whatever ball was closest.

He could see Sting's silhouette appear out of the corners of his eyes, casting a striking figure behind the wisps of smoke that curled in the air, but Rogue didn't stop to look up from his game. Sting hesitated for a few seconds, there wasn't a sound but the click of the cue stick hitting a ball and the dull thuds that followed when it bounced back against the felt-covered sides of the pool table.

"It's been a while," Sting finally pointed out as he made his way over to the bar, grabbing a glass and pouring a drink from the same bottle of whiskey, and it wasn’t until he’d taken a sip and continued that Rogue realized that he was referring to the last time he'd played a game of pool. "Can I join you?"

Rogue nodded and put his cue down so he could gather the balls and rack them for a standard game of eight ball. They played in awkward silence for a couple of turns, all the while he was wondering if Sting was waiting for him to address the obvious or if he’d decided not to speak about it at all, and Rogue wasn’t sure how to feel about either option. Hoping to find the answer hidden in his expression, he forced himself to look.

Maybe Sting had been awaiting that or perhaps it was just a coincidence. Either way, he came closer, extending his arms for a hug but stopping at the last second.

“I’m sorry-” he sat down on the edge of the pool table, “I- I don’t really know what to say... what he did to you was despicable. I get that it was hard for you to talk about, and I wish I hadn’t pressed the way I did.”

Rogue slowly released the breath he’d been holding in, resting the end of the pool cue on the floor and gripping it firmly with both hands as if it was his only tether to reality. Once again he nodded, to indicate that he understood and harbored no hard feelings towards it. At this point, he was just glad that his story wasn’t being called into question, and even though he wished it had gone differently, he knew that he hadn’t really made any other outcome feasible.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you really needed me,” Sting continued, “if I had been, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Rogue shrugged, focusing his attention back on the game, pretending that that thought hadn’t crossed his mind at least once during his deepest lows. “And we’ll never know that for sure anyway.”

“Are they always that bad?” Sting asked, and for a moment Rogue was confused, until he remembered the nightmare that had brought all this about.

“No,” he was quick to assure him, “This one was the worst I’ve had in a while.”

His thoughts inadvertently went back to the nightmare, which used to be a repetitive reconstruction of the attack but had taken a different course that night.

Instead of the alley, the scene had taken place in their home this time. Starting at the front door and ending in the bedroom. Rogue guessed that his panic at seeing Maru through the peephole that morning had a role in that, but unlike what he’d done then, he was stupid enough to open the door in his dream, with all its terrible consequences.

And dream-him had known exactly what those consequences would be, but still, his body had moved, ignoring his mind even as it had screamed no.

It had only gotten worse when Sting had tried to wake him up from it, giving the original ending a twist on top of that, but Rogue decided to leave all of that out. There was enough guilt to go around between them as it was, the last thing he wanted was to keep piling it up. He drank what remained inside his glass in one sip, swallowing hard at the burn in his throat.

“Can I- uhm, can I take a look at your scratches?”

Rogue stared at Sting blankly, not entirely sure how he felt about it.

“I swear I can hear my dad yelling at me for not doing it already, especially with the smoke.”

Rogue managed a wry chuckle, knowing Sting wasn’t just trying to be funny. And maybe it was the relief talking or his need for things to return to some sort of normalcy, no matter how slight, but he found himself nodding in silent agreement.

“Okay,” Sting said softly, putting his cue stick back up on the wall and waiting for Rogue to do the same before leading him back upstairs to their bathroom, where they kept all the first aid supplies.

0-0

After washing his hands with antibacterial soap, Sting busied himself searching for the supplies he would need to patch Rogue up. He ran the list through his mind, cotton swabs, hydrogen peroxide, antibacterial ointment, gauze, medical tape. Once he found each item, he placed it on the counter, feeling the weight of Rogue’s gaze as he did so.

Even though he remained outwardly calm, Sting was still reeling from the shock he’d felt at reading the diary. His every move was marked with apprehension, his thoughts carefully filtered and examined before he let them spill out of his mouth, and it was entirely outside the realm of his experience. He’d always been one to just blurt out whatever he was thinking without much thought to the consequences.

Knowing that could prove disastrous on this occasion, he willed himself to focus only on the angry red marks on Rogue’s neck, hoping that in doing so, he’d manage to keep himself under control. Sting opened the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and grabbed a cotton swab before turning to find Rogue was indeed watching him, eyes slightly hooded, nose wrinkled in distaste as the smell of the chemical filled the room.

“Do you have to use that stuff?” Rogue frowned, his features settling into a pout. “It always stings.”

Any other time Sting would have been amused by the childish attitude but faced with the seriousness of the scratches in front of him, he could barely muster a reassuring smile.

“It only hurts for a second,” he soothed, “Besides, it needs to be done. Lots of nasty stuff hides underneath your fingernails,” he reminded him, beginning to wet the swab with the hydrogen peroxide, “You don’t want them to get infected.”

As he leaned closer to get a better view of what he’d be working on, he found himself shuddering at the sight of an injury for the first time in years. He’d seen plenty of them, his parents had taken him along to the clinic since he’d been deemed old and responsible enough, and this certainly wasn’t the worst he’d ever laid his eyes on. But it was different when it was someone you loved rather than a random patient, and what unsettled him the most was knowing that Rogue had caused them himself.

Pressing down the swab as gently as he could manage on the worst of the scratches, he heard the bubbling sound of the chemical as it cleaned out the area and flinched at the accompanying hiss from Rogue. It made him wonder just how badly he had looked after the attack and if he had even bothered to get himself looked at. Sting had a feeling he knew the answer.

Once again, he was consumed by rage, and he stepped back for a moment, masking his anger under the pretense of wetting another swab. How could anyone do that to another person? He tried his best to shake it off and regain his focus so he could finish the job, but when he approached Rogue again, he noticed him startling and ducking away in reflex, all tensed up.

It had little to do with the peroxide, it was the touch itself that he was having trouble enduring.

“Would you rather do it yourself?” Sting asked, keeping his tone as neutral as he could manage, offering him the swab after he tried again and noticed the discomfort oozing from Rogue’s features.

Rogue shook his head, and Sting could have kicked himself for being so insensitive. Rogue had written in his journal that he was no longer comfortable looking in the mirror, which he would need to do given the location of the scratches.

“I’ll hurry,” Sting promised, and with trembling hands, he did just that, using up two more swabs before he was done. Nothing in his life had prepared him for dealing with something like this, and to his frustration, the more he tried to be careful, the more mistakes he seemed to make.

What could he possibly say to make Rogue feel better? He racked his brain, trying to think of anything but came up empty.

It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong!

Sting screamed the words so loudly in his head he was sure Rogue must be able to hear them. He threw the bits of bloody cotton in the trash, closing the bottle and reaching for the antibiotic cream.

He hesitated briefly, knowing this part would be tricky as he’d have to touch Rogue’s skin directly. Hadn’t he done that before? During the past week, during Rogue’s visit to Edolas? More than likely, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t remember getting a reaction that hinted at something being wrong. Whether he’d been too caught up in the moment or Rogue had just kept it hidden really well, he disliked both answers.

“I’m almost done,” he informed Rogue, offering a small smile.

“It’s fine,” Rogue assured him with eyes full of a trust that tore at Sting’s heartstrings. Had he looked at Totomaru like that once?

Sting made himself a promise right then and there that he would strive to always be worthy of that trust. Squeezing a glob of the cream onto his fingers, he moved closer, and although he attempted to appear confident, the shakiness of his hand gave him away. Before he had a chance to say something to lighten the moment, Rogue surprised him by grabbing his wrist and slowly guiding it to his neck. It was a simple gesture, but it broke him all the same.

He felt the tears he’d been holding back stream down his cheeks, and there was nothing he could do to hide them, not when Rogue was so close to him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-,” Sting wiped away at his tears with his other hand.

“That you’re a big crybaby?” Rogue teased him, a reference to all the times Sting had cried during movies.

“Yeah, that too,” he managed to chuckle through his sniffles, “but I’m...I guess just so overwhelmed. I’m really glad you’re sharing all this with me, but at the same time I’m also angry because this shouldn’t have happened to you, and it wasn’t your fault, and I want to be there for you, but I just don’t know what to do.”

He paused his acute word-vomit to take a breath, but before he could say anything else, Rogue stopped him cold.

“I get that you want to talk about this, and I do appreciate it, but I’m not ready to do that yet,” Rogue refused to meet his eyes, “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s how I feel at the moment.”

Wasn’t ready to talk about it, not ready? What did he mean? It had been seven months already! Sting couldn’t even begin to understand those words. He tried to put himself in Rogue’s place, but he just couldn’t imagine letting something fester for that long.

Still, he felt like he should respect his wishes, even if only for tonight. It had been a long emotional night for both of them, and if that was what Rogue needed to feel better, then he would honor it.

For now.

“Okay,” he replied simply and began to wash the cream off his hand and put the supplies away, not even bothering with the gauze, already knowing Rogue would balk at the suggestion.

0-0

Rogue retreated to the bedroom the moment Sting was done with the cleanup, wanting to get out of the bathroom and away from that mirror. He didn't want to be there for longer than necessary either. One look at the bed had him seeing flashes of the nightmare all over again. So he grabbed his pillow and resigned himself to another night of sleeping on the couch. If he was able to get back to sleep at all, that was.

Sting had followed him up to the bed but remained there, awkwardly looking back and forth between his sleeping spot and Rogue without a clue of what to do.

"I'm going to the living room," Rogue announced, clutching the pillow under his arm, "do you want to come with me?" He cringed at the way that sounded because he usually wouldn't even have to ask, let alone wonder what the answer would be.

"Do you want me to?"

He forced what he hoped would look like a reassuring smile and nodded. The last thing he wanted right now was to be alone, knowing that it would only cause his thoughts to go rampant again. He doubted that it would be any different for Sting, who returned his smile with an equally weak one and grabbed his pillow off the bed before following him into the living room.

The scratches on his throat were still stinging from the peroxide, causing them to itch and irritate, and Rogue had to keep himself from making all the time and energy they'd just spent in the bathroom become in vain by scratching at them all over again. He hated the constant reminder, although he knew Sting had been right, and it was better than risking the chance of getting an infection, so he turned on the TV, hoping for some distraction.

"Wanna Netflix?" he asked, dumping his pillow in the corner of their large L-shaped couch and tucking himself underneath one of the blankets that were lying around.

"Yeah, sure," Sting replied. He sat down at the other end of the couch, and the sensible part of Rogue told him that it was probably just to give him some space, but the currently more dominant voice of anxiety suggested something else.

He browsed through the selection of available movies and series until he found something that countered his dark thoughts, a cutesy anime he thought would be right up Sting's alley. The intro started, filling the room with low volume cheerful tunes, but the distance between them set this moment apart from any other they'd spent watching TV together.

This was precisely what Rogue had feared would happen. The revelation was driving a wedge between them, even if, despite everything, Sting had responded to it better than he could've hoped. He didn't want this, he'd lost and locked out so many people he cared about already, and for once, he was yearning for someone to just hold him and tell him that everything would be okay, without wasting any words on it.

"Could you sit with me?" he pleaded softly, the idea of asking this from usually touchy-feely Sting so alien it made his gut wrench. He knew that he only had himself to blame for it because of his withdrawn behavior, so now it was up to him to fix it, and thankfully Sting moved closer without any objections.

Not close enough, so Rogue draped the other end of the blanket over him and curled up against his side. "I'm sorry," he spilled, hoping to get some conversation going and needing to get at least this off his chest, "for uh…kneeing you."

"It's fine," Sting assured him, "I know you didn't do it on purpose. I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." He hesitated for a few seconds, tentatively wrapping an arm around him, "You know…If you do feel like you're ready to talk about it, I'll always be there. I'm not going anywhere."

It was everything Rogue needed to hear right now, and he didn't even bother to hold back the tears caused by the sudden rush of emotion that came over him. It would've been like carrying sand to the beach anyway because the “I love you” that followed would've shattered any resistance Rogue might have had.

He somehow managed to get out an “I love you too” and closed his eyes, all of his tension melting away into something as simple as a warm embrace. Mind now at ease, his body was quick to shut itself down, and telling himself that as long as Sting was there, he'd be alright, Rogue had no trouble falling asleep after a nightmare for the first time.

0-0

The opening theme of episode 6 -or maybe it was 5- was playing joyfully in the background, but even though Sting's eyes had been glued to the tv for god knows how long by now, he still had no idea what the show was about. The light of dawn was creeping in through the dining room’s sliding door, and yet he hadn't slept a wink since he'd woken up from his dream.

Snippets of phrases he’d read in the journal kept replaying in his head as he looked down at Rogue’s face, finally at peace in his slumber, and he was gripped with an intense desire to protect him from the world. To search out the person who had dared to put him through this hell and teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

He allowed himself a minute to fantasize about it, but it felt empty. Even though it would be satisfying in the short term, it wouldn’t do anything to change what had already happened, and quite likely might put him on a plane back to Edolas.

No, as frustrating as it was, the only one who could help Rogue out of this situation was Rogue himself. All Sting could really do was to offer him as much support as he was able to ride out this new awkwardness they were experiencing and not let it drive a wedge between them.

And as much as he respected that Rogue didn’t want to talk about it, he did. He needed to talk about what had happened and to work out his own role, if any. To know how to help his boyfriend without being always worried he was making things worse, and that left him in a very uncomfortable place. But how was he supposed to process this without betraying Rogue’s trust, and how could he coax him towards a point where he would consider getting help? It wasn’t hard to see, now that he knew what to look for, that Rogue was going to need it to find himself again.

More than anything, Sting wanted their relationship to work out, he’d moved to Magnolia with lots of ideas and dreams of a shared future after all, and he’d be damned to see it all collapse a week in. He’d find a way, of that he was certain. He was a fighter, and he had no intention of giving up on Rogue without a fight, but he could only hope that that fight wouldn’t accomplish the very opposite of what he wanted.

One thing was for sure: they were in for a rough ride. Some of the worst was yet to come, and as he held on to Rogue as tightly as he dared, Sting tried to catch some sleep, hoping it would give him the energy needed to walk through the emotional minefield again when he’d wake up in a few hours.

[countessrivers]

What-ifs/Alternate Timelines for Jim Gordon - maybe the raised-by-Falcones version?

- It could probably still have started with a car accident, only this time with Mama Gordon in the car too. Jim I would say was still there, just in the back seat, and having to watch both parents die would probably leave him even more vulnerable.

- Carmine doesn’t initially intend to adopt Jim. Frank takes off immediately, consumed with guilt, and Jim has no one else, so Carmine steps in, because he owes Jim, he owes Peter. He did what the Court wanted, but he cared for Peter, Gotham is worse off without him, and now Peter’s nine year old son is all alone, because of him. It starts off with Carmine just paying for Jim’s hospital stay, for his physio, but then he starts just coming around, checking in on Jim, visiting, and Jim who maybe vaguely knows who Falcone is (would sometimes eavesdrop from the top of the stairs when Falcone was over, speaking with his parents) latches on. Jim is lost and traumatised and alone and he latches onto the first person who shows him any attention. And that then forms the basis of their relationship.

- Carmine has himself made Jim’s guardian. It’s only supposed to be temporary, but the longer Jim is around, the less inclined Carmine is to let him go, because he looks at Jim and he sees a bit of Peter. He also sees stubbornness, and potential, and most importantly, something that can be moulded. It doesn’t take long for Carmine to give Jim his name.

- I don’t know how old anyone’s supposed to be. In the show, according to my attempts at maths, Jim is 34-ish in season 4. Ben was obviously older, but Crystal Reed was around that age too, so Sofia could be about the same age as Jim, or at most a few years younger. Mario is older than Sofia, but the actor is about the same age as Ben, so Mario is likely at least a bit older than Jim, particularly as Mario and Sofia seemingly have different mothers. For this lets just go with Mario is a good few years older than Jim, who is in turn maybe two years older than Sofia.

- Sofia latches onto Jim immediately. She’s used to sharing her father’s affection/time, so Jim being in the picture makes little difference to her in that regard. But to her, he’s new and interesting and he’ll follow her around. He’s not too old like Mario now is. He can be hers. Mario, meanwhile, is jealous from the get go, hating the way his father cares for this orphan nobody, hating how much attention Sofia pays him, and that just festers into something obsessive as they get older. 

- And it doesn’t start off intentional (because she’s like 7), but Jim and Sofia get hella unhealthily co-dependent very quickly, and as they do get older, Sofia encourages that, desperate for the love and devotion and validation she isn’t getting from the rest of her family. And Jim provides. He latches onto Sofia right back, from the start craving comfort and companionship and family. They first sleep together as teenagers, and keep on doing so until Carmine catches them. which is why he sends Sofia away. Deep down Jim and Sofia both resent him for that, for separating them, even though Sofia still has Mario, and that festers too.

- Carmine, in answer to his promise to Mario’s mum, sends Mario down south too, which leaves him with only Jim. But that’s almost better in a way. He has made no promises to protect Jim, to keep him clean, and he can see already that Jim has the potential to succeed him. He feels (almost) no guilt in moulding him, in teaching him everything, in turning Jim first into a weapon, and then his heir. And he’s careful. He of course has genuine affection for Jim, maybe even loves him more than his own children, but he’s not one to take chances, to leave his back unguarded, so he makes Jim loyal. Reminds him again and again that it’s by his mercy and compassion that Jim has a home, a family. Tells Jim that he loves him, and that Jim must show his love by being loyal, always. By obeying. Tying the concept of love to loyalty and obedience, and punishing Jim both physically and emotionally when he fails.

- Jim vomits the first time he kills someone. He’s hurt people before, has seen plenty of people die as he stood at his father’s shoulder, but it’s different when the gun’s in his hand. When he’s the one pulling the trigger. He waits until they get home though. Barely feels the gun being taken back, or the heavy hand on his shoulder. Only vaguely hears Carmine commend him on a job well done. Just nods, and follows, and once he’s in his room, dashes to the ensuite to vomit up the contents of his stomach. It gets easier after that, but Jim never learns to enjoy it. He never takes the joy, the pleasure he sees other take in killing. At most there may be some satisfaction, some relief, but he never starts to like it. Killing becomes a necessity, something to keep the balance, to ensure business keeps running, but never anything more than that. Carmine suspects as much, but it doesn’t bother him. As long as Jim does the job, is willing to do the job. It’s not like he takes any real pleasure from killing either.

- It’s not until he becomes Fish’s umbrella boy that Oswald first sees Jim. He’s been working his way up through the lowest levels of the organisation, and had yet to properly lay eyes on the Don or his son. It’s only when they both pay a visit to the club one day, and Oswald happens to be there. He knew of Jim, but he hadn’t ever seen him in person. Fish waves him off while she and Carmine talk shop, and Oswald kind of just hovers, watching Jim as he speaks with Butch, but trying not to make it obvious that he’s staring. Jim’s not staring back, but he notices Oswald too. Jim notices everything, but he finds himself lingering, though he can’t say why, hyper aware of the eyes on him, even as Butch goes on about things Jim really should be paying closer attention to.

- After that, after seeing Jim in person, Oswald can’t let go. Ambition has had him collection info and dirt on all the key players already, but he wants to know more about Jim. About who he is, where he came from, what he might do, and how Oswald might use him. He digs, and eventually finds out how the Gordons really died. He doesn’t get quite as far as the Court, but he uncovers enough to implicate Carmine. He holds onto the information, knowing its value, and waits for the opportune moment (he’ll tell Jim later, use it to try and sway Jim to his side, to convince him to turn on his father and help take him out).

- Oswald learns other things about Jim too. Probably picks up on the rumours about him and Sofia, and the relationship that has continued on and off over the years under their father’s nose, but other things as well. Like his open soft spot for kids, orphans particularly, and the embargo he puts on his men over involving or harming kids in anyway (think Red Hood, “no dealing to kids” and a dufflebag full of heads). In general, the way Jim leaves families and civilians alone - he’ll “question”, he’ll execute a traitor, a thief, a snitch, but he won’t touch their families. The way he reacts to Carmine, this mix of fear and anger and loyalty and love and resentment. The way he inspires loyalty from both his people and the city, in a way that is wholly different to how his father does it (softer, in a sense. Less through fear, more through obligation, through helping and building and taking care of problems. Engendering good will, and making sure that in times of trouble, they look to him first. A different idea of family, for all that Carmine still has him tangled up by almost a lifetime of grooming and manipulation). Oswald learns about Jim’s likes, his dislikes, his fears, his wants, his raging daddy issues. Watches how Jim navigates the power struggles between the other underbosses. He watches and follows and learns everything he can about Jim.

- Which is why he’s fairly confident when he asks Carmine to have Jim do the deed when he’s caught snitching to the MCU. It’s a risk - Jim is still loyal to his father, still shares the general disdain of snitches and traitors felt by most in their line of work - but Oswald tries, figures he knows enough about who Jim is to convince him to spare his life. So he begs, warns Jim of the war he can see is coming, of the blood and all the senseless death that will come with it. Gets a little pathetic with his pleading, a smidge of fear admittedly rising as Jim keeps on walking him towards the water, offering anything, offering himself, and he might have gone further had he not be interrupted by Jim turning him around. And there had been a moment, staring out over the icy river, where he thought he was done, that he’s miscalculated, overplayed his hand, but the moment of shock quickly gave way to vindication as Jim hissed at him to never come back to Gotham. Because he’d been right, because he’d managed to make Jim disobey. Because Oswald was alive and Jim was going to help him change Gotham, change everything (whether he wanted to or not).

[chanceuseladynoire]

Snow Angel

I started posting my fourth work. You can read it on AO3 here.

Rating:General Audiences 

Category: F/M 

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug 

Relationship: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug 

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Alix Kubdel | Bunnyx, Tikki, Plagg 

Additional Tags: Time Shenanigans, aged-up, Fluff, Angst, Kidnapping, Searching, Getting help from unlikely places, Adrien has gone a little crazy, Adrien is in denial, lost kitty, Bunnyx _really _needs to get a lock for her burrow, Miraculous Wish, Relationship Advice, Worried Friends and Family, Season 3 Spoilers, Chat Blanc Episode Spoilers - Freeform

Summary: Where is Marinette? It is a popular question this morning and Adrien is starting to worry. The 17-year-old lycée student (and teen heart-throb supermodel) can't do anything about it, but perhaps a certain cat-themed superhero can pick up her trail.

*Warning: Season 3 Spoilers Ahead*

Chapter 1: Missing

Adrien dropped his school bag next to his usual desk, took his seat, and waited for class to start. He scrolled through his calendar on his phone. Only three photoshoots this week, and the regular piano, fencing and Chinese practices. A chemistry quiz today, history paper due on Friday. It was actually shaping up to be a pretty light week. He might be able to sneak in a few more patrols with Ladybug.

Or perhaps get Marinette to slip one of Paris’ favorite heroes a few cookies on her balcony. Either option sounded fine to him.

Speaking of Marinette, where was she? Class was going to start in two minutes. She’d been making a special effort to squeak into class five minutes before the final bell since starting their second year of lycée and no longer having the luxury of living across the street from school. She probably overslept again.

The seconds ticked by. The bell rang. The history class started. The desk next to Adrien remained empty.

He didn’t start to worry until class ended and there was still no sign of the bluenette. Adrien hoped she wasn’t ill. She had seemed fine yesterday.

He could text her and ask if she was okay, but he felt that might be overstepping. Besides, he didn’t want to disturb her if she was feeling unwell. He decided to try the next best thing to messaging Marinette directly.

[Adrien] Hey. Have you heard from Marinette this morning? She wasn’t in class.

A reply popped up almost instantly.

[Alya] I haven’t. Give me a sec.

Adrien pocketed his phone and walked down the hall to his calculous class. He set his phone on his desk and unpacked his tablet and stylus. The phone’s screen lit up a minute before the bell rang.

[Alya] She’s not answering her phone. I’ll try the bakery next.

[Adrien] Thanks. Class is about to start. I’ll check back in with you later.

Adrien pushed the budding sense of unease away as the teacher began lecturing about integrals.

With his math class over, Adrien once again packed up to move to classical world literature. They were studying Shakespeare’s sonnets. He was gleaning so much glorious material for Chat Noir to use later. It was almost better than his Sunday night ritual of scouring the internet for new cat puns and memes. Almost.

Adrien did his best not to bump into anyone on the stairs as he headed down to his next classroom with his attention focused on his phone.

He had received six new texts and a missed call in the last hour.

[Alya] I talked to Sabine. She hasn’t seen Marinette since last night.

[Alya] She assumed that she just missed her leaving this morning.

[Alya] Mari still isn’t answering her phone.

[Alya] She wasn’t in our French class last period.

[Alya] Let me know when you see her. Okay?

That uneasy feeling from earlier had lodged itself in the pit of his stomach and was growing.

He typed a quick promise to Alya that he would notify her when he saw their friend.

The missed call and sixth text were from Mme. Cheng.

Adrien rounded the last step and stopped out of the flow of traffic before opening the text. The squirming feeling in his gut was getting worse.

[Mama Cheng] Have you seen Marinette this morning? Alya just called and no one seems to have seen her since last night. Tom and I are starting to worry.

Adrien failed to notice his foot tapping out a nervous staccato against the floor tiles.

[Adrien] I haven’t seen her this morning either. I will have her call you the minute I do.

He pressed ‘send,’ hoping that his optimism in stating ‘when’ not ‘if’ he sees Marinette was not unfounded. He didn’t want to start thinking that way.

He stood there, staring at his phone, trying to decide what to do, as the halls emptied and the next period of classes began. He felt Plagg start nudging his hip from inside his book bag. It was the final push he needed.

Adrien hurriedly stopped by the school nurse and told her that he wasn’t feeling well and asked to be excused from his classes for the rest of the day.

The nurse took one look at his pale face and agreed to let the rest of his teachers know of his absence. Having a reputation for being a model student had its advantages.

Adrien walked out the front doors of the school as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. As soon as he had the freedom of the pavement outside, he ran to the shadows of the nearest alleyway.

Usually Plagg talked to Adrien from wherever he was lounging at the time, but as soon as they were hidden from view, the kwami of destruction phased through the bag and floated at eye level. His tail was flicking back and forth agitatedly. He crossed his stubby arms over his chest and narrowed his toxic green eyes at his holder.

“Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” Plagg drawled exasperatedly, but Adrien could read the subtext after four years of partnership. His kwami was worried.

He finally had a name for that feeling crawling its way up from his stomach and grasping at his throat now. Fear. It was definitely fear.

“Plagg, claws out!”

----------

Five minutes later Chat Noir landed on Marinette’s balcony with a soft flump.

Nothing looked out of place, but something... wasn’t quite right. Chat couldn’t quite put his claw on it just yet.

He moved the information to the back of his mind to let his subconscious work out whatever it was. His attention turned to the skylight hatch leading to his friend’s bedroom. He eased the door open and poked his head inside.

Still nothing seemed amiss. Her bed was unmade (not uncommon with how quickly she usually needed to leave for school after hitting snooze on her alarm four times). Bits of pink fabric were strewn across her sewing desk and pinned to the dress form in the corner. Pictures of her friends were taped to the walls. It all looked perfectly normal for her room.

Chat Noir dropped onto the loft, careful to land next to the bed to keep his boots from dirtying her bedding. That’s when it hit him—the thing that was out of place.

There was an unfamiliar scent in Marinette’s room.

He sniffed around the bed. It smelled mostly of pleasant things that he associated with the young designer, like vanilla and sugar. Underneath the comforting scents was another, unfamiliar one.

Chat Noir wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. It smelled... cold. It was like the sharp sting of ice on a bitterly cold day when the wind bites at your ears and nose and burns your cheeks with snowflakes like shards of glass. The scent stood out in sharp contrast to Marinette who smelled like everything warm and comforting.

He took a few minutes to sniff around the rest of her room. He didn’t pick up the foreign scent anywhere except near the bed. He did find Marinette’s phone under her bed. It was on silent and the battery was nearly dead. She had forty-six missed calls and messages. Chat was willing to bet that most of them were from Alya.

He left the phone where it was and pulled himself back up to the balcony.

The icy scent was on the edge of the hatch door. He also smelled it on one of the many potted plants surrounding Marinette’s oasis. Whoever it was must have brushed against the leaves.

The intruder had entered through the skylight from the balcony, just as Chat Noir had.

A string of events started taking shape in his mind. He didn’t like where they led.

A stranger had come to Marinette’s balcony, let themselves into her room, and taken the girl from her bed.

Someone had kidnapped Marinette.

----------

Chat Noir spent the rest of the afternoon sniffing around rooftops near the Dupain-Cheng bakery in an ever expanding radius. From time to time he dropped to ground level as well, but that didn’t seem right for some reason and he inevitably returned to the roofs.

After a few hours, he got lucky. (No one was more surprised than him since good luck was not his forte.)

Someone in a building to the south had left a pool towel hanging out to dry on a balcony railing. A brush of odor on the colorful material matched the one locked in Chat’s scent memory.

He continued searching to the south. He had never put so much effort into tracking before. Why hadn’t he thought to practice before now?

An hour later, he found his next clue. He followed the scent along a straight line of roofs at a full run on all fours. Chat’s mind presented him with two pieces of information as his claws dug into the roof tiles and his legs propelled him forward.

First, the scent was getting harder to follow as more time passed. Second, Chat knew of only three groups who took routes like this. None were great options.

He slid to a stop at the end of the roof line and stood easily on the edge. His breathing was labored and he could feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Anxiety and exertion were flooding his system with adrenaline. Chat’s tail twitched behind him just as Plagg’s had before transforming that afternoon. A low growl slipped past his clenched teeth.

He’d lost the trail.

Chat needed help. He opened the map feature on his baton and searched for Ladybug’s icon. She wasn’t there. It was a long shot anyway. They usually weren’t transformed this time of day unless there was an Akuma attack. Fortunately he hadn’t had to deal with one of those today. Chat could only handle one crisis at a time.

He switched his baton to phone mode and called his partner. It went to voicemail.

“Ladybug, I’ve got a bit of a situation here. Do you remember Marinette Dupain-Cheng? I think she may be a friend of yours, but that’s not important right now.”

He did his best to keep the strain out of his voice. Ladybug didn’t want an update on his emotional state. She only wanted cold, hard facts.

“Look, I think she’s been kidnapped. No one has seen her all day. I went by her house to check if I could find anything and picked up an unfamiliar scent. I’m tracking it south through the fifth arrondissement right now. And, LB, I’m tracking it across the roofs. We might be looking at an akuma or sentimonster, though it’s been pretty quiet for one of Hawkmoth’s games. There’s a possibility it might be a—another miraculous holder.”

He paused for a moment to let that sink in.

“Anyway, call me when you get this. I’m going to keep looking. Bye.”

Chat Noir ended the call and continued his pursuit.

Frustration outweighed his anxiety hours later as the sun started to set beyond the Paris skyline. He hadn’t been able to pick up the trail again. He tracked it as far as he could, but he lost it.

He groaned as he slid down a brick wall protruding from the roof he was currently on. He sat on the plaster and released his transformation. A crackle of bright green energy washed over his body and Plagg sprang from the ring. Adrien handed him a piece of Camembert before the grumpy little cat could ask.

“How’s it going, kid?” Plagg asked, then tossed the chunk of smelly cheese in the air and swallowed it whole. Normally with him it was eat first, ask questions later.

“I lost the trail.” Adrien thunked his head against the bricks behind him. The small pain this caused was a slight comfort in the face of Adrien’s disgust with his tracking skills.

“I know, kid. But, honestly, you did great. It wasn’t an easy scent to find. I’m impressed that you were able to follow it this far.”

If Plagg was trying to comfort him and willingly handing out compliments, it really was the end of days.

Adrien appraised his old friend. “You’re really worried about her, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Plagg stared off to the south. Adrien was sure the little glutton had heard him, but was declining to comment.

Plagg had always seemed partial to Marinette. Adrien didn’t know why. His kwami had never met the girl, but he did seem to bring her up more than Adrien’s other friends.

“Let’s go, kid. There’s nothing more we can do tonight, and I’m sure Pantsuit is wondering where you are by now.”

Adrien pushed himself to his feet. He had no idea what he was going to tell Nathalie, but he didn’t really care right now. Maybe he would do something crazy and try telling her the truth that one of his friends was missing and he had been out all day looking for her. Telling Nathalie the truth. He scoffed. There was a concept.

“Plagg, claws out.”

[trivialqueen]

The Invitation

Jane had a bit of problem. It wasn’t a huge one, but it was a school one – and not the mathematical kind.

Jane Ross & Tobias Butler

Disclaimer: I own naught but the mistakes.

Note: I binged all three seasons of Miss Fisher’s this week in honor of the movie due out this month. All kinds of ideas are now bouncing around in my head, but this one actually made its way out. I will confess, this chronology is speculative at best.

...

Worley Grammar School cordially invites Miss Jane Ross and her father to the 56th annual Father-Daughter Dance Friday, 24 February, 1928

The vellum invitation had been searing a hole in her since they were distributed a week ago. Jane had a father, of course, though he’s but a memory. A big, broad shadow falling across the floor as he packed a bag and abandoned her and her mother when Jane was seven. Times were hard until she was retrieved by Welfare at nine and then “placed” with that man at ten. He most certainly was not a surrogate father to her.

“Your father” the invitation read, it was a slight, Jane knew. She had seen Essie Page’s invitation and it had clearly been addressed to her and Mr. Davis Page, Esquire. Everyone else had a father – or a stepfather at least, just as she was the only ward not in the guardianship of an aunt or an uncle. She was the rough ward of a single woman, nouveau riche as well. Jane’s grades meant the school needed her to maintain standards but they would never let her forget she wasn’t welcome – no matter what Aunt P said or the strings she pulled.

She could always not go, but that savored so strongly of defeat that Jane refused to entertain the idea seriously. Which then left her with the problem of “your father” – who should she ask to take on not just the role but the stinging spirit which the invitation was written. Miss Fisher? Jane knew Phryne would do it in an instant and look dazzling the entire time. Phryne would do it because she loved her (and Jane loved her), Phryne would also go as her father to make a statement with more than her dress, which Jane was fine with – agreed with. She was also positive the Principle would never let them in the building and Aunt P would have a fit. Jane wasn’t sure if she wanted to start a two front war. School had harpies enough without Prudence Stanley’s derision.

The day before her RSVP was due and a week before the dance Jane sat at her guardian’s breakfast table applying apricot preserve to toast without much thought or energy.

“I can assume there’s something on your mind as there is jam on your thumb.” Mr. Butler’s voice is equal parts chiding and concerned and it bring her back to her immediate surroundings. Jane opens her mouth to ask for a napkin but Mr. Butler is well ahead of her.

“Have you talked about it with Miss Fisher?” He asks. Jane cleans her hand up (mostly with the cloth, though partly with her tongue.) He must be particularly worried if he asks his, it’s as good as prying and Mr. Butler doesn’t pry, doesn’t judge, and never leaves a glass unfilled.

“I’m not sure this is a problem I’m ready to bring to her yet.” She does feel a little bad about that but she’s being honest.

“If you need to confide in someone else I am sure Miss Williams would be happy to listen.” Jane eats half her toast before speaking. Dorothy is wonderful but the pit of her stomach says Mr. Butler will have good advice and the pit of her stomach is never wrong.

“There is going to be a father – daughter dance next Friday at school.” Mr. Butler sat aside his tidying.

“I see.”

“Everyone else’s invitation was addressed to them and their Da or at least their Mum’s husband. Mine just says “Your father” like its laughing at me.”

“I see.”

“I’m afraid if I tell Miss Fisher she’ll feel bad or do something drastic in protest. I feel bad for fearing that and I know she’d feel worse to know I fear that.”

“I see.” He either had very good vision or nothing better to say.

“I don’t have anyone to bring – my father left – and I can’t help feeling like they’re laughing at me. They know.” Mr. Butler folded the tea towel neatly as Jane finished her toast. They’d need to be off to school shortly.

“The way I see it.” Mr. Butler began, “There’s a narrow definition of “father” at use here. You and the school assume a father is only the man you inherited your nose from or the chap that married your mother. A father is more than that. They don’t have to be related at all. They just have to love you. If you care about them and they care about you and you support each other then you have every right to think of them as such if you like.” He stood and checked the kitchen clock.

“We’ll need to depart soon, Miss Jane.” Jane nodded but beyond perfunctory gestures, was too distracted for conversation.

Someone that you care about, someone who supports you.

Mr. Butler’s words bounded through her head throughout the day. It made perfect sense, yet she’d not seen it before. Miss Fisher often said that love made a family – that Jane would always be her daughter. By bond not blood.

When put like that Jane had family – and fathers to choose from.

Bert and Cec sprang to mind over lunch, deliciously packed. They were supportive and over protective, encouraging and kind. But she couldn’t ask one and not the other. Also, neither felt quite right as “Dad”. Uncle Bert and Uncle Cec for certain but neither fit in her picture of how the dance would be.

There was also… the copper. Detective Inspector Robinson was now a fixture of sorts in her life – mainly because he was becoming one in Miss Fisher’s life. Jane liked how he seemed to make Phryne happy, treated her right, didn’t hit her. IF the look in his eye was anything to go by he might be the man marrying her guardian but Jane wasn’t ready to call the copper Da, at least not yet (maybe, one day, something she would not have considered months before).

Jane did consider asking Hugh Collins, just to watch him squirm. He loved Dottie to pieces and for that and the fact he reminded Jane of a puppy she once knew she liked him. He was by no means “father” material – hers at any rate – but if Dorothy married him Jane would welcome him fondly as a sort of brother-in-law.

And suddenly in maths Jane knew.

“How was your day, Miss Jane?” Bert had dropped her off from school but declined tea, his football club had some event.

“Mr. Butler, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Worley Grammar School Father-daughter dance Friday next?” She’d rehearsed the line, crafted it carefully in the car. Mr. Butler carefully sat down the teapot and placed the cloth over his shoulder beside it on the table.

“Miss Jane, I would be honored.”