#i just had some thoughts and hopefully organized them coherently enough

[sheltershock]

I just unlocked Eight’s palette yesterday and the additional challenge placed on this run specifically is really interesting from a story perspective with what was set up earlier in the DLC. So I ended up typing up this little essay on the intersection of gameplay and themes in Side Order. Slight spoilers under the cut!

Eight so far hasn’t gotten much attention at all in Side Order. Which makes sense for a silent protagonist, but I couldn’t help but see the narrative parallels with the gameplay associated with Eight’s run. Side Order is about confronting the fear of change and the fantasy of living in a bland, but safely controlled world of order. Marina gets a lot of guilt from the Memverse getting all messed up with her constant apologies, but maybe her desires and the ones of engineers aren’t the only key players in the development of Order and its takeover. 

It’s revealed in the Dev Diaries that Eight was always intended to be the first subject in the Memverse project. Which inherently makes her special since the tower’s creation at some point took her specifically in consideration. But then when everything goes wrong, Eight is trapped there. Even when you beat the DLC and can leave the Memverse, it’s always your player character that transitions between spaces, not Eight. And sure, (a piece of) her soul is trapped in the program, but so are Deep Cut’s, and all of them are able to give the pre- and post-run news report about the situation in Inkopolis. So why is Eight unable to leave the space? 

What I was surprised to find was that Eight’s palette wasn’t actually inside locker 36 like the game implied, but it was revealed that her palette was the lockers themselves. Like, all 36 of them. And even Marina calls out that it's “kinda weird.” Afterwards, the extra challenge of the final run reveals itself, a run with minimal hacks. The more hacks you have enabled, the less chip slots you are afforded. In order to have access to all thirty-six chip slots in Eight’s palette, you need to have zero hacks enabled, which resets you back to where you were in the beginning of the DLC after the tutorial run. 

The thing that got me thinking about how interesting this was from a narrative perspective is that this challenge is really hard. It’s very difficult, in fact, at time of writing I have not beaten it and I’ve played for multi-hour sessions. But this difficulty switch actually reflects the themes of the DLC, and possibly how Eight feels and what she’s experiencing. 

At the beginning of the game, the tower is chaotic and scary. You don’t know about the floors or their properties and the chips you can get are random. You don’t know what awaits you on that next floor and that could make you entirely start again from the beginning. And that’s exactly the fear that Octolings have about going to the surface. They are completely starting over at a game that they don’t know the rules of, or if there are any rules at all. 

But then there’s the introduction of the hacks. The hacks are a valuable and life changing modification to the challenges and randomness ahead. You want more lives? Sure! Take less damage? Go for it! More upgrades for the drone? The more the merrier! Are the prices at the vending machine more expensive? Here, have a discount! Oh, you don’t like challenges or the chips available for this floor? Just hand over some coins and we’ll spin the roulette again! You can even reveal the bosses ahead of time and reroll what you get if you don’t want a certain one. Runs get easier, and more forgiving. And as you get further, the tower gets safer, more secure. More controllable. If you know what you’re doing, you can even manipulate the entire program to get solely what you want. 

Except your memories. 

As a player, you have to fully clear the tower eleven times before even unlocking Eight’s palette. Which matters because once you’ve cleared it eleven times with different loadouts, you become pretty familiar with the mechanics and might even have reliable plans for specific floors. And that’s without the hacks. The tower becomes routine at that point, and with all the hacks, it’s likely you plan trips to specific vending machines on certain floors. I remember having specific membux amounts I wanted to reach and trying to save up to spend on floor fifteen. You watch your in-game timer on levels start to decrease and feel a bit of pride when the happy clear music plays and you see the little “updated!” next to your time. You know your way around the tower now. 

And Eight gets that experience too. Eight also experiences the repetition of each successful and unsuccessful run. The tower becomes familiar to her too, and maybe, comfortable. Eight gets to climb the tower, again and again, with her friends in an environment that she understands and can reasonably control. Pearl even has a line sometimes when you start a floor that echoes this sentiment, “let's hurry this up so we can go hang out with Marina and Acht some more!” And isn’t that the perfect fantasy for a freed Octoling? An environment of freedom, with a little spontaneity for spice? To be able to hang out with people you like, and aid each other in battle where the greatest punishment is that you get to enjoy this all again? Nobody controls you or tells you what to do. You call the shots. You pick the floors. You snap your fingers and decide how hard you want this to be. 

And that’s exactly what Order stands for, an unchanging, safe world. Born from the wishes of the Memverse’s engineers, ironically standing in the way of the point of the program. At least, that’s what Smollusk said. But this is a world that Marina designed, with Eight as an intended subject. Not the only, but an intended subject. The person who was supposed to be saved first, ended up to be the last you find to save. Interesting. But maybe Order came to life specifically from Eight’s desire.

Eight is special. When you reach the top of the tower and face Smollusk with Eight’s palette, it recognizes it. “At wast[last]!,” it says, “you finawwy bwought me THAT Palette!” And it even calls Eight out by name. Smollusk doesn’t have dialogue calling out or even recognizing specific palettes you’re using, but it recognizes Eight’s. And the thing separating the palettes from the player is the lockers, a piece of Eight’s soul itself, may represent Eight’s desire to stay. The reason to keep playing is because everyone’s palettes are locked in a piece of Eight’s soul, tucked away. Because if the lockers weren’t there, then it would be significantly easier to reconfigure everyone’s palette. And easier means faster. 

All of this would make the necessity of minimal hacks symbolic. Eight’s palette is resistant to Marina’s hacking, which serves two purposes for the narrative. One, it makes the game harder, which makes it harder to walk away from. If it takes one hundred attempts to clear that tower with minimal hacks, then that’s one hundred more repetitions experienced before it all has to eventually end. It’s another form of the lockers, extending the time of the evitable. 

Its second symbolic purpose is that Eight has to let go of her grasp of control and embrace chaos to reach the top and reconfigure her palette. And it’s hard. Both mechanically like previously mentioned, but it also makes you feel Eight’s frustration with embracing chaos. Disabling my extra shields and damaged swim speed and extra lives, going back to the hardest, least controlled phase of the game feels bad. Embracing that chaos is difficult. Just like how it would be for Eight. 

But it is possible, it’s just a slow climb up. Floor by floor. Facing nearly impossible challenge after nearly impossible challenge. And while you have the option to skip, it’ll cost you. But prices are much higher, the hits you can take are much more expensive, and you move much slower. But you still have your friends. Even if they can’t help you hack your way to the top, or drop five consecutive bombs, they’re still there for you. Keeping the elevator warm, and helping you resist gravity. Maybe they can’t exactly be much of help going up, but Eight’s friends can help her from falling back down. A team of four. How fitting. 

Now, I haven’t cleared Eight’s palette yet, I’ve already mentioned this. And the 2/3 secret Dev Diaries I got doesn’t spark confidence about learning more about Eight, unfortunately. And I’ve accidentally been slightly spoiled that she doesn’t get her memories back which is disappointing. I wish there was more specific emphasis placed on the characters in the DLC, to be honest. But as I was playing I noticed this little ludonarrative happening with Eight’s run that I thought was super interesting and probably the closest I’m going to get for Eight development for the DLC. I haven’t played the first or second game(I didn’t have the hardware at the time), I just watched them and I heard that the memcakes in Octo Expansion actually reveal Eight’s personality so I’m going to have to read those, because I haven’t. But I like Eight, and I liked this neat little unspoken story going on in Side Order, like the agent herself. 

[faytelumos]

Illusory, finale

This part is double the length of previous parts.

cw: descriptions of depression and grief closely following amputation, presence of alcohol, non-painful manipulation of muscle and bone, some feelings of abandonment

first | previous | directory

---

Brimstone could do a lot of things with her body. Changing the size and density of her bones, thickening and hardening her skin, and re-organizing her muscles were some of the first things she had learned to do. She could also sprout a coat of fur, increase the capabilities of any of her senses, and fix broken bones and cuts nearly as fast as they happened.

But all of those things involved manipulating tissues she already had. Tails, nictitating membranes, hooves, fur, all of them came from structures she already had, organs she altered the shape of. She had learned with no small effort to spawn cartilage throughout her body, wherever she needed additional structures and forms. But she'd never been able to figure out how to make a new bone.

Or how to make a new muscle.

"Brimstone?"

Her eyes focused slowly again on the table. On the plate in front of her. On the fork, held in a hand that wasn't hers. She blinked, not glancing up at Toby.

"I'm done eating," she mumbled. "I'd like to go back to bed."

Toby shifted beside her, then set the fork down on her plate. He crouched down next to the wheelchair, looking up at Brimstone. She pressed what remained of her left arm tighter to her side, aching to rub fingertips together.

"You're not eating enough," Toby said softly. "Your brain needs food just as much as your body does. Just a couple more bites?"

Brimstone didn't look up. She traced the limp hem of her right sleeve with her eyes.

"I'm not hungry."

Toby sighed softly. He was patient, and he usually relented if she asked for something twice. Though he was starting to plant his feet on certain issues. It had been three weeks since Brimstone had woken up. She wasn't as surprised about it anymore. About surviving an embrace with Morning Frost at his lowest recorded temperature. It had been three weeks, and she was losing weight. Her doctor was probably going to snap someone's collar at the next appointment. Hopefully not Toby's. He didn't do anything wrong.

"How about this," Toby said, folding his arms on her right armrest and looking up at her. "We can stop, I'll put this away, and we can sit on the couch until Sam gets home?" Brimstone didn't look up. She shrugged her left shoulder. "Great," he whispered with a smile, standing, giving her right thigh a soft pat.

He got up and moved behind her, pulling the brakes on her wheels as she shifted her bad leg. He wheeled her gently to the couch, then set the brakes again. She held her left arm tight to her side as he dropped that armrest. He bent down, getting a hand under her knees and an arm around her back, and he hefted her more-or-less gracefully onto the couch.

"How am I going to stay in shape if you're so light," he joked. She shrugged her left shoulder as he grabbed one of the pillows.

"We could buy you some weights," she said. He chuckled softly, tucking the pillow between her right side and the arm of the couch.

"For that matter, I could use my gym membership." Brimstone huffed. He smiled at her, grabbing the remote. "What do we want to watch?"

---

Brimstone knew her body. She had to. For her, shapeshifting was architecture. She knew every bone, every muscle, every ligament, nerve cluster, vein, artery, fat deposit, lymph node, and organ she had to work with and around. When she had woken up, she had known before she could even form coherent thought that her body was wrong. It wasn't just the pieces missing. It was the pieces misplaced. The pieces added. The muscles of her left arm and right shin, aborted, grafted to the face of the bone. Pressed and turned in ways they weren't supposed to be, in ways she'd never asked them to be. The stitches in three areas, itching and pulling and aching. She'd ejected them almost immediately upon waking up, apparently to her doctor's horror. She didn't remember it well. Sam had looked nauseous when it was brought up.

"Almost there."

Brimstone looked again to her arm. Building cartilage was normal. Her and Naomi had decided to use it instead of trying to learn how to make new bones. One less tissue to master.

Brimstone focused again on building down to her right elbow. She'd drawn what remained of the humerus down into its original shape, and she'd stretched the muscles that were still present down to where they were meant to be. But it wasn't right. She struggled to resolve the muscles back into ligaments, and entire structures of her tricep were so cut back she couldn't draw any muscle tissue from them. Couldn't pull them down with the rest. And she'd lost her brachioradialis muscle by a wide margin, leaving another gap in the structures.

"May I?" Naomi uttered, reaching slightly. Brimstone lifted her arm, and Naomi held it, her fingers warm. "I'm going to trace over the missing muscles," she announced, examining Brimstone's arm. "Concentrate on how it's supposed to feel."

Brimstone nodded, looking away and letting her eyes unfocus as Naomi turned her arm gently. She touched a finger to Brimstone's under arm with a steady pressure, right where she was missing a muscle. Brimstone shivered in disgust at the sensation, at the layers of muscle flexing over something missing, at the unfamiliar way her bone was touched. Naomi drew her finger down, over the path of the muscle, and it made Brimstone's teeth feel slick and dirty.

"Stop," she breathed, and Naomi pulled away instantly. Brimstone tried to put a hand on her face, then looked back down at her left arm. She shut her eyes again, biting back the frustrated noises in her throat.

---

Brimstone had spent a lot of time with her body. Not just inhabiting it, but experimenting with it. Villains in the lab didn't get toys, and so she'd played with her body — small things and internal things that guards couldn't see from the hallway. She'd learned she could move her organs around, perhaps to keep people from accurately targeting her heart. She'd learned she could protrude certain body parts out through her skin to take a look at them, to see if her anatomy books were truly accurate on colors and shapes. But when Sister Karla had introduced the concept of making new structures, when she had demanded day after day that Brimstone learn to make rigid spikes on her back and shoulders, Brimstone had spent her normal play time trying to figure out how to make new cartilage.

Brimstone was spending most of her idle time trying to remember how she'd done it originally. Now, it was simple. Thoughtless. Just like forgetting the how of walking, her body just did what she wanted, spawning pockets and shapes of the stuff at a thought. But how had that happened the first time? How had she figured it out?

"Holy shit!" Vacuum blurted. Sam paused the movie, and she, Brimstone, and Toby all looked at Vacuum as he sat on the couch, staring at the TV. He looked to Brimstone, eyes wide. "What about tentacles?"

Tentacles? What about tentacles? Were they watching an octopus movie? Brimstone had already forgotten—

"Like, instead of hands?" Toby asked.

"Yeah," Vacuum said excitedly, putting his beer down on the coffee table and turning to face Brimstone. "Like, tentacles are just muscle, right?" Brimstone blinked.

"I don't know," she admitted. She'd never studied fish or other sea creatures. Any experience with the water had a focus on above-ground work, so she'd never seen the point.

Vacuum started digging his phone out of his pocket then. Sam rubbed Brimstone's side softly where she was holding her, and Brimstone leaned into her. All eyes were on Vacuum as he searched up something on his phone, then climbed off of the couch and crouched in front of Brimstone.

"What do you need?" he muttered.

"Just look at images," Brimstone replied.

He scrolled slowly through the image results for her, but they weren't very helpful. Most of them didn't even cut into the internal structures of the tentacles. She had him change the wording of the search, and then he scrolled slowly through more pictures.

"Wait, that one," Brimstone said, pointing with her wrist. She was keeping both arms drawn to the next joint, and it was easy to make a smaller tip to gesture to the exact picture she wanted. He tapped on it and then held the phone up for her to study. The diagram was overly simple, but it at least broke down the organization of the internal structures.

Brimstone held out her right arm, letting her eyes unfocus as she concentrated on her anatomy. She hollowed the end of the bone and pulled most of her nerves through it, making a central bundle as she moved her muscles around. She attached a muscle to the nerves, then adjusted it to surround the bundle and faced the fibers outwards in four main points. Then she slid four other muscles in between those points with the fibers going up and down her limb. Finally, she wrapped more muscles around the outside in a symmetrical sort of half-spiral. Once the shape was set, the nerves were branched effectively, and she had blood and lymph nodes distributed, she decreased the width of it to better match her arm.

"Wow," Toby whispered.

Brimstone looked down at it. It was weird — she had to fight the urge to put a bone in it, and it felt heavy and clumsy, not to mention the fact that it was just skin with no other textures or structures on the outside. She had no idea how suction cups worked, but imagining it, she decided she didn't want any. She tried to move it, but several muscles all moved against each other clumsily. She focused again, feeling the muscles and their orientations, considering how to flex them.

After a moment of thought, she curled it in one direction. Vacuum laughed in delight, putting his phone away and watching intently as Toby stood up, coming over from the chair to watch. Brimstone curled it the other way, getting a feel for its motions.

"That's so cool," Vacuum whispered.

"Can you grab anything with it?" Toby mused.

Brimstone reached over to her other arm and meticulously wrapped the tentacle around it. She was quickly getting a better feel for how it worked, and she reached over Sam's lap and grabbed the remote. It was awkward, but she was able to pick it up and lift it off of the couch. Vacuum laughed again, poking it. It felt weird. Brimstone dropped the remote and poked his arm back.

"This is awesome!" he cried, carefully grabbing it. Brimstone let him play with it, and Toby leaned forward, watching closely. But Sam had yet to say anything.

Brimstone glanced up, nervous she was grossing her out. Sam had a hand over her mouth, and her cheeks were darkly blushed. It took a moment to realize her breathing was a bit faster, and she seemed slightly warmer.

Brimstone looked down again as the boys turned and inspected her shiny new limb. Sam would probably be more eager to engage with it without an audience.

---

Brimstone hadn't truly considered changing the resting shape of her figure before. Everyone's eyes were often drawn to her horns, her ears, her eyes. The things she couldn't change. It had never seemed worth it to try to adjust the shape of her body, especially since she would have to find that altered state again after changing her shape for work. But she probably wasn't going back to work. Soon or ever.

She looked down at herself as Sam washed her shoulder, the warm water trickling off of her and back into the suds. The tub was fairly wide, so Sam always got in with her, wearing her bathing suit. As if there was a dress code to giving Brimstone a bath.

"What are you thinking about?" Sam uttered, wetting the cloth again. Brimstone glanced up, catching sight of the skeleton hand print laid over Sam's breasts. Brimstone flicked some of the suds lazily.

"Wondering if I want to give myself bigger boobs," she answered. She snuck a look at Sam's face. She had an eyebrow raised, and the slightest hint of a smile.

"What brought this on?" Sam asked softly, cleaning her arm. Brimstone shrugged. She picked up some suds and put them on Sam's belly.

"It would be pretty easy to do," she said. She picked up some more suds, but Sam was getting farther down her arm, so she didn't want to move as much. "I didn't know if you'd like it." Sam wetted the cloth.

"I don't need you to get plastic surgery for me." Brimstone raised an eyebrow.

"I could change it later," she uttered. Sam held her arm softly and cleaned her elbow.

"If you want big boobs for yourself, that would be fine." She wiped down Brimstone's arm. "But I think you're hot no matter how big your tits are." Brimstone looked down at herself again. Sam put a hand under her chin and lifted her head gently. Brimstone looked into her eyes, and Sam looked back. She was close, and she was soft, and she was always here. Brimstone hadn't wanted to ask her to move in, but thankfully, Sam was already spending more time at the house than she was at her apartment. "Brim?" Sam whispered. Brimstone hummed. "I'm not leaving, okay?"

Brimstone's eyes stung, and there was a lump in her throat. She nodded, looking over Sam's face. Sam gave her a soft smile, full of kindness. She moved closer, putting a gentle hand on Brimstone's bad leg, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Brimstone closed her eyes, cautiously resting her wrist on Sam's side. She couldn't hold onto the tears, and they fell down her face at the same time she whimpered. Sam set the cloth down, moving forward until her body was flush with Brimstone's, and wrapped her tightly in a hug. Brimstone rested her head against Sam's chest, crying quietly, hugging her as best she could.

Morning Frost hadn't come back. He hadn't been there when she'd woken up in the hospital. He hadn't been there when she'd been released and found everything she owned moved to a new home.

He'd fled from the scene, people were saying. They'd broken off her arms to get him away from her before she froze to death, and he'd disappeared into the sky. A black streak into the night.

And no one had seen him since.

She didn't understand. She didn't want to understand. Morning Frost was supposed to be good now. He was supposed to help people, keep them safe, be a hero.

You people are evil!

She didn't want it to make sense. Because she should have known.

And she should have stopped him sooner.

---

"You're being way too gentle with that," Starburst laughed. Toby chuckled, gingerly unwrapping the pink and orange paper anyway, as if ripping it would hurt the little cartoon Starburst faces printed on it.

"C'mon, shred it!" Sam cried, impatient to see what could be in such a "head-shaped" box.

"Rip, rip, rip," Phil started, and Vacuum and Sam joined in almost instantly, and then all four of Brimstone's coworkers from various jobs were chanting around them. Brimstone smiled politely, sinking slightly lower into her chair. Toby gave up and yanked the paper off to reveal a plain, cardboard box beneath. Sam scoffed indignantly, and Starburst laughed mischievously.

"Okay," Toby said, pulling out his keys, "new rule: Starburst can't package her own gifts." Everyone except Starburst and Brimstone laughed.

"I didn't, they came in that box," she defended. Toby nodded along placatingly as he slashed the tape with his keys. He popped the flaps open and showed the contents to Brimstone.

Metal headbands, all with various attachments of flowers, spikes, butterflies, and ribbons were lined up neatly within. Brimstone leaned forward and Sam oo'ed quietly, doing the same.

"There's also some cuffs in there, for your horns," Starburst said with a soft smile in her voice. Sam gingerly pulled out a gold-colored headband with yellow butterflies and black flowers on it. Brimstone watched, admiring the patterns on the wings and their accuracy. They were brimstone butterflies. "You don't have to wear the cuffs if they're uncomfortable," Starburst went on.

"I love them," Brimstone said softly, looking into the box. The cuffs might be difficult to wear, given her aversion to people touching her horns. She couldn't exactly put them on herself. But maybe Sam would be able to help. "Thank you," Brimstone said, looking up to Starburst. She beamed, glowing slightly.

"Yeah."

"You wanna wear this one?" Sam asked softly. Brimstone looked up, then nodded before looking forward again. The headbands were angled oddly, but as Sam organized Brimstone's hair and slipped the headband down over her head, she realized it was actually to get around her horns. They must have all been custom pieces. Brimstone's chest ached.

"Okay, mine next," Vacuum said, nudging the five-foot-long gift that had been dominating the table since he arrived.

"For the last time!" Sam laughed. "Stop asking!"

"Just open it so we can move it!" Vacuum cried.

"Brimmy does not want your super-sized dildo!" Sam replied. Vacuum covered the blush on his face and laughed into his hands. Phil held his sides and laughed and Toby covered his mouth and looked away. Brimstone leaned back just a little.

"Jesus," Starburst huffed, shaking her head. Brimstone's eyes flicked to the only other remaining "gift", an envelope with "from Karla" written in a soft, slanting style. Her throat tightened just a little at the thought of what could be inside. She looked back to Vacuum's huge package.

"Let's open it," Brimstone uttered.

Sam and Toby both got it to sit on the table in front of Brimstone, because the middle was apparently soft and Sam ripped the paper a little when she tried to move it alone. Once it was in front of Brimstone, she leaned forward, and Sam helped her tear apart the yellow and black wrapping paper with her silhouette on it. As soon as they exposed enough of the middle to see it had part of an almost entirely naked woman printed on its soft surface, Sam started ripping faster.

"What the fuck is this?" she mumbled, and then there was enough paper ripped away to see that it was a body pillow with an anime-style rendering of Sam in a Brimstone bikini on it. "What the fuck is this!" Sam cried, yanking off the last of the paper and the cardboard ends.

"Woah," Toby chuckled, looking away as Phil laughed harder now than he had all afternoon. Starburst slapped Vacuum's shoulder as Phil bent forward, and the self-satisfied grin on Vacuum's face could have lit the room on its own.

"Body pillows are super handy!" he declared, getting another smack and not flinching.

"Why am I on it?!" Sam demanded. Brimstone tried to subdue the smile on her face at Sam's reaction. Sam was blushing and smothering a grin as she held up the double-sided pillow accusingly, making it clearly visible to everyone.

"I couldn't think of anyone else!"

"Why is anyone on it?!"

"It's a body pillow, someone has to be on it!"

Brimstone cast a glance over at Toby. He was smiling at her, and he gave her a questioning brow and a subtle thumbs up. She nodded softly. It was loud and chaotic in the room, but she was managing. She'd spent a lot of time with these people. They were familiar. They were safe.

"Okay, alright," Phil said, motioning for everyone to settle down even as he wiped a tear from his eye, "how about some cake?" Brimstone nodded, sitting up a little straighter in her chair, glad for the distraction from the last unopened item on the table.

"I'll clear the table," Toby declared as Starburst squeaked and flitted into the kitchen ahead of Phil. Vacuum helped move the gifts and scrapped wrapping paper aside as Sam set the body pillow in a nearby chair like it was another party guest. Brimstone blushed to have it on display so plainly, and Sam gave her an amused smile.

"She looks nothing like me," Sam joked, turning to the thing. She looked back to Brimstone and imitated the pose and expression of her pillow self. Brimstone blushed harder and buried her face in the crook of her arm as Vacuum laughed delightedly. It looked exactly like her.

---

Brimstone hugged her new pillow a little tighter to her chest, adjusting her right leg on it. It was nice to have the buffer between her legs. She didn't like the feeling she got when she accidentally brushed her right ankle against something. For some reason, it was harder to get used to than her arms. Maybe because she wasn't constantly using it.

Sam came in, letting out a long sigh as she pulled off her shirt for the night, closing the bedroom door behind her with a foot. Brimstone tucked herself slightly further into the blankets. Sam smiled at her, then smirked at the pillow peaking out from under the blanket.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, flicking off the light. Brimstone watched her slip her pants off in the dark.

"Yeah," Brimstone replied. It had been nicer than she expected to have everyone over. And even though having her normie coworkers and her super coworkers in the same place had been strange at first, seeing everyone having fun together was… really nice.

Sam came around the bottom of the bed, then climbed on and laid down behind Brimstone. She moved and fidgeted as she got under the blankets, and then she hugged up against Brimstone's back. She was so warm through Brimstone's shirt, and she wrapped her arms carefully around Brimstone's waist, tucking her legs in along the back of Brimstone's. She let out a warm sigh, relaxing, as something in Brimstone's chest seemed to unwind.

They really hadn't been dating for very long. About a month and a half, now. For more than half of that time, Brimstone had been injured. Disabled. Missing pieces.

She bit down on the lump in her throat. Sam had spent the night eight times before the accident. They had been seeing each other for over a year, but Brimstone had only gotten to sleep with Sam beside her eight times before…. And Brimstone had realized that she really liked it. She badly wanted it. The first night she'd spent with Sam, they were touching all night. And it had been so nice. And even nicer had been being the "big spoon" of them. It made Brimstone feel… important. Needed.

But now, she couldn't bear the thought of holding Sam.

It was stupid of her to have waited so long. She should have known she liked Sam sooner. She should have realized sooner that she didn't want to be away from Sam. But she'd barely gotten any time with her.

But Sam said she wouldn't leave….

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered. Brimstone sniffed, cleared her throat, then hid her face in her new pillow.

"I'm sorry," Brimstone croaked. Sam hugged her closer, hushing her softly, reaching up and running her fingers through Brimstone's hair.

"Hey, you didn't do anything," Sam whispered.

"That's the problem," Brimstone breathed. Sam didn't seem to hear her, and she sniffed and lifted her head carefully, mindful of her horns. "We should have been together sooner," Brimstone said, her voice watery. "I wasted so much time…."

"Hey," Sam whispered, shifting to sit up on her elbow. Brimstone looked behind her, and Sam pet her damp cheek in the dark. "I love you, baby," she started, and it made Brimstone's heart stutter, "but you gotta remember your brain is really fucked up," she finished. Her tone was kind, and she found Brimstone's ear in the dark and pet it softly. "You were coping. You didn't pull me in because you didn't pull anyone in. That's not a crime, and I'm not mad, okay?"

Brimstone sniffed, tears running faster down her face and into her hair. She nodded, her breaths choppy and loud, and wiped the left side of her face. Sam carefully wiped the tears on her right.

"It's unfortunate," Sam admitted. "But you know what? I'm so happy you brought me in at all." Brimstone sniffed again, and Sam leaned over her, sitting up slightly on her hip and smiling down. "Better late than never, okay?" Brimstone nodded, wiping tears again.

"Okay," she managed. Sam leaned in, planting a kiss on her forehead. Brimstone closed her eyes, and Sam planted another kiss on the teary corner of her eye. And then on her cheek.

"You're okay," Sam whispered, resting some of her weight on Brimstone, her breath brushing her lips. "Okay?" Brimstone sniffed, then nodded.

"Okay."

[luimagines]

Waking Up Next to Him

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the adventure. It’s long so it goes under the cut!

Time

The bright sunlight winked just beyond your eyelids at an blinding angle. Your back was against warm though and was surprisingly comfortable despite the growing ache in your neck. There’s a weight over your shoulder, pinning you in place but doesn’t dig in. A thrown blanket is covering your body and the secret weight, even if half of it has ended up on the forest floor. You’re too tired to think of what the weight can be. All you know is that it’s comfortable and you don’t feel like moving. A heartbeat passes and the solid form on which you lay shifts. 

A groan.

More shifting.

Heat flushes your face slightly as you resign to get up, trying to play the whole cool, once you realize what, or rather who you passed out against.

“Mornin’ Time.”

Your pillow takes a minute to assess the situation.

It’s early, none of the others are up yet. Too tired from the journey the day prior, but the resident chef wakes up the earliest to cook breakfast on time. He’s asleep now but won’t be for long. You thank the stars and your luck that you woke up before him. No pictures for him to take this time.

Time grins, seemingly unbothered by the events and sighs good naturedly. “Good morning.”

Twilight

It was a cold night. They told you it would be. Both your traveling companions and the breeze as you settled with the day’s end.

But you couldn’t have guessed how cold it turned out to be.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Discomfort and shivers kept you awake. Your blankets were warm but not warm enough. At some point, in the middle of the night, you gain the warmth your tired brain was waiting for before drifting off to sleep. 

When you wake, you can’t breath.

Hairs tickle your mouth and nose and there’s a large and heavy being on top of you. At first you think it’s Wind because the shape is much to large to be four but smaller than some of your other companions.

Further analysis and you realize that it’s not hair but fur, that’s threating to enter your lungs and the color of the material seems awfully familiar.

“...Wolfie, I love you but you’re killing me. Get off.” You weakly push the beast away, not coherent enough to move your limbs and piece together how to be a functioning human yet.

The creatures blinks up at you, having just woken up as well and notices your open eyes. A yawn and crushed ribbed where he stepped to get off later and your freedom has been duel earned.

You take a breath of relief and grin, only now noticing the cold with the rising sun to be a little more barrable than the previous night.

“Thanks buddy, you’re a walking heater. I probably would have been a popsicle if it hadn’t been for you.” He nods in acknowledgment and swiftly turns away before you can reach behind his ears to thank him properly.

You look up and see Wild and Time already awake, not talking. Warrior looks to just have woken like you today. Not unusual but welcoming nonetheless. Wind and Sky probably won’t wake up for another hour or two and Hyrule and Four always wake up a little after them. No one knows for sure when Legend will get up because its never consistent and Twilight seems to be missing as well.

The ranch hand emerges from the tree line seconds after you realize he was gone to begin with. He smiles at you and waves in greeting.

You wave back and try to dust the wolf hairs off of your clothes.

You missed Twilight’s subtle smirk.

Warrior

It was a hard fight and not a safe place to stay put but the dungeon left you with little option. Separated from the group and low on provisions and healing items, you and Warrior realize that your both running low on fumes. Taking refuge in a secluded corner, hopefully far away from any potential monsters and threats, you rest.

Waking up is hell.

Sleeping back to back was probably not the best idea but neither of you wanted to risk an ambush. Shifts were supposed to be taken but given that you both fell asleep says something about your energy levels and the previous fights.

Your neck hurts, your legs are sore, your butt and hips are not thanking you for the treatment and everything ache will familiar but expected battle wounds. None major but each one takes its toll.

“You up?” Warrior stands up as if he wasn’t bleeding from the shoulder yesterday and he also didn’t sleep sitting for who knows how many hours.

“I am clearly sitting Captain.” You mutter. “I am not up. I refuse to be up.”

“You know as well as I do that we have to get to the others. What if they need help?”

“I’d argue we need the help. Everything hurts. We have no fairies and there’s more dungeon ahead of us with obviously more enemies and traps and puzzles...” The puzzles... were the worst. “Just five more minutes....Please?”

Warrior says your name in a way a tired mother tries to get her stubborn child to listen to reason. His face twists at the idea and when he attempts to look over his shoulder to check your surroundings, it instead contorts in a pained grimace.

So his shoulder pain was still there after all.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

Sky

As expected, Sky goes down for the count within the first few minutes of the mandated lunch break. Unfortunately after a rumble or two and strange smoke coming from the distance that decidedly wasn’t there when you first arrived, the group decided to investigate.

Legend goes to shake Sky’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him but it’s all in vain.

Sticks are drawn after a long and loud argument about what to do and yours in the shortest.

Everyone else goes to check out the commotion and you are stuck with babysitting duty. It’s not bad all things considered- he’s asleep- no actual babysitting happening. But part of you can help but grumble about missing the action so you sit non too gently next to him and decidedly not pout.

Your stomach is full and the sun light begins to feel heavy and warm and nice.

Your eyes close before you can fight it.

Some time later, you’re shaken awake. Adrenaline fills your system instantly but upon seeing the laughing face of Sky himself, you remember yourself and only marginally resist the urge punch him.

“Feel better?” You ask instead.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He chuckles and points to his chin.

You wipe across the area and your hands comes back wet, cold and covered in drool. 

“You saw nothing.”

“Oh sure, but Wind did.”

Great.

Now it’s on his pictobox. That’s blackmail material in his favor, you suppose and refuse to acknowledge it further.

Wild

When you wake up, it’s still dark. Not even close to sunrise.

The fire burns bright and warm throughout the area but it’s not the fire that’s keeping you warm.

You also find out you can’t move.

You crane your head slightly to find long hair draped over your shoulder and a familiar scarred ear belonging to the resident champion.

He wrapped around you completely, hugging you tightly and pining you down with a leg to boot. 

You attempt to shimmy out but his grip tightens instead.

You sighed and watch as Twilight comes into view. He crouches closer and squats on Wild’s side, whispering to you. “Do you need help getting out? I can wake him to take over Hyrule’s shift for the night.”

You take a minute to rethink about your position. It’s not painful. The opposite actually. It feel nice. You’ve seen Wild cling to who ever he can get his hands on when he sleeps so you’re not surprise. 

You don’t need to pee or leave anytime soon anyway.

“No, I think I’m good actually.” You reply, whispering as well. “Let him sleep, it’s been a day for everyone.”

Twilight nods and leaves, but not without looking back once or twice in case you changed your mind.

You shimmy back in place and allow yourself to be held by your friend. 

Sleep comes easier this time.

Hyrule

Gentle fingers card through your hair. Warmth, magic and the unusual feeling of safety plague your mind. Confusion hits you but the alarm that typically follows never comes.

“Oh thank goodness, you’re awake.” A voice fills your ears. It’s muffled and must have been quiet to begin with because you can’t make out who said it yet. 

Organizing your thoughts feels like traveling through knee high mud.

Your eyes blink open and the light comes through.

The Traveler is leaning over you, thankfully blocking out most of the sun from immediately assaulting you. 

“Hyrule?”

“You had us worried for a minute.” He visually sags with relief, a tired smile on his face and leans back. “You took quite a hit.”

Your head feels swollen but as Hyrule continues to push your hair back it dissipates as time passes. Your thoughts clear and with his help, you sit up.

A hand places itself by your temple. It takes a half second before you realize it’s yours.

It comes back covered in dried blood.

Sky runs over after tending to Four with what looks like a bloodied wet cloth. He sits down slowly and begins to clean your head in a familiar fashion.

“Thank you. Both of you.” You tired voice comes through and a worn out smile follows soon after.

“Anytime.”

Wind

It’s nice day. 

According to some people.

Dark clouds cover the sky, the sun nowhere to be seen. It pours cats and dogs and the only cover for miles is a lone cave where your group currently takes up residence. Everyone’s wet and your clothes feel heavy and cold. No one is happy. 

Wild, Twilight and Legend dive deeper, intending to check out if any monsters reside in the cave.

Hyrule insisted on traveling with them but Warrior’s concussion and Time’s bleeding leg call for further attention and Legend claims to have more magic restorative potions than healing potions.

He stays behind.

Four and Sky take over the food while he’s distracted, trying to make a half decent meal before he intervenes.

Wind is groaning, sore and bored but otherwise unharmed.

You don’t make any comments at your own pain, biting your tongue and taking a deep breath. As you lean against the stone wall, Wind stomps up next to you and sits down with purpose.

“I could’ve gone with them.” He slams his fist into his cheek with his elbow on his knee.

“But you didn’t. It’s not so bad.” You said.

“They didn’t want me to go.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m just as good as them you know.”

“I know and you make a better pillow.” You says, throwing yourself sideways with your head landing on his lap. He squawks indignantly and attempts to push you off but you hold on. “Sorry, you make the best pillow.”

“NOOOO!”

“YEEEESSS!”

“Nooooo.” Wind keeps his hands on your back but you’ve misjudged your exhaustion. You’re out in seconds.

A moment passes.

“Hey, hey, hey.... wake up. You have to eat.” A small hand shakes your shoulder.

“Hm?” You blinked tiredly. There’s a bowl if front of your face and you don’t hesitate to grab it. “Thanks.”

“You’re heavy.” A voice calls from behind. The owner lets you take the bowl and begins to gently push you off into a sitting position. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“It was supposed to be a joke but thanks for letting me sleep.” You admit and smile at the pirate. 

“You trapped me.” He pokes your side, trying to look annoyed but falling flat. There’s a joke in there somewhere. You’re missing something.

The others have come back while you were out of it, all either have hidden smiles or failing to hide their shaking shoulders and snickers.

Curious and a little self conscious you looks into the provided meal, your reflection greeting you as always.

A lightbulb goes off over your head.

“DID YOU DRAW ON MY FACE?!”

Four

There’s a force dragging you down but there’s two arms under you.

It’s very concerning for a moment but then....the size of them catches up to you.

Your head snaps up and comes face to face with a very surprised Four.

“Hello.”

“...Hi.”

“Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?””

“You’re leading with that?” Four snorts and continues walking, unbothered by your weight in his arms.

“How...?” You trail off trying to find the right words to explain what happening to you. You don’t feel any pain and nothing feels injured....but the lack of memories is a little concerning.

“How am I holding you?” Four smirks as he guesses incorrectly. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“I was going to ask how did I fall unconscious. I don’t remember anything. I’m more surprised by that than the fact that you’re holding me despite being half my size.” You blinked and try to keeping searching through your memory.

Nothing comes up.

“Wizrobe.” Four answers causally with a shrug. “It caused some chaos, fought another wizrobe and you got caught in the cross fire between the two of them before we could intervene. Their attacks canceled each other out well enough that you weren’t actually injured but uhh..... Well I suppose you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

“Four.” You glare in warning.

“Maybe don’t look at your reflection for a while. Legend, Twilight and Hyrule all agree that it’ll fade with time but...”

“What are you talking about? What happened to me?” You sit up a little in his grip, Your arm reach over his shoulders and something wrong catches your eyes.

Your skin is green.

Your shocked silence stills your entire body. Four winces once he follows your eye line and stops to place you on your own feet.

“It could be worse?”

You stare a little while longer and look back to Four with hopeful eyes. “Think you can knock me out again?

He’s not amused.

Legend

You blissfully wake up for the first time in a week. 

It’s been an easy week in terms of travel and attacks so the boys take it upon themselves to cause trouble and it hasn’t been merciful to your sleep schedule.

They are the very incarnation of that thing your hometown friend used to say. How did it go again? If there’s no trouble then I’ll create it? Something along those lines.

But this is different and you don’t plan on wasting it.

You close your eyes and attempt to go back to sleep while you can but hushed voices reached your ears, keeping you awake before you can tune them out.

“Should we wake them?”

“You know how Legend is. He can be as bad as Sky and he had a rough night to boot.”

“But he’s right on top of them and they promised to show me how to fight in hand to hand combat.”

“You have all day for that and they didn’t say it was going to be today.”

“But I‘m excited! I want to start as soon as possible.”

“Will you idiots keep it down?” A voice by your shoulder speaks up. It lacks the usual snark it posses but the intention for venom is there. “Some people took double shifts last night. Shut up.”

You breath a small sigh of relief as the voices abruptly cut off and don’t return for a long minute.

The body next to you stills.

Three heartbeats pass and the unnoticed weight gets off of you.

You pretend to be asleep still, not wanting him to push you away so early in your relationship. He’s just started to get used to you.

You’re determined to be his friend before everything ends.

He’s determined to avoid that.

It’s been a battle of wills.

An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.

But this could tip the scales in his favor if you fail to play it off correctly.

“No one say anything.” Legend hisses. “Not. One. Word.”

You make the mistake of stretching. 

“You’re up! You’re up! You’re up!” Wind practically pounces on you, knocking his name sake out of your lungs and demolishing any chances for a peaceful morning. “We can start now!”

“Can I eat first at least?” You groan out, not bothering to fight him off.

“Wind. Off.” Time calls out and the boy follows the command without question. He quickly kneels by your side though, practically vibrating on the spot.

You sit up and look around.

Looks like you were the last one up.

“Morning everybody.” You smile. You glance at Legend who unluckily has the tips of his ears tinted red. His arms are crossed and he’s avoiding looking at you, even greeting you as the rest of the group return your call.

You smirk. “Good morning Legend. Did you sleep well?”

He huffs and turns away completely, taking a few steps to leave.

You get to your feet, shadowed by Wind and head to take your share of the food from Wild.

A beat passes without any words exchanged and you tilted your head innocently at the Veteran. You refuse to let it be awkward between you so you pretend you know nothing.

The blush travels down his ears to his face and neck. “I did. Thanks for asking.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[savagesbonergarage]

Heat | Part II

Savage Opress x Reader

Part I

(a/n: This takes place immediately after part 1, so enjoy! Sorry for the delay, hopefully it was worth it because uh...this be some filthy trash garbage my dudes. I have my url for a reason and now ya’ll get to find out why.)

(warnings: FILTH! ABSOLUTE TRASH GARBAGE! NOT FOR YOU NON-ADULTS! cock worshipping, grinding, oral (giving and receiving), cum eating, thigh riding, some blood, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, Savage is a gentleman and he gets to feel good, love that for him, Maul is totally aware of everything that is going on but you can ignore that if you want, lol.)

The scent of arousal hung hot in the evening air, permiating the space with burning desire. Your teasing had been relentless, giving him the show of a lifetime from across the room as you pleasured and tasted yourself in front of him, encouraging him to yearn for your mouth on every sweet inch of his throbbing cock that could hardly be contained by his fitted shorts, and yet Savage barely stirred from his position on the ground. He had voiced his desire for you, clearly so enthralled by your actions that despite the potential dangers from his rut, he was willing to hold back as much as he could if only to get a taste of you.

Everything he felt was reflected in his glowing golden eyes; his rage at himself, his carnal lust, his admiration for you, his love, his desperation to keep every primal urge within him suppressed to ensure your safety, and the fear that he wasn't disciplined enough to guarantee it. He was a beast after all, a manufactured monster bred to be nothing but brutal and unforgiving in the way he handled creatures of flesh. Only around you did he loathe this cruel reality forced upon him. The strength he was given seemed less like a gift from the witches of his home and more like the crutch it was proving to truly be, a preventative measure to keep him from loving another person. At any given moment he killed without a thought, mindlessly exterminating his foes at every turn in his quest to aid himself and his brother to fortune and power, and now he was here; unexpectedly in love with someone he never thought he could have these feelings for.

You knew his struggle and you admired him for how much his concern influenced his actions, however it was painful for you to witness him like this. He tried to conceal it, but you could sense the immense effort it took to keep him from ravaging you the way his burning blood pleaded him to. His resistance was more than enough to prove to you that Savage Opress was the man you desired more than anyone and anything. To go against his very nature in order to protect you was admirable, so very admirable and appreciated, but you believed that he had been through enough strain in his unfair and calloused life. You wanted to see him let go, to release all his inhibitions and allow himself the pleasure he more than deserved, even if you were to be hurt in the process. Hell, you would gladly die for him if it meant he would attain some semblance of genuine happiness.

He only had some idea of what you had planned for him, and he would soon discover that your inexperience wouldn't reflect in your performance. The pads of your bare feet sounded with little smacks against the solid floor as you stepped closer and closer towards him with an almost feline-like swagger, the mere yearning that radiated from your gleaming form on its own nearly being enough to send him over the edge. Any other man would be begging and pleading with all the desperation in the galaxy by now, but the zabrak was determined. Every ounce of his faith belonged to you and you alone.

Your hands met his broad, burning chest the moment your knees hit the ground before him. His breath hitched as your fingertips trailed across his collarbones and around the back of his neck, lightly stroking the base of the horn that protruded from the apex of his skull. The sensation must have surprised him, as his eyes fluttered back briefly before his staggard breaths resumed and his golden irises met yours. There was no need for words anymore. The moonlight bathed your sillouettes as you pulled yourself forward and captured his plump bottom lip between yours, relishing in its softness. Your hands were compelled to return to the warmth of his chest to feel the rapid beating of his two hearts in tandem with your own as the kiss deepened, releasing sighs and moans from the both of you between passionate smacks. 

He palmed the meat of your ass and the back of your thighs in his large hands and kneaded in between delightful spanks that had you yelping into his mouth, the sharpness of his claws grazing the plush skin there just before the point of puncturing, then he proceeded to lift you onto his lap with seemingly no effort as he pulled your hips tightly against his pelvis. A loud mewl escaped your throat, activated by the sudden sensation of his hard, impressive length pressing your most sensitive spot through your lace panties. The thin fabric of both of your underclothes were the only barrier preventing his cock from prodding at your entrance, and Maker, the enticement was simply divine. The kisses became hungrier and hungrier as instinct beckoned you to rock your hips, resulting in an indescribable bliss from sliding back and forth against him with the little tugs from the tight lace rubbing directly on your clit threatening to make you come undone if you didn’t pace yourself. This action combined with the stimulation you gave yourself before was becoming dangerously evident, as each movement left a stamp of warm wetness until the outline of Savage’s dick was completely soaked in your arousal.

You felt his cock twitch beneath you, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to have it buried inside to the hilt while he groaned and crushed his lips against your throat, biting just hard enough to leave tender marks across your skin. He was being as careful as he could, even in this moment. This man, oh, this man. He deserved the entire galaxy and more. Nothing was going to hold you back from giving him the most blissful sensation he had ever experienced, not now, not ever. You lifted your hips and reached your hand underneath the wet fabric to grip the width of his cock, which elicited a growl from deep within his chest that was unlike anything you had ever heard. He leaned back, propping himself onto his elbows as he removed his hands from you and clenched his fists. His eyes darted about rapidly before settling on your hand, the beast within becoming more difficult for him to contain. He moaned your name between bated breaths.

“Yes?” You purred softly, wrapping your hand almost completely around the base of his girth. You could barely touch the tip of your thumbnail to the tip of your longest digit. Oh my stars.

He writhed, your simplest touch shooting sparks of pleasure through him. He became more and more unhinged with every move you made, shouting curses when you reached lower to gently cup his massive balls. You massaged them with care, in awe by their sheer weight, unable to comprehend how he lived every moment of his life hauling such a sensitive package around. He pounded the sides of his fists into the ground, leaving significant condensed cracks in the stone. Your heart skipped, knowing that this teasing was likely becoming more like torture for him the longer he had to bear it. It was high time you got to business.

You hooked your fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts and pulled, slowly revealing more and more of his remarkable shaft until more effort was needed to tug the obnoxious article of clothing over the ridge of the head, the mere force of the action sending it springing with enough velocity that if you had been eye-level with it, it would have socked you in the face. Not that you would have minded, no, not one bit. Your eyes were comically wide, your gaze remaining unmoved even as you backed away and lowered yourself between his legs to marvel at the sight. Savage’s cock was nothing short of incredible, easily the length of your forearm and dripping with precum. Intimidating as it was, you were still determined. You carefully gripped the base of it again, feeling your face flush in anticipation for what was to come. Your soft lips met the tip and kissed away the dot of wetness there, beckoning a resounding moan from the zabrak that surely echoed throughout the entire palace.

Your name escaped his lips again, followed by another string of desperate curses. Music, such blissful music to your ears, and so encouraging. A dislocated jaw and stretched esophagus was going to be more than worth it. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and smiled.

“Mmm, you’re so good to me, Savage...” You moaned as you planted kisses all the way down to the base and back up again, eliciting more enticing sounds from him. “Let me do something good for you.”

He didn’t have much time to respond as you quickly wrapped your mouth around the head of his dick, careful to keep your teeth from grazing him. You flicked and swirled your tongue around it, savoring the delectible salty taste as the noise that erupted from him was likely to have been captured by the ears of every hearing organism in all of Sundari. You opened your jaw wider and wider with every bob of your head until there was no possible way of fitting more of him inside without bursting your pharynx. Ignoring the tears as they came, you maintained your rhythm until you salivated enough that it dripped all down his balls and thighs, using the lubrication to pump the base with both hands as you continued sucking him off. 

His breathing was ravenous and he gasped for air as though he were drowning in waves of pleasure, unable to form any semblance of coherent speech that wasn’t a filthy expletive or a long, dragged out whine. His hand moved to the base of your skull and become entangled in your tousled hair as you worked, although he didn’t pull you in further. He never felt the need to. You quickened the pace, and in hardly any time at all he was tightening his grip on your neck before he stilled and held you in place as your mouth was filled with hot cum; so much of it that you couldn’t breathe and needed to retract your head with a pop as he continued to release ropes of it all over your face. You shut your eye just in time. 

Savage, meanwhile, was in complete and utter ecstasy. The literal and figurative load he was burdened with was finally relieved for the moment and he allowed himself to relax entirely, but not for long. His undivided attention belonged to you, your ragged breathing in tandem once again.

“Are you alright?” He implored with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” you smiled as your cheeks flushed with embarassment, “Don’t look at me, I’m a mess.”

He gazed at you with a fondness stronger than ever before, marvelling at your delicate form in the shadow of the moonlight.

“A beautiful mess.”

Before you could retort, he stood up in all his glorious nakedness and carried you bridal-style to the bed, gently laying you down. 

“I’ll get you cleaned up.”

He left briefly for the refresher and returned with some damp rags, then carefully wiped your face. The smell of his cum was so unique and potent, you were sure that a rag wasn’t enough to eliminate it completely, not that you minded. You could have sworn that your skin was softer in the spots where it had been as well. 

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, suddenly more meek now that the deed was done. Your heart was still racing and your face was still hot, which didn’t go unnoticed by the handsome zabrak that positioned himself over you as he started nibbling and planting kisses behind your ear while he whispered.

“How many times have you imagined doing that? Because that was...”

You moaned in delight, the sensation of his hot breath on your neck more tantalizing than you anticipated.

“More than I can count.”

He sighed into your ear, sending a chill of anticipation down your spine as he worked his hands under the straps of your bra, tugging away.

“I see. We might have that in common...”

The lace was torn from your body as though it was made from nothing at all, leaving your breasts bare to him for the first time. Savage made quick work of palming them in his warm hands, lightly grazing your hardened buds with his thumbs as he stifled your shriek with his lips. Your tongues darted out at the same time as he positioned his knee between your legs, offering his warm thigh for you to grind on to which you hastily obliged. Before long the sheets beneath you were mildly soaked, parts of it cooling down after being exposed to the air and surprising you when you writhed over it. You released a needy, drawn-out moan into Savage’s mouth.

“Oh, my priceless treasure...” he rasped against your skin, moving his lips down to envelop one of your buds, “Let me devour you. I won’t stop until you beg.”

True to his word, he flicked his hand under the sopping garment and ripped it off all in once swift movement, rendering you completely bare to him. A shiver coursed through you as he slid backwards and rested the palms of his hands along your hips, pushing up against the small of your back to coax your thighs apart. You watched as his golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, taking in the sight of his feast with a beastial hunger.

“Savage...”

His hot mouth suffocated the nub just above your entrance as he sucked, flicked, savored and fucked your pulsing pussy with his face. You screamed, clutching the pillow above your head as he hit every nerve and fold with prescision. His tongue danced and darted inside, nearly sending you over the edge right then as you rode his chin, bucking your hips as the sensations grew stronger and stronger. You gripped his horns as your release crept closer and closer, unbothered by the fact that one was starting to draw blood along your thigh. You swore as your orgasm crashed over you like a maelstrom, but Savage didn’t cease his ministrations, causing you to shake from the overstimulation. You came harder and harder until you finally screamed “stop!” at the top of your lungs and he obeyed, moving up beside you to hold you tightly in his arms. You shivered and panted as though you had just been rescued from a frozen lake, though every inch of you was burning.

Savage pulled a blanket over the both of you as you eventually came down from your high and buried your face in his chest. He rubbed your back as you kissed his beautiful tattooed neck and sighed, elated.

“There’s no way what I did to you felt anywhere near as amazing as what you just did to me.”

“I disagree,” he retorted, pressing his erection against your thigh as he chuckled, “There’s your proof.”

You smiled against his skin, also feeling the heat return in the pit of your stomach. Sliding up to face him, you claimed his lips with yours and relished your taste again, the perverted action making you just as warm and wet as before. After pressing against his shoulders to get him to lay completely flat on his back, you continued your passionate kisses while you straddled him. The zabrak started to sit up as you guided his cock to your entrance, however you gently pushed him back down. 

“Remember when I said I’m the kind of prey that likes to be devoured?”

He hesitated with his reply, but ultimately submitted to your yearning.

“I know it for myself, now.”

You leaned over to plant a loving kiss against his lips, then raised your hips again. Your breath hitched as you both watched the tip of his cock gradually disappear inside, stretching your walls little by little. Savage helped you ease onto him by placing one hand under your thigh and one on your hip, allowing you to decide the pace with reassurance that he would ensure your comfort if it became too much. You felt him fill you completely as you eventually slid all the way down to the base of his shaft, now entirely sheathed within you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped, overcome with the sensation of your tight cunt squeezing his cock into oblivion. 

It was unreal. The pain wasn’t terrible, and if anything, you rather liked it. You leaned back a little and supported yourself on both of his thighs as you slowly began riding him, immediately falling in love with the pleasure the ridges of his cock provided. With every stroke another point of ecstacy was discovered, sending ripples of gratification throughout the both of you. The room soon became filled with a symphony of sighs and moans, only increasing in volume and frequency as the pace quickened. Savage was amazed by how well you were taking his cock, however he wasn’t about to leave all the work to you. He carefully sat up and rolled you onto your back, taking control of the thrusts as he did so. Your pussy tightened even more from the sheer indescribable pleasure, involuntarily sending you both closer to release. 

“Where-” Savage began, but before he could finish you wrapped your legs even tighter around his torso and cupped his cheek, commanding his attention with your pleading eyes.

“Please.”

Another instance where no further words were needed. His unsure expression was rendered steady by your calming gaze, and he understood. If the family were to grow sooner rather than later, then neither of you would mind. He gripped your hips harder as he quickened the pace more rapidly, and you felt yourself violently come undone at relatively the same moment he did, the added sensation of his cum filling you sending plumes of pleasure that you never thought possible enveloping your entire body. Your walls convulsed, milking his cock for all he was worth as he collapsed on top of you. The only word he could muster was your name, which sounded divine as it breathlessly escaped his lips. 

You held him against you for a long while, stroking the spaces between his long horns while he rested.

“Feeling better?”

He glanced up at you with an inquisitive eye and smirked.

“For now.”

You placed a kiss on the top of his head and smiled against his skin.

“My services are available all day every day, so it would be a shame if that wasn’t taken advantage of.”

Savage groaned with delight and rose above you, blocking the cascading moonlight with his shadow.

“You promise?”

You lifted your hand up to his cheek and he held it there, placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“I promise, if you promise not to hold back this time.”

You winked, and the zabrak purred against your chest.

“Believe me, I won’t.”

***

The stench was rancid, and there was seemingly no escape. The toxic fumes of Lotho Minor would be most welcomed if his only choice of air was between that and the absolute pungent smell of the mindless rutting occuring just a few rooms down from his. Normally, he’d allow his rage to fuel his ambition, to become the source of his drive for power, however...this was different. He sensed everything. There was no blocking it, no ignoring the excruciating way she moaned for him, how she writhed and cringed and unfolded beneath him as he pleasured her, no, it was all-encompassing. Every sigh was a painful reminder of everything he no longer had, what he could no longer provide. It beckoned those forbidden thoughts to emerge from confinement, those thoughts long buried, thoughts of how things might have been different...

Had Kenobi not taken everything from him, might she have chosen him instead? Would he have had the advantage over his brother if he could have promised the same things? Protection, pleasure, a family...

No. No, perhaps not. He wasn’t like his brother, and never was. Savage, too, was brought about by darkness, however he was a being still capable of love.

Maul was not.

This was simply the way of things, and he could not change it. He wouldn’t kill his brother. He wouldn’t even kill the woman he still yearned for.

Perhaps there were some chains that were impossible to break.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Reluctant hurt/comfort?  Why yes!

Both Tim and Jon have a bad time after the Buried.  

cw fever, illness, vomit mention, suicidal ideation, grief. Also as a note, the night I wrote this was a hard one, and the day after was worse and this might reflect that.  I don't think this is one I can go back through and comb for more cws, so hopefully that is warning enough.  Stay safe, and enjoy something that was very cathartic to write.

The day after the Buried, it doesn’t even occur to Tim that he should be hungry.  He hasn’t needed to eat in so long that he simply forgets.  Just downs glass after glass of water in the break room after a shower that lasts far longer than the meager supply of hot water.  He can’t be fucked that Daisy and Jon still need to wash the muck off.  At least Daisy has somewhere to go, Basira is hovering around, ready to ferry her out of this hell archive.  

Of course, it’s his own fault that he doesn’t have a flat.  

He supposes he owes Jon.  Or something.  

He doesn’t care.  

He’s still angry.  And tired and filthy and depressed.  The only thing the buried did was keep him from dying.  Hell of a suicide watch to be on.  

Sometimes when he closed his eyes down there, he could believe it was Jon or Martin lying on him.  Keeping his fingers from itching to do harm…  Well, almost, anyhow.  

After that, he sleeps.  And sleeps.  

And, well, after that.  He feels like shit.  

Complete shit. 

When he was a teen with soup for brains, Danny got sick.  A bad flu, but he couldn’t keep anything down for three days.  Three days of foisting broths and lucozade on his brother with little success.  Should have been taken to hospital, by all rights, but their mother didn’t really believe in the whole modern medicine thing, and well.  Dad was away, so Tim couldn’t even get Danny to an adult who could help, even if he didn’t give a damn.  It had been awful.  

He really thought his little brother was dying.  Cracked and dry lips, fever so high that he wasn’t coherent.  Three days he sat vigil.  Praying to a god he barely believed in.  

A fever that scooped out his brother until he was praying for a breathing corpse.  Giving oblations of thin liquid.  

On the third day, his eyes opened and he stroked Tim’s hand, as Tim shook with exhaustion by his bedside.  He had to be propped up to sip at his broth, but it was far better than trickling it down his unconscious baby brother’s throat.  

Pure helplessness.  Both in empathy for his brother, who was probably having a worse time than Tim, and because he was next to useless.  

Three days and Tim can’t keep down food.  Gave up trying.  Just shivers on the cot, gazing nearly sightlessly at the ceiling, muscles too wasted to move.  He doesn’t know if anyone notices that he’s gone.  He hasn’t heard any word from Martin.  Basira and Daisy fucked off days ago, as far as Tim can reckon.  Then again, he doesn’t have so much as a working phone.  He doesn’t even know if it’s been three days or thirty.  

His skin feels hot and tight.  Like the Buried is taking a new approach to suffocating him.  A dreadful thirst clawing at him, but he doesn’t have the strength to stand and get water anymore.  Barely could limp his way there before the lack of food and probable fever stole what little he had left.  

Is this just some divine punishment for prodding too hard at the forces of evil in the universe?  

He’d finally come to terms with the abstract and incidental nature of these things, but he can’t help the hazy imagining that he deserves this.  

Failed to keep his brother safe, for all his bedside bargaining and promises made to the wind on long walks after his brother disappeared.  All the broken promises betwixt his savior and himself.  Bitter words corroding promises that could have been harder than diamond.  

It was his fault.  Couldn’t hold up his end, and he deserves this dreadful heat and the foul desert of his mouth.  His body generating his own funeral pyre.  

He wishes he could bring himself to care.  But all he’s known since Jon betrayed him has been anger and dissent disinterest.  

There is an ache at his very core.  

He lies there, on the cot.  Tangled in the sheets.  Bone dry.  Dry as parched soil.  For he has no moisture to spare for sweat.  His own body out of anything that could bring his temperature down.  

Finding Tim isn’t easy.  Jon’s body betrays him after the Buried.  Months of uneasy sleep, and days of pressure on all the wrong parts of him leave him poorly put together and his joints slipping apart at the slightest provocation.  He spends days on the floor of his office, in too much pain to move, too dizzy to stand, and running a fever from the pain in his squashed and shitty joints.  

His own fault, but a small price to pay for Tim and Daisy.  

He would have stayed there if it meant getting them back.  

One less monster.  

Of course the Eye doesn’t let him die.  Aren’t humans supposed to die if they don’t drink water for three days?  

He spends most of his time passing out when he tries to stand.  

And he can’t bring himself to care.  He’s so tired.  Too tired.  

He didn’t expect anyone to come after him.  Certainly not Tim.  Not after everything.  

Well maybe he hoped.  

(He did).  

(Damn his… well it isn’t optimism.  Damn his longing for someone to give a shit if he vanishes for days.  He should know by now that no one is coming.  No one ever does.)  

Groggy and foggy and battered.  

He’s tired.  He needs a proper mattress for just one night, but he can’t even get off the floor.  Just lays in the remnants of mud, waiting to whither like the corpse he is, one just hasn’t stopped breathing yet (again).  

But something draws him upright, more or less.  Clinging to the walls, bracing his stilted journey on aching limbs.  

It’s probably the Eye.  Probably the Eye, or maybe Jon’s piercing curiosity, control slackened by fever, peering though a hairline fracture in the door of his mind.  

He all but crawls to the cot, securing a half empty water bottle from somewhere he probably should be worried about, but he arrives to find Tim burning away before him as his own vision swims dangerously.  

A face in front of his.  Features obscure and unreadable.  He can read the worry in those eyes.  Even in the half light.  

Tim couldn’t hear Jon in the Buried.  His hearing aids long since ran out of life.  All for the best, for the singing of the coffin in the rain will haunt his dreams (not only in a spooky way) for the rest of his life.  

Only knew it was Jon by Jon guiding his (Tim’s)  hand with too thin and gentle and burned fingers to his (Jon’s) mouth.  So Tim could read his lips by feel.  An imprecise thing, but better than nothing.  

Filthy fingers against dry and dusty lips.  Almost like a kiss.  Perhaps more intimate.  

The face hovers closer.  Thin and careful fingers soothing his brow.  

Pressing water to his lips.  Mouthing words that are lost to Tim.  And even if they reached him, he knows he wouldn’t understand them.  

Is this Danny before him?  Would he know his own brother?  After all these years?  After the Stranger chewed him up and regurgitated …whatever.  Is he lost as much as Sasha had been?  Like she’d been?  

And what good would knowing that do?  He would rather keep the memories he has, doesn’t want to know the creeping uncertainties that plague him when he closes his eyes.  

He supposes that the advantage of the Buried is that it keeps the mind off things that aren’t the slow process of returning stone to stone in a way that obliterates everything in between.  Everything but fear.  

Not Danny, but Jon, Tim discovers.  Pulled awake by uneasy stomach, and panicked breath, to find Jon fluttering out of consciousness by his side.  

He wants to be put out that they are flush with each other, but …but they were closer still in the choking darkness with air thick with the soil that Tim swears he can feel coating his internal organs.  

He’s drifting off again when he hears Jon gasp awake, looking nearly as unwell as Tim feels.  

The small figure curled at his back is not his brother.  But he feels as warm and as fragile as Danny did when he sat his vigil.  Counting the seconds between breaths.  His heart stuttering when they lagged and caught in his raw throat in the muted hours between sunset and sunrise.  The hours that Tim feared if he stopped willing the next breath to happen, they wouldn’t.  

But Jon is hardly human.  His pulse is jittery and uneven.  Each breath just a little more strained than they should be.  Likely matching Tim’s own.  

Some distant part of him… the distant part that can feel Jon’s pulse when the rest of him is floating away, untethered to a body too light and empty without topsoil and rich loam to brace him into and against the earth… worries that his own furnace of a temperature is too high and will roast Jon.  

Another equally distant part of him is annoyed that Jon dares to share this pyre of internal heat with him.  …If this is how he goes out, he wishes he saw the stars when he still had any strength.  

Tim wakes again to cool water against his tongue.  

Jon is mumbling to himself fervently.  And Tim can recognize that look.  That fear.  That determination.  The will of someone breathing for someone else.  Holding their life-force steady in the mind.  Knowing to let it faulter is a death sentence.  With wild certainty that is bounded in something beyond reason, for when you are willing another person to breathe, you are often beyond the reach of science.  

And Tim wonders who Jon could possibly be breathing for, because there is no universe in the extensive multiverse that Jon would ever will the life into someone who has spewed such hateful things and led another fragile being he swore to protect to his death.  

And yet…

Tim exhales deeply.  Sliding into what looks to be a restful sleep for the first time in uncounted months.  Watching the rise and fall of his chest look more natural and less like an afterthought, what little strength Jon had found, abandons him.  And he curls himself around Tim.  A small and fragile and dusty shield.  And is asleep in an instant.  Knowing without a doubt that Tim will sleep comfortably through the night, and if anything changes, Jon will know.  Both in body and from beyond the waterlogged door in his mind.  

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 3

Ow. 

That was the first coherent thought that registered in Peter’s brain. 

Pain. He was in pain. A lot of it.

It started with the sunlight shining directly in his eyes through the ceiling-high windows. Then there was the sharp ache in his left leg. Then a sting in his shoulder. A cramp in his stomach. A throb in his skull.

And then, everywhere.

Peter was hurting all over. And yet, it was dull, distant, hazy hurt, like he was a ghost floating above his body after it had been run over by a dump truck.

Ugh…

His eyes scrunched into angry lines before fluttering open. His vision was fuzzy, unfocused, and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it. His brain felt like it had been replaced by three tons of bricks.

What…where…

He was…inside someplace. It was bright—way too bright. The ceiling overhead was tall and white. He was lying on a couch that felt like it had never been sat on before.

Am I…dead…?

His muscles were stiff as stone. He feared for a moment he was paralyzed, until he felt his fingers twitch, followed by his toes. It hurt—a lot—but hurt was better than numbness.

Okay. Not paralyzed. Hopefully not dead.

“Mmmgh,” he moaned. Slowly, he slid his hands back and pushed off the couch, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh, god…”

His skin was hot and sticky. Every bone, organ, and cell ached. He still felt sick, but now with about seventy extra ailments piled on top of that, which meant he was probably still alive. 

Probably.

But how?

The last he remembered, he was getting his ass handed to him by the Sinister Six. For as long as he’d operated as the masked vigilante Spider-Man, he’d never gotten thrashed that badly. How did he get away? Did someone rescue him? Had the Avengers swooped in and saved his dumb, in-over-his-head ass right after he’d blacked out? But how could they have gotten there in time?

And where the hell was he?

Now that he was no longer lying down, the room had started listing a little. Peter reached up to rub his temple and felt something crinkly stuck to his head. He grabbed hold of it and started peeling it off his skin, wincing from the pain. Once he’d torn it free, Peter held the unknown object in front of his eyes. It was a large, bloody bandage. 

Huh.

Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap. A thin blanket was draped over his body. When he lifted it away, he cringed.

His torso was a gruesome patchwork of Frankenstein-style stitches and bandages. He counted three sets of sutures on his upper body alone, plus four other cuts and scrapes held together with butterfly tape. His entire chest looked like one gigantic bruise. Plus, the burns—some from scraping across coarse concrete, others from actual fire. Every small movement sent waves of pain rippling across his body.

Yeesh, he thought, poking gingerly at the bandages on his shoulder. Well, someone friendly had to patch me up. But who?

Peter let the blanket slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he swung his legs off the couch and carefully placed his feet on the floor. Sweat slipped off his brow and dripped onto his knee.

“Okay,” he breathed. Peter inhaled sharply, then threw his weight forward, standing upright for an instant. Then he collapsed, gasping. Dizzying agony blossomed in his left leg and thumped like a second heartbeat.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. He glanced back and saw his shin had been fashioned with a makeshift splint: two metal rods and ass-load of packing tape.

Right. Broken leg. The sound of the bone cracking in half reignited in his memories, sending a shudder down his spine.

Peter used the sofa to pull himself off the ground. This time, he placed all his weight on his right foot, using his left only for balance. His body ached and trembled with the effort it took to stand, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Ouch. Ugh. Okay. Yeah. That’s a start. The fuzz in his vision was starting to dissipate, but the fog in his brain clung like fungus. It felt like he’d been inhaling a bunch of that laughing gas stuff his dentist had given him back in the 6th grade when he had to get a tooth pulled. His head was heavy and light at the same time.

The room was a lounge area with stiff furniture and minimal decor. A wilted fern sat in the corner alongside a weird, tall block with a piece of metal sticking out of the top that Peter assumed was some form of modern art. The walls were entirely bare except for a small landscape painting that looked like it belonged in a motel bathroom. There were two other chairs across from the couch, a coffee table, a gray rug, and that was basically it. 

Beside the fern, a pair of double doors stood wide and closed. When Peter strained his sensitive ears, muffled voices could be heard conversing in the other room. Curiosity plucked at his chest.

“Um…hello?” he called, voice raspy. He approached the doors, hopping more than walking, gritting his teeth as his injuries burned and throbbed, heat radiating feverishly off his skin. By the time he transversed the room, he was out of breath, lightheaded. He leaned against the wall for a minute and cycled slow gulps of oxygen through his lungs.

Once he’d somewhat recovered, Peter limped in front of the large doors. The voices were louder now, but not loud enough to be recognizable. They sounded mostly male. Peter took a deep breath, reached out his arm, and cracked the door open just a hair to peek inside.

It was a kitchen—that was the first thing he saw. A man stood at the island with his back to the doors. Across from him was a round dining table with a bowl of fruit in the middle.

“How is he?” the man asked, biting into an apple. His voice was definitely familiar.

“Still hasn’t woken up, right?” another responded.

Maybe this is another one of Clint’s safe houses, Peter thought. Or an Avengers’ base I’ve never been to before. Or a secret sitting room in some tragically decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or—

Seconds before Peter opened his mouth to say hello again, the man eating the apple turned around. When Peter saw his face, his heart jumped out of his chest and splattered at his feet.

“I don’t know,” Herman Shultz said over a mouthful of fruit. “Has he?”

The oxygen around Peter vanished in an instant. It’s Shocker! The guy who broke my leg! W-what the hell? What is he doing here?

“Not from what I’ve heard,” the second voice continued. Another man entered his narrow line of vision, this one lit up like a neon sign, and Peter’s throat seized.

“You’re not being very helpful, Maxwell.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m Electro!”

Shocker held up his hands. “Right, right, sorry. Electro, then. You’re not being helpful.”

What the shit, what the shit, what the actual, living shi—

“Don’t ask me about these things. Ask the doc.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Look—here he comes now.”

Clank, clank, clank. Heavy, metallic footsteps rang in Peter’s ears and shook the floor beneath him. Horror and disbelief flooded his veins as the eight-limbed scientist stepped in front of him, hardly three feet away, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Ask me about what?” Doctor Octopus said.

Peter leapt back from the door, clamping both hands over his mouth. 

Oh…my god. It’s them.

“I just wanted to know how he was doing.”

They’re here. They found me. They came to finish the job.

Half of the super villains that had just wrecked his shit were standing in the neighboring room. Hell, maybe all of them were. They’d probably taken whoever had helped him hostage, or perhaps the poor soul was already dead. He wouldn’t stand a chance like this. He didn’t have his suit, his webs, nothing. He’d tried his best to fight them when he was just sick with the stomach bug, and look how well that had turned out for him. If they attacked him now, one solid hit was all it would take to knock him out. Or, if he was being fully honest, kill him.

Peter’s eyes darted frantically around the room. I have to get out of here! He hobbled toward the wall of windows and placed his hands against the glass. It was at least four inches thick; probably bulletproof. But it was his only option. With a shivery grunt, Peter hoisted himself off the floor and crawled toward the ceiling, every step piercing him with flashes of pain.

Okay. Launch off the ceiling, kick through the glass, make a run for it. In his loopy, concussed mind, the plan sounded foolproof. The voices of his enemies were growing louder; Doc Oc’s footsteps were approaching rapidly. It was now or never.

Hanging off the upside-down surface, balancing on his good foot, heart racing, head dizzy and faint, Peter threw himself at the window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk, bouncing off like a bug on a windshield, then crashed on top of the weird modern art piece, shattering the mahogany box into wood chips.

Peter lay sprawled in a heap in the wake of his failure, groaning and dazed. As he forced himself upright, gripping his head in his hand, the doors behind him burst open.

“What the hell?” Doc Oc exclaimed, alarm caked across his expression. When his gaze landed on the young superhero floundering in the splintered remains of his college art project, stunned and disheveled but now awake and wide-eyed, his muscles relaxed slightly. “Spider-Man?”

“Holy shit, he’s awake,” Electro said.

“And he destroyed your favorite sculpture,” Shocker added.

Peter’s eyes dashed between the three men, wild and afraid. He’d been unmasked by his absolute worst enemies—but that seemed the least of his troubles. I’m toast, he thought. Tiny pieces of wood clung to his hair, face, and back. Seeing him conscious for the first time sent a spark of relief through Doc Oc, though he hadn’t expected him to wake up for at least another day; the combination of pain meds he’d given him was pretty strong. When Octavius moved an inch closer to him, Peter scrambled to his feet and backed away, tripping over himself in the process and heavily favoring his right leg.

“Spider-Man—” he began, trying to keep his voice level. Spider-Man picked up a chunk of the destroyed box and chucked it at him.

“S-stay back!” he shouted. His voice was shrill and cracked at the end of the demand. Damn, Otto thought. The evidence of Spider-Man’s youthfulness was clear as day to him now—how had none of them noticed it before? Perhaps they had simply chosen not to notice.

Doc Oc dodged the projectile with ease. “Spider-Man, listen to me—”

Peter made a break for it, gunning for the opposite side of the room. He’d hardly made it two uncoordinated strides before three more figures emerged from a door behind the couch, blocking his escape path: Scorpion, Sandman, and Rhino. He skidded to a stop with a gasp.

“Whoa,” Rhino exclaimed, towering over the half-naked hero. “Would you look at that. Tiny spider is alive.”

Shit! Peter screamed internally. He whipped his gaze in every direction and realized he was surrounded.

“He needs to stop moving,” Otto said, knowing there was no way to accomplish that with words. He raised his tentacles above his head, the pincers snapping hungrily. “Grab him.”

Rhino made the first move, reaching out with his meaty hands to snag the kid by the arm. But Spider-Man ducked and rolled out of the way, moving surprisingly fast despite all of his injuries, though it was obvious the exertion was hurting him. Scorpion and Sandman tried next, lunging for his legs, but Peter hopped right over them and flipped backwards, wincing and staggering once his feet hit the floor and banging into the window.

“You’re going to reopen your wounds,” Octavius warned him. He thrust two tentacles at his torso, but Spider-Man flinched out of their grasp. Otto launched the other two arms at him, and Peter skirted between them, springing on to the wall. The exhaustion and terror in his face were evident. Otto felt bad for scaring him so much, but this was for his own good.

“Spider-Man—please,” he groused. His mechanical arms grabbed and snapped at the air, barely missing the slippery little hero every time. “Just—stay—still!”

Peter wasn’t listening to a word he said. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught. Every inch of him was screaming in agony. When the tentacles pounced on him all at once, Spider-Man shrunk small and dove underneath them, somersaulting past Doc Oc’s legs and popping up behind him. Peter bolted blindly for the double doors, only to ram straight into Rhino’s giant leg and fall flat on his ass. Three metal prongs clamped around his midsection before he could regather himself, pinning him to the floor.

“Agh!” Peter yelped, tugging uselessly at the claw’s strong teeth. “Let me go!”

Otto lifted Spider-Man off the ground. He continued to strain and squirm, kicking his legs and grappling with the mechanical pincers gripping his waist. The rest of the Sinister Six gathered around the frightened hero, forming a circle with him in the middle. He looked so small against the looming backdrop of super villains. His young face beamed with all the emotions his mask typically concealed—most prominently, fear.

“Spider-Man,” Octavius repeated, holding his hands out tentatively. “Calm down.”

“I’ll pass, thanks!” Peter quipped, betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“Okay, it’s definitely him,” Electro groaned amusedly.

“I know you’re scared,” Doc Oc continued. “And you have every right to be. But if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to injure yourself further.”

“And if I don’t keep moving, you’re going to injure me further!” He thrashed and twisted valiantly, but it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His movements were slowing down, his attempts to escape growing more and more pathetic. Otto waited for him to burn himself out, crossing his arms against his chest. It didn’t take long.

“Are you quite done now?”

Peter hung his head, breathless and shivery, gripping the prongs around his torso less to try to escape and more to hold himself upright. Perhaps his impromptu acrobatics display hadn’t been his smartest idea. All that leaping and flipping and bouncing around had sapped the last whispers of energy from his bones.

“Ugh…room’s…s-spinning,” he murmured. Otto took that as a “yes.” He held Spider-Man closer and frowned at a red spot on his ribs. 

“And now look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve torn your stitches. I tried to warn you. Half an hour’s worth of sewing, down the drain because of your recklessness.”

“What are you…what…what’s…?” Spider-Man slurred. He was suddenly seeing double of everything. He dropped his gaze to his midriff and watched two blurry lines of blood slip down his side.

“I sutured you up, and you ruined it,” Octavius explained. Peter slowly lifted his head and wrinkled his brow.

“You…” he said, blinking repeatedly. “What?”

“Told you we gave him brain damage,” Rhino whispered. Peter looked at him over his shoulder, then swept his gaze around the circle, making eye contact with every member of the Sinister Six. They saw him. After all this time, his face was finally exposed to his enemies. No disguise, no secret identity, no mask. He felt so naked without it. Not having a shirt or pants on didn’t help either. Strangely, their expressions lacked their typical thirst for spider blood. It dawned on him that over a minute had passed, and none of them had tried to kill him. And so far, they still weren’t trying.

“I’m…confusion,” he stammered. “What—what’s happening right now?”

It was somewhat amusing to see Spider-Man so delirious and out of his element. Doctor Octopus lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go of his torso. Peter was almost glad he didn’t; he doubted he could stand on his own right now.

“I tended to your wounds while you were unconscious,” Octavius said. “It’s not a perfect patch job, but I did the best I could.”

Peter shook his head slowly, his big, brown Bambi eyes wide and puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I also gave you some pain killers, which might be making your head a bit fuzzy.”

“But…why?” he scoffed. “You did this to me. You’re the ones who…beat me up. You love beating me up. You—you hate me. You want me dead. You’ve tried to make me dead a million times.” Peter jolted suddenly, a cramp shooting through his broken leg. If he was on painkillers, they were doing a pretty piss-poor job. Everything hurt and was too confusing to comprehend. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, moaning. “Oh god…I’ve gotta be trapped in some crazy fever dream right now. Or maybe…I’m dead. Am I dead? None of this makes any sense…”

“You’re not dead, Peter,” Otto said, stifling a chuckle.

A shudder rippled through the teenager. He lowered his hands, revealing the colorless face behind them.

“How…how do you know my…?”

Shit, Doc Oc thought. It was a careless slip of the tongue. He had meant to keep his knowledge of Spider-Man’s alter ego a secret so as to not frighten him further, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag.

Peter’s gaze shifted anxiously between the six super villains again. Fresh fear clouded over his glassy eyes, and he went back to squirming against Octavius’ hold.

“Now what are you trying to do?” Otto asked, exasperated.

“G-get the hell out of here,” Peter answered. He yanked at the claw around his torso, grunting with effort. “I know what this is. This is—one of those—hrgg—P-Princess Bride situations, isn’t it?”

The team of villains exchanged bemused glances with each other. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—mmneh—when the bad guys—c-catch Wesley, then heal him—just so the life-sucky torture machine thing is—m-more torturous? That’s what this is, right?” His face was flushing red, and more of his sutures were starting to leach blood.

Scorpion threw up his hands. “What’s the brat trying to say?”

“I think he’s saying we only doctored his wounds so that when we kill him, it’ll be all the more slow and painful,” Electro clarified with a shrug. “Which honestly sounds pretty in character for most of us.”

“See? This guy gets it.” Peter pushed at the prongs with all his might. Even as a half-dead, half-conscious mess, the kid couldn’t stop himself from being a smartass.

“I’m just impressed he made a reference to a movie that came out before he was a concept,” Rhino said. “You know, instead of, like, Finding Nemo?”

Otto could see the strain Spider-Man was putting himself through in his pitiful attempts to escape, so he decided to see what would happen if he succeeded. When Spider-Man shoved at his metal pincers again, he let them snap open. Surprise flashed across Peter’s face as he dropped to the ground and wobbled on his feet, followed by weary triumph.

“Ha! See? T-told you I would…I could…”

He faltered and swayed, staggering backwards. Sandman enlarged his hand and caught him before he could hit the floor. Peter sat limply in his palm, breathing heavy, frail and febrile and injured and exhausted. He looked down at the sand-hand that had stopped him from falling, then back up at the surrounding circle of villains, fear and confusion stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“W-why aren’t you...trying to kill me?”

The room dipped into nervous silence. Spider-Man’s gaze continued to jump between them, searching for answers.

“Why did you treat the wounds you gave me?” he continued weakly. With every word that passed his lips, the shake in his voice increased. “W-what do you want from me? Are you trying to…turn me to the dark side or something?”

Shocker stroked his chin. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea…”

“No,” Sandman answered pointedly, shooting Shocker a sideways glare.

“Then what?” Peter snapped. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?” Spider-Man dragged himself back to his feet, grimacing harshly. “T-tell me what you’re planning to do with me, or I’ll—I’ll…”

His scowl dropped suddenly, replaced by a look of panic. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched.

“Or you’ll what?” Scorpion asked in a mocking tone.

When Peter didn’t answer him, Octavius took a step closer. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong?”

Gradually, the terror in his face gave way to dread. Peter sucked in a gasp and cupped his hand over his mouth.

 “I think…I’m gonna puke.”

Otto blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was not the response he was expecting, but it didn’t look like the kid was joking. He lurched forward, stifling a gag, making everyone exclaim and leap back. His pale face hinted a sickly shade of green.

“Oh,” Octavius repeated, animated by a new sense of urgency. He glanced around frantically until he spotted the fern in the corner of the room. He seized it with one of his tentacles, dumped the plant and the soil onto the floor, then slid the empty pot in front of Spider-Man. “Uh, here.”

Peter moaned in defeat before doubling over the pot and retching violently. The Sinister Six turned away in disgust, fighting to keep their own lunches down. There was hardly anything inside him to upchuck in the first place, but his body continued to dry heave for another half-minute. Once the bout passed, Peter was left wheezing and trembling with his head held low. His throat burned and tears were slipping from his eyes faster than he could wipe them away.

“Forgot about the stomach flu,” Electro said, sticking out his tongue. “Blech.”

Peter wanted to ask how the hell they knew he had a stomach bug, among many other things, but he was too fatigued to form words.

Octavius turned back to him squeamishly. The poor kid looked so small, hurt, and sick. It amazed him how quickly his hate for Spider-Man had transformed into a tentative fondness. He felt the need to comfort him somehow, the way adults were supposed to comfort young ones when they weren’t feeling well. But he had no idea how.

Instead, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a cup of water from the kitchen and placed them both by his side. “Here,” he said awkwardly.

Peter eyed the items and whimpered softly. With miserable, lethargic movements, Peter washed out his mouth and wiped his face, every breath aching in his chest. Shame and fever radiated off him in waves. When he was finished, he just sat there, panting and shivery. Too weak to move.

“I think you ought to lay back down, Spidey,” Sandman said, plucking the hero off the floor between two massive fingers. He returned him to the couch with delicate care, guiding his head to the pillow and draping the blanket over his body.

“No…” Peter mumbled languidly, trying to sit up. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t get them to open again. “Just…tell me…why…”

Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, gently pushing him back down. Octavius had grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and soaked it in ice water. The cool touch against his skin was soothing and unexpectedly soporific. Slowly, his muscles went lax. His tumultuous thoughts faded into sleepy nothingness.

“We will,” Otto lied. “But for now, rest.”

It was almost endearing how quickly Spider-Man drifted back to sleep. Octavius left the towel on his forehead and watched as his breathing eased to a steady rhythm.

“Damn,” Shocker sighed. “Poor kid.”

“We really beat him senseless,” Rhino said.

Electro stood over the slumbering hero with his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just me, or is Spider-Man, like…kind of adorable?”

Scorpion snorted. “Adorable?”

“You know! In that, like, puppy-dog, dumb little kid kind of way. I mean, look at him! Does no one else think so?”

Sandman shrugged, fighting back a smile. “I mean, maybe. Sorta.” His expression gradually hardened, and he looked at Doc Oc. “So…is what you said before true? Is he really, like, an orphan?”

Otto lowered his gaze. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was a toddler, and he was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who became like parents to him. But then his uncle was killed last year, so now it’s just him and his aunt. He hasn’t had a particularly easy life.”

“And we certainly haven’t helped on that front,” Rhino added.

“It’s insane to me that at his age, this is what he chose to do with his powers. If I’d gotten his abilities when I was fifteen and gone through all that loss, I’d have been robbing every store on 5th Avenue.”

Shocker smirked. “I hate to say it, but...he’s kind of a good kid. Even if he is an obnoxious little dumbass.”

Amidst the conversation, Octavius’ face remained stoic, unreadable. He waited a while before clearing his throat. “I…wanted to let you all know. I, um, spoke to Tombstone this morning.”

All eyes turned to him, alarmed.

“He saw footage of us capturing Spider-Man on the news,” he explained. “He’s offering us two million each in exchange for the kid.”

Rhino’s jaw dropped. “Two million dollars? For each of us?”

“Holy shit,” Sandman breathed.

“What the hell?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“And he just wants the kid?” Shocker exclaimed. "That’s it?”

Otto nodded slowly. “Alive, but yes. That’s all he wants.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “He’s given us until the end of the week to accept his offer.”

Excitement and dismay swept across everyone’s expressions. Each person waited for someone to speak up, for someone else to say no, we can’t. But it was just too tempting a proposition to dismiss out of hand. They could finally be free to do what they wanted. Free to live as they pleased, villainous or otherwise. Free to punish this city the way it had punished them, if they so choose. Turning over the kid was all it would take. One quick transaction. Hand over their nemesis, their sworn enemy, and it was done. They’d be rich.

“What the hell does he plan to do with him?” Sandman whispered uneasily.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Doc Oc clarified. “I just wanted to make you aware of the opportunity. We can discuss it more later.”

An air of tentative relief settled over the room. Electro puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms against his chest.

“In that case, what are we going to tell him when he wakes up again? That we want to sell him to some psychopath so we can all be millionaires? That we think he’s cute and want to keep him as a pet?”

Doctor Octopus shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He turned back to his team. “I’ll keep monitoring him and re-treat the wounds he opened. I think it’s best we always have a pair of eyes on him to prevent another incident involving the destruction of my art pieces.”

The rest of the Sinister Six agreed, scattering throughout the complex, the proposition weighing heavily on all of their minds. Otto put on some classical music and began mopping the fresh blood off Peter’s torso.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Name part 2 (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x fem!Reader

Genre: Angst to fluff

Sequel to Name (part 1)

Word count: 1,445

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n: I had trouble writing this for some reason.  I started off writing one scenario, but I ended up hating it after writing 500 words and then deleted the whole thing and started over, so I’m sorry if it’s not satisfying enough.  I think I need to just write more angst I think I just need a break from angst, or I’m just exhausted from today because I was out all day.

I promise the ending is happy.  This one is half the length of the original since this was one of the original endings I was considering for the 1st part.

I’ll probably pick right up with the other angst submissions tomorrow if I’m not still exhausted.  Hopefully I won’t go overboard again...

Shoto didn't know how to feel once she left him.  It didn't hurt as much as it would hurt for a lover to walk out on you, but he still felt the most amount of guilt he's ever been burdened with.  He wanted to blame his father for putting them in this position to fail, but he knew how childish that would be.  In reality, he was accountable for his own behavior, and he'd taken his anger out on an innocent person in the same situation as him.  He should have commended her for being the bigger person.  And now he's lost her.

His biggest frustration is that he never even got a good look at her.  In his mind, her image is a fuzzy mix of color, no real outline of a body or face that he can remember.  How could he have lived in the same house as someone for 5 months, but not know them like the back of his hand?  Deep down, he knows that if he had looked at her, he would've internalized how human she is and would've treated her better than a doormat.

As he lay in bed after she left, all the things he wanted to apologize for but didn't get the chance to were still hanging in his mind, uncomfortably unfulfilled.

.

The next morning, Shoto decides he needs to apologize immediately.  He hates the eerie loneliness of being the only person in the house.  Even if he never acknowledged it before, in hindsight, at least he felt he presence of company.  At least he had someone to talk to, even if everything out of his mouth was a critique.  The walls seem to close in on him, the sunlight isn't as warm, and, most importantly, there was no breakfast waiting for him.  A vain problem, but it sobered him to know she had still taken care of his needs through everything.

After fixing his own meal, he called his agency to tell them he's taking the day off and didn't delay in rushing to his in-law's house.  The nervous pit in Shoto's stomach almost makes him throw up his breakfast, but he ignores it.  All acts of courage require varying degrees of nerves.

On his way over, his father calls him constantly, probably to give him an earful about "ruining their perfectly-matched marriage."  He doesn't need to hear it from Endeavor when he's already chewing himself up about it, and he turns off his phone to concentrate.

Shoto walks up to the family's door, smoothing his clothes and hair out.  He feels akin to a boy picking his girlfriend up from her parents' house for their first date and trying to make a good first impression, except Shoto's already married his daughter and needs to make up for the awful impression they already have of him.  Taking a deep breath, he pushes the doorbell, his heart hammering in his chest wildly.

Her father and mother answer the door, expressions less than pleased already.

"Good morning.  I hope I haven't disturbed you."  Shoto was raised with manners, and he hopes politeness with get him somewhere.

The two don't say anything in response to him.  Understandable, given the condition their daughter was sent back in.

Trying not to be too disheartened under their malicious stares, the boy asks "May I come in?  I would like to speak with you and your daughter."

"If Endeavor sent you, we don't want to hear anything you have to say," her mother scowls, rightfully so.

"No, ma'am, I am here without my father's knowledge," he responds earnestly, trying not to seem too firm about his tone or his face.  He's trying to appear sincere, a husband trying to set things right from the bottom of his heart.

The couple exchanges glances, but let the young boy in without another word, which Shoto takes as a small victory.  They lead him to their formal living room where they sit together on one couch and Shoto prefers to stand.  A maid brings cups of tea and a pot to rest on the coffee table between them before bowing and shuffling away.

"I won't allow you to see my daughter," her mother states bluntly, "Not after hearing her crying over the phone for what you've put her through the last 5 months."  The boy almost winces, the memory of overhearing the girl's phone call still fresh.

"You can say your piece to us and we may pass it on to her," her father adds, eyeing the boy.

Shoto breathes to calm the jumping nerves in his gut.  One wrong move and he know he'll be kicked out immediately.  He levels his calm gaze at the piercing glare of the couple in front of him.  "I'm not here to make excuses for my actions.  What I did was terribly wrong, both as a person and as a husband to your daughter.  I accept full responsibility for my mistakes."  He bows fully at the waist.  "I apologize deeply for my behavior towards your daughter.  I let my personal feelings get in the way of our relationship flourishing as she wished.  I don't deserve it, but I would like to ask for forgiveness."

The parents are silent, leaving the boy to listen to his hammering heartbeat as he retains his position.  The lack of response is ear-deafening to him.

"You many stand, Todoroki," her father instructs, the edge slightly lessened in his voice.

When Shoto returns to his original position, their daughter stands between them, remnant sadness still filling her eyes.  It's the first time he's taken a good look at her.  She's a head shorter than him, hair down past her shoulders, respectable composure.  Even with a tired expression, she exudes calm.

He doesn't know what he should do now.  The girl looks between him and her parents.  "I'd like to be alone with him, please," she requests in a soft voice.  It's a stark contrast between the voice that reported their divorce to him.

Though her parents are wary at first, she smiles to reassure them and they agree to leave the pair to talk.

All the apologies Shoto prepared start bubbling up his throat, unsure how to start or organize his thoughts.  He's overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, composure crumbling under the weight of his words.  "I'm so sorry about everything- I heard you crying and I- I'm an idiot for-"

"Funny how you can form coherent sentences to my parents, but not to me," she jokes lightheartedly.

Her small smile calms Shoto so he can gather this thoughts and try again.  "I've done you such a disservice.  I let my anger towards my father prevent me from taking care of you like I should have."  He moves to touch her hand to comfort her, but he stops and redirects it to the back of his neck.  "You must have felt so unwanted and lonely.  I'm truly sorry for everything I've done or said to you.  When I heard you on the phone with your mother, I had every intention of coming back and fixing everything, but you had already made your decision."  His eyes meet her's again.  "If you wish to continue with the divorce, I understand.  I wanted to come and apologize to you because it's what you deserve.  And, if you forgive me enough, we can start over and build a relationship as you wanted originally."

At first, the girl is silent, clawing at Shoto to be left in anticipation.  Then, she tilts her head and asks, a cheeky grin on her lips, "Do you love me, Shoto?"

His hopes come crashing down at the question.  "I'm sorry to say, but I'm not in love with you right now.  Our marriage isn't like that."

She shakes her head at him.  "I wasn't expecting you to suddenly have a huge change of heart like that.  We're still barely strangers, though I do know way more about you than you know about me.  As long as you're open to any kind of affection, it's fine."

His eyes widen childishly.  "Does that mean-"

She smiles, finally showing teeth to him, and envelops him in a hug.  He breathes out in relief and returns the gesture.  A small voice in the back of his had notes how perfectly she fits in his arms.

"Who knows?  We might end up actually falling in love slowly as time goes by," she giggles against his chest.  "That's how it tends to happen in the movies."

The slight vibrations invoke a strange warmth to bloom within Shoto, not resulting from his quirk, and his eyes widen.  Oh.

[slothgiirl]

maybe together we can get somewhere (noah x mc)

the gang finds out noah is alive. he and mc have built a life together while no one was paying attention (12k)

this was fun and experimental to write, trying to build a relationship through the limitations of the gang only getting snippets of noah and mc and hopefully giving enough information to piece together a plot without being to expository. hope u enjoy (noah x mc are soulmates change my mind)

Stacy.

It's a family vacation. Only the second one after her college graduation since she's only living an hour from Westchester.

It's her mom and dad and Connor and his girlfriend and her girlfriend.

Sofi laughs easily, fitting right in at some story Connor is telling and Stacy’s still annoyed that her brother brought up what she and her friends had found in the woods as children when they were at the airport: when anyone could have heard. She doesn't want to deal with it ever again. And she'll get up and move across the country if she has to.

Connor catches her gaze and offers a small smile and just like that; Stacy let's it go.

“Oh a farmers market,” her mom cries out, “we should check it out!”

Her dad laughs, “alright but don't expect me to eat any frankenstein fruit.”

Stacy snorts, finding Vancouver both amazing, and like any other city she's been to. Canada is hardly an exotic travel destination, but it's nice, waking up to a view of the pacific ocean. She wonders if she should visit her old friend since she's in town.

She'd last talked to you on the phone a month ago, surely she could just drop in.

Sofi slides her hand into Stacy’s, before asking, “what are you thinking about?” It's the first time Sofia's really spent time with her family. And her girlfriend knows about her tendency to overthink and now is one of those times.

Stacy's sighs, “just-I have a friend who lives in Vancouver. I was wondering whether I should visit them or not.”

Her girlfriend smiles, leading them into a stall with lots of fruit samples, “You should! If they're your friend I bet they'd be really happy to see you.”

Stacy shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you're right. It's not like I'm going to be in Vancouver again anytime soon.”

She grabs a second sample of the blood oranges, before telling Stacy as she decides to get a few for the road, “so who is this friend?” Because Sofi doesn't know about the whole Redfield thing and she'll never know because Stacy doesn't want to burden her with Redfield and also doesn't want to talk about it herself. It's over: in the past. Finished.

“One of my childhood friends like Lucas. There was this whole group of us,” Stacy explains.

“Like Dan,” Sofi nods, understanding. “Do you guys still talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should totally drop by! Personally, I could skip the biking tour.”

Stacy laughs, “my parents really just got us all the types of tour.” It was nice, how much things had changed and the boat tour had been fun even if she’d gotten pretty cold over those two hours, it had just been the perfect excuse to snuggle up with Sofi and a cup of warm coffee inside. Connor and Vy could be outdoorsy together, taking millions of photos of the water and skyline.

“It’s cute,” Sofi comments, “my dad would just grumble about the expense and lead his own tour, no doubt getting us all lost.”

Stacy shrugs, “that’s why we have google maps.”

Sofi laughs, and pays for her oranges.

Stacy’s tired of the crowded stall, so she steps outside to wait. Canadians may be polite, but there’s only so many people brushing past her she can take. She takes out her phone and asks Lily for your address because of course Lily has it; she had sent everyone care packages and birthday presents without fail. Stacy had just sent an electronic gift card and called it a day.

There’s a good crowd but this isn't a sad little farmers market like the one back home that has like nothing but a stall or two.

She finds that she does miss the small town feel of the city she lives in even if she has to drive everywhere and living close to her family is nice even if she’ll forever hate the woods, any woods. Andy and tom had confirmed nothing was out in Westchester but she won’t chance it.

It’s second nature to go through her emails while she’s on her phone.

She scans the crowd, seeing if she spots her family somewhere. And sure enough Connor and Vy are sniffing at some tea samples, looking disgustingly sweet together and Stacy makes sure to take a picture because she went with Connor and Tom to pick out the ring. He just has to pop the question.

Wait! Was she or Sofi going to ask the question? Oh god, Stacy wanted to marry this girl. It hits her like a ton of bricks and they’re only 23, been dating two years so they have time, but Stacy’s sure. This is the one.

The panic subsides as she realizes, yeah, this is the woman she wants to spend the rest of her life with and that’s no big deal. They’ll take it day by day.

She locks her phone, glances around, ready to go get Sofi who probably struck up a whole conversation with the vendors and is getting invited over to their house for dinner as Stacy stands out here, waiting, and sees. . .well not Noah Marshall because he’s dead. So that’s not possible. And it’s not like she’s in Westchester.

But-but it certainly looks like Noah at a glance.

She can’t actually make out the man’s features, just the back of his head, which wow-Stace, she might just be losing it if she’s starting to see Noah Marshall walking around, but there’s something about the way the man walks and the shade of hair even if the haircut has changed. . .she shakes her head.

She’s imagining things.

“Ready to go,” Sofi asks, putting her hand on Stacy’s arm, “Your mom texted, she said to meet in front of Whole Foods wherever that is. Also, hilarious that there’s a farmers market in front of Whole foods.”

Stacy snorts, nodding, “yeah, let’s go.” And then looks back because it’s been five years and she still wants to kick Noah’s ass even though he’s dead so it’s a non issue at this point.

The man’s gone.

*

Stacy soon forgets among trying to keep up with the itinerary that her family had made on google docs over the past few months.

*

They take a ferry in the general direction of the address Lily gave her because it’s a fun way to travel. Connor comes along but Vy stays behind in the hotel because she wants to call her parents.

“Did they go to school here,” Connor asks, because it had been a few years and he hadn’t really kept in touch with you the way Stacy and the others had.

“No,” Stacy explains as she double checks the address while Sofi points out cute houses as they walk down the street google maps is saying the house is on. “They went to UWash. I think they studied something boring like finance which I know Ava made fun of them in the group chat about.”

Sofi, a current law student, asks, “what’s wrong with finance?”

Connor snorts, “you’re talking about the same woman that helped organize supplies for her campus’ black lives matter protests.”

“Ava’s very anti-establishment,” Stacy explains because Sofi hasn’t met Ava. Her old friend had transferred to Berkeley before Stacy started dating Sofi, but not before showing everyone her minor magical abilities. “You know, the whole break up the banks, give native americans their land back, will definitely end up a granola anthropology professor in some university after her goth phase.”

Sofi nods, “Ah, I get it. She’s not wrong about the banks. Did you watch the big short?”

“You have the most boring taste in movies,” Stacy teases because this woman made her watch Dunkirk which was long and boring and the soundtrack gave her a headache.

Her girlfriend shrugs shamelessly, “I did do a film studies minor so. . .”

Stacy knocks on the door. “I hope they’re in.” It’s a cute if small house on the edge of the city, close enough to still be part of Vancouver without being in the middle of traffic. There’s a subway station just two streets over, but taking the ferry had been much nicer. Subways had lost their charm in new york after all the times Stacy had been an hour or two late because of some issue.

“Wait,” Connor asks, raising a brow, “you didn’t text them?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Stacy admits. She hadn’t seen you in over two years. You had even less of a reason to be in Westchester compared to everyone who’s family still lived there. Your house had sat empty since you left for college.

“I think it's cute,” Sofi says, wrapping her arms around Stacy’s waist from behind.

Stacy smiles, blushing slightly.

The door opens up and holy fuck.

Stacy gasps, her mouth forming a wide O because she can’t even form a coherent thought.

A very much alive and happy Noah Marshall opens the door, wearing a pink apron that says something inane “kiss the cook”, with more than a bit of food stains, and flour on his chin. He’s not wearing a beanie, but it’s summer and Stacy is sweating even in shorts, and his hair is cut and styled instead of long and greasy like it had been in high school. His eye color has somehow changed from brown to a strange shiny blue that seems too catlike to be natural but that’s whatever when he’s apparently risen from the dead.

What the hell!

Connor is just as flabbergasted as she is.

And Noah’s caught off guard, the easy smile dying on his lips as he realizes who’s at the door.

It’s Sofi that spares them, asking Noah if you’re home, because she doesn’t know anything about what went down in your senior year of high school.

Noah nods wordlessly, “yeah, yeah, come in,” even though he looks like that's the last thing he wants to do looking as grim faced as he had been in school, sitting in the back and refusing to talk to anyone.

For once, Stacy wishes Sofi wasn't here because she wants nothing more than to kick Noah’s ass. She took kickboxing lessons, she totally could. Noah's taller, but not exactly built in the same way Andy is after all the years of exercise; though he's not exactly a scrawny teenager anymore.

How long has this been going on?

You're sitting at the kitchen table, a cheap flimsy thing from Ikea that at least has the decency to look nice, laptop open while wearing a moth-eaten oversized t-shirt of the beastie boys. You don't even look up, when you ask nonchalantly, “so who was at the door?” You reach a hand from another chip, eating straight from the bag.

“Stacy,” Noah says faux cheerfully. And Stacy did not miss how annoying he could be. “And Connor Green.”

You finally look up. A couple thousand emotions running through your face: surprise as you open your lips to speak and then close it without a word, your brow furrows as you frown, then you exchange glances with Noah, then you're blushing red as you meet Stacy's questioning gaze, caught red handed. After a second, you can't meet her gaze, instead looking at Connor the same way you had that year as if he could single handedly save you from everything and no wonder you asked him to the dance, oblivious to Stacy's crush on you at the time.

“Hey Connor, long time no see,” you get up, crossing the length of the small kitchen to hug him, “Andy's always going on about you, you know.”  

Connor manages a smile, “it's good to see you, too.”

“Hi, I'm Sofi,” she says, extending a hand, “Stacy’s told me a lot about you.”

You shake her hand, inviting her to down sit, “all of you. Dinner’salmost ready.” You glance at Stacy asking. . .

She shakes her head. Of course she hasn't mentioned Noah. She's tried to erase him from her memories the same way she's tried to forget all about the ruins in the woods and Dan disappearing.

“Not that you helped,” Noah quips, proceeding to slip back into the kitchen.

“Self care.” You smile back, confirming her suspicion that this had been going on for a while. And you haven't mentioned anything. Not once. But then, you stopped bringing him up when you realized everyone was on the same page, the page you weren't, after what he had done, no amount of childhood tragedy could excuse the fact he had been willing to kill all his friends for some monster. Stacy couldn't find it in her to forgive him, even in death.

Meanwhile, you had spent too much time after everything that happened crying over this jerk.

“What are you making,” Sofi asks as Stacy takes a seat, everything clicking together as you offer everyone something to drink, exchanging lovesick smiles with Noah even as he bats you away from the stove with a spatula.

You loved him.

Despite everything he had done, you loved him. Stacy couldn't understand: had been closer to Dan and you than Noah even as kids. The way you looked at him said everything; the way you'd chased after him, unwilling to let him go into the woods alone.

It made sense why you were so willing to forgive him, and why you had spent so much time mourning him.

“Vegetable pot pie,” Noah explains, starting to roll out the dough, “This one decided to become vegetarian.”

“Since when,” Connor asks, deciding to just go along with it all. Maybe Connor was just mentally stronger, better able to cope with all the supernatural weirdness having helped Tom out at the lake, and still trying to understand the power from all of Pritch’s journals.

“Just a few months ago,” you admit. “It was this whole vegan challenge at work for the month but I missed yogurt a lot but giving up meat was pretty easy.”

“Where are you working now,” Stacy asks, taking a seat carefully, making sure not to turn her back on Noah.

“Oh,” you smile, closing your computer, resting your chin against your hand, “UBC, at the anthropology museum. It's why I-we moved here. I do financial analysis for their investments. Ava found it really funny that I got a job at a museum before her.”

“Oh,” Stacy wonders, glancing at Noah again, who's just as tense if the line of his shoulders is anything to go by, and the telling line of his mouth that reminds Stacy of the first and last time she tried to include him: a APUSH presentation that Noah had waved off and preferred to bomb. “You told Ava?”

She feels the sting of hurt but Ava makes the most sense considering you were closest to her and Lily. Not to mention Ava was still messing around with the occult. A heavy lead ball of anxiety always forms whenever Ava has shown Stacy her magic tricks.

You get the double meaning.

Noah pointedly ignores her, carrying a conversation about the best places to eat in the city with Sofi.

You force yourself to smile, “about the job yeah. Thought she'd laugh since she's the anthropologist. She called it the encroachment of late stage capitalism.”

“That sounds about right for Ava,” Stacy snorts.

You'd chosen Noah over her: over your friends. The choice had already been made before Stacy had even known this was an option.

You two were a packaged deal.

Stacy takes a deep breath, and turns her back on Noah, joining the light conversation of local things to do in Vancouver and how you had completely face planted while trying to ice skate.

“-and instead of helping me,” you tease, getting plates out for everyone, “Noah just sat back and laughed!”

“And took a video,” Noah points out. “You don't have any balance babe.”

“I wouldn't do you like that,” you wrinkle your nose, smiling fondly as Noah brings the food out of the oven, the smell filling the small house and suddenly Stacy’s mouth is watering.

“You have,” he replies all mock offended, “you left me in the cab!”

“I was very drunk,” you shrug shamelessly, then turn to Sofi and Connor with an explanation. “Too much fun on  date night.”

“Shut up,” Noah utters, placing the food on the table, looking incredibly soft and it finally sinks in. He's alive. He's alive and you're together and while Stacy doesn't care for him, she's glad you're doing well.

She's still going to punch him the first chance she gets.

The food’s some of the best she's ever had.

*

She hugs you goodbye two hours later: a great big tight hug that says everything she hasn't been able to because of distance. She puts all her love and tenderness into hugging you. “It was so good seeing you,” Stacy says and means it. One day they'll talk about this.

But not now.

She's dragging Sofi into this.

You nod, hugging her back just as tight, before whispering in softly into her ear, “please don't tell anyone.”

And how could she refuse, with your sweet chocolate eyes looking at her like that, as if she holds everything you hold dear in her hands. It's easy for Stacy to make the choice to look away and say nothing.

*

*

*

Lily.

Britney makes them take a hundred selfies before they even leave the airport. Lily beams at the camera even as she pays for starbucks. “Aw man we should've tried tim hortons now that we're officially in Canada.” Lily muses, shooting you a text, letting you know she'd soon be out of the airport.

“But do they have peppermint frappuccinos,” Britney asks, leading the way as they head to the exit. Airports were always so big. It took forever to get anywhere.

“I'm not big on peppermint,” Lily comments even though Britney already knows that, before taking a long sip of her pink drink. She really had been craving a drink. That was another thing about planes: dehydration. Still, it would be worth it to visit you for the first time since you moved to Canada.

“I know,” Britney winks, “that's just more peppermint bark for me.”

*

Britney's the one that spots you first. Lily's taller than you, but still pretty short. “Your loser friends over there.” Britney teases and it shows how far she and Lily have come that they're able to laugh about the time wasted in high school where she bullied other kids including Lily.

Lily follows on her heels, fixing her coat to try and look cute. It had only been a three hour plane ride but it was three hours plus dealing with airport security so it felt closer to three years. Gosh it had almost been three years since she graduated college. Time just flew by.

Excitement bubbles up and Lily’s smiling hard when she sees you in an olive green jacket and grey hoodie combo, still the same as ever if happier now that you weren't stressing about school.

She had meant to visit you sooner but being an adult meant things often got in the way.

Then Lily spots Noah Marshall hovering behind you, laughing at something you just said , face lit up like a kid who's just been told they can finally dig into their Halloween candy. Except it can't be Noah because he's dead. Yet here he is, wearing a black coat, washout blue hoodie, and of course a beanie. If Jocelyn was here, she'd say he looks like an asshole wearing aviators indoors.

Removing any doubt of who he is, Lily having already come up with a reasonable explanation of you having coped with Noah's death by finding a lookalike, dies when he spots Britney and Lily before you. “Lily,” Noah grins as if he didn't die after trying to kill her, “you looked like someone kicked your puppy.”

You smack his shoulder. “Behave,” you tease as you try and smother a gasp. You meet her gaze sheepishly, but Lily's still too flabbergasted to respond.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead,” Britney asks.

He deadpans, “Mandela effect.”

This time, you dissolve into laughter.

Noah glances over at you with a smile, pleased with himself.

Lily finally manages, “explain.”

You nod, “let's get you settled in first.”

Britney hands her bag to Noah, “here. I need to carry Lily's bag.”

“Sure thing,” Noah snorts, taking her bag.

*

Lily had imagined Canada to be much more green. Like a national park green, with so much plant life she could smell it thick in the air, but it's pretty much just another downtown metropolitan area like Seattle. You'd really only moved a few hours away from Seattle so that made sense.

She keeps glancing over at Noah as if he'll disappear and this is some trick from whatever thing still lived in Westchester. But he's still there, flesh and blood, his arm draped around your shoulder as they stand by where she and Britney have taken a seat, bags under their feet. They had only brought carry on bags.

You're obviously together but Lily keeps getting stuck on the fact that Noah's alive.

She isn't surprised. Noah only ever had time for you that year; both of you slinking off when you thought no one was paying attention. Lily remembers seeing you hug Noah in some lonely corner of the school if you didn't skip fifth period math.

And Connor had said he'd seen you both out in town during school hours.

Maybe it's the glasses.

Noah won't be alive to her until she sees his entire face, leaving no room for error.

“Can't believe you're moving to Seattle!” You repeat because yeah Lily had gotten a nice job offer there.

“Neither can I,” Britney complains, “I like SF, and I'd like to live somewhere warm one day. Aren't there any major tech firms in Miami?”

“Nasa,” Lily says thoughtfully, “I didn't have the experience to apply though.”

Her girlfriend frowns, “You went to Berkeley though. That has to count for like ten years.”

Lily laughs.

“You should've shot your shot,” you agree.

“Isn't Florida super humid though,” Noah mentions tilting his head, reminding Lily that he's there and she can't help but flinch. “And there's tons of snakes and agitators everywhere.”

“I like snakes,” Britney notes.

He had been so sweet those last few weeks, Lily thinks to herself. Noah was always saying how she was much stronger because she could be kind even as everything was going to hell. In english, she'd burst into tears, sick and tired of having nightmares just to wake up to a living nightmare, and he'd chased after her, comforting her.

It had made his betrayal hurt all the more.

*

“So how exactly are you,” Lily asks, dancing around the subject. Surely it was rude to bring up that Noah had been dead.

“Alive,” he replies, quirking his brow, holding Britney's bag as he opens the door.

“Yeah. . .that.”

This time, when you and Noah look at each other, there's no boundless joy that fits in perfectly with the holiday season. You've even put up snowmen in the house's windows, and there's lights wrapped around the porch: off right now. It's just you looking at Noah with glassy eyes and Noah with an amount of tenderness in his eyes that Lily didn't know people were capable of in real life: the look people get when they're finally able to confess how in love they are in movies.

It's only there for a second and then Noah's making light of the whole situation, as if he can't stand to see that haunted look in your eyes, “Well you know what they say, when you wish upon a star-”

You roll your eyes, lightly smacking his arm, then changing your mind and squeezing his arm. “Don't be a dick.” Then you round your attention on Lily, “there's the shoe rack.” Before ushering the group into the living room. “I-I didn't,” you take a deep breath, tugging your coat off as you take a seat on a cheap navy cotton couch. “I guess I never stopped looking for a way,” you glance at Noah, “for a way to fix things. I mean, I still went back there for all the school breaks.”

You've stopped looking at Lily, gaze locked on Noah's. Pink dusts his cheeks and he ducks his head, looking alway, out into the quiet street, skyscrapers in the distance.

Britney purses her lips, listening intently. She heard accounts of this nature from Jocelyn. Dan knee better than to tell her anything about the woods back home.

“And I found it,” you finish without elaboration. Lily understands. Some things were, there were some things too awful to speak once again into being.

He slips his hand into yours, threading your fingers together.

It's sweet and though Lily's reservations remain, it's clear he loves you.

“Okay then,” Britney claps together, knowing full well she was ruining the moment, “how soon can we go shopping. I'm doing all my christmas shopping in Canada.”

“Because of the exchange rate,” Noah sneers, not missing a beat.

“Hardly,” Britney snaps back, “I'm a certified trophy wife now.” She smiles as she looks over at Lily who giggles.

*

It's two in the morning and Lily keeps tossing and turning. It's warm with the heater chugging away in the night. But she can't sleep.

They'd spent the whole day out, exploring the city. You'd gotten a few days off work. Britney had made you both carry bags and bags of gifts as promised.

At least she'd have plenty of time to wrap them. December had only just begun.

But Lily can't sleep.

It isn't the nightmares of her childhood: of Jane and all the things she wishes she had said no to, or those terrible months in which Lily had nearly died from sheer terror, but a pool of anxiety masquerading as restlessness.

She gets up, having visited you before back in Seattle, back when you had shared an apartment with Ava and a revolving door of roommates during college, and wonders if Ava knows. Ava, who messes around in the more supernatural corners of the world, who you had always been closest too.

Lily gets up and decides maybe a glass of water will calm her down as she chews over the idea of Noah and her both under the same roof.

She slips into the dark kitchen, with that weird anxiety that she was sneaking around that she could never shake even knowing that you wouldn't mind her going through your kitchen. She slips into the kitchen and nearly faints at the sight of Noah at the table.

He's sitting in pitch dark.

Only it isn't-

“-your eyes,” Lily hisses, breaking the calm of the twilight hours.

Noah's sitting in the dark reading.

Because his eyes are glowing blue like redfield when she was little and redfield was a friend and hadn't shown it's true nature.

Noah's eyes are glowing.

“Shit,” Noah says gently, reaching up to flip the lights on.

He moves slowly, but Lily still flinches.

“I'm sorry Lils,” he says, those three words encompassing so many years and the darkest parts of her life, casting a shadow over her whole life she can never escape because Westchester is home but it's also where it happened and Noah's a big part of why Lily spent a year having panic attacks: having flashbacks to that awful game. He says it and the last itchy scab over the deep wound Lily has harbored for years flakes off.

Lily does a little nod of acceptance, but keeps her eyes on his unnaturally reflective eyes, a light in the dark.

She swallows thickly.

That glass of water sounds amazing right about now.

“What are you doing reading in the dark,” she asks. It seems Noah had been right all those years ago; Lily was able to keep trying, a flower growing in a crack of cement.

“Studying,” Noah says calmly. “It's pretty boring actually. Sort of makes me wish I was still haunting the woods.” His smile is small, testing the waters.

Lily-she can't. She shits her eyes, shaking her head once, slow.

“Sorry,” he says easily, shutting a thick textbook, “coping mechanism.”

Lily thinks about all those nights she'd wake up in the middle of a nightmare, “is it a glitch then?” She tilts her head curiously, the way she spent hours going over the same file of code checking for any bugs: and mistakes that had slipped through the cracks.

“You could call it that. . .but they reckon that it's more of a give and take situation.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “The power takes people but gives them power, and when, when they brought me back, I took something with me.”

For once, dread doesn't fill Lily at the mention of what lies in the woods back home.

Lily nods, and pours herself a glass of water. “What are you studying?”

“Psychology,” Noah answer's, “trying to do developmental psychology. I want to,” he waits a beat before finishing in a rush. “I'd like to be a child therapist.”

“I thought you wanted to go to culinary school,” Lily questions. She remembers you mentioning that once. Then there's the fact that Noah had brought her lunch to school a few times when he'd learned that Lily's parents had forced her into a diet.

“I did,” he shrugs. “Turns out I like to cook for myself more than anything.”

Lily smiles.

She's glad he's able to move on like she has.

“You know I use to have nightmares. Nothing really helped apart from-.”

“Tiring myself out,” you both finish.

Noah smiles grimly.

Lily drinks he water and keeps him company for a while.

*

*

*

Lucas

Logically, Lucas knows that Canada is not that different from the states yet he still feel like the place should be more exotic as he steps off the plane for work. It's grueling work really, the pay is bad and he flies economy more than is healthy for his back, but he likes keeping private corporations on their toes. That was the whole point of environmental science, though going to law school for the same thing is starting to look more and more appealing everyday.

He just feels like he doesn't have the weight to truly go after these people and hates having to pass off the cases when he knows he could do more.

But law school is. . .stressful.

He'd have already started his third year of law if he had just gone straight to law school after undergrad.

Lucas wonders if he's ready to manage that type of stress.

He gets off the plane and has to go directly to the non-profits office. It's a tiny little thing in a rougher part of the city; gone are the shiny sports cars and whole foods.

There's boxes of paperwork dating back from the 60s and he gets to work, drinking the cheap donut shop coffee that the office head, an amicable black man who still has a rhythmic african accent that Lucas isn't worldly enough to place, gives him with a shrug, “got to support our local businesses eh?”

Lucas nods. “Tell me about it. I feel like I missed out on the New York that was happening.” Ava had sent him a buy back the block patch and he really hadn't been surprised because she had always been opinionated and headstrong about it. If she was the town witch, well then she was going to be the biggest baddest witch.

He types a reminder into his notes to get her a souvenir.

He uses yelp to find a cheap diner, where he continues to pour over a thick manila folder--have to break up the work--and finds that he can smell the ocean here even when he can't exactly see it.

Lucas sets a reminder to himself to go enjoy the beach at least once.

Then he sees the reminder to call and ask Stacy where you were living. Lucas half wanted it to be a surprise, but worried he'd miss you.

He knew you liked going out dancing. And he had arrived on a Friday night.

It was unorthodox.

He usually worked strictly in the states since each country had their own laws and environmental precedent established by the courts. And alright, Lucas’ phone had a lot of law school tabs open. He was only twenty four. That wasn't too old for law school.

Weren't some students in legally blonde in their thirties?

Experience could give him an edge.

Lucas calls Stacy but it goes straight to voice mail.

Right, time difference.

He'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Having not exchanged any money as of yet, Lucas pays for his breakfast for dinner with his card and hopes the fee isn't too bad. Then he stuffs the folders and decides to walk to his hotel.

It's an hour long walk through town but years of being incredibly stressed had left him with the purposeful choice of slowing down when he could. Sometimes it felt like forcing himself to slow down, but he always felt better after a walk through a new city or sitting down with a fictional book even when he swore he didn't feel all wound up.

As far as cheap diners, tonight's was good and he had fun trying poutine.

Lucas walks through the tall buildings and wishes he hadn't worn a suit jacket. He should've worn a plain shirt or one of those gag gifts Andy was always sending him from various thrift stores. It might be further up north than even he grew up, but it was still hot in the summer.

Walking an hour in a casual suit was not his greatest idea, but the city carried the same vibrant energy the new york had. The energy that had encouraged Lucas to go to a house party--once.

He's walking by a street full of dive bars all blaring out nostalgic hits from his teenage years from Hannah Montana, which okay, to Kesha which sounded about right, and of course, Blackpink. The chalkboards outside all promise cheap drinks but Lucas isn't a big drinker.

He isn't sure how much of that is avoiding any substance that could get him hooked or if he's making that choice because he really doesn't like alcohol.

Lucas is just about through, about to by a monolithic building that has a bunch of displays in the windows, when he does a double take.

Noah fucking Marshall is smoking on the curb outside a bar, face flushed.

There's no doubt about it. Lucas would know that asshole anywhere. The same sharp jawline and prominent nose, brown hair curling around his ears only a few inches showered than it had in high school. He's wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket over a white shirt and looking way too happy for a murderer.

Noah Marshall wearing aviators at night like the rat bastard he is!

The intense feelings of rage and wanting to hit something until the world righted itself surges in Lucas’ chest until there's a white hot anger in his throat and red clouding his vision.

He blacks out.

One second he's furiously gapping at the man-

the next

-Lucas is standing over Noah Marshall, knuckles on fire having just sucker punched the fucker.

Oh shit.

Noah looks just as surprised for a second as he looks up, blood beading up where his lips split open.

Lucas watches as recognition hits those bambi blue eyes---wait, blue.. .?

And then Noah shrugs, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips as he states, “yeah. I deserved that.”

There's a couple people looking over.

Lucas is still pissed as Noah gets up, dusting himself off and looking at the barely smoked cigarette on the ground as if he wants to smoke it, before grabbing the glasses and placing them back on instead.

Then, he grabs another cigarette, “want one,” he offers Lucas who no, wouldn't want one: wouldn't want anything from Noah if he was drowning and Noah had the only life jacket.

He was good with drowning.

Thanks.

Lucas, anger still fizzing under his skin like boiling water, asks, “how the fuck are you here!”

Noah shrugs, before slurring and it's then that Lucas realizes the other man is flushed drunk, “I live here,” without an ounce of sarcasm.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Lucas says, curling his lip and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh you know me. I'm just plotting world domination and decided Vancouver would be the perfect location for my evil villain lair. I've got a neon sign and everything.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, grinding his teeth together. “Do you always have to be such an asshole?”

Noah spreads his hands out and proceeds to do jazz hands, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

Fuck, Lucas feels like punching him again.

He's really thinking about it as he watches Noah, sure the idiot will try something again, when he hears your voice as you stumble out of the bar, “I knew it! You were going out for a smoke break!”

Noah's entire demeanor shifts, no longer the boy Lucas has built up in his head as the cause of all their problems. Over the years, he's decided that Noah had known from the start. In the depths of his denial, Lucas had told himself that Noah had kidnapped Dan. But, you appear, and Noah's turns bright pink as he hurried to stomp out the cigarette you've already seen like a naughty school boy, even as he turns and smiles as if you hung the sun in the sky and painted the night stars. It's lovesick the way you both look at each other with the fondness of ancient couples out for a walk in the park, lost in their own world.

However the fuck he's alive, Lucas realizes that this Noah, the real living Noah, has been just as freaked as the rest of them. It's something he hasn't thought about in years.

Noah had lost Jane.

It's enough for Lucas to unclench his hands even if he's still seething because what the hell, he still offered them all up on a silver platter. Redfield or Jane--whatever it was in the end--had given Ava powers and she hadn't stabbed your group of friends in the back.

You cross the distance quickly, and throw your arms around his middle, tipsy. That's probably why your smile is so pure-untouched by all the trauma and boring adult problems like remembering to pay the bills and having to call the cable company for the fifth time.

You don't even notice Lucas.

“What happened to your face,” you ask, raising your hand to cup Noah's cheek, frowning.

Noah nods over at Lucas.

You finally notice him.

“Lucas,” you wag your finger at him, still cuddled up to the man in question, “You can't punch Noah. Do you know how much trouble I went through to get him back?”

It shouldn't be possible, but Noah turns pinker.

“Aw babe,” Noah teases you with a familiarity that carries depth.

This wasn't a new development then.

“You really do care about me.”

This time, you round on Noah, wagging your finger menacingly, “Don’t be an idiot! Of course I love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me!”

Which has Lucas majorly side eyeing you.

Sure, Noah had grown up to be tall and not unattractive, as far as pasty white boys were concerned, but he'd still tried to kill everyone.

Noah also looks skeptical.

“What are you doing in town Lucas,” you then ask.

“Work,” Lucas replies blandly, as he tries to come to terms with this reality altering discovery. “You were dead.”

“That's not entirely true,” Noah muses philosophically, “Physically I was dead but technically I was still roaming the woods as a monster.”

Reflexively, you interject, resting your hand on his chest, “you're not a monster.”

“I thought you liked the shape of water.”

Which sends you squealing. “Noah!”

Lucas doesn't get it. You are the strongest person he knows who can talk to anyone and has a sense of determination that rivals a gold medalist: the one who kept everyone together during one of the shiftiest times in his life, and he's who you settle for! “If you have to say technically, you've already lost the argument.”

You snort.

Noah rolls his eyes good naturedly.

“Wait,” you realize, eyes going wide, “does that mean you're younger than me now.”

Noah tilts his head in thought, “physically. . .”

“Pretty sure that means yes,” Lucas adds, wondering how long Noah had been back for.

“Oh my god, I'm stealing from the cradle!”

Noah looks incredibly affronted as he blinks rapid looking down at you like you'd grown a second head.

“You mean cradle robbing?”

“I'm. . .twenty four,” Noah says. Not even he sounds convinced.

“Twenty two,” you correct archly. Then look at Lucas with a friendly smile, “you want to go get pho?”

“Right now!” Lucas checks his watch. It was already midnight. He should've been at his hotel room sleeping by now.

You nod.

Noah elaborates, “it's pricey but the broth hits different. They have some pretty good view of the city too.”

Two years. Noah had been back for two years and you never said anything.

Lucas can put up with Noah for a few hours to spend time with you. After all, you were the one who was putting up with him for life apparently.

“Should we let-,” you begging to ask, amusement dancing in your eyes, city lights reflected in the dark brown hue that had a quality of depth that made it easy to open up to you.

“Nah,” Noah smirks, “Sheer chatted some dude up, they won't even realize-”

“Rahul will though.”

“Psst, it's fine.”

You've both built a life here, far removed from any traces of Westchester. Maybe that's where he had gone wrong. Lucas had been so desperate to escape he's never found a place of his own, and still haunted by his one and only home: a place he wants nothing to do with. He needed to make a new home.

Law school wasn't sounding too shabby.

*

Noah leads the way.

*

A lightbulb turns on.

“What's with your eyes?” Lucas asks.

Noah chuckles, “sometimes you fall into a vat of radioactive waste because that's just the type of luck you have.”

You shake your head, amused. “Side effect. It's nothing serious. We checked.”

That doesn't comfort Lucas at all.

He wonders if Connor or Tom could fix that just to be sure Noah wouldn't suddenly go Redfield on you while you were sleeping.

Ugh, that was one mental image he didn't need.

“So what terrible horrifying government secret are you here investigating and does it have to do with a company hiding vats of radioactive waste,” you ask.

Lucas takes the bait.

He could and has talked people's ears off about the loose regulations on place on waste disposal among an array of industries.

*

*

*

Andy, Dan, Tom

This all starts with two things as far as Tom is concerned. First, they've all been talking for ages about doing a guys road trip after everyone still around Westchester had driven down to visit Ava. Not that the girls weren't fun, Tom thought to himself, but it just sounded nice.

He never had a sleepover growing up so this would make up for that. At least that was the idea.

Then Lucas called Andy freaking out about Noah Marshall and Connor could only nod and go, “yeah he was with them about a year. . almost two since we visited. I think it's already been two years.”

Which was a total mindfuck because why hadn't he mentioned anything.

Why hadn't Stacy?

Tom’s done some research into necromancy and it never ends well which is why they pile into Dan’s prius and hit the road to Vancouver Canada. Sans Connor because Vy is pregnant and Connor is glued to her side. “I think they were dating,” he also adds, bookmarking some cases around New Orleans that scream supernatural activity. That throws everyone for another mind loop as he clues the Pine Springs gang who wasn't there that senior year, why Noah Marshall shouldn't be alive, much less freely walking around. The only person who takes the news relatively well is Dan, who scratches his chin thoughtfully before saying, “that makes sense,” he nods to himself.

Andy rounds on him, ready to kick Noah's ass on sight which Tom will totally back him up on. Tom still can't handle spiders for which Danni and Jocelyn continue to tease him about.

“How in the fuck does that make sense,” Andy seeths, “that motherfucker landed you in a coma! I broke my leg and had to repeat senior year!”

Dan adds, “well you know, they spoke about how tragic his death was. And they used to have nightmares of him dying-”

They all turn to look at Dan.

“What,” Andy says, “when did they tell you that?”

Dan shrugs, “well they were always coming over that year and making a point to spend time with everyone but I always thought they looked sad and thinking about them alone on the edge of town,” he trails off. He’d never brought up your parents absence, but it was clearly felt. “So I went over to theirs when I could,” Dan finishes.

Andy shakes his head, “no. I don’t know what or how, but people don’t just come back from the dead and everything's sunshine and roses,” he crosses his arms against his chest and fumes across the entire state of New York.

Tom has to agree with Andy. There’s nothing in their research to suggest that people can just come back okay. Everything taken by the power ended up twisted into a funhouse version; it never ended well.

They stretch their legs in Cleveland, Andy still scowling. Every now and then he’ll rant about how Noah has to be up to something and he has to go save you from dying. Tom doesn’t bring it up, prefering to let Andy work through it now and wrap his head around Noah Marshall being alive on the car ride up to Canada, but Connor had said Noah’s been back for at least two years--wouldn’t he already have done something? He thinks of you and how you had been alone with Noah at the end. Maybe you had kept some things to yourself.

It was hard to relive trauma aloud.

It made it more real.

Tom sends Imogen a few snaps in Toledo as Andy blasts The White Stripes, to fit his mood.

He wishes Parker had been able to get the days off. Having someone at a distance from the situation might help everyone keep their cool. He knows he won’t stop Andy from beating Noah’s ass.

Dan picks up postcards in Chicago for everyone, as they sit by the famous Bean eating pizza.

“I can’t tell if this is better or if I’m fucking starving,” Andy admits, on his third slice.

Dan snorts, looking up from his lap where he’s writing out the postcards, wanting to send them quickly, “so they make it back before we do.”

Tom takes a walk around the plaza, thinking that fall really was the best weather, cold enough for a sweater without being too freezing and the sun didn’t burn.

They don’t stop in Wisconsin or Minnesota except for gas and Mcdonalds.

Andy sleeps as Tom takes over the driving.

Dan’ll be up next.

“Please play something other than Beach House,” Tom complains at Dan, “this is going to make me fall asleep.”

Dan chuckles, “Its good night driving music.”

“No Dan,” Tom shakes his head with a smile

The sun rises, and Tom gets to sleep.

He wakes up in Rapid City, South Dakota and they have to recreate that awful Hilary Clinton, “just chilling in Rapid City,” Andy says mockingly.

Dan almost chokes on his coffee.

Montana is so fucking beautiful and Tom’s seized with the sudden urge to come live out here. “We could totally do it,” he tells the other men, “it’s cheap out here. We could buy a huge piece of land and never have to deal with any bullshit again. Our friend group could do it. Danni’s really handy and Lily could set us up with wifi!”

“Bro,” Andy says gravely, “you know I love you, but I’m not moving to Montana with you.”

Dam smiles softly, “Danni would have a field day taking pictures here.”

Montana is beautiful and green and none of the nature here has that heavy feeling the woods in Westchester do, but they’re tired and exhausted from being on the road for the last two days. They crash at a motel 8 and sleep for the next twelve hours.

*

They ask this beautiful woman who's wearing birks and has a tote bag emblazoned “love your mother” with a planet earth painted on, to take a picture of them in front of Pike Place Market. Dan has her number before Tom’s done sending the pictures to his Pine Springs groupchat, teasing Parker about having stayed behind to yell at teenagers smoking weed while driving boats around the lake: accidents waiting to happen.

Tom has never been to Seattle.

He knows most of his friends from Westchester have  to visit you or Ava, and he's grown close to Ava, but at the time he was more of a friend of a friend and so never flew up to Seattle.

“Is it lame I'm still tired,” Andy asks, as they find a park to sit down at. It felt so good to be able to lay in the grass instead of sitting cramped up in the car.

“Age is starting to hit us.” Dan muses. “Either of you want to come get some things with me.”

His friend snorts, “Haven't you gotten enough gifts for everyone?” Which, yeah, Dan has been accumulating a small horde of souvenirs in the back for all his friends. He's a thoughtful guy. Tom’s not surprised the man’s a nurse. If he'd had Dan as a nurse when he was a kid, he might not completely hated going to the doctors office.

“I was kinda thinking about getting something from every state,” Dan says, blushing red as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I think it's sweet,” Tom says, clasping a hand on the other man's back. “Cheesy, but sweet.”

Andy shakes his head, “we should've gotten there by now. If only we hadn't stopped in Montana-”

“Noah's not going anywhere,” Dan points out, “you can kick his ass tonight or tomorrow.”

“They know we’re coming,” Andy scowls, “He could be halfway around the world by now.”

“Just remember Lucas already sucker punched him,” Tom offers his friend as consolation.

Dan shakes his head a little, but stays silent. Tom hasn't been able to get Dan’s feelings on the whole situation. He can’t imagine him being completely ambivalent or cool with Noah getting off scot free, but then again, Tom doesn’t know every little detail.

No one talks about it in detail even in their little power club that Connor and him started up.

He gets it.

It’s not something anyone wants to linger on.

And he understands better than most.

His monster was different, but no less horrifying.

“I’ll go with you,” Tom offers Dan, because this is a new city and even though the point is to go see what's up with Noah, and make sure he isn’t still the shadow monster he was the last time Tom saw him, he still wants to make the most of it.

“Two hours,” Andy says with a warning. “Two hours or I leave you in Seattle.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom shakes his head. Andy would never do them like that.

“If you’re coming we should go to the space needle,” Dan says thoughtfully, taking out his phone to begin google mapping the places he wants to hit up.

“Two hours!” Andy calls back from where he’s watching a couple people play basketball.

*

Tom discovers he has a thing about heights as they ascend via an elevator. It’s a slow day and the elevator operator talks him through it, telling him all sorts of bad puns and more information about the space needle then he can remember. “Sarah Palin came by the other day,” the woman who looks to be about their age with green ringlets and a friendly smile that doesn’t seem to be forced like most customer service workers smile (smile through the pain), “and she said she could see Alaska from here! Get it?”

Tom tries to smile, but yeah, he’s never doing this again. “Did you see the masked singer with Sarah Palin?”

The girl nods, “how the mighty have fallen. You think there's an alternate universe where she was vice president and insead Joe Biden’s on Dancing with the Stars?”

Tom’s laugh dies in his throat as the elevator jolts to a stop. It certainly feels like a huge jolt, but that may be his anxiety making everything elven times worse.

“Well thank you for riding air force two,” she salutes as Tom finally steps into the platform.

Sweet, sweet relief.

He sort of has to go take a picture or two off the viewing platform. He’s made it this far.

“She was totally into you,” Dan says, stepping in to take Tom’s mind off things.

“Was not.”

“Totally was.”

Tom rolls his eyes, “she was just being nice.”

“Sure man, sure. But she was.”

*

They arrive even later than Andy had predicted. It’s midnight and proof that they had dallied in Seattle for two long. This is the first time Dan has ever left the country so of course they stop and take pictures.

And then they stop and eat at the cute little cabin lodge just off the highway.

And even Andy forgets about the Noah business.

They pull into the street, disappearing from the city in the turn onto the street. It’s crazy how much of a difference a street can make. A little quiet row of houses tucked under the twinkling lights of the city lights.

Your house is a small one story thing, clearly an older home from before cookie cutter houses came into fashion, and with a certain amount of charm even with the dead plant by the doorstep: closer to a cottage than a house like something out of Snow White. There’s even a ouija board doormat that Tom thinks is completely in line with your humor and probably Noah’s as well. He just doesn’t remember much about Noah when he was alive. Last time Tom saw Noah, Noah was saying sorry to the birds. People could change.

Right?

It’s not like Noah had gone all Zodiac Killer on his friends.

The lights are off and Tom feels kind of bad that he’s about to wake you up, but he also really wants to crash in an actual bed.

Dan knocks on your door as Andy paces behind Tom.

A minute later, you peak your head out the door. Your navy blue sweater is cuffed around your hands, clearly meant for someone taller, helping to stave off the autumn chill, and grey flannel pajama pants. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand as you yawn. “You’re here,” you smile and hug Dan with one arm, “do you need any help with the bags.”

“The bags can wait until tomorrow,” Dan answers for the group, “I just want to sleep in a real bed.”

You snort, “don’t actually have a guest room,” you admit, keeping your voice down as you usher them all inside, “but I do have a pretty comfortable pull out couch and way too many quilts. I have to stop going to Victoria Island.”

Andy looks around, tense.

Tom’s a little surprised when you hug him too. “Want any food? There’s a ton of leftovers. Noah’s been stress baking. He has a bunch of exams this week.,” you say with such casualness.

“We already ate,” Dan offers, “there was this cool looking log cabin that sold me on pumpkin spice muffins.”

“Where is Noah,” Andy asks, cutting right to the quick.

You look at him pointedly as you explain, “he went to sleep early. He’s got school at like 7 am. I have no clue why. . .college was all about afternoon classes for me.”

Andy wisely, let’s it go for the moment.

You show them where things are, the couch is already extended. The TV’s sitting on a pile of textbooks with a nintendo switch right next to it.

Tom is out before his head hits the pillow.

*

They wake up and eat the promised leftovers as you rush to find the spare key to leave with your friends before you too have to go to work. “I would've asked for the day off like I did for the rest of the week,” you hastily explain, filling the electric kettle with water, “but it was Maureen’s birthday and I would’ve felt like such a dickhead.”

You make Dan promise to come look through the Museum you work at before it closes, and then you’re running off with a tumbler full of tea, putting a hand through your hair as if that’ll save it from looking like a mess. Tom’s unsurprised at your easy nature when they’re all imposing, making no secret of the real reason they had driven all the way to the other coast of North America.

Andy conducts a walkthrough of the house, leaving the sole bedroom of the house alone.

Dan shakes his head, flipping through the TV channels, before logging onto your netflix account, the most recent show having been played was Avatar the Last Airbender. “Anything you want to watch?”

“The good place,” Tom offers, “everyone’s always saying it's good.”

Dan shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have netflix.”

Andy comes back with a picture frame clutched in his hand, “He’s such a dick!” Red seeping into his neck as he fumes.

Tom looks over at the picture, but it’s just a photo any normal couple would have hanging around their house: a blurry polaroid of you and Noah, each with a red solo cup at some house party, with the date, over a year ago, written on the border. He gets it, he does. And Andy’s his friend, so he nods.

Dan on the other hand, “okay. . .”

Andy disappears back down the hall. “I just don’t understand how they kept this from us! I mean-after what he did!”

Tom nods the same way he always had when his dad would start lecturing him in japanese even though his japanese is limited to whatever the japanese equivalent of Dora the explorer teaching spanish is.

“Probably so we wouldn’t freak out,” Dan offers, not looking away from the screen.

Andy marches back into the living room with a deep set frown, “Noah was fine offering us up to that monster and now they’re here playing house like nothing ever happened.” He sits down next to Tom, head in his hand. “I just don’t get it.”

He clasps a hand on Andy’s shoulder in comfort.

“Maybe they just wanted to forget as much as we did,” Dan notes quietly. “Some of us left and never really went back.” He’s talking about Lily and Lucas, who only visits during the holidays, then there’s Ava out in Arizona, busy doing field research and only going to Westchester in between jobs. Dan’s an hour away, a world away, near Stacy.

It’s really just Andy and Connor who stayed.

He’s in Pine Springs, a good hour to the west of Westchester.

“He died,” Andy grumbles out, “it could’ve easily been them, or any of us, or all of us. We’re lucky no one else did.”

Dan frowns, looking over at Andy, “I don’t like this anymore than you do. I’m not jazzed that Noah’s been back for years and we just found out. But I trust their judgement.”

“Necromancy is serious business,” Tom says, breaking the staring contest that’s started between the two friends.

*

Noah’s at least a little bit of a coward, as he saunters up to them, running a hand through his hair as he takes a seat at the table.

You had said this diner had the best malai kofta in the neighborhood.

He’s resting expression is still skewed towards sour, even as there’s other noticeable changes from the Noah Tom remember’s who’d kept to himself in school. His hair cut into a flattering undercut, clothes no longer on the angsty scruffy side but still decidedly casual as he opts for a dark palette, and of course, the blue eyes that seem to glow even in the afternoon light Lucas had mentioned in great detail. Noah’s clean shaven and lean, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

He only spares Tom a second’s glance before he focuses in on you, his lips quirk-ing up in a small smile. Sitting down, you lean forward expectantly as he plants a kiss on your cheek by way of greeting, before saying, “C’s make degrees right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “but you did fine so it doesn’t matter. I ordered you the chicken and waffles. That’s what you usually get right?”

“Actually,” Noah starts, clearly about to tease you.

You shove his shoulder lightly, “beggars can’t be choosers.”

Dan extends an olive branch, “hey Noah.”

Which Andy immediately shoots down, “so it’s true.”

Tom’s only glad they’re already sitting and yeah, Noah’s a coward for meeting them in public, not that it had stopped Lucas from sucker punching him. It probably won’t stop Andy, only he’s sandwiched in between Dan and Tom and there’s no way Dan is getting up and out just so Andy can punch Noah. That’s not the kind of friend Dan is. Dan’ll take someone away to cool off, sprouting lines about being the bigger person, but Tom thinks that sometimes a punch is well earned.

Noah nods, sobering up, rating his arms on the table. “Yeah. It’s still. . . it’s still a trip nearly four years later.”

You cover his hand with yours, giving Noah’s hand a squeeze.

Now that they’re here with Noah, a burst of curiosity that’s been brewing in the back of Tom’s mind finally surges forward. “Do your eyes always glow? Or is it light a cat’s iridescence and that’s why you can read in the dark?”

“Gee, let me give you the paperwork the doctor diagnosed me with after I explained that my sister became a shadow monster and I came back to life. He was super nice and helpful about everything. We really don’t pay doctors enough.”

Andy rolls his eyes, “So are you still a monster or not.”

Noah frowns, before leading forward, gripping a glass of ice in hand pointedly, lifting it off the table, watching his own action with a sad fascination, “you can’t begin to imagine how nice it is to be solid again--to be more than a lingering ghost who can barely remember who it used to be.”

Which doesn’t answer the question but--

Some monsters were all too human for comfort. And some monstrous beings ended up friends and allies back in Pine Springs.

*

You and Dan walk up ahead arm in arm, chatting about everything from how cozy ll bean’s wool socks were to how you wanted to branch out and leave your job but it just couldn't be a bank, working in a cubical all day seemed like a death sentence. Dan fills you in on the news from back home and you both catch up as you walk at a leisurely pace back to your home.

Somehow, Noah manages to be patient as Tom rattles off question after question.

“Do you remember much?”

“What was it like coming back?”

“Can you do any magic thought,” he purses his lips in thought, “that doesn’t tell us much, since Ava’s out there levitating feathers.”

“Are any of your other senses better?”

“Do you have any other changes after coming back?”

“Can you speak to animals now?”

“Do you ever get a craving for human flesh?”

“Your limbs don’t fall off or anything? Right?”

“You have all your memories back?”

“Do you ever see any ghosts?”

“Can you see ghosts?”

Noah answers them patiently, if amused, as Andy skulks behind, clearly listening in on the conversation.

“How did they bring you back,” Tom finally asks, having spent countless nights researching necromancy. It had crept up in the Pine Spring’s society books, journals detail all sort of gorey accounts of their attempts to harness the power to gain power over the dead and living, but none of it had ever amounted to anything. At least in the best case.

One member had rotted away from the inside out, black mold blooming in his lungs, incurable as he choked to death after trying to raise a simple cat from the dead.

Noah tenses up, glancing over to where you’re laughing as Dan does a spot on Bernie impression about how it’s time to once again, “ask for a The man from U.N.C.L.E. sequel,” before meeting Tom’s gaze again. “You’ve formed a little club to keep the power away from people right?”

He nods, “I just-I don’t want more people to go through what we have,” he explains. They had to be proactive and learn so that no one else would stumble upon the power and exploit it to violent ends. Ava’s magic wasn’t derived from the power. Tom had double checked that. Ava’s magic was her own through her own sheer will.

But the power-that was something else entirely.

He swallows thickly.

Nothing had happened so far. And he couldn’t tell if their plan was working, or if they had gotten lucky. It had been a handful of years. But then, a decade had passed between Jane Marshall’s death and her awakening.

“And no one else ever will,” Noah says forlornly.

“Explain,” Andy says, walking up on Noah’s other side.

The man looks up at you, as you and Dan wait by the street corner for the rest of the group to catch up, and he shakes his head. “All you need to know is the power won’t be a problem again.”

*

Tom runs the problem over and over in his mind as they explore Vancouver and Andy continues to get digs in at Noah while Noah lets him.

*

He thinks about it as Andy makes everyone watch #Alive. And then Dan reminds them how obsessed everyone was with Inception when it came out. And Tom thinks about Noah’s words. And then you suggest watching something lighter: Zoolander.

*

Tom plays Noah’s words over in his head as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to Andy’s snores.

*

He puzzles over what Noah meant, why he didn’t want to bother you with it, as he drives back across the continent.

*

The power takes.

*

The power gives.

*

He gets it as they stop for gas in New York.

*

Oh, you really must love him.

*

*

*

Ava

Ava walks into Tom’s house out in Pine springs. It’s summer and she’s ready to spend the entire week swimming and continuing the search for a black lipstick that won’t stain. Fenty came pretty close.

There’s tons of cars in the driveway and she knows she’s the last one to get there; she always did like an entrance.

She tries the doorknob before knocking, hearing the laughter and conversation carry outside. The house is unlocked so she lets herself in; she likes to make entrances, guilty as charged, before following the sound of voices into the back porch overlooking the lake.

Tom had lucked out in buying this place during the summer the lady of the lake terrorized the town.

She’s frozen in shock when she sees Noah sitting with everyone like he hasn't been dead for over eight years. He’s sitting with an arm around you, beer in his other hand, talking with Lily, in a faded AC/DC shirt and dark jeans despite the heat.

Ava pinches herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming.

“Ava,” Lily cries, spotting her, “you’re here.”

“What the fuck!”

Realization dawns on your face as Noah looks over at the resident goth chick who’s withered into a refined goth woman, less fishnet and more victorian mourning shirts paired with flared black and white leggings, for the first time in eight years and seven months.

“Hey Ava,” he says, lifting his hand up in greeting from where it’s resting on your shoulder.

Your face heats up, as you look at Ava, realizing you’d never gotten around to telling her. Not when you’d visited her for Thanksgiving even though she refused to participate in a propaganda holiday that “perpetuates colonialism” or the time last year when you’d gone to support her big lecture at UMississipi. It had never seemed the right time and now the time to calmly explain was gone.

“Someone explain before I light him on fire,” Ava utters, feeling heat grow in her fingertips. It was easy after years of practice. She was toying with the idea of buying a house in Salem.

Noah doesn’t even flinch.

How could he, having grown up with Jane for a sister that had gone around filling people shoes with mud and shoving people into pools with a laugh. That girl had been fearless, and Ava has long thought if she’d been an inch more scared, you and Jane never would have gone into those ruins.

It almost warms Ava’s cold dead heart.

Ha.

If Ava had sometimes been the third wheel with you and Jane, then Noah had been the ugly duckling waiting for a scrap of attention because Jane shone bright, a sunflower soaking up light, thriving on attention. Maybe Noah hadn’t been all that bothered to let his sister take the lead as kids, even as he grumbled about the trouble they were sure to get into, but neither Marshall twin had cared about anyone’s attention more than yours.

Jane had always been a limpet, her hand in yours.

Ava had been too independent even at nine to always go along with Jane, or want a friend that close.

But you didn’t just go along with Jane, you encouraged her, and dragged Noah along when Jane got too caught up in her made up games to remember to play nice. Noah who even at nine seemed clued into the fact that you were hurt that your parents were never around, something that never occurred to Jane.

So she’s not surprised that Noah and you are a thing.

Figures.

You’d kissed more than one white boy that could vaguely pass for Noah if you had enough to drink in college even if you had only dated twice and neither had been Noah Marshall knockoffs.

It’s glaringly obvious in hindsight.

What she doesn’t get is how he’s alive.

And everyone’s just cool with it.

“I thought you already knew,” Dan says.

Lily looks at you, “didn’t you tell Ava first?”

You raise a brow, “I thought Lucas told everyone?”

Lucas shrugs, wearing a suit in the summer, “I did. I just figured Ava already knew”

Stacy sips her cocktail, “awkward.”

“Wow,” Noah jokes with a grin, “you guys are terrible friends.”

Andy almost chokes on his beer, sending Noah a look that would’ve made Medusa jealous.

Danni shakes her head, “too soon dude, too soon.”

Maybe she should move into Cora’s old house. That way she could keep up with her friends' news.

How the hell did she miss Noah coming back to life.

That was metal as fuck.

She and you would have words about keeping secrets.

“Just give me the strongest drink you can make,” she says with a shake of her head, taking a seat next to Imogen, the resident mixologist.

[raz-b-rose]

The Secrets we Keep

This was my first Daminette fic, and by far my longest right now. I am posting the whole thing here but I’ll include a link.

 It is 15490 words, hope you enjoy. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737908/chapters/51857641

________________________________________________________________

Damian isn't sure how his life had come to this. If you had asked him 2 years ago; heck even just 6 months ago, he would have denied ever wanting to be this close to another person. Alas here he is sitting across from a beautiful woman, dinner picked away at as they talk into the night. Yes Damian Wayne never thought that he would want to in the company of Marinette Dupain-Chang especially after their initial meeting.

She had come to class late, fashionably so, and he had swore at the time the professor was trying to make his life a living hell by assigning her as his partner. She was clumsy, easily flustered and chaos walking. He thought that there was no way she was going to contribute anything productive to this project. Her English was impeccable, however, so perhaps she had some discipline.

They agreed to meet for coffee later that week to go over each others notes and make a plan. Damian had made everything that week, wanting to just cut out the middleman and waiting to see what she contributed. He arrived to the coffee shop 5 minutes early, expecting to have to wait on her again, but she was already set up in the corner, 2 cups of coffee on the table in front of her. 

Her hair was down today, the midnight color almost looking blue in the sunlight. She held herself with confidence as she took a folder out of her bag, separating the contents into two piles. Not wanting to be caught observing the approaches the table. 

“Ms. Dupain-Chang. I wasn’t expecting you to be here early.” Damian wasn't sure what to make of the situation. 

“Marinette.” She gives him that disapproving look that women seem to have mastered. He just stared at her in confusion. 

“What?” He sounds as coherent as Todd. 

“My name is Marinette, and just because I was late the first day doesn't mean i’m always late.” The way she says the last part leads him to believe that she was stretching the truth a little and was in fact, late often. He doesn’t call her on it however.  

“My apologies. May I sit down?” 

“Of course!” She giggles, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. As Damian take his seat, Marinette hands him one of the cups. “You didn’t strike me as a coffee drinker, so I got you some green tea.” She becomes flustered once again, almost embarrassed. She doesn't quite meet my gaze. 

“Lucky for you, your intuition was correct.” That forces her eyes to mine, and all he sees in those sky blue eyes is triumph. Almost like she is having a small ah ha moment. 

“So I was thinking that we could split the work into five different sections for each of us, breaking it down further to one section a week so we still get it done by the time its due without it, what's the word,” She pauses her tirade trying to remember her English. Marinette was becoming very nervous. She hoped this man wouldn't think she was bossy or overbearing.

“Ah yes impending! Impending our other assignments.” 

Damian can't help but feel the whiplash of his initial assessment of Marinette. She was beyond organized, and her work ethic rivaled that of Drakes. Which was saying something. 

“Damian?” She looks at him in concern, going so far as to grab his hand. That shocks him into action. 

“I feel that I must apologize. Due to your chaotic nature earlier this week, I did not take you for a reliable partner and completed the project.” Damian watches as her eyes widen, her mouth open in a cute o shape. Then she laughed. Not a cute giggle, but a full belly laugh. 

“Then I must apologize as well. Due to your standoffish nature, I did not take you as a reliable partner and also finished the project already.” She gasps when she is able to breathe again. Damian feels like he is being mocked.

But he can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. “This meeting was nothing more than to humor each other then.”

“I have a proposition,” She has a mischievous glint to her eyes, Damian can't help but be influenced by the sight, He leans forward, elbows on the table. 

“What would that be Marinette?”

“We do the project together, scrapping what we already did.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Uh a clean slate obviously,” She seems nervous again, her earlier show of intensity gone. He can't help but feel confused and frustrated at her constant change in demeanor. 

“A clean slate?”

“Yeah like, we get to know each other properly. No assumptions.” Damian pretends to think a moment, watching her from his peripheral. She starts to squirm in her seat. She pulls on the sleeves of her sweater, then she plays with her hair, then she rubs her hands together. 

“Ok” He decided she had suffered enough. She perks up instantly, and Damian questions his own sanity at agreeing. She quickly hands him a packet, explaining every last detail. He contributes to the planning as well, their drinks soon empty then time for his next class approaching. 

“Same time next week?” She asks hopefully.

“Yes. See you in class.” Damian leaves the coffee shop feeling content and confident. Marinette would be a valuable partner. 

They continued to meet for the next five weeks at the same coffee shop, on their last meet up until the project was to be presented later that week, Damian couldn't help but feel disappointed that their weekly meetups were coming to an end. Marinette's presence was a breath of fresh air compared to his nightly activities and the drone of the other occupants of the college campus. 

She had found ways to make him laugh more than once, a feat in and of itself, and she never seemed turned off by his abrasive or abrupt nature. Rather she encouraged him to speak his mind, and in doing so Damian learned how to curb his words for the appropriate situations. 

He would find himself fixing his appearance before leaving for each meetup. He would tell himself and anyone else that it was not to get a compliment from her, but rather because he is Wayne, and a Wayne is to be presentable at all times. 

Even now he runs gel through his hair, satisfied when it stands at an appropriate angle. He turns his face inspecting for any missed spots from shaving. His green eyes stare back at him in satisfaction. An appropriate look for a Wayne he thinks to himself. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, Marinette is doing the same thing on campus in one of the bathrooms. She fixes her hair for what feels like the hundredth time, and inspects her makeup for any blemishes. She cant help the girlish squeal that escapes her lips, bouncing on her toes a little. Marinette twirls in her dress, satisfied with the finished product and hurries to the coffee shop. 

Damian enters last like normal, Marinette determined to fix her tardy image. Damian sits down across from her, taking the tea she already bought before he can speak she has already barreled into the last minute details of the project. Damian is content and listen to her passionately plan and finalize. 

“Want to get lunch tomorrow?” She stops her tirade in shock, blue eyes searching green ones. Damian now just wants to smash his head into a wall, why did he say such a thing? He may not have seen Brown or Grayson for a few months now, but they must have rubbed off on him for him to thoroughly shove his foot into his mouth in such a way. 

“That sounds like fun.  Where and when?” She smiles that smile that even Superman would combust under. 

“Uh, I don’t know, it was a spontaneous idea.” He mumbled, embarrassed at even using the word. 

“Oh spontaneous huh? That's not like you Damian.” Her teasing increasing alongside Damian’s reddening face. “You’re always such a planner.”

“Yeah, yeah. Where would you like to go?” He tried to wave of his embarrassment, staring at a stain on the ceiling. 

“How about I think about it and give you a text?” She dropped her teasing tone, turning her attention away from Damian and back to the papers, littering the table. If he hadn't been so flustered himself, he would have seen her hands tremble. 

“Sounds like a reasonable plan. 12 o’clock?” 

“Sounds perfect, I’m out of class by 11:30.”

“Is everything set for the presentation?” Damian tries to bring the conversation back to the reason for their sitting in the coffee shop to being with. 

“Yes,” She giggles, “here you go,” 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Damian offers her one of his rare smiles. She swears her heart stops then and there. Damian was good looking, but he increased his attractiveness by a hundred when he smiled. 

How she managed to keep it together while in the coffee shop she’ll never know. All her years as Ladybug maybe? She waves to Damian outside the shop before squatting to the ground. She grips her face, her cold hands a welcomed relief to her very, very warm face. She doesn't care that she's in public, she squeals in excitement, the rush intoxicating. Damian had asked her to lunch, a date? She sure hoped so. 

“Damian?” He jumps out of his thoughts. Marinette smirking at him, “Where did you go silly?” He narrows his eyes at her. He was not silly, the farthest thing from it. 

“I was simply thinking about how I actually tolerate your company.” He tries to sound disinterested, but Marinette knows him well enough by now that such tricks wont work on her. 

“Is that so? What about my company is so enjoyable?” 

“I didn’t use that word.”

“No but it's what you meant.” She grins cheekily back at him, thankfully the check comes at that moment, leaving her to focus on gathering her things. He noticed her trying to slip bills to the waitress, however Damian gets the bills back and slips them back into her purse. 

The walk back to her apartment is quiet and tranquil, like the snow falling around them. She is hugging his arm, trying to steal what little warmth he has to offer. If Damian learned anything about Marinette these last few months, its that she did not handle the cold well, and that she did not pick a good city to move to. It was winter almost nine months out of the year. 

They stop outside her apartment, Damian waiting patiently for her to enter safely before leaving. She lingers outside with him, taking his hands on her own. Damian looks at her in confusion, watching as she looks up at him. Snowflakes dust her hair and eyes lashes. The lamp light making her eyes look darker than normal. She searches his eyes, licking her lips. He tilts his head, trying to read her thoughts through her expressions. 

She slowly raises herself up onto her tip toes and gently touches her lips to his own. His eyes widen in surprise, mouth opening slightly. She stiffens, eyes opening in horror, falling back she takes in his face. He looks horrified at her kiss. He isn't, just caught off guard, but she doesn't know that. 

“I sorry,” she starts to stammer, her accent growing heavy with panic, “Mine think brain, no, I thought, au revoir!” Marinette is then making a mad dash to the door, almost slipping in the process, but in a true Marinete fashion manages to catch herself and continue to escape with Marinette patented moves. 

Damian reaches out for her, but she is already dashing up the stairs, out of site. Not really sure what he himself feels, and not wanting to make things worse, he leaves. He elects not to go on patrol that night, after all his head wasn't where is need to be safe. He doesn’t sleep much that night. 

After all, what did Damian feel for the young woman? She was beautiful, that much is certain, he may have never been seeking out a relationship before, but he wasn't blind. She was passionate and fiery. She sought the good in everyone, giving more than she takes. She never put Damian down for his behavior, especially when he himself was in the wrong. She was patient and kind, talking him through everything. She made him actually feel proud to be Damian Wayne; That even though he was deeply flawed, she still wanted to be around him. She wanted to kiss him. 

Kissing meant, love, or at least a deep care and like for another person. That is what everyone had told him since he came to live with Bruce. Marinette did not seem like the person to not follow through with that thinking. And on that note, Damian finds himself desiring to see her and kiss her again. He did after all enjoy Marinette's company, immensely.

The next day he doesn't see her around campus, or in their only shared class. He worries, but also thinks of Cass, and how she would do this when she got emotional too. Damian is sure he will see her again tomorrow and they can talk about them and move past this awkward mess. 

She does not show up the next day. She has yet to respond to any calls or texts. By day three Damian has had enough and marches out of class, the stares doing nothing to him. He realizes when he gets to her apartment, he doesn't have a plan. She could not be home for all he knows. 

Knocking he waits for her to open the door, he can hear shuffling on the other side, relieved to find that she is home. She opens to door in a daze, Damian smiles at her. She looked like crap. Her hair was a rats nest, she’d obviously had been crying and hasn't been sleeping well. She looked absolutely beautiful. Normal. 

She tries to slam the door in his face, however, Damian is faster, the hand and foot keeping the door open. “Damian I could have hurt you!” of course that is the first thing she says to him. 

“I have had worse. Please stop hiding from me. I enjoy your company too much to go without it this long.” He hopes she gets what he's trying to say, because Damian Wayne is not a love sick sap. She gives him a hopeful look, stepping aside to let him into the apartment. 

“You enjoy my company huh?” She tries to act coy, but nerves are coming off her in waves suffocate her intentions. Damian steps right next to her, cupping her face in his hand. 

“Yeah. You Are addicting.” She snorts at him. 

“I’m sorry” She whispers, looking at him the same way she did three nights ago. 

“What for?” he whispered back.

“Kissing you.”

“That's not the apology I was expecting.” Damian then gives Marinette a look she has never seen before, it is one of hurt. Rejection. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you,” She steps closer, hand gripping his jacket. “I was embarrassed and thought you hated me. I thought I ruined everything.” His stare is intense, she feels as though her soul is out for Damian to see. 

“Don’t ignore me again please.” His tone is gentle, something that anyone who knew Damian had never heard before. He rubs his thumb under her eyes as more tears start to fall. “I’m not mad, I just missed you and hate being ignored.”

“I won't do that ever again.”

“Good. Now promise me just one more thing.” He waits for her eyes to open, head leaning into his touch.

“Yes?”

“Let me kiss you when ever I feel like it?” He meant it to me an order, but it came out as a question. Her laugh sounds broken but healed at the same time. 

“Damian. Is that your way of asking me out?” she's back to whispering again as she once more raises herself up onto her tiptoes. 

“I guess it is.” He whispers back, his second kiss returned in full this time. She removes her death grip on his jacket, wrapping her arms around his neck. His moves his arms to her waist, lifting her off the ground, spinning them in victory. 

“I really do like you Marinette. I’m sorry that my reaction wasn’t what you were expecting.” His forehead his against hers, taking in her presence in his arms. 

“I misread the mood,” She groans, clearly still embarrassed.

“How would you feel if I told you that was my first kiss?” He chuckles as she only groans some more. 

“Unfortunate that your first kiss is with me,” He can’t tell if she is joking your not. He sets her down, lifting her chin up to meet her eyes, searching them, trying to find a hint of a joke. There is none. He kisses her once more before speaking.

“I don’t feel like that and neither should you. I like your kisses.”

“How can you know that I kiss well, after all, I’m the only person you’ve kissed.” She pouts.

“I just know.” He says pulling her in for another kiss. They both melt into that one, no longer tense or uncertain. Content in each other's presence, relaxed and happy. 

They had been dating for over a year when disaster struck. His family found out about Marinette. His very intrusive, needs the answers to everything, the definition of privacy is unknown, family. 

They had just finished a nice dinner date after a performance at the theater, when the worst of all of his family happened upon them. Jason Todd. And no, Damien does not mean the worst because of his methods. No the worst possible person because Todd does not know when to keep his mouth shut. 

See Jason had noticed them leaving the theater, and out of ‘spite’ decided not to call out to Damian, but rather follow them back to Marinette's place. Jason waited outside for almost two hours before Damian exited the building, preparing himself for a night of crime fighting. 

“Hey Demion. Who’s the chick?” Damian froze, slowly meeting Jason's gaze across the street. He looked like a toddler that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

Jason pushes himself off the wall, meeting Damian on the other side, both of them walking to Wayne Tower together. Jason was not patient so he refused to wait for Damians answer.

“Com’on, tell me. Who is she?”

“She is none of your concern.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Damian tries not to show a reaction to the word, but his fist clenches and his shoulders straighten. “When were you going to tell us?” 

“She is none of your concern.” He repeats, hoping that just this once, Jason will give up. He does not.

“How did you meet? Is she nice or a demon like you? Wait why did I ask that, why would a nice girl ever go out with you.” Jason laughs loudly, but doesnt miss Damians growl or the death glare he sends his way. 

“Oh protective already are we,” Jason tsks, “Careful, girls these days don't like the whole ‘night in shining armor’ thing”

“Will you just shut up?”

“Nope. I have questions for days.”

Damian’s scowl from when he was ten slowly starts to morph back into place, the look more terrifying now that his baby fat has thinned out and his features are much sharper now. It does nothing against Jason however.

“She’s tiny,must be cute when you guys kiss. Ya’know, with how tall you are.” His scowl only deepens. “Oh I bet she not very experienced huh?” Jason suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?” Damian's face is beat red, his fists fully clenched now. However Jason is only getting started, this is the most entertained he’s been for months.

“A girl that cute must have a cute name right? Let me guess, Jessica. No, Hannah. Oh wait I got it, Lily.”

“Her name is Marinette! She’s French!” Jason just grins in victory. After all anyone knows if you annoy Demion long enough, he will tell you exactly what you want to know. 

“Ah French uh? But she looks Asian.”

“Are you serious Todd?” Damian sounds disgusted, “You of all people should know not to judge a person's nation by how they look.” 

"My bad, you’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right.”

“You’re not right in keeping her a secret.” Jason drops all annoying brother pretenses, getting serious. “When were you going to tell us? How long have you been seeing her?”

“Not long. And I didn’t want to tell you guys yet for this very reason.”

“We were all going to react the way I did no matter when you told us.” Damian begrudgingly agrees that Todd has a point. His family was annoying like that after all.

“You should bring her for dinner this weekend, everyone will be at the Manor,” Jason holds open the lobby doors for Damian, both waving to the receptionist, before heading to the private elevator. 

“I will ask her Todd, but that's it.”

“Good enough for me, after all she won't refuse.”

“Who won't refuse?” Damian groans as the elevator doors open to the secret basement. Tim finishing suiting up, 3 cups of coffee already empty on the table beside him. 

Damian tries to say ‘no one’, but Jason is already slapping his hand over his mouth ensuring his silence long enough. 

“Demion here has a girlfriend that he didn't tell anyone about. He said he would bring her to dinner this weekend.”

Bruce walks in as Jason finishes speaking, his face showing obvious surprise at his youngest not only being in a relationship, but willing to bring her to the manor. 

“I said I would ask her, there is no guarantee!” Damian shouts, pushing Jason aside, angrily getting suited up for the night. 

“Please inform me as soon as you can Master Damian so I can make the appropriate accommodations.” Alfred speaks up from the giant monitor on the wall. Damian just grips the table in defeat, head hanging low. 

“So what's she like Damian?” Tim finally speaks again, hovering on his left. “Is she smart? Talented? Oh I know you must find the damsel in distress trope attractive.” 

“Drake you have two seconds to back away from me before I put a hole through your face,” 

“That's a hard no,” Tim mutters backing away, “What can you tell us?”

“That she is not your concern,” Damian groans for the third time that night. 

“Of course she is our concern, we have to make sure she checks out. Safe for the family.” The ‘safe for you’ hang in the air between them. 

“Her name is Marinette and she is French. That's all the information I got.”

“That's a good amount to work with” Tim excitedly stars tapping away, obviously working on building a profile. 

“Don’t you dare run a background check on her.” Bruce has silently been watching his sons interact, finally stepping in at Damian's order.

“Why not Damian?”

“Because it is not necessary, and I value her privacy, like all of you should,” He looks into Tim's eyes the longest. “I know enough without a background check.” 

“How long have you known her,” Tim snips, perturb at being stopped at investigating. It's what he is good at and it's what he enjoys. 

“Long enough, leave it be. You all know about her now. That should be enough.”

“But its not-”

“Just be a normal family for once!” All the men stop at Damian's outburst, “Get to know her like normal people. No background checks, no staking out, just leave her alone.” With that He marches over to the street exit, leaving his Father and Brother standing in shock. 

The following morning, Damian meets Marinette outside her apartment, silence filling the air as they walk to class. He glances down at her, smiling a soft bittersweet smile. It was nice while it lasted, having her all to himself. 

“My family found out about us.” She doesn’t find this news as troublesome as he did.

“I didn't know they were unaware.” Marinette chooses her words carefully, after all she is unsure how she feels about being a secret girlfriend. A secret girlfriend for a year. 

“It’s not that I wanted to keep you a secret,” Damian noticed her rise in emotion, “It’s that my family does not understand the definition of privacy very well, and I didn't want you to be overwhelmed with their overeager nature. 

She finds the notion that Damians family was nothing like him a hilarious concept. On the other hand, she finds it hard to laugh in the moment. If they invaded privacy the way he says, she has too many secrets that were not hers to share at this moment. Concerning indeed. 

“Well, if it is ok with you,” she pulls them to a stop, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I am not comfortable to meet your family. Yet.” Unable to stop himself, Damian kisses her dizzy, falling more in love with this woman by the second.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.” He gasps out

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” She chuckles, “I will let you know when I am ready. Deal?”

“The best deal I have ever made in my life,” He deadpans. She laughs while pulling them back to walking, both hearts lighter. Damians with not having to share her yet. Marinettes with the extended time to get her affairs in order. She reaches up to her earrings, rubbing them in concern. 

Damian all but struts into wayne tower later that night, gleeful to break the news that Marinette didn't want to meet them. 

Jason and Tim were talking to Dick on the monitor when Damian entered, obviously arguing about Damian and his love life. 

"Let Damian have this you two. He deserves the respect." 

"But-" Tim starts only to be cut off with Damian clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Listen to Grayson." 

"Hey Damian. Congrats on the girl, nice to see you finally living like a normal human being" he jests

“Thank you Grayson. It's nice to see someone respecting privacy around here.” 

“You just gotta wait until this weekend Timmy, a chance to practice your patience” Grayson tries to placate the quickly growing in agitation Tim. 

“Actually, She isn't ready to meet you guys, so she won't be coming this weekend.” Damian feels smug watching their faces morph from confusion into hurt. 

And with that Damian moves to get ready, leaving them to process the reality of not getting to meet Marinette. 

"I know where she lives, let's go Tim" Jason starts to the elevator, forgetting his already in costume. 

"Jason. Tim. Stop." Bruce enters, her Batman glare on. "If Damian is serious about Marinette, and she about him, then we need to respect their wishes. She could be a part of our family and we do not need to give her the wrong idea" 

"Thank you Father. Now let's go, there was chatter yesterday that Penguin is up to something." 

The boys begrudgingly get ready, each leaving the basement on their own time. Tim and Jason exchange a look. They won't meet her yet, but they are totally going to research her. 

Everything came to a head for Damian and Marinette however a few weeks later. They were enjoying a relaxing afternoon class free in her apartment. Damian was reading on her couch while she hemmed a dress on the floor in the corner.

Her phone rang from the counter top, Marinette scrambling to get to it in time. "Maman!" She exclaims in French, giving Damian a smile, before focusing on her call. 

"Oh no no." She laughs, “I have been a good girl.” Damian can’t help but smile at listening to her. 

“How are you Maman?” 

“Well I hope the delivery gets finished on time.” Marinette’s stomach turns as she watches the back of Damians head. She now leans against the counter.  

“Hows Papa?” Damian notices her pause, glancing behind him to see her face twisted in worry. He sets his book down, getting up to see whats wrong. Marinette just holds a finger up to him. ‘One moment’ she mouths. 

“Huh uh. What?” Her brows furrow further. “Ok Maman, I’ll be there soon.” 

“What's wrong Habibti?” Instead of going to Damian she runs to her bedroom, blindly packing a bag. 

“My Grandfather is not doing well. The doctors says he doesn't have long. I have to fly home. I don't know how long I will be gone.” She glances at Damian sadly, “Sorry I have to cancel all our plans.”

“Hey don’t say that, your family needs you. This is out of your control.”

“Thank you Chéri,” She kisses him softly before closing her bag.

“Would you like me to take you to the airport?” Damian follows her out of the apartment, holding her bag while she locks the door. 

“No I’ll be ok. I would like time to prepare myself.” 

“Please call me when you land, I need to know you’re safe.” He helps her flag down a cab. 

“Of course Chéri,” They share one last kiss before Marinette climbs into the back seat. “See you soon.”

“See you soon.” Damian watched as the cab pulled away from the curb, the emotion of worry overtaking him. He had felt concern for his own well being before, but never for another person this personally. Especially Marinette's grandfather. It was an odd experience. 

Damian decided he might as well go get some training in with the free afternoon he has. AS soon as he entered the Manor, his phone rang, caller ID informing him it was Drake. 

“Yes Drake?”

“I found something troubling, I need you at the manor,” Tim hesitates before adding, “Please.”

“Lucky for you I am already here.” Damian hangs up before heading to the cave entrance. 

He is surprised to see Drake and Todd in the cave, along with Grayson. Damian narrows his eyes at each of them before finally noticing what they had pulled up on the computer. It was a complete profile on Marinette. Damian felt his blood pressure rise. 

“What did I tell you guys about-!” 

“We know but just stop and listen, you will be thanking us in a few minutes.” Jason places a hand on his shoulder. 

“What do you mean I will be thanking you?” Damian all but snarls, “What did you do?”

“Just listen to this,” Tim starts pulling up an audio file, “It’s a good thing you haven’t been dating this girl for very long.” Before Damian can get another word in Tim presses play. 

“Maman!” Marinette's voice exclaims, the sound normally music to his ears, but now he just feels dread.

“Are you alone Ladybug?” The voice does not belong to Marinette's mother, or rather can’t, Damian has never talked to the woman. This voice is young, strong and serious. 

“Oh no,no” Marinette's voice laughs, “I have been a good girl.” Dread sets in further. 

“Understood.”

“How are you Maman?”

“It’s time Ladybug.”

“Well I hope the delivery gets finished on time”

“We are waiting at the temple. The situation is dire.”

“How’s Papa?”

“We have purchased tickets for you already. Chat Noir will meet you in the UK. You will then take a flight to Tibet.”

“Huh uh. What?” Her voice now takes on a more serious note. He had been sitting across from her while she had this coded conversation. Damian felt like a fool. 

“Viperion will then meet you in the village Dangquka to escort you the rest of the way.”

“Ok Maman, I'll be there soon” 

Dick watches as Damian starts to lose his balance, quickly moving a chair behind him to collapse into. Damian just stares at the computer screen, gripping his face this one hand, his other fist clenched.

“I knew something was up every time she declined to meet us so I started investigating. Her background check came back clean, so I bugged her phone.”

“Just stop talking Drake.” Damian all but whispers, that stops Tim in his tracks.

“Wow she had you whipped, and you guys didn't know each other that long.” Jason mutters 

“I think knowing her for almost two years is quite a long time Todd.” Damian didn't have the energy to even get loud. 

“Wha? Two years? But how?” Tim’s voice starts to tremble. He feels terrible. He didn't know they had been together that long. 

“You guys just assumed because you only found out about us a few weeks ago, that must have been we started dating. I never told you how long we had been together.”

“Damian are you ok?” Dick finally spoke, his tone gentle and quiet. No judgment, just concern. 

“Am I ok?” Damian laughs, “AM I OK?” Damian had finally processed everything, he jumps out of the chair marching up to Tim.

“Whoa Damian calm down!” Dick springs into action.

“No! Do you realize what you took from me Drake. DO YOU?” He points his finger into his face.  

“Damian I didn't know-”

“No you just couldn't mind your own business!” Damian takes a deep breath, “She is my normal. She treats me like a normal person and with respect. She is kind to everyone she meets, and is the most patient person I have ever met. 

Damian glances at her picture still plastered on the monitor. Her eyes reflect everything he just said about her. Just from this picture you can see how much joy she brings to the world. She is so beautiful and Damian for the life of him can’t imagine her being some sort of spy. Or assassin his mind supplies, remembering how the caller had mentioned a temple. 

“Would you rather have been kept in the dark if it meant keeping that sense of normalcy.” Todd speaks, his eyes narrowed, “We were only trying to help.”

“If you really want to help then you two are going with me to get to the bottom of this.” Damian marches past the three men, and out of the cave, ignoring the question. 

“You two suck.” Dick says quietly. “You’re lucky I'm in town to cover for you.” With that he also makes his exit, leaving the last two to only stare at the ground. 

Dick finds Damian in the sparring room, obliterating dummies with his sword. He patiently waits for him to acknowledge his presence. Damian pauses, using his shirt to wipe the first drops of sweat from his face. 

“What do you want?”

“Want to spar?” Damian is bewildered, but he doesn't dwell on it. He has to let out his aggression somehow. 

“You had nothing to do with this mess.”

“So, you need a sparring partner.” Dick takes off his shirt and shoes, meeting Damian on the mat. “Plus sparing has always helped clear your head.”

Dick doesn't wait but goes straight for the attack, kicking high. Damian easily evades, spinning around with a kick of his own. They continue to exchange blows in quick succession, slowly only between pieces of conversation. 

“She was the first person who really saw me.” Damian grunts as he throws Dick over his shoulder, “And the first girl I have ever liked.” 

Dick spins himself back into a standing position, hands at the ready for the next attack. “Do you love her?” The question doesn't catch Damian off guard like he thought it would.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever lied to her about Robin activities.” Dick jabs quickly at Damian's shoulders. 

“Never, I just have never told her details.” He dances away from the punches, swinging out with a roundhouse kick. “Told her I have a night job. That I help Father with work and that I workout often.”

“What did you tell her when you got shot three months ago?”Grayson manages to get a hold on Damians shift, pinning him to the ground. But his does not hold him, after all Damian needs to keep moving to sort through everything.

“I didn’t tell her that. I didn’t want to worry her.”

“Impressive.” Damian gets a choke hold on Dick, tangling their legs together. “Let me ask you this. What if she does the same thing and that's why she lied to you?”

That causes Damian to pause long enough with his choke hold for Grayson to throw him over his shoulder. He lays on the mat, staring at the ceiling, working through that thinking.

“That would be the best outcome to all this.”

“And the worst?”

“She is the opposite and I got played like a fool.” Damian picks himself up, walking to the end of the mat signaling the end of the sparring match.

“Are you going to follow her or wait until she gets back?”

“Follow. What reason would she have to tell me the truth the second time?” he bends to gather his things.

“Do you fully distrust her now?”

Damian pauses, “Maybe, I don’t know. I just don't want to be caught off guard this time. Plus I already told them they are taking me.”

“Better get a move on if you want to beat her there.” He rubs Damian's head affectionately. Damian grins at Dick. 

“Thank you Dick, I really needed that.” 

“Go get her Tiger” With that Dick smacks his back before leaving the gym, calling for Alfred. Yes Damian thought, time to go find out what is really going on. 

And so Jason and Tim had the most uncomfortable flight of their life, not looking forward to the flight back should things turn out even worse than they are now. Damian stayed silent the whole way, only staring out the window or flipping through his phone. 

To say Bruce was unhappy with all three boys needing to leave the city was an understatement. Thankfully Dick was there to lighten the load and the blow. The sound of a ringing phone pulled Damian from whatever he was thinking about. He felt like he was going to break his phone he was gripping it so hard. He answers on the last ring.

“Marinette.” It’s all he can bring himself to say. 

“Damian! I thought I was going to miss you,” She laughs, “It must be pretty late there.”

“Oh yea totally. How was your flight?” 

“It was smooth, here safe and sound.”

“Paris right?” He asks, even though he knows that she isn't there, Damian is wondering to see how far she will go to lie to him.

“That's where my parents are,” she laughs again. It wasn't a direct answer. It wasn't an answer at all. Damian wasn't sure what to make of the misleading statement. It was almost like she didn't want to outright lie to him. 

“I gotta go Chéri, I'll let you know when my flight back is so you can pick me up. I probably won't be close to my phone this week but I’ll text when I can ok?”

“Of course Habibti.” Damian pauses but figures he should go for it and say it at least once before this come to an end. “Love you, see you soon.” He quickly hangs up, not waiting for a response. He doesn't want to hear it back if she doesn't really mean it. He goes back to staring out the window, ignoring the boys staring at him. 

Meanwhile Marinette stares at her phone in shock, the blush overcoming her face matched with a beating heart. With a shaky smile she turns to Adrian behind her, waiting to board the next plane with her. 

“What's with that look?” He teases, looking over her shoulder at her phone. “Oh who's that, he's quite the looker.”

“That would be my boyfriend,” She giggles walking to board the plane. “You know that silly.”

“Yes, but I have never seen a picture. What's got you all gooey inside anyway?”

“He said ‘I love you’,” Marinette mumbles, throwing her bag into an overhead. 

“Ohh serious then.”

“It will be when I get back, after all I’ll finally be able to tell him everything. I hate lying.”

“I know bug, and I’m sorry this is a bittersweet moment.” He takes her hand

“Me too. I wish it didn't have to happen this way.” 

On the other plane the reds exchange a look before closing off the back of the plane, giving themselves a physical wall between them and Damian. 

“He said ‘I love you’” Tim groans, “I really messed this up.”

“Yes but your heart was in the right place. We will find out the truth soon enough.” 

“I hope I was wrong about her.”

“What else could the truth be. She’s obviously apart of something shady. It’s just a matter of what and how bad” 

“Why would you think that? What evidence is there that its something bad?”

“Don't be ignorant Tim. No one takes phone calls like that when they don't have something to hide.”

“Yeah but-”

“You feel guilty, I get it, but don’t let that cloud your logic. Something is going on and we are going to find out what.”

Tim sits silently the rest of the way, electing to focus on flying and not let his emotional thoughts distract him. After all, this was just another investigation. Only this time it was Damian's girlfriend. Too late, he was emotionally involved. He had to make this right or better somehow. 

“We’re here” Jason starts to land the plane in a clearing a few miles outside the village Marinette was due to arrive in a few hours time. Opening the divider, they find Damian asleep, a picture of Marinette pulled up on his phone. 

“Let's pretend we didn't see anything. Follow his lead and get some sleep too. How long until she lands?”

“Ten more hours,” Tim answers glancing up from his device. 

“Eight hours it is, night” Jason plops down into a chair, pulling his hood over his eyes. 

“Night.” Tim goes back to the cockpit, trying to get sleep but as always, it doesn't come easy. Deciding not to waste precious hours on staring at the ceiling, he pulls up his report on Marinette looking for anything that could clue them into what she's into. 

She wasn’t a model student but she wasn’t a delinquent either. Her attendance record improved as she grew up. She was involved in many different design contests and has had high profile clients requesting commissions. She was class representative for three years, zealously completing all projects and activities for her class with perfection. 

She was a busy girl but never without time for her friends, family, and her neighborhood. Everything this girl did didn’t reflect the contents of the phone call at all. She had also never been to Tibet before. At least not that Tim had found. She had never been outside France before entering Gotham University. 

So what was she doing all the way out here? And with who. The mysterious caller had mentioned two individuals besides herself. No amount of searching through aliases had Tim found anything on a Chat Noir, Viperion or even Marinette's code name, Ladybug.

“Time to go.” Tim jumps at Damian's voice, glancing behind him only to watch his retreating back out of the jet. Jason stands waiting for him at the end of the ramp, both hurrying to catch up with Damian. 

The village of Dangquka was small, only taking up a small portion of the valley. The place almost looked sad, filled with sparse beige grass and barren mountains. The boys settled themselves into a cliffside, queuing up their binocular setting in their respective masks, watching for the girls' arrival. 

“She’s almost here,” Tim says, his phone showing Marinette location as it travels quickly towards the town. They watch as an off road jeep pulls into the village, all the villagers gathering around. Marinette climbs out, a blond man following after from the driver's seat. She starts to greet all the villagers, obviously familiar with them. Damian zones in on a man that doesn't look like he belongs in the village. 

His hair is dyed and his look screams rocker, even of his attire is more appropriate for the setting he’s in. Damian's hand obliterates the rock he's using to support himself as he watches the man pull Marinette into a hug, going so far as to bend his head into her neck. They stay that was for a minute before the blond man pulls them apart, motioning to the jeep. Marinette nods, taking the second boys hand and pulling him towards the jeep, climbing into the back seat with him. 

She’s not just lying to me. She’s a femme fatale. Using me for some sick game, before she returns to her real boyfriend. Boyfriends? It doesn't matter. Damian's thoughts start to spiral before Jason picks him up with his collar. 

“Come on lover boy, we have to follow them up the mountain.” And so they do, for eight hours. The sun had long since set, when they climb over a ridge and all gape at the temple settled at the base of a mountain, at the edge of a cliff. Damian is the first to pull himself together, quickly zoning in on the entrance. At the top of the stairs stand three women and one lone man, surrounded by what look like male and female monks. 

Marinette climbs out of the vehicle, all the monks dropping to a bow at her appearance. The boys stand behind her on either side as she ascends the stairs. For the sake of tradition, Marinette does not shy away from the attention, but holds her head high. She has a duty to perform. 

At the top she pulls the three women in for a hug, relishing the contact. She pulls back to take the hand of the man. He smiles at her, giving her hand a tight squeeze before an older man steps forward, bowing to escort her inside. 

“Drake.”

“Already on it, we will have sound and video in five.”

“How does no one know about this place?” Jason grumbles

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Right then the sound from the temple kicks in, all silencing to hear everything. Tim holds the tablet out, everyone's eyes glued to the screen. 

“It’s a blessing you made it when you did Marinette, he only has a few minutes left, the Kwami have done all they could.”

“That is good to hear, I will see him now.” Marinette enters a large chamber, quickly approaching the bed in the center, an older man struggling to breath lying upon it. He is surrounded by what look like many animal themed faires.

“Master Fu, I’m here.”

“Marinette, I am so thankful I got to see you one last time, especially to bestow the title upon you in person.”

“I know we have talked about this before Master but please reconsider. There is still time to choose one of the monks instead.”

Fu only breathes deeply, too tired to shake his head. 

“I met someone. Please Master, just this once let me have this.”

“I am sorry Marinette but my choice is made.” Marinette starts to cry, her grip on his hand tightening. 

“I do not want this curse,” She whispers. 

“Do not call such an honor a curse Marinette. You were chosen for this and I ask that you humor this old man and accept your duty.” Fu tries to sound harsh.

“It is a curse, you are just lucky you do not have to go long without your memories.” Marinette then looks ashamed. “I apologize Master, that was harsh of me.”

“Do not apologize for stating a truth Marinette,” Fu chuckles, “I do not have long left to live.”

“Does not make what I said any less insensitive.” She adjusts her weight, tucking her legs under her. She waits patiently with a bowed head as the man gathers the last of his strength. 

“I, Supreme Guardian Fu, relinquish my title to Marinette Dupain-Chang. That she will be the next Guardian of the Miracle Box until she passes the title onto another.” When Fu finishes speaking there is a bright flash of light and all the fairy like creatures disappear. They watch as Marinette reaches up to her ears. That's when Damian notices that the earrings that Marinette never took off were gone. 

“Hello young lady, why are you crying?” The boys watch in horror as the man no longer recognized Marinette. She just smiled kindly, brushing her hand across his face. 

“No reason, you must be tired, why don’t you rest?”

“Yes that sounds nice,” And with that the man passed away. Marinette wipes the last of her tears away before standing and exiting the room. Outside wait the three women from earlier as well as two young female monks.

“Come Mistress, we must get you ready for the ceremony.” The monks take her hands, leading her further down the hall. 

“How are you Marinette?” The first girl to speak is a brunette, her hair wavy and short, the orange dye blending well with her skin tone.

“I am doing well Alya, you?”

“Great. My magazine just took off in Paris. Sales are good so far.”

“That’s wonderful to hear.” She smiles her trademark smile, before sitting down for the younger girls to start her makeup and hair. 

“I hear you are doing more than well,” The second woman speaks. She is a blonde, clothes obviously designer. “What's this I hear about a boyfriend?”

“Chloe” Marinette whines in embarrassment.

“What it's not my fault you didn't tell me. So what's his name? Do you have a picture?” Marinette just rolls her eyes before gesturing to her purse, leaving the girl to grab her phone. She whistles when she sees Damien's picture. The boy flushing as his brother snicker. 

“His name is Damian.”

“How long?” The final girl joins in, her Japanese features beautiful and holding herself with confidence.

“Over a year of dating and almost two and knowing each other.” The girls a coo at that, even the Japanese girl. The other girls look almost uncomfortable at the relaxed atmosphere. Marinette notices, reaching up to stop the girls from working. 

“Loosen up girls, no need to be so formal.” 

“But tradition says that we are to be respectful to you Mistress.”

“Yes and to not speak out of turn. You are Supreme Guardian now” 

“Please call me Marinette, and I don’t like these stuffy traditions. So don’t stress yourselves on my account.”

“Ok” They both sound slightly more relaxed but do not join in the the friends chatter. 

“So why didn’t you bring Damian with you?” Alya asks, casually eating a platter of fruit.

“Because he doesn’t know.” All the girls look at her in shock. 

“What” They all but yell. Damien narrows his eyes, focusing heavily on the conversation. 

“Even if I had been allowed, how do you bring up this!?” She waves to the room around her, obviously meaning the temple as a whole. Damian's breath catches. She didn't have a choice in lying to him.

“Easy,” the Japanese girl starts, “You just say ‘Babe I’m being raised to be a leader of a super ancient and secret organization that guards magical jewelry.” 

“Wow Kagami I didn’t know you had been hanging out with Adrian again” Marinette says dryly. 

Damian falls back on his butt, shaking in relief. The truth wasn't even in the ballpark of what his mind was thinking. Magic. Of course he wouldn't have considered such a possibility due to his limited contact with it. 

“It's the truth though,” Chloe chimes in, it can’t be that hard. She glances at the girls working on Marinette, electing to enact her new found tact and not to speak ill of the dead. After all, it was clear that Fu had forbidden Marinette from telling anymore people about the Order. Instead she says, “Now that you’re in charge are you going to tell him?”

“Yes. As soon as I get back. I don’t like lying.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That my grandfather was passing in Paris,” She sounds so ashamed, One of the girls smacking her hand as she tried to touch her face. 

“Well I think the only thing you lied about was where you are if that makes you feel better-”

“It doesn’t,” 

“-And technically Fu was like a grandfather to you. He had been training you since you were a child.” Chole continued as though she had never been interrupted. 

She just pouts, closing her eyes for the girl to finish applying her makeup. She sighs in relief moving quickly to apply the red eye shadow and make the elaborate eyeliner wings.  

“Well going back to Damian, how serious is it?”

“Uh-” Damian holds his breath, “I like to think serious, after all he did say-” She grows quiet at the end, raising her shoulders to hide herself. 

"What was that?" Alya and Chloe grin mischievously leaning in close.

"He told me he loved me when I called him earlier" Marinette manages to get out, unable to hide the joy on her face.

"Please hold still, I'm almost done" the girl tries to sound respectful but she's obviously frustrated. 

"Sorry" 

"You said you think it's serious. That means you love him back yes?" Kagami asks. Marinette only sighs happily, doing her best to let the girls finish working on her. 

"Well you both have great genes, your kids will look killer" It takes all Marinette's self control to not react to Chloe's teasing. You can tell how embarrassed she is by the statement from her shaking hands and red face. 

"Done, time to change clothes." Marinette stands up and starts to undress. Damian's hand shoots out, slamming the tablet down against the rock face. 

"What never seen her naked before" Jason teases.

"Whether or not I have is not your business and you two heathens don't need to watch a girl change without her knowledge you perverts" 

"Ya' know Tim, I don't think he's ever seen her naked." Jason grins leaning down on Damian.

"I think you're right. Baby steps though, she his his first girlfriend" 

"it's been long enough though that he should have by now" 

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Damian swats Jason off him, listening to see when he could bring visuals back up. 

Marinette moved when needed as the girls put layer upon layer on her kimono, the lightweight fabric quickly weighing more together.

"Done ready to see yourself," Alya and Kagami pull her up to a mirror, standing beside her as she took in her appearance. 

Her red eye shadow spread out to make it look like she was wearing a mask, the eye liner dramatic and making her eyes look more serious then she felt. Her lips were a pale red except for the center, which was a solid red line. The blue of her eyes, oddly not clashing with her makeup or clothes. The kimono was varying shades of red, black, dark purple, and dark blue. He hair was decorated with ornaments and beaded intricately, her braid cascading down her back. 

"Wow, impressive guys. I don't even look like the same person" 

"Mistress, it is time for everyone to gather." Each girl gives her a hug before leaving the room. Marinette takes a deep breath, stealing herself before marching out of the room. 

She is escorted by the young woman before they leave her side to join the crowd gathered in the great hall. The boys turn the tablet right side up again, right as she walks in, past a large group of people. 

Tim squints at the screen and starts mumbling to himself. Damian just glares at him before watching Marinette take a seat on not a throne but a very large cushion. Her back is straight as she bows her head and in return the room bows to her. Four people step forward, each holding a cup. 

"Supreme Guardian. I offer this potion of health, that you may stay strong for the Order." 

"Thank you. I gladly accept." She drinks before bowing again, the man retaking his place in the crowd. 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of wisdom, that you may lead us with confidence. 

"Thank you. I gladly accept" 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of fortitude, that you may protect the Order."

"Thank you. I gladly accept" her gaze hardens as the final man steps forward. 

"Supreme Guardian, I offer this potion of longevity, that you may lead the Order for many years to come." Marinette pauses as she takes hold of the cup, murmurs stirring as she does not accept or drink. 

"Thank you, but I will decline the potion of longevity. For now." The murmurs turned to outrage, Marinette patiently waiting for the room to quiet. 

"Ah ha! Star Wars." Tim exclaims, the boys looking at him in confusion. "Her outfit, she looks like she's Queen Amidala" 

Jason just nods in agreement while Damian turns back to the commotion building within the temple. Damian watched at Marinette's friends exchange looks of amusement and concern. The younger monks gently quiet down the older ones, whispering to listen and hear what she has to say. Finally the room quieted enough for Mariniette to be heard.

“I mean no disrespect. I understand the importance of tradition. However I am not on my own, the decision of extended life is a serious one and one I plan to discuss with my boyfriend.” The angry muttering starts to return at the mention of Damian. 

“Boyfriend!?” A man yells, “How dare the this Supreme Guardian trample our traditions. Did Fu teach you nothing?” Marinette only narrows her eyes. Her lips are but a thin line now. 

“You should revoke the title, Fu must have been confused to have chosen you.” A woman spoke this time. Damian feels his own blood start to boil, he can only imagine how Marinette must be feeling at this moment. If what he heard was correct, Marinette had been coming here most of her life. These people must be like family. But then Damian remembers what family truly means, and it's not only blood. He glanced to the men beside him, thankful for their presence in his youth and now. But he wasn't about to tell them that.  

Marinette stands, hands folded in front of her and she stood in front of the man first. She bowed deeply, he takes a step back in shock. “I apologize but I did not want this position. I begged Fu to reconsider many times, but he would not.” She stands, meeting his gaze head on, “But my memories are too important to me to revoke the title.” She then walks to the woman who spoke up. She takes her hands in her own, gently squeezing. 

“Fu was a wise man, just stubborn in his ways, much like many of you,” Her face his kind, but her words are hard like steel, “I will not allow you to speak ill of him.” She retakes her seat, “After all we both partook of the potion of wisdom, so perhaps I am not as foolish as you all believe.” She quips, looking satisfied with herself. 

The room was dead silent except for the blonde man and woman struggling not to laugh alongside the redhead. Slowly everyone looked very proud of their new Supreme Guardian. “I am not out to destroy tradition, but to renew it and bring it into a new season. Change is good for the soul, and makes things stronger.” Marinette smiles gently at everyone, her warmth overtaking the room. 

Damian can’t help but let his mouth hang open watching his girl tackle the room in a much stronger way than he would have. “You sure can pick em” Jason whispers next to him, almost like he’s afraid to break the spell. Damian can only nod, still in awe of this woman who decided to be his partner. 

“Now tradition also says that as Supreme Guardian, I am to protect the identities of any holders of the Miraculous. With my goal to bring the Order into the new age, I feel it's important to function more as a collective than as a -” Marinette pauses to choose her words carefully, “group only lead by me, or a Supreme Guardian in general.”

“What do you mean?”

“Secrecy is still important, and magic protects us against a lot of things, but I feel as though we could be doing more for the world. That we shouldnt hide in the shadows as much. The world needs help, and if our magic can provide that then I think we should.”

“I wonder what their magic is? Do you think it has anything to do with those fairy things earlier?”

“I think Marinette is about to show us.” They watch as a hexagonal box is brought before Marinette. It is solid, there are no cracks along it to allude to any opening at all. It is painted with Chinese symbols in a deep red. With a wave of her hand the box spins, a new compartment opening with each spin until the top disappears altogether revealing what the boys could only assume was the magical jewelry. She takes a pair of spotted earrings from the top, after the last one is put in there was a flash of pink light revealing a small red creature. 

“Hello again Tikki.” The creature, Tikki, flies up to Marinette's face, careful of her make up as she gives her the best hug she can. 

“You look beautiful Marinette!” 

“Thank you Tikki,” Marinette can’t help but laugh, “Shall we continue?”

“Yes my Guardian.” Tikki does her own little bow before floating over Marinette left shoulder, sending a small wave to the occupants of the room. Next Marinette grabs the ring that had sat in the box next to the earrings. 

“Adrien Agreste. Please come forward.” The blonde man walks to her, bowing before her. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Cat Miraculous. You were given responsibility over destruction. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Cat.”

“Supreme Guardian, I decline your offer to hold the cat miraculous.” Marinette only smiles kindly at him. 

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey.” Adrian turns to walk away, but Marinette stops him. “Would you like one last goodbye?” Adrian doesn't look surprised at her kindness but takes the ring. In a flash of green light a small black creature that resembles a cat appears. 

“Thank you for everything Plagg, I hope to see you again someday.” Plagg only sniff, obviously trying to appear unbothered with the goodbye. 

“Knowing sweet cheeks over here, you only need to ask to say hello.” Adrian chuckles

“I will keep that in mind, so long Plagg.” and with that he removes the ring, Plagg disappearing once again. Adrian walks away feeling confident in his decision, he enjoyed his time with Plagg but he had other desires for the future, and being a superhero isn't one of them. 

Marinette replaces the ring before taking out a necklace that looks like a fox tail. “Alya Césaire. Please come forward.” Alya also bows before Marinette, sending her a nervous smile. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Fox Miraculous. You were given responsibility over illusion. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Fox.”

“I must decline, Supreme Guardian,” she rushes to add, mentally scolding herself for messing up, “your offer to hold the fox miraculous again.”

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey. Would you like to say goodbye?”

“Trixx and I said our goodbyes long ago, I thank you for the offer though.” Alay struggles to speak so formally, after all this is the same girl who once wondered if a pan was hot and touched it with her bare hand. 

“Very well.” Marinette places the necklace back and pulls out a comb with a bee along the top. Before she can speak, Chloe is already standing in front of her, someone coughs behind her and with an exaggerated sigh she bows quickly to Marinette, holding out her hand. Marinette's lips quirk upward, the laugh barely contained. 

“Chloe Bourgeois, in the past you were the holder of the Bee Miraculous. You were given responsibility over Subjection. Do you desire to continue your position of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Bee.”

“Obviously, now let me see Pollen,” Chloe shrinks under Marinette's stare, but only a little, “please” Marinette relents, handing her the comb. Chloe puts the comb in her hair, at the base of her ponytail. With a flash of yellow light a creature resembling a bee appears, her large black eyes alight with laughter. 

“My Queen, I know you are eager but you must be respectful.”

“Yeah yeah,” Pollen hugs her face much like Tikki did Marinettes. With a flick of her fingers over the comb Chloe is enveloped in a bright light. When the light clears, Chloe is now sporting a mostly black outfit with narrow dark yellow stripes throughout. She has long translucent wings along her back and antenna atop her head. Her mask is all black and what look like enforced gloves with spikes along the knuckles on her hands. She walks to stand behind Marinette. 

“Nino Lahiffe. Please come forward.” The young man comes forward, but not before giving Alya’s hand a squeeze. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Turtle Miraculous. You were given responsibility over protection. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Turtle.”

“I’m sorry my- huh Supreme Guardian Ma’am, I decline the offer of yours, and Wayzz and I are, like, totally good.” Nino stumbles through his response, but very little embarrassed the laid back man anymore. Marinette can’t keep a small giggle from escaping. 

“I thank you for your service and wish you well on your journey.” 

“That was a train wreck,” Tim and Jason mutter at the same time. 

“Kagami Tsurugi. Please come forward.” Kagami commands the most respect by far as she marches forward, bowing deeply before standing at attention in front of Marinette. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Dragon Miraculous. You were given responsibility over Elements. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Dragon.”

“I humbly accept your offer Supreme Guardian.” Kagami bows once more before taking the choker necklace. This time the flash of light is red, leading to the appearance of Longg the Dragon. There are no exchanges of pleasantries as she fastens the choker. Running her fingers along the bead in the center she also transforms. 

She is wearing what looks like a red, black and gold bodysuit, the design flowing all over her body. The top she is wearing looks like a kimono, the hem just above her knees. On her hip rests a katana, her mask red and black trimmed with gold, blending with the horns that now adorn her head. She joins Chole behind Marinette. 

“Luka Couffaine. Please come forward.” The final man steps forward, the one from the village. Damian can’t help but glare in distaste. 

“In the past you were the holder of the Snake Miraculous. You were given responsibility over time. Do you desire to continue your responsibility of this miraculous? In doing so you swear your loyalty to me and will uphold your duty as the Snake.”

“I gladly accept Supreme Guardian.” He takes a bangle that looks like a coiled snake. With a flash of teal light, the snake creature appears.

“Welcome back young wielder.” he slithers as he bows to Luka and Marinette. The same as the girls, Luka runs his fingers over the bangle, and is left transformed in a teal light. He now has a hood that melds with his loose fitting suit, the pattern of a snakes head on top. He has a whip resting on his hip, attached to a belt. The dark teal of his clothes melding well with his black boots and mask. His eyes took on a more snake like appearance. 

“Now that we have selected holders for tonight, I will call an end to the ceremony. I will be leaving in the morning.” The crowd grows restless again. “I have a life outside the temple, but I will continue to follow through on my duties from afar. I will take Kaalki with me for emergencies and will stay in contact with the holders.”

“And the box?” Someone shouts from the crowd. 

“Will stay in your capable hands, as you are all guardians. I look forward to our next meeting” She takes a pair of glasses from the box before waving over it, sealing it once more. She stands once again to bow before leaving the room, her three protectors following. Tikki sits neatly in her hair, enjoying being close to her once again. Damian watches and Tim recalls the drone, leaving the occupants unaware of the intruders for now. He is unsure if Marinette will tell all of them. 

“We better get a move on if you want to be back in Gotham to pick her up from the airport.” Tim starts working his way back down the mountain before stopping and looking back at the boys. “Could we just call the jet here?”

“And risk them hearing or seeing it? No, get a move on, we have a long hike ahead of us.” Jason laughs, pulling ahead of Tim, who grumbles but accepts his fate. And a long hike it was, when they finally get back to the jet, all of them are ready to drop from exhaustion. 

“Who wants to start flying so we can use autopilot?” Jason groans, dropping into a seat. 

“I will, I have a lot of thinking to do anyway.” Damian marches into the cockpit and closing it off from the rest of the plane. 

“I haven't had coffee in almost 48 hours, this sucks?” Tim all but collapsed on the floor of the jet. 

“Get sleep like a normal person then” Jason quips, throwing a pillow from the overhead at Tim before turning in himself. Tim stayed on the floor, grabbing the pillow and curling in on himself, it brain finally crashing. 

Damian starts the plane, taking them back to Gotham. Once he reaches the proper altitude for autopilot a call comes in from the Batcave, revealing one Nightwing. “Hey there kid, I see you’re on your way back. How did it go?” Damian just gives a tired sigh, Dicks concern sky rockets.

“She is now a leader of a secret organization the protects magical jewelry, and the last leader forbade her from telling me about it and that's why she stretched the truth. My normal isn’t so normal after all” Dick can only whistle in disbelief. 

“That's tough, obviously you’re going to tell her everything?”

“I have too. This whole mess started with secrets, I’m not leaving anything out.” Dick smiles at Damian. He is so proud of his growth and maturity. 

“She is lucky to have you.”

“I'll be lucky to still have her after this is all over.” He groans rubbing his face in exhaustion. “I have to tell her everything.” Damian gives his a pointed look, Dick can only nod in agreement. 

“Bruce will understand. If she’s the leaders of something that secret even we didn’t know about it, she knows how to keep a secret. After all the whole family knows her secret too, only fair.” 

Damian sits quietly for a moment, glancing behind him before continuing, “I’m scared Dick. I’m so scared of losing her. I feel like I really messed up.”

“I really wish I could be certain for you, but I can’t. Just tell her everything and the pieces will fall into place. Every couple goes through a rough patch. Yours is just crazy.” 

“I’m going to try and get some sleep now. See you in a few hours.” Dick gives a wave before signing off. Back in the cave, Bruce steps out of the shadows, still in his gear as well. 

“He has grown so much.” 

“He sure has,” Dick turns to face him, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“You seem certain that she isn’t going to kill him.” Bruce looks grim. His youngest is very serious about this girl, and the last thing he wants is for them to end it. Damian has worked so hard and deserves happiness. 

“Call it my great intuition when it comes to romance” Dick winks at Bruce before walking back up to the manor. Bruce just grunts, still thinking about Damian. He really hoped that it does all work out, but the pessimist in him can’t help but think the worse.

Marinette wakes up in the morning, watching the sunrise over the Tibetan mountains. The sight leaves her feeling excited and refreshed. A new day, a new journey, and new goals. She hoped Damian understood and didn’t leave her for keeping all this a secret. She sighed thinking of the man back home, waiting for her to return believing she was in Paris, not Tibet. She hugged herself against the sudden chill from the mountains. 

Damian was everything she wanted. He was straightforward and level headed. He always had something interesting to say and she loved listening to him talk about a variety of subjects. His sense of humor was quiet like himself, and she just felt so balanced when she was around him. He grounded her, keeping her thoughts from spiraling into crazy town. 

Tikki came into her field of vision, smiling at her holder. She may not have wanted to be Supreme Guardian, but she will do great things for the Order, she just knew it. “What are you thinking about Marinette?”

“Damian. How much I love him. I am so scared that when I finally tell him, he won't be able to take it.” Her smile slides off her face being replaced with worry.

“Just tell him everything. I don’t believe he will leave you!” Tikki squeaks, flying around the room. Marinette laughs at her optimism, moving to get dressed for the day. “You guys are a great match”

“I don’t doubt you Tikki.” Marinette pulls her sweater over her head before putting the rose gold glasses on, Kaalki joining Tikki in the air. “Damien has helped with my spiralling, and normally I would be thinking the worst possible scenarios right now.” Marineete laughs before moving to finish packing her bag, “But no more of that! Only positive thoughts now!” 

Exiting the room, Marinette waves to others walking through the halls, like she always has, but now they hesitantly wave back. The air thick with apprehension, and it frustrated Marinette to no end. By the time she reached the front steps, she was put out and ready to be back in Gotham, where no one knew her as ‘Supreme Guardian’. Where she was just Marinette. 

Alya, Adrien, and Nino were waiting for her on the steps, Chole, Kagami and Luka waiting by the door for their orders. Marinette smiled and chirped good morning, each of them returning the sentiment. She turns to her three holders, smiling while performing her business for the day. 

“Kagami, I have worked with you on the running's of the temple, are you able to stay for the next few months to ensure everything gets up and running?”

“Yes Mari, it won't be a problem.” 

“Thank you Mi,” Marinette's spirits lift at the nickname, thankful that nothing has changed with her friends. She turns to Luka next. 

“Luka I am tasking you with establishing relations between ourselves and the Justice League,” His eyes widen in surprise, “It is time they knew and perhaps we can offer assistance while working within the UN’s laws.” 

“That is a very important job Mari, are you sure I am the right person for the job?”

“You have a level head on your shoulders Luka, and you have always been the most diplomatic out of all of us.” Luka smiles at the compliment.

“Very well, I will come visit when I have an update. I want to meet Damian as well.” Marinette scowls in embarrassment before returning Luka's smile. 

“What do you need from me Mari?” Chole is practically vibrating, her eyes alight with desire and eagerness. 

“Chloe, I need you find worthy holders for the temple. It is time to expand. I trust your judgment and for you to train them.”

“Me?” Chole stammers, tears gathering in her eyes. Chole had done a lot of growing up over the years, and she wished she had been quick to leave behind her childish and immoral attitude but change did take time. Everyone had been nothing but supportive and encouraging throughout her transformation. 

And Marinette wanted her to handle such a delicate task. What is she chose wrong? What is she was the reason for the temple's destruction? What if, what if? Marineete quickly pulls her into a hug, whispering encouragement in her ear, Chole is quick to grab onto her sweater, the tears coming faster now. 

“I could really screw this up Mari-”

“I don’t believe that for a second, I know you are the perfect one for this job.”

“But what if I-”

“Chole.” Marinette pulls back to smile at the woman, their eyes searching each other, before both becoming a matching hard gaze of determination. 

“Of course Mari, I will visit with a report as well.” She gives a little salute, enticing a giggle from everyone present, before whipping her tears. 

“I’ll see you all later, and good luck.” With that Mari descends the staircase, the three turning into the temple, the heavy doors closing behind them. The start of a new era, Marinette thinks fondly to herself, ready to be home. “Let's get to Paris everyone.” With a flick of her fingers, she transforms, and opens the portal, Nino and Adrien ribbing each other as they walked through, Alya only rolling her eyes before following, Marinette looks back one last time at the majestic temple, before stepping through herself, finally glad to actually be in Paris as she said she was.

Damian finds himself anxiously waiting for Marinette to tell him when she would be coming home. He missed her desperately, and really needed to have this conversation with her. But right now he just really missed having her in his arms, her laugh, her kisses, their cuddle sessions on her couch. He really missed his Habibti. 

His phone started to ring, with trembling hands his goes to pick it up, only to almost drop it multiple times, finally answer on the last ring.

“There you go again, making me think I was going to miss you,” Her voice was refreshing, a drink for a dying man. Damian now feels the nerves of seeing her again, he can feel his heart pounding and the flows of adrenaline starting. Damian scowls, this isn't a battle, just a simple phone call with his girlfriend.

“I was so excited to hear your voice I almost dropped my phone.” Damian had started being more honest with his feelings a few months in, Marinette affect on him an unknown welcomed change. 

“Awe, well lucky for you I am boarding the plane now, I’ll be home in eight hours.”

“I’ll be waiting”

“See you soon.” She pauses on the line, “I love you Damian” She breathes out, the sound making Damians heart goes wild, and the guilt in his gut come back with a vengeance. 

“I love you too” With that Damian hangs up, and drops his head into his hands. Eight hours alone with his thoughts, and emotions. He starts to cry, fear over taking him. Damian could face down Killer Croc, he could jump from skyscraper to skyscraper without flinching. He knew the consequences if anything went wrong in those situations. A respectful fear of the known.

But this. Telling Marinette how he didn't trust her, followed her and betrayed her in such a way. That scared him like never before. He couldn’t even begin to plan how this would go, how she would react, how his life would be afterwards. He felt sick to his stomach, all his muscles clenching around his organs, pulling his spiraling mind into the mess.

Dick knocked on his door, entering quietly, finding a red eyed Damian staring at the wall, his hands clenched tightly in front of his face. He simply sat beside him, offering an encouraging pat on the back, patiently waiting for him to initiate. He didn’t have anywhere to be, Kori understood the importance of him staying in Gotham awhile longer. 

“I have never felt this kind of fear before.” Damian whispers, he unclenches his hands, trembling however his eyes do not move from the wall. “I can’t lose her Dick. Look at me now, how could I survive without her.” He chokes up, the thought of her leaving and hating him too much. 

“Tell me the qualities you like about her.” All tension leaves Damian, his eyes losing the frantic fear and taking on a soft love. 

“She is fierce and strong. She brings so much joy and beauty to this world. Her mind is like no other, always thinking and planning. She takes any opportunity presented to care for others.” 

“Does she seem like the kind of person to just walk out without resolving issues?”

“No, but she did hide from me one time after a misunderstanding.”

“But you guys were able to talk it out?”

“Yea she said she would never ignore me again.”

“Is she someone who goes back on her word?”

“Never.” Damian is angry at Dick for suggesting such a thing. Dick only smiles at Damian and pats him on the back, standing to leave. 

“Then trust what you know about her, what you value in her. Everything will be fine Damian.” He only nodes, back to staring at the wall, but less tense then he when Dick first entered the room. Everything would be fine. 

Damian now stand in the airport, he stands perfectly still despite the bundle of nerves racking his insides. He sees her before she sees him, her attention is on her phone, a small frown pulling at her lips, the new glasses on her face making her only cuter. 

He quickly walks to her, she looks up at him surprised when he immediately pulls her close. She melts into the hug, his strong arms resulting to her. She giggles as he refuses to let go for another two minutes, her protest finally being headed when he steps back, taking her bag in one hand and her small hand in the other. 

“Missed you too dork.” Marinette giggles, she glances at him, but his doesn’t look at her. He only gives her a strained smile, leading them back to his car. Marinette doesn’t think anything of it until the car ride is al silent as the walk through the airport. 

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Marinette's heart freezes for a moment when Damian tenses, hands tightening around the steering wheel. She starts to feel like something is wrong, Damian was hiding something. 

“Huh, not really.” He mumbles, eyes never leaving the road. Marinette starts to panic, his behavior setting her on edge. Now Marinette, I’m sure it’s nothing bad. No spiraling. She takes a deep breath. You’re imagining things, nothing is wrong. 

The car ride continues in silence, Marinette staring out the window, trying to get a grip on her emotions and keeping herself from coming up with outlandish theories for Damian's attitude. She glances at him, the wrinkles in his face showing how truly on edge he was. No, Marinette tells herself, something is wrong. 

“What's wrong Damian?” Again he stiffens, she watches as he swallowed thickly, adams apple betraying his nerves. She narrows her eyes, watching as he starts to sweat. He opens and closes his mouth multiple times before speaking. 

“I made a mistake.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he pulls over, Marinette's apartment building looming in front of them. “We can talk inside.” He quickly gets out of the car, Marinette scrambling to catch up.

Ok so he made a mistake. It probably isn't that bad. He probably spilled something on my sketchbook, or he messed up the dress I was working on, or he met someone and- nope don't finish that thought Marinette. This is Damain we are talking about. Whatever his mistake was, it's not that bad. 

She catches up to Damian as he is unlocking the door, dropping her bag right away and taking a seat on her couch. She joins him, staring out the large windows, enjoying the view while she waits for him to start speaking. Or at least she was trying to. Her hands are trembling as she plays with the fingers, trying to remain calm. 

“You don’t deserve me” Is all he says, and those simple words break open the dam holding back Marinette's irrational emotional state. The tears start small, before they are quickly falling off her chin and into her hands. She couldn’t believe he would do such a thing, it was the only explanation to everything. Damian cheated on her. 

The sudden I love you, the jittery behavior, unable to meet her eyes. Guilt radiated off him in waves, the awareness of the emotion suffocating her now. It all makes sense. She was in shock, she was only gone a week. Was their relationship that fragile, it's a good thing she hadn’t told him anything yet. She feels her heart harden. She will not trust so easy again. 

“This is all Tim’s fault, just so you know. I-” He glanced at her now, dread filling him as he sees her crying, Damian had never seen her cry before now. He was not sure what to do. 

“How is Tim at fault for you cheating on me?” She chokes out, now looking angry and confused. Damian joins in on the confusion.

“What are you talking about Marinette? I have never cheated on you” Now he's panicked. Where had she gotten such an idea?

“But you said,” She starts, her sentences breaking up with her shuddering breaths, “that you made a mistake, that I don’t deserve you. You are giving off so much guilt!” She stands, Damian leaning back from the angry woman in front of him. “Explain what the hell is going on right now!

“Tim bugged your phone because he was suspicious of you. We followed you to Tibet and we saw everything at the temple.” Damian spits everything out as quickly as he can, seeing Marinette angry at him for the first time scaring him. 

Her face morphs between confusion, anger, shock, and understand before she settles on shock. She retakes her seat on the couch, Damian scoots closer taking her hand in his own. “He did what to my phone?”

“He bugged it. They were trying to protect me, stupidly, and when they played the recording of your call I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were like an assassin or something.” She snorts at that. If only she knew.

“How did Tim do that?” Damian looks deep into her eyes, he finds himself getting lost but finally knows how to answer her. His family deserved this after the breach of privacy they did to Marinette.

“He is Red Robin. I told him to not do a background check on you, but he did anyway and needed to find the reason you didn’t want to meet the family. You could say paranoia is a family trait.” Marinette smiles softly, taking Damian's face in her hand.

“Ironic that two people with important secrets find each other.” The looks she gives him is one of understanding and love. She is taking this too well.

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” He chokes out, “Why are you taking my lack of trust in you so well?” 

“You thought I was an assassin Damian,” He scowls at her teasing grin, “and I was going to tell you anyway.”

“But-”

“Nope, I forgive you. After all I did lie to you. I should be the one apologizing.”

“You weren’t allowed to tell me, I can’t hold that against you.” Her eyes widen in surprise, her mouth making a cute o shape. 

“How did you know that?”

“We had a drone enter the temple so we could see and hear what was going on.” Damian hesitates a moment but continued, “I was afraid to see what was going on. I didn't want it to be like the temple I crew up in.” He shouldn’t have said that. 

“What temple Damian?” 

“Please understand why I haven’t told you this before,” He can’t back down now. He hasn’t lied to her yet, and he isn’t going to start now. 

“It can’t be that bad Damian.” She sounds so understanding and reassuring, squeezing his hands before smiling at him.

“You would probably wish I had cheated on you.” She looks more apprehensive now, but stays firm. “I was raised by the league of assassins,” understanding shines in her eyes.

“At the age of eight, as a right of passage of sorts I had to complete a mission.” Damian starts to feel sick, telling her this. Surely she will run for the hills once he tells her this. “I was assigned to assasinate, murder, a man. I didn’t know his name, or why the league needed him dead. Just that I had to do it, and I didn’t want to disappoint my Mother and Grandfather.”

Damian avoided looking at her, resigning himself for her to leave and never talk to him again. She takes her hands out of his, the action hurting but Damian Understands, he wouldn’t want to touch a murder either. Once again Marinette surprises him, by climbing into his lap. She takes his face in her hands, staring deeply into his eyes, using her thumbs to wipe away his tears.  

“I love you Damian Wayne. Skeletons and all.” She kisses him firmly, trying to put all her emotions into the kiss, trying to make him understand the love she has for him. She smiles into the kiss as he wraps his arms around her slim frame. He deepens the kiss, accepting all her love, relieved to be blessed by Marinette’s beautiful soul. An Afreet such as himself didn’t deserve the touch of one as pure and genuine as her. 

“I don’t deserve you.” Damian whispers, his words thick with emotion as he tried not to cry. 

“If anyone deserves love and kindness its you Damian. And I’m never going to stop giving you that.” Damian holds her tighter, head resting on her shoulder while hers on his head. This moment right here, He wanted it to continue forever. She didn’t run and He wasn’t going to lose her now. 

“Marry me.” She pushes back on his shoulders, giving herself a clear view of his face. “Marry me and stay by my side forever. Let me return all your kindness for the rest of my life. Let me love you and cherish you. Let me be your husband Marinette, Habibti.”

She starts to cry again, but Damian doesn’t panic this time because there is a bright Marinette smile accompanying the tears. “Yes. Marry me and let me shower you with the love you deserve. I am going to never let you go.” She squeals as Damian stands, spinning her around the room, kissing her face and neck as they dance with each other around the apartment. 

“I like that promise.” They kissed once more, lost in each other's devotion. Both content with no more secrets, and the love found in each other. Damian cherishing a love he had never known and Marinette cherishing freedom in following her heart. Both making decisions for themselves for what feels like the first time. A decision to be happy. 

Part Two

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Doyenne ~ Part 6

Warnings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: SMUT (kinda Dom!Tommy but not really?, unprotected sex), mentions of death and violence

Word Count: 3081

_____________________________

“We are at war," You announced to the room full of Angels, all of whom had gathered at a moment's notice. An uneasy murmur rippled over the crowd of men and women alike, all eyes on you for further explanation. This was when you hated being a leader of a group like this. It reminded you that you were part of a criminal organization, no matter how much you denied that reality to yourself. But when people are kidnapped and murdered and you can’t do anything legally about it, it reminds you that this is something that needs to be taken care of yourself. But you had to be strong, be the leader. 

"Yesterday morning, Darby Sabini, the night club owner, and his men were responsible for the kidnapping of myself, Jameson Smith, and Brandon Kipper directly following their release from prison. While I was able to get out, Jameson and Brandon were brutally murdered, tied and shot in the back of the head.”

You inhaled a shaky, betraying breath, fingers gripping the bar behind you tightly as the vivid memories of their bodies clouded your thoughts, “You all know that I value transparency with all of you. So to tell you honestly, we unknowingly came into possession of some information pertaining to Sabini’s business. We had no idea that he had anything to do with anything but nonetheless they saw a threat and they acted on it. As a result, Jameson and Brandon are dead. I know this is a hard hit for us. They were well loved but unfortunately this is a horrible reality of this job. Nonetheless, what happened to them was unacceptable and will not be tolerated. We will be retaliating against Sabini. I’ll be assigning a task force to burn his most successful club, located in London, to the ground. It will be a loss of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He has no idea that we exist as a group and hopefully, it will stay that way. This will be a lowkey, covert operation and those who take part will be compensated handsomely for it. We won’t kill him but we will destroy him.” 

Finally, you found the strength to begin looking people in the eye, now that everyone had accepted the loss and was intent on hearing your plan. That is, until you locked eyes with a familiar pair of icy blue orbs that were not supposed to be there. Thomas Shelby stood in the back, leaning against the carved rock wall patiently while you spoke.  The only indication to him that you even knew of his presence was the slightest hitch in your breath at the contact to which he returned with a barely detectable nod of acknowledgement. What the hell is he doing here? "l will be selecting those I’d like to participate and informing you individually. Thank you all for coming." 

After a nod of permission from you, the crowd dispersed and you retreated to your office in the back and pulled out a drawer from your desk, flipping through the files. Each person who worked for you had a file. Name, address, description, family memories, criminal records, and any other note you had written down (and most of them had many). You prided yourself on how well you knew everyone, whether or not they were aware of it. 

But you were looking for two things in particular. First off, Jameson and Brandon’s files. You needed their addresses to inform their widows themselves of the tragedy that had unfolded. Just the thought of it made your heart wrench and when you finally found their files, you couldn’t bring yourself to open them yet. Instead, you dove into your next search- 

“That was a riveting speech.” Thomas stood in the opened door to your office. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked, looking up from the papers sprawled across your desk. 

He slowly strutted into the room, closing the door behind him, “I came to check on you. Make sure you were alright.” It took all your power to keep a steady face. Now that you’d had a day away from him to clear your thoughts, you were no longer clouded by lust or whatever it was that was affecting your judgement the other night with him. 

“Well thank you very much, Mr. Shelby, but I’m quite alright. And while we’re at it, I’d like to thank you for coming to the rescue the other night but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” You tried to sound professional but there was a little more venom behind your words than you’d intended. 

He lifted his hands ever so slightly in defense, “I never said you weren’t. But I was also able to walk right past all your men on the way in here.” 

You slammed your hand on the table and stood up, “Who the hell do you think you are? A week ago you were threatening me, couldn’t stand me. A few days ago, you’re breaking me out of Sabini’s and insisting that I stay the night with you. And now, you’ve crashed a meeting to come and make sure I’m okay. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do? I am no incompetent little girl, Thomas. I’m a fucking boss, the head of a God damn underground empire. I may not flex my power to the world like you men who feel the need to overcompensate for what you lack in your pants with public brute force but believe me when I say that I have every power to destroy Sabini or anyone else that gets in my way if I so choose.” 

The threat was clear in your words that ‘anyone else’ meant Thomas and he picked up on that very clearly but he had never been one to let anyone talk to him like that and he was not about to start with you. "Look," he pointed a finger at you, his voice low and angry, "I came to help you as a fucking favor but dont worry, it won't happen again, your highness." 

Your blood boiled although you knew logically you'd snapped first but who was he to act like this?! "Did you actually need something,  Mr. Shelby, or did you just come to prove some point?" You sat back down and picked up a random file, not actually reading it but just trying to look like you were too busy for this stupid interraction with him. Images of all the ways you could make him disappear ran through your mind. Showing him your little business could have been a mistake, especially if he'd abuse it by sneaking into your private meetings,  but it was one that would be easily remedied by an untimely, unplanned (for all legal purposes) tragedy. 

Tommy took several steps towards you, until his finger tips grazed the top on your desk and thighs were flush against the wood. He looked down on you, a slight sneer that felt like he was looking down on you, something that he hadn't done since your first meeting. "You're not nearly as in control as you think you are," he told you, "Maybe in control of the situation, yes, but not of yourself. This tough, calm, cool, in control front you put up is nothing more than a facade and I call your bluff." 

 You watched with your voice stuck in your throat as he came around your desk and leaned down to grip the arm rests of your chair, pinning you in and leaning down almost to the point where your noses touched, "The only question is," Tommy continued, his eyebrow flickering upwards, "why are you falling apart?" 

From this close, his scent- whiskey, cigarette smoke, and some unnamable (most likely expensive) cologne - was engulfing you, overwhelming your senses and making you unable to formulate a coherent sentence so you chose to not speak for a moment in favor of returning his cocky scrutinizing gaze with ocular daggers. 

And then a sudden primal version of you seemed to escape the chained prison within your heart, the prison in which you stored away your vulnerability, and you leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between the two of you. "Are we gonna fuck or are you gonna just keep playing games?" 

The words would have shocked you if you weren't in such a state of emotional overload after the events of the last few days but you were and the filthy words left your lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Internally, Tommy was taken aback by your sudden exclamation but he was also smirking inside like a cocky teenager. He honestly wasn't sure what he was hoping for coming in here and the uncertainty of his own emotions made him angry and uncomfortable but all he knew is that some invisible force- call it whatever you will, the universe, fate, God- pulled him to see you at that exact time and place. The meeting and speech had come as a surprise to him but he found it surprisingly easy to slip in relatively unnoticed, blending in with the background. That had further complicated his lack of plan, lack of goal. But now you were here, pinned under his arms with an angry glare and almost threatening him to fuck you. Tommy would be lying if he said he hadn't secretly hoped some version of this scenario would come to fruition. 

Without another word, barely with a beat after your words, Tommy reached down with his large hands and cupped your face, pulling your face to his and smashing your lips together. The force of this kiss was powerful and ignited your entire body. You pushed yourself up off the chair, gripping his biceps as leverage to stand from the awkward angle but your fingers soon ran across the close shaved hair of his head, disappointed that there wasn't much to pull on but reveling in the softness of his short hair that contrasted the rest of his often surly personality. 

One hand found a home on the back of his neck, pulling him closer into your lips, while the other gripped his black jacket tightly. His lips were slightly chapped but still soft enough to not be unpleasant and he tasted much like he smelled, the ghosts of whiskey and ash dancing on his breath.

Tommy's hands gripped your hips tightly and shuffled your body back blindly until your ass hit the table. You grappled behind you blindly, shoving papers and pencils aside to make room for your body. His palm slipped down to cup your ass and he squeezed tightly, helping you as you slid yourself to sit on the dark cherry wood desk. You finally broke away from the kiss, an absolute feral wreck. It had been so long since you'd kissed anyone, let alone had sex with anyone. Two long years to be exact of loneliness and unfulfillment. It wasn't that you needed a man but boy were they fun to have at times. 

You gripped the lapel of his deep black jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders, allowing it to fall onto the wine colored rug. He only bore his white button up, tie, and suspenders and holy fuck did he wear it well. 

Tommy made quick work of the top four buttons of your dress and shoved the fabric of your bra aside so he could assault your breasts. He was far from gentle as he raked his teeth over your sensitive skin before sinking them in. You gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure, pulling his longer hair when he did. He kneaded the neglected breast firmly as he rolled the delicate bud of the other between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue between nibbles. 

You pulled his mouth back up to yours by his hair and as your lips crashed together once again, you grabbed his ass and pulled him closer to your core. Tommy's breath hitched and he moaned out quietly when he bulging erection came into contact with your barely clothed core. 

The plan was to tease him, make him think he was in control at first but show him who the real boss was. Your hands traveled around the front and you nimbly undid his belt buckle, wiggling his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal his large erection. 

God, it had been so long since you'd been in this position you were almost scared you didn't know what you were doing but muscle memory took over and you carefully took his cock his your hand and pumped him a few times before bringing your palm up to lick a long, wet stripe along your skin, and returning to stroke him. Tommy's fingertips dug sharply into your hips and he leaned his forehead against yours, looking down at your hand pumping his base and teasing the tip with your thumb. 

He was fairly large, not the largest you'd been with but he certainly looked like he could get the job done. A single finger trailed along the underside of his cock, following the large vein there. Tommy shuddered under your touch and looked up to lock eyes with you when you began to circle only the tip with your thumb. 

"Fuck…." A broken moan tumbled from his lips before he gripped your wrist tightly and stopped you, his eyes dark and serious. Tommy tapped your thigh harshly and pointed at the desk, "Turn over." 

Typically you didn't take commands from anyone but Tommy made you want to listen just this once, hearing a hidden promise in that thigh slap. You obeyed, turning over to lie on your stomach on the desk, your ass out and open for Tommy to see. He hiked your dress over your hips and trailed his fingers along your thighs and up to your panties, teasing your overly sensitive skin. His fingers made their way just under the waistband of your cream colored underwear but just as you thought he was going to rip them down and take you there, he snapped the straps of your garter belts against your thighs on both legs. 

“Ow! Fuck you…” You yelped, reaching back to caress the skin. Thomas watched almost as if in a trance as your hand slid over the curvature of your butt and down your thighs, smoothing over the rosy mark he’d left. 

“I plan on it.” He assured, reaching out to tear your underwear down your legs, the fabric pooling with the garters around your ankles. The cool air hit your core as a welcomed breeze, cooling down your overheating body. 

Behind you, Tommy gripped his length and pumped himself a few times before running his tips along your folds, slowly pressing into you. “Damn, no foreplay?” You rolled your eyes sarcastically. Just like every other man you’d been with. 

“Sure doesn’t seem like much of a problem.” He pointed out as he slipped easily into you, just a testament to how wet you were. Your snarky quip was replaced by a gasp as you felt your walls stretch around him. Shit, it had been so long (and, yes, in both senses). 

Tommy let out a low groan and clenched his jaw tightly. You were so tight. Tighter than he’d expected. He set a pace quickly, his hips rocking into yours steadily. He wasn’t moving very fast but he managed to rub up on every spot inside of you, making your body feel like fireworks. The motion in the ocean was rocking your boat but, of course, you couldn’t let his ego get too big. “You call that fucking?” You looked over your shoulder at him, gripping the other edge of the table tightly. 

What you could see of his skin was shining with a sheen of sweat and his brows furrowed in simultaneous annoyance and insecurity at your words. He reached down and shoved your top half down onto the table, keeping his palm splayed firmly across your upper back. Once he felt like you wouldn’t move, he gripped your hips tightly and pulled them back against him, using the extra movement to fuck into you harder. 

“Ah- fuck…” You grunted at the sudden harsh impact sending your body into the wood. The legs of the table creaked and scraped against the rug in a hollow thud. “Tommy!” You whined out, eyes shut as he reached around your front and rubbed your clit. You were quickly falling over the edge.

There it is, Tommy smirked to himself, Tommy again. 

Without warning, your body shuddered and your legs shook as your walls spasmed around him. Wave after wave of pleasure watched over you as your orgasm took you. Tommy felt your walls around him and he struggled to keep his composure and after only a few more thrusts, he too busted inside of you. 

The two of you stood there, breathing heavily, for a moment before he pulled out, a mixture of his seed and your juices dripping down your thighs. Shit, you thought, you’d have to wash up now before you saw anybody now. Tommy stuffed his softening length back in his pants and redressed himself as you buttoned up your dress and readjusted your garter belts. 

“So that’s it.” He threw his jacket over his shoulders. 

You looked indignantly at him, “What?” 

“Why you’re falling apart.” Tommy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before gesturing with the smoking stick, “A man.” 

Your mouth fell open, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. But it’s because a man hurt you.” He analyzed. 

You didn’t know how to respond. First, was that an insult? You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. Second, how did he know? How was he able to read you like a book? 

Tommy watched as you tried to connect the dots but took the silence as an invitation to head out, “You have sex like you haven’t been touched in years and yet you’re angry and aggressive the whole time. You’re desperate but upset about something that’s happened romantically or sexually.” Your indignant silence only proved his theory and he raised an eyebrow, “You’re not the only one who can read people..” With a final adjustment of his tie, he nodded his farewell, “I’ll be seeing you on Friday with the rest of the money.” 

____________

Taglist: 

@kiaoizz 

@sweatydragoncloudknight

@hinagiku0

@stressedandbandobessed7771

[ishkah]

Beyond Compassion and Humanity; Justice for Non-human Animals by Martha Nussbaum

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This is a great essay vegans can draw on for a virtue ethics answer to the question of why do we hold the principle that it's almost always wrong to breed sentient life into captivity?

So for myself and this strain of virtue ethicists it would be because you know you could leave room for other animals to enjoy happy flourishing, being able to express all their capabilities in wild habitat.

Therefore not wanting to parasitically take away life with meaning for low-order pleasure in our hierarchy of needs which we can find elsewhere.

The distinction between this philosophy and consequentialism would simply be if you wished to act this way because fundimentally it’s about who you want to be and who you want to let animal be:

It goes beyond the contractarian view in its starting point, a basic wonder at living beings, and a wish for their flourishing and for a world in which creatures of many types flourish. It goes beyond the intuitive starting point of utilitarianism because it takes an interest not just in pleasure and pain [and interests], but in complex forms of life. It wants to see each thing flourish as the sort of thing it is. . .[and] that the dignity of living organisms not be violated.

Counter-intuitively the author does still cling to a hedonistic view of the right to take life, but hopefully not for much longer:

If animals were really killed in a painless fashion, after a healthy and free-ranging life, what then? Killings of extremely young animals would still be problematic, but it seems unclear that the balance of considerations supports a complete ban on killings for food.

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BEYOND “COMPASSION AND HUMANITY”

Justice for Non-human Animals

MARTHA C. NUSSBAUM

Certainly it is wrong to be cruel to animals… The capacity for feelings of pleasure and pain and for the forms of life of which animals are capable clearly impose duties of compassion and humanity in their case. I shall not attempt to explain these considered beliefs. They are outside the scope of the theory of justice, and it does not seem possible to extend the contract doctrine so as to include them in a natural way.

—JOHN RAWLS, A Theory of Justice

In conclusion, we hold that circus animals…are housed in cramped cages, subjected to fear, hunger, pain, not to mention the undignified way of life they have to live, with no respite and the impugned notification has been issued in conformity with the…values of human life, [and] philosophy of the Constitution… Though not homo-sapiens [sic], they are also beings entitled to dignified existence and humane treatment sans cruelty and torture… Therefore, it is not only our fundamental duty to show compassion to our animal friends, but also to recognise and protect their rights…If humans are entitled to fundamental rights, why not animals?

—NAIR V. UNION OF INDIA, Kerala High Court, June 2000

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“BEINGS ENTITLED TO DIGNIFIED EXISTENCE”

In 55 B.C. the Roman leader Pompey staged a combat between humans and elephants. Surrounded in the arena, the animals perceived that they had no hope of escape. According to Pliny, they then ―entreated the crowd, trying to win their compassion with indescribable gestures, bewailing their plight with a sort of lamentation.‖ The audience, moved to pity and anger by their plight, rose to curse Pompey, feeling, writes Cicero, that the elephants had a relation of commonality (societas) with the human race. [1]

We humans share a world and its scarce resources with other intelligent creatures. These creatures are capable of dignified existence, as the Kerala High Court says. It is difficult to know precisely what we mean by that phrase, but it is rather clear what it does not mean: the conditions of the circus animals in the case, squeezed into cramped, filthy cages, starved, terrorized, and beaten, given only the minimal care that would make them presentable in the ring the following day. The fact that humans act in ways that deny animals a dignified existence appears to be an issue of justice, and an urgent one, although we shall have to say more to those who would deny this claim. There is no obvious reason why notions of basic justice, entitlement, and law cannot be extended across the species barrier, as the Indian court boldly does.

Before we can perform this extension with any hope of success, however, we need to get clear about what theoretical approach is likely to prove most adequate. I shall argue that the capabilities approach as I have developed it—an approach to issues of basic justice and entitlement and to the making of fundamental political principles [2] —provides better theoretical guidance in this area than that supplied by contractarian and utilitarian approaches to the question of animal entitlements, because it is capable of recognizing a wide range of types of animal dignity, and of corresponding needs for flourishing.

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KANTIAN CONTRACTARIANISM: INDIRECT DUTIES, DUTIES OF COMPASSION

Kant’s own view about animals is very unpromising. He argues that all duties to animals are merely indirect duties to humanity, in that (as he believes) cruel or kind treatment of animals strengthens tendencies to behave in similar fashion to humans. Thus he rests the case for decent treatment of animals on a fragile empirical claim about psychology. He cannot conceive that beings who (in his view) lack self-consciousness and the capacity for moral reciprocity could possibly be objects of moral duty. More generally, he cannot see that such a being can have dignity, an intrinsic worth.

One may, however, be a contractarian—and indeed, in some sense a Kantian— without espousing these narrow views. John Rawls insists that we have direct moral duties to animals, which he calls ―duties of compassion and humanity. [3] But for Rawls these are not issues of justice, and he is explicit that the contract doctrine cannot be extended to deal with these issues, because animals lack those properties of human beings ―in virtue of which they are to be treated in accordance with the principles of justice‖ (TJ 504). Only moral persons, defined with reference to the ―two moral powers,‖ are subjects of justice.

To some extent, Rawls is led to this conclusion by his Kantian conception of the person, which places great emphasis on rationality and the capacity for moral choice. But it is likely that the very structure of his contractarianism would require such a conclusion, even in the absence of that heavy commitment to rationality. The whole idea of a bargain or contract involving both humans and non-human animals is fantastic, suggesting no clear scenario that would assist our thinking. Although Rawls’s Original Position, like the state of nature in earlier contractarian theories, [4] is not supposed to be an actual historical situation, it is supposed to be a coherent fiction that can help us think well. This means that it has to have realism, at least, concerning the powers and needs of the parties and their basic circumstances. There is no comparable fiction about our decision to make a deal with other animals that would be similarly coherent and helpful. Although we share a world of scarce resources with animals, and although there is in a sense a state of rivalry among species that is comparable to the rivalry in the state of nature, the asymmetry of power between humans and non-human animals is too great to imagine the bargain as a real bargain. Nor can we imagine that the bargain would actually be for mutual advantage, for if we want to protect ourselves from the incursions of wild animals, we can just kill them, as we do. Thus, the Rawlsian condition that no one party to the contract is strong enough to dominate or kill all the others is not met. Thus Rawls’s omission of animals from the theory of justice is deeply woven into the very idea of grounding principles of justice on a bargain struck for mutual advantage (on fair terms) out of a situation of rough equality.

To put it another way, all contractualist views conflate two questions, which might have been kept distinct: Who frames the principles? And for whom are the principles framed? That is how rationality ends up being a criterion of membership in the moral community: because the procedure imagines that people are choosing principles for themselves. But one might imagine things differently, including in the group for whom principles of justice are included many creatures who do not and could not participate in the framing.

We have not yet shown, however, that Rawls’s conclusion is wrong. I have said that the cruel and oppressive treatment of animals raises issues of justice, but I have not really defended that claim against the Rawlsian alternative. What exactly does it mean to say that these are issues of justice, rather than issues of ―compassion and humanity? The emotion of compassion involves the thought that another creature is suffering significantly, and is not (or not mostly) to blame for that suffering. [5] It does not involve the thought that someone is to blame for that suffering. One may have compassion for the victim of a crime, but one may also have compassion for someone who is dying from disease (in a situation where that vulnerability to disease is nobody’s fault). ―Humanity I take to be a similar idea. So compassion omits the essential element of blame for wrongdoing. That is the first problem. But suppose we add that element, saying that duties of compassion involve the thought that it is wrong to cause animals suffering. That is, a duty of compassion would not be just a duty to have compassion, but a duty, as a result of one’s compassion, to refrain from acts that cause the suffering that occasions the compassion. I believe that Rawls would make this addition, although he certainly does not tell us what he takes duties of compassion to be. What is at stake, further, in the decision to say that the mistreatment of animals is not just morally wrong, but morally wrong in a special way, raising questions of justice?

This is a hard question to answer, since justice is a much-disputed notion, and there are many types of justice, political, ethical, and so forth. But it seems that what we most typically mean when we call a bad act unjust is that the creature injured by that act has an entitlement not to be treated in that way, and an entitlement of a particularly urgent or basic type (since we do not believe that all instances of unkindness, thoughtlessness, and so forth are instances of injustice, even if we do believe that people have a right to be treated kindly, and so on). The sphere of justice is the sphere of basic entitlements. When I say that the mistreatment of animals is unjust, I mean to say not only that it is wrong of us to treat them in that way, but also that they have a right, a moral entitlement, not to be treated in that way. It is unfair to them. I believe that thinking of animals as active beings who have a good and who are entitled to pursue it naturally leads us to see important damages done to them as unjust. What is lacking in Rawls’s account, as in Kant’s (though more subtly) is the sense of the animal itself as an agent and a subject, a creature in interaction with whom we live. As we shall see, the capabilities approach does treat animals as agents seeking a flourishing existence; this basic conception, I believe, is one of its greatest strengths.

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UTILITARIANISM AND ANIMAL FLOURISHING

Utilitarianism has contributed more than any other ethical theory to the recognition of animal entitlements. Both Bentham and Mill in their time and Peter Singer in our own have courageously taken the lead in freeing ethical thought from the shackles of a narrow species-centered conception of worth and entitlement. No doubt this achievement was connected with the founders’ general radicalism and their skepticism about conventional morality, their willingness to follow the ethical argument wherever it leads. These remain very great virtues in the utilitarian position. Nor does utilitarianism make the mistake of running together the question “who receives justice?” With the question “who frames the principles of justice?” Justice is sought for all sentient beings, many of whom cannot participate in the framing of principles.

Thus it is in a spirit of alliance that those concerned with animal entitlements might address a few criticisms to the utilitarian view. There are some difficulties with the utilitarian view, in both of its forms. As Bernard Williams and Amartya Sen usefully analyze the utilitarian position, it has three independent elements: consequentialism (the right choice is the one that produces the best overall consequences), sum-ranking (the utilities of different people are combined by adding them together to produce a single total), and hedonism, or some other substantive theory of the good (such as preference satisfaction). [6] Consequentialism by itself causes the fewest difficulties, since one may always adjust the account of well-being, or the good, in consequentialism so as to admit many important things that utilitarians typically do not make salient: plural and heterogeneous goods, the protection of rights, even personal commitments or agent-centred goods. More or less any moral theory can be consequentialized, that is, put in a form where the matters valued by that theory appear in the account of consequences to be produced. [7] Although I do have some doubts about a comprehensive consequentialism as the best basis for political principles in a pluralistic liberal society, I shall not comment on them at present, but shall turn to the more evidently problematic aspects of the utilitarian view. [8]

Let us next consider the utilitarian commitment to aggregation, or what is called ―sum-ranking. Views that measure principles of justice by the outcome they produce need not simply add all the relevant goods together. They may weight them in other ways. For example, one may insist that each and every person has an indefeasible entitlement to come up above a threshold on certain key goods. In addition, a view may, like Rawls’s view, focus particularly on the situation of the least well off, refusing to permit inequalities that do not raise that person’s position. These ways of considering well-being insist on treating people as ends: They refuse to allow some people’s extremely high well-being to be purchased, so to speak, through other people’s disadvantage. Even the welfare of society as a whole does not lead us to violate an individual, as Rawls says.

Utilitarianism notoriously refuses such insistence on the separateness and inviolability of persons. Because it is committed to the sum-ranking of all relevant pleasures and pains (or preference satisfactions and frustrations), it has no way of ruling out in advance results that are extremely harsh toward a given class or group. Slavery, the lifelong subordination of some to others, the extremely cruel treatment of some humans or of non-human animals—none of this is ruled out by the theory’s core conception of justice, which treats all satisfactions as fungible in a single system. Such results will be ruled out, if at all, by empirical considerations regarding total or average well-being. These questions are notoriously indeterminate (especially when the number of individuals who will be born is also unclear, a point I shall take up later). Even if they were not, it seems that the best reason to be against slavery, torture, and lifelong subordination is a reason of justice, not an empirical calculation of total or average well-being. Moreover, if we focus on preference satisfaction, we must confront the problem of adaptive preferences. For while some ways of treating people badly always cause pain (torture, starvation), there are ways of subordinating people that creep into their very desires, making allies out of the oppressed. Animals too can learn submissive or fear-induced preferences. Martin Seligman’s experiments, for example, show that dogs who have been conditioned into a mental state of learned helplessness have immense difficulty learning to initiate voluntary movement, if they can ever do so. [9]

There are also problems inherent in the views of the good most prevalent within utilitarianism: hedonism (Bentham) and preference satisfaction (Singer). Pleasure is a notoriously elusive notion. Is it a single feeling, varying only in intensity and duration, or are the different pleasures as qualitatively distinct as the activities with which they are associated? Mill, following Aristotle, believed the latter, but if we once grant that point, we are looking at a view that is very different from standard utilitarianism, which is firmly wedded to the homogeneity of good. [10]

Such a commitment looks like an especially grave error when we consider basic political principles. For each basic entitlement is its own thing, and is not bought off, so to speak, by even a very large amount of another entitlement. Suppose we say to a citizen: We will take away your free speech on Tuesdays between 3 and 4P.M., but in return, we will give you, every single day, a double amount of basic welfare and health care support. This is just the wrong picture of basic political entitlements. What is being said when we make a certain entitlement basic is that it is important always and for everyone, as a matter of basic justice. The only way to make that point sufficiently clearly is to preserve the qualitative separateness of each distinct element within our list of basic entitlements.

Once we ask the hedonist to admit plural goods, not commensurable on a single quantitative scale, it is natural to ask, further, whether pleasure and pain are the only things we ought to be looking at. Even if one thinks of pleasure as closely linked to activity, and not simply as a passive sensation, making it the sole end leaves out much of the value we attach to activities of various types. There seem to be valuable things in an animal’s life other than pleasure, such as free movement and physical achievement, and also altruistic sacrifice for kin and group. The grief of an animal for a dead child or parent, or the suffering of a human friend, also seem to be valuable, a sign of attachments that are intrinsically good. There are also bad pleasures, including some of the pleasures of the circus audience—and it is unclear whether such pleasures should even count positively in the social calculus. Some pleasures of animals in harming other animals may also be bad in this way.

Does preference utilitarianism do better? We have already identified some problems, including the problem of misinformed or malicious preferences and that of adaptive (submissive) preferences. Singer’s preference utilitarianism, moreover, defining preference in terms of conscious awareness, has no room for deprivations that never register in the animal’s consciousness.

But of course animals raised under bad conditions can’t imagine the better way of life they have never known, and so the fact that they are not living a more flourishing life will not figure in their awareness. They may still feel pain, and this the utilitarian can consider. What the view cannot consider is all the deprivation of valuable life activity that they do not feel.

Finally, all utilitarian views are highly vulnerable on the question of numbers. The meat industry brings countless animals into the world who would never have existed but for that. For Singer, these births of new animals are not by themselves a bad thing: Indeed, we can expect new births to add to the total of social utility, from which we would then subtract the pain such animals suffer. It is unclear where this calculation would come out. Apart from this question of indeterminacy, it seems unclear that we should even say that these births of new animals are a good thing, if the animals are brought into the world only as tools of human rapacity.

So utilitarianism has great merits, but also great problems.

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TYPES OF DIGNITY, TYPES OF FLOURISHING: EXTENDING THE CAPABILITIES APPROACH

The capabilities approach in its current form starts from the notion of human dignity and a life worthy of it. But I shall now argue that it can be extended to provide a more adequate basis for animal entitlements than the other two theories under consideration. The basic moral intuition behind the approach concerns the dignity of a form of life that possesses both deep needs and abilities; its basic goal is to address the need for a rich plurality of life activities. With Aristotle and Marx, the approach has insisted that there is waste and tragedy when a living creature has the innate, or ―basic,‖ capability for some functions that are evaluated as important and good, but never gets the opportunity to perform those functions. Failures to educate women, failures to provide adequate health care, failures to extend the freedoms of speech and conscience to all citizens—all these are treated as causing a kind of premature death, the death of a form of flourishing that has been judged to be worthy of respect and wonder. The idea that a human being should have a chance to flourish in its own way, provided it does no harm to others, is thus very deep in the account the capabilities approach gives of the justification of basic political entitlements.

The species norm is evaluative, as I have insisted; it does not simply read off norms from the way nature actually is. The difficult questions this valuational exercise raises for the case of non-human animals will be discussed in the following section. But once we have judged that a central human power is one of the good ones, one of the ones whose flourishing defines the good of the creature, we have a strong moral reason for promoting its flourishing and removing obstacles to it.

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Dignity and Wonder: The Intuitive Starting Point

The same attitude to natural powers that guides the approach in the case of human beings guides it in the case of all forms of life. For there is a more general attitude behind the respect we have for human powers, and it is very different from the type of respect that animates Kantian ethics. For Kant, only humanity and rationality are worthy of respect and wonder; the rest of nature is just a set of tools. The capabilities approach judges instead, with the biologist Aristotle (who criticized his students’ disdain for the study of animals), that there is something wonderful and wonder-inspiring in all the complex forms of animal life.

Aristotle’s scientific spirit is not the whole of what the capabilities approach embodies, for we need, in addition, an ethical concern that the functions of life not be impeded, that the dignity of living organisms not be violated. And yet, if we feel wonder looking at a complex organism, that wonder at least suggests the idea that it is good for that being to flourish as the kind of thing it is. And this idea is next door to the ethical judgment that it is wrong when the flourishing of a creature is blocked by the harmful agency of another. That more complex idea lies at the heart of the capabilities approach.

So I believe that the capabilities approach is well placed, intuitively, to go beyond both contractarian and utilitarian views. It goes beyond the contractarian view in its starting point, a basic wonder at living beings, and a wish for their flourishing and for a world in which creatures of many types flourish. It goes beyond the intuitive starting point of utilitarianism because it takes an interest not just in pleasure and pain, but in complex forms of life. It wants to see each thing flourish as the sort of thing it is.

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By Whom and for Whom? The Purposes of Social Cooperation

For a contractarian, as we have seen, the question ―Who makes the laws and principles? is treated as having, necessarily, the same answer as the question ―For whom are the laws and principles made? That conflation is dictated by the theory’s account of the purposes of social cooperation. But there is obviously no reason at all why these two questions should be put together in this way. The capabilities approach, as so far developed for the human case, looks at the world and asks how to arrange that justice be done in it. Justice is among the intrinsic ends that it pursues. Its parties are imagined looking at all the brutality and misery, the goodness and kindness of the world and trying to think how to make a world in which a core group of very important entitlements, inherent in the notion of human dignity, will be protected. Because they look at the whole of the human world, not just people roughly equal to themselves, they are able to be concerned directly and non-derivatively, as we saw, with the good of the mentally disabled. This feature makes it easy to extend the approach to include human-animal relations.

Let us now begin the extension. The purpose of social cooperation, by analogy and extension, ought to be to live decently together in a world in which many species try to flourish. (Cooperation itself will now assume multiple and complex forms.) The general aim of the capabilities approach in charting political principles to shape the human-animal relationship would be, following the intuitive ideas of the theory, that no animal should be cut off from the chance at a flourishing life and that all animals should enjoy certain positive opportunities to flourish. With due respect for a world that contains many forms of life, we attend with ethical concern to each characteristic type of flourishing and strive that it not be cut off or fruitless.

Such an approach seems superior to contractarianism because it contains direct obligations of justice to animals; it does not make these derivative from or posterior to the duties we have to fellow humans, and it is able to recognize that animals are subjects who have entitlements to flourishing and who thus are subjects of justice, not just objects of compassion. It is superior to utilitarianism because it respects each individual creature, refusing to aggregate the goods of different lives and types of lives. No creature is being used as a means to the ends of others, or of society as a whole. The capabilities approach also refuses to aggregate across the diverse constituents of each life and type of life. Thus, unlike utilitarianism, it can keep in focus the fact that each species has a different form of life and different ends; moreover, within a given species, each life has multiple and heterogeneous ends.

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How Comprehensive?

In the human case, the capabilities approach does not operate with a fully comprehensive conception of the good, because of the respect it has for the diverse ways in which people choose to live their lives in a pluralistic society. It aims at securing some core entitlements that are held to be implicit in the idea of a life with dignity, but it aims at capability, not functioning, and it focuses on a small list. In the case of human-animal relations, the need for restraint is even more acute, since animals will not in fact be participating directly in the framing of political principles, and thus they cannot revise them over time should they prove inadequate.

And yet there is a countervailing consideration: Human beings affect animals’ opportunities for flourishing pervasively, and it is hard to think of a species that one could simply leave alone to flourish in its own way. The human species dominates the other species in a way that no human individual or nation has ever dominated other humans. Respect for other species’ opportunities for flourishing suggests, then, that human law must include robust, positive political commitments to the protection of animals, even though, had human beings not so pervasively interfered with animals’ ways of life, the most respectful course might have been simply to leave them alone, living the lives that they make for themselves.

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The Species and the Individual

What should the focus of these commitments be? It seems that here, as in the human case, the focus should be the individual creature. The capabilities approach attaches no importance to increased numbers as such; its focus is on the well-being of existing creatures and the harm that is done to them when their powers are blighted.

As for the continuation of species, this would have little moral weight as a consideration of justice (though it might have aesthetic significance or some other sort of ethical significance), if species were just becoming extinct because of factors having nothing to do with human action that affects individual creatures. But species are becoming extinct because human beings are killing their members and damaging their natural environments. Thus, damage to species occurs through damage to individuals, and this individual damage should be the focus of ethical concern within the capabilities approach.

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Do Levels of Complexity Matter?

Almost all ethical views of animal entitlements hold that there are morally relevant distinctions among forms of life. Killing a mosquito is not the same sort of thing as killing a chimpanzee. But the question is: What sort of difference is relevant for basic justice? Singer, following Bentham, puts the issue in terms of sentience. Animals of many kinds can suffer bodily pain, and it is always bad to cause pain to a sentient being. If there are non-sentient or barely sentient animals—and it appears that crustaceans, mollusks, sponges, and the other creatures Aristotle called ―stationary animals‖ are such creatures—there is either no harm or only a trivial harm done in killing them. Among the sentient creatures, moreover, there are some who can suffer additional harms through their cognitive capacity: A few animals can foresee and mind their own deaths, and others will have conscious, sentient interests in continuing to live that are frustrated by death. The painless killing of an animal that does not foresee its own death or take a conscious interest in the continuation of its life is, for Singer and Bentham, not bad, for all badness, for them, consists in the frustration of interests, understood as forms of conscious awareness. [11] Singer is not, then, saying that some animals are inherently more worthy of esteem than others. He is simply saying that, if we agree with him that all harms reside in sentience, the creature’s form of life limits the conditions under which it can actually suffer harm.

Similarly, James Rachels, whose view does not focus on sentience alone, holds that the level of complexity of a creature affects what can be a harm for it. [12] What is relevant to the harm of pain is sentience; what is relevant to the harm of a specific type of pain is a specific type of sentience (e.g., the ability to imagine one’s own death). What is relevant to the harm of diminished freedom is a capacity for freedom or autonomy. It would make no sense to complain that a worm is being deprived of autonomy, or a rabbit of the right to vote.

What should the capabilities approach say about this issue? It seems to me that it should not follow Aristotle in saying that there is a natural ranking of forms of life, some being intrinsically more worthy of support and wonder than others. That consideration might have evaluative significance of some other kind, but it seems dubious that it should affect questions of basic justice.

Rachels’s view offers good guidance here. Because the capabilities approach finds ethical significance in the flourishing of basic (innate) capabilities—those that are evaluated as both good and central (see the section on evaluating animal capabilities)—it will also find harm in the thwarting or blighting of those capabilities. More complex forms of life have more and more complex capabilities to be blighted, so they can suffer more and different types of harm. Level of life is relevant not because it gives different species differential worth per se, but because the type and degree of harm a creature can suffer varies with its form of life.

At the same time, I believe that the capabilities approach should admit the wisdom in utilitarianism. Sentience is not the only thing that matters for basic justice, but it seems plausible to consider sentience a threshold condition for membership in the community of beings who have entitlements based on justice. Thus, killing a sponge does not seem to be a matter of basic justice.

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Does the Species Matter?

For the utilitarians, and for Rachels, the species to which a creature belongs has no moral relevance. All that is morally relevant are the capacities of the individual creature: Rachels calls this view ―moral individualism.‖ Utilitarian writers are fond of comparing apes to young children and to mentally disabled humans. The capabilities approach, by contrast, with its talk of characteristic functioning and forms of life, seems to attach some significance to species membership as such. What type of significance is this?

We should admit that there is much to be learned from reflection on the continuum of life. Capacities do crisscross and overlap; a chimpanzee may have more capacity for empathy and perspectival thinking than a very young child or an older autistic child. And capacities that humans sometimes arrogantly claim for themselves alone are found very widely in nature. But it seems wrong to conclude from such facts that species membership is morally and politically irrelevant. A mentally disabled child is actually very different from a chimpanzee, though in certain respects some of her capacities may be comparable. Such a child’s life is tragic in a way that the life of a chimpanzee is not tragic: She is cut off from forms of flourishing that, but for the disability, she might have had, disabilities that it is the job of science to prevent or cure, wherever that is possible. There is something blighted and disharmonious in her life, whereas the life of a chimpanzee may be perfectly flourishing. Her social and political functioning is threatened by these disabilities, in a way that the normal functioning of a chimpanzee in the community of chimpanzees is not threatened by its cognitive endowment.

All this is relevant when we consider issues of basic justice. For a child born with Down syndrome, it is crucial that the political culture in which he lives make a big effort to extend to him the fullest benefits of citizenship he can attain, through health benefits, education, and the reeducation of the public culture. That is so because he can only flourish as a human being. He has no option of flourishing as a happy chimpanzee. For a chimpanzee, on the other hand, it seems to me that expensive efforts to teach language, while interesting and revealing, are not matters of basic justice. A chimpanzee flourishes in its own way, communicating with its own community in a perfectly adequate manner that has gone on for ages.

In short, the species norm (duly evaluated) tells us what the appropriate benchmark is for judging whether a given creature has decent opportunities for flourishing.

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EVALUATING ANIMAL CAPABILITIES: NO NATURE WORSHIP

In the human case, the capabilities view does not attempt to extract norms directly from some facts about human nature. We should know what we can about the innate capacities of human beings, and this information is valuable, in telling us what our opportunities are and what our dangers might be. But we must begin by evaluating the innate powers of human beings, asking which ones are the good ones, the ones that are central to the notion of a decently flourishing human life, a life with dignity. Thus not only evaluation but also ethical evaluation is put into the approach from the start. Many things that are found in human life are not on the capabilities list.

There is a danger in any theory that alludes to the characteristic flourishing and form of life of a species: the danger of romanticizing nature, or suggesting that things are in order as they are, if only we would stop interfering. This danger looms large when we turn from the human case, where it seems inevitable that we will need to do some moral evaluating, to the animal case, where evaluating is elusive and difficult. Inherent in at least some environmentalist writing is a picture of nature as harmonious and wise, and of humans as wasteful overreachers who would live better were we to get in tune with this fine harmony. This image of nature was already very sensibly attacked by John Stuart Mill in his great essay ―Nature,‖ which pointed out that nature, far from being morally normative, is actually violent, heedless of moral norms, prodigal, full of conflict, harsh to humans and animals both. A similar view lies at the heart of much modern ecological thinking, which now stresses the inconstancy and imbalance of nature, [13] arguing, inter alia, that many of the natural ecosystems that we admire as such actually sustain themselves to the extent that they do only on account of various forms of human intervention.

Thus, a no-evaluation view, which extracts norms directly from observation of animals’ characteristic ways of life, is probably not going to be a helpful way of promoting the good of animals. Instead, we need a careful evaluation of both ―nature‖ and possible changes. Respect for nature should not and cannot mean just leaving nature as it is, and must involve careful normative arguments about what plausible goals might be.

In the case of humans, the primary area in which the political conception inhibits or fails to foster tendencies that are pervasive in human life is the area of harm to others. Animals, of course, pervasively cause harm, both to members of their own species and, far more often, to members of other species.

In both of these cases, the capabilities theorist will have a strong inclination to say that the harm-causing capabilities in question are not among those that should be protected by political and social principles. But if we leave these capabilities off the list, how can we claim to be promoting flourishing lives? Even though the capabilities approach is not utilitarian and does not hold that all good is in sentience, it will still be difficult to maintain that a creature who feels frustration at the inhibition of its predatory capacities is living a flourishing life. A human being can be expected to learn to flourish without homicide and, let us hope, even without most killing of animals. But a lion who is given no exercise for its predatory capacity appears to suffer greatly.

Here the capabilities view may, however, distinguish two aspects of the capability in question. The capability to kill small animals, defined as such, is not valuable, and political principles can omit it (and even inhibit it in some cases, to be discussed in the following section). But the capability to exercise one’s predatory nature so as to avoid the pain of frustration may well have value, if the pain of frustration is considerable. Zoos have learned how to make this distinction. Noticing that they were giving predatory animals insufficient exercise for their predatory capacities, they had to face the question of the harm done to smaller animals by allowing these capabilities to be exercised. Should they give a tiger a tender gazelle to crunch on? The Bronx Zoo has found that it can give the tiger a large ball on a rope, whose resistance and weight symbolize the gazelle. The tiger seems satisfied. Wherever predatory animals are living under direct human support and control, these solutions seem the most ethically sound.

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POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE, CAPABILITY AND FUNCTIONING

In the human case, there is a traditional distinction between positive and negative duties that it seems important to call into question. Traditional moralities hold that we have a strict duty not to commit aggression and fraud, but we have no correspondingly strict duty to stop hunger or disease, nor to give money to promote their cessation. [14]

The capabilities approach calls this distinction into question. All the human capabilities require affirmative support, usually including state action. This is just as true of protecting property and personal security as it is of health care, just as true of the political and civil liberties as it is of providing adequate shelter.

In the case of animals, unlike the human case, there might appear to be some room for a positive-negative distinction that makes some sense. It seems at least coherent to say that the human community has the obligation to refrain from certain egregious harms toward animals, but that it is not obliged to support the welfare of all animals, in the sense of ensuring them adequate food, shelter, and health care. The animals themselves have the rest of the task of ensuring their own flourishing.

There is much plausibility in this contention. And certainly if our political principles simply ruled out the many egregious forms of harm to animals, they would have done quite a lot. But the contention, and the distinction it suggests, cannot be accepted in full. First of all, large numbers of animals live under humans’ direct control: domestic animals, farm animals, and those members of wild species that are in zoos or other forms of captivity. Humans have direct responsibility for the nutrition and health care of these animals, as even our defective current systems of law acknowledge. [15] Animals in the wild appear to go their way unaffected by human beings. But of course that can hardly be so in many cases in today’s world. Human beings pervasively affect the habitats of animals, determining opportunities for nutrition, free movement, and other aspects of flourishing.

Thus, while we may still maintain that one primary area of human responsibility to animals is that of refraining from a whole range of bad acts (to be discussed shortly), we cannot plausibly stop there. The only questions should be how extensive our duties are, and how to balance them against appropriate respect for the autonomy of a species.

In the human case, one way in which the approach respects autonomy is to focus on capability, and not functioning, as the legitimate political goal. But paternalistic treatment (which aims at functioning rather than capability) is warranted wherever the individual’s capacity for choice and autonomy is compromised (thus, for children and the severely mentally disabled). This principle suggests that paternalism is usually appropriate when we are dealing with non-human animals. That conclusion, however, should be qualified by our previous endorsement of the idea that species autonomy, in pursuit of flourishing, is part of the good for non-human animals. How, then, should the two principles be combined, and can they be coherently combined? I believe that they can be combined, if we adopt a type of paternalism that is highly sensitive to the different forms of flourishing that different species pursue. It is no use saying that we should just let tigers flourish in their own way, given that human activity ubiquitously affects the possibilities for tigers to flourish. This being the case, the only decent alternative to complete neglect of tiger flourishing is a policy that thinks carefully about the flourishing of tigers and what habitat that requires, and then tries hard to create such habitats. In the case of domestic animals, an intelligent paternalism would encourage training, discipline, and even, where appropriate, strenuous training focused on special excellences of a breed (such as the border collie or the hunter-jumper). But the animal, like a child, will retain certain entitlements, which they hold regardless of what their human guardian thinks about it. They are not merely objects for human beings’ use and control.

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TOWARD BASIC POLITICAL PRINCIPLES: THE CAPABILITIES LIST

It is now time to see whether we can actually use the human basis of the capabilities approach to map out some basic political principles that will guide law and public policy in dealing with animals. The list I have defended as useful in the human case is as follows:

The Central Human Capabilities

Being able to live to the end of a human life of normal length; not dying prematurely, or before one’s life is so reduced as to be not worth living.

Bodily Health. Being able to have good health, including reproductive health; to be adequately nourished; to have adequate shelter.

Bodily Integrity. Being able to move freely from place to place; to be secure against violent assault, including sexual assault and domestic violence; having opportunities for sexual satisfaction and for choice in matters of reproduction.

Senses, Imagination, and Thought. Being able to use the senses, to imagine, think, and reason—and to do these things in a ―truly human‖ way, a way informed and cultivated by an adequate education, including, but by no means limited to, literacy and basic mathematical and scientific training. Being able to use imagination and thought in connection with experiencing and producing works and events of one’s own choice, religious, literary, musical, and so forth. Being able to use one’s mind in ways protected by guarantees of freedom of expression with respect to both political and artistic speech, and freedom of religious exercise. Being able to have pleasurable experiences and to avoid non-beneficial pain.

Emotions. Being able to have attachments to things and people outside ourselves; to love those who love and care for us and to grieve at their absence; in general, to love, to grieve, to experience longing, gratitude, and justified anger. Not having one’s emotional development blighted by fear and anxiety. (Supporting this capability means supporting forms of human association that can be shown to be crucial to our development.)

Practical Reason. Being able to form a conception of the good and to engage in critical reflection about the planning of one’s life. (This entails protection for the liberty of conscience and religious observance.)

Affiliation. (A) Being able to live with and toward others, to recognize and show concern for other human beings, to engage in various forms of social interaction; to be able to imagine the situation of another. (Protecting this capability means protecting institutions that constitute and nourish such forms of affiliation, and also protecting the freedom of assembly and political speech.) (B) Having the social bases of self-respect and non-humiliation; being able to be treated as a dignified being whose worth is equal to that of others. (This entails provisions of non-discrimination on the basis of race, sex, sexual orientation, ethnicity, caste, religion, national origin.)

Other Species. Being able to live with concern for and in relation to animals, plants, and the world of nature.

Play. Being able to laugh, to play, to enjoy recreational activities.

Control over One’s Environment. (A) Political. Being able to participate effectively in political choices that govern one’s life; having the right of political participation; protections of free speech and association. (B) Material. Being able to hold property (both land and movable goods), and having property rights on an equal basis with others; having the right to seek employment on an equal basis with others; having the freedom from unwarranted search and seizure. In work, being able to work as a human being, exercising practical reason and entering into meaningful relationships of mutual recognition with other workers.

Although the entitlements of animals are species specific, the main large categories of the existing list, suitably fleshed out, turn out to be a good basis for a sketch of some basic political principles.

In the capabilities approach, all animals are entitled to continue their lives, whether or not they have such a conscious interest. All sentient animals have a secure entitlement against gratuitous killing for sport. Killing for luxury items such as fur falls in this category, and should be banned. On the other hand, intelligently respectful paternalism supports euthanasia for elderly animals in pain. In the middle are the very difficult cases, such as the question of predation to control populations, and the question of killing for food. The reason these cases are so difficult is that animals will die anyway in nature, and often more painfully. Painless predation might well be preferable to allowing the animal to be torn to bits in the wild or starved through overpopulation. As for food, the capabilities approach agrees with utilitarianism in being most troubled by the torture of living animals. If animals were really killed in a painless fashion, after a healthy and free-ranging life, what then? Killings of extremely young animals would still be problematic, but it seems unclear that the balance of considerations supports a complete ban on killings for food.

Bodily Health. One of the most central entitlements of animals is the entitlement to a healthy life. Where animals are directly under human control, it is relatively clear what policies this entails: laws banning cruel treatment and neglect; laws banning the confinement and ill treatment of animals in the meat and fur industries; laws forbidding harsh or cruel treatment for working animals, including circus animals; laws regulating zoos and aquariums, mandating adequate nutrition and space. Many of these laws already exist, although they are not well enforced. The striking asymmetry in current practice is that animals being raised for food are not protected in the way other animals are protected. This asymmetry must be eliminated.

Bodily Integrity. This goes closely with the preceding. Under the capabilities approach, animals have direct entitlements against violations of their bodily integrity by violence, abuse, and other forms of harmful treatment—whether or not the treatment in question is painful. Thus the declawing of cats would probably be banned under this rubric, on the grounds that it prevents the cat from flourishing in its own characteristic way, even though it may be done in a painfree manner and cause no subsequent pain. On the other hand, forms of training that, though involving discipline, equip the animal to manifest excellences that are part of its characteristic capabilities profile would not be eliminated.

Senses, Imagination, and Thought. For humans, this capability creates a wide range of entitlements: to appropriate education, to free speech and artistic expression, to the freedom of religion. It also includes a more general entitlement to pleasurable experiences and the avoidance of non-beneficial pain. By now it ought to be rather obvious where the latter point takes us in thinking about animals: toward laws banning harsh, cruel, and abusive treatment and ensuring animals’ access to sources of pleasure, such as free movement in an environment that stimulates and pleases the senses. The freedom-related part of this capability has no precise analogue, and yet we can come up with appropriate analogues in the case of each type of animal, by asking what choices and areas of freedom seem most important to each. Clearly this reflection would lead us to reject close confinement and to regulate the places in which animals of all kinds are kept for spaciousness, light and shade, and the variety of opportunities they offer the animals for a range of characteristic activities. Again, the capabilities approach seems superior to utilitarianism in its ability to recognize such entitlements, for few animals will have a conscious interest, as such, in variety and space.

Emotions. Animals have a wide range of emotions. All or almost all sentient animals have fear. Many animals can experience anger, resentment, gratitude, grief, envy, and joy. A small number—those who are capable of perspectival thinking—can experience compassion. [16] Like human beings, they are entitled to lives in which it is open to them to have attachments to others, to love and care for others, and not to have those attachments warped by enforced isolation or the deliberate infliction of fear. We understand well what this means where our cherished domestic animals are in question. Oddly, we do not extend the same consideration to animals we think of as ―wild. Until recently, zoos took no thought for the emotional needs of animals, and animals being used for research were often treated with gross carelessness in this regard, being left in isolation and confinement when they might easily have had decent emotional lives. [17]

Practical Reason. In each case, we need to ask to what extent the creature has a capacity to frame goals and projects and to plan its life. To the extent that this capacity is present, it ought to be supported, and this support requires many of the same policies already suggested by capability 4: plenty of room to move around, opportunities for a variety of activities.

Affiliation. In the human case, this capability has two parts: an interpersonal part (being able to live with and toward others) and a more public part, focused on self-respect and non-humiliation. It seems to me that the same two parts are pertinent for non-human animals. Animals are entitled to opportunities to form attachments (as in capability 5) and to engage in characteristic forms of bonding and interrelationship. They are also entitled to relations with humans, where humans enter the picture, that are rewarding and reciprocal, rather than tyrannical. At the same time, they are entitled to live in a world public culture that respects them and treats them as dignified beings. This entitlement does not just mean protecting them from instances of humiliation that they will feel as painful. The capabilities approach here extends more broadly than utilitarianism, holding that animals are entitled to world policies that grant them political rights and the legal status of dignified beings, whether they understand that status or not.

Other Species. If human beings are entitled to ―be able to live with concern for and in relation to animals, plants, and the world of nature,‖ so too are other animals, in relation to species not their own, including the human species, and the rest of the natural world. This capability, seen from both the human and the animal side, calls for the gradual formation of an interdependent world in which all species will enjoy cooperative and mutually supportive relations with one another. Nature is not that way and never has been. So it calls, in a very general way, for the gradual supplanting of the natural by the just.

Play. This capability is obviously central to the lives of all sentient animals. It calls for many of the same policies we have already discussed: provision of adequate space, light, and sensory stimulation in living places, and, above all, the presence of other species members.

Control over One’s Environment. In the human case, this capability has two prongs, the political and the material. The political is defined in terms of active citizenship and rights of political participation. For non-human animals, the important thing is being part of a political conception that is framed so as to respect them and that is committed to treating them justly. It is important, however, that animals have entitlements directly, so that a human guardian has standing to go to court, as with children, to vindicate those entitlements. On the material side, for non-human animals, the analogue to property rights is respect for the territorial integrity of their habitats, whether domestic or in the wild.

Are there animal capabilities not covered by this list, suitably specified? It seems to me not, although in the spirit of the capabilities approach we should insist that the list is open-ended, subject to supplementation or deletion.

In general, the capabilities approach suggests that it is appropriate for nations to include in their constitutions or other founding statements of principle a commitment to animals as subjects of political justice and a commitment that animals will be treated with dignity. The constitution might also spell out some of the very general principles suggested by this capabilities list. The rest of the work of protecting animal entitlements might be done by suitable legislation and by court cases demanding the enforcement of the law, where it is not enforced. At the same time, many of the issues covered by this approach cannot be dealt with by nations in isolation, but can only be addressed by international cooperation. So we also need international accords committing the world community to the protection of animal habitats and the eradication of cruel practices.

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THE INELIMINABILITY OF CONFLICT

In the human case, we often face the question of conflict between one capability and another. But if the capabilities list and its thresholds are suitably designed, we ought to say that the presence of conflict between one capability and another is a sign that society has gone wrong somewhere. [18] We should focus on long-term planning that will create a world in which all the capabilities can be secured to all citizens.

Our world contains persistent and often tragic conflicts between the well-being of human beings and the well-being of animals. Some bad treatment of animals can be eliminated without serious losses in human wellbeing: Such is the case with the use of animals for fur, and the brutal and confining treatment of animals used for food. The use of animals for food in general is a much more difficult case, since nobody really knows what the impact on the world environment would be of a total switch to vegetarian sources of protein, or the extent to which such a diet could be made compatible with the health of all the world’s children. A still more difficult problem is the use of animals in research.

A lot can be done to improve the lives of research animals without stopping useful research. As Steven Wise has shown, primates used in research often live in squalid, lonely conditions while they are used as medical subjects. This of course is totally unnecessary and morally unacceptable and could be ended without ending the research. Some research that is done is unnecessary and can be terminated, for example, the testing of cosmetics on rabbits, which seems to have been bypassed without loss of quality by some cosmetic firms. But much important research with major consequences for the life and health of human beings and other animals will inflict disease, pain, and death on at least some animals, even under the best conditions.

I do not favor stopping all such research. What I do favor is (a) asking whether the research is really necessary for a major human capability; (b) focusing on the use of less-complex sentient animals where possible, on the grounds that they suffer fewer and lesser harms from such research; (c) improving the conditions of research animals, including palliative terminal care when they have contracted a terminal illness, and supportive interactions with both humans and other animals; (d) removing the psychological brutality that is inherent in so much treatment of animals for research; (e) choosing topics cautiously and seriously, so that no animal is harmed for a frivolous reason; and (f) a constant effort to develop experimental methods (for example, computer simulations) that do not have these bad consequences.

Above all, it means constant public discussion of these issues, together with an acknowledgment that such uses of animals in research are tragic, violating basic entitlements. Such public acknowledgments are far from useless. They state what is morally true, and thus acknowledge the dignity of animals and our own culpability toward them. They reaffirm dispositions to behave well toward them where no such urgent exigencies intervene. Finally, they prompt us to seek a world in which the pertinent research could in fact be done in other ways.

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TOWARD A TRULY GLOBAL JUSTICE

It has been obvious for a long time that the pursuit of global justice requires the inclusion of many people and groups who were not previously included as fully equal subjects of justice: the poor; members of religious, ethnic, and racial minorities; and more recently women, the disabled, and inhabitants of nations distant from one’s own.

But a truly global justice requires not simply that we look across the world for other fellow species members who are entitled to a decent life. It also requires looking around the world at the other sentient beings with whose lives our own are inextricably and complexly intertwined. Traditional contractarian approaches to the theory of justice did not and, in their very form, could not confront these questions as questions of justice. Utilitarian approaches boldly did so, and they deserve high praise. But in the end, I have argued, utilitarianism is too homogenizing—both across lives and with respect to the heterogeneous constituents of each life—to provide us with an adequate theory of animal justice. The capabilities approach, which begins from an ethically attuned wonder before each form of animal life, offers a model that does justice to the complexity of animal lives and their strivings for flourishing. Such a model seems an important part of a fully global theory of justice.

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NOTES

This essay derives from my Tanner Lectures in 2003 and is published by courtesy of the University of Utah Press and the Trustees of the Tanner Lectures on Human Values.

The incident is discussed in Pliny Nat. Hist. 8.7.20–21, Cicero Ad Fam. 7.1.3; see also Dio Cassius Hist. 39, 38, 2–4. See the discussion in Richard Sorabji, Animal Minds and Human Morals: The Origins of the Western Debate (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1993), 124–125.

For this approach, see Martha C. Nussbaum, Women and Human Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), and ―Capabilities as Fundamental Entitlements: Sen and Social Justice, Feminist Economics 9 (2003): 33–59. The approach was pioneered by Amartya Sen within economics, and is used by him in some rather different ways, without a definite commitment to a normative theory of justice.

All references are to John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971), hereafter TJ.

Rawls himself makes the comparison at TJ 12; his analogue to the state of nature is the equality of the parties in the Original Position.

See the analysis in Martha C. Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), ch. 6; thus far the analysis is uncontroversial, recapitulating a long tradition of analysis.

See Amartya Sen and Bernard Williams, introduction to Utilitarianism and Beyond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 3–4.

See the comment by Nussbaum in Goodness and Advice, Judith Jarvis Thomson’s Tanner Lectures (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2000), discussing work along these lines by Amartya Sen and others.

Briefly put, my worries are those of Rawls in Political Liberalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), who points out that it is illiberal for political principles to contain any comprehensive account of what is best. Instead, political principles should be committed to a partial set of ethical norms endorsed for political purposes, leaving it to citizens to fill out the rest of the ethical picture in accordance with their own comprehensive conceptions of value, religious or secular. Thus I would be happy with a partial political consequentialism, but not with comprehensive consequentialism, as a basis for political principles.

Martin Seligman, Helplessness: On Development, Depression, and Death (New York: Freeman, 1975).

Here I agree with Thomson (who is thinking mostly about Moore); see Goodness and Advice.

Peter Singer, ―Animals and the Value of Life,‖ in Matters of Life and Death: New Introductory Essays on Moral Philosophy, ed. Tom Regan (New York: Random House, 1980), 356.

James Rachels, Created from Animals: The Moral Implications of Darwinism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990).

Daniel B. Botkin, ―Adjusting Law to Nature’s Discordant Harmonies,‖ Duke Environmental Law and Policy Forum 7 (1996): 25–37.

See the critique by Martha Nussbaum in ―Duties of Justice, Duties of Material Aid: Cicero’s Problematic Legacy,‖ Journal of Political Philosophy 7 (1999): 1–31.

The laws do not cover all animals, in particular, not animals who are going to be used for food or fur.

On all this, see Nussbaum, Upheavals of Thought, ch. 2.

See Steven Wise, Rattling the Cage: Toward Legal Rights for Animals (Cambridge, Mass.: Perseus, 2000), ch. 1.

See Martha C. Nussbaum, ―The Costs of Tragedy: Some Moral Implications of Cost-Benefit Analysis,‖ in Cost-Benefit Analysis, ed. Matthew D. Adler and Eric A. Posner (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 169–200.

[uraharasandals]

(Can’t find the rules, don’t know if there are any, didn’t see if requests are closed or not(?), also I’m using “her” to avoid confusion but gender doesn’t matter to me) Heya hi, can I request Dazai and/or Chuuya headcanons with an S/O who has an abusive ex who’s trying to contact her again? Eventually she runs into them and they’re unaware that she’s in a new relation now

Hi! Whoops I should probably add some rules then. But it doesn’t really matter haha it’s pretty lenient here. I hope this is good enough! I forgot the ‘running into ex’ part so I added it in at the end; hopefully it is coherent enough :)

[Dazai]

- Dazai knows everything. He knows how their daily schedule works, what their daily routines are, everything. Hell, he even knows things about you that you don’t know about yourself. That’s why, when the abusive ex who was supposed to be out of the picture resurfaces, he wasn’t exactly too shocked. A bit surprised maybe, but nothing that indictated that he didn’t know it was coming.

- Even if he knows, however, Dazai wouldn’t state it explicitly or talk to you specifically because of it. He will wait until you bring it up, and offer comfort as best as he can, calming you down who would surely be frightened or at least shaken at the news with gentle hugs and kisses, and maybe cuddles and hot tea as well.

- When you two bump into your ex while on a date outside though, he saw how frightened you were seeing them, and stepped in front of you while subtly hinting that you were in a relationship now and got over them a long time ago. He bragged a bit about his relationship with you, attempting to provoke them, and succeeded. Luckily, the confrontation took place in a crowd, so you were able to prevent WWIII from erupting while dragging Dazai away. 

- He hadn’t done anything to your ex before, because you hadn’t want to dig up past memories, but oh boy, does he regret that decision now. After seeing how frightened you were once you were at home, he had enough and set about tracking the ex down. Despite him being able to send his underlings to catch the man (Atsushi in ADA, other random mafiaso in Port Mafia), Dazai decided to enjoy the moment of chasing down the abusive ex and take it for himself. He lets the ex has a head-start, purposefully, of course, as well as makes it clear that he would be going after them. 

- The chase begins after a few days spent comforting you and making subtle promises that your abusive ex would never harm you again. He doesn’t let on what he’s doing, of course, in case you had a change of heart and give the ex a chance to bother you again. And he doesn’t really want you to know his ruthless nature if you weren’t too comfortable with him being in the mafia.

- Despite calling it a chase, it was really a game controlled by Dazai, and Dazai only. He allows the ex to think they are safe, before going after them again. It was a game of toying with the mouse, and God knows Dazai excels at it. Eventually the ex was cornered, and they begged for forgiveness. Dazai didn’t want to have mercy on them, but as he was about to punish the ex (i.e. shooting them in some unknown corner of a Yokohama alley), he remembered your face, withdrew his gun, and told them to get the hell out of there with the subtle underlying promise of ‘or else’.

- Timeskip to a few days later, when you realise that your abusive ex had stopped bothering you for a while already. When you bring up the issue with Dazai, he merely snuggled up against you and replied carelessly that he didn’t know (while grinning playfully)

[Chuuya]

- Chuuya’s first instinct was anger. You had tried hiding the fact that your ex was contacting you again, because honestly the man had enough on his plate and you didn’t want to stress him out, but once he found out, that was it. 

- You begged him not to do anything about it though, because you don’t want anyone to be killed because of you, so he relented. However, during the time he spent comforting and reassuring you, he was secretly stewing in hatred and plotting his next move. 

- When you two bump into them on the next mission though, that was it. Your ex made fun of your new relationship and especially Chuuya, while bringing up past traumatic memories of your abuse, and played it off as it being your weakness. 

- That set Chuuya off. With your ex being the enemy, it made things so much easier. Before he could set the place on fire though, Mori called for you both to go back and report. That made Chuuya pissed, but you managed to calm him down on the way back to HQ.

- However, the next time Mori ordered you two to infiltrate the enemy organization, he jumped on the chance and trashed the place without a second thought. Leaving a pile of corpses in his path, Chuuya eventually cornered the ex in their room while you tried to catch up with him.

- By the time you reached the room though, he had already finished the job and mafia underlings were swarming around taking care of whatever’s left. When he saw you, he realized he might’ve messed up by going too far - but when he started to apologize he realised you felt more relieved than angry. 

- When you ask what happened to them, Chuuya merely said the same thing Dazai had; ‘They wouldn’t bother you ever again.“ And that was it. There was no mention of the ex afterwards, and whenever you tried to ask afterwards, he just brushed it off. 

[wendibird]

SPN 15X15 Observations

The saga of my shitty cable/internet provider continues. This week I was again watching it on my computer through the streaming app since TV still isn’t getting reliable reception, and my internet connection kept dropping! (Luckily, I’ve also set it to record, so I was able to re-watch the episode after it aired.) So, my notes are much less coherent probably, and I’ve had a long day so my after-episode thoughts probably are too. 

Everything else under the cut for those who wish to avoid spoilers and all my rambling:

- Connor isn't going to last long. - wtf? (freaky teddy bear!) - "she and I used to have a thing"? Seriously Dean? - Cas: "Sam?" (aka "Please be the reasonable one.") - soooooo much salt from Cas. - "Agent Swift!" - BABY YODA!!!! - I think the crossroads thing is Cas just making a phone call more or less. - Cas, there are NEVER "too many cats". - LOL I love Cas' literalness - Eeeeee..... love them bonding. - Hrm. So there's definitely a karmic element to these killings. I mean, "Lair" seemed like a bit of a stretch for the other kid, unless the "lie" was in him agreeing with the snobby girls. But I have a feeling this lady here is going to end up with something like "thief" carved into her. (So, thoughts: Avenging Angel? Just Deserts? Probably something new.)

- Also I feel like there was maybe something in that "previously" scene that I don't remember seeing before. (Was talking about Dean going into detail about needing to take Amara out as well as Chuck. I remember part of that conversation, but some parts felt "new" to me? Though I've only seen through this current season once, so I might just not be remembering everything right.) - Sam's worried/concerned about Jack! <3 - "At least this time it's not you and me." Oh man does that feel like foreshadowing. - Not sure I trust the pastor. - I've been watching this show too long. They all feel sketchy. Especially the girl with the headband. *LOL* - Oh man. Are they really going "Torture Porn" on us again? (Apparently) - His (Jack’s) Mom died 3 years ago too. - "I have more dads than most." <3 - "Put your trust in God." Wow. *LOL* Poor Jack. - Cas, you're totally one of his dads. But yes. It is complicated. - Ahhh. Maybe that's what the "Liar" thing was about. (Connor being gay and hiding it?) - Hi Amara! (My cat wants to get into my closet.)

- Amara's still in relatively light colors.

(Stupid internet signal is being a pain)

- I wish I knew what was going on.

(Aaaaand more internet problems)

- I love Cas! (still confused about what's going on.)

- So, what's with the random demon in the squad car? - Dammit.... I had a feeling Jack would end up having to die to kill Chuck and Amara.

(OKAY! Now that the episode is over, I'm going to re-watch parts of it so I can find out what the hell I missed! (still irritated))

- Jack HAS one of those teddy's! I wonder which one got it for him.... (My guess is Sam or Cas) - Maybe it was Zack in the cop car at the end? He DID say he was really bored. - Reason why I was thinking it might be something supernatural was because the one who did it seemed to know in advance who they were going after, but that lady just now stole from the poor box. So, how did the daughter know? Unless she'd done it before? Hrm. - Minor note: "We've been on the road almost two days." WTF? SPN doing somewhat realistic travel times?! *LMAO* - Trying to tell what's in her other hand. Looks like it's duct-taped closed into a fist around something. A transmitter maybe? It's an odd detail that I don't think gets explained. - So, did she call him a "liar" because she saw the two of them as having dated and then he came out as gay at some point? - So, they're just gonna leave the Impala there while it's gassing up? *LOL* - I still love Cas for this part. Sharing his "Journey". - Okay, got to see the guys' talk with Amara. (At least the first half of it.) I still think it's risky for Dean to tell her about Jack even being a player on the board. Though I get that he had to give her SOMETHING so she would get that the threat is credible. That they actually CAN do something against Chuck. - Also, SPN can't settle on its history. *LOL* But that's nothing new. Back in S5 it was God and Death and Death couldn't remember who came first. Then at the end of Season 10 we got an updated version with the Darkness (Who didn't seem to have met Death prior to her imprisonment.) Now, Darkness and God were twins. - Ewwwwww.... dead guy. - Wow.... They actually textualized that. (About Mary.) - He sounded like he meant it when he said "I will never hurt you." - I still love Cas being a subtle badass. - Jack... it's NOT the only way... (And I'm pretty sure Sam HAS forgiven Jack. But I don't think they've really talked.)

SO.

I apologize that my "notes" this time are a train-wreck, but so was my internet connection, so sadly, this is what happens when I watch part of the episode, miss some important bits, and watch most of the rest of it (while still missing more bits) and then when it's finally over I can finally go back and re-watch the bits I'd missed. And I wound up mostly just re-watching the whole thing again anyway. And some things definitely made more sense, and I definitely noticed some things I hadn't caught the first time.

I know a lot of people aren't going to like it because it mostly featured Cas and Jack while being light on the brothers. (But there WAS some good brother content!) I did enjoy it well enough though. (Like, it's not gonna make my top 10 total episodes, but I liked it better than a lot of the ones earlier this season.)

Organizing my thoughts is gonna be a bit hard (I've had a long day) but I'll make an attempt here.

Cas and Jack's arc: It definitely had a more old-school SPN horror vibe to me, though more like some of the newer horror movies (like Saw and the like) and I think both characters were written well. We had two awkward angels who still don't get all things human, but they obviously care. There was also a lot of talk about God in a way that I felt made both of them feel awkward considering their perspective on Chuck. I do still wonder though about some of the details of what Sylvia was doing. Like, I get how she'd probably been stewing about the one boy for a while. But the lady (could never quite tell if it was Valerie or Mallory) had literally JUST stolen from the donation box when she stepped outside into the trap laid for her. So, was this maybe a habit of her's? How would Sylvia have known about it beforehand? And also, what was with the crossroads demon at the very end posing as/possessing a police officer? Is he going rogue because he's bored? Is he acting on some weird kind of orders? I saw some theories about maybe the Dad made a crossroads deal to spring his daughter, but... I dunno. Unless it's supposed be a tease for something to come later, it feels odd and random.

Overall, I did really like Cas in this episode. I thought his blend of salt, cluelessness, and altruism was good, and I loved what he said about his past, and how he found his new purpose. Because he has been drifting quite a bit since he lost his original purpose. But he definitely seems to have found it again with Jack. So naturally he gets to find out that Jack is fated to die taking out God and the Darkness. *sigh* Dude CANNOT catch a break! Also, JACK! I love him so much! (And honestly, I'd had suspicions already that this is what had been troubling him. I'm glad he finally told one of his dads at least.)

Also, just wanna reiterate, I loved that bit at the beginning when Dean suggests Cas and Jack go tackle this case "that probably isn't anything (supernatural)" and he turns to Sam like "Please be the sane one here." (My hope/headcanon is that Sam encouraged him to go because he knows something has been troubling Jack, and if Jack won't open up to Sam about it, maybe he was hoping he'd open up to Cas at least. Then maybe SOMEONE could help him. But I don't know if the writers are thinking that deeply about Sam.)

Speaking of Sam and Dean... Okay, overall I thought their part of the episode was okay for what we saw. Like, the brother talk in the Impala, mild bickering about driving times and regular mundane stuff. Also their talk with Amara had some GOOD emotional beats in it. For Dean and Amara. Sam was mostly just there. And then he wasn't even there for the main part. So... *sigh* It's not that I begrudge Dean having that moment. I mean, he definitely had more of a connection to Amara than Sam did. But it still feels like not much really happened with him besides being a soundingboard and showing some concern for Jack. Hopefully we get more of him actually being important to the plot in upcoming episodes.

But let me reiterate that I DID like the talk Dean and Amara had! I'm glad that she textualized something that I know a lot of fans have theorized about Mary and her purpose narratively. That prior to her resurrection she had been put on this pedestal, but Dean and Sam were actually able to get to know the real woman. That the real woman was better than the memory because she WAS real. Flaws and all. (Not that I blame Dean for being angry.) I'm just glad that it was said outright. Because I got the feeling from some of the things Samantha Smith has said at cons that that was part of the point of Mary's character since S12, to make her real. And I know a lot of people couldn't see past her flaws and still hate her. (I DO think some things could have been handled better with her character, but that's not the point of this long rambly post today.) Also, when Dean said that he could never hurt her? It felt like him telling the truth. Maybe he was able to get that feeling across because technically he WAS telling the truth, since the plan is for Jack to be the one doing the hurting. But I dunno.

Anyway, overall I thought it was a decent episode. It had some good character moments in it, and considering I thiiiiink the next episode is going to be very Sam and Dean heavy, I'm not gonna begrudge Cas and Jack some screentime in this one since things are likely going to be getting dicey here fairly soon.

(And again, I apologize for how scattered this is this time.)

P.S. Oh, and one last thing before I forget. Especially after last episode, I find it odd that Jack still thinks BOTH brothers haven't forgiven him. I get why he would think that about Dean. The dude outright said it was going to take some time. But Sam, as far as we've seen has been shown to be supportive of Jack. So, I wonder if it's because Jack still hasn't forgiven himself? Or if it's because maybe he and Sam haven't really talked about that whole issue, so maybe Jack thinks Sam is just avoiding it? (Or if the writers are just lumping Sam&Dean together again because WHY would anyone see them as two separate entities? *salty*) Because if anyone in this show SHOULD be aware that the brothers don't always think the same it should be Jack. Because from the start Sam has tended to hold a different stance in regards to him than Dean. *sigh* Ah well. We'll see how things fall out. Especially considering what Cas (I’m assuming anyway) told Dean about Jack and Billy’s plan. 

[yusuke-of-valla]

SO I uh had some thoughts about Yusuke’s rank 3 but couldn’t organize them so I just recorded myself rambling and now it’s here. I put the transcript under the cut (minus bits of like mental buffering)

Transcript Hello friendos. I am recording sad art boi hours today because word machine is broke and I’ve tried writing it out several times, and as I write, I always forget, so hopefully if I just have my bullet points in front of me, I can make something coherent, and then I’ll just type up whatever I’m saying right now.

Anyway, anyway. Today’s notes are on Yusuke’s rank 3 which was, you know the initial one that made me fall in love with him because he got mildly critiqued and collapsed to the ground in shame and you know, when I was 15, that was a mood. It’s still a mood.

Anyway, anyway, anyway.

Ok so, when Kawanabe comes up to Yusuke’s art piece he’s like “yeah there’s good technical skill but very little meaning behind it.”

And well I mean, I do agree that “Desire” is a dope ass painting. It looks so cool. Like I actually have to picture looking at it in real life. It looks like it’s doing cool shit the textures, I don’t know. I hated art class so I can’t explain it but “Desire” is a cool painting and that’s enough for me but it’s not enough for freaking art snobs.

And speaking of art snobs (yay transition!), yeah no, actually it makes sense that for the larger art world, Yusuke could have provided stuff that was like, more technically skilled but with less deep emotional meaning under Madarame’s name because like Madarame’s famous so as long as it’s cool to look at, it’s gonna be like “oh there’s probably some deep meaning to it.” So it’s  like, if you’re already famous you can get away with shit that’s not super meaningful but has a lot of clear skill.

And then after Kawanabe, Yusuke is like “the colors, these brush strokes, they do not convey the true meaning of desire, only my conception of it!” which is like, not a bad thing. The other thing Kawanabe says is that his topic is unoriginal, which, in my opinion, if the problem is that it’s a stale topic, then yeah, Yusuke’s conception of it would be a unique twist, because every person has their own unique perspective. 

So it’s like, I find it interesting that Yusuke thinks the problem is his conception of it and not the fact that like it’s not really his conception of it, he’s just sorta drawing Mementos. 

I find it interesting that Yusuke would think “oh the problem is me” when really like, putting more of his own feelings would make it better, like Ann wanted to see the angry piece. The one he made when he was angry that they comment when you go to the thing… the thing where the art is— gallery, It’s a gallery— for the first time.

Ok I have a quote here. “I haven’t captured desire, desire has captured me! How could I fool myself into believing otherwise” and I just. I just wrote that down and wrote “hmmmm” after it. I don’t remember why. I don’t remember what I was exactly thinking. I guess it’s all the blaming of himself, I guess “how could I fool myself into thinking otherwise” like “oh god I’m so fucking stupid.” Yusuke is such a goddamn mood in this scene, holy shit.

Oh there’s also the fact that like, a single mistake is— he makes a single mistake and is immediately like “welp I’m fucked. I’m screwed, I’m doomed. This is the end of me, I have no future in art.” And he’s like “don’t patronize me” when you try to be like “yo no, this is just the beginning” he’s like “don’t patronize me, I have no future in this field” and it’s like

Yeah that makes sense as a mindset he’d have, because everyone’s favorite rat bastard threw away people who weren’t useful to him so if Yusuke makes bad art he’s thrown out so yeah, it totally makes sense that is the reaction he’d have.

Now he’s more determined to break out of his slump, which I don’t know still feels like burnout to me? Like, his solution at the end of this is like “I’m going to make ten new art pieces” and I’m just like “no, no dude please take a break.” But then of course he’s still got the scholarship riding on it. I don’t know, I don’t know. This is just me being subjective.

And then the last thing is about the call you get post rank-up and it’s “With your support I was able to pick myself up rather quickly today. I hope this doesn’t discourage you from joining me again. I will get past this.” 

I don’t know that “i will get past this” feels so, how do I explain it, it sounds so much like he’s saying “please don’t get rid of me.” 

Like, “I hope this doesn’t discourage you from joining me again,” “I hope the fact that I showed feelings doesn’t discourage you from joining me again” that’s what that feels like. Cause it’s like, whenever something happens, Yusuke apologizes for being overwhelmed. This happened in Madarame’s Palace. I made a joke about this, he got hit in the head he just had his world broken into a bajillion tiny little pieces and he’s like “sorry my emotions are getting the better of me.”

 Yusuke’s just that one meme that’s just like “throw it all out, we can’t let people know we have feelings.”

I think that’s everything I wanted to yell about…

Oh, right Yusuke seems to have a inferiority- superiority complex which is like “that was nothing more than the drivel of unrefined commoners I needn’t pay any mind to them” it’s like yeah ok cause that makes sense Yusuke would have that [thought process] because again. Rat bastard. 

Madarame seemed to be like “you’re better for living in these shitty conditions, like you’re better for living in this shack and giving up your work for your teacher. You’re a better person for that. Also don’t listen to people who say they wanna help you cause Madarame’s abusive because they’re just a pack of thus and their opinion isn’t worth listening to.”

And that’s a strong thought that I hope makes sense to people who are not me, so I am just going to end this here. Thank you for joining me for sad art boi hours.

Goodnight <3

[pi-cat000]

MSA: A (sort of) Necromancy AU

Summary: Arthur remembers the cave. He wants Lewis back and is desperate enough to try anything. 

NOTE: Started this serval months ago and its been in ‘planning’ for a while. Probably won’t continue until after either ‘time travel idea’  or ‘winged-Arthur’ is complete. But was in an editing mode today so here it is. 

.

The mental case clicks open. The red light flickers to green, and Arthur carefully replaces the plastic panel he’d removed to access the lock’s inner-workings. Around him, the room remains mostly dark, dimly lit by a glowing red exit sign. Far off, if he strains and holds his breath, he can hear the sounds of people moving up and down the hospital’s hallways. This section of the hospital may be closed for the night, but the wards and emergency room operate 24/7.

Quickly, not wanting to try his luck, Arthur snatches the plastic bags of donated blood, shoving them into his backpack. The process is made hard by his single, solitary arm. In his hast, he accidentally bumps his bandaged shoulder against the cabinet. Pain shoots across his chest, forcing him to pause and wait for it to settle to a more manageable dull ache. This is the third time he’s knocked the still-healing injury and it’s been equally, if not more, painful each time.  Probably shouldn’t be moving around this much after his surgery. There are a lot of things he probably shouldn't be doing. Like stealing blood, driving long distances, transversing creepy cave systems, and attempting to resurrect his dead best friend.

Backpack is appropriately stuffed with blood packets, Arthur heads out the way he came, closing doors behind him, trying to leave as little evidence as possible. No one stops him. It’s not too surprising, he can’t imagine that many people want to seal blood in a small town like this one. He makes it back to the van emptying his backpack into a cooler box which is set to the correct temperature. Next, he’s manoeuvring through empty streets, ignoring the steady throb of his shoulder, speeding towards The Cave - Location of all his recent nightmares and scene of Lewis’s death. Arthur tightens his grip on the steering wheel.  

It is almost three in the morning when he pulls up to the gapping stone entrance. So far, everything is running according to his well-planned timeline. If this doesn’t work, he wants to be home before Vivi wakes up to find him missing. He hopes it doesn't come to that, but a small part of him acknowledges that this whole expedition is a long shot. In the still night air, the slamming of van doors and his occasional pained grunts echo unnaturally in the surrounding trees.

Arthur ignores the prickling unease running down his back while he struggles to carry the cooler of blood, his bag of resurrection supplies, and the hefty necromancy book down the stone tunnels. He ends up having to hold a flashlight between his teeth to properly light his way. The trip is slow and laborious, requiring several stops to catch his breath. He pushes on. Occasionally, the silence is broken by the wail of wind whistling through stone crevasses and slow dip of unseen water. By the time he makes it to the site of Lewis’s murder, he is shivering with both cold and unease.  Arthur drops his load, freeing up his hand so he can use the flashlight to scan the space. Tall pointed stone barbs tower over him and throw long shadows, which crisscross the ground in uneven patterns. Nervously, he inches forward, feeling awfully exposed in the open space.

“This is such a bad idea,” He mutters, glancing up at the high stone ledge and trying to calculate Lewis’s fall trajectory. His voice bounces around. A suspicious organic lump catches his eye. Arthur takes a sharp breath, freezing, riding out the sudden wave of nausea.

Lewis…

The necromancy book states that the closer the necromancer is to the body, the higher the chance of success. Arthur swallows, pointing his flashlight away from the darkened misshapen mound at the foot of one particularly sharp spike. There is no way he can approach Lewis’s body, let alone draw the sigils needed for the ritual around it.

Arthur picks a spot on the further side of the cave. Technically, the book only specified that the ritual needed to be ‘at the location of the target's demise’. As long as it was the most recent death then everything should work out fine.

“This is fine…Everything is fine. A-okay. Nothing to worry about.” He glances into the darkness. Everything not lit up by the flashlight is completely obscured.

“Just a normal guy, doing a completely normal necromancy ritual that will totally work. This will be fine and is not in any way a bad idea.”

Wind moans somewhere overhead as if in response, and he points his torch upwards. Nothing is there but more pointed rock formations. It would suck it one fell on him…Arthur shivers. The ritual he’s planning to follow is convoluted, the instructions poorly translated by Vivi, with potential consequences ranging from deadly to horrifying. A relic from Vivi’s macabre phase, he has no idea where the necromancy manual came from originally only that it's the only option available. Of course, he has had to substitute almost all of the ‘ingredients.’ For example, there was no way he’d be doing any ‘human sacrificing.’ Hopefully, the donated blood would be an adequate replacement for the rituals ‘liquid life’ requirement.

“Okay…ah," He hesitates, "…Wards. I need to set up a protective ward.”  A ward is, according to Vivi's necromancy book,  needed to protect his soul from some loosely defined 'darkness. Unfortunately, the book fails to describe how to set up a protective ward. As a substitute, he’s stolen a stack of paper talismans from Vivi and the giant scroll from the shrine in Vivi’s backyard. Vivi had once said the scroll was for protection and, with his lack of options, he hopes it’ll work for him. Trying not to feel too guilty about the theft, he shuffles around slapping paper rectangles on every surface he can reach and slinging the scroll haphazardly over a nearby rock formation so it can sit unfurled. The moment the scroll roles open, its fancy Japanese characters start to glow a faint gold.

Arthur stares. Okay…He has no idea what that means. Why had he never looked into any of this supernatural stuff before now? He should have been investigating this stuff years ago!  A bit late now. Hopefully, it means it is doing its ‘protective’ thing.

Arthur continues his preparations, which is made slightly easier in the light of the scroll. His hand is shaking so much that the sigils for the ritual are almost impossible to draw, never mind that the rough stone doesn’t take chalk very well. The whole process is slow and painful, but he pushes on and manages to sketch out a large circle, decorated with intricate symbology. All the practice he’d snuck in during the week seemed to be paying off.

Now for the hard part. Arthur takes the first packet of blood and ends up having to stab it open with his pocket knife. The blood spurts all over the place and his clothes and he almost throws up right then and there.  He tries not to think or look as he empties out the rest of packets into the centre of the circle. When he finally finishes, his good arm is tired, his shoulder is throbbing, and he is panting with exhaustion. 

Arthur pulls out a locket containing a picture of both Lewis and Vivi. He had had to steal it off Vivi’s nightstand because, despite not recognising the man in the picture, she was very attached to it. Hopefully, it would work as an ‘emotional anchor.’ He drops the locket and some of Lewis’s hair, collected from an old hairbrush, into the circle. All that is left is a long and overly complex Latin chant.

Sitting at the edge of the circle, laying the book down flat, Arthur traces the words with a finger.  

This is it…If this doesn’t work…He doesn’t know what he’d do. Probably cry. He takes a deep breath and begins to read. When Arthur finishes reciting, he waits for several long, agonising seconds.

At first, nothing happens. The cave remains cold and silent.  Then, a loud wind moans overhead, tearing down through the tunnels, twisting in a circle around him and pulling at his hair. The flashlight flickers off, but it doesn't matter because the stolen scroll is growing brighter and brighter. It continues to increase in brilliance, lighting the entire cave floor, reflecting off the stone spikes. Arthur’s eyes sting and he sees spots.

Then the scroll bursts into purple flame.  Simultaneously, all the paper talismans explode, burning and flaking away. The area begins to grow steadily hotter until Arthur is sweating and breathless. It is so hot that the blood in the circle starts to boil also catching on fire, evaporating in long wisps of smoke which twist in the wind overhead. Arthur feels a sharp pain in his chest, tugging him forward. He grips his shirt, having trouble thinking, and edges of his vision dim.

‘Bad idea confirmed.’ Is his last coherent thought. .

.

.

Lewis breathes in like he’s returned from some deep-sea dive. His chest expands as he inhales in one desperate action. The next thing he does is groan loudly. Everything hurts. There is a constant throbbing pain in his left shoulder and his whole body aches with exhaustion. Cold air makes him shiver uncontrollably. Lewis blinks up from where he is lying on hard stone ground. He can’t see anything despite knowing his eyes are open. When he moans it is all wrong, too high pitched.

“Lewis?” Arthur’s voice, faint and whispy, drifts through the dark towards him. Lewis tries to pull himself into a seated position to get a better sense of his location. Only, he overbalances and smacks into a nearby rock, sending spikes of more intense white-hot pain through his shoulder. He grits his teeth.

“Lewis!” Arthur's voice is way too enthusiastic, piercing through the haze of pain.

Where is he? The last he remembers is walking with Arthur, navigating down a stone tunnel. They’d come to a stone platform overlooking a larger cavern, then…everything gets blurry. He’d fallen…He vaguely remembers falling.

“Arthur. Where are you?” Lewis, using his good hand, grips the rock to hold himself up in a seated position. He is not imagining it. His voice is definitely different.

“I don’t know…but I can see you,” Arthur answers and Lewis glances about, confused,  peering into the dark.

“How? It’s pitch-back in here.”

Something is wrong with his left arm. It is completely unresponsive. He can’t move it at all.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur also sounds confused now. Lewis presses his back against the stone, using it for support, feeling for his shoulder, trying to find the source of the pain.

"Whoa hey. Ah...I wouldn’t....” Arthur responds to his movement, “You may notice some body parts missing, but don’t panic."

“Don't panic?! Was I injured in the fall? Oh god,” He discovers why his arm is unresponsive, “My arm’s gone!”

“I said don't panic!"

Lewis gasps, heart beating way to fast. "I'm dying."

"No. You’re fine. I swear you're fine. Just try and calm down. You need to breathe.”'

“I am breathing,” He snaps, taking several hash breaths. He’s feeling lightheaded and woozy now. It doesn’t help that he still can’t see anything. That, plus the pain, saps the rest of his strength right out of him. Lewis hears is Arthur's panicked. "Lewis!" And then hears no more. . . . Of course, Lewis doesn't die. He wakes back up and is met with the same throbbing pain and cold stone. However, unlike last time, it is no longer pitch-black. A ball of floating fire, burning a mix of purple and yellow, is hovering over his chest. It lights the immediate area in a dim haze. He freezes, alarmed, staring in the soft light. 

"Lewis? You're awake." Arthur's relived voice is coming from the ball of fire, which wavers and fluctuates when he speaks. What the...?

“Arthur?”  He asks, hesitant, scanning the surrounding space. It is still too dark to see beyond a few meters, but he can make out taller stone structures.

“Yeah? You can see me now?”

His attention returns to the slowly bobbing fireball. Yes, Arthur’s voice is coming from the fire. Maybe he is dead after all. 

"What happened?" Lewis whispers, swallowing and glancing down at where his hand should be. In the low light cast by the floating Arthur-fire, he can see there is no blood or any other sign of recent trauma. It just hurts a lot. He lifts up his remaining hand to examine that as well. It is pale. Far too pale to be his own hand. How?