#i just had a furious crying jag about it

[whentherewerebicycles]

i have a very stupid problem that is causing me a very stupid amount of distress. my aunts are planning my baby shower which will be in my home city (a place where none of my friends live). we are inviting a bunch of family and tbh it's solely so i can get stuff from my registry. i feel okay about that part because i've bought gifts for all the extended family baby showers and weddings over the years and it seems fine to be like 'ok now it's my turn i really need the help.' the part that is making me feel weird is that my aunts feel strongly that i should ALSO send invites to all of my out of town friends, including college and grad school friends, because those people might send me gifts too. i think that a lot of my friends WILL end up buying something from my registry or sending something (a lot of them have asked already!) and that's very nice of them!!! and i do think i might want to send a birth announcement or something later just as a "hey! a big thing happened in my life!" kinda thing. but i feel super uncomfortable sending out invites to an event i know they can't attend (and would never expect them to fly to a random city for!!) because then it just feels obvious that i'm asking for a gift instead, and that makes me feel bad!!! but also idk my brother and SIL just had a MASSIVE shower where like 50+ of their friends came (because they went to college in our hometown and all their friends still live there) and my cousin just had a big shower too (she lives and works in our hometown) so i also just feel dumb for like. having a very small kinda lame shower where my extended family is gonna be like oh... does she not have any friends?

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pretty When You Cry.

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

Pairing - Joel Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Lots of cursing, sexual content, mentions of prostitution

Word Count - 1750

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. i love when a character has a messed up moral compass and is a little rough and jagged around the edges. i also love lana del rey. hence, this joel fic was born. please enjoy.

Masterlist. Requests.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl,” Joel spits at you.

You flinch and step backwards, trying to escape what is inevitably going to be a brutal verbal assault. The older man watches your every move and chuckles darkly.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Nowhere, is the answer. You’re down a dark alleyway in the QZ, a barely lit back street. Even if you run, you’ll just end up circling back around. You’re walled in – both literally and figuratively.

Joel moves towards you, his large frame making you want to shrink away instinctively. He towers over you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You weren’t, is the issue.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Joel has been desperate for a car battery for weeks. A few days ago, you’d overheard a guy talking about smuggling spare parts. You’d set up a covert meeting, and asked if he could get you what you needed. He’d told you he could – for a price. It didn’t matter that the currency was you. You’d do what you needed to do. For Joel.

You’d made your way to meet him tonight. His name was Pete, you were pretty sure. He was a sleaze, a real piece of work - but he had connections. He had people working for him, could practically get you anything if you asked nicely and promised to pay.

You had nothing to your name. No one did, these days. You knew you couldn’t pay Pete with alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs. No, you’d give him something else. You’d give him you. An offer which he eagerly accepted.

He wanted you to pay before he’d give you the battery. You’d argued, but it was no use. You didn’t want to make him angry – it’d only make it worse.

So there you were. He had backed you against the wall of this very alleyway, demanding you take off your shirt. Just as you were lifting the hem over your head, Pete hit the ground.

You looked up to see Joel, more furious than you’d ever seen him before. He’d punched Pete in the head and knocked him out cold.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“Well I was doing you a favour. Not anymore, apparently,” you hissed back.

“A favour? You’re whoring yourself out as a favour?”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, turning on your heel to leave.

Joel grabbed your wrist and pulled you backwards with force, taking no care whatsoever. You were worried he was going to snap your arm, the way he was clutching it.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Are you even listenin’ to me? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He’s looking at you pointedly, clearly expecting some sort of explanation. You’re not really sure what to say. When you don’t answer, he takes another few steps forward, intimidating you until your back is pressed against the rough brick of the wall.

Joel grabs your chin between his fingers and forces you to look at him. His fury hasn’t subsided – you can still feel it rolling off of him in waves. He’s buzzing with adrenaline, the electricity of it infectious, seeping into your pores.

“You better have a damn good reason as to why I just watched you take your shirt off for Pete fuckin’ Davis.”

He spits the man’s name like it tastes disgusting in his mouth. It makes you smirk slightly.

“You think this is funny? Huh?” Joel asks, squeezing your face tighter. You shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with him. He stares you down for a minute before releasing his grip.

“He has a battery,” you explain quietly. “He’s been selling spare parts. Said he could get me what you need if we cut a deal. It’s a small price to pay, Joel.”

“That is not a small price.”

The genuineness of it makes you wince.

The thing is, Joel doesn’t usually care about this kind of stuff. He’s not exactly an upstanding citizen, having made his fair share of dumb deals and below the belt exchanges. He’s usually the one encouraging you to break the rules a little, if it means you both benefit.

Above all, you are convinced that Joel doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone, not really. You know that he and Tess have this ambiguous sort of partnership - friendship at a complete stretch. But that’s it. Joel doesn’t care.

So why is he so furious?

His rage has infected you now. You’re exasperated, sick of the mixed signals. You and Joel were partners in crime, acquaintances at most. It didn’t matter that when he looked at you, the whole world fell away. It didn’t matter than when you heard his voice, time stopped temporarily. It didn’t matter that he was the last thing you thought about at night and the first thing you thought about in the morning. None of it mattered.

“Why do you fucking care, Joel?” you spit, shoving at his chest. His scent is suffocating you, making it hard to think. You need to put some distance between you before you do something reckless.

“Why do I care? Why do I fuckin’ care?” he practically yells at your face. “Are you that stupid?”

“Stop calling me stupid!” you retaliate. “I’m smarter than every damn person in this place!”

“Smart enough to turn to prostitution?”

That word makes you scoff.

“It wasn’t like that. It would have been a one time thing. A quick payment.”

“That’s not a fuckin’ payment! That’s the one thing you shouldn’t fuck around with!”

You can tell he’s genuinely upset, but you’re not sure why. It’s none of his business what you choose to do with your body.

“I was doing this for you, asshole! He would have given me the battery, and you could have gone and found Tommy. I did this for you,” you yell, shoving him as hard as you can. He doesn’t move.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” he hisses.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“God damn it! You never fuckin’ listen, do you? How stupid are you, huh?”

Joel takes a heavy step forward, one hand reaching out to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps it there, holding you in place. Right where he wants you.

His eyes darken, still alight with fury. He smells like smoke and musk and sweat and spearmint toothpaste. You want to lick the exposed skin of his neck to see if he’d taste the same.

He leans in, almost bumping your nose with his.

“We don’t fuck around with that stuff, alright?” he murmurs. “I’ve seen pretty girls like you get hurt real bad for a lot less. You can’t let them treat you as any less than human.”

You’ve never heard him this sincere. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you care, Joel?” you whisper. “I’m just as disposable to you as I am to the rest of them.”

He pauses, and you can see the cogs turning in his head. He’s still holding you by the neck, his other hand coming around to tangle in the back of your hair. He’s looking at you so intently that you feel your bravado start to waiver. Your bottom lip quivers, and your eyes begin to well up. A drop runs down your cheek, and the dam breaks.

He’s never seen you get upset like this. You’re trying to stay stoic, but the tears are falling freely, dripping down your face.

This is the moment Joel realises that he’s a changed man. He’s known for years that his morals aren’t what they used to be. They can’t be, not in this world. He’s murdered, robbed, tortured, kidnapped. His moral compass was broken a long time ago. But the change has never dawned on him, until now. He’s holding you roughly, watching you try not to sob, and he doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel sympathy, or regret, or remorse. No. He feels a sick sense of arousal. He’s turned on.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, looking at you carefully. Your lip quivers again, and his resolve breaks completely. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear it shatter.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

With that, he’s surging forward, dipping his head to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Your sadness is salty and sweet and real. He’s hooked.

Joel presses forward and kisses you harshly. His hand tightens in your hair, yanking you closer to him. He presses your bodies together, and the warmth of him makes your head spin.

You’re still crying as you moan into his mouth. He’s rough and careless and you want more. He groans, and presses you backwards into the wall, the brick scratching up your back. Everything is blurry for the both of you. He’s grabbing at you, groping anything he can find. He’s searching for skin, hands making their way up and under your shirt. You know how risky it is, making out with Joel in a back alley in the middle of the QZ. You don’t care. Neither of you do. You’re drunk on each other and it’s clouding your judgment.

“You like it when I’m mean to you, honey?” he murmurs, voice jagged and low. He’s kissing at your neck, nipping the skin and leaving purple bruises in his wake. 

“Yeah, Joel, fuck. I love it,” you whine. “I love you.”

The both of you freeze at your confession. You’re honestly not sure if you mean it, or if it’s just the heat of the moment. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve said it, and you can’t take it back.

“You think you do,” he mutters against your throat. “But love doesn’t exist in this world. Not anymore.”

You both pause, heavy breaths filling the air. After a while, you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

You’re not sure whether you’re apologising for loving him, or admitting it, or for the events of the evening. You’re just sorry.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs gently against your mouth as he kisses you again. “Don’t be sorry.”

He takes you up against the red brick wall, legs wrapped around his waist and arms tangled around his neck. Your back is cut and bleeding, throat sore and pulsing where he’s bitten you. He makes you come twice before he finishes himself, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hands leaving prints on your hips.

Joel says that love doesn’t exist anymore. You think he’s wrong.

[nowimjustastranger]

Heres a fun one (or to me at least) how would stcmo!Ford react to other Fandom AU and other Fandom AU Stanleys?

Like for example Relativity (The Stan Twins and The Pine twins role get swapped with each other), Monster Fall, Peace of mind AU by @/stanngeddon (basically that where the mystery trio role got Reversed, Fidds get portaled, Ford runs the shack, and Stanley becomes McGuket in the canon), Never Human (where “Stanley” became an a cosmic horror after making a deal, guarding all the Ford in the multiverse) and Blind Fate

Again, not gonna go super in-depth since I don't know the author's boundaries when it comes to their AU. But I'll still answer as best I can because it's really fun to put Ford 419"3 in other AU's!

Relativity Falls

Initially, Ford would be shocked by the role swap, but he wouldn't linger on the changes because he has a mission to accomplish. It wouldn't be until later that Ford actually wrote his first impression and thoughts on the dimension in one of his journals. All in all, Ford would just be considered an outlier among the vast majority of dimensions and not expend any more energy toward pondering it.

Monster Falls

The first time Ford came across this dimension, Ford accidentally shot Stan thinking he was a hostile anomaly. Stan had already been injured by a nasty fight with a Manticore, a jagged tear across his side from its horns and blood coating his mouth of sharp teeth. Ford's heart froze in his chest when he heard his brother's unmistakable voice layered with an angry roar as the shot hit the anomaly. Safe to say that the Stanford of that dimension wasn't pleased when he heard his brother cry out in pain and anger. Ford had to diffuse the situation before he had his throat ripped out by a very pissed off Stanford, frantically unclipping his helmet while dodging Stanford's attacks. As soon as his face was revealed, Stan called his brother off.

Peace of Mind @stanngeddon

Ford would be heartbroken when he saw what had become of Stan, furious with the Stanford of that dimension for allowing Stan to deteriorate so severely. Ford would do everything in his power to help Stan, but there's only so much Ford can do to heal such a damaged mind. I think the most that Ford could do -without uprooting Stan and bringing him back to his temporary headquarters for some brain scans- would be to make sure Stan was otherwise in good health and stock him up with some supplies. This would be a dimension that Ford would keep an eye on, occasionally popping in to fuss over Stan.

Never Human

In this case, Stanley would probably be the one saving Ford from meeting a premature death at the hands of some hostile creature in the multiverse between missions. Ford would be worried about Stanley making a deal, but it would be a bit of a relief that Stanley was harder to kill as a cosmic entity. Ford would absolutely ask to study Stanley, half curious and half concerned. Basically, Ford would look back on his interaction with a cosmic horror Stanley fondly.

Blind Faith (you said Fate but Blind Faith is what I think you meant)

Honestly, Ford would have nightmares after stumbling across the brothers in such a bad state. Stan would've just been freshly blinded by Stanford, the both of them inconsolable. Ford would address Stan's eyes first, using a salve to soothe the burns and fresh bandages. He'd also give Stan a dose of pain medication mixed with a mild sedative. Then Ford would shift his attention to Stanford, patching him up as well before checking his mental state. Ford would be unaffected by those watching them, protected by his helmet (the interior etched with sigils with unicorn hair embedded in the frame). Ford would end up bringing the brothers through a wormhole with him to get them out of that place, entirely unwilling to leave them there.

[supercorpkid]

Future History

Supergirl. Kara Danvers x Reader.

Word Count: 3735.

Notes: Literally no one asked for this but I was in dire need to write angst or I'd die. So here, have the saddest story I could come up with.

A soft tap on your window is barely registered by your clogged up ears (and nose). There's nothing that could pull you from your bed now; You think you might just physically can't. It doesn't matter—you're on the fifth floor, and if someone managed to knock on your window, it could only mean one thing: it's her.

The tears falling from your eyes and into your pillow don't stop for a second, even when the window creaks open and she glides in, her presence heavy with sorrow; you can't bring yourself to stop crying.

"Baby," Her tone is agonizing, sad, inconsolable. Exactly as you feel right now. 

"Leave." It's the sole thing you can say. One word you've reserved for her, though your every thought is a painful echo of her name.

You can't see yourself or almost anything at all, with your eyes all blurred from the tears, but you can imagine what Kara is seeing right now. Your body curled up around itself, jagged and weak. Your pillow soaked, hair and clothes damp from hours of crying. You're not sure how there are any tears left in you.

She does leave, but only for a second. Soon she returns, a bottle of water in her hand, a futile gesture of care. You snatch it from her and fling it across the room with all the force your broken heart can muster.

"Goddamn it, leave!" You demand, voice raw and furious. 

Kara flinches, her face contorted in pain, and you notice she is not wearing the Supergirl coat of arm's anymore. She looks young, weak, normal. She looks exactly like a Danvers. Like the person who lied to you, who broke you. The one you trusted, loved—no, still love, though the thought makes you want to vomit. 

She looks like your Kara. Not-yours, never-really-completely-yours. She looks young and weak and stupid and you hate her face, her voice, her heart. You hate Kara Danvers even more than you hate Supergirl right now. You hate everything about her, and you hate that your heart refuses to let her go.

She drops to her knees beside your bed, her hand trembling as she wipes away one of the many tears sliding down your face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her voice is so raw, so fragile, that it cuts deeper than any blade. You’ve seen her cry before, but never like this. Never with a pain that matches your own. “I’m so, so sorry,” she says again, and the words are like salt in a wound that will probably never heal.

“No.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s all you have left. You slap her hand away, your body recoiling from her touch as though it burns. “You’re not forgiven.” You couldn’t forgive her even if you wanted to. Your heart is a twisted, broken thing, mangled beyond recognition. 

"I'm sorry, I know it was the most awful timing—"

"Are you really gonna talk about timing in a time like this?" God, really! The timing is awful, is that what she really wants to talk about? 

Not about how you were there, on one knee, ring on your hand, your heart laid bare, and the suffocating silence that followed. The way your question hung in the air, unanswered, as you knelt there, dying a thousand deaths. Not about the fact you've never heard a silence quite so loud. Not a word from her or any of your so-called friends.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry —" She says again and it means nothing. All of her apologies mean nothing at all to you and you wish she would just shut up and leave.

"Oh my God, stop apologizing!" You sit up in bed and get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the door. You flinch at the image of yourself reflected there. Sure, you feel dreadful and rough, yet you had no idea your face could embody your feelings so perfectly. 

Your cheeks burn, your eyes are swollen, and you know she sees it all. The evidence of how long you’ve been crying, of how deeply she’s wounded you. Since the time she left you there, replaying the question on your mind over and over. Did you say it right? Kara, will you marry me? Kara? Why is everyone looking so damn sorry for you? Why are you frozen on your knees?

“Okay, okay. I’m s—” She catches herself, silencing the apology that’s on her lips. She knows it’s useless. “Tell me what you need. Tell me what I can do, baby. Tell me how to make this right.”

“You lied,” you say, and your voice is so small, so weak, that it makes you feel like a frightened child. Kara’s face crumples, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain of your words. “For so long. I—God, Kara, I proposed!” The anger surges back, bitter and overwhelming, choking you. “Do you understand that? I thought we were on the same page! I thought we had it all.”

“We did,” she insists, her voice a broken plea. “We do.”

"How could you do that to me? How could you look into my face every single day and lie about who you are? How could you ask all of our friends to do the same?"

"Y/N, I was going to tell you."

"When? At our wedding? After I said yes and signed the damn papers? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME YOU ARE SUPERGIRL, KARA DANVERS?"

You expect to be met with the same silence you did after you proposed, you're sure she won't have a response to your angry shouted words at her, but oh boy, she does now. Oh, but she now knows exactly what to say when a few hours ago she forgot the word 'yes' existed in her vocabulary.

"I did it to protect you," You scoff. "You have no idea, do you? How dangerous is it just knowing who I am? Alex," You scowl at her sister's name, but she continues. "Alex was kidnapped, trapped inside a tank and almost drowned so people would know my name. Lena was used by her own family. Brainy was drugged and had his mind erased —"

"And so what? You thought I would cave? You thought I wouldn't be able to keep your secret?"

"What? No! I — I didn't wanna see you get hurt."

“Because I would've, you know,” Your voice cracks, the truth of it shattering you all over again. "died for you. I would have."

"I know. I know, and I couldn't let that happen. I love you more than anything. More than anyone I have ever loved, I couldn't let anything bad happen to you because of me."

"So you did it yourself." You clean your face aggressively, knowing damn well you're just making space for more tears to wet it. "You couldn't let anyone hurt me, so you hurt me yourself."

"Baby—"

“No. No more ‘baby,’ no more excuses, no more lies.” Your voice is a deadly whisper, a divisiveness that crushes her. "You know what, I can't do this. Get the fuck out of my face." She winces when you curse, and the word feels right in your mouth like it never felt before. 

Kara stumbles out of the bedroom— Your bedroom that somehow doesn't feel like yours anymore. It feels empty because the only person that ever made it feel like home is now being kicked out of it. 

You hate this, you hate it all.

You hate every feeling coursing through you, tearing you apart. You hate the anger, the heartbreak, the taste of your own tears. You hate the slow, agonizing thud of your heart as it struggles to keep beating when all you want is for it to stop already.

But most of all, you hate how heavy the ring feels in your pocket. 

You've never had a full-on couch. Just a loveseat that has served you just fine for when you were alone or with a partner. It shocks you to find Kara curled up in that tiny, inadequate space when you walk into your living room first thing in the morning.

The sight of her sends a ping of anger through you, tightening your chest. You march over and poke her arm, your voice harsh as you snap, "What the hell are you doing?"

"There was nowhere else for me to stay." Kara’s voice is soft, almost meek, as if she truly believes that’s what you meant. You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to hide your disbelief. "But I stayed anyway."

"No shit, genius." You turn on your heels, heading straight for the coffee pot, the anger simmering just below the surface. "Why the hell did you stay? I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off last night."

You don’t look back, but you don’t need to. You can practically feel the way she winces at your words. That’s how well you know her—or at least, how well you thought you did.

"Well, you—you told me to get out of your face." There’s a hesitation in her voice, and when you finally turn around, you can’t believe what you see. How can the mightiest superhero on the planet look like this? Like a fragile, delicate thing that needs your protection, your love.

"Pretty sure you’re still here, all over my face."

Kara takes a deep breath, her voice trembling as she tries to explain. "I couldn’t leave you like that, Y/N. You looked so, so broken."

You blink at her because the only reason you looked like that was her. She was the one that let her damage damage you. She was the one that came into your life, broke all your barriers, made you open up and love her dearly and deeply, and lied, and lied, and lied. Kara was the one that made you her future history from day one when she decided to deceit you repeatedly. 

"Was any of it true?" It's what comes out of your mouth. You're not even done with the question and she is already opening her mouth to answer, but you cut her short. "Don't lie again. Don't tell me what I want to hear. Tell me the truth, Kara Danvers. All of those moments, all that you gave me, all that staring at me starry-eyed, was it all true?"

"Y/N," Kara takes a tentative step closer, her pink lips parted, her eyes brimming with tears that mirror your own. "All of it was the most real I’ve ever been in my life." She collapses into a chair halfway between you, like the weight of her own words is too much to bear. "Some people know Supergirl. Some people know Kara Danvers. And very few  know both."

You swallow hard, trying to choke back your tears. You, apparently, know none.

"You know me. Kara. Not Kara Danvers, not Kara Zor-El. The Kara that no one ever got to see. The one that laughs at dirty jokes, and dances in her underwear to no songs. The one that eats cold pizza in the morning, and can't sleep without my feet touching yours. You know how I like my coffee, my favorite songs, you know the words I hate, how many freckles I have and how ugly I look when I cry."

"You look… alright." You shrug, your voice flat, detached.

Her eyes soften at your words. "You know about my nightmares, and how to touch me so I feel safe. Actually, you know how to touch me in any way I need. You saw so much more than journalist Kara Danvers and Alex's young sister. You knew me better than anyone who's seen Supergirl in action—"

You recoil at the mention of her alias and your anger returns. More lies, even more lies to draw you in. When is that going to stop?

"Sorry," she murmurs, the apology falling flat.

The coffee machine beeps, signaling that it’s done. You move mechanically, pouring the coffee into two mugs, adding cream and a disgusting amount of sugar to hers the way you always do. But instead of handing it to her, you place it on the counter, a silent gesture that screams the distance between you.

Kara stands and approaches you cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. "Tell me what you’re thinking," she whispers, her voice barely audible, filled with fear.

You swallow the bitter words clawing at your throat, because the way she’s speaking—so submissive, so frightened—makes you hesitate.

Finally, in a voice so quiet it’s almost drowned by the silence, you say, "I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all."

Kara’s eyes are filled with tears that she’s desperately trying to hold back. She’s always been the strong one, the one who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, but now, she looks so fragile, so utterly human. It’s a sight that tugs at something deep within you, a part of you that still aches for her despite everything.

“I was tired,” she finally whispers, her voice trembling. “tired of pretending, of lying, of hiding who I am. But I was a lot more terrified of losing you.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but it’s quickly followed by the anger that has been bubbling inside you. “You should have thought of that before you lied to me for years,” you snap, your voice harsher than you intended.

Kara winces as if your words have physically struck her. She looks down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them nervously. “I know,” she says softly. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you in a way that might be unforgivable. But baby, I need you to understand… I didn’t lie because I wanted to. I lied because I was scared. Scared of what it would mean if you knew. Scared that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now—like I’m a stranger.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “How else am I supposed to look at you? You kept such a huge part of yourself from me, Kara. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”

She steps a bit closer, cautiously. “Please, just… just let me explain,” she pleads, her eyes searching yours for any sign of willingness to listen. “I know I should have told you. I know that. But every time I thought about it, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being in danger because of who I am. Of you being a target just because you’re with me. And it also terrified me to think of you not loving all of me.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” your voice waver when you realize exactly what you are mad about. You're not mad about the fact that she is Supergirl. Supergirl is a nice person. A hero. A heavenly sent goddess that helps people. It's nice that your amazing, loving girlfriend is also all of that. The problem is that your amazing-loving-girlfriend never once thought about the rest of your lives together. “We were supposed to be a team. We were supposed to face things together. But you decided for both of us, and you didn’t even give me a choice.”

"I know." Kara’s face falls, but she takes another step closer anyway. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I know I’ve hurt you more than anyone ever has." She is too close now, you're sure, as her heat irradiates through her skin and you feel it on your own body. She is tentatively and scared, and still somehow brave, when she reaches for your face and cleans the single tear under your eye, even though she knows there's a fat chance you're just going to tell her to fuck off again.

"I can't let you lie to me again," You feel weak just trying to get your point across while she touches your face like this. Because your skin wants it, needs her touch, craves for even more. Longs for soothing, and begs for love. Her love. Her mouth and her hands and her only.

"I won't. No more secrets, no more lies, no more hiding." Her hand snakes from your face to your neck and she slowly pulls you into her chest. "No more hurting you. Ever again." She lets out a shaky breath. "I can't see you hurting like this ever again."

"God, Kara." 

Your face on her chest feels like it belongs there. As if all the pieces fit when you are right there. The warmth of her arms around you feels like coming home and how can you fight this?

"I love you. I love you so much." She is crying more now, you're sure. And so your arms finally embrace her too. "Please let me make it up to you. I'll spend every single day for the rest of our lives proving myself worthy of you."

By now you're clinging to Kara as if clinging for your life. Feeling the steady beat of her heart against your ear. The sound is grounding, reminding you that despite everything, she’s here—she’s real, and she’s yours, in all her flawed, messy humanity. 

“I don’t know how to move past this,” you admit quietly, your voice muffled against her chest. “I want to, I want to so badly but everything hurts. Being without you is so painful, but remembering all the lies…"

Kara holds you stronger, as if she’s afraid to let go, as if releasing you would mean losing you forever. “You don’t have to forgive me right away,” she whispers. “I know I’ve shattered your trust, and it’s going to take time to rebuild it. But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not giving up on us.”

There’s a long pause, both of you clinging to each other as if holding onto both sides of a wrecked lifeboat is better than letting go. You know she did it to protect you, you know she was scared of losing you. Hell, you were scared of losing her too! The whole relationship had been nothing but perfect. No one has ever cared and loved you the way Kara does and you know that. You want to believe that this love you share is strong enough to weather this storm, but the doubt gnaws at you, a relentless ache in your chest.

You search her face, looking for any sign of the woman you fell in love with, the woman who made you laugh, who held you when you cried, who made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. She’s still there, beneath the layers of hurt and betrayal. She’s still the woman who caught your heart, even if she also broke it.

“I need time,” you tell her, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in. “I need time to figure out how to move on from here and if we can get back to where we were.”

Kara nods, her expression a mix of relief and sorrow. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be waiting for you. No matter how long it takes.” She places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "I'll do anything for you, Y/N. Anything at all."

You step back, needing some space to breathe, to think. Kara lets you go, her arms falling to her sides, but she doesn’t move away. She stands there, watching you with a mixture of hope and fear, her vulnerability laid bare.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like this either. I don’t want to be constantly wondering if you’re keeping something else from me.”

“I understand,” Kara says softly. “and I promise, no more secrets. No more lies. I’ll be completely honest with you from now on, about everything. Even if it makes me look bad, or sound horrible. I'll tell you everything.”

"Did you clog up my parents' toilet last time we were there?" She tries not to laugh, but fails. You presented it as a very serious question and she can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

"Yeah." Her cheeks burn red. "But not like you're imagining." You raise an eyebrow at her. "Come on, baby, the chicken was soooo bland even I couldn't eat it. So I flushed down the toilet."

A small smile appears on your lips because God, she is such a doofus.

"That fish your dad and I said we fished ourselves?" You nod at her, remembering perfectly, "Store bought. He's been doing it for years and your mom hasn't noticed."

"I can't believe it! Why does he stay in the river for hours then?"

"He calls it 'peace of mind', but it's just so he can have some time off from her."

"Hm," You think about it for a second. "Do you do the same? That time I wanted to see you and you told me you were going on a trip with Alex…"

"I was unconscious for three days so Alex had to make something up." Your mouth drops, you never realize how much of that you were unaware about. "Maybe I can tell you everything?" She points to the couch. "Would that help?"

"It can't hurt." You shrug, making your way there with your coffee mug. You pass her on the way, and she reaches for your free hand, like she always does. You let her take it, her fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that feels both familiar and foreign.

“Maybe we can start small.” you suggest, your voice tentative, while looking at your hands together.

Kara nods, “Small,” she agrees with an equal small voice. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give, Y/N. I just want to be with you, however that looks.”

You sit on the couch and nod at her, "alright, start from the beginning."

"My name is Kara Zor-El, 24 years ago my planet, Krypton, was in serious peril. My cousin, Kal-El was sent to a planet called Earth for his own safety and protection. You may know his story, the story you don't know is that I was sent to protect him…"

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Broken Birds

Previous

Next (Coming Soon)

____

The Outlands, Years Ago:

A very young cub Vitani ran into some young jackals that neighbored the Termite Mounds, and she'd confessed to her mother that she had felt a friendship coming on, but Zira snuffed that dream right out. Lions could not be friends with mindless food like little jackals.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

The young Vitani could feel her mother grabbing her wrist. The older lioness pulled the cub closer.

Suddenly, Zira seemed to change in appearance. She was now much bigger, sported a slick, red mane, and a scar across her right eye. It was now an unknown male lion.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!" he screamed.

"Father, I'm sorry-y-y!" Vitani sobbed, except… this was not her voice, nor her body.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!"

The bigger lion's paw came up, looking like it was about to swipe.

Vitani jolted awake, putting a paw over her racing heart. More nightmares of Mother, of course.

Mother…

The images of Zira's sentient waterfall form came back to her vividly. No one would believe her. She didn't even believe herself the more she thought of it.

And her head… it still hurt from… something. Her friends said it had been a fall, right?

This didn't happen. No, none of this happened. She just fell… Right?

SCRATCH, SCRATCH…

The Fiercest gasped and made a small noise. Before she went to investigate, however, she looked around to make sure no one heard her pathetic sound.

Luckily, no. But, only because Tiifu wasn't around. Odd. She'd be wrapped all over Vitani.

Perhaps the watery ghost did exist. Maybe it was a little like the case of Nuka's spirit. Maybe Scar's. Kion defeated Scar's spirit. Had he seen one made of water? How would he have dealt with it? She had to find him...

SCRAPE, SCRATCH…

Vitani leapt to her feet and prowled about around the corridors of the Ponya. Her ears pointed to the noise. At the main part of the Ponya, she saw a bipedal form smearing paint onto the wall with precision.

Vitani looked all around the wall. It was a portrait of her brother and her sister-in-law. She smiled a bit, but it quickly vanished, remembering how disastrous last night went. She digressed, and cleared her throat.

"Um... that's really pretty..."

The mandrill jumped a little. Her hand made a jagged mark of paint on the wall.

"Sorry." Vitani winced, "I know that must've taken hours."

"Oh, that's okay!" the mandrill charmed, "I could make these all day!"

"I really admire the light colors and soft shapes. They really come together to create a distinct style."

"Wow, I didn't know you were so artsy!"

Vitani shrugged, "I mean, everyone makes me plot out patrol maps on the ground in the morning. I think my Guard does that just to watch me draw."

"Oh, right! You're the new Pridelands' Fiercest! What was your name again?"

"Vitani." the lioness introduced, "It's Makini, right?"

"Mmhm!"

"You're, uh... the Mjuzi for Kion and his wife, now --" Vitani rattled her head, "Uh, Kion... Have you seen him? I need to talk to him. Saw some things I can't explain."

"Oh, the Night Pride already started heading back last night. I stayed back to catch up with the Pridelanders and paint —"

Vitani blinked, "What? Why?"

"Why what?"

"W-Why did they leave?!" Vitani began to pace.

"Can't leave the Tree of Life unguarded too long, I guess."

"B-But this is — Wha — I —" the Fiercest began seething, "Dammit!"

Furious, she smacked hard at something with her paw. It had been a husk full of vermillion paint.

Leaving her cloud of rage, she could see that she had gotten the paint all over her paw, and all over Makini's masterpiece.

"I... I am so sorry, I —" Vitani stammered, "I totally ruined your painting —"

"It's okay! I can make a new one any time. I'm always improving!" Makini reassured, "In fact, this gives me an idea..."

The mandrill began to wash the the rest of the painting from the rock with a soaked leaf.

"Here! Why don't you paint how you feel on this rock and maybe I can help you figure out what it means! It's called 'art therapy.'"

Vitani stared into her paint-covered paw. She didn't like the sound of just sitting here for therapy, but Kion was already gone. Kion may have had the advantage of defeating spirits with his Roar, but Makini must've known more about the past and spirits in general. That's what Mjuzis do, right?

Makini was the best option she had, it seemed. Especially with Rafiki opting to stay in his tree more often, lately.

Vitani got a good look at the rock in deep thought of how she would convey her anxieties. She considered Makini's suggestion, and began to make her first move.

Slowly, Vitani took her paw and brought it closer to her canvas. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Wait." she finally said, eyes open.

She tried and tried to remember the images she saw, but they kept changing and becoming unclear due to the deliberate effort to recall them.

"I… I can't remember, now." her teeth gritted, "It's fading too quickly!"

The Mjuzi frowned, "Aww, that's too bad. I forget my dreams a lot, too. I'm pretty forgetful in my waking life too, actually, and Rafiki says I need to work on that if I want to connect with the past. Which, you gotta see all the old paintings to know what paintings to make in the present so everyone in the future will know what to paint in their present -- We were talking about something else, right? What —"

"My dreams, Makini. The whole reason I was painting?"

"Oh yeah! And how you can't recollect the pa — OOOOHH! I got it!" Makini suddenly chimed, "I got just the thing!"

"You do?" Vitani's eyes widened with a slight roll, her jeering tone going unnoticed by the mandrill.

Makini removed the two gourds from her Bakora Staff, opening the lids of each, and — for once — carefully — poured something onto each palm.

"Rafiki told me that these two gourds on my staff represent the past and the future, and I think I know why, now! So, this staff I have right now wasn't originally my staff, it actually belonged to the old Mjuzi at the Tree of Life..."

Vitani nodded rigorously, anxious beyond belief.

"I found these powders left in the gourds! I asked Rafiki what they were, and he said one is called Zamani, and the other is Baadaye. One lets you see visions of your past, and the other lets you see your future! Rafiki told me he used the Baadaye powder on Scar to show him his future. But, we all know Scar didn't listen to his warning."

Vitani looked at Makini's hand. In each palm were powders of a vivid blue and orange. Mystery of its appearance and origin almost gave it a slight radiance.

"Please tell me you know which one is which…" Vitani knew Makini at this point. It would be in-character for this to be the next thing to somehow tragically and comically mess up.

"Actually I do! I remembered their colors! Colors are the one thing I know I can remember good. You need the blue one!" she then inhaled shakily, "Buuuut…"

"Noo…" Vitani whined to herself, shutting her eyes.

"I kinda… sorta… forgot how the powders are applied." Makini shrugged sheepishly.

"Great…" the Fiercest groaned, stepping away as Makini kept the blue powder in her ahand and placed the orange powder back.

"Don't know if you eat it, or — No, certainly doesn't look like you should." the mandrill thought deeper, "Or was it —"

Suddenly, the wind coming from outside swept the blue powder from Makini's hand. Vitani was unfortunately in the splash zone. The powder had blown into her eyes.

Makini bit her lip anxiously, "Or that could work."

"OW! Agghh! Makini, what the —"

"Sorry!" the mandrill winced, "Are you okay?"

The Fiercest frantically began rubbing her eyes with a paw, preparing for the stinging and burning. Oddly, there was none. Instead, however, she felt a numbness. Testing to see if it really was such, she blinked a couple of times. She felt comfortable to fully open them.

She began to see little blooms of blue specks in her view. They were like eye floaters, but they glowed, and morphed into mandala-like patterns until it filled her field of vision.

She saw her surroundings change from a dark cavern to her old termite mound home. Everything was starting to look like where she was in her dream, with a blue tint on everyone and everything.

"Makini, i-it's working!" Vitani gawked, astonished.

Suddenly, where the mandrill would be standing, was instead Zira., who towered over Vitani and was berating her, just like in her dream.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

Zira's form once again morphed into another lion. It became bulkier with a red mane, and with a scar over his left eye. His voice was raspy and scheming.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!"

"I'm sorry-y-y!" the cub sobbed heavily, almost unable to breathe.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!" the red-maned lion yelled.

Zira curled into a ball. She was sobbing, but she felt frustration build up too. It wasn't fair, the way she was being yelled at. But she still failed him. She shouldn't have tried to befriend those crows, as lonely as she was when she would stay over at the Outlands. She mustn't be so desperate to trust just about any animal.

The lion quickly changed his tone as to not completely terrify his little daughter. Screaming wasn't helping, he used a disarming charm that worked on her before.

"You want to be a mighty lion like me, don't you? You want to make the Pride back home proud of you to be one of them, right? I want to be one of them again. Help me, Zira, help the family come back together, and you can see your mother again. Don't you want that?"

Little Zira sniffled, "Yes."

"Yes. There's my mighty lion. Always be stronger than everyone thinks you are. Lions Over All! Lions Over All!" he chanted.

"Wait..." Vitani said aloud, "This is —"

Vitani was seeing way beyond what she recalled in the dream. She realized now that the Zamani hadn't taken her to the recent past, but the distant past.

The vision continued on, and pretty soon, she found herself in a deep, red dystopia. It was the Pridelands, but from an era she'd never known. A time where all animals took on a much more primitive appearance.

She seemed to be chasing a group of a type of animal she hadn't seen in the Pridelands before. Others of her own kind were doing the same thing, even going so far as to needlessly massacring the animals for sport, or as a punishment for existing.

Watching all this activity with a cold and callous gaze was a leonine silhouette standing atop a towering kopje. He sported a familiar mark above his right eye.

"Lions Over All!" he bellowed for all of the ancient land to hear, as if he wanted the lions in the sky to hear him.

"Lions Over All!" the fleet of pillager lions echoed. The message deeply engrained into their minds and hearts.

The visions and voices of these lions of the past had swarmed Vitani. The flashbacks all becoming one and playing back-to-back.

Just then, a gray lioness with eyes and a tuft like Vitani's appeared before her. She spoke with a kind, gentle, and timid voice.

"What's wrong, my little Moonlight?"

The mysterious lioness' appearance fizzled, and there remained Vitani's reflection on a shiny rock. Back to reality.

She yelped and hyperventilated from the bizarre visions. So taken aback by the frightening sights that she felt like she couldn't swallow nor catch her breath. She lied on the ground against the rock, staring upward.

"Vitani!" cried Makini as she bounded over to the lioness, "Vitani! Are you okay?!"

"I... I think I would like some privacy to paint, please." was all the Fiercest could muster, absolutely dazed.

____

Up in the main den lied Kiara. Her eyes filled with tears as she anticipated the future. So many changes were coming their way, and she didn't know how to tell anyone.

"Kiara, honey? May we come in?" asked Nala, who peeked into the entrance.

"It's open." Kiara said flatly.

Nala could still sense Kiara's tension from the humiliation yesterday. It was probably time to talk about it, knowing Kiara's honesty about her feelings.

"Baby, I thought you were finally ready for your coronation. Your dad and I told you we trusted you with the crown."

"I know, Mom, but... everything's changing so much. I don't know what everyone will think about... Just... what if I forget about who I am?"

Kiara was too afraid to say heavier things that were truly on her mind. No, her family wasn't ready.

"Kiara, I know change can be daunting, but sometimes it makes you who you are." Nala rubbed a brow against Kiara's.

"Your mother's right." Sarabi added as she entered the den, "In life, you will always learn about yourself, and become a refined lion. Your father most certainly did, and so did your grandfather."

Sarabi's eyes became glossy at the last part. Her husband would always be a part of her.

Sarafina followed Sarabi, as she always did in life. She had fetched a tortoise shell of fresh, cold water for her granddaughter.

"There ya go, Sweetie." she said, "To calm your nerves, a little."

"Thank you, Nanna." Kiara said sweetly, but still glum.

"Kiara, we trust that you can become a beloved and capable Queen. We've seen your cooperation with herd leaders." Nala said, "And Jasiri. You changed the Outlands forever by welcoming her to the Summit."

"See? Even you've made big changes. You're famous for it! And we can't forget you and that boy Kovu making us all one big, happy family!" Sarafina chimed.

Kiara's heart jumped for a second until she remembered what her Nanna meant. Right. That.

"You're a risktaker, but an openminded and levelheaded one." Sarabi observed.

Kiara smiled nervously, but tears still welled up.

They all saw this, and exchanged concerned looks before they all rubbed foreheads against her in unison.

"Thank you..." Kiara closed her eyes as she embraced them, "But what about Kion...? I totally wasted his time. I made him come all this way just so I could flake on him."

"Kion and Rani would come back in a heartbeat for you." Nala said, "I know Kion doesn't show it a whole lot, but he really wants to see you become Queen."

Kiara again tried to crack a smile, but she was just so touched by her mother's words.

"I need time to figure this out." the Future Queen finally said.

"Alright, we'll give you some space." assured Nala, "Just remember: You will always be yourself, even when you're Queen. The Queens of the Past will guide you, and so will we."

Nala turned away to the exit. The elders looked on at Kiara with love and still with concern before following suit.

Kiara continued sulking long after they left, but she eventually gave into her Nanna's kind gesture of water. Slowly, she dipped her nose into the shell, and lapped up the cool water.

However, as soon as the water reached her stomach, Kiara felt... strange. It's almost like she had lost consciousness, but her body was still up.

Pretty soon, she was trapped in her own body, which began to lick its chops as the water dripped from its chin. Her eyes took on a vivid azure glow as she cracked a grin to herself.

"I feel... much better, now." she said with a sinister tone, one she'd never used before.

____

Finishing her very own masterpiece after several hours of hunched-over work on few hours of sleep, Vitani finally managed to convince herself to sit up and refresh. The lioness had headed over to Lake Shangaza to clean the paint stains from her paws.

As she rinsed her paws, she caught her reflection in the water. She saw her exhausted eyes, and — under her tuft — what appeared to be her gash from last night all patched up.

She wasn't sure if it was the sleep deprivation, or if she'd still been under the effects of the Zamani powder, but when she stared into her reflection in the water long enough, she could swear she saw her mother's ghastly face appear for a moment.

Her body jerked back from the jumpscare. She glanced back to find nothing there. She was confused, and genuinely terrified, even though it may have been an illusion.

Though, this reminded her; perhaps she could contact a ghost she knew was on her side...

She lit a torch and said her summoning phrase:

"Roho ya Moto!"

A puff of fire exploded from the flame of the torch until it resembled her brother.

"What?! What's goin' on?! Where's the danger?!" Nuka whipped around, his paws chopping the air defensively.

"No danger, here." Vitani deadpanned.

"Lookie here, Vitani," he scowled, "You can't just summon me every time you break a claw!"

"Nuka..."

"You know how much energy it takes to —"

"Nuka." she snapped, "I summoned you for a reason. I have a genuine question that only you can answer."

"Fire away." he said bluntly. He'd realized his unintentional pun, and snickered to himself a bit.

"Have you... have you ever seen Mother up there, or... wherever it is you go? What does she look like?"

"Um... not recently?"

Vitani's eyes became curious, "Really? What do you mean recently? What does she look li —"

A raindrop landed on Vitani's nose. She looked up to see dark clouds she hadn't even noticed rolling over the lake.

SIZZLE

"OW!!" Nuka cried.

Vitani looked over to Nuka, and caught a worrying sight: Where there was fire around his being, there was now black, crusty spots that steamed.

"Nuka, what's happening?!"

"Ow, it's the rain! I can't be touched by rain, or I'll turn to smoke!" he cried, trying to blow fire onto himself where there wasn't.

"Well, we gotta get you out of here!" she cried, panicking.

"Ugh, come on, say the phrase!" he grunted as he waved his paws frantically.

"Okay, okay! Errr — Roho ya Moto!" Vitani said rapidly.

POOF!

The flame shrank into the stick shortly before it could be snuffed another, more permanent way.

"Well, that was brief." she muttered, not knowing at all how to feel today.

She couldn't see that in the distance stood a lioness. One who watched her entire interaction with Nuka.

The lioness turned away, back to the direction of Pride Rock.

____

Not too long later, the rain had mysteriously stopped.

Imara and Kasi muttered to each other about the events last night, expressing concern for Kiara along with the odd weather. They spotted Vitani wandering close to Pride Rock. She seemed pensive, but also dazed. After seeing her stumble a bit, they rushed their stroll.

"Hey, 'Tani." greeted Kasi, characteristically arriving first.

"We're about to head to our patrol routes." added Imara, "We split into groups, today."

"Taz and Shabs already headed out." Kasi said, "You wanna go with them, or us? Please pick us..."

Imara nudged Kasi. The smaller lioness got a better look at her tired friend.

"Hey, you good?" asked the Fastest.

"Um, yeah..." Vitani slowly shook her head, "Headache."

"Right. You probably don't wanna be out here, huh?" Imara said, "You fell pretty bad."

Vitani's memories of her interaction with her mother suddenly flashed back into her mind, along with the frustration with Nuka, and her visions she painted. This day was chaotic, and she just couldn't think of it anymore.

"Uhh, you know what?" she smirked, "I'll go. Joining Team Kasi and Imara."

The two in question exchanged looks. They eventually shrugged, and let their friend take the lead.

____

"Right this way, Rafiki! I can't wait to show you Vitani's work!" Makini beamed with delight as she took the elder's hand and guided him to the Ponya.

"Yes, yes, Makini, I'm coming." said the old monkey. It was difficult to catch up to his protege, now that he was without his staff, and for a long time, now.

"Welp, here it is! Could you believe a lion made all of this? With her paws?!"

"Hmm..."

Rafiki put a hand on his chin and looked all around the walls of the Ponya, noting many changes outside of just Vitani's work. There were detailed paintings all around made by Makini. He smiled a wrinkled and weary smile to himself, feeling proud and confident in his successor, and hoped she could frequent the Pridelands more.

"Vitani's been feeling a little stressed, lately. So I told her to paint her feelings."

“Hmm, yes. Art therapy is a good form of expression. Excellent idea, Makini.”

Rafiki’s eyes continued to follow every painting on the wall. He could see that not every painting had been finished. They were… very different from a Mjuzi’s paintings, to say the least. Not only from the shapes made from non-opposable, blunt paws, but the paintings were dark in palette and in subject matter.

Murky, grayish browns and deep reds were the main colors used in these nebulous shapes scattered on the wall. Circling everything was what seemed to be black birds swarming every picture. Attempts to draw her own kind were made with as precise shapes as one could make with their paws.

The lions caught Rafiki's eye. Some resembled Zira what with the recognizable stripe on her head, but others seemed familiar as well considering the motifs that surrounded them.

"Makini, take your staff and touch the paintings."

"Oh, o-okay."

With a tap to the wall, the finished paintings glowed a hellish red. The cub Vitani cowered below Zira, and Zira cowered below a similar-looking lion with a scar. The birds circled around them all in a terrifying storm. Rafiki's jaw dropped.

"R-Rafiki?" Makini stammered, a bit horrified at what she saw, "What is it?"

He slowly put his hand down from the wall, and finally spoke.

"That lion... I have seen him before..."

Makini dropped her staff, "Really?"

"Yes. When I made a recent journey to the Outlands to find paintings I had never seen." he said, "How did Vitani see these lions?"

"Vitani had trouble remembering her dream while painting, so I had just the thing — I gave her the Zamani powder I found in my staff! Pretty smart, right?"

"Makini!" the elder mandrill snapped, "You have to be careful with these powders. You cannot just use it all up on something like dreams. This powder is very difficult to find, and can have side effects if used too much!"

"Really?!" Makini gasped, "Ohh, I didn't think of that! I'll put it away, Rafiki! I'll put it way away!"

"Good. Now, come! I must show you something!"

"Rafiki, wait!" Makini cried, still putting the powders in a safe spot — a nook behind some vines.

However, in an attempt to grab her staff while she hurried after him, she didn't see that she'd knocked a gourd from the hiding spot. A mess of orange powder lay scattered about the ground...

____

((Author's Notes: Yeah remember when I said this would be out July 12th on that one schedule post I made? The one where I basically irreversibly printed those dates that I had to abide by? Well, I was once again a couple of days late because a bunch of ideas and revisions came up. This has to be, like, the most despised production of a chapter/episode so far because this is a very transitional (and kinda filler) installment right after getting to such a high point with the last one. I kept switching a bunch of concepts and dialogue exchange scenes around to make sense of the chronology and why and when such things would happen. I've been so concerned lately with how much everything makes sense rather than just having something jotted down like how uploading this story used to be.

On a positive note, however, Makini was super fun and therapeutic to write. It was so fun to channel informalities like run-on sentences and rambling through her because she's so ADHD-coded lol.

Artist Note: This entire episode is highkey a meta commentary on my struggles to come up with things to draw, even down to overworking an image in my head so much that I actually lose the image altogether, making me give up before the stylus touches the tablet. The struggles with composition and making sense of this story were what played into such a debilitating 9-month hiatus. That, finishing community college, and taking forever to rid myself of a perfectionist art student mindset while making art over the summer is what finally got my head out of my ass, realizing that this story doesn't need to be so overly professional. I get that I wanted to emulate a nonexistent, hypothetical PG-13 show to succeed The Lion Guard, but I'm not a studio, I'm one person jotting down ideas and putting them in a screenshot art style. That's how Vitani's Guard even started, and it's okay if it goes up and down in how refined it is.

Also, I'm thinking of adding that little border with watermarks of the VG logo and episode/chapter number on VG art so we can keep track of when in the story an illustration takes place. What's confusing is that I refer to things as "Seasons" too, like this is "Season 3", for example.

Fun Facts:

The Zamani and Baadaye powder are based on the unnamed orange powder Rafiki used on Scar during the future hallucination sequence in the Disney Villains: Scar comic. DV:S is… not my favorite TLK installment because of how disconnected it feels, kinda feels like someone didn't watch TLK for years and only wrote something based on what they can remember of it. But! There were some aspects I liked, such as the aforementioned eye powder trip scene, these selfish and greedy vultures whose motives are actually established rather than just "hunched bald bird evil haha" that Disney always does. Also, just the general idea of Rafiki and Scar having a dialogue exchange. You never see that anywhere in any other TLK works, I don't think. I love how Rafiki sees something in Scar that no one else can yet, and how much Scar is like the Anakin to Rafiki's Obi-Wan/Yoda. The concept does get ruined by Rafiki seemingly knowing way too much about Scar's intentions, though, it kinda just makes Rafiki look like he just let Scar's tyranny happen :p. Think I'll write a full review on DV:S sometime.

Vitani and Makini's dynamic are an analogy of me taking the word of much younger, passionate artists who simply love what they make and have fun.

"Broken Bird", according to TV Tropes, is a term used to describe once idealistic individuals who had their dreams crushed through tragedy or abuse. The individual's demeanor and personality permanently change and they find it hard to love or get attached in any way again. Vitani and Zira's ideologies and emotional maturity were commonly deeply affected by the actions of their predecessors. Also it just so happened to go with the crow theme.))

Nuka trying to restore his fire by blowing it is based on the visual gag of Lumiere doing the same thing to his candlesticks.

[dragonmama76]

Beginnings Part 3

Sorry for the wait. A combo of writers block and life happening kept me from working on this. Hope you enjoy!

Catch up here: Part One, Interlude, Part 2

The jagged glass bottle dropped to the floor and Steve was free. He wasn’t dead.  Eddie hadn’t killed him after all.  As his senses returned he registered that there was shouting.  So much shouting.  “How dare you lay even one single finger on him!” Steve had never seen Robin so furious in their time together, not even when confronted with the Russians.  “After what you did to him…put him through!”  she was half screaming and half crying now and Steve gathered her in his arms, “Robbie, Rob, Bobbin it’s okay. Shhhhh.  Listen.  We’ve gotta get through what’s happening now.  It’s more important than anything that happened to me in high school.”  She gradually  stopped fighting and allowed herself to be held and only then did Steve manage to glance over at Dustin.  He was white as a sheet frantically looking between Steve and Eddie.  “Eddie?”  his voice cracked, “Eddie…what did you do?”  

**********************************

Steve and Robin stared transfixed at the screen as the reporter gave few details concerning the murder of a Hawkins High student.  Steve’s stomach clenched and his first thought was for Max but the trailer on the screen wasn’t familiar to him.  It wasn’t her trailer.  Lost in his racing thoughts, he jumped as the bell over the door rang out and Dustin and Max both rushed in.  His relief was short-lived, though, as it became clear that they were looking for help to find Eddie Munson.  Of course the Freak was at the center of all this, and now his kids were getting involved.  “Maybe let the police handle this one?” Steve suggested, although he knew it was futile.  As far as Dustin went, Eddie could do no wrong.  He exchanged meaningful glances with Robin.  Her eyes were wide as she tried to sort out if it was better to help the kids or convince them to stay far away from the situation.  Steve grabbed her sleeve and pulled her aside so they could talk.  She was babbling before he had a chance to get a word in.

“Oh my God, Steve, you always said he was dangerous and I didn’t believe you.  I’m such an idiot.  Did he actually do it?  Did he actually, you know, hurt someone?  Like that?  What are we going to do?”  

“Shit, Robin," Steve shook his head, "I don’t know.  But we can’t let Dustin and Max do this alone and you know they will, so we’re going to help them and you and I are going along to keep them out of trouble.  I don’t think Munson would actually hurt Dustin, so let’s just find him and get his side of the story.  From what Max said, it sounds like this could be upside down related and if it is…well, better that we know.”

********

There was silence in the boathouse and Dustin asked again, “Eddie…what did you do?” Eddie watched in horror as Dustin’s enormous brain made those lightning speed connections.  It was like he could see the wheels turning and the horror dawning as Dustin’s worldview was rocked by Eddie’s former crimes. His dirty truth.  His eternal shame.  He was about to turn and run, where he didn’t know, maybe just straight into the lake when Steve broke in.  “Dustin, whatever you think you know right now, put it aside.  We need to know what happened to Chrissy.”  Eddie felt, rather than saw Steve shift his attention back to him even as Dustin continued to glower.  “Okay, Eddie, it's time.  Tell us what happened and don’t leave anything out.”  Something loosened in Eddie’s chest and it all came tumbling out.  Chrissy coming to his trailer looking for help.  Chrissy floating.  Her bones snapping.  Her eyes.  He knew it all sounded insane, each detail worse than the one before but the more he spoke, the more knowing the glances around him became.  

********

After dropping Dustin and Max off for the night with promises to meet up in the morning for a strategy session, he and Robin headed back to his place to crash.  Steve didn’t feel at all bad leaving Eddie in the boathouse overnight to stew in his own juices.  He could see the man was terrified, but maybe that was simply payback for all the terror he had inspired in Steve.  It felt good.  Really good.  Steve finally had the upper hand over Eddie and wondered if this was his opportunity to enact some revenge.  Saving the world notwithstanding.  That would come first.  He sat with that feeling for a minute while Robin got settled on the couch.  And then he paused.  Well, shit.  Wasn't this exactly what Eddie had done back in high school?  Was this how he felt every time he saw Steve cringe or duck into a classroom to avoid him?  That's not who Steve wanted to be.  He had flirted with the concept of bullying back when he was friends with Tommy H. and decided it wasn't for him and he had worked too hard to shed his King Steve persona to turn it back on now.  Sometimes growing older and gaining perspective sucked.  Steve thought about Eddie watching him these last few months and wondered if he had gained perspective as well.  No one should be blamed for stupid things they did at fifteen, he really believed that, so maybe he would have to forgo the opportunity for revenge until he truly saw Eddie in action.  Ultimately Steve didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was now technically helping Eddie, but he was willing to put his feelings aside until this current crisis was resolved.  Robin, it seemed, was not.  

“Steve, you know don’t have to be a part of this.  And maybe we shouldn’t be anyway.  It’s okay if you want to leave Eddie to figure this out on his own, you know.  You don’t have to help him, especially not after everything he did to you.  When I saw him grab you…and the look on your face…I hate him, Steve.  I hate what he did to you and I don’t get why you’re being so calm about this!” Robin’s voice was verging on hysteria and Steve sighed.  He was so tired.  “Robin, I love you and I understand that you think you’re helping, but every time I tried to talk to you about this you dismissed it and I’m gonna be honest, it made me feel like shit.  So you don’t get to have an opinion on how I’m handling this right now.  I’ve been dealing with Eddie on my own for years and you’re going to have to trust me when I say that I know what I’m doing.”  

Robin’s face fell and she looked absolutely devastated.  “Steve,” she gasped, “I didn’t..I’m sorry…I…”  

“Forget it.”  Steve’s face was hard, but his voice was kind, kinder than she thought she deserved.  “Look, Robs, whatever happened, it was in the past and if I choose to move on or ignore it that’s for me to decide.  You didn’t take it seriously before and that really sucked and I guess seeing it up close and personal changed that for you and that’s great, but this is and always has been my problem to solve.”  

“Okay.”  Robin’s voice was weak, “Okay, Steve I trust you.  Of course I do.   Just….I want you to know that I get now that I wasn’t there for you in the past and that I was too wrapped up in my own assumptions and drama and I need you to know that I’m really here for you and I’m on your side whatever that means.” 

“I know, Robbie, and that means a lot.  Really.  Let’s get some sleep and we’ll figure it all out in the morning.”

********

The last couple of days had been a real mindfuck, and now Eddie watched in horror as Steve slipped beneath the surface of Lover’s Lake for the second time.  He couldn’t let Steve just die, not with everything between them so unresolved.  It was less than a minute before he was diving in after him.  Eddie was sure he wasn’t thinking straight.  What exactly was he going to do?  Maybe he could grab him and bring him back up?  But then it didn’t matter because there was no time to think and he was sucked through a hole, a gate they called it? And the lake bed was dry and then there were birds, no, not birds. Bats. Bats with no faces diving and attacking from every direction.  Steve was on the ground fighting them off and suddenly Eddie was charging in as if he had any idea how to help.  Whatever he was doing must have worked because there was a moment when the onslaught stopped and Eddie gaped as Steve bit clear through the creature wrapped around his neck.  Metal.  

Back at Skull Rock Eddie watched as Nancy carefully wrapped Steve’s wounds with makeshift bandages.  He paced back and forth knowing his mind should be on the current danger but in reality worrying over the fact that Steve could have died and Eddie would have never had the chance to clear the air.  He needed to apologize like he needed to breathe.  This was such bullshit.  Before Chrissy had floated and died he had felt so close to being able to approach Steve once and for all and beg for forgiveness and now it felt like he was starting from square one.  Maybe he needed to make a plan?  He was so good at plans, but fuck it, there was no time for a plan.  Not here, not now.  The ground shook under his feet.  Goddammit.

“Steve,” Eddie panted, trying to keep up while also avoiding the vines littering the path ahead, “Can we talk for just a second.”

“Not right now, man.” Steve avoided the man’s gaze and continued to follow the girls.

“Please, Steve, just let me say one thing and then I’ll shut up, I swear.”  Eddie pleaded, stopping for a minute to catch his breath.

“Fine.” Steve waved his hand, “One thing.  Go.”

“I…” the words caught in Eddie’s throat and he floundered as Steve rolled his eyes and turned to go and then everything bubbled to the surface and came tumbling out in a vomit of emotion.  “FUCK!  I’m sorry, Steve.  I’m sorry for everything.  The name calling, the pushing, the knife.  It wasn’t right and I was stupid and I’m just…sorry.”

Steve stood and looked at him long and hard and Eddie cringed, waiting and knowing he deserved whatever came next. 

Steve’s face gave nothing away as he sighed out, “Eddie, man, I want to believe that you are serious about being sorry, but this isn’t the time.  I don’t know what it will take to forgive you or move past this and I really can’t do this right now.  I can’t fight monsters and my own personal demons at the same time.  Truce for right now, okay?” 

 “Yeah, yeah okay.”  Eddie wanted to stop there, but he needed more, “ I just…I just don’t get why you would help me after everything I did to you.”

Eddie watched Steve grow frustrated and felt even shittier for being such a needy bastard.  “It’s not about you, Eddie, okay?  This is so much bigger than you and your problems and whatever fucked up shit you did in high school.  So yeah, I’m helping you because helping you means protecting my family.  The people I love.  And that also means protecting  everyone else in this godforsaken town.  Even you.  So for the sake of the whole fucking world, can we just pause and pretend that you never hated me and that I don’t hate you back for like 24 hours?”  

Eddie nodded and whispered, “Yes. Let’s do that. Sorry.”  As he resumed following Steve and the girls every step was punctuated by the nagging thought, Steve hates me.  Steve hates me.  Steve hates me.  He had never felt so despondent and if he didn’t owe it to Steve to help them all out of this situation he would be tempted to go ahead and disappear here in the Upside Down.  Find a place to hide and curl up and die.  A monster in a monstrous place.

*********

When Dustin cornered Steve outside Max’s trailer he wasn’t ready.  So much was happening so fast.  They needed to figure out what had happened back there with Nancy.  They needed to figure out how exactly they could keep Max safe.  They did not have to figure out Steve’s past trauma and how it affected them.  

“I cannot believe you, Steve, how could you let me just let me get involved with Eddie knowing what he did to you?  You picked me up from Hellfire, you listened to me go on and on about him and even suggest you two should be friends!”  Dustin was so angry and Steve didn’t have anything to say.  What excuse did he honestly have for keeping Dustin in the dark this whole time?

“Look Dustin, it wasn’t like that.  I mean maybe it was, I don’t know.  I didn’t want to get in the way of you having a good freshman year.  It seemed like you were okay, so I figured why mess with that?”

“No. That’s not it.  You tell me what was so important you couldn't warn me about Eddie!" Dustin pushed until Steve cracked.

All at once, Steve felt the weight of all his relationships crashing down upon him and let the words fall out, “I don’t know, all right?  I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.  I don’t know why I let you all hang around him.  It just didn’t feel right.  Everyone around me was constantly telling me what a good guy he was and I’m nothing.  I’m nobody. I'm not a nerd, I’m not cool, I’m just the goddamn babysitter and I thought if it came down to him or me that you wouldn’t choose me.”  Steve sat heavily on the ground and put his head in his hands.

“Woah.”  Dustin sat next to Steve.  “Dude.  You are not the babysitter, Steve.  You are my brother and no matter what happens that’s who you’ll always be.  Eddie might have seemed cool, but at the end of the day he’s just some guy.  You on the other hand are Steve Harrington, the most badass guy I know and nothing will ever change that.”

Steve sniffled and knocked Dustin’s hat off to tousle his hair.  “Hey man, not cool!  I’m baring my soul here so don’t mess with the hair.”  Steve laughed and pulled Dustin into a hug.  

“I’m sorry for not telling you.”  

“You want me to kick his ass for you?” Dustin looked up at Steve so earnestly that Steve thought his heart couldn’t bear it.  

“Nah, man.  Look.  It does honestly seem like he’s changed since I knew him and he’s always been good to you, right?”

“Yeah…” Dustin acknowledged.

“It’s okay.  I promise.  I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends, but I don’t want to be his enemy and I don’t think he wants to be mine, at least not anymore.  Let us work it out, okay?”  Steve steeled himself to follow his own advice.  It was time to find Eddie and end this.

********

Sitting in Max’s trailer wasn’t working for Eddie.  He needed to get out.  He needed to move.  It was the middle of the night, so if he slipped out the back it wasn’t like there would be a hoard of townsfolk with torches and pitchforks ready to grab him.  Probably.  He figured it was worth the risk.  “Uh, I’m taking a smoke break,” he muttered as he slipped out the door into the inky black night.  He heard footsteps crunch in the gravel behind him and spun around ready to run but stopped when he realized it was Steve.  

“Munson, we’ve got some downtime here so I think it’s time we talk.” 

 “Yeah.  Okay.” Eddie began, “I don’t know how many ways I can apologize without it sounding hollow, but I’m willing to grovel…”  

Steve cut in, “I honestly just want to know one thing.” 

“Oh, um, yeah, okay?”  Eddie paced nervously in front of him and waited for him to ask.  

“Why me?  What did I do to you?  I wish I could remember, but it was like you hated me on sight and I don’t even understand why.” Eddie expected Steve to be angry, but instead he looked so sad it made Eddie want to cry.

It was the question Eddie had been dreading.  But he had to fess up and he had to be totally honest.  He knew it was the only way he could ever make amends with the boy he had hurt so many times before.  

“Look, the thing is, Steve, and there’s no way to make this sound less stupid and awful, but I never really cared about who you were back then.  I had this idiotic idea that if I could make a preppy jock afraid of me that I wouldn’t get bullied at school anymore.  I picked you pretty much at random, decided you fit my profile and then executed the plan.  And the worst part was that it worked, you know?  No one bothered me ever again and it kept me and my friends safe for years.  It’s not an excuse.  There is no excuse for what I did to you and I will bear that guilt until I go to my grave.  But you should know, it was never really about you.  You were good looking and confident and rich and looked like you had it all. I didn’t hate you because I didn’t know you.  I hated what I thought you stood for.  And now that I do know you, I could never hate you.”

“When exactly was it that you flipped and decided I was someone worth knowing?” Steve asked warily, like he was pretty sure of the answer.

Eddie shrugged resigned to his fate.  “It was when Dustin and the other kids started talking you up.  They never had a bad word to say about you and…”  Eddie trailed off but Steve motioned him to continue, “They told me all about your freshman year and the problems you had…with me…which, they apparently didn’t know it was me and I can’t believe you never told them or tried to keep them away…but I had to take a good hard look at myself and I promise you I did not like what I saw.  So…for a while I tried to justify it by watching you whenever I could so I could catch you being an asshole or whatever,”  

Steve jumped in, “I KNEW you were stalking me!  Goddammit!  Robin kept trying to tell me it was a coincidence or whatever, but you were fucking everywhere!” 

Eddie groaned rocking back on his heels, “Fuck fuck fuck.  I’m sorry.  Again.  I swear to God I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.  I just…needed to see for myself and then…okay, this sounds worse and maybe it is….I got kind of invested?”  

Steve’s eyes widened, “Invested?  What does that even mean?”  

“Mmmmmm,” Eddie groaned again and tried to hide under his hair, “….you just…you’re a good guy, you know?  It was hard to look away when you were so kind and happy and bitchy, like in a good way, and just completely not what I expected.  I’m sorry.  I promise when this is all over I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll fucking disappear if that’s what you need.  I should have left this god awful town a long time ago anyway.”  

“Okay, well, no need to banish yourself quite so soon.”  Steve sighed.  “I’m not like Mother Teresa or anything here.  I lived up to a lot of your expectations, so maybe I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.”  Eddie broke in quickly, “You didn’t deserve any of the things I did.  I mean, no one would, but especially not you.  I have a feeling if it wasn’t for me, King Steve wouldn’t have even existed.  Dustin always says he wishes you and I had been friends and if I wasn’t such a creep, maybe we would have been?”  

“I dunno, Eddie, you can say whatever you want, but I was pretty fucked up all on my own in high school in ways that I can safely say had nothing to do with you.”

“Steve, can we maybe start over?  I know I'm not worthy of a second chance, but….what the hell…”  Eddie slowly reached out with one hand, “Hi, I’m Eddie Munson.  I play the guitar and do a lot of nerd shit. I’m also currently living in a nightmare world”

Steve looked at his hand and made a split second decision, reaching out to shake, “Hi Eddie, I’m Steve Harrington.  I’m a babysitter, carry a nail bat and am very familiar with your current nightmare.”  Eddie let out a slow breath as they shook hands.  It wasn’t everything he wanted or needed, he knew Steve hadn't forgiven him and that was probably as it should be, but it was a start.

***********************************************************************

Part 4 coming soon (ish?) Comments and reblogs are my lifeblood so....do it?

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[kiruamon]

Spring through the Seasons AU - Ice-cold interference

The next story part is out. And what shall I say? Moon and Sun are having... quite the dynamic with each other in this au. But like always enjoy the story or maybe just the sketches inbetween. Or both. Which is definitely also an option.

-

Your feet dangle helplessly in the air, while a pair of eyes as blue as the sky above your heads examine you curiously.

He sounds so excited. And there's something warm and reassuring about the way with which he pronounces the word friend so innocently. It makes you realise that there is nothing to be afraid of. That you are in no danger. Little by little, the uneasy feeling in your heart fades and is replaced by a spark of intrigue. You can't help but wonder who the stranger is, who has revealed himself to be anything but a terrifying monster.

Now that you can make out more than just his silhouette, he no longer looks scary at all. His round face is framed by yellow spikes, reminding you a little of the shape of a blossom. To your surprise, the spikes are even moving! Cheerfully, they turn to the left and then back to the right before they pause again.

The mysterious two lights on his back are still flickering in a happy way, but seem a little smaller than earlier. As if the ruffled fur of an animal that was slowly calming down had smoothed itself out. A strange warmth radiates from them, reminding you of the scorching sun in this unfamiliar territory.

“I am… ”, you begin slowly. Not quite sure how to introduce yourself. For a moment, your nickname comes to mind. Moon's soft and calm voice when he calls you Snowflake. You can't imagine being called that by anyone other than Moon. Maybe it would be best to just explain what you are. That would at least be somewhat of a start.

As soon as you have made up your mind, your eyes catch a movement behind the stranger. A sharp jolt goes through the stranger's body as something hits the back of his head. A loud noise, as if an hard object had crashed against a rock. “Ouch!” a startled cry of pain escapes your new acquaintance as his grip loosens and you slump to the ground, no less dumbfounded by what is going on.

-

Ouch, ouch, ouch! It was only with great difficulty that he managed to stay on his feet and avoid tumbling on top of you. The back of his poor, poor head throbbed terribly from the unexpected blow. And to make matters worse, he had dropped you out of sheer shock! The Guardian of Summer involuntarily grasped the back of his head to rub the sore spot on the back of his thin neck. What an outrageous act! Furious, the two flames on his shoulders flared upwards, while the jagged rays around his head, which had retracted when he was struck, now fanned out again to their full size. An annoyed expression flitted across his face as he looked around in search of the culprit. He would not let this mean delinquent get away that easily! “Attacking someone from behind is just cowardly… “ he mutters before adding more loudly: “If you're looking for trouble, you can have some!”

He had barely turned around when his eyes already caught the glimpse of a movement. Aha! So there was his sneaky attacker! He whirled around vigorously. Ready to fearlessly confront the coward. Only for his courage to extinguish abruptly, like a tiny spark which was simply squashed down. His breath caught as he saw the creature before him in its entirety. The sight made his body recoil as if having a will of its own under the cold glare of two mismatching eyes that stared at him as if they wanted to rip his head from his shoulders right here and now. Never before in his entire life had he ever experienced such a hostility. He didn't even notice when his legs gave way beneath him and his fingers shakily grabbed a few tufts of grass while he could only stare up at the strange creature, frozen in fear.

And it wasn't just the physical presence that triggered this feeling of sheer panic inside of him. Contrary to all logic, instead of the familiar and welcome warm summer breeze, an icy, raging gust of wind blew towards him, sending small white flakes against his body that made him shiver. What the… ? Thankfully, they evaporated into water droplets almost immediately when they clung to his body. This stuff was giving him the creeps…

Not knowing what was happening scared the hell out of him. Could he stand up against such a thing? But if he wouldn't do anything… if he just gave up, what would happen to you? What if it tried to grab you? He hardly dared to imagine the horror of what this horrible creature could do to you. Maybe if he grabbed you first, he could run away with you from here fast enough. If only his body would move again!

_

“Stop! Moon! Please, stop!” You rush between the two of them. Arms raised and outstretched, you try to build yourself up as best you can in front of Moon. Your body had acted of its own accord the moment you saw his face. The glowing anger in his eyes. How his mouth was twisted into a furious grimace. His whole posture literally shouting at you that if you don't intervene now, something bad was going to happen. And possibly all because of a silly misunderstanding.

“I'm fine! See? Everything is fine. There is nothing to be afraid of. He's not dangerous,” Moon had probably only seen the stranger grab you when he came back and assumed he needed to protect you. “You don't have to save me,” you add again a little more quietly, but still with a lot more emphasis, while you can see how Moon's eyes, which until a moment ago were wholly locked on the stranger, now slowly turn towards you. He still seems tense, as if your words are slower than usual getting through to him. The icy wind that had been blowing against you and the stranger until just now and caused snowflakes to swirl around slowly dies down and lets you breathe a sigh of relief. “Snowflake… “ you hear Moon murmur. There is concern in his voice and his eyes wander back and forth between you and the stranger, looking doubtful. “… and that guy really didn't hurt you?” he still sounds skeptical, looking you up and down for a sign of injury, but there's no longer the same hostility in his eyes as before.

Whew… looks like Moon is slowly calming down again… “No, he hasn't. It's all right,” you reassure him once more and take a step towards Moon to take his hand in yours. You can feel his fingers immediately close around yours. A little tighter than usually. He must have been really scared for you… Lifting your head, you look under his hood and give him a small smile that hopefully takes away his worries. You can see his gaze softening as he leans down towards you. A deep sigh of relief reaches your ear as he rests his forehead on your shoulder for a moment. “You gave me quite the scare, Little Snowflake… “ he whipsers so quietly that you can just barely hear it. “… I'm glad you are unharmed.”

“I'm sorry,” you reply quietly. You can imagine how unnerving the whole thing must have looked to Moon. You gently place an arm around his shoulder and feel him lean into your touch a little more. The cold air that surrounds him, together with the intense heat of the summer sun, creates a bizarre contrast. Hot and cold at the same time. But that doesn't stop you from holding Moon like this a little longer until you're sure he's regained his composure.

“Now that we've cleared this up… how about we all introduce ourselves properly?” You hear a slightly grumpy grumble from Moon, which sounds neither like approval nor disapproval. Instead, he slowly straightens himself up and gives you the space you need to move, which you immediately take advantage of. Without further ado, you turn to the stranger, who is still looking up at you in confusion. “After all, we were just about to become friends, weren't we?” you ask him with a smile and hold out your free hand to help him up. Hopefully he's not too spooked by everything that has happened.

“Y-yes, that's right,” his smile still looks a little rattled, but nevertheless he carefully places his much larger hand in yours and slowly pushes himself back to his feet until he stands up to his full height in front of you. “I'm really sorry we scared you like that. Are you all right?” you ask him, a little worried. The blow Moon had given him earlier with his ice staff had sounded really unpleasant. Hopefully it wouldn't leave a bruise.

-

“Oh that. No problem! It hardly hurts anymore,” he declares as his blue eyes dart from you over to the brute for a split second, who is glaring at him so sinisterly again that he decides it's better to keep his eyes on you. “Phew, I'm glad to hear that. And I apologize again. Moon just thought I was in danger. It certainly wasn't out of any ill intent.” No ill intent. Once again - against his better judgment - he can't help but glance past you, only to be pierced with another ice-cold stare. Urgh… Somehow he doesn't really have the feeling that this ruffian is even remotely sorry.

Quite the opposite of you with your cute, apologetic look and sheepish little smile, which makes his heart flutter again. It's hard to tell why you would even bother sticking to such an obnoxious guy like that.

“Sooo… I if it's fine, I will make the start,” you continue happily, and he can see your little leaf-covered vines bobbing up and down like the fluffy tail of a romping fox cub. “… to be honest, I don't really have a name. Moon sometimes calls me Snowflake,” you admit with a little chuckle. Snowflake? To be honest, he has no idea what that means. The term is completely foreign to him. “A nickname,” he hears this so-called Moon-guy butting into the conversation from behind you. Although it's just two words, the tone of voice alone is enough for him to understand what the ruffian is trying to tell him. Don't you dare use this name. Sheesh, someone was being possessive, weren't they? … Not that he couldn't understand it on some level, as endearing and cute as you are. “Right. So if you like, you can just give me a nickname!” He was allowed to give you one too? His mind immediately jumped from one idea to the next. Each one even more exciting and delightful than the last. How was he supposed to decide? Being allowed to give you a nickname of his choice made a feeling of euphoria blossom in his chest and he could feel a broad grin spread across his face.

“And what about you? What can we call you?” His spinning rays immediately came to a halt at the question. His name. “Well yeaaaaah, honestly, I haven't the slightest idea what my name is,” he admitted with a wry grin on his face. Somehow that was almost a little embarrassing. On the other hand, he had never really needed a name before, as there would have been no one to call him by it. But he saw himself faced by you with a friendly and understanding smile. “Hihi, so we're all the same in that regard, how funny,” the remark caught his attention. All of you? So even… that guy you call Moon?

-

Of course, you didn't miss the curious look on your new friend's face. So you decide to explain it to him. “Moon allowed me to choose a name for him. If you like, we could do the same for you? Only if you feel comfortable with it, of course,” you add quickly so that he doesn't feel pressured by your offer.

-

A name of his own. A name from you for him! “That would be wonderful,” he blurts out in sheer anticipation without giving it a second thought. Because he has not the slightest doubt that as long as you choose the name, it will be wonderful! “Good, then give me a moment to think.” A little fidgety, he bobs up and down on his feet. He can hardly wait to hear what you come up with!

_

Let's see. Contemplating, you raise a hand to your chin. What could possibly suit your new friend? You look at him thoughtfully. How he looks at you with such high expectation and joy. Wearing a beaming smile in his face as he does so. And… Then a name comes to your mind that you think could not be more fitting. A-at least, you hope he sees it that way too. Your vines sway back and forth a little nervously. “What do you think about... Sun?” You watch his reaction anxiously. He stares back at you in bewilderment. His gaze wanders from you up to the sky and then back again.

“You mean… like the sun?” W-was it perhaps a bit too on the nose? You nod a little sheepishly at his question. “Is… is that okay? Or would you prefer a different name?” “It's perfect! I love it! My very own name!” He's bouncing on the spot and before you know it, he has already pulled you into his arms, lifts you off your feet and whirls you around in circles, laughing. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Your fingers hold on to his shoulders as you giggle and let him twirl you around. Sun truly is such a cheerful fellow. Welcoming, friendly and straightforward. Being around him is like bathing in the warm light of the sun and you couldn't think of a more fitting name for your new friend.

-

This insolent… Moon watches grudgingly as this stranger hugs you as if he's known you for ages. He would love to smack him again and tell him to get his hands off you. The only thing that really stops him from drowning this idiot head first in the lake is your cheerful laughter and the fact that you don't seem to mind him being so familiar with you. He stares over at you with narrowed eyes, and he could have sworn that when his and Sun's eyes meet, that this fool has the nerves to smirk at him! Which only makes the little piles of snow around his own feet grow even taller.

_

“So you're on a journey?” Sun looks at you both quite curiously. He tilts his head slightly to the left and rests his hands on his knees as he squats cross-legged in front of a tree root. You had moved into the shade of the trees to chat with each other more comfortably and in peace. Actually, you were doing most of the talking, as Moon has fallen more quiet since earlier. Maybe he still feels bad about accidentally hurting Sun? Moon is crouching right behind you. His arms lightly wrapped around you so that you can lean back against the fluffy fur of his coat. There's a thin layer of snow spreading on the ground around him, from which the first snowdrops are already sprouting since you've been sitting so closely together for a while.

You look up at him briefly, a small smile on your lips as you think back to how much you have already experienced during this short time. “Mhm! We want to find a way to the land of the colorful leaves. We were hoping that if we crossed this area here, we might find a way to get there. Right, Moon?” “Yes,” Moon agrees. “The border is impassable from my territory.” Although he sounds much calmer again, you have the feeling that Moon is still a little on edge. Or is that just your imagination? Absently your fingers brush softly over the back of his hands and you feel his body relaxing a little bit. However, your attention is drawn back to Sun as he now speaks up too.

“Oh! Oh! I can help you with that!” he exclaims eagerly. His hands shoot up in the air and he points to himself with a broad grin. “If you want to get through this area, you've come to the right person! I know it like the back of my hand. After all, this is my land,” he announces proudly. “That's great!” Having someone who knows their way around here would certainly make your journey easier and, above all, more fun. You liked the idea of continuing the journey together with Moon and Sun. All the new memories you three could create… yes, that sounded wonderful.

“It would be a pleasure if you would join us, wouldn't it Moon?” Smiling, you look back and forth between the two of them. “Yes. It would be terribly great to have to dra-... to have you with us.” Sun looked over your head at Moon. A wry smile on his face as his fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. “I'd love to return that. I'm sure we'll get along really, really well.” How nice that the two of them finally seem to get along! Looks like you were just imagining that strange tension earlier. Now that that was out of the way, what could possibly go wrong?

_

TBC

Moon and Sun are up for a rough start. Which is so funny to me since in mostly every other au of mine, they are on pretty good terms with each other besides here.

[imaginethezeldaverse]

Ohhh this has been something I've been wanting to write about for ages. Like since BotW days - but it feels far more fitting after the events of Tears of the Kingdom. Though we don't have any canonical evidence of Yunobo's parents, I'm going to assume (and honestly headcanon) that Bludo had a huge hand in raising him. Please be warned for Tears of the Kingdom spoilers below!

A week after the events of Death Mountain's clearing of whatever monstrosity lay underneath it, Goron City finally seemed to settle. YunoboCo was back on its feet, mining ore and precious stones as business intended. But there was more to it once Link and Yunobo had ascended from the depths. Wearing a golden mawashi patterned sash, adorned with a fiery red stone, was Yunobo. He'd told the people of Goron City that they were free from the havoc that those marbled rock roasts wreaked on their home, but not after apologizing for his awful behavior, citing possession from the mask that was given to him by "Princess Zelda". Bludo remembered barking at him, initially furious that Yunobo would make him worry the way he did, until the two young ones finally got him to calm down. He did save Goron City after all, even if it was a mess Yunobo was still a part of. When he and Link explained what the sash was, and that Yunobo was destined to be beyond Daruk's successor, the city was in awe. Young Champion of the Gorons, Yunobo, was now the awakened the Sage of Fire. Bludo had only heard stories of a Goron sage when he was a kid, old cobble tales, he thought. Yet the proof stood right before him. With Yunobo's fiery charge roll and the flames that blazed from each swing of the Boulder Breaker, there was no real room for doubt. ---- Yunobo stepped just outside of of Goron City, a little overhang that he'd secretly hide away on for as long as he could remember. His eyes scanned from left to right, taking in the metal framing and jagged rock that built the entirety of his home. To think only a few years ago the Goron people were in dire straits, everyone getting sick after Death Mountain had completely cooled down. The thought saddened Yunobo, fearing Bludo's plight at one point when the old man fell ill. He remembered mining twice as hard those few days, scared, but determined to find a way to bring life back into Goron City. He couldn't remember if the liquid running down his face was sweat or tears at the time. He looked straight ahead, the earthy terrain of Death Mountain staring back at him. Yunobo looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers before rolling them into complete fists. "Figures I'd find ya here," croaked an old voice. Off to wayside and slowly making his way up, the boss of the Gorons shuffled his way toward Yunobo. The younger of the two was slightly taken aback, "Boss?! How'd you know I'd be up here, goro? I never told anyone about this bridge." Bludo scoffed, stroking one of his lengthy beard tails, "Who d'ya think helped build this bridge, boy?" Yunobo scratched at the back of his head, "R-Right, sorry, sir..." he'd truthfully forgotten that Bludo helped rebuild Goron City after its last eruption, before he was born. The elder hummed noncommittally, looking out at the same view of Death Mountain as his protege, "Besides, you've been comin' here since ya were justa nugget, I've always known." Bludo's only good eye looked over Yunobo carefully. So different he was from the little scamp that often clung to him twenty years ago. Yunobo was always a timid little thing, constantly terrified of monsters and the rumbles of Death Mountain. The Goron boss couldn't remember a time where he wasn't crying as a kid over when he was. Bludo supposed that's what made him so protective of Yunobo for so long. Looking at him now: he stood tall, strong - Daruk's signature weapon, the Boulder Breaker, sitting across his back just like it was meant to. He was exactly the kind of Goron Bludo had wanted Yunobo to be all along...and yet nothing at all like he had expected. Despite all of his protection and guidance, Yunobo had forged his own path, and now he took on a destiny far greater than the old boss could have ever hoped to prepare him for. It almost made him sad to think about, the fact that Yunobo wouldn't need him anymore. Bludo cleared his throat, "So...a sage, huh?" Yunobo shook his head, his laughter being one of disbelief, "Of all the Gorons in the city, goro, Me! A SAGE!" his hands flew in front of him in incredulity, "Can ya believe it, boss?" Bludo blinked once, a flashback of this tiny Goron child crying out for him before the vision was gone by his second blink. A hearty, but wistful smile crossed the old man’s face. With a resounding clap, his hand smacked onto Yunobo’s shoulder, “I can, son.”  Yunobo turned to his mentor, swallowing back the rock that threatened to settle in his throat, “S-Sir...?”  Bludo smiled wider now, “Ya saved Goron City, Yunobo,” the Goron chief settled his eye on him, “Ya did good, boy.”  This truly choked up Yunobo, eyes glassy from the praise of the Goron he looked up to most. Trying his hardest not to cry, Yunobo quickly extended his hand out to Bludo, “I swear I’ll make you proud, boss!”  The old man looked down at Yunobo’s hand, grasping it tightly before immediately yanking him forward. Yunobo stumbled in a yelp, only to be caught by his mentor, who wrapped a strong arm around his back. It took a moment for the Goron champion to realize what was happening before his eyes truly blurred over and he returned his boss’s embrace. Bludo pat the solid rocks of Yunobo’s back, “Already am, son, already am.” 

[renee-writer]

Teachers Chapter 27

AO3

They are subdued as they take their seats. Jack’s and Kylie’s empty chairs are a stark representation of what happened. Claire decides not to even attempt to carry on as usual. No, today will be time for them to discuss it.

 

“I am furious, “she shocks her class by saying, “absolutely gutted.  Who else agrees?” Every hand in the room goes up, “Lets talk about it.”

 

They start slow, at first.

 

“Kylie was so sweet.”

 

“Hey, no past tense. She is going to make it, right Miss Beauchamp?”

 

“She is.”

 

“What about his mom?” another asks.

 

“She is in a coma. We don’t know yet.” Their teacher tells them.

 

A respectable silence follows.

 

“Man, his own mom. I don’t always get along with mine but wouldn’t think about stabbing her.”

 

“He wasn’t thinking! Fueled by hate.”

 

“Yeah, he had to be.”

 

“Maybe he has a mental illness. My sister is bi-polar. She gets crazy sometimes.”

 

“Lisa, she goes on crying jags. She doesn’t  try to kill two people.”

 

“I know, I am just saying.”

 

Claire raises her hands. “Mental illness can cause this. But, it isn’t the only cause. Was he on drugs? Anyone know?”

 

They look at each other. She sees a few shrugs.

 

“I don’t think so. I offered him some weed once. Thought it would mellow him out. He refused it.” His words trail away at recalling he isn’t  just talking to his peers.

 

“Real smart. Admitting that in front of Miss Beauchamp.”

 

“I, ahh.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to snitch.” The young man breaths out in relief. “It might have relaxed him.”

 

“Maybe he was in drugs just the harder stuff. The police will test him, right?”

 

“I believe so.” She replies.

 

“I think it is just pure evil. All the rest is excuses.” All eyes turned to Amber, Kylie’s good friend, “Because it is easier to find something; a mental illness, a drug, and say there, that is what did it,” her hands fist in the desk, “then we don’t have to pretend we didn’t see the darkness in him. It is all his fault for Kylie and his mom, and none of ours.” She bites at her lip as tears start to fall. 

 

Kelly Anne, who thankfully was absent the day of the attack, puts her arm around her. That causes others to join in. Soon the entire room is hugging. Each student has his or her arm about the other. A teary eyed Claire joins them. They make a circle of love.

[pikatalia]

I am posting Chapter 1 of More Than Just A Hero again because I cannot find it anymore!!!🐶

Chapter One: Alpha Glalie

The scream that echoes across the Icelands is enough to freeze you. You straighten up, the wind clawing at your clothes, and glance around for the source of the scream. It sounded like a Pokémon, probably an alpha one from that volume. You’re closer to the Pearl Clan village than you would prefer to be with an alpha nearby, so you adjust your course and try to follow the cry.

It comes again, ringing in your ears with its intensity. But it’s what follows the scream that worries you. A shout, that of a person, one fraught with pain and fear. You pick up the pace, running through the snow now, desperate to save the poor soul that got caught up in an alpha’s wrath.

You skid to a stop at the top of a jagged hill edge, peering down at the valley below to see a Glalie building up power for an ice move. Its glowing red eyes are focused at the base of another hill, and there you spot a familiar blue and yellow uniform. Your heart stalls in your chest as you recognize the face of the Ginko Guild merchant, a man you haven’t seen since the fateful day at the Temple of Sinnoh.

Without much thought, you fling yourself down the hill, into the valley, rushing towards the two. Your shout of anger draws the attention of the alpha Glalie, who swings around with a furious cry that its attack has been interrupted by a feeble distraction. Your anger spikes – you’ve wanted to see Volo again for so long, and now here he is, about to die to this wild Pokémon.

Your hands are hot as you dodge ice shards flying at you from all around. You dart between the Glalie and Volo, ignoring whatever he’s shouting in favor of the rapid approach of the Glalie. The wind is picking up, thick slush carried with it, but you ignore the snow splattering into your face. With grit teeth, you act one instinct, throwing your fist forward in a punch-

Fiery orange sparkles alight around your fist, consuming the image of the Glalie as your fist makes contact with where the Pokémon’s nose would be, if it had one. You’re swallowed in the warmth of the flames, jerking back from your own punch with a gasp. Smoke billows from your fist, perfectly uninjured despite the fire punch move you just performed. You pant, surprised, at the reeling alpha.

The Glalie, startled by your sudden attack, flees before you can work up the rage to fire punch it again. As it disappears into the foggy distance, you remember yourself, and whip around to face the man you just saved.

Volo is pale as a ghost, clutching his janked leg as he stares up at you in utter awe. You fall to your knees beside him, frantic, and check his leg over. His pants are torn, and you can see the bad bruising of what could be a break beneath the blue fabric. If his leg is broken, you’ll probably have to carry him to camp.

“You-” Volo can’t say much more before you have his cheeks between your palms. His lips are soft against yours, but cold. Not good.

“You’re okay.” You say in relief once you pull back. Volo is slack-jawed, and doesn’t fight as you slide your arms beneath him. Surveying has paid off, for the lanky man weighs hardly anything in your arms. “I’ve got you! Let’s get you somewhere safe so you can get patched up.”

Volo is silent as you begin your trek towards the Pearl Clan village. His gray eyes bore into the side of your head, but you ignore it for now, focused on moving through the snow with delicate cargo. As the village appears on the horizon, Volo finally speaks.

“Fire came out of your fist.” He says.

“It sure did.” You respond, hiking him up further into your arms.

“How?”

“I wish I knew. Would’ve helped with surveying and quelling the nobles.”

Silence once again envelopes you both. People at the edge of the village have taken notice of you, and shout further into the village, calling for Irida. Not wanting to jostle Volo when you inevitably get crowded, you set him down on a nearby rock, careful of his leg.

To keep him warm (and safe) while you’re gone, you release your Typhlosion, Dango, and instruct him to keep watch over Volo. The merchant scoffs, but doesn’t say anything as Dango turns his attention onto him. The large Pokémon is intimidating enough to forgo any ideas of rebellion in Volo’s mind.

You rush into the village once that’s settled, nearly slamming into Irida on her way out. She grabs you by the shoulders to steady the both of you, then shakes you some.

“Where did you find Volo?!” She demands, eyes wide and bright with panic. “And why did you bring him here!?”

“There was an alpha Glalie nearby.” You explain, breathless. “It had Volo cornered, I think it broke his leg! I couldn’t just leave him to die, Irida!”

The wrinkled expression Irida’s face takes on shows that she thinks you could’ve, but she doesn’t say anything about. “Alright, alright. You’re lucky Warden Calaba is still here, helping with some illnesses that swept the clan earlier this month.”

“Do you think she can help Volo?” You ask, hands clasped before you.

“For you?” Irida asks. “Yes. For him? Not so much. I think she’ll help, but she won’t be happy about it.”

You wince. None of the clans nor the Galaxy Team are fond of Volo after his betrayal. You can understand their anger, but you’re glad Irida is willing to look past his wrongdoings to help you ensure he doesn’t die out here.

You wait at the village entrance for Warden Calaba, who sighs heavily once she’s at your side. You show her to where Dango is watching over Volo, tensing at the glare she sends the merchant.

“Broke your leg?” Calaba asks, setting down her basket of herbs to properly look over the limb.

“Possibly.” Volo responds, muted. He glares at Calaba, then at you, his cheeks rosy from the cold. You admire the color on him, then snap back to attention when Calaba starts to speak again.

“Does it hurt when I touch here?” She asks, pressing on Volo’s leg. He winces and nods. “And here?” A muffled yelp. More nodding. “And what about here?”

“Are you done!?” Volo snaps.

“That’s not even a morsel of what you deserve after all you’ve done.” Calaba snaps back. Volo wilts, growling at his lap. “You’re lucky the hero didn’t leave you to die to that Glalie. It’s what most everyone else would’ve done.”

“W-Warden Calaba.” You say, before the two can well and truly start fighting. As funny as it would probably be, watching a man with a broken leg trying to fight a ninety-nine year-old-woman, you don’t want it to come to that. Besides, Calaba would probably win, and Volo doesn’t need a bruised pride on top of his other injuries. “Is his leg broken?”

“It is.” Calaba says, clipped. She turns her nose up to Volo, then regards you with a scowl. “I don’t understand your kindness towards the betrayer, but I respect you. There’s a cabin near the Snowfall Hot Springs. Take him there, and you’ll both be safe while you rest. I’ll bring herbs that should help with his pain, and for if he happens to develop an illness or infection.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for our hero.” Calaba says with a nod. “Take him to the cabin, and splint his leg. Keep him off of it if you can.”

“I will.”

Calaba gives another nod before she starts back towards the village. “Good luck. With him, you’re going to need it.”

Silence envelops you once more. Dango huffs steam into the cold hair, lowering his head so you can pet him. The heat of his fur against your hands reminds you of the fire punch you performed. What was that, and why could you do it? Can you do it again? It’s certainly something to try, now that you’re about to have a lot of free time.

You retrieve your flute, and play on it to summon Wyrdeer. The steed comes barreling over the mountains not long after, snorting a thick steam from his nostrils once he stops before you. You coo up at the noble, and show him Volo, carefully explaining the plan. Wyrdeer doesn’t seem pleased, but he lowers himself to allow you to ease Volo onto his back. The merchant says nothing, nose wrinkled the entire time.

It’s a quiet journey through the Icelands.

[willowser]

NOOO UR MAKING ME SO SAD one day he doesn’t come back and so u decide to move on and then he comes back literally YEARS later and sees u w a new man and his heart is BROKEN im so sad omfg

OMG. CRYING.

you run into him on the street, just as you did the first time.

you've married a decently wealthy man, one with enough money that you're free to pour all your time into painting and you do quite well, are able to sell them and host them in small museums and general markets during the week. you've moved, to be with your new husband, so you're no longer in your small village of drunks and thieves, and you're quite happy with the life you've built around you.

it's full of art and curiosity: your husband buys you a brand new telescope from a different country, top of the line. it's bigger than your old one and it takes you longer to figure out the dials and knobs, but when you do — the views you get are breathtaking. you paint what you find, all the shapes you discover in the constellations. very rarely is the sea your muse, these days; all those works became sad and unfinished, dark portraits of a ship far out in the distance that never sailed any closer, no many how many times you painted it.

the necklace lies at the bottom of your first jewelry box, chain broken from when you'd ripped it off and tried to throw it into a tide just as furious as you had been — but it never left your clenched fist.

it's not your painting he comes across, but someone else's star-map. for sale, at the local market, and you've stopped to enjoy the work the artist has done, chatting with them about what you've found when another customer wanders up beside you and says,

"'sea goddess', hmm," a hand reaches around you, too close for your liking, to pick up a reimagined constellation on display. "heard the woman it's named for is more beautiful than all the seven seas in the middle of a hurricane."

the artist frowns, because it's his piece, but indulges the customer anyway. "and what woman would that be?"

and your blood runs cold at the sound of your name, slowly turning to peer around you shoulder, to take in the figure that's uttered it. bigger than you remember, and darker, hair tied back in a tidier bun than usual. in his grip in his weathered hat, torn and nearly destroyed; a testament to the voyage he's had, maybe. and when he raises one hand in a soft wave, the flat of his palm is exposed, the pendant from your necklace in fading ink at its center.

kirishima is older now, as are you, with more scars along his nose and under his jaw, a jagged one across his neck that has tears stinging your eyes. but despite his edges — the smile on his face is soft, sad, and the light in his vibrant eyes hardly flickers as he takes in you and all your changes. as if he's been extinguished for quite some time, and only just now burning again.

"i never stopped lookin'," he murmurs suddenly, uncaring of the merchant as he dares to edge closer to you. his skin smells sharp and clean like aftershave, though the shadows on his face linger. "took a long time for me to find you."

and you feel like his violent sea, his crashing waves; despite the tears that track your cheeks, you remain stone-faced, trying to tide back the rage — the hurricane you want to be. "me?" you whisper, incensed. "to find me?"

his face falls and his eyes slip to the floor, ashamed, but he still tries, stepping further into you when he speaks again. "i know, didn't mean it like that. but i—" one hand gently rests on your elbow, while the other finds your own and you jump, startled and angry at how forward thinks he can be after all this time and yet — you let his rough fingers brush over yours, over the short silk gloves covering your skin. "i did search for you, i wanted to come home. i was always gonna come home—"

"don't—" you hiss, but he doesn't let you go far, following through the step you take back from him. on purpose, you think he pushes his palm into your fingers, as if wants you to feel the mark he still wears for you. "home? how dare you—"

"i know, 'm sorry," he whispers, so close that you can see the freckles on the bridge of his nose and the golden stars in his eyes and the desperation in the lines of his face. "i'm sorry, i'll always be—"

"darling?"

you pull away from him in no time, wiping a gloved hand over your cheeks before turning to face your husband who stands only feet from you, holding a new lens for your telescope. his eyes jump back and forth between you and kirishima, but you give him no longer to consider what he sees.

"yes, excuse me. let's go." you slip out of range when kirishima backs up a step, started probably, at the title and the arm your loop through your husband's. only once does he try to turn back to the figure, as still as a dead man, but you tighten your grip on him and don't look back.

[noes-pillow]

Oooh for Vanoe prompts, maybe “I got you” or “come home”? Or maybe “can I touch you?” ❤️ so many options in that list lol

Hiya friend 😊!!! AHHH Thank you SO much for this! I decided to pick only the first one for this since I got a little carried away, hope thats alright! So, here's 1.2k of unedited vanoé angst because I'm terrible... (AO3)

List of starter prompts

“I got you.”

Noé lay, stomach down, arm dangling off the edge of the top balcony of the Sun Tower, gripping with all his strength to a stone pillar in his left arm and to his human with his right.

The fingers of a white glove were desperately and tightly knotted with the fingers of a black one.

“Do you hear me, Vanitas?” Noé yelled, trying to be reassuring, “I’ve got you, just hold on!” The vampire exasperatedly shouted down below to the human dangling by only his grasp.

“Noé…”

“No!” A gasp. Noé glanced to the jagged edges of the blue moon mark creeping up Vanitas’ neck, “no no NO I’ve got you!”

Bright blue eyes stared wide-eyed back into Noé’s desperate amethyst glare. “Chérie…” With a pained smirk, Vanitas gulped a shaken inhale and responded calmly, “I’m slipping.”

The startled shrieks from Parisians down below echoed upward in the wind. In the past, some had been unfortunate enough to see the occasional unfortunate soul jump from the great height of the Sun Tower, but no one had ever witnessed a man helplessly dangle from its apex. And especially not at the mercy of another.

With a fatigued gasp, Noé locked his ankles around the pillar to hold himself in place while he attempted to reach his other hand toward his friend. But his effort was stopped at the feeling of his wrist being grabbed.

“Hello, Noé, my boy.” A familiar voice boomed into Noé’s left ear.

Noé let out a frustrated grunt in unison with his futile attempt to free his hand from whatever was holding it back. When that failed, his neck strained to look up, eyes pleading with this person for help. His gaze only found the shadow of a large red-haired figure and a single golden eye staring him down. The other covered by an eye patch.

Noé growled, “Ruthven.”

Vanitas suddenly reached up to grab Noé with both hands. “Noé, let me go! And get out of here! Now!”

The snap of his head to look back down at his friend nearly tore a muscle in the vampire’s neck.

“But Vanita…” His shocked cry was interrupted.

“You do remember our little deal, don’t you?” Lord Ruthven spoke toward Noé once again.

Noé was furious but confused, “What are you talking about?”

Ruthven heartily cackled. “Ah no matter if you do remember or not. But it’s time to pay your debts… Chaton.”

“Noé, now!” Vanitas pleaded through pained breaths.

“No! I won’t ever let you go.” Noé strained to yell back, though it was hard to tell if his voice was struggling due to exhaustion or an attempt to hold back tears.

As much as Noé wanted to hang on, as much as his heart needed him to hang on to Vanitas, their grasp was becoming so very painful, and the fatigue was becoming unbearable. Especially as black nails started to dig into white gloves and pierce his skin, a splattering of red began to soak into their clasped hands. It was even harder now to hang on.

Nonetheless, with every ounce of strength still remaining, he kept grip of Vanitas’ hands with just one of his own.

“Noé,” Ruthven continued, still gripping Noé’s free hand, “I don’t think you have much choice. The astermite in your friend’s arm is about to consume and destroy his body. There is no hope for him now. But how fitting that you should depart from this world with him, don’t you think?”

And with that, Lord Ruthven was about to make good on his deal.

But not without Noé putting up a fight.

Noé screamed. The type of guttural scream that's caused by a sudden white hot stab of pain. A pain as if acid had been poured into his ears to eat away at his brain. As if his conscience was being ripped to atomic shreds from the inside. As if he were soon to cease to exist. And he was near helpless to fight back.

This must’ve been what Louis had felt. Like what all curse bearers felt. Alone, helpless, and in pain.

This malnomen was strong. But Noé was fighting back with all of his might. Though he was still screaming, writhing, and gripping Vanitas’ hand harder in agony, he shut his eyes trying to prevent the curse from taking hold of his body. But with his body well past exhaustion, it was seemingly pointless to prolong the inevitable.

This battle was over. Noé Archiviste was lost.

The irises in Noe’s eyes had disappeared and whites turned to jet black as the malnomen erased the amethysts.

“Non!” Vanitas’ heartstrings could not take any more of this as he yelled from below. He let one of his hands go from Noé’s and promptly reached down to his belt to wield his book one more time. “Luna…” he whispered to himself, “please… once more. Let me be strong. For him.”

Ruthven took a step back, possibly in hesitance, in hearing that name.

Taking the book in hand, the pages of the clockwork grimoire fluttered open like the wings of a blackbird on its last of countless flights. A flurry of blue light sparked from its obsidian pages and electrified the air. The small photons of light sped toward Noé’s uncontrolled figure and seemingly jolted him awake.

“Noé Archiviste,” Vanitas spoke softly, lulling Noé back. As soft, Noé remembered, as when the doctor had saved Lady Amelia from the briars of Eglantine. “I've got you.”

Vanitas continued, “Child of the ark,” he smiled, “Arsenal of knowledge and archive of memories.” He paused again. “Your name suits you well.”

A final explosion of light blasted Ruthven away from Noé knocking his head against a pillar. He was out for now.

The relief from the book provided clarity in Noé’s exhausted eyes and freedom from the cursed malnomen deal.

Vanitas hissed in pain. The blue mark on his arm had extended all the way to his face now.

Noé was relieved, his eyes slowly blinking back into focus. But in that relief came his mistake. Or Vanitas’ opportunity. Of whose fault it was is unknown.

“Noé!” Vanitas shouted, loud and sure, shaking his only hand free of Noé’s grasp as he softly smiled, “You don’t need my memories to remember me,” he confessed.

Noé tried to reach for Vanitas’ hand once again, but failed to clutch it.

Vanitas fell. His eyes trained on Noé until his last moment when the blue mark covered the last bit exposed skin on his face and he exploded into a cloud of bright blue ash.

The flowerbed below received a steady dusting from the ash and light watering from the eyes of the heartbroken vampire above overcome with grief.

The book of Vanitas, now freed, and truly dangerous character determined, landed on the ground with a thump into the flowerbed. Exactly where the asters met the forget-me-nots.

Noé made sure it was never opened again.

fin

[nxrthmizu]

Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

[aliensunflower-fics]

How to Exploit Kindness [A New Kind of Lila Salt Prompt]

[ Ive seen Lila and Class salt that goes a lot of different ways. In some Lilas a sad lonely girl who will do anything for friends and the class fall for her lies through a mixture of manipulation and Lila’s genuine sad lonely but real persona. In others Lila is insane and the class get basically sucked into her cult. And in others still, Lila slowly breaks the class down by preying on there insecurities, hidden jealousies ect. There are the versions where Lila just bribes the class with connections and the versions where Lila frames Marinette until no one believes her. But I wanted to write a new idea for people to use, one that I feel is a bit more realistic. One where Marinette’s classmates are more their more authentic kind selves but still get slowly pulled into Lila’s web and where Lila is just a bit more intelligent. ]

[ As usual with all my prompts feel free to borrow the idea to write for your own thing salt, sugar, cuteness angst ect just be sure to credit me for the idea so I can read it. ]

Lila was furious! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! She was supposed to be everyone's friend! She was supposed to finally get a cute perfect boyfriend who would cherish her like she deserved! She was supposed to be HAPPY! But no, the pathetic beetle Ladybug and that goody two shoes Marinette kept ruining everything!

No… No that wasn’t quite true. As much as she wanted to blame her problems on those two it wasn’t entirely their faults. Honestly Lila wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Her lies had been working at first, they had gotten her praise and compliments and adoration and friendship! But now? Now they were all ignoring her, unimpressed by her celeb lies! She could not understand it! At first she’d been sure it was Marinette or Ladybug maybe even Adrien had turned on her! But when she’d probed for information she’d learned that none of them had blown the whistle. So what was it! Tomorrow… Tomorrow she will find out one way or another. She needed to get them back under her thumb somehow.

 It was Chloe who gave Lila her answers. Chloe was the reason none of her classmates cared about her stories! Chloe was the idiot mayor's brat. And what a brat she was constantly wiggling her way into her mothers fashion shoots or had celebrities over at the hotel. Of course Lila’s classmates didn’t care about Lila’s celebrity connections because Chloe was always name dropping just as many people as herself. The only difference was Lila used fake modesty and shyness that made her ‘friends’ view her lies in less of a gloating light than Chloe’s haughty claims of celebrity meetings.

It was a damn shame, celebrity lies were her bread and butter, they were exciting got people to think you were important and they were hard to prove or disprove allowing Lila to easily get around the messy little detail of ‘proof’ if someone asked for pictures all she could say was that her mom didn't let her take any because she didn't want her precious daughter being targeted by crazy fans. And if someone asked her to use her celebrity connections? Well she could just turn on the water works and cry about them just being her friend for her connections. Thus her prey would be forced to be her ‘friend’ , always listening to her and doing things for her, unable to ask for anything in return. Then when her mother announced their next move Lila would tearfully say goodbye and leave all her suckers behind. But without the sway of her celebrity lies her system broke down. That was the problem with picking the school full of rich talented idiots she supposed.

Well with Chloe ruining her system she’d need a new one. Scrolling through her classmates' social media for a clue she sneered at their overly cheerful and cutesy posts. Always encouraging one another and posting encouraging puff pieces about this or that. Always acting like they were so nice. As Lila scrolled over a charity fundraiser event that Alya had retweeted from Milene a sudden thought crossed her mind. Her classmates were very ‘nice’ and annoyingly so. They were always butting into each other's business, always being SO concerned, always organizing events to help each other and appreciate each other and going to charity events.

In fact now that she thought about it the stories that had intrigued her ‘friends’ always had some sort of charity garbage attached. Saving Jagged’s kitten or raising money for some cause or other that always got her heaps of praise. Sure saying Clara whatshername stole her dance moves got attention but not in the same way saying she raised money for some green project. Was it really that simple? Sure her classmates all loved Marinette for her extreme generosity and kindness but was it REALLY that simple? She needed to check.

 It was actually that easy. One simple little lie about how she pulled a blind old man out of danger when he was nearly run over and suddenly the class was bathing her in praise. And the ‘fact’ that the whole very real thing made her miss first period and sprain her ankle? Well that was just the cherry on top. Suddenly Max was offering her a copy of his notes and everyone was back to caring for her like she was a princess. The fact that Marinette looked like she was seething only for sweet naive Adrien to keep her mouth shut was just so perfect. She’d found her golden ticket. Her classmates were truly ‘good kind people’ and nothing could be exploited quite like kindness.

With this knowledge Lila would easily be able to destroy Marinette, sure she wouldn’t be able to do it quickly but slowly she would replace her, with every good deed she made up with every act of false modesty she would build a reputation greater than Marinette’s she would replace her and become there new ‘everyday ladybug’ and the best part was she wouldn’t have to say ANYTHING against Marinette. Not. A. Thing. No sweet righteous Marinette would eventually snap, sadly for her it would probably be too late with how much control Adrien had over her, so when it happened Marinette would look like the jealous crazy girl going after the girl that was kinder, sweeter, and better than herself. As for Adrien… Well she had a hard time believing it at first but he really was an idiot with a pretty face as long as she was careful as she built her new reputation he would genuinely believe that she was changing for the better and then he'd fall for her.

The best part was, her classmates were genuine. As she built her new good girl heart of gold persona they would genuinely come to love her, all the loyalty Marinette got to enjoy all the perks of being friends with such talented, kind, sweet people would become hers. Slowly no matter how Marinette struggled she would lose, eventually she’d have nothing left. Of course she’d need to be careful with her lies but that was easy. Bring the class to a charity here and there and tell them that she was the one who gave the idea for the charity to the actual organizer but didn't want any credit because she was just that kind and humble. If they tried to make her do actual work then she’d have a sudden accident that would require she sit down.

And then once she’d done more photoshoots with Adrien for Gabriel she’d ‘convince’ the man that a charity would make him look good and boost sales. She’d MAKE her lies true all while winning over her future father in law, and heck maybe she’d even pocket a little of the money, she could use a better wardrobe and the extra would be perfect to buy her ‘friends’ the occasional ice cream or presents. In between that she’d just lie about saving people or volunteering on weekends. Maybe even let it ‘slip’ how she was a temp hero for Ladybug . One of the sweetest parts was that between volunteering with Lila, there own activities and hanging out with Lila so she could ‘thank them for their hard work’ no one would be spending a second hanging out with sweet pink little Marinette, they'd abandon her without even realizing it because they’d be SO busy. Sadly this plan of hers would take a little more work then her others, but it would be worth it to become the queen bee of the class- NO the school! And when Marinette eventually slipped up and looked like the biggest jealous bully in the school. Well she’d have no choice but to leave the school with her tail in between her legs.

Victory was looking sweet and satisfying.

 [ And where it goes from here is up to you. Lila can win, she can slowly convince the class and school that she's a model citizen and an everyday hero. She can sneakily maneuver the class to not spend time with Marinette slowly separating the girl from her friends. In this way Alya and the rest of them don't become evil salty versions of themselves who overnight hate Marinette and love Lila, but rather they are good naive people who got slowly separated and tricked by someone who wants to use their genuine talents and skills to make herself look better. Adrien who is already shown to be naive and wants to believe the best in people, can fall into Lila’s trap and become genuinely convinced that his high road method really worked and ‘reformed’ Lila into a better person. OR Lila can fail, she can claim to be the wrong temporary hero for ladybug, or she can pick the wrong charity to lie about, or get exposed any number of ways and the class can realize with horror that because they are kind but flawed people who are perhaps too trusting and gullible that they got pulled away from Marinette through subtle manipulation and so they can be redeemed because instead of turning into outright bullies they stayed the same kind people they always were but just got genuinely tricked which is something that can actually happen in real life. You can go heavy salt where Marinette does eventually leave the school or class heartbroken that her kind friends have fallen prey to a bad person Marinette cant find a way to expose. Or you can go clever salt where Marinette figures out Lila’s plan and fights her from the inside slowly exposing the cracks in her facade. Or you can go sugar and redemption where maybe just maybe Lila actually LIKES being nice to people and having real friends who dont care about her fake celeb connections, maybe she honestly redeems herself and even makes amends with Marinette. You can do genuinely anything with this idea and I hope to see this generate some new less *and suddenly everyone is evil* content for those that like salt and angst. ]

[missarchivistdoodles]

Chapter 19: Long Overdue Discussion

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter AO3 Link [[TW: Descriptive images of acid injury and blood, discussions of mental illness, past self-harm, past traumas, major dissociation]]

Neither spoke - there was too much to say. Too much to apologize for, too much to explain, too much to cry and laugh and scream over. The weight of the promise hung heavy in the air, over their heads, heralding a time long gone and nearly forgotten. There were no strings, no black ooze or tar, no white oval faces in the shadows. Just the pair of them, together and silent, crouching beside the bar stools and neither willing to break the tense, warm momentary truce. 

It didn't last - nothing could, not even things most needed. Crimson rushed down the stairs, tail-feathers askew, looking furious and desperate all at once. "Nobody is upstairs," he reported, the faint scent of citrus incense and rose hip tea clinging to him. His suit was slowly shifting to a brighter shade, closer to candy apple than scarlet now, as the threat of an enemy diminished.

"Check outside, just in case," Swatch ordered, carefully setting Spam down on his feet before standing themself, straightening their sweater out of habit. "I will attend to Spam's injuries." Crimson gave a sharp nod, then bound out the back door, slamming it behind himself. The butler took a deep breath through their nose, then glanced down to address Spam, only to find the small salesman was gone. "Spam?"

"I'm right here." Swatch spun around and came face-to-face with Spam. He'd climbed up on one of the bar stools, and from there stepped onto the counter, bringing them to the same height. It was nostalgic, and for a moment they forgot about the acid, forgot that awful evening in the grand hall - they were looking at their dear friend Spamton across the bar, flirting and chatting and thinking about what movie they'd go see the next evening for the theaters weekly 'Tightwad-Tuesday' half-priced ticket deal. They'd share a large popcorn, as always, and Swatch would end up eating most of it themselves and at the end of the night Spamton would joke about their bird-like appetite and they would both walk back to the Mansion, commenting on the city around them as they went.

Spam didn't remain standing, choosing to kneel instead beside a cheap notebook and a shattered pen. There was a spot of ink staining the counter, only a few inches across, a few droplets scattered about it. Beside it, taking up much more space, was a wider pool of red, fresh and wet, gleaming beneath the bright kitchen lights. One half of the jagged plastic pen had been stained the same vermilion, and with a jolt Swatch realized it was what Spam had used to 'break the strings.'

"Do you have a first aid kit?" Swatch asked, having to avert his eyes from the splash of blood. Spam waved vaguely towards the kitchen, not looking up from the notebook, which he was carefully poking as though afraid it would bite him. Feeling vaguely sick, Swatch rounded the breakfast bar and entered the kitchen proper. A white plastic case with a large red cross on the front was propped up on the fridge, and they reached it easily enough. It was heavier than they expected, and when they set it on the counter beside Spam, something inside sloshed around.

The salesman barely gave it a look, having picked up the notebook now. He was rubbing the corner of the plastic cover between his fingers, as though afraid to open it. Frowning, Swatch undid the latches and popped open the top of the case, only to find…alcohol.

A lot of alcohol.

The noise they made was enough to draw Spam's attention, and he leaned back to peer at the contents of the first aid kit. Boxes of bandages had been replaced with packets of crackers, and bottles of rubbing alcohol had been turned into the drinking kind. A plethora of travel-sized liquor bottles were neatly lined up beneath the snacks, filled to the brim with spirits of all kinds and labeled in sharp, zig-zaggy handwriting. Swatch swung the front of the kit down again, examining the bright-red cross to make sure they hadn't missed some kind of novelty label, but there was none - this was a first aid kit. 

"Flash," Spam supplied, an amused tilt to his mouth as he picked up one of the tiny bottles of whiskey and examined the label. "Probably set it up as a prank for Survey that hasn't been found yet."

"Hilarious." Swatch commented dryly, They almost reached out to steal the bottle back when Spam moved to slip it into his hoodie pocket, and had to stop themself. They weren't friends anymore - it wasn't their place, and so they stayed silent as he squirreled away the liquor. "Are there any other first-aid kits in the house?" 

"Upstairs bathroom," Spam dragged his eyes away from the desecrated kit to the notebook once more. "And one in the laundry room, I think. But it doesn't matter - I'm fine." 

Swatch swung the lid of the kit down with a bit too much force, a thread of familiar irritation worming through their chest. Spam had always been so quick to dismiss their own troubles, their own illnesses, their own injuries, as nothing more than an annoyance. A paper cut or a stubbed toe they could understand, but cutting his wrists to ribbons? Harming himself out of sheer desperation to destroy what was supposed to be nothing more than a hallucination? "Fine? You were attacked in your own home!" They motioned to his wrist - blood was already beginning to show through the tightly-wrapped handkerchief, small red dots like a field of poppies in the snow. 

"I wasn't attacked ." Spam wouldn't look at Swatch, keeping his eyes glued to the cover of the notebook. It was bright blue, and still had the sale sticker on the corner. $1.99, written in smooth, curving letters cramped together in the small square. Absently, Spam picked at the corner of the sticker, slowly tearing the dollar sign off and leaving only the numbers behind.

"Spamton-"

"I'm not Spamton!" 

The shriek was unexpected, but not as much as the movement - Spam leapt to his feet, the notebook falling from his lap and sliding across the counter top for a few inches before tipping over the edge and falling to the living room floor. They were at eye-level now, and Swatch raised their empty hands in front of them and took a half-step back as those dark, angry eyes fixed on their face.

"I'm not Spamton ," he spat again, "I was never Spamton! Spamton was perfect , he was smart and clever and knew just what to say! He was successful ," Spam thrust his hand out, holding it before Swatch, "He held this stupid city in the palm of his hand, he had everything he ever wanted! Then he lost it all because he couldn't do the one thing that was asked of him!" He curled his fingers into a fist, crushing the imaginary city in his hand. "And he lost everything. " The salesman dropped his gaze, glaring at the counter top instead. "He lost his business. He lost his home. He lost you ." 

Before Swatch could point out that they were there, (despite them no longer being friends, despite the physical reminder of wounds they both carried, despite a lot of things) Spam was turning away, tangling his hands in his hair and snarling at the empty living room.

"And before that - before Spamton - he was Spam Addison . He was a shit salesman, but he had brothers who loved him. Who supported him. Who encouraged him. He was loyal to a fault. Then - that fucking phone ." The salesman tugged at his hair, yanking his head to the side, and Swatch reached out to offer him comfort (and pull his hand away), but he was off, pacing the length of the bar before spinning around and stomping back, heedless of the blood clinging to his bare feet, leaving prints on the wood behind him. "That fucking phone," he repeated again, voice dropping to a whisper as he made another beeline across the counter. Swatch had taken another step back and simply watched as the man wrestled with his demons, unsure if he should speak or not. 

"Mike destroyed everything I ever was. And on top of the ruins he built Spamton. Then he destroyed him too." Spam stopped, shoving his bangs out of his face, and behind his clear lenses, tears brimmed along the edges of his eyes, threatening to fall. "And now I'm in ruins again." He laughed, but it wasn't a joyous sound - it was tired and cracked, the stress of the past year and beyond bleeding through the rough chuckle and setting Swatch's feathers on end. "All because of that damned phone." 

"Spam-"

"You're still here." Spam rolled his head back, turning it oddly to look over his shoulder at the butler. His eyes, lined with tears, met theirs evenly, the myriad of emotions within flattening to a dull sheen. "You can leave." He motioned towards the door with his injured hand, ignoring the red that was soaking through the handkerchief. "You hate me - there's no need to stay." 

" Spam ," Swatch took a step forward, closing the space between them, "I do not hate you." 

"You should-"

"I don't ," Swatch crossed their arms and gave the man a stern look, "and it's not your place to decide such things for me."

Spam twisted his head, looking the bird face-to-face, eyes lingering on the deep scar that traced the side of their beak. "You should." He repeated, anger draining, the lines of his face softening as his shoulders relaxed, arms dropping to hang at his sides.

"I don't." Swatch pulled a second handkerchief from their inventory and caught Spam's arm by the elbow, lifting it so they could examine the make-shift bandage. "We may not be more than associates any longer, but I do not hate you for what has happened. I am beginning to see that there were… extenuating circumstances behind many of your actions in the past." They wrapped the fresh handkerchief on top of the old, then pointed to the counter top. "Sit. I will be right back." Without waiting to see if their order was obeyed, Swatch spun towards the back of the house and strode towards the laundry room.

Spam, feeling oddly off-balance (and not only from the blood-loss), sat where he stood, heedless of the blood he'd smeared across the counter top in his mad pacing. His hoodie was splattered with small red dots, and soaked around the sleeve where the cuts were. He hoped one of the kits had hydrogen peroxide - it was good for getting blood stains out of fabric. Frowning, the salesman rubbed the dirty sleeve between his fingers - it was just like him, to ruin a gift like this. Couldn't do anything right.

Swatch returned before he could fall too deeply into self-loathing, setting down a second first aid kit beside the first. This one, when opened, revealed a proper stock of bandages and other first-aid odds and ends. With methodical precision, Swatch pulled out both a pack and roll of gauze, a box of butterfly bandages, and a large tube of antivirus ointment. "You will likely require proper healing," they remarked, turning to grab the roll of paper towels from beside the sink, "but the bandages should stop the bleeding for the time being." 

Spam didn't say anything as Swatch lifted their hand, not even a grimace crossing their face when they pushed up the sleeve, the cold, tacky blood squelching and smearing on their feathered fingers. With quick, professional movements, they unwrapped the two handkerchiefs from his wrist and took a look at the wounds. Three deep gashes lined the back of his wrist, the middle longer and deeper than the other two. The bleeding had slowed, but still the wounds oozed and dripped, and Swatch felt a thrill of fear at the idea of these wounds being on the other side of the wrist, over the deep, thick veins that traced the inside of the arm. If Spam had been less careful, if he'd attempted to free himself like that in the throes of the hallucination, well - it didn't bear thinking about.

The bandage already wrapped around Spam's hand was soaked as well, but it didn't seem to be from a different injury. Swatch could remember, clear as day, the wounds that had appeared in Spam's hands, perfect circles apparently caused by a glitch in the file-compression process. It would need to be changed as well, but the bleeding wound took precedence.

A damp paper towel made quick work of the dried blood that coated the pale skin, and a dry one wiped away the rest, prepping the skin for the bandages. Spam winced as the split skin was gently tugged, but didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. A thin layer of ointment was smeared across the area around the cuts to prevent any infections. The butterfly bandages were then carefully applied, pulling his skin together, and a square of gauze was placed over top to catch what still managed to seep out. Swatch tugged the plastic wrap off the roll of soft, white gauze and wrapped it snuggly around his wrist, holding the thin cotton in place. They clipped it in place with a little aluminum tab, then nodded in approval. 

"It will definitely need a proper healer if you want to avoid heavy scarring," they told Spam, replacing the box of bandages and the tube of ointment in the kit and retrieving a second roll of white gauze. This they set beside him, at his knee, to replace the soaked bandage around his palm. The man stared at his wrist, slowly flexing it up and down. It still hurt, of course, but not nearly as bad as before. Swatch crossed their arms and leaned against the counter, watching the small man with a raised brow. They'd expected a bit more push-back at being bossed around, but he'd sat and been still and quiet the entire time. A year or two ago, such an interaction would have been filled with scolding and banter, arguments about what stupid thing Spam had done this time, disagreements about how to treat the small bruises and cuts he inevitably received from doing said stupid thing.

It almost seemed as though Spam had… deflated . The righteous anger of a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by quiet contemplation as he absently picked at the gauze. His eyes were far, far away - in future or past, who could say? Swatch watched as he paused his picking, then folded three of his fingers against his palm and brought his hand up to the side of his head, pinky and thumb sticking out. He waited for a long moment, before blinking and looking around, searching for someone.

"Spam?" Swatch asked cautiously, and when the small man jumped they almost did the same. A blush crawled against his ivory face, and he dropped his hand into his lap.

"Nothing," he muttered quickly, "never mind." 

Swatch slowly nodded, filing the motion away in his head to ask the Addisons about later. Silence once again stretched out between them, until Spam scratched at his right arm and frowned at the cool, gooey feeling of drying blood on his sleeve. With a grimace, the salesman shook out his sleeves, then pulled the hoodie off over his head, revealing a gray t-shirt with a black thumbs-up emoji. He fished a rumpled envelope and the pilfered bottle of booze out of the pocket, then dropped the sweater on the counter beside him. 

Butler instincts overrode courtesy, and Swatch plucked the hoodie off the stained wood. Spam stiffened as it was lifted, grip tightening on the envelope, but relaxed when they turned towards the sink and turned on the cold water. They ran the soaked sleeve beneath the chilly water, hiding a grimace as the water ran red, then pink, washing out the blood that hadn't yet stained. Once the water ran clear, they plugged the bottom and let the sink fill, adding a dollop of dish soap (Queen brand, strawberry-flavor). Once it was half-full and had a thin film of bubbles on top, they dropped the whole hoodie in, pushing it down and swirling it around to make sure every inch of fabric was soaked. 

"Crimson has missed you."

There was a sharp inhale behind them, but they didn't turn, focusing on rubbing the soaked fabric between his fingers, working the soap into the stains. Spam shuffled on the counter behind them, and after a moment fingers began to tap against the wood. 

"He searched for you when you left." Swatch moved on to gently massaging the bloody sleeve, glad they'd had practice getting bloodstains out of Tasque Managers uniform in the past (she had a soft spot for feral tasques that the creatures often didn't share). "He was shocked when he came to help you pack up that morning and found you gone. Scoured the entire Mansion, even the basement, trying to find you." There was another deep breath, followed by a shaky exhale, from the man, and they focused on a small spot on the pocket. "When we couldn't find you, he contacted masters Adapter and Split, and they searched the city, but you were nowhere to be found." 

Their hands paused, thumb absently rubbing over a small, dark spot on the stripes of the sleeve. "We dragged the acid pools, and the river." A hitch of breath behind them, trembling and small. "Queen searched them herself, to see if you had… fallen in again. When you weren't found, Crimson was beyond relieved. As was I."

They'd done all they could to work out the stains - the fabric would need to soak, then possibly be treated with hydrogen peroxide and rinsed again before going through the wash. Drying their hands on the dish towel beside the sink, they turned, leaning against the counter and leaving a fair bit of space between them and Spam. The man looked pale, sick, and was staring at his hands, which lay listless in his lap, fingers slowly flexing open and closed.

"Why did you do it?" Swatch asked, voice quiet and steady, not quite gentle but certainly not harsh. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"

"I didn't." The denial was quick. When there was no response, Spam glanced up, and found Swatch watching him with a raised brow, waiting for an explanation. And if there was anybody who he owed an explanation to, it was them, wasn't it? "It - I didn't jump in."

"Crimson saw you."

"He what?!" 

"He watched you walk into the acid." Swatch's feathers rose slightly, an edge to their voice. The image of finding their youngest sibling kneeling beside a deformed Spam, babbling about watching him just walk in brought back the twist of rage they had felt then, dimmed as it was by time. They would have leaned into the feeling, the anger, perhaps even acted on it, if Spam didn't look quite so stricken at the revelation.

"He didn't." It wasn't a question, but a statement of disbelief. He brought his hands up to cover his mouth, a green tinge building in his cheeks. "Oh god please, please tell me he didn't see that…" 

"He did." Swatch held the man's gaze, and Spam looked away first, hands sliding up to grip his hair. "Why did you do it, Spam? Why try and-"

"I wasn't." Spam interrupted, speech breathless, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered that damnable night. "I - it wasn't supposed to hurt. Mike said…" He trailed off, voice seizing, thick acid rolling at the back of his throat. A hand brushed the back of his neck, then was pressing down, prompting him to lean forward. 

"Breath," Swatch ordered, having been a bartender long enough to easily identify the signs of a rebelling stomach. "Through your nose. Out through your mouth." They curled their large fingers slightly around the man's slim neck, keeping him facing his lap as he took in stuttering breaths. "That's it - good job." Slowly, their thumb rubbed gentle circles along the back of his skull, mussing the white-gray hair that had grown long and soft. 

It took a few minutes, but Spam's breathing slowly evened out, and the roiling in his gut ceased. His shoulders drooped, and he pressed his head back against Swatch's gentle grip, much like a tasque being pet would. Swatch gave him a minute more of comfort, keeping their hand in place, before asking, "What did Mike say?"

Spam's shoulders pulled back against his ears once more, head dipping, but Swatch followed, keeping up the same soothing circle of thumb against skull. After a drawn out moment, he raised his right hand, palm out, and spread his fingers. "He said it would protect me," he wiggled his third finger, the melted remains of the thorny ring clinging to his skin still. "He said he didn't trust me, after failing to get Neo. But if I trusted him - if I believed his gift would protect me, and stepped into the acid, and proved that I trusted him above all else, then we could try again. He wouldn't leave me."

"So I did it. I trusted him and I walked right in. I'd already lost my brothers, and my friends, and you. I couldn't lose him too. So I stepped into the acid, and I felt it start to burn my clothes, but then I was somewhere else. Somewhere… other . And there was Mike." He tilted his head back, as though he were looking at something (or perhaps someone) looming above them.

"He was so big , Swatch. It was like he took up all the space in the world, and then some. He was watching me - watching us , watching everybody , on these screens. When he spoke to me, I could feel it , from my head to my toes. He wouldn't let me speak. He called me a puppet , said that he created Spamton G. Spamton, that I was just Spam , that I was nobody." Spam flexed his wrist, vividly remembering the vivid acid-green strings that had encircled it only half an hour before. 

"He said I did better than others, so he'd let me live, but that he'd leave me a reminder." Mechanically, without thought, he began unwrapping the soiled, bloody bandage from his palm. Layer-by-layer, the perfect circle that punctured skin and bone grew visible, skin pale and well-healed from the ordeal. "He had these too - circles, in his palms. And he gave them to me, so I would never forget what I did. How I failed him." 

"And then I was back in the acid and everything burned , and all I could think was that he lied. Mike lied to me, hurt me, and then he left me, too." He twisted his hands into fists and pressed them to his forehead, voice growing louder as he spoke. "I gave him everything. I gave him all of me. And he didn't care - he didn't care about my businesses, or my friends, or my family! He only cared about what I could give him, do for him - he only cared about the Mansion, about the keygen, about Neo." 

"He didn't care about me. He never cared about me." The man gave a humorless laugh. "But it doesn't matter - none of it matters anymore. He's gone. I'm here. And all that's left are hallucinations and memories." He glanced down at his bandaged wrist and flexed it. "Fuck Mike."

"He certainly didn't sound like a pleasant man," Swatch agreed. 

Spam snorted, then sniffed a bit. "Yeah, he - what?" He stiffened, turning so fast to face Swatch that his neck cracked. "When - when did you hear him?"

"Over the phone, on the way here. I heard him tell you-" Before Swatch could parrot what Mike had said, Spam was reaching out, grabbing the front of their shirt with shaking fists.

"You heard my hallucination?" Something flickered across the lens of his glasses, almost like a shadow, or flakes of snow. "That's - no. He's just in my head. He can't be - you can't have -" The snow grew, the lenses growing dark as static crept in from the edges, obscuring his eyes.

"Spam?" Swatch carefully grabbed the hands that had tangled in the front of their sweater. The man had begun to shake and was listing to the side, like a puppet with its strings cut. "Spam?" They asked again, louder, and glanced around the room. Where had their brother gone? "Crimson!" 

There was a thud from outside the partially-open front door, then the red Swatchling was hurrying inside, looking concerned and sheepish by turn. "Sorry! Sorry," he rushed across the room to stand across from Swatch, the breakfast bar and Spam between them. "It sounded like you guys were having some serious conversation, didn't want to interrupt." He rushed to explain. "No sign of Mike. Is Spam okay?"

"I'm not sure," Swatch shifted so they were supporting the man with one hand around his back, and carefully lifted the glasses with their other. The Addison's dark eyes were wide but glassy, unseeing, as lines of code scrolled through them. Once the lenses were pulled away the static ceased, but as soon as Swatch lowered them back onto his nose, the image resumed. "I - I think he crashed. Hard. " 

"Shit." Crimson hissed, reaching out to rest his own hand on Spam's shoulder. "Well, there's nothing we can do but wait for him to reboot." He glanced around the kitchen, taking in the bloody footprints on the counter, the sweater soaking in the sink, and the haggard look on Swatch's beak. "Why don't you sit on the couch with him while I clean up?" He suggested gently. "Maybe text one of his brothers and let them know what's going on?"

Swatch nodded and, with halting movements, scooped Spam up. It was too easy - he was too small and far too light. They retreated to the couch as Crimson began bustling around the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for bleach and rags. For a moment they hesitated in front of the couch, wondering if it would be best to set Spam down and let him sit alone while he rebooted. But - well, a selfish part of themself didn't want to let the small man go. So Swatch sat and settled Spam on his lap, letting him rest against their chest. 

"What's this?" Crimson, who had been wiping blood and ink off the bar stool,  picked up the notebook that had been knocked to the floor earlier, squinting at the torn price sticker on the front. Swatch wordlessly held their hand out, and there must have been something telling in his expression, because their brother passed it over without a word and returned to cleaning. 

Swatch picked at the price sticker for a moment, marveling at the deep terror he felt from such an innocuous object. 

They're making you write words?

Yes.

What words?

Carefully, he peeled back the bright-blue cover and examined the first page.

Apologies

-Popup - the fight over the phone, leaving, insulting him

-Survey - the fight by the truck, breaking his nose

-Banner - leaving and ignoring him

-Flash - breaking his jaw

-Crimson - running away from the mansion without saying anything

-Swatch 

Their own name had been crossed out with thick, black marks that almost tore through the page. Beside it was scribbled Mike , and then…

failing him again and again and again and again and again and again…

The words filled up the rest of the page, and when he turned it he could see them running down the next page as well, interspersed with sharply scrawled traitor and nobody and liar . He nearly tore the page in his haste to turn it, and there it began. 

sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry

The word spiraled for pages until, at last, it ended with a splash of blood mixed with dark ink, and a final word.

strings

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.