#i form as a holder for what we’re projecting

[celestialforest]

that fictive experience of writing a fic putting your source through the horrors for coping

[celestiall0tus]

Miraculous Salvation - Chapter 1 - Gamemasters

Next

            Spirits gathered in a black void. They flickered different colors but remained shapeless anomalies. A red anomaly moved forward into the center.

            “Kwamis! It is time for another wonderful game. Which means, it’s time to choose a planet. Ursa, where are there some holders, or better yet, avatars?” the red anomaly asked.

            Ursa, a black anomaly with the universe contained within, flashed in and out of existence. A set of illusionary projects of planets formed around the red anomaly.

            “There are four candidates, Tikki. Oron has taken a holder on a newly developing planet that is in the young stages of evolution in a far-off quadrant,” Ursa started.

            Tikki, the red anomaly, hummed while the other anomalies muttered their disinterest.

            “Boring. Next!” Tikki demanded.

            Ursa dismissed that projection and brought forward a green planet. “It seems Aoife and Kuru have made a home on this forest planet. No holders or avatars have been made, but they are playing the roles of gods.”

            “Ugh, without us? Lame! Next!”

            Ursa dismissed that one and summoned a projection of an orange planet. “It, uh, seems like Lethe has already done a number on this planet with an avatar.”

            “Hard pass. And that blue and green marble?”

            “Uh, well, we don’t have to go to that one. There’s just Nooroo and Silki and Styx and… and Pollen with avatars on that one.”

            Tikki whooped and hollered. “Nooroo? Oh, his games never disappoint. What planet is he looking to transform?”

            “Well, a beautiful planet that once flourished with bountiful nature that has been reduced to a shadow of its own glory as the primary species, humans, have cut down and destroyed a great deal of the natural world for their own self-destructive pursuits.”

            An orange and yellow anomaly flickered like a flame. “They what?”

            “Let me finish, Longg. This species is prone to conflict with itself as tensions continue to run high with its own kind. While their ancestors could prove to be as destructive, they aren’t compared to the modern humans that are at each other’s throats with weapons of mass destruction that would not only wipe out a great deal of humanity, but potentially damage the planet to make healing impossible.”

            Longg erupted into a burst of flames. “That one! I want that planet.”

            Tikki hummed. “Well, it does sound like the perfect opportunity for you, dearest Plagg.”

            A black anomaly with wisps of green moved against the void. “Why should I get involved? Sounds like they’ll destroy themselves in due time.”

            “Maybe so, but this is a wonderful chance to influence them. You know, right? Be their ultimate doom, or their salvation,” Tikki remarked.

            “Since when have you ever been interested in being the salvation for mortal creatures?” Plagg challenged.

            “Oh, never! But it’s fun to keep the option open, right? Now then, let’s all-!”

            A rainbow anomaly moved forward. “Hold! What about Gimmi and myself? Do we not get the last say in all this?”

            “Please, Vana, as if. You and Gimmi don’t take part so why would your opinion mattered?” Tikki challenged.

            “We’re still the head of us. The purest embodiments of Velze.”

            “Maybe, but you still don’t play in our games, you never had. And, quite frankly, we’re done with you two trying to police the rest of us. Especially when you don’t do anything. You two just sit back and nothing. So, why should we really listen to you two?”

            “That’s not-!” Vana started.

            A white anomaly with prismatic wisps perked up. “Enough, Vana.”

            Vana turned to the anomaly. “But, Gimmi-!”

            “Well, at least one of you has some sense. Alright, everyone, let’s get going!” Tikki ordered.

            Everyone vanished save for Gimmi and Vana.

            “Gimmi, what happened? Why did you let Tikki off the hook like that? She already thinks she’s too big just because she’s the embodiment of creation. What happened to we can’t let her think she’s better than us?” Vana demanded.

            “Because there is more than one way to teach a lesson,” Gimmi answered.

            Vana hummed as Gimmi moved to the projection that remained. She extended a piece of herself towards the orb. Her form shifted as she touched it into a white bodied eldritch creature with cicada features.

            “Gimmi, what are you planning?” Vana asked.

            “The little creature needs to reminded why you don’t mess with the gamemasters. Vana, you can handle watching over this game this time, right?”

            “I mean, I can, but what exactly are you planning?”

            “What else? We made this game for them. We sat back to keep things fair. We watched and pulled our own strings. Let’s see how little miss creation likes it when we rig the game she thinks is hers. And with you here without me, I expect to see what you are run wild. Make things absolute hell for them.”

            “Oh! While I make everything work in your favor. Brilliant!”

            “You on board then?”

            “Absolutely. Let’s knock Tikki off the pedestal she created for herself.”

[chaotic-noceur]

puppy therapy

pairing: Sukuna x reader (ft. Yuuji, Megumi, and Megumi's dogs)

summary: when Sukuna finds you in a slump of burn out, he calls in a favour from Yuuji in an attempt to help

universe: modern + roommates au ; same-ish universe as what's unspoken isn't unknown

warnings: depression/burn out symptoms, wearing his shirt, headphone usage, no-shoes-in-the-house living setting, kisses

a/n: i'm tired, probably going to fail something, and i really want to pet a dog so i self projected :) shoutout to @ezrasarm for being the bestest hooman ever and beta-ing this even though she has never read/watched jjk in her life 💕💕

Sukuna does a double take when he passes your room on his way for a coffee refill. The last thing he expected was to find you still curled up in bed, watching an episode of whatever it is you had borrowed his Netflix account for. As he takes in your figure, a frown forms on his features. He doesn't need to see the look of exhaustion on your face to recognise the sure signs of burnout. He knows the feeling all too well himself.

He knows the wave of indifference that washes over you every time you're reminded of your deadlines. He knows the hollowness in your chest that refuses to be filled, no matter how hard you try. He knows the heaviness in your limbs that are so worn down by fatigue that every move feels like a workout. He knows the insults that your mind hurls at itself for its own inability to push past this slump. And he refuses to let you wallow alone.

The sound of your door being nudged open catches your attention and you pause the show before glancing towards Sukuna, unamused at the interruption. “Get dressed,” he says as he tosses one of his shirts at you — knowing you find comfort in wearing them, “we’re going out.” You move to protest, instinctively drawing up an excuse about how you have work to do. But you stop yourself short, it’s not like you're going to get anything done anyway.

"Good morning to you too," you grumble instead as you move to pick up his shirt from where it had landed on your bed. Sukuna snorts in response and you roll your eyes before moving to usher him out of your room. Mechanically, you shrug out of your sleepwear, and get yourself into a semi-presentable state before meeting him at the door.

Sukuna hands you your keys as you walk up to him, his sunglasses pushed into his hair. You do a quick check to ensure you have everything you need as Sukuna does the laces of his boots. Putting your shoes on, you spare a glance at your reflection in the mirror before following Sukuna out the door.

You slip your hand into his when you catch up to him by the elevators and he brings it up to his lips before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. He smiles at you with a softness that you rarely see in public but when your eyes turn to meet his gaze, there's a tiredness behind them that makes his heart ache. Sensing his concern, you squeeze his hand in silent reassurance, and he returns the action.

As you step into the street, you're tempted to ask about his plan. But Sukuna was never one to reveal his surprises before they unfolded in natural order and you're in no mood to pry the answers from him. Instead, you connect your earphones to your phone, pass the other earbud to Sukuna and shuffle your shared playlist as he leads you through the streets.

You lose yourself in the melody as the pair of you make your way to the secret destination. Occasionally, Sukuna tugs on your arm to signal that you're turning but otherwise, you allow your mind to wander, trusting in him to keep you out of harm's way.

Your thoughts drift to the list of deadlines that should induce more stress than they currently do and a pang of guilt spreads across your chest. If you had any sense, you should've said no to this impromptu date. You don't deserve to take a break, not when your list of responsibilities continues to grow and your care for them dwindles by the day; not when you know you're setting yourself up for failure but don't have enough care left to give to change the ending; not when —

Something in your expression must have alluded to the thoughts swarming in your mind because Sukuna stops the pair of you then. He moves to stand in front of you before sliding his sunglasses into his hair. "Stop thinking so much," he says as he runs his thumb along your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes, "just focus on me. Focus on us being here, okay?" You nod minutely and he sighs before bringing his lips to your forehead. He intertwines his fingers with yours again and continues his journey, hoping that his surprise will lighten your mood.

"Does this mean you'll tell me where we're going?" you ask after a moment. Sukuna snorts.

"No way in hell. Besides, we're almost there."

As the sound of laughter and barking fills the air, you perk up and glance around at your new surroundings. You turn to Sukuna, curious, but he's tapping away at his phone. He comes to a stop when he reaches a clearing, a sea of dogs running around before the pair of you. You're about to ask him what was going on when a head of strawberry hair enters your peripheral vision.

"Sukuna!" Yuuji cheers as he runs up to the pair of you, his phone clutched in one hand. Sukuna removes the earbud from his ear and passes it to you as you do the same.

"Brat," comes Sukuna's response before Yuuji turns to greet you. He moves to hug you but falters when Sukuna puts a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how your current state mixes with hugs from sweaty individuals. Yuuji seems to understand. He shrugs his brother's hand off before spinning around and guiding the pair of you to his picnic blanket.

You spot Megumi a little way away, Ghost and Shadow running in circles around him as they wait for the tennis ball in his hand to be released. When you notice the snacks and your favourite drink perched on the blanket, the pieces fall into place and your mouth falls open in shock. "Sukuna! You didn't have to trouble them into all this!"

Yuuji responds instead of his brother, waving off your exclamations. "It was no problem! We were planning on coming here anyway and the dogs love people!" As if on cue, Ghost and Shadow come bounding towards you, Megumi following after them. Sukuna lets go of your hand to kneel and pet the bundles of excitement that have huddled around your legs, a chuckle escaping him as Megumi settles into a seat beside his friend.

"You didn't have to do all this," you say to Megumi as you take your seat.

"It's fine," he shrugs. "The food was on the way and those two needed to expend their energy." He gestures towards his dogs as hints of a smile creep its way onto his face. Ghost detaches from Sukuna to come greet you then and settles his head into your lap once he'd given you several affectionate face licks. You giggle at the sensation as you ruffle his fur.

Yuuji and Megumi fall into conversation amongst themselves and you grab what you assume is yours and Sukuna's drinks from the cardboard holder. He seats himself beside you not long after, Shadow retreating back to Megumi's side. You offer him his drink once he's settled and he takes it with a quiet 'thanks' before falling naturally into the conversation between Yuuji and Megumi. Sipping from your drink, you bask in the air of joy around you as you rest your head against Sukuna's shoulder and let your eyes fall shut.

You chuckle as you watch Yuuji dote on Shadow, Megumi begrudgingly handing over yet another treat. They're far away enough that their voices are drowned out by the screams and barks of the others in the park but judging by their interaction, you imagine Megumi's saying something about spoiling the dog in question.

Sukuna returns from disposing the trash that you had collectively cumulated and slings his arm over your shoulder as he seats himself once more. Ghost stirs in your lap, blinks lazily at Sukuna before closing his eyes again. You lean into Sukuna's side, skin tingling when he places a kiss onto your temple.

"You really should stop taking advantage of your brother's kindness," you chastise after a moment, but there's no bite to your words. A soft smile lingers on your face as you card your fingers through Ghost's white fur.

Sukuna shrugs before running his thumb over the curve of your lip. "It made you smile again though didn't it?" The beginning of a smirk forms across his features and you refrain from rolling your eyes at him. Instead, you lean your forehead against his before connecting your lips together, a silent thank you exchanged.

The remnants of numbness still linger in your chest and your mind still drowns in a dizzying fog. There’s no guarantee that you won’t wake up tomorrow without an ounce of motivation. But, for now, it’s enough. For now, you relish in the warmth of the sun that beats against your skin, the sound of joy and bliss that filters into your ears, and the love that Sukuna envelops you in — safe and ever present. He is your light, and for now; that’s enough.

[thataintnolady]

His mother looked small and vulnerable, curled up alone on the king bed, mascara smeared down one cheek. When had she got so thin? He stroked a hand over her forehead fondly and she opened her eyes a crack.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she breathed softly.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. Just rest up, okay?”

“He’s with her,” she whispered, eyes closed again.

______________________________________

New Velaris, Old Vendettas

Two households, both alike in iniquity.

The Vanserra dynasty has held sway in New Velaris for generations – a respected (if not always respectable) family, whose secrets are buried deep. The brash Dombrano brothers are new money. They took what assets their infamous father left behind after his assassination and built an empire of their own. A failed engagement that should have united their families has instead forged a bitter enmity, and the sudden resurgence of the Archeron family in the form of three eligible heiresses has only added to the bad blood.

______________________________________

Chapter 3 | La Famiglia

[3000 words]

<<previous chapter | masterlist

Eris tapped the steering wheel with his fingers as they sat in gridlock trying to get out of the city. Why his mother had to schedule their family dinners at the house on the peninsula, and on Friday nights, he had never understood. The traffic was always heinous and more often than not they were late.

“So I was right, then,” Lucien said, compounding his irritation.

“That’s not the point. She was one hundred percent worth talking to, even if she couldn’t invest in the project.”

“Because she had anything useful to say, or because you scored a date out of it?”

Eris pressed his lips together. “Both. But it’s not a date, exactly.”

“Well, be nice to Elain tonight and maybe she’ll put in a good word for you,” Lucien suggested. “Give me your phone, will you? I want to change the music.”

“Elain’s coming tonight? Hey, what’s wrong with this? It’s Bowie.”

“Yes, we’re picking her up. Didn’t I say?” Lucien snatched the phone off its magnetic holder and held it up in front of Eris’s face for second to unlock it, causing him to swear and swerve in his lane, and began scrolling through Spotify.

“What? That means we’re going to have to detour through southside. Jesus, Lucien.” Eris changed lanes quickly, earning a honk from the car behind.

“Sorry, thought I’d mentioned it. Like I said though, you have to be nice. Being on good terms with Elain brings you one step closer to Nesta,” Lucien said smugly.

“I’m always nice,” Eris contended. “And I never said I wanted to be close to Nesta.”

Lucien snorted, but said nothing else. Modern Love gave way to nasally college rock and Eris gritted his teeth.

It was another 20 minutes before they pulled up in front of Elain’s building. She was waiting by the kerb, peering out into the traffic. Her eyes lit up when she saw Lucien. He got out of the car and held the door open for her, then slid into the back seat beside her. Wonderful, Eris thought. I’ve always wanted to feel like an Uber driver.

“How was your day, Elain?” he enquired pleasantly, conscious of Lucien’s edict regarding his behaviour.

“Oh! Pretty good, thanks,” Elain said, sounding surprised. Eris tried to remember what it was she did. PR? Something like that. “Uh, how was yours?”

“Busy, but fine.”

“Great.” There was an awkward silence. “Thanks for the ride, by the way. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience to pick me up.”

“Not at all, we’d have come this way anyway,” Eris lied.

For few minutes the car was quiet but for Lucien’s whiny choice of music and the damp, sloppy sounds of his brother and future sister-in-law making out in the back seat. Eris rolled his eyes. That really added to the Uber driver experience. All he needed now was for somebody to vomit out the car window on the ride home.

“What’s the Bay house like?” Elain asked when they came up for air.

Eris hadn’t realised she hadn’t been there yet. “Big and old,” he said. “It’s been in the family for about five generations.”

“I’ve never liked it,” Lucien said. “It’s pompous and draughty and creaky. But Mom likes it okay, mainly because Beron’s hardly ever there and she hates the city.”

“How come you both call your mom ‘Mom’, but you always call your dad ‘Beron’?” Elain asked curiously.

“Because Mom’s just Mom…” Lucien said.

“And Beron’s a prick,” he and Eris finished in unison.

“Will he be there tonight?”

“Unfortunately,” Lucien said. “Nobody’s allowed to miss Friday night dinner, not even Beron.”

“You don’t do this every Friday night though?” she asked, confused.

“We used to, growing up,” Eris said. “Now it’s just once a month, and even that’s hard enough to organise. But Mom won’t let it go, it’s important to her.”

Lucien and Elain canoodled and talked in the back seat as they left the city proper and got onto the highway to Azure Bay, playground of New Velaris’s elite. Every so often Elain would politely throw a question or comment Eris’s way to include him in the conversation, but he was happy enough tuning out. Once he got clear of the worst of the traffic and the road opened out, it was always his favourite part of the trip. An in-between space, with the office behind him and the family not yet breathing down one another’s necks, the sense of freedom seasoned with salt-tinged blustery air coming in the open car window.

They were supposed to have been there by seven, but it was already after seven thirty by the time they pulled into the wide, semi-circular driveway of the Bay house, its grand frontage aglow in welcome. Lucky Elain was with them - they were less likely to get an earful for being late that way. He could see from the cars parked around the perimeter of the driveway that Daimon and the twins were already here. No sign of Beron’s Phantom, though.

When they stepped into the foyer, Allegra Vanserra descended on them immediately, a whirlwind of velvet and perfume. “You’re finally here, my darlings!” she said theatrically. “Was the traffic dreadful again?”

Eris and Lucien exchanged glances. “Not great,” Eris said. “Sorry, hope we haven’t caused too much delay.”

Allegra waved a hand. “Not to worry, Dad’s not here yet anyway. Elain, sweetheart! Aren’t you divine!” She bestowed kisses on both of Elain’s cheeks, then held her at arm’s length, smiling fondly.

“Goodness, I feel a bit under-dressed, looking at you,” Elain said. Allegra was wearing a strapless fit-and-flare gown in wine-coloured velvet, whereas Elain was in a simple floral sundress.

“Nonsense, you look beautiful as always. I just dug this out of the closet because I hardly ever get a chance to wear my evening gowns anymore, and textile waste is such a scourge, isn’t it? I was reading something about it the other day. Millions of tons of it, you know? Anyway. Come through to the dining room, darling. Camille’s here, too! It’s so nice to have beautiful daughters-in-law after coping with a houseful of boys for all these years,” she tittered.

“Does Mom seem a little… chemically enhanced to you?” Lucien said under his breath, as Allegra led Elain into the house.

“I’d say she’s been washing down Xanax with gin and tonic for at least a couple of hours, if I had to guess,” Eris said apprehensively. Allegra was usually softly spoken and slightly reserved, nothing like this flamboyant socialite act she was treating them to. She must have been anxious at the prospect of having guests at the family dinner and decided to self-medicate. Eris sighed. Tonight was shaping up to be even more of a trial than usual.

Eris and Lucien followed the women into the dining room. Daimon, the second eldest Vanserra brother after Eris, was there with his girlfriend Camille, a lean, catty blonde. The twins, Finn and Kegan, sat on opposite sides of the table like dour bookends. They were fraternal genetically, but close enough to identical in practice.

“Well, this is just lovely!” Allegra sang gaily. “Hopefully Beron won’t be too much longer, then we can serve the starter.” For once, Eris fervently hoped so too. His mother could certainly do with something in her stomach besides pills and booze.

“What is it you do again, Elain?” Camille asked, sounding bored before Elain had even answered.

“I work in HR,” she said, more politely than Camille deserved. HR, not PR! Eris thought, grateful he hadn’t said anything dumb in the car. “But I’m studying botany in the evenings, that’s my real passion.”

“Really?” Daimon asked, turning his heavy-lidded gaze on Elain. “Botany, how curious. What’s that going to be good for?” Daimon was far too much like Beron, more so than any of the other Vanserra brothers. He had his same conviction that nothing was useful unless it could be monetised.

“Self-fulfilment, I guess” Elain said, unperturbed.

“And you’d rather do that than work in the family business?” Daimon pressed, slugging from his wine glass. “Elysium’s doing rather well again these days, isn’t it?”

“My sister has that in hand,” Elain said. “She has the aptitude for it. I have no head for business really, I’d be no help at all.”

At least she recognised it, Eris thought. Kegan and Finn were next to useless, but still drew salaries from Forestier Group with no qualms. They mainly stayed out of the way though, whereas Daimon fancied himself quite the dealmaker and was hence an absolute nuisance.

Eris allowed himself to zone out for awhile, bored with a conversation that consisted mainly of Daimon and Camille being unsubtly sneery and boastful, Allegra twittering nonsense, the twins occasionally interjecting with monosyllabic grunts or crass jokes, and Elain and Lucien valiantly attempting to maintain some civility. He finally tuned back in when Lucien kicked him sharply on the ankle and sent a glance in Allegra’s direction.

His mother’s eyes had gone glazed and she was swaying slightly in her seat. Eris looked at his watch. It was already a quarter past eight, and still no sign of Beron. “You know what?” he said loudly, interrupting a monologue from Camille about Scandinavian clothing designers. “Beron can catch up when he gets here. Let’s get these starters served, shall we? Elain, do you mind giving me a hand?”

Elain got up and followed him to the kitchen. Eris found the starters, smoked salmon salads, already plated up in the fridge courtesy of Allegra’s preferred caterers. They laid them on the kitchen island and began removing the plastic wrap and drizzling over the prepared dressing.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Eris said to Elain. “These nights are never fun, exactly, but they’re not usually this bad.”

Elain gave him a small smile. “Oh, don’t apologise. I know how families can be.”

“Mom’s usually the one who holds everything together, but she must’ve been nervous about you and Camille coming. I think she’s taken something that probably shouldn’t mix with alcohol,” he confided. “And I’m sorry Camille’s being such a bitch. She’s always a chore, but she knows you’ve got her beaten on both looks and class and she’s sore about it. Plus, it’s been three years and Daimon won’t put a ring on it, but Lucien could hardly get one on you fast enough. That’s got to hurt.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed slightly, whether at his blunt assessment or his casual compliment, he couldn’t tell. “Honestly, it’s all… fine. But is your mom going to be alright? She looks a little wobbly.”

Eris sighed. “Not sure. Can you start taking these out? I’m going to get her something to try and sober her up a bit.”

Eris went into the pantry, found a carton of Perrier and grabbed a bottle. He filled a tall glass with ice cubes, then halved a lime and squeezed juice into the glass. He topped it with the sparkling water and dropped a couple more lime slices on top as a garnish. Allegra was far gone enough that she wouldn’t realise it wasn’t a G&T.

He finished making the drink just as Elain returned to the kitchen for more plates, so he grabbed a couple in one hand and went with her. When he’d dropped them in front of Lucien and Finn, he snatched the half-full drink out of Allegra’s hand and replaced it with the sparking water. “Here, Mom. Have a fresh one.”

She gave him a hazy smile. “Thanks, sweetie,” she slurred. “This is nice, isn’t it? So good to have everyone together.”

They ate the salads in near silence, even Camille having blessedly shut up. Lucien cleared the plates, and then went with Eris back to the kitchen to collect the main course. They found individual herb-crusted lamb racks warming in the oven. They were covered in tinfoil, so had only slightly dried out despite the delays.

“Well, it looks like we won’t be seeing Beron,” Lucien observed acidly, as they plated up the lamb on a bed of creamy mashed potatoes and ratatouille. “Missing Friday night dinner is a new low, even for him.”

Eris nodded. “Probably for the best though, we could all live without tonight getting any messier. Poor Elain, what an initiation. Let’s just get it over with, eh?”

As he and Lucien served the mains, Allegra entreated him to open another bottle of wine. “No more for me, Mom, I’ve got to drive back.” Aside from which, Daimon had polished off the best part of the last bottle by himself, and was not in a much better state than Allegra, he thought grimly.

“No, you can all stay the night,” she insisted. “You can have your old rooms.”

Eris inwardly chuckled at the idea of Elain spending the night snuggled up to Lucien in his old twin bed, swathed in Batman linens. “I don’t think so, Mom,” he said firmly. “I’ve got work to do tomorrow and I’m sure everyone else has plans, too. Besides, none of us has a change of clothes.”

Allegra seemed disappointed, but didn’t argue. She pushed her food around her plate, not eating much. Towards the end of the meal, Eris saw her eyelids were drooping and she’d started to slowly pitch forward. He was out of his seat in a flash, draping her arm around his neck as he helped her to stand.

“Mom, I’m going to take you upstairs, okay? It’s been a big day and I think you need some rest.”

“Do you want a hand?” Lucien asked, concern on his face.

Eris shook his head. He’d get her tucked into bed and then they could bring this disaster of a night to its merciful conclusion. Dessert could go in the trash.

When he reached the master bedroom he sat Allegra on the bed, helped her out of her heels and draped a cotton robe around her shoulders. He unzipped the back of her dress, then tied the robe in front before sliding the dress down over her hips. He left it slung over an ottoman. He couldn’t figure out a way to manoeuvre her under the covers, so he took a soft wheat-coloured throw off the armchair by the window and laid it over her.

His mother looked small and vulnerable, curled up alone on the king bed, mascara smeared down one cheek. When had she got so thin? He stroked a hand over her forehead fondly and she opened her eyes a crack.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she breathed softly.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. Just rest up, okay?”

“He’s with her,” she whispered, eyes closed again.

“What? Who?”

“Your father. He’s with her. Malena.”

There was a Malena who worked for Forestier Group in finance. He tried to picture her. Brunette, mid-thirties maybe? Not much older than Eris. Beron was screwing her? This was the first he’d heard of it. But then, if the last few days had taught him anything it was that he knew a lot less than he’d thought about what Beron got up to. Whores were one thing, but an actual affair? No wonder Allegra was spiralling.

“My fault,” she continued sleepily. “Never forgave me. But I tried, sweetie. I tried so hard. Couldn’t leave my boys.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Sleep.” He kissed her forehead and turned out the lamp, closing the door softly behind him as he left the room.

He was troubled as he walked back down the stairs. What was his mom talking about? She’d actually considered leaving Beron at some point? Jesus, he wished she had. She wouldn’t have had to leave him and his brothers, she could have taken them with her. He shook his head. Maybe it was all nonsense, just the cocktail of pills and gin talking.

He headed for the kitchen, thinking he’d get the plates into the dishwasher and tidy up a bit before they left. But as he came down the hall, he heard murmuring voices. He softened his steps and stopped by the door, eavesdropping.

“I’ll look after the dishes, why don’t you go back to the table? Camille will be wondering where you are.” Elain’s voice.

“Maybe I don’t care. Maybe I’d rather be right here, with you.” Daimon’s voice, fuzzy with wine.

“Daimon…”

“I’ll level with you, Elain. Lucien’s a sweet kid. But I could teach you things you can’t even imagine.”

Eris peered around the doorframe. His brother had Elain pressed against the refrigerator, one hand on her ass. The look on her face jumped the line from discomfort to sheer panic. He crossed the room in two strides.

“Hey, Daimon?”

Daimon turned, an unrepentant smirk on his face. “Wh-”

Eris drove his right fist directly into Daimon’s face. His brother dropped like the sack of shit he was, blood spurting from his nose, and crumpled on the kitchen floor.

Elain gasped, but gave Eris a look of unmistakeable gratitude. He looked around the kitchen, where trays, pans, bowls and plates were stacked on every surface, and sighed. He went out to the living room and grabbed a sheet of paper and an envelope from a drawer. As Elain watched, he pulled a pen from the inner pocket of his jacket and scribbled an apologetic note to Gianna, the cleaner. He stuffed the note into the envelope along with a couple of hundred dollar bills, and left it propped against one of the stacks of plates.

On his way back to the dining room, Elain at his heels, he picked up Daimon’s keys and phone from the sideboard. He threw them onto the table in front of Camille. “When your boyfriend comes to, take him home,” he instructed her curtly as she stared at him in shock. “He’s in no fit state to drive.” He turned to Lucien. “Let’s go.”

Lucien got to his feet, his eyebrows somewhere up around his hairline. “How’s Mom?”

“She’ll be fine once she sleeps it off.” He felt in his pocket for his keys and handed them to Lucien. “Are you alright to drive? My fucking hand hurts.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How unions de-risk work

Yesterday, I published an essay about how monopolies beget monopolies: when deregulation kicked off a wave of pharma mergers, the new pharma oligopoly gained the power to raise prices on hospitals.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/16/wage-theft/#excessive-buyer-power

The hospitals weren't able to form a cartel to insist on better prices: the US antitrust law created by Ronald Reagan's court sorcerer Robert Bork is incredibly tolerant of monopolist price-rigging, but violently opposed to cartels that price-rig.

Rather than forming a cartel, the hospitals gobbled each other up to create monopolies. If the CEOs of six hospitals insist on better drug prices, it's illegal. If the presidents of six hospitals (all owned by the same monopolist) do the same thing, it's fine.

Big Hospital wasn't merely better positioned to demand better drug prices from Big Pharma, they were also able to charge more to the fragmented, decentralized health insurance industry.

Predictably, this kicked off a wave of mergers that produced Big Insurance, a monopolized world that gives most Americans between zero and two insurers who'll take their business.

Freed from the risk of losing customers and bulked up to meet hospital monopolies on even footings, insurance companies could both insist on lower payouts to hospitals and *higher* premiums from patients. And at last we had some sort of equilibrium.

Pharma companies could charge more for drugs, but not too much more. Hospitals could lower the standard of care, raise prices, and squeeze workers' wages and working conditions. Insurance companies could cut payments to hospitals, raise prices and hike co-pays.

Everyone got what they wanted, except for two groups that can't form monopolies that push back against this monopoly-dominated industry:

* Patients, and

* Workers

Historically, the "monopolist" safeguarding patients' interests was the state: democratically elected lawmakers who relied on voters for re-election. The massive increase in corporate campaign finance was attended by steady erosion of political loyalty to the public interest.

And so the public lost its champion, and prices went up and quality went down and redress was whittled away to performative apologies after crises of too great a magnitude to be ignored, accompanied by fines that were mere fractions of the profits from corruption.

Meanwhile, workers' champions were their unions: solidarity organizations that corrected the negotiating imbalance between employers and employees by presenting a united front.

That unity extended beyond the gates of a single employer. Picket-line crossing was a grave sin, so if your hotel's maids went out on strike, the Teamsters wouldn't deliver your groceries and the taxi cabs wouldn't pick up at your entrance.

And related trades were able to bargain together: in Hollywood, the writers and actors and tradespeople would start each contract season by visiting the weakest studio as a body and demand the best deal, then require parity from other studios in turn.

Since the Reagan years, union power has been drained off. For example, the way Hollywood unions negotiate has been flipped on its head. Now, the *studios* visit the weakest union as a body and demand the most labor concessions, then take those to the other unions in turn.

It's been generations since union power was a given, and we haven't just lost our power, we've lost our imaginations - the sense of what is possible, what we are owed, how the system could work. We've learned to take precarity and low wages as a given.

That's why Reina Sultan's "8 People Describe How Unions Changed Their Lives" for Vice is so important: not because it is heartwarming (though it is) but because it is ripe with possibility, the recovered wisdom of a fallen civilization.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/bvxqvm/why-unions-are-good-first-hand-accounts-of-how-unions-change-lives

These eight workers describe how joining a union turned precarity into certainty. How the hotels they worked for had to promise to hire them back after the pandemic lifted. How they were promised ten hours of uninterrupted sleep between shifts.

How their employers had to accommodate their disabilities. How they were guaranteed health insurance that covered their whole families. How they were protected from being arbitrarily fired, and guaranteed severance pay when they were laid off.

These guarantees have a common theme: they de-risk being a worker and make it riskier to be an employer. Much of our day-to-day life is a series of negotiations over who should bear the risk that things will turn out bad.

Think of all the corporate bailouts, how these are "socialism for shareholders, capitalism for workers." When the fed bails out banks and employers but not mortgage holders and workers, they move risk off the finance-sector's balance sheet and stick it on our balance sheet.

When you run a business, you assume risks. Maybe you have a slow Saturday and end up paying workers to hang around with nothing to do. If you can book a worker's Sat, but unilaterally send them home two hours into their shift because it's slow, you shift your risk onto them.

The worker has to be available for you, but you don't have to use that availability. Likewise disability accommodations: when you hire and train a worker, you face the risk that they will become disabled, permanently or temporarily, on or off the job.

When that happens, you might have to pay to change the physical environment so they can do their job, or give them disability pay. If you can just fire them, you shift the risk onto the worker, and off your own books.

Every benefit described by workers in Way's article is risk being shifted from workers back onto employers. The right not to be summarily fired means workers aren't at risk from vindictive, bad bosses. It also means employers may struggle to shed "low-performing" workers.

It's a good reminder of the "struggle" in "class struggle." These risks are, by their nature, zero-sum. To decrease the risk of being stuck with a bad employee, you have to *increase* the risk of an employee being targeted by a bad manager. There's no win-win here.

Sure, employers will say that they share the workers' interest in rooting out bad managers, but there is an inescapable contradiction between reserving the right to fire anyone, for any reason, and making sure workers aren't unjustly fired.

The same goes for every benefit articulated by union members. If you're an electrician who wants to be able to get home, sleep and go back to work without being interrupted for ten straight hours, you push risk onto your employer.

Meanwhile, if you *don't* have that right, your employer gets to shove risk onto you. For example, they could underinvest in upgrades and preventative maintenance, knowing that when things break down, they can summon you to get them working again, without paying any overtime.

The project of worker solidarity comes down to this foundational question: who should bear which risks? Would you rather have bad bosses firing people over personal vendettas, or co-workers who are hard to fire even though they're not great at their jobs?

We don't need to pretend that moving risk onto employers' side of the ledger always produces better outcomes. It doesn't. Workers can be jerks, too. But an individual bad boss has the power to do enormous harm to their entire workforce over a long term.

Think of all the people maimed, killed and sickened in Amazon's warehouses because of one individual's willingness and ability to shift risk off his balance sheet and onto theirs.

It's true that an especially toxic unionized worker could make life miserable for many, many other workers - but that's still a better outcome than an especially toxic CEO, not least because unions give workers the power to address bad workers even when management won't.

Is it possible for things to be overbalanced, for too much risk to be shifted off of worker's balance sheets and onto employers' side of the ledger? Sure, theoretically. But that is a situation so far removed from workplace reality today that it's practically a fairy-tale.

And if we're really worried about too much risk landing on employers, then we can go back to the peoples' source of power: democratic governance. Unions represent a power-bloc that can (but don't always) hold politicians to account.

It's hard to imagine any political path to checking corporate power that doesn't include organized groups of workers *and* organized groups of citizens, working for political change.

If health insurance, disability accommodations, retirement pay, parental leave and other sources of workplace risk are moved onto the public's balance sheet, they cease to be things that workers or employers need to argue about. They're just a given.

Think of it this way: bosses and workers don't fight over who will pay to pave the roads to the business. They don't fight over who will fight fires, or allocate RF frequency for the office wireless network. These risks are moved to the public ledger, where they belong.

This kind of political change is also hard to imagine, after 40 years of Reaganomics. But unionization makes it more achievable, because another word for "risk" is "profit." Shifting risk from workers onto bosses shifts money from bosses to workers.

Monopolized employers extract monopoly rents from their customers and gouge monopoly concessions from their workers. This isn't just extra money to send to shareholders - it's also extra money to spend in the political realm, blocking reforms that benefit everyone.

That's how we get wage stagnation and ghouls like Manchin and Sinema tanking the $15 minimum wage. The money extracted from workers was sent to these politicians so they would vote to make it possible to keep extracting money from workers.

Unionization - workplace justice - doesn't win the war for political justice. But it *does* cut the enemy's supply lines, deprive them of the ammo they're using to fight us.

Image: still from "Union Maids" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74gvcvXlgnM

[ultimatetornshipper]

Daminette December Day 7

@daminette-december2019-2020

((Note: If you’re a confused little muffin who saw our ship in the top 100 list and you want to know what in the ever loving fuck we are, feel free to dm me or mention me in a post or even to send an ask. do be warned tho that if u send me hate i will block and report u (and not just to tumblr, to everyone I know who is part of this fandom). our little sub fandom is not a toxic space and no one is allowed to make it one or there will be a fucking war))

And we’re back to our anxiety induced in denial Damian. I love this kid. Tho I do wanna make him slightly more… how do I say this… like cold? I dunno maybe I can bring that in with other people and his interactions. I just wanna write him with his proper grammar and what not and like lbh this boi is already a simp for Mari. But I don’t wanna let things happen too quickly, y’know?

Anyway, maybe I should make the theme of this chapter the fact that he has absolutely no chill. Lmao, I think that’s hilarious ngl. Also I’m just gonna pretend certain things existed back then for the sake of my sanity I can’t keep coming up with words that make sense for explaining what a thing is without saying the actual word because it didn’t exist yet. The hologram in that one chapter was hard enough bruh

Ok here we go, thanks for reading! I hope u enjoy it

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 7 – Chill

Previous

Next

Damian rolled the ring between his fingers as the morning light filtered through his windows. She’d put the choice in his hands, it was a kind thing to do, smart too. It made sense, if this role was as important as she made it sound it needed someone who could commit to it.

The miraculous was the kind of black that seemed to stretch on forever. It had a bright green paw print on it. He hadn’t put it on yet but from what he could gather it’s kwami would appear as soon as he put it on.

He'd be one of the leaders of an entire Order. He had no idea how big it was. His mother had raised him to lead but that was an entirely different organization. How would Marinette react to that? Could he handle the responsibility?

These thoughts had been plaguing him from the moment he picked up the ring.

But that wasn’t what got to him the most. She was just so… good. She had even agreed to move her entire court to Gotham for his sake. To uproot her entire life and move everyone involved just so that he could stay with his family.

There had to be a catch.

There always is.

He sighed, overthinking everything wasn’t going to help him make this decision.

There was only one thing he could do.

He put on the ring and a bright light caught him off guard. A small floating cat like being appeared in front of him.

“Kid?” he kept his eyes closed as though he didn’t want to see who was in front of him, his voice breaking slightly.

Slowly, the kwami – Plagg if he remembered correctly - opened his eyes. Damian stared at him as disappointment flitted across the creature’s face.

He lifted his brow and asked, “Hope to see someone else, Plagg?”

He chuckled slightly, sadness lacing the sound, “My previous holder, thought maybe I'd get the chance to say goodbye this time,”

Damian frowned, “What do you mean?”

Plagg frowned, “You don’t know about my previous holder? Who gave you my miraculous?”

“Marinette did,” he said, simply, “She actually just gave me the chance to consider the offer of the position, I have the rest of the day to get to know you and make my decision,”

Plagg seemed to consider what he said, he then sat down on the bed in front of Damian. He explained the basics of the miraculous to him, the phrases he needed to use as well as what those phrases would do. The things he’d need as well as what behaviors he might pick up.

“Purring?” Damian said in a disbelieving voice, “You’re telling me I might start purring in my civilian form?”

Plagg cackled, “Yeah, don’t worry it’s not that bad,”

“Tt, what exactly is the purpose of it? In fact what exactly is my purpose? It seems like she has the leadership thing under control,”

Plagg seemed to sober up at the question, he flew up right in front of Damian’s face and looked him in the eyes, “Her job is to lead and look after her court,” his look sharpened and he narrowed his eyes, “Your job is to look after her, your job is to protect her, your job is to see her. Your purpose is to make hers as easy as possible. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll have other official responsibilities and you will rule alongside her, but your real job? Your purpose? You have to help her remember that she’s only human and that that’s okay,”

Damian stared at Plagg, the kwami stared back. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? There had to be something. Some kind of catch.

Before he could grill the kwami, Dick burst into his room.

Damian could see his brother’s clear panic and immediately stood. Dick’s eyes found his, “She’s gone,”

Damian felt himself spiral, memories flew through his mind. All the times he or any of his siblings had been taken. Cass didn’t speak for a month after the last incident. Jason’s “secret" panic attacks had increased tremendously. Tim stayed up for nights on end, only sleeping when he passed out. Damian sparred for hours and hours, hating the feeling of being useless. 

His father and Dick weren’t in Gotham at the time and Selina was helping Harley with one of her ‘projects’.

When they got Steph back after a week, she was so shook up that she kept waking up screaming from nightmares for months.

They all blamed themselves.

“Her kwami showed us a letter she left but someone could’ve faked it to buy time, they’re searching the village,” Jason said, coming into his room, holding a piece of parchment.

Damian barely registered the way Plagg seemed to study his reactions. They needed to find her, it was already afternoon, who knows how far gone she could be?

They spent hours scouring the castle. Before he knew it the moon was rising and they were all gathered in the living room, going over possibilities.

“I’m going to go get Alfred and Bruce, this has been going on long enough, it’s time to call in back up. It’s already passed nightfall and she’s not back yet,” Dick walked out of the room, barely two seconds passed before he shouted something to them, “Guys I found her!”

They were out quicker than a lightning bolt. He ignored his siblings as they all flocked around her. He took her in.

She was wearing a cloak, which Jason quickly took and gave to a passing maid. She wore one of her black dresses. Her hair was in a braid.

But the cloak was dirty, the dress had tears and the braid was messy.

But it was her eyes that got him. The blue irises looked like someone had taken every drop of sadness in the world and left it in them. They were red rimmed and puffy and there were black bags under them.

She’d been crying and she hadn’t slept. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Somewhere along the line, they moved back into the living room. Cass was sitting next to Marinette on the couch and the others were arguing.

Damian couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was here. She was safe. She wasn’t taken.

Cass tapped his arm, he turned to look at her and she started signing. (a/n ok yeah I know that sign language might not have existed but do I really care?)

Get her out of here, she’s tired, Cass signed.

Damian nodded and after asking her permission and scolding his siblings, he escorted her to her room.

Plagg whispered something to her that he couldn’t hear. 

Then she apologized for scaring him and he explained his thought process. She explained that he would’ve been able to know via their miraculous whether she was in trouble or not. He made a mental note to ask Plagg more about that.

When they got to her room he opened her door. She was about to go in but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. She looked at him expectantly. He searched her gaze, he had so much he wanted to ask her, why she’d been crying was at the top of that list.

But she looked so tired, and Damian just couldn’t get himself to form the words. Instead he bid her goodnight and went back to the living room where his siblings were waiting.

All eyes turned to him when he entered. He didn’t know what to say. Instead of thinking his words through he blurted out the first thing he thought.

“She didn’t flinch when our eyes met,” he said. They all stared at him for a few seconds. Usually they would’ve laughed at his bluntness, Damian is certain, but there was something about the haunted look on her face that sapped all humor out of the situation.

Jason was crouched in front of the fire. Stephanie sat on one of the chairs while Dick leaned against its armrest. Damian was next to Cassandra on the couch and the five of them sat in silence.

Millions of questions danced through the air, the answers all just out of reach.

Little did they know that they weren’t the only ones with questions.

Outside, three pairs of eyes were watching the oblivious siblings closely.

Damian felt a chill go down his spine and turned towards the window. He walked over and stared out into the forest, he didn’t see anyone but the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave him.

He closed the curtains.

The smallest of the three chuckled slightly, “She got herself a paranoid one, huh?”

“We need to head back,” the only guy out of the three said to the others.

They nodded and followed him deeper into the forest.

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @forgottenfriends @wolf-for-life @heyitsbugette @f-rget-lt @fusser90

[stillebesat]

Wanted

Sanders Sides: Remus, Roman, Logan, Janus  Blurb: Remus knew one thing for sure. No one would ever want to Want him.  Inspiration: from This Post by @recipe-for-thomathy  Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Medieval!AU  Warnings: Fire (mention), Throwing things, Breaking things, Captivity/Slavery, Weapons Taglist in reblog. 

The door slammed open with far more force than even Remus was willing to use on it. Mostly because he knew from past experience how difficult it was to rehang that door after striping out the screws in the wood and snapping the hinges more than once.

“What did you do?!” Roman demanded, striding into his work space in his full regalia of King’s Guard. 

Huh. Come straight from the palace? That was different. Remus smirked, keeping his attention on the furnace in front of him, slowly spinning the rod and its molten glass load within to keep it from dripping. “Do?” He shifted his feet to get a better angle, the iron chain around his ankle that kept him from wandering away from the shop clinking softly as he moved. “Plenty I suppose.” 

It was him they were talking about, but to his credit he’d actually been pretty productive today instead of destructive. “Made six vases just this morn--”

Roman took out a scroll, letting it fall open. “You’re on a WANTED poster!” 

His heart skipped a beat at that, though thankfully, Remus didn’t drop the rod. He actually liked the neon green glow the glass was giving off this time. Maybe he could use it to create something far more interesting than a boring stagnant flower holder. Maybe he could make another pair of---no. It would be best to stay with creating the same old same old for a few more days at least. No need to draw any attention to himself.  

Remus drew in a shaky breath he hoped his twin didn’t notice as he glanced to the poster held in his brother’s hands.  

It would be best to not think about what he’d done last night. 

A once in a lifetime opportunity. 

A breath of freedom. 

A dream come true. 

His one and only Cinderella moment where it had felt so right to do what he did. 

Like he’d finally found his calling in life.

And if Remus had any dignity or common sense left he’d stomp down on that siren call and wouldn’t seek to draw any further attention or be anything more than a boring humble glassblower’s apprentice from here on out or he was sure his heart would actually shatter if he ever saw that particular smile again. That particular spark in the eye. That-.  

Remus pasted a smirk on his face, forcing the memory away. 

A dream should remain a dream. 

He raised an eyebrow at the figure on the paper as he pulled the rod out of the furnace. “Ehhhh. That’s not me.” He said, moving to the bench so that he could grab a block to continue shaping the glass. 

If it weren’t for the moustache -drawn a little larger than the little bit of hair he currently had on his upper lip thanks to a small accident with fire earlier in the week, Remus would have thought it was a portrait of Roman since the figure’s hair lacked the tell tale silver streak that marked him as an evil twin.  

No. Roman was the one with the muscles. The one with the handsome smile. With the knighthood. With his star rising insomuch that even foreign dignitaries were falling over themselves to stay in his good graces.

Remus...was just…himself. Stringy hair, crooked smile, multiple scars criss-crossing his entire body from previous beatings and accidents in the forge. Who only had enough strength in his limbs to work glass instead of far more durable, sturdy, and useful materials like wood or iron. 

After all, Glasswork was quite the useless skill when they were in the middle of a war with the neighboring country and needed blacksmiths to create more weapons rather than glassblowers to make pretty cups for parties.

No. Remus let out a slow breath, placing the block back as he returned to the furnace to ensure his current project didn’t harden before he was finished. 

There was a reason why the silver streak had marked him instead of his twin as the evil one. The bad guy. The one who could do no good despite the very obvious proof that Remus could accomplish some good or else no one would be buying the glass objects he created. 

No one seemed to mind that he’d been marked as evil so long as he didn’t go too crazy in front of the patrons when they came to get their stupid little paperweights, flower vases, dinnerware, and sun orbs.

Of course the cursed chain around his foot did a lot to assuage any of their fears of him running rampant. 

If only they knew just what he had done last night. Just where he’d gone. How he’d freed himself from the stupid chain for a few hours to bring--to bring---a gift….to---

“Not--” Roman took a step forward, armor clanking. “It looks JUST LIKE YOU!” 

“Looks just like you too, or did your big fat egotistical head forget we’re identical?” Remus shot back.

Mostly identical. Even if he didn’t have the moustache, Remus was certain people wouldn’t ever mistake them for each other. As kids...probably, but he’d never know for sure since his--their mother chose to leave him out in the woods to die and be found by slavers instead of doing the sensible thing and dropping him off at the orphanage with all the other rejected evil halfs. 

Roman had only been a thorn in his life for the past six months or so after stumbling into the shop while breaking up a brawl that had started at the pub up the street. That was hardly enough time for them to even begin to get to know each other, let alone their quirks. 

Even then, with their on and off brief interactions, Remus knew that Roman only kept coming to see him more out of a morbid fascination of how his life could have been different if he’d been the one born with the silver in his hair rather than wanting to form a genuine familial connection with his long lost twin.

Roman scoffed, resting a hand on his sword. “You know it can’t be of me! I know better than to risk interrupting the peace talks going on at the palace!” 

Remus rolled his eyes, returning to the bench. Peace talks. A freaking ball was now considered a part of those never ending peace talks? They might as well parade the visiting Prince and his entourage around the streets again every day for a month instead for all the good those peace talks were doing. 

At least the foreign Prince was someone different to look at when he did come through town.

And…despite the rather accurate portrayal...Remus couldn’t see why a Wanted poster would be created for him. It wasn’t like he’d hurt anyone. It wasn’t like anyone knew who he was. Not when he’d come in disguise! He hadn’t even talked to anyone beyond---and that was only to explain his--the...gift. 

Unless showing someone how they could see far more clearly was now a crime. No. Remus had had his moment to shine and then he’d returned to the forge like a good obedient mutt to his hovel and destroyed the evidence--most of the evidence--without anyone being the wiser.

“Remus. I know--”

 “No you don’t!” He snapped. “For all you know, maybe we have a third twin brother running around because why would you think it would be me on that Wanted poster, Oh Highly Favored of the King, when I obviously can’t go anywhere?” Remus purposely kicked his foot so the chain trapping him in this place rattled, the sound echoing through the air as he picked up his second favorite tweezers in a shaking hand. 

Not that he intended to use it. No. Not now.

Wanted. 

His brother had managed to...emotionally compromise him and that wasn’t good for working with glass. No it was only for destroying it. A pity. He truly had liked the color on this one.

Remus kept his head down, acting like he was still working as he rolled the pipe back and forth to keep the shape intact. “When, unlike a certain free born goody-two-shoes, I’ve never been wanted in my entire life?”

The Master Glassblower didn’t even want him. Remus had only ever been considered a tool to be used until it wore out. A slave brought in to be worked to death and only taught glass blowing because the greedy old miser wanted more product on his shelves and had to admit as he aged that he couldn’t keep up with demand nor stay near the heat of the forge for as long anymore.

Lucky him, Remus had actually shown a talent for the craft. He could only imagine the sloppy blobs that would be on the shelves now if the Glassblower had bought any of the other slaves on the auction block. 

So long as it meant more gold in his coffers the Master hardly cared whose work was selling. And when the war happened, he’d allowed Remus to keep the shop open while he was off aiding the war effort in the forges nearer the front lines. 

And with him left in charge of the shop...it meant that Remus had finally been able to create what he wanted to create. To experiment. No one was there to stop him. To tell him what to do. To care. 

“What do you mean you’re not wanted?” Roman took a step forward rolling up the poster. “I--”

Remus snarled, hurling the molten glass like a spear in his twin’s direction, watching as the glass on the pole shattered upon impact with the wall, before focusing on the way Roman had stilled, hand flashing to his sword, eyes wide.

Give him a break. He knew better than to throw something directly at his twin, not if he didn’t want to die on the spot for attacking the King’s own personal guard. 

He turned away, tossing the tweezers onto the bench. “If YOU wanted anything to do with me brother you wouldn’t have left me chained here when you first found me!” He clenched his hands as he crossed his arms, resisting the urge to continue destroying things. “You wouldn’t keep coming back to stare at me like I’m a freaking circus act while you pretend you want to get to know me. You. Don’t. You Never Did. So DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT I’M WANTED.” 

No one had truly wanted to see him. Not even with that particular unbelievable encounter last night. It didn’t mean a thing and would never happen again. A shooting star only ever shown for a blink of an eye before going out. 

“Remus.”

Roman had no right to sound so--soo pitying!! If he’d wanted to change things he could have. But he hadn’t. 

“No need to rub it in Mr. Perfect. I know I’m not wanted. How could I ever forget when Evil Twin has been my label my entire life?! So take your stupid Wanted poster and Get. OUT.”  

Get out before he lost the remaining shreds of his self control and actually hurt him. 

The door behind him creaked as it slowly opened. 

“Remus, please. You have to know that wasn’t--”

So Roman did want to see the forge destroyed today. Fine. FINE. He snatched up another rod with a snarl and whirled only to drop to his knees, rod clattering to the ground as he pressed his face into the dirt, heart pounding harder than a hammer to an anvil in his chest upon seeing just who was standing behind his brother.

In retrospect the uniform should have clued him in that his twin hadn’t come for a social visit. Or alone. 

“Ah.” Roman cleared his throat. “My High King Janus. Visiting Prince Logan.” He said formally. “May I present to you...my twin brother, Remus, apprentice glassblower to Apollos, a Master Glassblower who has gone to the front lines to assist the other Smiths there.”  

Remus closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together. He was so screwed. No wonder the portrait in the poster had been so accurate despite his disguise. The High King could see deceptions around him as easily as a bird could fly. Of course he’d see an evil twin in disguise and keep an eye on him. Especially after what he’d done--but Remus had been sure he’d escaped notice right after---after----

And to have the Prince--Prince Logan...right here...in his shop---he hadn’t expected to ever see those glorious green eyes again, let alone see the Prince still wearing the glasses that Remus had created and gone to the palace to give him last night.

“So.” 

Remus flinched as footsteps approached him, the silky voice of the High King ringing in his ears. 

“This is our little forge rat who disrupted the ball last night?” 

Disrupted?! Remus fought back the protest rising in his throat, fingers digging into the dirt. Sure he’d stolen the Prince away for a moment to ensure the glasses properly fit. That the Prince could see through them. But he hadn’t disr--He’d been very careful to be good! Even created a fashionable enough garment with colored glass in order to blend in with all the nobles decked out in gemstones so large and heavy it was a wonder the richies could move at all. 

He jumped as warm fingers trailed down his cheek. 

“I would hardly say he was disruptive.” Prince Logan remarked as he lifted up his chin, the corner of his mouth twitching when he met Remus’s eyes, his own no longer narrowed in a squint but wide open with wonder as he traced the lines of his jaw. “Nor would I say that you’re not wanted either, Remus.”  

Remus gulped, heart pounding even harder in his chest. It wasn’t fair how his name on the Prince’s lips made fuzzy embers spark in his chest.  

Logan gently tilted his head back, his thumb running along Remus’s moustache. “There was a reason why I stayed up all night with the royal painter to ensure that your portrait was accurate. And that was so I could find you as soon as possible. But I see,” His green eyes sparked with delight, his other hand raising to adjust the thin wire frames sitting on his nose. “That I was not quite as accurate as I wanted to be, but I suppose that can be forgiven considering my distraction at how clear the world has now become for me thanks to you.”

“You are certain.” High King Janus asked, hands hidden in his gold silk robes, head tilting to study Remus like a hawk studies a mouse as Roman came to stand beside him. “That he is the one you seek, Prince Logan? That he is the one who gave you...sight?” 

“He is.” The Prince confirmed without hesitation. 

The High King raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to...believe that one born with silver in their hair could be--”

“Remus is the best glassblower I’ve ever encountered, my King.” Roman said, raising his chin as the High King turned to him, unafraid to look him in the eye. “If anyone were to create the ability to see from blown glass, it would be him.”

More fuzzy embers fizzled around Remus’s stomach as he side eyed his brother. Roman...actually thought he was good? At glassblowing? He’d never said anything before--

High King Janus hummed, waiting until Roman broke eye contact before again returning his eagle stare on Remus, golden eyes glinting in the light of the forge. “Considering your own skills, Sir Roman, I would be unsurprised that your other half would be just as creative in his own right. Even more so if he is to be the bridge that finally brings peace to our kingdoms.” 

Remus blinked, fidgeting in place, his fingers digging into the dirt so he wouldn’t try and touch the Prince because he liked his hands too much to lose them. “Bridge?” He asked before he could also tell his tongue that talking was a very good way to get it removed with a hot poker. “What bridge? I can’t--” Surely they didn’t expect him to build a bridge from glass! How would that even work to bring peace? The thing would shatter with one wrong strike of a horse’s hooves! 

Logan smiled. “You can, Remus.” He said before gesturing for Roman to come forward. “Free him.” He commanded.

Surprisingly, his twin didn’t hesitate, quickly moving forward with his sword drawn as he focused on the chain around Remus’s ankle. 

It really wasn’t fair to hear his name spoken like that! Like he--like the Prince actually cared about him. 

Remus fought to hold still, to not look away from Prince Logan’s forest filled eyes to see what his twin was doing with the lock and if it was the same method he himself had used last night to free himself.

“I want you to come with me.” Prince Logan said softly, stroking Remus’s cheek as he maintained eye contact. “To my kingdom. Let me show you how much we want you there. Need you. Your gift with glass, there are so many of us, so many who would fall to your feet to see as you’ve shown me to see. Come with me, Remus.” He dropped his hands again to Remus’s dirty ones, squeezing them gently. “And I will guarantee that you will not regret it.”

Remus made a noise of disbelief, frozen in place, unable to comprehend that these...that the Prince---No one wanted to be around an evil twin!

And yet.

Prince Logan had yet to draw away or show disgust or revulsion upon discovering that he was the evil half.

“If you go with him, the war will stop.” High King Janus intoned. “Both sides will withdraw. Peace will finally be reestablished in both lands.” 

The war would stop? Over him? It didn’t--

Remus drew in a shaky breath as the chain around his ankle that had been his constant companion the last four years fell away with a soft clank for the second time in the past twenty-four hours as Roman took a step back with a faint smile his eyes shimmering with--was his twin actually about to cry? Over him?!  

“But you--you don’t even know me.” Remus whispered as the Prince pulled him to his feet, guiding him outside to the waiting royal carriage. To--to dare he say it? To freedom if he so chose to take it.

“No.” Prince Logan agreed, giving him another smile as he once more adjusted his glasses, the lens flashing in the sunlight. “But I want to.”

[flightfoot]

Divergent Points: Miraculer

AO3

Alya tossed and turned, groaning.

After some time (it felt like it must’ve been HOURS, but the clock said that only twenty minutes had passed. At this point she wondered whether Bunnix was messing with her), she sat up. 

Fumbling around for her light switch, she finally found it and flicked it, flooding the room with light. 

TOO. MUCH. LIGHT.

Instantly she buried her face underneath the covers again, squeezing her eyes shut until they’d adjusted to that small amount of light.

After a moment she removed the blanket from her face, a little at the time to allow for her eyes to adjust, wincing as the brightness assaulted her eyelids.

See, THIS was why she either stayed up super late or slept through until morning, when light was already creeping in and her eyes were adjusted to at least a little of it.

Unfortunately, her brain had refused to cooperate.

“Kit?” A sleepy voice asked.

Alya looked up to the space she’d cleared out on her bookshelf for the little kwami. “...you remember that salt universe I and the others got dragged into a few months ago?”

Trixx nodded. “Tikki was worried, but I knew you would break out of it. Any Holder of mine learns how to tell when illusions and trickery are afoot.”

Alya smiled, reaching out to scratch behind Trixx’s ears. The little fox gave a small giggle, wagging his tail.

“I was just remembering some stuff that happened there,” she said, curling her knees up against her chest. 

Trixx cuddled up against her, rubbing against her cheek. “You’re safe now. Everyone is. That entity has gone elsewhere, and I can’t see her returning - not after Marinette sent her packing!”

Alya shook her head. “That’s not it. I mean… I feared that for a while and I kept on having flashbacks, but they’ve gone way down - especially with Lila gone.”

She may not have been responsible for what went on in that world, but Alya’s subconscious had still decided to latch onto her as a trigger, causing her extreme anxiety whenever she focused on Lila for too long. So she was pretty glad when Lila’s mother moved embassies again, taking her daughter with her. Part of her felt a little sorry for Lila for being forced to move such a short time after she’d gotten therapy, opened up and started presenting herself a little more honestly to people.

Most of her was just relieved.

Some of her classmates would stay in touch with her. Others never forgave her for deceiving them.

But at this point, it wasn’t something she needed to concern herself with. Lila could form her own future.

While Alya felt like the dark cloud that had been hanging over hers had evaporated.

“That’s not the problem,” she told Trixx. “Not this time.”

Trixx frowned. “Then what?”

Alya drummed her fingers against her bedframe. “One of the things that world showed me, one of the scenarios, was that weird flip between me and Chloe, with me becoming a bully and her turning into Marinette’s best friend and staunchest ally. One of the ways I - or Rena, I guess? that part of myself - pointed out the flaws in that scenario was by calling attention to how that scenario ignored how Chloe treated her ‘best friend’ in reality, that a lot of how that universe twisted me, tried to control me, what it tried to make me into, more closely resembled Chloe than it did myself. Especially with how it made me treat Marinette the way Chloe treated Sabrina - at least before the universe claimed that I ‘turned’ on Marinette.

“Pulling at that thread worked. It created a chink in the universe’s armor that I could use to unravel it the rest of the way. But it didn’t help the real Sabrina at all.”

Trixx’s eyes widened in understanding. “And with what happened today…”

Alya nodded. “Seeing Sabrina akumatized over Chloe again reminded me of their relationship. I generally see Chloe disparaging Sabrina less nowadays - actually, come to think of it, Chloe’s not going out of her way to be mean in general - ever since she became Queen Bee formally and had other things to focus on. But that doesn’t mean their relationship is anywhere near healthy.”

“Do you have a plan?”

Alya bit her lip. “...Maybe. I remember Marinette mentioning that she tried to get Sabrina to stand up for herself at some point. Obviously it didn’t work, but maybe she has some insight…”

-------

Marinette made a face. “Good luck.”

Alya tilted her head. “It went down that badly with Sabrina?”

“Not at first. Actually, it went a little TOO well,” Marinette said. “I pointed out that Chloe was taking advantage of Sabrina, making her do all the work, and that I’d rather have NO friends than be friends with Chloe.”

Her face fell slightly. “That last part I’d take back now.  I’d always just slotted her in as a bully who existed to make my life miserable. Chloe can be awful sometimes - okay, a lot of the time - but… well, she has some reason for being the way she is. And as Ladybug, I’ve gotten to see a side of her I never knew existed. She really wants to prove herself to be valuable and useful, for other people to see her that way. I think she has some pretty bad abandonment issues from her mother leaving. Her mom disparaging her constantly and treating her like dirt didn’t help.”

“Do you think we could talk to Chloe about treating Sabrina better?” Alya asked. “Or at least, that you could. She listens to you, at least when you’re Ladybug.”

Marinette looked uncomfortable. “I dunno… I want her to be a better person, but I’m not sure that Ladybug coming in and just telling her that she needs to be nicer is gonna work. She didn’t seem that happy with me last night, and anyway, it takes more than that to get someone to change their personality and habits, the way they’ve interacted with the world for most of their life.”

“Oh yeah, Adrien tried that before, didn’t he?” Alya recalled. 

Marinette nodded. “It made her give an effort for awhile, but if the only reason someone’s being nicer is to avoid punishment… it’s not likely to last. And I don’t think Adrien wants to dangle his friendship with her over her head.”

Alya grimaced. She’d been through that situation before when she was younger, before she’d even hit the double digits. Some of the neighborhood kids she was friends with liked to use the line “if you don’t do [X], I won’t be friends with you anymore!”

Being so young, she believed they were serious, until her mom convinced her that it wasn’t worth following their commands if they were going to make it an ultimatum like that. 

Sure enough, an hour later her friend was at the door apologizing and they became friends again.

She’d tried using that line on Alya a couple more times, but at that point Alya knew she wasn’t serious and that she wouldn’t want to be friends with her if she was, and she gradually stopped using it.

Adrien may have had a far better reason for his ultimatum, but it still felt icky to her. She wouldn’t want to use that ultimatum on Chloe constantly either - on anyone really.

“That’s fair,” Alya said. “I wouldn’t want him to, either.”

“I’m hoping that with her mom back she doesn’t feel so abandoned,” Marinette continued. “And I’ve tried to reinforce when she does something good, like after Malediktator with celebrating Queen Bee. But, well… she just doesn’t do that very often.” She looked down. “I want to help her be better, I KNOW she can be better, especially with some of the stories Adrien’s told me of when the two of them were younger. But I can’t just- just MAKE her treat people better, to be someone who people WANT to spend time around.”

“That’s not your responsibility, you know that, right?” Alya pointed out. “She’s her own person. Whatever she does, it’s not on you.”

Marinette sighed. “I know, I know. Same goes for you too, though.”

Alya laughed. “We’re quite the pair huh? Both of us have a habit of sticking our noses in other people’s business.”

“Like a certain girl who, in her first few minutes at a new school, stood up to the resident bully for a girl she didn’t even know?” Marinette teased.

“I don’t like seeing people be picked on.” Alya said, putting her arm around Marinette. “Especially since, well… I’d just moved here. I was trying to decide who I wanted to be. Seeing Chloe putting you down like that? I decided that the person I wanted to be was someone brave. Someone who fought for the innocent. Who stood up when they saw an injustice, if they thought they could help. Whose primary concern was helping those in trouble.”

She winced. “I won’t pretend I’ve always been perfect about it, but… it’s an ideal I strive towards.”

“Not like you’re the only one,” Marinette told her. “Remember at Adrien’s party?”

Alya blinked. “What about it?”

Marinette rubbed the back of her neck. “Remember how, uh, conveniently the record the Bubbler was playing changed?”

“Wait, that was you?!”

Marinette laughed, chagrinned. “I didn’t like Chloe and Adrien dancing together.”

“To be fair, I don’t think he liked it either,” Alya said. 

“Probably not,” Marinette agreed. “But… well, I’d be lying if I said that was my main motivation for changing the song.”

Alya snorted. “I’ve helped with your plans, girl. I KNOW.”

Marinette’s smile faded. “Unfortunately I don’t know what else can be done about Chloe, or even Chloe and Sabrina’s relationship.”

“What DID end up happening with Sabrina?” Alya asked. “You never finished telling that story. Obviously their fallout didn’t last.”

“Chloe tried to tempt her with a beret she’d bought, which she actually seemed to be considering until Evillustrator attacked. Kiiiinda had higher priorities at that point.”

“Yeah, being chased with a giant hair dryer tends to do that.”

Marinette laughed. “That it does. Sabrina caught up with me later at my house to work on the project. She actually did my geography homework for me. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to work on it right then, what with the fake date I set up with Evillustrator.”

“Still can’t believe you did that,” Alya said.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “This from the girl whose immediate thought when seeing a supervillain was, ��Ooh, I should bike after them so I can film whatever superhero shows up’?”

“Touché.”

“Sabrina immediately took offense when I told her I was busy,” Marinette continued. “Saying that Chloe used that excuse all the time and that the two of us are really similar, that I probably expected her to do all the work, too. I tried to protest, but she’d already made up her mind, grabbing the homework she’d done for me and stalking off. Next time I saw her she was with Chloe again, wearing the beret Chloe’d tempted her with earlier and delivering Chloe’s completed homework to her, calling her her BFF again. Basically, everything was back to normal.”

“I don’t get it,” Alya said, squinting as if that could help make things clearer. “If she thought that you were acting like Chloe - and I’ve seen Chloe, she’s WAY ruder about it - why would that make her think Chloe’s great? And why was that enough to drive her away so quickly? You’d only brushed her off once. Chloe does it regularly.”

Marinette shrugged. “I couldn’t figure that out myself. Maybe because she knew Chloe would take her back? I’d never really paid much attention to Sabrina and Chloe’s relationship before, I was more concerned with just trying to stay away from them so I didn’t fall into Chloe’s cross-hairs.”

“Hmmm…”

That sort of made sense, but… she really didn’t know whether Sabrina thought like that. What her mindset was in general. How she could be okay with just following after Chloe and doing whatever she was told to, with having THAT unequal of a “friendship”. 

Maybe a little more reconnaissance was needed…

But who else could she ask? 

Chloe?

Maybe, but she wasn’t exactly eager to talk to her. Probably wouldn’t get anything useful, either.

But there was one other person she knew who Sabrina was close to...

“Thanks, Marinette, you’ve been a big help.”

“You know of some way to help their relationship?” Marinette asked.

Alya shook her head. “Not yet. But I have an idea for who to ask next.”

------

Alya scanned the park.

Hm, where were they…

A shadow from above flew over the park. 

Ah!

Craning her neck, she took a closer look.

Small? Check.

Grey? Check.

Followed by swarms of other birds heading the same direction? Check.

All converging on…

She looked down at a figure sitting on a park bench, feeding the pigeons.

A lot of people were at least somewhat familiar with Mr. Ramier by now. Kinda had to be, considering that Hawkmoth wouldn’t leave the poor guy alone.

“You know you’re banned from this park,” a stern voice called out.

Alya grimaced. Hawkmoth wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t leave Mr. Ramier alone. Granted, he WAS breaking the rules, but Roger could still give him some slack.

Well she was aiming to talk to Roger anyway, maybe she could spare Ladybug and Chat Noir having to fight Mr Pigeon yet AGAIN.

(Seriously she was beginning to think Hawkmoth had a crush on Mr. Ramier with how much he liked akumatizing the guy, even though he’d become less and less of a threat every time).

Waving her hands, she sprinted over to Roger and Mr. Ramier, just as Roger was starting in on his usual spiel.  “Monsieur Roger?” she asked. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

He waved her off. “After I’m done telling this criminal AGAIN that he’s not allowed in the park.”

“It’s about your daughter.”

Roger’s head shot up. “Sabrina? What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”

Alya shook her head. “No… well, not physically anyway. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Because I DO think she’s hurt, just… emotionally.”

Roger looked back at Mr. Ramier. He sighed, adjusting his cap before looking at Alya again. “Alright, miss. What’s going on with my daughter?”

“You know how she’s friends with Chloe, right?”

Roger grinned. “Of course! I’m so proud of her. Sabrina really follows the family motto. ‘Protect and serve,’ that’s what I always say! She’s always looking after anything Chloe needs, whether it’s homework help, tea, or anything else! They’re such close friends.”

Oooookay, she was beginning to see why Sabrina didn’t see anything wrong with her relationship with Chloe.

“Uh… Roger… you know that relationship’s really one-sided, right?” Alya asked awkwardly. “…have you paid attention to how Chloe treats Sabrina?”

Roger shrugged. “I know Chloe depends on Sabrina a lot. Sure she can be a little rough around the edges, but she still cares about her. She just shows she cares through presents, while Sabrina shows how she cares by helping her.”

Well… okay, that made SOME sense. Different people had different ways of showing they cared. But Roger was missing a really important piece of the picture.

“She might care about Sabrina on some level,” Alya admitted begrudgingly. “But she still treats her really badly. And I don’t just mean in a ‘she’s bad at expressing herself’ sort of way. Sure, helping friends is common, that’s fine. But Chloe just… she harangues Sabrina all the time, and even coerced her into breaking the law.”

It wasn’t terribly common, but Chloe HAD done it, and would likely be willing to do it again if it helped her achieve her goals.

Roger’s eyes hardened. “WHAT?! My Sabrina would never-!”

“You should try asking her about the time Chloe ran for Class representative,” Alya interrupted. “Chloe told Sabrina to steal Marinette’s diary so she could blackmail Marinette into dropping out.”

Roger growled. “That’s ridiculous.  Chloe’s the mayor’s daughter, she wouldn’t try to get someone, especially my DAUGHTER, to break the law for her!”

“...Like that time Chloe pressured her dad into trying to force you to illegally search one of her classmate’s possessions?”

Roger froze. “I…”

“Just ask her, alright?” Alya said. “Just… just talk about it. And really look at Sabrina’s and Chloe’s relationship. Doing things for a friend is fine. Helping a friend in need is generally expected. But berating a friend for not doing a favor, or not doing it fast enough or well enough for their liking… that’s something to keep an eye on. Especially when that ‘friend’ is contemptuous of you, saying that you’re lucky to have them, that you’d have no other friends otherwise, that you’re a nobody.”

“...I’ll talk to her about it,” Roger said. “And she’ll prove all of this wrong, that she and Chloe have a great relationship!”

Well Sabrina may THINK they have a good relationship, but-

“Sabrina probably thinks so,” Alya said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true. I’m not sure Sabrina knows what SHE should expect out of a friendship, beyond just not being alone.”

“Isn’t that the most important thing?” Roger argued. 

Alya grimaced. “Being lonely sucks. But some friendships are worse than being alone, especially if that friendship is cutting that person off from forming any other bonds. I’m not saying that Sabrina should cut all ties with Chloe, or that there’s no genuine affection between them. But I AM saying that their relationship may need a reorganization. At the very least, that she needs a chance to have a friendship network that extends beyond just Chloe.”

Sighing, Roger looked down, his cap covering his eyes. “I have noticed that she doesn’t really talk about or hang out with anyone else” he said begrudgingly. “I thought the two of them were just such great friends there was no need to.”

“Everyone needs more friends in their lives,” Alya said. “One person might be a best friend, but to only have one friend, period? Can be a problem. Even if it’s with the best person in the world. It makes that person entirely dependent on that one friend. So if an issue arises there are no other options, no one else to turn to. And everyone needs someone to turn to.”

------

Hm… which shade of red was best? 

Comparing the picture on her phone to the different paint colors, she selected one of the brighter shades. It might not be entirely accurate, but next to the black of Chat Noir’s suit it would really pop.

*creak*

Alya looked up.

Chloe strutted through the door, Sabrina following behind her.

Something seemed different about Sabrina though. She looked uncomfortable and conflicted whenever she looked at Chloe, like she wasn’t sure how she should feel about her.

“Oh, Sabrina, look at this!” Chloe said, walking over to Alix’s latest street art masterpiece. “The little punk thinks vandalism is art!”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Alix asked.

“Well of course, I always have something better to do. I just thought I’d grace you with my presence. No need to thank me. No, actually. DO thank me. It’s the least you can do.”

Alix rolled her eyes, getting back to her spray painting.

“Chloe, over here!” 

Alya blinked, watching Adrien wave Chloe over.

Huh. That was unusual. Usually Adrien preferred to spend time with Marinette (granted she was at her own workstation sewing this time, while Adrien was working at a separate station). Chloe and Adrien may still be friends, but…

Adrien caught her eye.

And winked.

OOOOH.

“ADRIKINS!” Chloe squealed, running over to him and latching onto his arm. 

As the two of them began talking earnestly, Alya noticed Marinette waving Sabrina over. 

For the first time since she’d entered the classroom, a small smile graced Sabrina’s face. 

Seeing Sabrina sitting next to Marinette, having a good time, Alya couldn’t help but smile as well.

-----

(A/N)

Just to make it clear, I don't think Lila's better than Chloe. But any sort of comeuppance or retribution that could be inflicted on Lila already HAS been in fics a hundredfold. At this point I just want her gone so I can pretend she doesn't exist.

Chloe's far more interesting. With her characterization she can be pulled in multiple different directions, can be developed in different ways without needing to break her character. Just having her be a stuck-up bully? There's plenty of canon to back that up. Want her to build herself up, to try to be... if not nice exactly, to at least be helpful, to protect the people she cares about? There's plenty to draw on there as well. She's easily the most versatile character in ML.

Still very annoyed at how often she gets the Draco in Leather Pants treatment while Alya and Adrien get Ron the Death Eater'd to make room for her, though. When it's just a Chloedemption I'm fine with that, but not when other, canonically kinder, more understanding characters have their characterization completely broken in order to make her look better by comparison.

Also her treatment of Sabrina really needs to be addressed. I do believe she's genuinely fond of Sabrina, but she still treats her very poorly. I hope season 4 develops Sabrina more so I can better understand her mindset, that was one of the most difficult parts of writing this. Just trying to understand why she sticks with Chloe, why she keeps going back to her.

I liked how the NY Special let Sabrina separate from Chloe to talk to that boy, to allow Sabrina to have some sort of relationship outside of Chloe. That's what I wanted for her here, for her to have a chance to form some new bonds and be less dependent on Chloe. I can't see her leaving Chloe entirely, but maybe Chloe will treat Sabrina better if Sabrina's more willing to distance herself when Chloe starts treating her badly, along with decreasing Sabrina's likelihood of being akumatized whenever that happens. So far both times Sabrina got akumatized (outside of Heroes Day) Chloe lashing out at her has facilitated it.

As for a Chloedemption, with what we've seen in the show, I just don't think we're there yet. We've had a few people try to intervene, pushing Chloe to be a better person.

Evillustrator: Marinette pointed out the issues in Chloe's and Sabrina's relaitonship, and Sabrina HERSELF called Chloe out for treating her like a slave.

Despair Bear: Adrien tried to push Chloe into being nicer, into making an effort.

Style Queen & Malediktator: Marinette got Chloe's mom to stick around and connect with her a little (albeit in a very unorthodox way), even having a heartfelt moment connecting with Chloe the next episode, getting a better glimpse of her insecurities and trying to help her with them by giving her a chance to show that she's definitely NOT useless, and to get appreciation that she genuinely earned.

I don't really have much more I can add to that to push Chloe over the redemption line. She's already had a lot of people working with her. So I wanted to give Sabrina a push instead. I dunno whether Roger gaining a better understanding of how skewed Chloe's and Sabrina's relationship is and talking to Sabrina about it, letting her know that "protect and serve" has limits, would actually happen or whether that would get Sabrina to reconsider what she should put up with, but I figure it's more likely than Chloe's parents shaping up, especially with how awful Audrey is. At least Roger showed some integrity in Rogercop.

[cagestark]

Starker Drabble: truth serum mishap? - starkerkitty91x

“Are you sure we should be doing this, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks. His entire figure exudes uncertainty, the hunch of his shoulders, the nervous rubbing on his palms against his jeans, the lines between his eyebrows. “I don’t want you to do anything that might, like, hurt you. My project isn’t worth that.” 

Tony can’t help but smile, feeling a stab of fondness for the kid. Plenty of things had changed since he’d started attending NYU focusing on biochemistry, but his heart hadn’t been one of them. The kid cares, heart as big as his brain. Hopefully, his brain is as large as Tony believes it to be, the man thinks, glancing down at the test tube of clear liquid resting in a holder on the lab table. Otherwise, Tony really might get hurt. 

But second only to his affection for the kid is his trust in him. Peter is smart. He’s been working on this serum for two entire semesters now. They can’t bother testing it on him with his genetic modifications, so Tony will gladly play the guinea pig this time. 

“If it really is a truth serum, then your work certainly could be worth some injury for the greater good,” Tony says. Peter’s face only gets paler. “But! - for what it’s worth - I don’t believe anything is going to go wrong. We went over your numbers together and everything checks out. Sometimes, kid, you just have to bite the bullet and go for it.”

“I don’t like that analogy,” Peter snarks. 

Reaching out, Tony picks up the test tube carefully. He sniffs at it. “I don’t smell anything.” 

Peter brightens, only a little. “Exactly. It’s not supposed to have any noticeable taste or smell so that it can be disguised in other solutions.” 

Tony hums. “Bottoms up.” 

Peter is right about the taste. Tony isn’t entirely unconvinced that he didn’t just drink spring water. Maybe that’s the kid’s goal here, maybe this is meant to be a control test. Sitting the test tube down, he takes a seat just in case the stuff he just swallowed isn’t Dasani and it has any unsavory effects that knock him out. Tony’s too old to be doing this, too old to be allowing himself to be experimented on and sure as hell too old to deal with any side effects. 

But for Peter - 

“I’d do anything for you, kid, you know that?” 

“Thanks?” Peter says, cheeks a little flushed. He drags over a chair until they’re sitting by each other. “That’s out of nowhere though. How do you feel?” 

“Totally normal.”

“Not fuzzy in the head? Distractible? Or -” 

“I’m always distractible.”

Peter laughs a little, revealing rows of neat, white teeth. “To be fair, it balances out your tendency to hyperfixate.” 

“Might be nice to experience a healthy middle for once,” Tony muses. “Should I be feeling it?” 

“It might only have detectable physiological effects once you try to lie. Tell me, what’s your name?” 

Steve Rogers, he goes to say. But the breath it would require never makes it past his throat. His teeth click together audibly. Holy shit, Tony thinks. It works. It really works. The harder he strains to try to give any name other than his own - to even give his nickname, Tony - his tongue rests uselessly in his mouth. Peter’s eyes are wide as moons watching Tony struggle, his entire being lighting up with excitement that makes the discomfort completely worth it. 

Then, the other half of the serum begins to work. It’s not enough to keep someone from lying, Peter had said when he presented his project to Tony. You have to compel them to tell the truth. The compulsion begins like an itch in the back of his throat. A feeling of momentum in his chest, like the words are held there and ready to explode out of him. The answer flashes in front of his eyes - Anthony Edward Stark - but he grits his teeth against it. The longer he resists, the worse it gets. He feels it on the tip of his tongue, feels it in his gut, feels it in the flashing synapses of his brain. 

Through his teeth, after only a single minute of silence, he admits: “Anthony Edward Stark.” 

Peter hoots, pumping his fist. But at the sight of the sweat beading on Tony’s forehead, he sobers, reaching out to rest the back of his hand against Tony’s flushed skin like a mother with her child. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Does the compulsion hurt?” 

“Yes,” he says. Relief floods his chest. God, it feels so good to tell the truth. “Not unbearable, though.” 

Peter frowns. “I don’t like that. Maybe we should end the test here.” 

“It’s worth it for you, kid,” Tony blurts out. “I’d hurt a thousand times worse than this for you.”

Peter blinks. “I - that’s, that’s nice? Not really nice, though, because I never want to hurt you, Mr. Stark.” 

“Tony. Please call me Tony. I get that maybe you were nervous to at first and that now it’s like a longstanding joke, but you don’t know how often I think about your mouth forming my name, how often I think of what it must sound like. I fucking crave it, kid, please give it to me.” 

After he runs out of breath, Tony stares blankly at the kid’s face. Holy shit, he thinks again. It’s doing more than just working. 

“The compulsion aspect is out of hand,” Tony says, standing jerkily. He winces when he barrels on to say: “I need to leave the room before I admit my feelings for you.” 

“Feelings?” Peter says, gaping. “You - you have -?”

“So many feelings. Namely romantic and sexual ones these days.” 

“What?” Peter’s voice is nearly a shout. “Sexual feelings?” 

“Of course!” Tony answers, bidden to by the drug in his system, the drug that pries open his teeth no matter how tightly he clenches them shut. The drug that roots his feet to the floor to keep him from walking away. He has an out of body experience (or maybe that’s wishful thinking, maybe he just wishes he could sever his ties with his body and float away to never have to deal with the repercussions of these confessions) watching himself spill his most depraved secrets and thoughts: “You’re not a child anymore; I feel helplessly attracted to you; sometimes when we’re down here working together it’s all I can think about: bending you over one of these lab tables, you getting down on your knees for me so that I could feed my cock into that snarky little mouth of yours, spreading your legs and licking you open to see if you could cum from my tongue alone, for fuck’s sake, I need to leave the room!”

“Why?” Peter asks. Now his voice is quiet, gentle, his hand cool against Tony’s heated flesh when he rests it on the man’s forearm. “Why do you need to leave?”

Tony swallows hard. “Because you don’t feel the same, because if you did feel the same it would still be wrong, because I’m far too old and it’s perverse, because people will think I groomed you, because I’m not good for you, because I could never be good for you, because I’m going to lose you and I can’t stop talking.” 

“I don’t want you to stop talking,” Peter says. He brings them closer, until the fever inside Tony’s body feels fed from the outside by the kid’s own body heat. Still, his hand is cool and refreshing when it reaches up to press against Tony’s cheek, and maybe the honesty goes deeper than just his words, because Tony can’t help but lean into the touch, to let himself have this moment because he wants it and there is no lying to himself about it. “Mr. - Tony - you, you have to know that I feel the same way. I’ve always felt the same way. I thought I was being like, super obvious about it. I don’t care about what anyone else would think. Because I know you’re good for me. You always have been.” 

“Want to be good for you,” Tony breathes. His body shakes, and there’s no telling if its the drug or the vulnerability. He cringes at the neediness in his voice and his words, but that’s him. At his core. At his most honest - yearning. 

“You are, I just said,” Peter replies. “Can I kiss you?” 

“I might die if you don’t,” Tony admits. 

Peter breathes a little laugh, breath fanning across Tony’s open mouth. “Don’t want that,” he murmurs, standing up onto his toes. 

[quickspinner]

I'm here for you with Lukabug? 🥺💖

“You know I’m standing ready whenever you need me,” Viperion told her, and Ladybug’s heart stumbled and stuttered unexpectedly. 

She’d heard it before, from all of the other heroes, in one form or another. From Rena. From Carapace. From Pegasus. All of them were ready, eager—almost too eager—to help.  

But it sounded different, coming from Viperion, with his earnest eyes, the hand on her shoulder, the way he leaned down a little to level with her. Not with the soft look Luka gave Marinette when he comforted her. Something a little harder, more determined and intense, but equally sure. 

Perhaps the difference was in the way he said it, low and earnest, but without that edge of excitement that she’d seen in the others. Just the same warm, quiet steadiness he always projected. Maybe it was because she’d heard it from Luka, too, just as simply, fresh from danger he’d willingly thrown himself into, without any of the glamor or excitement of being a superhero even on the table. You can count on us whenever you need help. 

Weeks later, she would hear it again, from Luka to Marinette, on one of the lowest days of her life. The words were different, but the sentiment was the same. The meaning behind the words never changed. 

I’m here for you.

A couple of weeks after that, Ladybug was crouched on the wall bordering the Seine, looking at the Liberty. It was dangerous and probably stupid to be here, she scolded herself. The whole reason she couldn’t give out the Miraculous anymore was to keep her holders out of danger, and now here she was, and if Hawkmoth was watching, if Hawkmoth had recognized or found Luka and put surveillance on him…

It was just, she felt like such a failure and she needed somebody to talk to, and she trusted Luka, and he always had a different way of looking at things that might be exactly what she needed right now.

Still. She shouldn’t do anything more to prove Luka was important to her. She shouldn’t be here.

Ladybug was reaching for her yoyo when a quiet call startled her. She turned quickly, nearly overbalancing, and found Luka looking up at her from the base of the wall. 

“Did you need something?” he asked quietly—well, as quietly as he could and still be heard. He jogged up the stairway that ended beside her but stopped when he was still below her. “Can I help?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing, I just...um, I just needed to take a break, and now I’m done, so I should get back to patrol.”

“Are you sure?” Luka asked, head tilting slightly. 

Ladybug deflated a little, sitting down on the wall and hanging her legs off of it. “No,” she sighed. “But it’s not safe for me to be here, Luka. I could be putting you and your family in danger. It’s better if I just go.” 

“Hey,” Luka said, leaning over the rail and reaching up to lay a hand on her ankle—pretty much the only part of her he could reach, but somehow it made her feel warm. “I’m here for you. If you need me, even if it’s just to listen, I want to do whatever I can.” 

“But—”

“I know,” he cut her off, pulling his hand back with a sharp gesture; clearly irritated. Not at her, she sensed, but at something else. The situation, probably, or maybe even Chloe. “I get that it’s risky, Ladybug. The thing is, no one in this city will be safe if something happens to you, including me and my family. So if you need me,” he shrugged. “Like I said, I’m here for you.” 

They looked at each other for a moment, and Luka straightened and backed off a couple of steps. “I”m not intending to pressure you,” he said. “I’m sure that’s the last thing you need. So...I’m going to go, and just know if you change your mind, I’m here. Any time, any where, including on the Liberty.” 

“Thanks, Luka,” Ladybug sighed with a smile that she hoped didn’t look as tired as she felt. “Really.” 

Luka nodded, and went down the steps. Ladybug watched him pass below her along the bang, and then suddenly she called. “Wait!”

Luka turned and Ladybug pushed off the wall to drop on the sidewalk. 

Unfortunately she didn’t consider what a drop that size would look like to a civilian (even a former part-time superhero). Luka’s eyes widened slightly and he moved to catch her. His lunge toward her threw her off and nearly landed them both in a heap on the sidewalk, but Ladybug just barely managed to catch Luka around the waist and lever them both upright.

“Whoa,” Luka muttered, staring at her, and then jumped back out of her hold like she’d burned him. 

“Sorry,” he said, shoulders slumping slightly as he ruffled the hair at the back of his head. “That was dumb. You being who you are.”

“It was a little bit,” Ladybug giggled, “But it was dumb in a sweet way, so...” She rubbed a hand along the opposite arm. “Um...still up for that talk?” 

“Yes,” Luka said quickly. “Of course. Come on, no one will see us once we’re below decks and we can talk in peace.”

Fiction Master Post | Here for You prompt collection

[charlettebffxiv]

Unsung Prompt #3: Trust

A thin piece of paper was clenched between Charlette’s fingers, she was trying hard not to crush it in her grip, but the contents had left her on edge. It had been one of those things that just makes your entire form clench in a manner that was just, sometimes, out of your control. For Charlette, that just made it worse. “Tea?” asked the waitress, a miqo’te that was unusually tall for her kind. It left her shorter than Charlette, but not by much, though the dusky hue to her skin suggested a Seeker. That, and the fact they were in an Ul’dahn cafe. “Yes please, black.” Charlette replied, pushing her empty tea cup closer. Steam and the floral scent of the drink rose up as it was refilled. Charlette only saw it for a moment before her mind faded back to the contents of this note. “Everything okay?” the soft voice asked, gentle and light, almost like she was out of breath or struggling to project above a whisper. “No.” Charlette replied, the waitresses tail flicked behind her and she placed the teapot down. “Want to talk about it?” she did not ask for confirmation before sitting down across from Charlette. This was not unusual, you see, not in this cafe. It was a very special place, a very specific place that sat in the smallest corner of one of the city's most tightly packed and busy streets. Hidden away, like a gem in a thief's stash. All that marked this place's existence was a wooden sign with the kindly, tearful face of a woman carved into it. ‘Hand Holders’ was the name beneath it, and everyone that came here sought just this. A person, across the table, asking if everything is okay. “Is the tea warm enough?” she asked, Charlette nodded. “It is lovely, thank you.” A stiff smile added to her gratitude, she hoped. “Would you like to know my name?” Another nod. “It’s Y’tahlia, may I know yours?” A moment of hesitation, before Charlette responded “Angelica.” saying that, did not feel good. But it did feel necessary. “It’s nice to meet you Angelica. That’s a wonderful name, I had a friend from Ala Mhigo with the same one. But I don’t think there are many Duskwights that far east.” Charlette held up her hand, one finger raised “You might be surprised, how many Wildwoods and Duskwights head that way. The Shroud is not always the perfect home for us.” Y’tahlia’s laugh was light, airy, so short you could miss it in a blink. “I know. I’m a Keeper myself.” Charlette dipped her head to the side, surprise obvious on her face. “That is not the guess I made. Goes to show how easy it is to judge incorrectly, apologies.” She waved away Charlette’s concern. “Nothing to worry over, I’m sure you already have something to pay attention to, if you’ve come to us.” Silence answered her. Charlette lifted her hand, holding the note, and opened it to read the words again. “I do, but I am not sure where to begin with it. I cannot give the whole story, you understand I am sure, but I do not think it is something anyone can really… comprehend without all of it.” None of this tripped Y’tahlia up at all, her attention never left her company, and Charlette would have to admit to herself that this was, validating, comforting. “All I need to know is what you need me to know. We’re here for you, after all. Not for answers or decisions. Those are such loud and demanding guests, why don’t we uninvite them from the table for now? Let them have their debates by the fireplace in quiet solitude.” she reached out between them, a hand pressing up behind the note and folding it down, pushing it into Charlette’s palm, then holding it shut with a gentle grip that somehow delivered a suggestion of firmness. ‘Put that away.’ it said. The last words of the note that flashed in front of Charlette’s eyes before they were tucked into her palm played across her thoughts. The Owl is nested in Thavnair. It was time to chase him once again. Or it would be, after this. After she had let Y’tahlia pull her from her seat, and lead her way. Half drunk tea steamed on the saucer, the trails waving the two of them away as they abandoned answers, decisions, worries. That’s what this place is for, after all. So they did.

[storiesnobodyreads]

ENDLESSLY INFURIATED [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story: You hate Bucky Barnes more than anything and are not shy to let everyone know about this. Will things change when Steve convinces you to join him on a fancy night out?

There were not many things that endlessly infuriated you. Bucky Barnes, however, was definitely one of those things. His brooding, quiet self frustrated you to no end, and there was no clear explanation for this, not even to you. He had technically never done anything wrong. Always a gentleman, always polite, always oh-so-willing to sacrifice himself for his friends. Sometimes it seemed that Barnes had decided that he wasn’t supposed to be alive at this point anyway so he might as well rescue others no matter the cost.

“Want some coffee?” Barnes asked when you trudged into the kitchen of the Stark Tower early in the morning.

Unfortunately, Barnes was always the first one up and ready, so whenever you felt motivated to go for a run or workout early in the morning, this good motivation was instantly killed off by Barnes’ presence. “Ugh, no, fuck off,” you groaned.

“Good morning to you too,” said Barnes without a care, pouring some coffee into one cup for himself.

You rolled your eyes, fetching some cereal and milk and thudding down on a high chair at the bar. To your absolute dismay, Barnes joined you at the bar. You stared at him. “What the fuck?”

Barnes raised his eyebrows at you. “Didn’t realize you own this place. Last time I checked I’m free to sit wherever I want.”

You put up your ultimate bitch face. “Fine, dickwad. Just don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”

For some reason, it pissed you off possibly even more that Barnes never seemed to care about your blatant verbal aggression toward him. He simply slightly shook his head and took a sip of hot steaming coffee, which admittedly smelled really good. He twirled his cup in his hands, looking relaxed in his grey sweatpants and over-sized white sweater.

Cute, you thought quickly, but you soon pushed that thought very far back in your mind. You finished your breakfast as fast as you could, in absolute silence. Barnes didn’t look at you once nor did he seem to feel the need to start a conversation. In a sense that you despised, breakfast was actually quite peaceful like this. When you were done, you got up to place your used stuff in the dishwasher. 

“I can clean up,” Barnes offered, “so you can go on your run.”

You narrowed your eyes and stared at the man with as much hatred as you could gather, violently placing your bowl in the dishwasher and practically throwing the spoon in its holder. Without saying another word, you marched out of the kitchen, where you bounced into Tony. “Oh, good morning, Tony!” you said cheerfully, pressing a kiss on the man’s cheek. 

“Mornin’, lovely,” was Tony’s response. He was wiping some sleep out of his eyes, clearly having had a long night. You didn’t quite know what project he was currently working on, but it was fair to say it was robbing him of his sleep. “You’re up early,” he commented.  

You nodded, ponytail swinging. “Felt good today. Am going for a run.”

“Alright, love. Have fun.” 

“Thanks, thanks. Maybe after I could help you with your project, if you got anything to do for me?”

Tony scratched the scruff on his chin, suppressing a yawn. “Yeah, I might have some things for you to look at later. Thanks for offering. Now go run, kid.” You grinned when he sent a wink in your direction. 

Barnes spoke up from the bar, “Have fun, Y/N.”

In reaction to him, you simply raised your middle finger and strolled out of sight. 

Running had always simultaneously been your most favorite and least favorite activity. You loathed it because it was often boring, leaving you alone with your thoughts which soon turned into a mentally challenging exercise. You loved it because whenever you felt anxious, you could just run as fast as your legs could carry you and sweat all the anxiety out. Sam’s explanation for this had been that when humans get stressed, their fight or flight reaction gets triggered, because in the good old days stressors were things like wolves. After being confronted with the wolf, you would either be safe or dead, but not anxious. With the stressors of the current society, you can’t run away or fight, leaving you with an uneasy feeling. But running, sometimes, helped you get rid of that feeling.

On top of that, it was a wonderful morning. Not too hot, not too cold, not a cloud to be spotted in the bright blue sky. The nice smell of fresh bread oozing from the bakeries as birds awoke and fluttered through the air. Despite having had breakfast with Barnes, it was a good morning. And it felt like today might be a good day. 

You returned to the Stark Tower an hour or so later, when you presumed most of the Avengers had woken up. You happily greeted Elena the receptionist and said hello to some of the security guards, waving cheerfully at James from Human Resources through the glass walls of his department. After a quick stop to send your best wishes at the Youth Centers Tony had set up for children and teenagers in need of books or an internet connection or any form of help, you made your way up to the Avengers headquarters. 

Needless to say, you were relieved to find Barnes’ seat empty. 

“Y/N!” you were welcomed enthusiastically by Steve, who waved you over to the couch in the living room. All the glass walls, which according to Tony emphasized openness and honesty among the Avengers, made it easy to see whenever someone entered. You made your way over to Steve, moving past Wanda who used some of her red flaring magic to pull you closer to her so she could plant a kiss on the top of your head. Wanda spent most of her time using her magic to fly around the kitchen and living room, simply to annoy the other Avengers that they couldn’t fly. Thor had once started the argument that he could, in fact, fly, but when Wanda had dared to do so without the help of his hammer, his big mouth soon vanished. 

Having arrived at the couch, you let yourself fall down, sprawling your legs over Steve’s lap and letting your head rest on Sam’s knees. “What’s up, losers?” you smiled. 

“Ew, you stink,” Sam coughed exaggeratedly. He faked trying to push you away from him. “Take a shower before you come poison us!” 

“Steve asked me to come here!” you argued. 

Steve grinned and patted your shins. “That was before I realized what a sweaty human being you were. Disgusting, Y/N, really—anyway, the reason I asked you over here is because I kind of need you to do me a favor.”

You instantly became suspicious. “Oh no. What?”

“Well, remember that nice new girl that is working for James in Human Resources now?” Steve started with a nervous laugh. 

You shot up straight and gently hit Steve against his chest. “You didn’t!” 

Steve was laughing, “I did, I did. I asked her out on a date. We’re going out tonight.” 

“No way!” you exclaimed excitedly, throwing yourself at the man to hug him. “I’m so happy for you! Lucie is so nice, Steve! The two of you would make such a lovely couple!” 

“Alright, calm down there,” Steve lifted you up from him, smiling widely. “Thank you very much for introducing us, though. I owe you one.” 

“This is going to be amazing, Steve, I—” you realized suddenly that Steve had started out this conversation stating that he was going to ask for a favor. “Right. I’m very happy for you, but what do you want from me then?”

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat. “When I was asking Lucie out for a date tonight, I might have accidentally, you know, in the heat of the moment, I was very nervous, I might have said that it was going to be a double date... Um, to make it less awkward.” 

You stared at him. “To make it less awkward? To make it less awkward you thought it’d be a good idea to invite me?”

Steve put up a broad smile. “Yes?”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it into Captain America’s stupid face. “WHY?” you exclaimed incredulously. 

“Because she knows you and she likes you!” Steve defended himself, raising his arms to stop to downfall of more pillows on top of his head. “And somewhere in my rambling I thought it was easier to a group activity than it just being the two of us--”

You emphasized every word with a hit, “you – are – so – dumb!” 

“That’s not even all I— damn,” Steve laughed, fighting back to steal the last pillow away from you. He put up his puppy eyes. “Please tell me you’ll come with me. Please. I really like Lucie and I need your help.” 

Raising one brow, you marvelled at how Steve was usually such a strategic leader out in the field and yet here he had turned into a begging boy, nervous because he liked a girl. You shortly remembered how Steve hadn’t always been this good-looking and still had a sense of insecurity when it came to his looks and getting girls. “My god. Okay. But that means you owe me twice, Steve.” 

Steve attacked you with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“Gosh,” you tapped out on Steve’s back, unable to breathe with him on top of you. When he let you go, he looked so relieved you decided it might actually be worth it to help him out this way. “Right then. Where do I have to be?”

“Down at the reception, at 7? I’ll choose the restaurant and everything. It’s going to be fancy. That’s a warning.” 

You glared. “Why do you say that like I am incapable of looking fancy?”

Behind you, Sam barked out a laugh. “Because, sweetheart, you are absolutely gorgeous, but it is an odd day to see you wear anything other than gym clothes. Look at what you’re wearing right now.” 

You scoffed indignantly. “I just came back from a run!” 

Sam and Steve continued teasing you and making you laugh until you decided that it presumably was time to go for a shower. After cleaning yourself up you stepped into an old pair of jeans and shirt to join Tony in the basement to see if you could help the exhausted man out. 

You found Tony lying beneath an old car, sparks flying out of underneath the vehicle as machines were whirring loudly. You kicked Tony’s feet. “Oi!”

The man startled and bumped his head against the car. “Jesus!” he cursed, before rolling from underneath the vehicle to face you. “For fuck’s sake, can you make an entrance like a normal human being for a change?”

“Not really,” you smiled while fetching an iced pack from the fridge and tossing it in Tony’s direction. “You know me. Such a diva. Always the centre of attention.”

Tony grumbled some inaudible cursing words as he pressed the iced pack onto his forehead. “Not a bigger diva than me, you’re not. You’re too comfortable is what I’ll give you. You feel like you can be your most annoying self with the Avengers.”

You raised one eyebrow. “And can I?”

Tony shrugged. In a short burst of honesty, he said: “Of course. We all love you. Would be lost without you.” With similar ease, he barked at you: “Now will you help me out and fuck off out of my sight?” He proceeded to explain what you could do in order to help out with a small piece of his project. You were no expert in engineering like Tony, but he had taught you a fair amount over the years. Even though you weren’t gifted like Peter, you were a fast learner and possessed the power of common knowledge and google. 

Peter wasn’t present in Tony’s basement that morning, even though it was generally his favourite place to be. Tony didn’t tolerate many people in his basement, as his usual working vibes included loud AC/DC music, an excessive amount of coffee, red bull and alcohol, and as few living things to bother him as possible. You and Peter were the only Avengers that were allowed to come and go as you pleased. 

As soon as Tony had finished his instructions, he turned up the volume of his music and vanished back underneath his car. 

You twirled some tools in your hand and made your way to the back of the basement, where you wouldn’t be in Tony’s line of sight. As you moved around a high stack of apparatus to reach a free desk, you found the one person sitting there that you didn’t want to see. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” you called out. 

Barnes didn’t even look up. Massive noise-cancelling headphones rested atop his head, seemingly so to avoid going insane thanks to an overload of AC/DC. He was wearing a simple white shirt; his back somewhat sweaty and muscles tensed as he tinkered on the machinery before him. His black hair was bundled up in a small knot in his neck. His metal arm operated smoothly, all his movements perfectly under control. 

You gawked at the man for a while. Probably a little longer than was socially acceptable. Likely a lot longer than was socially acceptable. 

There were many negative things you thought about Bucky Barnes, but you couldn’t fault him on his looks. The man was extremely good-looking and fit, and no one could deny that. 

But then you remembered his personality and instantly felt annoyance bubbling up in your chest. God, he was infuriating. You picked up some nails from a desk and tossed them softly against Barnes’ back to catch his attention. 

The man shot up straight, struggling his headphones from his head and face up to you. The temporary panic flaring in his blue eyes, the way his hands clenched to fists... Then he recognized who you were and his posture relaxed, the fear flying out of his expression. 

He breathed out. “Hey.”

Suddenly you were very aware of how you were looking. Messy bun on the top of your head, over-sized sweater that did not accentuate your shape, and small jogging pants that barely covered your butt. Compared to how good Bares was looking while engineering, you felt kind of insignificant. 

But Barnes didn’t look at you like you were insignificant. There was a sparkle in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “You...” he seemed to have lost his tongue. “Um, you look...”

You pushed your insecurity away and felt rather annoyed with yourself that you allowed this man to throw you off guard. “I look what?”

“Good,” Barnes blurted out. “You look... You look good.” 

Staring at him, you squinted. You were feeling all kinds of feelings, which infuriated you, and you reacted to Barnes the way you wanted to react to your feelings. “Fuck off. What are you doing here anyway?” 

Barnes was blinking. “Oh, um, my arm has been malfunctioning a little lately. Stark wanted to fix it for me, but I figured it was about time to learn how to do it myself. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do.” 

“Can you do it somewhere else?” you demanded rudely. 

“Not really,” Barnes replied, unphased. “I think I need this...” He gestured toward the fiery machinery he had been working with. He proceeded to vaguely repeat the instructions Tony had given him to create a tiny chip that would solve the issues of his metal arm. Within about two seconds of hearing Barnes speak about his unfortunate invention, you realized that he had no idea what he was talking about. 

You sighed tiredly. “You are the dumbest person I have ever met. I can’t even. Move out the way. I’ll do it.” 

Barnes opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but you pushed him out of the way before he could make a noise. Remembering that Barnes had started out willing to do this on his own, you started explaining every little thing you did, including your entire thought process. Barnes listened intently to every word you said, letting out small ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s when he noted where he had gone wrong. It took hours and hours to finish Barnes’ issue, but both of you were patient and focused and time flew as you worked together. As soon as Barnes got the hang of it, you trusted him with the slightly smaller tasks as you multi-tasked and worked on Tony’s project as well. Tony showed up with sandwiches for the three of you at a certain point of time before vanishing under his car again. Barnes set you cups of coffee so that the two of you could continue tinkering with focus.

When Barnes’ new arm was completely finished, you helped attach the thing to his shoulder. He looked extremely uneasy but didn’t let out a single noise of complaint. Once it stuck, he closed his eyes to concentrate and got his fingers to move, explaining it was always a little weird to have this extension of his body. He commented it felt like a good arm, though, and within minutes he was using it as if he had used it his whole life. Somewhat exhausted, the two of you ended up sitting next to each other with your feet up the desk, silent and staring at Barnes’ old arm. It was quite peaceful. A satisfying silence, somehow.

“Alright.” You placed your hands flat on the table and got up. Barnes’ gaze followed your every move. “I’m done,” you grunted, wiping some concentration sweat from your forehead. “Can’t believe I spent so much time on your dumb ass.”

Barnes leaned back in his chair with a smile, studying you as you shook your hair out. His hands were folded in his lap. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I know,” you confirmed with a nod. “You couldn’t have. And that’s because you grew up without having electricity. And you’re old.”

Barnes’ face cracked open in a wide grin. “Can’t argue with that. You’re a lot smarter than me anyway, even if I had been born in the same time as you.”

You narrowed your eyes, not trusting these compliments. How was Barnes still nice to you after all the shit you gave him? “Absolutely.”

The man continued smiling, looking straight at you, happy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself or where to hold your hands, his warmth radiating. You cleared your throat. “What time is it anyway?”

Barnes checked his watch. “Eleven past six.”

You blinked. “In the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” you cursed, remembering your promise to Steve to join him for a dinner to make his date with his crush Lucie less awkward, “I have a thing. I have to go.”

Barnes moved up from his chair. “Yeah, Y/N, I think—”

“For fuck’s sake, why did I spend so much time with your today?” you busted out, rapidly gathering your things. “Glad I really have to go so I don’t have to waste another minute with you. Have a horrible evening, Barnes!”

“Y/N—” Bucky tried to say, but before he could finish his sentence, you ran out of Tony’s lab. You checked your outfit and realized you were still in short jogging pants and a large sweater—after Sam’s comment of you never looking fancy, you could impossibly show up to the dinner dressed like this. You wanted to prove Sam and Steve wrong and dress up like how you had never dressed up before. And there were two people you knew to be perfect for this job. Therefore, as you were running through the Stark Tower, you texted your two best friends with a code red. And when you finally made it to your own room, you expected nothing less than to find Nat and Wanda waiting impatiently for you on your bed.

Wanda leaped up, looking worried. “What is code red?”

You let all your engineering stuff fall on the floor. “I’m going out for dinner tonight at 7. It’s supposed to be fancy.”

Both Wanda and Nat’s facial expression went from indignance that you were not dying, to absolute excitement. “Does this mean what I think it means?” Nat breathed out. “Are you going to let us dress you up?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. Don’t be too girly about it.”

But both Wanda and Nat were already squealing like the girliest girls in the world, more than exhilarated that they got to have their girly moments in their lives filled with heavy tasks of being an Avenger. “I’m getting my stuff!” Wanda squeaked, vanishing from the room with a red flash. Nat threw her hands up in the air. “Dresses!” she yelled, and ran out of the room as well. Both of them returned within no time, arms filled with make-up and clothes and a bunch of stuff floating behind them thanks to Wanda’s red magic. “I just realized we only have half an hour!” Wanda was screaming. Nat pushed you, “Wash yourself! Hurry!”

They granted you one minute of showering before pulling you out, throwing a sexy pair of lingerie to you (“You never know where the night goes!”) and then setting you on the bed. Nat held up several outfits for you to judge while Wanda got to work on your make-up and did your hair. Nat selected a little red dress for you that wouldn’t be too revealing. When you put it on, it hugged the curves of your body nicely and made you look way hotter than you thought you actually were. Wanda had finished your face, hair and eyes, with only lips to go, when Nat started yelling: “It’s seven o’clock!”. “LIPSTICK!” Wanda shouted back, which resulted in Nat tossing a deep dark-red lipstick at Wanda and her smearing it somehow perfectly on your lips. They rushed you up in front of the mirror. You were absolutely confused, having gone through the most stressful getting-ready process ever. But when you looked into the mirror, your jaw dropped.

“I look fucking stunning, babes.”

Wanda and Nat cheered. “Yes, you do!”

They showered you with compliments as they led you downstairs to the reception, moving slowly on your heels, despite the time being way past seven. You felt powerful and beautiful, ready to confuse the hell out of Steve and make it a wonderful, hopefully not-so-awkward night. Strolling down the last set of stairs, you spotted Lucie and Steve standing arm in arm. Lucie was wearing an extremely cute, long, dark-blue dress while Steve was dressed up in suit and tie. Once Steve’s eyes fell on you, he choked on his own saliva and his eyes popped out of his skull. “Hot damn, girl!” he called out.

You laughed, throwing your hair back in your neck. “Who says I can’t look fancy, eh?” Wanda and Nat had left you to get to the reception on your own, though you could still hear them whooping and whispering compliments behind you. You cut around the corner, finally having arrived at the reception of the Stark Tower, perhaps a little past seven, but fully dressed in a fancy outfit. And then you saw that it wasn’t just Steve that had dressed up in suit and tie.

Bucky Barnes was dressed up as well, looking immaculate. His face clean, beard and hair well groomed, smelling fresh and sweet, in a pristine suit that made him look even more handsome than usual.

It was the second time today you found him in a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. It was also the second time today you stood gawking at how gorgeous this man was.

Barnes was looking at you with his eyes wide, a flicker shining that you couldn’t quite explain. His lips parted as he looked over your appearance, but he couldn’t quite seem to find his tongue.

Your cocky expression had faded, but you did find your tongue. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Steve immediately came in between the two of you. “It’s a double date, Y/N. I told you this, right?”

You tore your eyes away from Barnes to stare furiously at Steve. “You most certainly did not, Rogers.”

“Well, it is,” Steve forced a smile. He proceeded to wrap his arm around Lucie, who stood nervously eying the situation. “And we are very excited to go on the double date, aren’t we, Lucie?”

Lucie nodded, eyes big. “Yes. You, um, look really beautiful, Y/N.”

Lucie was so very obviously shitting herself that you felt bad for her. You sighed. It mustn’t be an easy position for her, ending up going on a double date with three well-known Avengers. Even though you talked to her all the time and you would consider yourselves somewhat friends, at the very least good acquaintances, it made sense she was still nervous. Were you really going to make this even more nerve-wrecking and miserable for her? Were you that much of a bitch, that just to get across your hatred for Barnes, you would ruin the night from Lucie and Steve?

You took a deep breath. “You look beautiful as well, Lucie.” You eyed Barnes, realizing you were now officially on a date with him. “Let’s go.”

[kryptored]

When he is latibule

Almost forgot to post this here. Oops.

AO3

Chapter 2

She dreams of Luka again the next night. And another night. And another night. And another night. And another night.

Something as recurrent as this should scare her. But instead, all Marinette feels and thinks is that it’s not so bad to have dreams of Luka smiling at her.

When she sees the stretch of his lips, the slight flush of pink across his cheeks when he looks straight into her eyes, the stray strands of baby hair tickling the top of his forehead, the way his lashes flutter as he blinks, how his nose twitches just so…

The images she has seen in her dream calls to her like a memory, and just looking back at them makes her heart beat a little faster, even if she hasn’t done any running. It makes her face flush a little, even if she’s not too hot under her warm blanket. It makes her eyes water a little, even if she’s not feeling sad. It makes her smile more than a little, even if it’s just a dream about him. It makes her hands tremble a little, even if she’s not scared at all.

She doesn’t remember all the other details, except for his face; except for him smiling at her. she doesn’t mind it, though, because dreams are supposed to make you feel good, and her dreams of Luka are definitely the good ones.

It’s another day of living a not so normal life, and classes have just ended. For the most part, Marinette tries to avoid seeing Kagami and Adrien together, because it still hurts. She’s still not ready to act unbothered while insisting she’s happy for them. Instead, she spends her free time staying close to Alya and Nino as they talk on the way out, while Adrien hurriedly leaves for his fencing class.

For some unknown reason, she can’t help but look around for something, or for someone. Alya and Nino, who are too engrossed in their discussion on how to spend their time together while babysitting their younger siblings, fail to realize that Marinette has strayed away a little from them.

She looks around from the top of the stairs for something; for someone. Her grip tightens against her bag straps as her head turns from side to side. From the safety of her purse, Tikki peeks up at her holder, who’s currently standing on the balls of her feet. The kwami has an idea on what’s going on, but refuses to say anything on the matter. Instead, she chooses to look around for herself from her perch.

Marinette finally spots him before Tikki does (not that she knows her kwami was looking, as well). She settles her heel back down on the ground and does her best to resist waving her arm up in the air to catch his attention. But as soon as she bites her lower lip and raises her arm a little, she realizes that there’s no need when Luka eventually spots her, smiles, waves at her (and she waves back, albeit shyly), and climbs up the flight of stairs to meet her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Tikki stifles a giggle as she witnesses their awkward interaction, before hiding back inside the purse. This time, Marinette braves the decision to start the conversation.

“Are you here for Juleka?”

Even though it should be the most obvious answer, considering she’s in the same class and friends with his sister, Marinette can’t help but deflate a little at the disappointment; that he’s not actually here for her.

“On another day, I would be.” He takes hold of her lunch bag, and she’s too surprised to even resist, “I’m actually here for you today.”

Or perhaps not.

“O-oh…”

This time, Alya and Nino notice Luka’s presence and decides to join in on their conversation. Marinette doesn’t hear anything they say, as her mind goes blank and can only focus on the weight of Luka’s arm around her shoulders while he’s talking with Alya and Nino. It takes them a few minutes before the couple realize that Marinette is in good hands, and they leave her with Luka as they go on their way.

Luka and Marinette, on the other hand, remain on the top of the stairs as other students continue filing out of the building. He still has his arm around her shoulders, and he doesn’t seem on dropping them anytime soon. She doesn’t mind the contact and tries really hard to not lean too much into him and bask in his warmth.

“You good, Marinette?”

“Uhuh.” She looks up at him and can’t help but love how the bright afternoon sun’s shining down on his face, making him absolutely golden. Absolutely gorgeous. Absolutely mesmerizing. “What about Juleka?”

“I got her text, saying she’s going somewhere with Rose.” He leads her down the steps, “And even if she wasn’t, I’d still come and pick you up because I want to.”

She gives in and finally leans onto him, and he squeezes her shoulder as if he’s keeping her from moving away.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They are warm and content and alright for the moment.

They spend the rest of the day in her room, and thankfully, no akuma has the decency (or the audacity) to disturb their peace. At the moment, Marinette has finally left behind the homework she’s finished, in exchange for a new design project.

To her joy, Luka doesn’t mind staying for this part. He tries his best with giving feedback on her progress, pointing out what colour looks nice or if something is missing. He sits cross-legged on the chaise, his shoes already discarded on the floor. He has a hand resting on his chin, his thumb and fore finger rubbing against its sides as he tilts his head from side to side, humming as he does so.

“So… what do you think?”

“I think… it looks great!” He crosses his arms, smiling wide and his eyes bright, looking directly at her.

“You sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

“O-of course, I do! I-it’s just… I’m having second thoughts about it.” She takes a seat beside him, releasing a deep sigh that has him putting an arm around her shoulders (again, but she still doesn’t mind the contact).

“Well, just make sure you take some breaks every now and then. Don’t overwork yourself like you keep doing – ,” he pinches her cheek when she pouts at his statement, “ – and just let your ideas flow. Once you have everything out of your system, then you can start cutting out – ” she pouts even more, even with him still pinching her, “ – all the things that don’t work or you don’t need.”

He cups both of her cheeks and she tries so hard not to blush so much but ends up with very pink and stinging cheeks. “You got that, baby girl?”

She blinks in surprise at his question, and Luka uses her reaction as an opportunity to brush his thumbs against her cheeks. Normally, Marinette would blush at this sort intimacy form Luka, but her mind is too distracted to allow her to feel embarrassed.

“W…what did you just call me?”

He chuckles at her words and leans closer.

“Did I lose you there, baby girl?” He’s not so subtle at trying to keep the laughter in, considering how much his smile is straining against his cheeks and his hands tremble a little against her skin.

“Baby…girl? Wha – ”

“If you don’t like it, just tell me. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, so – ”

“I-it’s okay. I kinda…like it.” She doesn’t shake off his hold on her face, but her eyes fall to the ground. She bites her lip, and he can’t help but think that she’s just adorable.

“Alright, baby girl.” He watches how the colour red paints her cheeks beautifully. “But I’ll only call you that when we’re alone or you feel comfortable enough to be called it.”

“That sounds nice.” Her eyes find his again, but this time she relishes how light she feels when she loses herself in their colour. She loses herself like a balloon freely floating, and she doesn’t mind the drift so long as it’s with him.

Standing in her room, his hands holding onto her face like glass, and looking into her softly makes her feel warm and content and alright for the moment.

Luka goes home at some point, but they spend the rest of the night draining their phones’ batteries talking to each other until they fall asleep. This happens the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. It becomes something regular on most nights, and Marinette regrets those few ones when akumas make their appearance, disrupting the routine she has with Luka. And in the mornings after those awful nights, she makes sure to text him a greeting and apology, and he never fails to say that it’s fine; that it’s all okay and he understands.

And on those nights that she feels joy with a sprinkle of excitement before, during, and after their calls, she knows she must be smiling even before she starts dreaming of Luka again. Every time he offers his hand, she takes hold of it. She makes sure to hold onto him tightly (though it’s unclear whether she actually does or not while dreaming) as he pulls her away to wherever and somewhere. She tries to count every callous she feels on his hand, and it makes everything feel so real. She watches how his hair bounces on every step or leap they take. She notices the lack of stiffness around his shoulders, and somehow, she’s proud that she’s someone he can be relaxed and vulnerable with. She splays out her other arm to feel the air around them, and she’s quite sure she feels something soft. She takes a whiff of her surroundings, and she’s quite sure it’s Luka who she smells like a breath of fresh air.

She has another one of those dreams with Luka, where she takes his hand and runs away to wherever and somewhere, and Marinette sits up to remember himher dream.

She looks at Tikki, who she finds is sleeping peacefully, and closes her eyes to relish whatever new moment they must’ve done in the dream. She clenches her hand against her soft blanket and imagines that she’s back to holding his hand. She breathes in and imagines she can still smell his shampoo. She listens to the sound of a silent and sleeping Paris and imagines that she can still hear him talk to her. she tilts her head from side to side and imagines that she’s back to that floaty feeling she gets whenever they’re close to each other.

Something warm grows in her chest; in her heart and it feels exciting. It grows and grows like a flower under sunlight and water and care.

Marinette opens her eyes, and they are wide in part fear and part confusion. She puts a hand to her chest to feel the fast beating of her heart, and her face warms up even when her hands are now cold and clammy.

This must be love, but not the same way how it used to be or still lingers with Adrien. And for some reason, she likes the feeling of it. She really, really likes this feeling, which is something she hasn’t felt in a while, even with Adrien. Her face feels warmer than ever and she’s probably on the verge of crying, so much so that not even the bite on her lip doesn’t stop her from smiling so wide and –

‘He’ll just get tired of waiting for you. He’ll just get tired of you.’

Something awful grows in her chest; in her heart and it aches. It wilts and wilts like a flower without the sunlight and water and care.

[msclaritea]

"An insurrection of upper-middle class white people | Will Bunch Newsletter

They flew from their affluent suburbs to the U.S. Capitol, ready to die for the cause of white privilege

The stunning pro-President-Trump insurrection that occurred at the U.S. Capitol less than a week ago must have been a carnival for one’s olfactory bulb, as the stinging aroma of tear gas blended with the pungent odors of the occasional joint, or maybe the piles of dung that some of the cruder mob members left in the hallways once graced by icons like Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, and LBJ. The only thing that wasn’t in the air on Wednesday was the smell of what so many have falsely tied to Trump’s authoritarian movement — any whiff of “economic anxiety.”

When fascism finally came to America in the form of an attempted coup to halt our presidential election, it came from lush-green suburbs all across this land, flying business class on Delta or United and staying in four-star hotels with three-martini lobby bars — the better to keep warm after a long day of taking selfies with friendly cops or pummeling the unfriendly ones, chanting “Hang Mike Pence!” and generally standing athwart democracy yelling “Halt!”

Long ridiculed as deplorables rising up from the muck of Rust Belt trailer parks, the Donald Trump counter-revolution has finally revealed itself as an upper-middle-class affair.

What else can one think after seeing the photo of Jenna Ryan, real-estate broker from the upscale Dallas exurb of Frisco (also a “conservative” radio talker) posing in front of the private jet that whisked her to the Jan. 6 pro-Trump rally and subsequent storming of the Capitol, where she smiled in front of a window broken by other rioters and tweeted that “if the news doesn’t stop lying about us we’re going to come after their studios next”?

Maybe Ryan is an extreme example, but her compatriots in rushing Capitol Hill on Wednesday included a father of three from another upscale Dallas suburb named Larry Rendall Brock Jr., whose 1989 degree in international relations from the Air Force Academy apparently never taught him that it’s a bad idea to be photographed leaving House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office in a combat helmet, tactical gear, and holding zip-tie handcuffs.

One might also expect a criminal defense lawyer like McCall Calhoun of Americus, Ga., to know that it’s surely illegal to surge past a line of cops into the U.S. Capitol, even if, as you later told a newspaper, you believed your fellow rioters wer people who “don’t want to lose their democratic republic.” Or that it’s bad form to do this after tweeting about a looming civil war or the potential hanging of President-elect Joe Biden.

Political junkies like us remember 2000′s “Brooks Brothers riot” of well-heeled GOP activists and lobbyists that successfully halted Florida vote recounting in populous Dade County. Apparently what we witnessed Wednesday was the “Pottery Barn insurrection.” As key figures who invaded the Capitol have been steadily identified over the last five or six days, it’s remarkable how many alleged lawbreakers emerged from upscale zip codes.

The stay-at-home dad husband of a physician. The son of an elected judge in Brooklyn. The owners of numerous small businesses, as well as assorted state legislators. The New York Times spent four years looking for Trump voters in Ohio diners, but apparently that’s not where they would have found failed actor Jacob Chansley, a.k.a. Jake Angeli, the infamous shirtless rioter with the painted face and horns, who reportedly hasn’t eaten since his arrest because there’s no organic food in jail.

Yes, many of the 74 million citizens who voted for the guy who then incited an attempted coup do fit the stereotype of struggling or laid-off blue-collar worker in a rusted-out rural community. But those folks aren’t the ones who can take a Wednesday off and fly hundreds of miles, let alone plunk down hundreds of dollars, to get to the nation’s hub. While the Capitol mob was bulked up with other Trumpists — including an alarming number of off-duty police officers, as well as some neo-Nazi or KKK types who’ve been around forever — it was the 401(k) crowd that formed the front line of America’s first real putsch.

If that surprises you, then you weren’t really paying attention. For the last four years, political scientists have been trying to wrap their brains around Trump’s shocking 2016 victory in the Electoral College while trying to tell us that the 45th president’s true base is a lot of things — but it’s not poor. In fact, polling guru Nate Silver noted during 2016′s primaries that the average Trump voter had a median household income of $72,000, which was both higher than the national average and also higher than the numbers that year for supporters of Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.

Interestingly, Silver and other analysts have found that Trump performs particularly well with voters with high incomes yet often without college diplomas (although he also does better with degree holders than he gets credit for). A researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, the political scientist Diana Mutz, found that Trump voters generally weren’t struggling economically yet did feel great anxiety about their status — whether the threat was the rise of a foreign power like China or the idea that America, and its government, was becoming increasingly nonwhite.

That explains a lot. It explains why the Republican Party, arguably in a long downward moral spiral, lost its mind when America elected its first Black president in Barack Obama. It explains why so many people with the luxuries of a laptop and free time (things that actual poor folks have in short supply) look for conspiracies like QAnon to explain a society that no longer makes sense for them, or why so much of the hatred on the right is expended not at the CEOs who outsourced American jobs but at the cap-and-gown-wearing eggheads like journalists or scientists they find intellectually arrogant.

The main reason that so many reasonably well-off folks tried to shut down American democracy wasn’t because they feared losing their paycheck, but because they feared losing their white privilege. Donald Trump had promised that “I alone can fix it” — that he’d protect them from a society where Black and brown essential workers could expect help from their government during a pandemic or ask the police to stop killing them, a world that where just being white no longer guaranteed the status they were promised as kids. They truly believed that Biden, Kamala Harris, and the 82 million were going to end their white power, and they saw Jan. 6 as their last chance to save it. The Capitol still stands, but the rest of us are going to be spending decades cleaning up their mess.

History lesson

Philadelphia Police carry a protester away from a July 4, 1966 anti-Vietnam War protest held at Independence Hall. A new study proves police are twice as likely to break up a left-wing demonstration than a right-wing one, like Wednesday's storming of the U.S. Capitol.

In the end, as the FBI and other agencies step up their investigation of the Jan. 6 insurrection, there will likely be hundreds of arrests. But the now-under-fire Capitol Police arrested only 13 rioters while the attack was underway, and only a few dozen more were busted by cops for violating the 6 p.m. curfew. No one must have been more shocked by this than the survivors of the May 1971 anti-Vietnam War protests in Washington, one of the largest demonstrations in American history. In marked contrast to last week’s light police presence, the heavy-handed tactics from the administration of Richard Nixon included secretly canceling a national-park permit for the protests and then sending in a whopping 12,000 military troops to augment an already sizable police and National Guard presence. Over three days, an astonishing 12,614 people — many who were protesting peacefully and not violating any laws — were rounded up in the largest mass arrest in U.S. history. Authorities detained thousands at RFK Stadium because there was nowhere else to put them.

The shameful 1971 incident proved a point that seemed clear last Wednesday and has now been established with research: Police who are aggressive with leftist social-justice protesters treat right-wing disturbances with kid gloves. Last year’s Black Lives Matter protests as well as anti-lockdown rallies on the far right inspired the nonprofit Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project to dig deeper. It found police were twice as likely to break up the left-wing protests, and when they did disperse a gathering, cops used force against leftists more often (51% of the time) than against right-wingers (34%.) This unequal treatment under the law is one more way that American policing is broken."

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Imagine Roxas and Axel babysitting for Sora and Riku

Teamwork

"I like adding spontaneous, fun extra challenges to the day as much as the next guy, provided the next guy is you, but I have to say, I think Floor is Lava Tuesdays is a better idea than weird plastic puzzle locks on the cabinets."

Roxas glanced up from where he knelt on the floor, fixing covers and bars on the under the sink cabinets in the kitchen to see his husband framed in the doorway, looking the casual print ad model, chiseled lines under soft sweats, hands curled around a mug of steaming liquid that smelled almost as delicious as the holder (of course the mug was emblazoned with the word SLUT in bold letters which would probably have to be censored out of the ad), bun with just enough flyaways to seem careless but pulled to the perfect angle.  "I'm baby proofing."

"As the baby, I resent that remark," Axel tutted before setting his coffee next to the sink and crouching down beside Roxas. "What brought this on? You have some news to tell me?"

Axel expected an eye roll from his husband, but Roxas set the angry looking plastic finger trap he was holding down and ran a hand through his hair nervously, a mild pink tinge crawling up his neck and Axel felt his smile freeze in the middle of forming.  "Well, actually, I do have some news..."

"You're kidding." Axel felt his blood run cold and then super heated through his veins in quick succession as time slowed down.

Roxas's frown at the interruption morphed to a furrowed brow of confusion and then annoyance. "Axel, I told you already. Replica bodies don't work that way. I'm not going to 'go seahorse'"

"Xion can..."

"Xion is a special case. You are stuck with me with no alterations."

"Eh, I still have the much better end of the deal."

"Yeah, you do."

A shared smile and a quick kiss distracted Axel a moment longer from asking, "So what's the news?"

"I told Sora and Riku we'd babysit for them tonight." Roxas ripped the bandage off quickly. He braced for a less than enthusiastic response, though actually receiving one was still disappointing.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the acknowledgements. Every book I write is dedicated to 'my heart, my love, my Roxas.' I thought that was a given by now, and I just had to write what other dedications would come after it. It was the publisher's fault, and I should not be punished."

"I'm not punishing you," Roxas felt his face wilt as he picked back up the baby proofing supplies to finish what he had started. "I thought it would be fun. Riku and Sora really need a night out, and it gives us a chance to, you know, see what it's like."

It wasn't that Axel missed Roxas's hurt tone or his latter words and their meaning, even if they had been mumbled. It was more a combination of not wanting to be lured toward a slippery slope of manipulation or ready to revisit the conversation of whether he felt they should start seriously thinking about adding to their family soon rather than a general "some day" they'd always said before. Roxas had brought it up last week, and Axel appreciated that he had, but it hadn't exactly gone well when he'd been taken by surprise and his gut instinct response was less enthusiastic than Roxas had seemed to want. He was letting the idea soak in now, and it needed a little more time to marinate before he could give a response. If Roxas was going to push, it would probably need even more time. So it was better not to toe too closely to the sensitive, personal part of baby discussion and do what they both had the inclination to always go back to, deflection with a joke. "To let a Babynort into the house?"

"Ripan is not a Nort." Roxas hissed defense of his other's son since Sora and Ripan couldn't defend themselves.

"Then how come he has white hair? Answer me that," Axel challenged.

"He has silver hair. Like Riku. Riku's genes are the only inherited evil Ripan has and I don't think we should hold that against him. He's just a baby."

"No, no, babies are adorable balls for holding and cooing at and then handing back to their parents. Terrifying because their heads are squishy and they can't hold them up, but otherwise not dangerous at all. This thing is mobile. I've seen it." Axel lent the revelation the appropriate air of horror, though he neglected to mention he'd seen Ripan crawling up a wall, imitating either one of his fathers or the younger Incredible boy, which rendered his warning easily mistaken for his typical melodrama.

"That's why I'm baby proofing."

"Did you get the upstairs?"

"It's not going to be able to climb the stairs by itself...Is it?"

Axel thought it over since the stair thing seemed to alarm Roxas. "Probably more easily than it could get to the ceiling. I'm just going to feed it ice cream and hope that appeases it."

"I don't think it..he can have ice cream yet. Sora said he was going to write us a list of rules."

Axel's attitude toward the night ahead of them turned on a dime when the suggestion that someone else thought he was less than capable intruded to punch at his ego.  "Rules like what? We know what to do."

"Damn straight." Roxas stood, dusted off his hands, and stole Axel's coffee off the counter.

"We'd be great with kids," Axel insisted, reaching out to take the coffee back, taking a sip, and returning it to Roxas.

"That's right," Roxas encouraged.

"We take care of Demyx!" Axel could honestly say that he'd fed, bathed, and rocked Demyx to sleep under different circumstances. Luckily, no diapers had ever been involved. "We're Turkey's dads!"

"And he's the most demanding little baby of all!" Roxas championed Axel's logic even while being reminded that he'd forgotten to feed Turkey before starting his project with the cabinets. He'd have to rectify that now. It was a miracle Turkey wasn't already dramatically expressing the utter betrayal of being left to starve.

"Next to me," Axel provided the punchline at his expense.

"Next to you." Roxas leaned up on tiptoe to steal a kiss and pressed the coffee cup with its last sips at the bottom into his husband's hands for him to finish off. "Now go put on something more suitable for tonight."

"What's more suitable than sweats for babysitting a baby? A tarp?" Axel drained the coffee.

"Put on something nice."

"Is Ripan conducting a formal interview before storytime?"

"No, but his dads might."

Roxas's instincts turned out to be right. Sora and Riku not only had a list of rules but a pop quiz on protocol and babysitting readiness that needed to be passed before they would leave, despite the fact that Roxas and Axel, already had the job, were doing it as a favor, were only taking Ripan for a few hours and not permanently adopting him and taking him into the heart of Deep Jungle, and Riku and Sora's normal babysitter was a fifteen year old girl (though Violet had warned them that she might have to cut back even more than she had. Ripan and her brother Jack Jack tended to be "a little challenging" in her words, when she had to watch both of them).

Ripan's part of the testing was to sit on the floor sucking on his giraffe pacifier and rolling an alphabet block between his hands, occasionally looking up with large, liquid blue eyes either to question why he was sitting on a strange floor or to ask why his dads were still there. Or maybe to ask why the other baby curled in the entertainment center next to the cable box was so ugly and meowed.

"I promise you. Ripan is going to have so much fun tonight he's never going to want to leave...but he's also going to be asleep by nine and I won't forget to rub the cream on his arms before I put on his sleepytime shirt," Roxas swore, crossing his heart over the I like coffee and maybe three people shirt he'd neglected to change out of despite telling Axel to look nice.

"Okay, I believe in you," Sora assured him before selling out his husband. "But Riku sincerely does not. So can you please promise me you will take extra good care of our little angel? I know he's kind of a handful, but-"

"Are you kidding?" Axel chuckled, unperturbed. "You're talking to the best babysitters in the business. There is no one more qualified for this job."

"You've literally never done this before," Riku groused, hands clenching in his pockets as he regressed to his old nervous tick.

"We are totally capable of taking care of your precious angel, okay? It's not like we don't have kids too." Roxas gestured to the entertainment center where Turkey sat, eyeing the miniature human. It had eyes like His Boy, so Turkey thought he might be able to trust it, but the threat of someone else Heat Giver and His Boy might want to snuggle that was not Turkey was hard to face.

"That's why I'm concerned," Riku concentrated on breathing evenly through his nose and not sounding too snappish. "That is not a child. That is a cat in a knit sweater."

"We'll be fine," Roxas insisted, ignoring Riku's slight, when defending Turkey's status as first child would make Sora and Riku miss their reservation. "We have your list and everything he needs. You two just enjoy yourselves!"

"See, it's fine, Riku." Sora nudged Riku toward the door. "Bye Ripan! Behave yourself for your uncles!"

Ripan gurgled solemnly, swearing to be nothing but the perfect child.

"Have fun guys! We'll be back around eleven!" Sora nudged Riku a bit harder, recognizing him for the immoveable object he was. "Riku stop glaring and walk."

Roxas opened the door for them, Axel waved to them as they retreated, Roxas closed the door. It was a total of maybe fifteen seconds they didn't have eyes on Ripan. The first fifteen seconds they were in charge of the vulnerable life of the baby that had been sitting near motionless and content in the living room for fifteen minutes. The baby that was still sitting content after those fifteen seconds and still near motionless, just with his pacifier out of his mouth and on the floor beside him and his mouth working as if he were chewing.

Axel and Roxas shared a glance and dove at the same time. Ripan shrieked, which should have proved his mouth was empty, but Axel used the opportunity to sweep a finger inside the child's mouth to make sure. Ripan employed natural defenses. Namely, biting down as hard as he could with his four impressive teeth.

Axel howled. Ripan laughed which allowed the red head to withdraw his injured hand. Roxas comforted Axel, for a moment, then warned him not to take his eyes off Ripan again because they might not get lucky again, and went to wash floor germs from the pacifier for the first, but, by no means, last time of the night. Minute one drew to a close with everyone still unscathed.

Minute fifteen gave birth to everyone's least favorite game, Turkey Chase and Smack, though Crawl Behind Couch gave it a difficult battle for the title.

At the end of the first hour, a nice balance had been found and everyone was getting along until Axel tried to heat up a bottle by summoning fire in his hand and subsequently scalded his wrist while testing results, as well as putting the idea of fire into Ripan's head. Sora had been right. Ripan was very smart and liked to try and mimic what the big people did. The living room couch suffered.

The next hurdles were The Incident of the Second Bottle Being Too Cold, The Great Despair of not Being Able to Have Both Bottle and Pacifier at the Same Time, Bottle Gone Too Quick, The Pukening, Second Washing of the Pacifier and Trial of Separation Anxiety, The Changing of the Onesies with Ripan Super Spleen Kicking Action, and The Pukening Part Two: Roxas's Shirt Looks Absorbent.

It was all minor stuff. Normal stuff. Expected, other than perhaps setting fire to the couch.

The real trouble didn't begin until the pacifier was lost.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 13, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Today, Dr. Rochelle Walensky, the director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said that people who are fully vaccinated against the coronavirus can stop wearing masks, both outdoors and indoors, except on public transportation and in crowded indoor venues. The new guidelines come as cases are dropping and as the U.S. is now vaccinating children ages 12 and up. They are intended, at least in part, to encourage people to get the vaccine. The CDC guidelines do not override federal, state, local, tribal, and territorial laws, or regulations put in place by businesses and workplaces. Still, they are a big step toward emerging from the pandemic.

"If you are fully vaccinated, you can start doing the things that you had stopped doing because of the pandemic," Walensky said. President Joe Biden, who made vaccines the centerpiece of his early administration, spoke to reporters without a mask. “I think it’s a great milestone, a great day,” he said.

On morning television, Representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) hammered her point that the former president continues to endanger our nation. She also insisted that the U.S. must have a January 6 commission, as it has had an investigative commission for every similar threat, but said that fellow Republicans opposed such a commission because it threatened those “who may have been playing a role they should not have been playing.”

Those who were playing a role they should not have been playing today turned out to include an active-duty Marine Corps officer, Major Christopher Warnagiris, who was arrested for assaulting the Capitol on January 6.

And there are others associated with the administration who may have been playing a role they should not have been, aside from the events of January 6.

For weeks now, rumors have swirled about Trump loyalist Representative Matt Gaetz (R-FL) and his friend Joel Greenberg, the former tax collector for Seminole County, Florida, who is under indictment for sex trafficking of a minor and 32 other counts. Papers filed today suggest that Greenberg has made a deal with prosecutors. The terms of the deal are not public, but they might not bode well for Gaetz.

At the New York Times, Adam Goldman and Mark Mazzetti wrote today that Project Veritas (that right-wing group always trying to catch people on video doing something illegal) was part of an effort during the Trump years to discredit both FBI agents and H.R. McMaster, the former three-star general who was at the time Trump’s national security advisor. Project leaders hoped to get the agents and McMaster, who was perceived as being insufficiently loyal to the former president, to say something damning about the president so they could be removed. One of the participants in the project was Barbara Ledeen, a staff member on the Senate Judiciary Committee, which was, at the time, led by Senator Charles Grassley (R-IA).

But the real blockbuster political story of the day came in the form of a video obtained by Mother Jones and written about in a detailed article there by Ari Berman and Nick Surgey. The leaked video shows Jessica Anderson, the executive director of Heritage Action for America—the political arm of the right-wing Heritage Foundation think tank—explaining to big-money donors that Heritage Action has worked closely with Republican state legislators to enact voter suppression laws. “In some cases, we actually draft them for them,” she said, “or we have a sentinel on our behalf give them the model legislation so it has that grassroots, from-the-bottom-up type of vibe.”

The story is not entirely new. Heritage (as it is known) published a report last February outlining “best practices” for voting, many of which are in the new bills coming out of Republican-dominated state legislatures. And in a March article for the New York Times, Nick Corasaniti and Reid J. Epstein outlined the role of Heritage Action in Georgia’s and Arizona’s voting restrictions, noting that at least 23 of the proposed state bills that dealt with voting had language that looked like that of Heritage. They also wrote that Heritage plans to spend $24 million to change voting laws in Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Iowa, Michigan, Nevada, Texas, and Wisconsin before the 2022 election, and that the person behind the Heritage voting policies is Hans von Spakovsky, who mainstreamed the idea of voter fraud in the Republican Party, although experts agree it is vanishingly rare.

What is new and dramatic about the video is seeing Anderson make her pitch to donors for a coordinated right-wing effort to take the vote away from their opponents. She talks of working with similar groups: “We literally give marching orders for the week ahead,” Anderson said. “All so we’re singing from the same song sheet of the goals for that week and where the state bills are across the country.”

Heritage Action is fighting hard against the Democrats’ For the People Act, which would protect the right to vote, end partisan gerrymandering, and limit money in politics. Heritage summarized the bill, which it called the “Corrupt Politicians Act,” in a short sheet for lawmakers. Anderson explained: “We’ve made sure that every single member of Congress knows just how bad the bill is…. Then we’ve made sure there’s an echo chamber of support around these senators driven by your Heritage Action activists and sentinels across the country where we’ve driven hundreds of thousands of calls, emails, place[d] letters to the editor, hosted events, and run television and digital ads.”

Democrats cannot pass the For the People Act through the Senate without buy-in from all 50 of their senators, and Surgey noted that in March, Heritage Action and similar groups bussed protesters to West Virginia from other states for a big rally at the capitol to pressure Democratic West Virginia Senator Joe Manchin.

The “grassroots” protest against “voter fraud” is, in fact, conceived, funded, and organized by one of the most powerful elite political organizations in the country.

Manchin has suggested he will not support the For the People Act without Republican support, so yesterday, he suggested a different way to address the recent voter suppression measures. Under the 1965 Voting Rights Act, states and local governments that had a history of racist election laws had to get clearance from federal officials before they put new election rules in place. The Supreme Court gutted that rule in 2013 with the Shelby County v. Holder decision (which is why all these new laws are going into the books). Manchin called for restoring the old system of preclearance, but applying it to all states and territories, not just the nine to which it had previously applied, thus taking away the Supreme Court’s objection that it singled out certain states.

Manchin’s workaround wouldn’t deal with gerrymandering or big money, but it would certainly be a start toward leveling the electoral playing field, and historically, support for the Voting Rights Act was bipartisan. No longer. Almost immediately, Senator John Cornyn (R-TX) shot Manchin’s plan down.

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON