#her organizational system only makes sense to her!!!!

[ranger-kellyn]

i saw a video that was like "a room for you based on your favorite totk character!" and the first one was purah and it was the most bland, landlord white, boring fucking room i've ever seen with some book shelves and they were like "since she's smart and likes reading!" and like.....................................did you even pay attention to purah aT ALL??????????

[tarre-was-right]

ROUND THREE: MATCH-UP ONE

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here!

SATINE KRYZE

Anon: Satine because she served. Mandalorian fashion week would love her. Manda'slay.

Anon: Satine Propaganda: Was supported by the STRONG MAJORITY, led Mandalore to be in peace for NEARLY 20 YEARS, didn't ban mando'a or armour or any part of the culture like fandom claims, is a good fighter, considered EVERY Mandalorian a Mandalorian and didn't discriminate

@lightsaberwieldingdalek: Satine propaganda: she actually ran a functioning government. Not a mercenary band, or a death cult, or a terrorist extremist organisation, an actual functioning government. Yes there was corruption, corruption she did her best to stop to the point of personally getting in firefights with smugglers, but she took a planet devastated by civil war and by the end of her rule she had schools, public works, and a justice system. - Sure, the rest can run military operations (and we don’t know Satine couldn’t, only that she *won’t*) but can they make the bins get emptied regularly to go to the recycling plants?

COMMANDER CODY

Anon: Propaganda for Commander Cody: - Cody was a student of Alpha-17, who in turn had been personally trained by former Mand'alor Jango Fett, giving him a strong training lineage claim to the title - Cody's service as Marshall Commander in the GAR gave him a lot of the diplomatic, organizational, and military experience needed to govern a planet like Mandalore

@spacetime1969: This man has led more people at once than anyone on this list.

Anon: Cody should be Mand'alor because it would be unspeakably sexy

@cha0s-cat: Cody has experience with negotiating from accompanying Obi-Wan, he leads a massive amount of his brothers already. Can recognize when there is a need for negotiations vs a need for violence. This would balance out the majority of the two factions (pacifists/traditionalists) excluding the extremists on either end. And with the amount of chaos that he has to deal with when it comes to Obi-Wan and Anakin, this would probably be relaxing.

@skykind: - Has resisted fascism and its attendant police/military state at great personal risk (Bad Batch 2.3), which is apparently necessary to successfully govern Mandalore so long as Death Watch is fully armed and also backed by someone more cunning than their usual leadership (Clone Wars 5.15). - Possesses exceptional leadership and organizational ability from his time as one of the highest-ranked Clone officers of the GAR. The Clone Wars and Bad Batch narratives furthermore present him as Obi-Wan’s peer, so he should be interpreted as equally skilled, wise, kind, and unhinged-in-battle as Obi-Wan. Jury’s out on the sarcasm. - Turns to diplomacy before fighting (Bad Batch 2.3). - Has caught a Jedi’s lightsaber mid-battle at least two times (Clone Wars 1.20 and Revenge of the Sith). This is a very useful skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who keep chucking the darksaber about. - Has returned a lightsaber to a Jedi at least two times. This is a crucial skill to have as the prospective or current leader of people who should stop selecting said leader via darksaber acquisition.

@antianakin: [From the Boba vs Cody poll] So in a very practical sense, if I'm just looking at it with the question of "Who actually has the skills to be a good leader of people" [between Boba and Cody] then the answer is undoubtedly Cody. Cody was trained his entire life presumably to be a Commander in a large army and seems to do that very successfully for three years. He seems fairly humble, has good teamwork skills, he's kind and understanding and merciful, and he's a very skilled fighter. All of this would serve him exceedingly well if he chose to take on a leadership position, on Mandalore or otherwise. - The one downside to Cody is that Cody shows exactly zero interest in Mandalore at all. Cody does not identify as a Mandalorian at any point and never seems like he'd want to, let alone LEAD the Mandalorians. I do not personally see Cody actually being WILLING to lead Mandalore if offered the opportunity, even if he'd definitely have the skills to do so. I feel like if it were offered to him or fell into his lap somehow, he'd just pass it off immediately to the next most qualified person who was interested in it. Mandalore is not his problem or his responsibility and he's not about to change that.

There was a lot of discourse on the Bo-Katan vs. Cody poll, but it was largely "this is why the other character is a bad choice" rather than "this is why my fave is a good choice," so there isn't really a good way to include it.

[fandomunite2107]

Help Wanted (Pt. 3)

Summary: Finding your place at Carmy’s resturant after you are offered a job (again).

Carmy left your apartment after offering you a job. He needed to get back to the restaurant and you needed to get the rest of your boxes unpacked before you started your new job tomorrow. Before he left, you exchanged numbers and he took your uniform with him saying that he would drop it off at the restaurant that you got it from, but based on his expression you’re not actually sure it’s going to end up there.

As the afternoon turns into evening, you finally have all of the boxes unpacked and everything in its place. Looking around your apartment you feel a sense of accomplishment in everything that you have done within the last couple of days. Your apartment is cleaned, furnished, and all of the boxes are gone through. You also now have a job that will give you some income that you desperately need. Life is looking good at the moment.

Settling on your couch with your dinner, you turn on the tv and find a show to watch. Hearing your notification sound on your phone, you move a pillow or two to see who is texting you. Entering in your passcode, you see a message from Carmy.

*Just checking to make sure that you’re good to start tomorrow.* - Carmy

It takes you a good 5 minutes to write back a reply, hoping he doesn’t see the three dots repeatedly appear and disappear, as you keep deleting your response. You finally settle on a text and send it. You then proceed to check your phone for the next hour to see if there is a response, which there isn’t one.

Needing to be at the restaurant fairly early, you decide to try to get some decent sleep. Washing your dishes from dinner and turning off the tv and lights around your apartment, you start to get ready for bed. Setting your alarm for the morning and picking out an outfit that seems like it would work for a day of sorting papers, you plug your phone in by your bed and get in bed. It doesn’t take too long before you’re fast asleep, only waking up to the sound of your alarm hours later.

Feeling optimistic about the day, you get up and start to get ready. With breakfast eaten and you showered, you finish getting ready. As you grab your bag and cell phone and start to head towards the door you hear a roll of thunder. Looking out the window, you see that the sky is grey, but it doesn’t seem to be raining yet as the sidewalks still seem dry. Checking your weather app on the phone, it looks like there’s a very low chance of rain. Realizing that you don’t have an umbrella, you cross your fingers that the weather will hold out as you make your way to work.

You barely make it to the restaurant in time before a monsoon hits, buckets of water begin to fall down. You hope this nasty weather doesn’t last all day or else you may have to ask someone for a ride home. As you walk into the kitchen area of the restaurant, you see Sugar talking to Sydney.

“Hey you! Glad you’re back.” Sugar smiles when she notices you walking in with your bag. “I have a few things that I need to get done today, but I wanted to be here when you got here to help you get started.”

“Glad to be back.” You say, turning to Sydney. “Carmy not in yet? I figured he’s the type that beats everyone here.”

“Normally, but today he had to drop off a permit at city hall. Shouldn’t be too long.” Sydney says to you as she does her prep for the day.

“Let’s get started. I figured you could try to make sense of all of these piles in Carmy’s office and make an organizational system.” Sugar says as she walks towards the office.

As you follow her into the office and place your bag on the desk, you look around at the piles of papers around the room. Even though you love to organize you know that this is going to be a long process. Turning to Sugar you say, “Hey. I got this, really. You can go do your errands.”

“Are you sure?” She looks hopefully and really you’re kind of looking forward to doing this job on your own.

“Yes. Go. Enjoy your day.”

Picking up her bag and getting her phone and keys out, she rushes out of the restaurant with a quick goodbye to everyone. Skimming the piles of paper around the room, you make piles ranging in a variety of importance on the floor. After a while, you stand up and survey the work that you have done so far, feeling satisfied with what you have accomplished you want to stretch your legs. Walking out of the kitchen and into the front of the restaurant, you see Richie struggling with the crowd that has gathered for the lunch rush.

Richie sees you walk in, “Hey kid. Could use some help. Start bagging up the to go orders will ya?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Walking to the area with the sandwiches waiting to be bagged, you begin sorting through the orders. As you bag the orders and pass them out, you and Richie form a rhythm. You are one order away from finishing up with the lunch crowd, after bagging up the order you call for it to be picked up. A man comes up to the corner to grab the bag, smiling at you as he does. Once he picks up the bag and looks inside he looks up at you and says, “You forgot something.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. What’s missing?” Thinking back and trying to remember what his order was on his ticket.

“My number. You forgot to ask for my number.” The man leans on the counter, smiling as he closes up his bag.

“Smooth man.” You hear Richie say as he gives a nod to the customer.

Carmy picks this time to walk in from the kitchen. “What’s going on here? Why is y/n out front?”

“I was helping Richie out with the lunch crowd.” You say as you turn towards him.

“Cousin chill out. Just needed some help out here for a bit. It’s all good.” Richie states.

“I should get back to the paperwork.” You say, not wanting to cause an issue on your first day.

“Wait. You forgot my number.” Realizing the man was waiting on your response you turn to response to him, but Carmy beats you to it.

“She doesn’t need it. Enjoy your food.” Carmy tells the man as he leads you back into the kitchen.

“That was rude. He wasn’t hurting anything.” You say.

Carmy runs his hand down his face as Sydney approaches with a spoon of sauce. “Chef try this.”

Feeling as though the conversation is done, you head back into the office to get back to work. Hearing the sounds of the kitchen makes for oddly soothing background noise. You are able to go through another portion of the papers.

“Y/N!” A bit confused as to why Richie is yelling your name into the kitchen, you stand up and poke your head out of the office.

“Richie, what’s up?” You say, turning a small shade of red as everyone looks up from their station.

Richie smirks as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “You, sweetheart, just got that customer’s number.”

“Ooooo. Was he cute?” Tina says as she cuts vegetables at her station.

“Richie. What the fuck are you doing?” Carmy says looking not too pleased about the situation.

“What?! Just passing along the information to our y/n here. He seemed like a good guy, he tipped well.” Richie says as he walks to you and hands you the paper.

Taking the paper and putting it in your back pocket, you feel as if you are being watched. Looking up you see Carmy giving you an expression that you can’t quite figure out. Figuring it’s best if you get back to work you head back into the office, trying to decipher what that look was and coming to the conclusion that it’s useless to try to understand.

———————

Taglist: @iletmytittiestitty-russ @formulas-bitch @lennaboo @soorwellystan @mrs-reeves-17 @eddiesguitarskills @anelissegets @onlyreadz

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #14

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: implied domestic abuse

Iris had a meeting, and Kit decided to hole up in his room to practice his magic. 

To his surprise, there was someone already there, in his bedroom. He could smell them from the entrance to the sitting room.

A snarl bubbled up from his chest, and he rounded the corner.

It was only a maid, and he dropped the rag he was holding. The maid froze in fear, and Kit forced himself to stop growling.

Kit relaxed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

The maid nodded, still nervous, and Kit picked up the rag and offered it to him.

The maid took the cloth from him. There was a bruise on his wrist. “I, um, I was just cleaning,” he said.

Kit shifted. “Okay. Why?”

“It’s my job?”

“Right.”

They stared at each other, equally uncomfortable. “Would you mind… not doing that?” offered Kit.

“You don’t want me to clean?” the maid’s brow furrowed.

“Uh, no. I don’t like people in my-” territory “-room,” he said. “It’s… a fae thing.”

“I’ll tell my manager,” said the maid.

“Thanks.”

The maid turned to go, but as he passed Kit noticed another bruise on his upper arm. It was suspiciously shaped like a hand.

“Wait,” he blurted.

The maid turned back. 

“Are- are you alright? Those marks don’t look like they’re from cleaning.”

The maid stepped back. “I think I should go,” he said. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

He fled the room, and Kit decided not to chase him down. 

___________________

Kit paced in his room, magic practice the last thing on his mind.

He should tell Iris right away. After all, this was his intended purpose:

‘I just want to know if my cousin is being an ass to a maid. Or if an advisor calls me a bitch and I just didn’t hear him mutter.’

But Iris was in a meeting, and he hadn’t even gotten what the maid was called.

Who would he ask to figure it out?

Maybe one of the guards? Since they were basically security, surely they would know who cleaned this wing of the castle.

Maxus was a night guard and not working yet, and Brennan was with Mistress. Maybe he could ask Jen in the gardens?

It was a long shot, but if she didn’t know he could always circle back to Brennan.

___________________

“I’m sorry, but there’s a lot of maids on that rotation.”

“Doesn’t seem very secure,” Kit muttered, disappointed.

Jen shrugged. “We haven’t had any problems with it. Why do you ask about maids, though?”

“I was curious,” he said.

“Well, sorry I couldn’t help more. I’m sure Captain Brennan would know who specifically was assigned to your room today. You should see his spreadsheets.” Jen shuddered. “His organizational system makes the librarians look sane.”

“Uh, thanks.”

___________________

Kit peeked around the corner. Sir Brennan was stationed outside the door of the meeting room. 

His eyes landed on Kit immediately, his eyes narrowing.

Kit hesitantly walked up to him.

“What are you up to?” Brennan asked, voice level.

“I, uh, there was a maid in my room earlier.”

Brennan waited.

“I was wondering what he was called.”

Brennan thought to himself. “Redhead?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like David. Why do you want to know about the staff?”

Stars, couldn’t he just ask a simple question?

“Wouldn’t you like to know who’s been in your space?” he asked, defensive.

“Alright, alright. That makes sense, and I’m sorry,” said Brennan, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Kit shifted. “Is Mistress going to be finished soon?”

Brennan shook his head. “Public works likes to drag things out. You know how it is.”

Kit did not know how it was, but he nodded along anyway. 

“You could probably go rescue her, if you wanted. They’ll probably cut it short if you interrupt.”

“You don’t think she’ll mind?”

Brennan shrugged. “The dam project has been finalized for weeks. I doubt it’s a productive meeting. Go ahead.”

Kit slipped into the room, and people turned to look at him.

Iris was sitting across from the door, at the head of the large table. Kit edged around the room.

“What is it, Kit?”

“Um,” Kit glanced at the other people around the table. “I need to talk to you about something,” he said quietly.

“Alright, can it wait a minute?”

Kit nodded minutely, and sat on the floor, tucking his legs underneath him. Iris’s hand came to rest on his head. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and it felt really nice.

___________________

Iris waited until they were long gone to speak up.

“So what’s going on?”

Kit sighed a little, his head still leaning against her chair.

“There’s this… maid,” he said. “He’s called David. Someone’s been hurting him.”

Iris paused. “How do you know?” She didn’t doubt Kit, but she needed some evidence that was more than a hunch.

“He’s got these bruises,” Kit explained, “Like he’s been grabbed. I don’t think it’s… uh, nevermind.”

“You don’t think it’s what?”

Kit blushed, a peach pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “You know,” he said, “love marks. He was too scared when I asked. If… if his lover left them and he liked it, he wouldn’t be so frightened.”

Iris’s face grew hot. His word choice, ‘lover’, made her think of scandal and risque novels. It was unintentional on Kit’s part, but it made her flush anyway.

“Right. Of course. Did he tell you who was hurting him?”

“No. He, uh, ran off. I didn’t want to chase him down for answers.”

“Good idea,” she nodded. 

They fell into silence.

“What are you going to do?” asked Kit, quiet.

Iris opened her mouth to respond, but truthfully she didn’t know. She had suspected there was something with the staff for years, but she’d been too busy working to think about what could actually be done.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I’d like to talk to David, but I doubt he’d be willing to. If he won’t tell you what’s wrong, he definitely won’t tell me. And there’s not much I can do to protect him if he refuses to say.”

Kit turned to sit on his knees and face her.

“What if… I talked to him? I could coax him into it,” he offered.

“Are you sure?”

Kit tucked a piece of his hair behind an ear. “I think so. I just need some time alone with him.”

Iris hesitated. “Are you going to use magic?” Kit’s eyes went wide.

“No! I wouldn’t, I pro-”

Iris held up a hand. “No need for promises,” she said, the tingling air calming down. “Just be careful, okay?”

Kit nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso

[neonbrutalism]

RIP Dead Guy (working title)

Unfinished WIP time.... there's a lot more to this but too many scene gaps to post officially, so here's the first bit for the Tumblrerers.

(Speculative Post-BTSV in which Miguel O'Hara of Earth 928B dies saving the multiverse and defeating the Spot. The Society is in mourning and the Spider-Gang is forced to reckon with their feelings. Complicating matters is that Peter's brought back another Miguel from the multiverse who is obviously not comfortable with how they're projecting all this on to him.)

Why hadn’t Miguel put a chair at his work station? 

Peter cracked his back and peered again at the the symbols on the glowing, orange screens, trying to make sense of whatever organizational system Miguel was using. 

Had used.

Dammit.

He didn’t want to bother LYLA anymore with this. She’d been subdued for weeks – well, almost everyone had been – and Peter wasn’t sure how long AI took to mourn. She did her scans and ran numbers, sure, but it was all without any … snap. 

Peter didnt think she was, well, aware enough to grieve… but he also didn’t think Miguel would put her mourning his death in to her programming. Hell, Peter was pretty sure Miguel wouldn’t have wanted anyone to mourn him at all, the stupid, stubborn, broken bastard. If only Peter had moved faster, had recognized what was about to happen…

But maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. He saw Miguel’s face at that last moment, before…

There was nothing else for it.

“Hey, LYLA?” 

“Yes, Peter?” LYLA appeared next to him, expression unnaturally blank. 

“Sorry to … bother you? I’m just trying to, uh—“ Peter gestured at the orange screens, “I can’t make webs or tails of this.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction. None came. Miguel wouldn’t have reacted either.

“Anyway, uh, I keep seeing this symbol on certain earths? Looks like a… U?”

“A closed eye,” said LYLA, “After the incident, Miguel cut off any viewing access to mapped earths with… other versions of himself.”

“… Oh,” said Peter, slowly,”I guess he, what, didn’t want the temptation?”

LYLA’s eyes narrowed at Peter, “If you think it would have been tempting for him after what hapoened, you didn’t know him as well as you think you did.”

“Uh. Sorry?”

“Is that all, Peter?”

“Yeah, uh. I guess so. Th—“

LYLA vanished before he could finish thanking her.

Peter shook the interaction off and returned to the screen. He touched the closed-eye symbol. The system pop-up counted 793 locked earths. More than Peter was expecting – but maybe that wasn’t a crazy number, since there seemed to be tens or even hundreds of thousands of Peter Parkers. Had Miguel locked them all manually, or had LYLA done it automatically as their map of the multiverse expanded? 

In the corner of the pop up, there was an Unlock All button. 

He shouldn’t. 

Miguel had once told him, when he asked about seeing versions of Aunt May or Harry, that the only thing that spending time watching the dead live without you in another world was good for was torturing yourself.

Ha. Maybe if Peter had remembered to point out the irony if him saying that, Miguel wouldn’t have…

Fuck it. Whatever. Miguel wasn’t here to tell Peter not to. Miguel was just a miserable, guilt-ridden, self-loathing, dead hypocrite and… and Peter wanted to see his friend again.

He pressed the lock. There was a buzz of haptic feedback and all at once, the eye icons blinked open and Peter found himself looking at dozens of versions of a dead man’s face. 

Plenty of them were scowling, wiping blood off their faces after pulling their masks off or boredly picking at paperwork in an office or laboratory. Mostly they were just familiar in a way that felt like a punch in the gut. Stretched all the way out, slouching in a chair looking crabby or curled in with their hands hooked around the back of their necks, poorly dealing with some emotion or stress or another. Some of them, though, looked … happy. Or, at least they looked happier than Peter had ever seen Miguel, outside of those few weeks he’d spent with Gabriella. He didn’t see any versions of her, though. But still, at least there were some versions that weren’t alone.

One Miguel was standing looking out of a large broken window, expression dark and triumphant while a pretty, asian woman in a lab coat and inexplicably a pair of high top sneakers from 1993 curled her arm around his waist and smiled. Peter decided he didn’t want to know what they looked so happy about. 

A teenaged version of Miguel and a girl – maybe a younger version of that woman in the lab coat – with her hair in purple pom-poms, sat in a bedroom. The girl pulled out a box from under her bed, revealing what looked to be a lot of ancient Star Trek merchandise, smiling like she was a little embarrassed. Peter pushed that node aside too, he didn’t want to intrude on that.

A pink haired woman covered in chitin and with a thousand needle teeth hovered in the air on vibrating wasp wings and chatted happily while Miguel in his spider-suit listened, sitting on the edge of a tall building. Behind them, the sky was dark and filled with pistons and girders – Downtown Nueva York.

And speaking of Downtown Nueva York – an explosion caught Peter’s eye. He pulled the node forward – Miguel, in a different mask but it could hardly be anyone else, was fighting, his suit torn and bloody, not flickering with broken light like the suit Peter knew. Someone else – some kind of cyborg or robot, slammed a whirling metal thresher down on the spot Miguel had been lying less than a second earlier. He was losing the fight. 

Okay, calm down, Peter. Miguel was tough and could take a lot of hits  – he just needed a chance to recover. Miguel, no matter the dimension, was perfectly capable of surviving – until he wasn’t. 

Behind the cyborg … A Green Goblin rose up on his glider, bombs in hand. Miguel looked up at the Goblin and Peter was through the portal to Earth 416647 before he could stop himself.

(UNFINISHED FIGHT SCEEEENE!)

Peter stared.

This Miguel looked a little younger — or maybe just got more sleep. He was less gaunt, less haunted. Less like he hadn’t eaten or drank in weeks. His hair was little reidder, messy from his mask, curls hanging over his forehead. He had a small scar across his upper lip that the original Miguel hadn’t had either.

Peter realized he’d been staring too long only when Miguel took an awkward step back from him and exchanged a quick, nervous look with the now unmasked Green Goblin. He looked a lot like Miguel too.

Oh… this was Gabriel — his brother. Miguel had mentioned him once or twice. Peter was pretty sure the Original Miguel’s brother was dead — but then again, he’d never really asked.

“Uh — sorry, I’m. Spider-Man.”

“We know,” said Miguel.

“You said that already,” said Goblin.

Peter was struck with a terrible idea. One of his worst. But … the society hadn’t been the same in the past few weeks. A dark cloud had come over it and Peter wasn’t sure how to get it to pass. The fact was, nervous breakdown in the last couple of days notwithstanding, just about everyone had liked Miguel. He’d been their leader, he’d taken care of them and listened and tried to help them. They’d all loved him … 

Not that Miguel would have ever believed that in a hundred years.

But without Miguel, things were kind of falling apart. Not literally, LYLA ran the place like clockwork, but emotionally. Miguel could de-escalate petty arguments and fights that broke out better than any Peter Parker could (because most of the arguments involved at least one other Peter Parker). But now, arguments festered, problems went unresolved and still, every time that Peter went to the cafeteria, he almost picked up some empanadas before he remembered himself.

Maybe … a familiar face would help everyone move on? Or at least return a sense of normalcy until people got used to the idea that Miguel, their Miguel, was gone.

“Right! Right – um,” shit, how had Miguel done this ‘I’m from another dimension’ shpiel? “I’m from another dimension! I’m part of a – uh, strike team? Thing? It’s a few hundred other Spider-People and we travel around the multiverse to help people! And stop anomalies — wait, no, we don’t do that anymore. So just the helping people. That’s why I came to help you fight — well I guess you didn’t need help, you two weren’t fighting – but it’s cool! We have a headquarters! And a cafeteria and a gym. Just … amenities. You should come check it out. Miguel should – uh. No offense, Mr. Goblin, but a Spider-Society is kind of. Spider-centric.”

“Wow,” said Gabriel in a familiar flat tone, “I’m devastated but I think I’ll survive.” 

“Pass,” said Miguel. He turned to leave. 

“Wait!” said Peter, “I’m underselling it. I promise, it’s … really cool. Super elite.”

Miguel raised a skepical eyebrow, “Super elite with ‘a couple hundred’ people?”

“There’s a bazillion different universe, so I mean, it’s all relative.”

Miguel pulled his mask back down over his face, “Yeah, still pass.”

Miguel fwizzed a strand of web (pale, organic, not like the glowing orange Peter was familiar with) to the upper corner of the building and the Goblin kicked his glider’s power on. 

“Wait! Please!” said Peter, his voice breaking a little, “just – just come see it? And then you can come right back! Please?”

The lenses on Miguel’s mask squinted at Peter and then he sighed, “Fine. Okay – Gabri, will you tell Xina I’m …” 

“Being kidnapped by a time traveller?” 

“Dimensional traveller.”

“Whatever,” said Miguel, waving his brother off, “I’ll be home later.”

Gabriel gave a lazy salute and sped off on his glider.

Peter opened the portal to 928.

Miguel — this new, other Miguel — eyed it suspiciously, then stepped through.

[forgottenyear]

It is not necessary for me to understand every detail of our system. But it is interesting, all the same. It is not like this post will prevent me from writing about something more pertinent, since I have nothing more pressing to write about at this time.

We are drawn to organizational structures. It is a facet of who we are. The organization of our system is an intriguing puzzle.

--

The unfused part appears to be the constant. I have no certainty about if this holds true with Angela, but only because I have no access to the bulk of her memories.

I am not aware of access to the unfused parts memories, but I was also unaware they were a part until relatively recently in the life of the body. I am not aware of when they front or how often, except in rare cases. It is well within the realm of possibility that I have access, but I am not aware that I am accessing their memories instead of my own.

I also do not have access to more than a few of Angela’s memories. Given the unknowns around the chemicals put into us by others (so they could exploit the body), I have assumed memories were interrupted in their biochemical formation.

There is a big difference between the few memories I have of her time, and the absolute nothingness of the unfused part’s times in front. But, Angela’s memories more closely resemble the unfused part’s as far as my access goes.

--

Speaking of memories, the boy is also a part. I have access to more memories from them than the others. But if I use a different measure, that of percentage of memories related to time in front, maybe there is no difference – between the boy and the girl parts, that is.

--

Now that I have got this far, only tangentially touching on the intended thread of this post, I need to think about “my own” memories.

My childhood consists of memories of all that was unique or interesting or fun. If I am correct in assuming I am the child part (from the “execrable list,” as I call it, that someone wrote in our early scrawl), it kind of makes sense that these would more likely be my personal memories from the time.

It makes sense that a child would be co-present for our adventures on the farms, or that I would love that we had a vice principle in primary school that everyone called Mrs. Crabapple (she was nearly as old as the three story school building that had to be retrofitted with the current fads of indoor plumbing and electricity, and she likely graduated from the local “normal school,” which later became a large part of the state’s university system) because Bart Simpson’s teacher was also Ms. Crabapple.

It makes sense that a child would remember sledding in the sandpits that always ended with someone sliding too far and going into their respective brooks.

I have assumed that my memories were just sanitized memories lifted from the boy part’s collection, but this post has given me back my memories because I was more likely co-conscious at these times. The memories are not scrubbed of unpleasantness because those are the moments when I was not present.

The boy has his memories of these times, but although understandably similar, mine are not necessarily his.

Why was this not obvious from the beginning?

And it also makes more sense, now, that my memories do not have the unbearable hopelessness that theirs do. I assumed they were moments when we forgot to feel hopeless, but this was an unconvincing argument, given how oppressive and pervasive their hopelessness is. Figuratively speaking, there is no sunlight in their memories. (Have you ever seen “Dark City?”)

--

Anyway, that is my description of how our system is organized. Or, it would have been, had I not stumbled onto a more productive tangent.

[imsparky2002]

Batraculous: Secretary Bat

Character Name: Dorothy "Dot" Waverly

Miraculous Hero Name: Secretary Bat

Appearance: Dorothy, known as Secretary Bat, possesses a distinct and organized appearance. Her curly, shoulder-length black hair frames her face with precision, reflecting her meticulous nature. She has a medium dark complexion that complements her striking amber eyes. Dot's tall and curvy build gives her a commanding presence. Her sense of style is preppy, but she never shies away from accessorizing, adding a touch of flair to her outfits.

Bio: Dot, who prefers she/her pronouns, serves as the dedicated secretary of the school's student council. For her, order and organization are sources of inner peace. Everything she owns is meticulously labeled, and she maintains an acute filing system for all her schoolwork. Dot is known for her friendly and helpful nature, especially to her close friend Sabrina. However, it's best to keep your distance before she's had her morning coffee. She takes pride in having things under control and excels at problem-solving for her friends, but she can also admit when she's in over her head.

Batsuit Description: Secretary Bat's batsuit is a testament to her orderly and efficient personality, with colors and design elements that reflect her role as a secretary.

Cowl: Her cowl is designed with a sleek and modern look, resembling a professional headset microphone. It features a high-tech visor with a heads-up display, allowing her to analyze information quickly and stay updated on the situation. The visor can also translate various languages, making her a valuable asset in communication during akuma attacks.

Cape: The cape of her batsuit is a deep shade of navy blue, reminiscent of a classic business suit. It flows gracefully behind her, giving her an air of authority and control. The cape is made from a material that provides protection from akuma attacks while maintaining its elegant appearance.

Armor: Dot's batsuit features a form-fitting, dark gray armor with pinstripe detailing, evoking the look of a well-tailored suit. The armor is both lightweight and durable, allowing her to move swiftly and defend herself effectively. It includes pockets and compartments to store essential tools and supplies, adding to her overall efficiency.

Gadgets: Her utility belt is equipped with an array of secretary-themed gadgets. This includes specialized adhesive notes that can be used to leave messages, create distractions, or even immobilize akumas temporarily. Dot also carries a bat-shaped pen that doubles as a smoke pellet when needed, creating a smokescreen for quick escapes or to obscure the vision of akumas.

Secretary Bat's batsuit not only embodies her organizational skills but also enhances her ability to manage chaotic situations. With her dedication to order and her resourceful nature, she plays a vital role in the battle against akumas in Paris, ensuring that everything is well-coordinated and efficiently handled.

Thank you to ChatGPT for assistance. Make sure to reblog, reply, post and ask for more. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[electricbluebutterflies]

jessica reorganizes the library, leto decides to keep her company

Choice-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It is for the best, Jessica decides, if she develops some harmless eccentricities.

A project in some relatively neglected part of the complex will do. The library is… possibly haunted, from some of the rumors she’s heard, but so are all of her other viable options, and at least there was nothing morbid in there last time she looked, and-

No one has actively paid attention to the space in decades. It’s perfect.

If she were in a different mood, she’d accept this for the nesting instinct that it is, pregnancy hormones already starting to throw her off-balance and… oh, she won’t let that become anyone else’s problem, she can’t, but-

Might as well be productive. Might as well direct these emotions in a direction that won’t bother anyone too much.

Presumably, at some point, some masochistic idiot from some long-snipped cadet branch of the family must’ve made a detailed record of what’s where, all these unnecessary paper formalities turned prized relics; presumably, that person has been dead for decades if not centuries and didn’t bother to leave an explanation of their organizational system anywhere findable, but Jessica is understimulated enough to start looking and if not she has thoughts on how she wants to do this, if not-

She’s fated for madness one way or another, she’s starting to suspect. Might as well get it over with before her son is born.

Endless minutes of sorting through drawers gives her nothing useful beyond a suspicion that nothing interesting has ever been left here and the annoying discovery that a few of her partner’s ancestors had questionable handwriting, so she decides she might as well start with… oh, from the looks of it a few people have tried to organize things here, different sections with different logic, some make sense but whomever tried to color-code had something wrong with them and-

Her frustration turns to pacing, one two three four five six twirl, and this project is going to take years if she actually does anything with it, and she won’t have that kind of time in a few months, she won’t allow herself to have that kind of time, she won’t-

She wonders what kind of life she’s bringing this child into, really. Ignore the cosmic details of it all for a moment, ignore the fact that she has rebelled as dramatically as possible… it’ll still be better than her own childhood, if that word ever applied. At least her son will always know love. At least-

The door opens, and she twirls a step earlier than she otherwise would, and this better be important or else-

“You’re here.”

Jessica is trying to be a better domestic partner, so help her, but the eyeroll is instinctive. “That’s… surprising?”

Her partner has comforting defaults too, an expression she’s learned to interpret as equal parts fascinated and concerned. “That you’re either that bored or that desperate to avoid someone or something…”

“First option,” she murmurs, taking a few steps closer. “I can’t eavesdrop all day.”

“Guard mentioned you’d wandered this way and I wasn’t sure…”

“You’re always so sweet when you’re not sure what you’re accusing me of.” Almost playful, almost normal, almost-

“Not where I meant to start, but should I?”

She adores him, she thinks sometimes, this man who understands some of their boundaries but not all of them. Affection even when he isn’t sure which side of the line they’re on, and she knows she’s the only person who can see through to the uncertainty otherwise hidden so well, all these secrets she keeps for the both of them and-

“I am just physically miserable enough to stay out of trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

“Usually when you say that…”

“Nothing anyone could prove,” she finishes, because she has to, because one more layer of her perfection. “But not since…”

“I wouldn’t have thought that a change in condition would be enough to limit you.”

“You have no idea what I’m feeling right now.” Another eyeroll for emphasis, and this would be more fun if they were closer but the physical distance may be for the best. “Too much effort to stay functional. I’ll be back to my normal adventures in six months and you’ll miss me like this.”

He glances away for a moment, like he’s well aware that there is no appealing response that won’t end with him sleeping alone, like-

“I’m not sure this… whatever you’re doing is an improvement.”

“I’m organizing,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Or at least that was the plan, but I have to figure out the logics of at least three different past attempts first and-“

“That matters because…”

“Curiosity. Keeps me out of trouble. Isn’t that what you want?”

He’s quiet for almost a few heartbeats too long, quiet like-

“Is it alright if I stay?”

“You’re that bored or desperate to avoid someone?”

“Why do you always assume-“

Enough with this distance, Jessica decides, taking a few steps forward and putting her hands on her partner’s shoulders. “Because it’s been accurate just often enough to make me think-“

“Not avoiding anyone,” he murmurs. “But concerned you’ve been avoiding me.”

Well. That’s a new one.

She hasn’t, she wants to say, at least not consciously, she’s just… trying not to be any more difficult than she has to be, in these few remaining months of relative quiet before all chaos breaks loose, and bracing for the potential end of the world takes energy she apparently doesn’t have midway through a pregnancy that’s just overwhelming enough to make sure her son will be an only child, and-

“You’d know if I was,” she says, and it would be so easy to lace her voice with a little of her power to make her point and she wonders if this might be a good enough exception to her personal rules. “I’m talking to you. I’m touching you. Does that look like avoidance, love?”

“I can never tell with you.”

She leans in and takes a heartbeat of a kiss. “Does that, then?”

“If I say your affection worries me even more and I can’t figure out what you want…”

“Do I have to want something?”

“You usually do.”

In a different mood, it would be easy to escalate this into a fight she might even win; in this one…

“I am trying to give calm while I still can,” she murmurs, and she knows how perfectly that sounds like programming she’s gotten better at fighting but it’s still real. “While we still-“

“I don’t understand why you think our child is some harbinger of-“

“That explanation is so far above anything you’d ever understand and I’m not even trying to-“

“You still did it. I know you have enough power to… prevent such things. Some part of you clearly believes that whatever fate you’re scared of isn’t inevitable, and-“

“More like some part of me is too deeply in love with you to care,” she breathes, and there it is, there is her recklessness put out into the open, there is everything she should be ashamed of and-

Her partner shifts his body around hers, arms around her back to stabilize her, always this space for her, how quickly he learned to handle the rare occasions she displays emotion and-

“Do you trust me?”

“How can you ask such a question when I-“

“Please. Answer.”

“More than anything.”

“Then trust that we will find a way, together, whatever happens, whether your paranoia is accurate this time or…”

She wants to. She wants so much. She’s not sure one ordinary human man could ever be enough to protect her, but the thought is so tempting and-

“Is it enough to say that I will try as I can?”

“More than I expected you would,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the side of her face.

“You have such little faith in me?”

“More the opposite, but I do think I know you, and-“

“And I still have the power to surprise you whenever it pleases me,” she finishes. “Understood.”

There is no need to talk for that, no need for anything but the comfort of an embrace and an understanding that the outside world can wait and-

They’ll find a way. He’d sounded so confident. Maybe she can learn to believe.

[the-capt0r-system]

Really high stress this week has taken a toll on us, but it’s been good practice for working on our inter communication. Around the end of June I (S) realized our little has not only been neglected by the people claiming to love her, but by my crazy ass as well. Bought her the weighted blanket and have been trying to make time for her hobbies and letting her be sad but the idea of her even being there in my chronologically adult body made me so uncomfortable at first, I wasn’t sure how to “switch” and was trying to avoid it out of embarrassment. Not that simple though, I’m guessing.

I saw a post on here about “unintentionally hogging front all the time” and that’s definitely been the case for the last few months and it was probably necessary in order to show the people around us that I live up to the title of protector. However it’s not always intentional. I have been recording myself speaking and have noticed a few times where I begin as the youngest and “end up” as me. My leading theory about L, our usual host, is that she’s something called polyfragmented and has been creating slightly different versions of “the same alter” for the last 10 years or so. I stepped in around then though and told her to start calling herself a different name sometimes and I guess started to front for the first time. IDK something was off about her first girlfriend and I was angry lol. I’m also the courage we had to stand up to my homophobic mother at all and come out as a “lesbian” “tomboy” so maybe that’s why I felt I could start fronting.

Right now it feels, who knows if I’m right, like I (S) can communicate better with our little than L was ever able to. I may be the mean one but I’m also the one who will just get things done, while L is usually content to stall. In retrospect they were both always there though, we just couldn’t really distinguish ourselves and thought we were experiencing a “normal” shifting of emotions or something. L and our little are in touch more than I thought, hence L’s interests and media tastes perhaps being somewhat juvenile at times, and all the crying. But I really want to work on us being more separate personalities at least for now for organizational purposes, so we can work our way back through some of the amnesia and trauma that got us here.

My biggest worry is having to all explain this to like anyone ever. It’s necessary if I ever want to be a person in the world again. I know two people who might be okay with all of it at this point. But even they might leave if I were to tell them just how aggressively protective I’ve (S) become due to the stress lately.

I know there are other systems out there. The prospect of meeting one or any is terrifying, but also probably necessary at this point.

Oh, and we’re legally changing our name for sure. Not just a spare thought, when I think about it. I’ve been considering it off and on for years, just couldn’t commit. Too autistic to just like respect that you just get the name that’s given to you. It would slap and make more sense if we could pick our own

[dxarin]

not your mother.

@dxemi

being a glorified adult babysitter was not the life arin had ever imagined for herself. admittedly, there was always some nurturing instinct in her, the desire to care for the people around her the strongest pull she's ever felt in her life. she just assumed that maybe she'd become a nurse, or a teacher, or fit into some other traditionally feminine caretaker type of role. arin never had big or grand plans for her future, no south side girl ever does, but she certainly never envisioned her professional life would include reminding an adult woman to take her meals on time. or at least relatively close to on time.

emi is... eccentric. arin has long since learned not to project her own ideas of how to be an adult human on the artist. it doesn't totally prevent irritation, though. she's grateful for the job, even though she always assumed that a personal assistant would be more of taking calls and scheduling meetings than practically parenting the strange little artist who would become so engrossed in her work that she'd lose all sense of basic human functions. it's not the first time arin has entered the woman's apartment, keying in the code she knows just as well as her own home's, to the telltale mess that emi is absorbed by a new project. she's careful not to bump or move any stray sketches or supplies as she picks her way through the mess, knowing by now that emi's organizational system will only ever make sense to the artist herself. arin has long given up trying to make sense of anything else.

"you haven't eaten since the last time i've been here, have you?" arin sighs, drawing emi's attention away from her work, at least for the moment. "come here and clear a spot at the table. i'm not going to do it right and you need a space to eat." she really sounds like emi's mother, doesn't she? arin even gets annoyed with herself. "whatever you're working on can wait ten minutes. it's not like it's going to get up and run away." well, with emi's powers, isn't that sort of a possibility? arin doesn't want to put the idea in the woman's head. or make a bigger mess of the apartment with runaway artwork dripping ink all over the place.

[internationalrealestatenews]

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[tonyglowheart]

same anon about the chinese terms; i keep thinking clan = extended family. wwx is adopted right? cause i keep thinking that by how fandom does it and the clan term says that's right to my brain

Nooooo think of this more like a feudal system (I don't know historical fuedal systems well enough dont quote me) or like... idk, Game of Thrones, everyone knows game of thrones now right? I don’t know Game of Thrones either, just imagine a... game of thrones-esque setting

So you have the Clan, right, and the main family of the clan? the uhh what are they, the starks, the lannisters, the whoever else. You have the main family at the center of that. But then you also have all sorts of servants and soldiers and retainers and whatever. In a feudal system you have knights and stuff. They all technically “belong with” the clan/are under the banner of the main family, but are not literally members of the family, are not adopted into the main family tree, etc. A royal companion of a royal heir in real life history, for example, could even be raised alongside the heir, attend the same classes, participate in the same activities, and they could be close as brothers. But the royal companion does not become the literal adopted sibling of the royal heir. It’s like how you might be friends with your boss, and they might consider you like family, but while the boss-employee relationship exists they’re still your boss, and there’s still that power dynamic & positional difference there.

“Traditionally,” or like, in what can be considered established xianxia/wuxia canon, you have cultivation sects that are more like apprenticeship or... guilds I guess? I only know vaguely about historical guilds, so I’m more borrowing their idea than quoting them exactly. You have masters and you have apprentices, and journeymen, etc, and apprentices can hone their still and “go up in rank” so to speak, work their way up to being a full master in the guild. It’s an organizational grouping that creates close bonds but is not necessarily a family in the nuclear family sense or like the family tree or clan sense. But MDZS cultivation families are structured much more like nobility/gentry, even if they came from humble origins, where you have the whole... core family + also the accompanying people who are under the family’s banner and thus “part of the Clan” as far as considering the clan as like, a political organization also goes. But not literal adoption into the family. 

Within wuxia/xianxia, sect-mates are actually considered more marriagable prospects than outsiders, and a lot of the romances in the dramas might be about a shixiong and a shimei or whatever. (If you think about them as a professional collective that does have close personal bonds, like a guild might, then it makes sense; you spend a lot of time around these people so you know them well already, plus if your sect has proprietary techniques you would keep that inside the sect. it’d be like if you had a childhood sweetheart, like in PotC with Will Turner and Elizabeth Swan). 

“Wei Wuxian is adopted” is the absolute Anglophone myth of the century and the bane of my existence lmao, because he’s NOT. People use it to discourse about all sorts of things and justify all sort of other things, but his standing in relation to the Jiang family is much more nuanced and complicated than “he’s adopted.” He’s a cultivator, so he’s not just a normal servant, and he’s also the head disciple, plus he can be considered, at the very least, a sort of “royal companion” to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli even, so he does have an advanced place compared to your average Yunmeng Jiang disciple. But, like how in PotC Will was raised alongside Elizabeth, that doesn’t make them automatically adopted. Even Jiang Yanli declaring Wei Wuxian her did doesn’t mean that he is, or that he is to her, per se. Before anyone throws rocks at me - I’m not saying she doesn’t consider him like a brother, or that they’re not close. But that assertion had a very specific purpose. As mentioned, your sect-mates are actually considered to be very marriagable prospects, and Madam Jin was suggesting it would be improper for Jiang Yanli to be alone with Wei Wuxian, who is considered a potential prospect for her. Jiang Yanli’s assertion that Wei Wuxian is her didi stops the reasoning behind the suggestions of impropriety in its tracks. But that doesn’t mean she considers him literally adopted into her whole family tree, it’s not getting into that territory, it’s an interpersonal declaration between her and WWX. It also doesn’t then automatically mean that JC should see WWX as a brother in a literal adopted sense either, which I’ve seen some people argue lmao.

Plus, if Wei Wuxian were adopted, his name most likely should have changed and he should have the Jiang name; if MXTX had decided that WWX were actually adopted but kept his own name, then MXTX should have made a note about it, like she did with Madam Yu. It’s the kind of thing that’s like, you would expect it to be remarked on at least, like it should be lampshaded if nothing else.

So, yes a clan kind of would be an extended family usually, but I thiiink even in historical terms, the like retainers or generational servants would be considered as “belonging to” the Clan, since a Clan is also kind of a political organization as well socially speaking, especially if we’re talking about nobility or landed gentry, but not literally part of the family tree - main or otherwise.

Add to that, that in MDZS, MXTX plays around with clan & the idea of a cultivation collective/organization, so a clan functions both as a clan (family), clan (political), and clan (cultivation organization organized around the schools of cultivation established the founding families).

Maybe a good example? Think of Gusu Lan. They make very clear the distinction of “inner disciple” and “outer disciple.” They all belong to Gusu Lan, but “inner disciples” - i.e. members of the family tree who can trace their ancestry to Lan An, are differentiated from outer disciples, who are part of the clan, but that doesn’t make them adopted into the family tree. Lan Sizhui, who IS adopted into the family line/tree/lineage, has both the Lan name and the cloud-scroll forehead ribbon.

Wei Wuxian being adopted actually would have made things even more complicated for YMJ imo lmao, and I think YMJ/JC would have had to do more extreme stuff to buy back into being deemed “proper” or pious by society or by like, Confucian(?) standards after WWX went rogue, and also he’d have more social obligation to eradicate WWX and his work in order to like regain honor for the family & sect. If he’d been adopted, then YMJ would have been much more closely tied to WWX, and like WWX “defecting” already is still seen as partly YMJ’s responsibility/fault, either for like... idk not bringing him up right, or for cultivating a snake in their midst, and so it’d be their responsibility to “clean up their mess” so to speak. If WWX had been adopted, he might well have carried YMJ down with him too when he chose to defect, much like how the main branch of Qishan Wen carried the whole extended clan down with them. 

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 22 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

helloooooo besties and happy Saturday! 

Read previous chapters of this fic here! 

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence and death

wordcount: 1.9k 

You're passing the diamond on your chain between your fingers anxiously a few days later as you and Spencer pour over a map on the jet. You’re headed to Colorado after a family annihilator had struck twice in the same small Denver suburb. The whole town was on alert, and you needed to solve this one fast before the whole state devolved into hysteria. Hotch decided on the jet to send you, Reid and JJ to the precinct-- you and Reid will keep working on the geographic profile, and JJ will coordinate local law enforcement. He, Morgan and Emily are headed to the neighborhood to see if any of the locals had noticed anything off. 

“There has to be a connection to this specific suburb. Why come ten miles outside of Denver when the city, or even a closer suburb, would be a more target-rich environment?” You floated an idea past Spencer, who nodded in agreement. 

“You think he sought out these families in particular?” He asked, turning his attention to the pictures on the whiteboard. 

“Not necessarily. Garcia’s still looking for a connection between the families, but so far she hasn’t found one. I think these two families were practice for something worse, or for a family that matters more to him.” You conclude, hoping more than ever that you had profiled wrong. 

“If that’s the case, our presence here might trigger the unsub to escalate,” he points out with a grimace. 

“Or, hopefully, it will send him into hiding.” 

“We’ll never find him if he does that.” 

“We’re gonna have to.” You sigh, pulling your attention back towards the map. You pour over it, certain that if you look just a little closer, the answer will jump out at you, but it doesn’t. 

Geographic profiles are always helpful, and you and Spencer were great at them, but they rarely solved cases on their own. The reality of the situation is that without any info on the unsub or the connection between the victims, you were essentially trying to create something out of nothing. You push your chair out from the table, deciding to give your mind and your eyes a break, when your phone starts to ring. It’s Garcia.

“Oh, you’re just my favorite person.” You said into the phone by way of greeting, hoping that she’s going to present you with the missing piece that will make all of these seemingly unrelated pieces of information make sense together.

“Careful, peach! There’s someone else on the line who might object to that,” Garcia warns you. 

“What do you have for us, Penelope?” Aaron asks.

“So, the Sutton and Mack families have more in common than we thought-- not so much socioeconomically, but their kids were both enrolled at the local high school, although different ages, and the moms were on the PTA together.” 

“Were they friends? The kids, or the moms for that matter?” You ask immediately. 

“It doesn’t really look like it, but I’m going to keep digging,” she tells you. 

“And no connection between the fathers?” Hotch asks.

“Nope, Mr. Sutton was an attorney and Mr. Mack was a cab driver. Doesn’t seem like they ever would have met.” She tells you both. 

“Garcia, do me a favor and make sure Mr. Sutton wasn’t in Mr. Mack’s cab within the last month or so. Let us know when you have more.”

“Oh, sir, before you both go, there’s one more thing.” She blurts out before Aaron can hang up the phone.  “It’s about Josh.” 

You take a sharp breath in, and Spencer’s in tune to you immediately, his head jerking up from the maps, looking you over to make sure you’re okay. 

“What is it?” Hotch asks, sounding every bit as tense as you feel. 

“Josh was arrested this morning. Busted for possession during a traffic stop,” She tells you and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“That’s… that’s great news.” You say.

“I thought you’d both like to know.” Garcia tells you.

“Anything else?” Hotch asks, and you're perplexed by his lack of response to such a good update. 

“No, that’s all for now. I’ll call you back as soon as I have more on the case.” She says, and the line clicks.

“What was that about?” Spencer asks, bringing you back to reality, and you share the info from Garcia about the victims. You can tell that he knows that there’s more, but he doesn’t press and you don’t offer. 

“If both the kids and the moms knew each other, we could be looking at a bullied kid or a woman scorned.” You theorize. 

“A woman wouldn’t kill the kids, at least not a mother. And if the woman wasn’t from the PTA, why target these moms in particular?” Spencer argues, and you agree. 

“Could be a man, too. Maybe he’s jealous that he doesn’t have the picture-perfect family he’s destroying.”

‘That’s more likely. Although with nothing connecting two husbands, we’ll have a hard time profiling a man if that’s the case.”

“Okay, so for now we focus on the kids until we find something that pulls us another way. You want to take the Macks and I’ll work on the Suttons?” 

“Will do.”    

You work in silence for a couple more hours until Hotch, Morgan and Emily return. 

“Anything helpful?” JJ asks, coming into the room behind them. 

“The moms were friendly, but not necessarily friends. The kids mostly hung out in separate social circles, it seems.” Morgan informs you all. 

“Any obvious power imbalances between the kids groups, or bullying?” You asked. 

“None that any of the kids we interviewed brought up.” Emily tells you. 

“None of the moms mentioned it either-- and they’d be more likely to bring it up than the kids would.” Aaron tells you. 

“So we’ve got a whole lot of nothing.” JJ concludes, and you sigh. 

You all continue to work for a few more hours-- putting together profiles of each of the members of the families that ultimately bring you no closer to finding the unsub. 

“We’ll be back here first thing tomorrow morning-- there’s nothing else we can do tonight.” Hotch concludes as he pins the last index card to the cork board. “Let’s head to the hotel and get some rest.” 

Despite the exhaustion that has soaked its way deep into your bones, you and the rest of the team pull yourselves out of your chairs and towards the SUVs. You nearly sink into the leather, and if he wasn’t such a stark professional, you might have asked him to carry you up to your hotel room.  He did, however, offer you a very gentlemanly hand to help you out of the car, and wrap his arm around your waist as the two of you trudged your way into the elevator and down the hall towards your room. You collapse onto the mattress as soon as you make it through the door, and Aaron chuckles at you, taking a moment to brush his teeth and change. When he settles on top of the covers next to you, you speak up, although hadn’t really intended to do so.

“Aaron, can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask me anything, my love,” Aaron mumbles like it’s the easiest thing in the world as he leans over to set the hotel alarm clock that sits on the bedside table. 

“When Garcia told us that Josh was arrested… you didn’t seem happy.” You said, decidedly not a question. He answers you anyway, shifting towards you to look you in the eye before he speaks up. 

“I’m sorry honey. I’m relieved, of course I am. I was just focused on the case this morning. Maybe I haven’t fully processed it yet,” he confesses. “But of course I’m happy for you. I would have been happier to arrest him myself, but this is just as well.” He tells you with a rueful smirk. 

He’s lying, and you can see it in his face. Maybe lying is a strong word, but there is definitely more to it than he’s telling you. “You’re sure? There’s nothing else that’s bothering you?” You pushed, but he shook his head, looking down at his lap.

“I’m sure, doll. I really am happy. We’ll take Jack out when we get home to celebrate.” He tells you, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Maybe a bike ride and some ice cream? I haven’t been out on the bike with him since he got his training wheels off.” You suggested. 

“Sounds perfect,” he tells you, reaching to kiss you again and moving to wrap his arms around you, which you dodged. 

“Get the bed nice and toasty for me while I change,” you smirked, rolling off the mattress and heading towards your suitcase for some pajamas.

You were back at the police station before the sun rose the next morning, pouring over the transcripts of what had come in from the tip line the night before in the hopes that you might find something useful. Your desk looked the same way it used to when you were studying for exams in the academy-- papers and highlighters scattered everywhere, color coordinated page flags littering all of your documents. 

“Cupcake, if I didn’t know any better, I might think you were the serial killer,” Morgan comments with a smirk, setting a hot cup of coffee in a relatively-unoccupied patch of desk. 

“Very funny, Derek.” you rolled your eyes. “I’m only letting you live because you brought me coffee. And because I’m too tired to kick you,” you told him.

“Do you want any help?” He offers, and you smile, but shake your head at him. 

“No, thanks. I’ve got a pretty strict organizational system going on over here, if you hadn’t noticed,” you chuckle. “But you can come to the medical examiner’s office with me in an hour or so?” 

“It’s a date, mama.” He confirms, rapping his knuckles against your desk before going back to his own workspace. You flip through a few more pages, leaving scribbled notes and wayward highlighter in the margins, before you notice something and call Garcia. 

“Good morning, peach! What can I do you for?” Garcia asks in her usual cheery tone, clearly far ahead of you in terms of cups of coffee consumed. 

“Morning,” you say to her. “Listen, something came in through the tip line last night, and it’s probably nothing, but I just have this feeling…” 

“Lay it on me,” she tells you encouragingly. 

“So, Mark Vexper is a long-term sub at the high school where all of the kids went. He didn’t go to work the day after both of the murders. He had a scheduled personal day the first day, and he called in sick the second. Like I said, probably just a coincidence--” 

“No stone left unturned, kitten! I’m on it. Buzz you when I have more.” She says, hanging up unceremoniously.

“Good catch,” Hotch says from behind you, and you startle. 

“It’s probably just a coincidence,” you brush the compliment off. 

“Maybe, but we won’t know until we look into it,” he tells you. “You feeling okay?” He asks. 

“I just really want to catch this guy and get home to our boy.” You tell him, and his heart warms. Looking around surreptitiously, he drops a quick kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Me, too, angel. We’ll get him.” He tells you. 

An unexplainable chill runs up your spine, and you have a strange feeling that Aaron’s not talking about this unsub.

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[bronanlynch]

since I’ve finished aa2, here’s my updated list of lawyers I would (not) want to be a file clerk for (in order of appearance)

phoenix: if he has clients who actually pay him then sure, why not. he does seem a bit disorganized so he could absolutely use someone to help with his files and also nice enough (read: enough of a pushover) that I could use an organizational system that makes sense to me without getting his permission and as long as I gave him the files he needed when he needed them he’d be happy. maybe if I worked there long enough I could convince him that guilty people also deserve fair legal representation. 9/10, but if his only cases are the ones we see in-game then 1/10, I gotta pay my rent somehow but he still gets a pity point

payne: has become more of an asshole since he keeps losing to phoenix and definitely has some absolutely insufferable habit. probably mocks you for not knowing what bates stamping means instead of just telling you what he wants and insists that the copy machine can do it (it can’t). also, a prosecutor :/ 4/10, depends on the benefits but I feel like I can do better

franziska: if she hits me with her whip one (1) time I am quitting and calling up my state attorney general to report her for labor law violations. has absolutely picked up bad filing habits from von karma and refuses to change her ways but at least she always knows where her stuff is and once you’ve learned her system you do too. however, it would stress me out to work for an 18 year old, especially one who reminds me so much of myself at 18. and she’s a prosecutor who only cares abt getting people declared guilty which is not particularly something I’d want to be complicit in. 5/10, would be very skeptical but sometimes you gotta ignore those red flags in this economy

edgeworth: on one hand I’d be pissed if my boss suddenly disappeared without warning. on the other hand at least if I worked for him my employer would technically be the prosecutor’s office so I wouldn’t just straight-up lose my job. post-character development, once he’s chilled out a bit and decided that his job should be abt finding the truth instead of getting guilty verdicts, he might actually be pretty ok to work for. still very Particular abt his files but like. that’s fine at least he’s competent and would respect someone trying to organize his files the way he wants instead of actively making my job more difficult by like. losing shit. bringing shit home and forgetting abt it. handing me illegible scribbled notes and telling me to put it in the case file without giving me any indication of what case it’s for. phoenix might do that to me but miles edgeworth would never. 7/10, as long I still get paid even when he fucks off to europe

bonus! the hypothetical law firms handling the wrongful death/medical malpractice suits from 2-2: listen they have to exist. I think the doctor even mentioned something abt the lawsuits being bad for his business or whatever. anyway. tempting bc that kind of case creates so much fucking paperwork so I would have decent job security. however, long medical records are such a pain and when there are that many people’s medical records to request it would be absolutely miserable. 8/10, maybe civil lawyers are less fucking wild than criminal ones in this universe

(link to my aa1 rankings lmao that game had significantly more lawyers to dunk on)

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 1; establishing grounds. VIBE

"Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You'll find it quite intriguing, funny even... until it starts making sense." You've witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 3277

Themes -> Friends to admirers, slow burn, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 2

Warning -> Blood and injury, decent? amount

The biblical meaning of number 11 comes from one's understanding that it is associated with things that would be considered imperfect, a disorganization of systems, and the disorder or chaos of things. The 11 carries a vibrational frequency of balance. It represents male and female equality. It contains both sun energy and moon energy simultaneously yet holding them both in perspective separate-ness. Perfect balance.

act i. first sighting

The first you've heard and the first you've seen the likes of him was long before you were anyone important in the organizational structure of the Fatui. You were a simple agent making rounds around Snezhnaya's city borders, nothing more, nothing less.

During these parts by the winter forest of Morepesok where time seems slowed down as the snowflakes flutter without urgency, it reminds you of what home feels like, and you felt more free to delve into a sense of relaxation away from other chatters from your co-workers.

You were ready to lean on a tree and just dissociate from the world of stress you had put yourself into— and then you heard a distant cry, accompanied by the pants and howls of wolves. Your body immediately lunged forward, finding your ankles sinking deep into snow as you trudged through the terrain as fast as you can. A child, a literal child somewhere in the forest getting chased by wolves.

When you've arrived by the scene, you registered a tuff of orange hair almost topple you over as they smack into your body, a startled cry eliciting from them as you throw him behind you in quick succession, your polearm manifesting to throw off the wolves that had locked in on the sight of him, "Go! Get out of here!" You urged at the sound of his silence as you carefully swung the first hit on the lunging wolf, being a tad too late to hit it with the edge's blade only for it to be knocked to the side by the shaft. At the sight of the battle you finally relieved a sigh when you heard him and hope that he knows his way back. But your work was not cut yet, you thought as you realized how the pack of four now encircles you with hungry gazes and drooling jaws.

The moments after that was filled with song and dance as you fought hard to overcome the might of four ferocious beasts, the polearm swiftly twirling in your arms to counter attacks from all sides. You twist your arm behind, lodging the tip of your spear in the throat of the wolf before delivering a kick to the head of another one lunging from the front. You made quick work to disengage your spear from the dead wolf, but the two idle wolves had noticed this as they lunged in coordination.

Now bloodied and bruised, exhausted from fatigue and frostbite, your final wolf to slaughter was inches away from your face. Its jaw had locked around your weapon in muffled growls and you can only keep him there with your arms losing its strength. Your blood sprayed around the battlefield of once white snow as the third wolf's sharp canines had lodged itself around your leg before you killed it through a stab.

You humored yourself with a wry laugh at the thought that it would leave a pretty nasty scar. The amount of blood you lost is already taking its toll at your consciousness and the last thing you saw before you finally succumbed to oncoming death was the wolf's awaiting maw, and a prickle of ice.

You only wish then that the kid you saved, only a few years younger than you, had left the forest in safety.

act ii. second assignment

Zapolyarny Palace was a magnificent architecture that towered all other manmade structures in the nation of the Cryo Archon. Now you, the most recent addition to the Harbingers roams these hallways regularly with agents following your trail. Lady Columbina, the 10th Fatui Harbinger, wields a peculiar job within the ranks of the organization.

It was years after the incident in Morepesok on which you came out with a nasty scar on your leg, but a proud Cryo Vision stuck to the side of your torso. When you donned it after the Tsaritsa had called for your presence (she must have sensed the bestowal of the elements) and reported your rounds during that mission, the Cryo Archon's piercing gaze had softened in intensities that washed over your whole soul with the warmth you would not expect of her element. Ever since then she had regarded you with attention to spare, your potential and line of work exposed, and had you easily rising up the ranks at the guidance of the 9th. Despite the gruesome and painful trials you had to go through before you can proudly walk on your own.

The informant by your side had handed you a thick folder earlier and you had been pacing around the hallways the whole time you had been investigating the contents. Said agent feebly and awkwardly following you as if expecting you'd walk away or disregard him for his absence. It was stupid from a bystander's perspective, but you were too focused on work to worry about it.

Well, focused, because you were interrupted by the sounds of clashing and sparring by the quadrangle within the Palace. You stopped your pacing and look up to see a batch of agents training with a few skirmishers in routine. A majority of them easily getting body slammed to the dirt floor in martial combat, and some are working on weaponry. But at the very middle is where your eyes linger with a flash of familiarity—

A tussle of orange hair unhidden by the Fatui hood clashes with a giant of a man, weapons and Vision drawn at the sparring. The agent moves with quick succession, and you can see Pulcinella getting overpowered pretty quickly. As expected of his form, of course, but he still bit back with his delusion now equipped. Cheater, you scoffed to yourself, as the orange-head agent still managed his footing to strike consecutively at the bigger man.

You watched on for a little while longer as the orchestration of the match continued. Your observant eyes clearly noticing how the Harbinger could barely leave the area he had been standing on as he was barraged by blades from every direction, fully defensive. The match ended indefinitely when the Harbinger had noticed you, and quickly ended the match as an escape to his obvious downfall. "Halt," his voice reverberated from the sheer authority it brought and the agent stopped only a few centimeters from slicing the gloved hand in front of him, "We have a guest."

"Hardly," you scoffed at the end of your temporary entertainment as you sauntered over to the edge of the veranda, waving your hand dismissively at the training agents that had kneeled to greet you. With this they all went back to their training away from your side to give the privacy of a talk, except for one person. You can feel his intense stare even if it was hidden behind the standard protocol Fatui mask. You wondered if he had recognized you, "Pulcinella." You nodded.

"Columbina, it has been a while," he made a move to swipe the sweat at his forehead and you murmured an affirmation at his statement. It HAS been a while since you had lingered in the Palace, much less the country. As the head of the information brokers department of the Fatui, you're frequently found in missions beyond the headquarters where you soldier your subordinates in field missions. At this thought, you felt conscious at the fact that you still had your dancer outfit on.

To avert your embarrassment you shifted your attention to the agent with a tilt of your head. You swore you saw him gulp as subtly as he can. "This is Ajax," at the mention of his name, he had bowed his head, hand across his chest in greeting. "He has the potential."

Your mouth formed into an 'o' at the mention of the special word, eyes slightly widening at the intonation as you continued to look at Ajax. When he raised his head to meet yours once again, you found yourself averting in newfound fluster. "You mean to tell me..."

"Yes," the way you gingerly placed a hand to quietly hide the redness of your cheek had Ajax amused, the edge of his mask hiding the slight quirk of his lips. "The Assembly ceremony would be called upon soon."

act iii. 3 pm assembly

The 3 PM Assembly comes before the Dusk Convention which is not the current point of the information. You've only been in it once and it was in a different circumstance, yet your nerves still stayed the same, if not more perfectly hidden than the first occasion.

Ajax, now dubbed Tartaglia alias Childe, stood kneeling by the steps of Your Majesty's throne at the information of his ascension to the ranks of the Harbingers. He was the final piece to the puzzle, and his addition to the ranks meant multiple things. The start of the war against the divine, the Tsaritsa worded after Childe has received his Delusion from Pedrelino.

He almost seemed starstrucked- dazed after the chance meeting of finally seeing the great Tsaritsa face to face. You gulped as the words of the first continues upon mention of his new arc of training in honing his skills and exposure to the ways of the Harbingers. Next to you, in silent and slight comfort, Innamorata simply touched elbows with yours without sparing a glance as she stared straight on. You smiled at the gesture.

"During the phase of your training, you shall be commandered by the Harbinger that had come before you. And she will be your last test to show that you had earned your ascension," Childe followed the trail of Pedrelino's sight as he spun to watch the end of the line up of the Harbingers.

A figure layered with multiple chiffon and flowy cloths and yet seemingly underdressed in the winter nation steps on the red carpet of the throne room, a spear polearm manifesting as she twirls her hand to catch it mid-integration, the action suddenly producing a blast of icy wind enough to reach him and make him stumble.

Childe felt the tingle of excitement twitch his fingers at the apparent power difference. When they both finally made eye contact, masks off and irises laid bare, a petrifying glint of amusement lies within them both. The female offers a toothy grin as she lodges the spear's point into the ground, the metal clanging through the room in piercing reverbs.

"Meet Columbina, the 11th Harbinger, your last mentor."

act iv. counting crows

It had been a while, a very long while, since you had gone stationary in a nation. Much less Snezhnaya. While it is home the removal of your olden routine to put yourself in the shoes of a mentor had really been maddening you, more so with the inclusion of your line of work still in operation and a certain someone as your trainee until who knows how long.

Your brows furrowed as you watch the annoying caws of the crows overhead, four of the black birds making symphony as if to rejoice over your repeated victory. Underneath your thin shoe laid a gasping Childe who was just as irked at the piercing interaction.

You had just finished a 'spar' or what you could call an opportunity of ascension. When you explained to the newest addition as to how his true ascension works (which involves beating your mentor in a fair fight) he had been nothing but a thorn on your side with his repeated requests to spar. He was really, really adamant for a fight, something you had come to realize a day after he ascended to your care.

"Shoot them down," you ordered as the man finally got his grips enough to stand once again, his outfit filled with marks of dirt and obvious footprints from your numerous kicks to make him stay back. At the order he shoots you an amused grin, as if to say 'really?' but succumbed when you continued eye contact.

"Master Columbina," Childe started as his bow and arrow materialized. You knew full well just how inefficient he is when it comes to bows compared to other weapons, and you tasked him such challenge to use it more under your supervision, topping his oath to master it already. "Do you know what four crows mean? I'm not really adept with crowology but I'm pretty sure they have significance in numbers."

The first shot fires and kills one. The action had startled the other birds and they scrambled to flap away, but Childe was already materializing three new arrows to fire at once, this quirked your eyebrows in amusement. Something he noticed and smirked at, eyes still focused as he fires his shots- one missed. "Four crows may mean many things," you watched as he desperately chased the crow with a barrage of arrows and you had to stop yourself from laughing at his failed attempts, "It could mean birth of a male newborn, highly unlikely. Aaand, wealth and prosperity, and finally..."

His arrow finally pierced the poor vertebrate, an emphasized sigh of relief escaping his lips as he whips his head to look at you for affirmation that you had seen his victory. You gave an amused yet soft smile, his eyes twinkled in double-layered delight, "New beginnings."

act v. his siblings

Childe had a mentor once, who fuelled the flame of his reckless spirit through countless beatings and repeated dangerous encounters. When he was given an opportunity of once again being under an official mentor, with his newfound lust for battle, he was extremely ecstatic over the idea. But unfortunately, as he walks around with you through the familiar streets of Snezhnaya, it was not all fun and games as he'd expected it to be.

"You look so disappointed for someone who just received one million mora under their name." Appropriate to the occasion, you don now a traditional Snezhnayan winter attire yet with details that alerts everyone of the price of the genuine fur that's stitched on the edges of the lining. It was over the top since you had developed an immunity.

"I didn't expect being mentored to be a killing machine requires knowing about taxation and interest rates," was his childish grumble. Which received a frosty laugh from you. You had reiterated again and again just how powerful money is to a nation just as information, which Pedrelino and you operate in order. Thankfully Childe was ever so smart to pick things up easily (if it was viewed as a challenge) despite his early recruitment into the Fatui that surely would have hindered his education.

You opened your mouth to reiterate over the fact that perhaps his main concern would be in the issue of debt collection when a scream had resounded through the crowd, one of which belongs to someone Childe would recognize, you thought as you observed how he had perked up and looked around. When his eyes settled on a direction, you suddenly realized a crowd of five coming your way, you immediately took a step away as three younger figures latched onto him and started chatting him up like there's no tomorrow.

You hummed to yourself as you watched with hands intertwined behind your back. From what you can hear and gather, they were his siblings, all five crowds with one probably missing. One seemingly older to the 11th yet not donning the same striking orange hair spots you and offers a sorry smile at the inconvenience, observant, you thought as you flashed a polite smile too. He's probably Andrei, the one who's the same age as you, if you remembered his oversharing correctly.

"Big brother, please join us! We haven't seen you for so long, we're preparing a huge feast for mother and father's anniversary, it would be really good if you can attend!" Wow, these children are really good at bargaining. You can already see Childe's resolve crumbling the more they fluttered their eyelashes with such doe eyes.

Whether a plea for help or look for approval, his ocean orbs had found his way to you, begging that you be at least a considerate Harbinger to offer him this once in a lifetime break. You were about to open your mouth (to let him be, of course, you're not the heartless Harbinger everyone had generalized the ranks to be) when suddenly all six pair of eyes had fallen on you. It wasn't the same tantalizing or spine-wracking gaze the Tsaritsa holds, but the attention made you gulp either way.

"Hi," your voice reached a sudden meekness neither you nor Childe expected nor heard before.

And suddenly you found yourself around a table with plentiful dishes scattered all over it, your crowd of five (seven if you count you two) had turned to a staggering, solid 10 as the whole family had forced invited you into their abode to share the meal. Thanks to the nature of your work and training, your social skills commandered any suspicions or questions off easily, and you behaved just like a girlfriend meeting her boyfriend's family for the first time.

Childe watched as you clenched your jaw and offered a hooded, tilted glare when you met eyes. He gulped. That look looked very much like Scaramouche.

act vi. sixth nation

Childe barely knew the world beyond the frosted wasteland, past the outskirts of Snezhnaya. Yet from the stories his father had adopted to him ever since he was able to remember, he views the world outside with a sense of familiarity, longing and relieving satisfaction. It was such a pure look you felt like barfing from the intensity of the innocent aura it held in comparison to your line of work.

His eyes would then land on you where you once again don your master dancer outfit, yet unlike your homeland, this setting matched it better. The sun at Fontaine hits the golden sequins at a certain angle to make it glitter, and the thin white veil that hovers over the back of your hair flutters gently in the soft breeze that comes by. You'd look angelic if you wore more white, he bites back the words when you met his eyes.

His first look at your line of work and his first visitation outside of the nation. And into the land of entertainment. This was your main land of operation and the way you dwelled with the citizens brings about a sense of replicated home at the nostalgia. Many recognized you as a simple entertainer and many of the citizens look upon Childe with intrigue and wonder.

"Based on my network, this would be his last stop," you adjusted the bangles that holds on to the thin cloth that runs over your arm, "Again, we are here to observe and get information, not look for a fight."

"Yes, master." He grumbled flatly but his eyes were wide and wandering the marble walls and statues that littered the nation. He's distracted, just like a true child. "What's the name of that rogue vigilante again? The one that keeps busting down the doors of the Fatui headquarters everywhere."

You hum, hand wrapped around his wrist as you guide his distracted self through the crowd.

"Diluc Ragnvindr, and try to remember it this time please."

To be continued.

Accidentally posted so now it's a freakin two parter.

@zelos-simp @legionqueensav @moaa @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Krel, Douxie, Value Me?

Leave a “Value Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character telling another how they feel about them.

From send me characters and a prompt (no longer accepting)

And until I reblog this ask meme again, this is the last of these prompts I will be writing. They're finally out of my inbox! Yay!

This technically takes place during RotT (after Douxie and Nari get sent back to their own bodies) but I still refuse to actually watch the movie so the timeline and whatnot are probably not canon compliant with the movie.

CW: references to canon-typical death and torture.

AO3

FFN

~

Krel didn't have a problem with organizing his lab. Oh, sure, other people had a problem with the way he organized his lab. But was that really Krel's fault? He was the one who was going to be working in the lab, so it was best if he calibrated it to the maximum efficiency of himself. After all, he could find everything easily, so why would anyone else matter?

Douxie mattered, though. And Douxie looked incredibly frustrated by Krel's organizational skills. If it were anyone else, Krel would be inclined to brush it off as them not being able to understand the genius of Krel's mind and organization. But.

But Douxie mattered so much more than Krel's ego. That, and the two of them were trying to build a new amulet for Jim. They were working together, and Douxie deserved to be able to find what he was looking for.

Not failed projects, like what Douxie was currently holding.

"Krel? What's this flashlight-thing doing here?" Douxie flicked the switch and it started beeping, fast and loud and high-pitched. So it worked, even if only in the shortest of distances. "Please tell me it's not a Geiger counter."

"No, it's not a... why is everyone so worried about radioactivity?"

Douxie crossed his arms. "I don't know about you, but radiation sickness is a nasty way to die."

Krel wondered if it was a worse way to die than falling from the sky, a worse way than being tortured and having your soul ripped from another's body and forced back to your own.

"This was originally a core scanner," Krel said, taking the device from Douxie's hands and turning it off. "I modified it, though, but it seems to only work in a short range, so it wouldn't work for what I modified to for. To look for magic, and souls." Krel lifted his eyes off of the device to meet Douxie's. "To look for you."

"I... that makes sense." Douxie looks away from Krel. "You would've been able to find Nari's body, and maybe even the seals, and then this whole mess could've been prevented."

Douxie wasn't listening to him. Gently, Krel took Douxie's hands in his lower pair, and he put his upper pair on Douxie's shoulders. "No. I mean, that would've been helpful, but I wasn't looking for Nari's body, or the seals. I was looking for you. Just you, to bring you back to me. To us."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Douxie burst into tears at that. He took a step forward, though, burying his face in the crook of Krel's neck. Krel dropped Douxie's hands in favor of wrapping three arms around Douxie's torso and using the fourth to card his fingers through Douxie's hair in a hopefully-comforting manner.

"I didn't think anyone was coming for me," Douxie confessed between sobs. "I tried to convince myself this was good, that you were focusing on keeping Nari safe and planning for when I failed to keep my hold on her body, but..." Someone inhaled sharply, and Krel couldn't tell who. "I was so scared, and I almost wanted someone to come for me, even if it seems selfish. But, but you were trying?"

"Oh, Douxie." Krel squeezed Douxie just a little tighter. "Of course I was. I'm not a warrior, and I can't promise I'll always be able to keep you safe in the first place. I can't promise I'll always be able to save you. But I promise you that I will do everything I can to try and save you anyways."

It was a promise Krel had accidentally made to himself when Douxie had fallen from the sky, back during that impossibly long and agonizing moment where they had crowded around Douxie's body. Krel hadn't even known Douxie yet beyond that he was a wizard who did reckless things like cut in line and take on demigods on his own, and yet Krel found himself silently promising that if Douxie survived this, Krel would do everything to ever keep him from being so hurt ever again.

Later, Krel would find out that this was called the bargaining phase of grief. The only difference was that it had worked and Krel's feelings for Douxie had been able to grow past grief.

"You would do that?" Douxie looked up at Krel. His tears had ceased falling, but there were still tears in his beautiful golden eyes. Tears, and disbelief. In that moment Krel hated everyone who had ever made Douxie feel like he wasn't worthy of being saved.

"Of course I would, Douxie. I..." Krel's eyes darted away. If Douxie didn't feel the same way, then making the amulet together might be awkward. But Douxie really needed to hear how much he was valued, and if that meant Krel had to be embarrassed... Oh, kleb it.

"I love you," Krel said, and Douxie's eyes widened. And then, he smiled before pressing his forehead to Krel's. A gentle, fluttering feeling overtook Krel's core. It was a feeling Krel wanted to last forever.

After a few wonderful moments, Douxie pulled away, still smiling. "I know a really good deli place. Assuming it doesn't get destroyed by the Order, do you want to grab dinner there next Friday?"

"Are you-"

"Yes, I'm asking you on a date."

Krel beamed. "Then yes. Of course I'd like to go on a date with you."

"Then let's make sure there's still a world by Friday," Douxie said, turning back to the workspace of the lab. His smile faded by a fraction. "You really need to find an organization system."

"I do organize things!"

Though, maybe, after they defeated the Arcane Order, Krel would re-organize his lab to be slightly more accessible to his boyfriend.

~

A/N: I feel like this ends one of 2.5 ways: 1) Due to this scene, Douxie and Krel are able to change things just enough that Jim decides not to go back in time. AKA, Gay Love Saves The Timeline™. Whether or not it saves the deli where the boys were gonna go for their date is a different story, though. 2) This changes nothing, or at least it doesn't change enough, and Jim resets the timeline, erasing this moment and all their character development...      2.5) ...or at least, it does until Jim is able to restore Douxie and Krel's memories. (Yes, I'm saying that this fic might be an unoffical prequel to Reunions and Revelations.)