#i ought and will stick to. trying to not complicate with the names but yeah the turned soundwave into soundblaster....

[istherewifiinhell]

yeah those guys who died? there fine now. thats the fucking cartoon shit babey! got new names, ones got a new paint job. OH. and something ive been BEGGING the series to tell me.

whats the relation between the tapedeck bot their casset bots?

[ID: Transformers Headmasters (the 87 anime) screenshots. It's of Soundwave, a navy blue Decepticon with a face mask. He places a hand over his chest, where the tape deck mechanism is, and speaks to his cassets, saying "That's my boys." END]

^just got revived by the cassettes, who had all gathered his pieces and were waiting for him. recalling them all back to their internal compartments.

[ID: The autobot cassets and Daniel gather in what looks like the living space for a much larger mech. Ramhorn, a rhino, and Steeljaw, a lion lay morosely on the floor and a couch respectively. Rewind and Eject, both small humanoid mechs along with Daniel, a human boy, sit slummed around a table. END]

^they're SAD.

[ID: Daniel, one fist raised, his other hand out, in a determined yet pleading manner. He's saying "You don't understand! Nobody understands how the Autobot Cassettes feel!" END]

^the other bots not getting why the cassettes are too depressed to go on a mission. surely i should not read into it being a human child. u know. kid with a parent he relies on. who does understand them.

[ID: Daniel and the cassettes hugging and celebrating. Daniel and Rewind hug, Steeljaw excitely stomping his paws between their legs. Eject reaches for Ramhorn, who's rearing up on his hind legs. END]

^being told blaster can be rebuilt

well i appreciate the extra depth and world detailing. is all... anyway...

[ID: Rebuild Blaster, his new paint in blue and yellow, but still with red hands. He's waving one hand and holding his gun in the other. Saying cheerfully "That's all for now, folks!" END]

[redemptioninterlude]

people like to talk about the things that sink a person's soul. rue wants to say she's been set up to fail since the FUCKING BEGINNING. a birth all bathed in the inconvenient truth, that, maybe there was just something fucking wrong with her. her brain is a odd matter... even before everything with her dad happens. it's like she can't possibly keep up with all the things that hit at her from all sides. growing up is a nightmare. people are the enemy. it's a scarcity mindset that hungered for kindness and care that never seemed to leave her, but left her oh-so-inconveniently and forever in love with all the wrong people, until she's back to dosing herself into new highs to better mute the way that the world was so awful but she had to fucking still navigate the system as if things were fair...

but no. life isn't very FUCKING FAIR, and maybe it's why she's left staring fish mouthed at a man who looks like he's paying for the movies rather then to go to them. she knows the type, with the nice suits that they wore with such gusto, even though she'd say he looked a little pinched, a little itchy. who knew there'd be more, scraping to be seen, beneath? how she can't figure out if she ought to be angled angry or accusatory, or sweet, and forgiving. there's a role to be had, but strangers weren't really her thing. even in the films she took up, she'd watch footage about a person, hours and hours... until she knew the person they needed her to be in that moment, the picture perfect enigma, rue bennett.

relaxed company, he calls himself. better then a name she might forget. or won't. rue's terrible, once her curiosity's been caught, all too capable of falling into obsession over the stupidest shit. like the lack of dials on a washing machine. or blood dripping down into the transparent insert of a sleeve. he looks like he's made up of poorly scotch-taped manners and daddy's money, what's that, a zegna? well well, isn't that also FUCKING TYPICAL. maybe she still did want to eat the rich after all, even if she found that what moderate success she has, for all she hasn't sniffed clean off car keys and prettier, bathroom surfaces, was pay off her mom's place. or like, pay for gia's school. whatever. it's fucking complicated. and god, wasn't this the sign, the real one, that she needed something now? "i'm-" his hand isn't out. she sticks hers, anyways, as if oblivious to it smearing any lines.

"... i'm rue. um. i guess i'm in the industry? or something like it, anyways." yeah, her picture's on the poster downstairs, but, a version of her that she doesn't know. rue can't even recognize herself, half the time anymore. "i guess... um..." chewing her words carefully, trying to find measure. "wanna just find a FUCKING PLACE to test these out before we have to get back to all... that?" downstairs, the party, the awful taste of people pretending to be people pretending to be important... she hates it.

- @ourpretender

felix had always fed his addiction. he had stood, effortlessly beautiful with a cigarette in his mouth, severed attention drifting to meet oliver's through muddy dorm room windows. it begun without nicotine, sprouted from a mere glance, recognition from the most surreal of faces, the most beloved of men. and slowly, with some displacing weight (some independently carved pathways), there came a material attachment: smokes, blunts, harder, harder drugs. blood in his mouth. soap. spit. bottles and bottles of liquor. dirt. runny, viscous, coagulating, filthy things, tar in his lungs and incriminating dust until oliver finds himself alone at the estate. he stands at the head of it, snorting a line off an 1800's florentine fruitwood sewing box stand, knowing only addiction, knowing love to be knitted into the pulse of it. this, is how he meets her. he doesn't actually belong here. he skims the entertainment industry by wealth and wealth alone; ever wary of his place, ever wary of each extensive lie. on occasion, there are sparks, passing fancies that don't linger but oliver's general disinterest in the world celebrities walk makes for extreme disadvantages and advantages. he stares, assuming the guarded figure one of high recognition, assumes the nervous comment in relation to her habit, assumes that there is judgment, scandal to be jostled open. oliver smiles instead, pinching a baggie from his left suit pocket, "you're in relaxed company." suggesting this alone offers little comfort however, so he plies her with a knowing nod to their shared dealer, and considers the truth; sincerity in his ignorance. "i'm oliver. — and you are... presumably someone well known, but i'll admit — i don't follow the industry very closely. i just happen to have influence by happenstance, on occasion." financially, he wants to add, but it sounds mocking in his head, obnoxious even if true. his smile is pinched, dutifully embarrassed. "sorry."

[cajunquandary]

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay. 

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas. 

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay. 

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands. 

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute. 

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices. 

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality. 

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away. 

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her. 

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs. 

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?” 

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette. 

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat. 

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms. 

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean. 

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather. 

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought. 

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving. 

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul. 

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed. 

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register. 

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food. 

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger. 

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it. 

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!” 

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view. 

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day. 

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her. 

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature. 

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had. 

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her. 

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm. 

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead. 

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him. 

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently. 

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters. 

~

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss. 

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times. 

Until this one. 

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare. 

Until this one. 

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain. 

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them. 

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?” 

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red. 

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact. 

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke. 

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

 He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go. 

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response. 

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area. 

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands. 

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow. 

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly. 

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation. 

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.” 

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits. 

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!” 

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers. 

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly. 

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip. 

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone. 

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her. 

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail. 

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her. 

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp. 

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her. 

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth. 

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth. 

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down. 

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home. 

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

.

.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Bucky Barnes (Supermarket)

Characters: Bucky Barnes x You

Summary: You went shopping with Bucky, and he decided that he needed to go to the bathroom until you got lost and distracted from your list. Bucky was left pouting all the way home.

Warning: JUST DAMN FLOOFYNESS and cute Bucky! I'm a sucker for fluffs and soft Buckbuck! 😍💕

Words: 2,619. It's quite long. 😉

A/N: FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! (POSTED THIS IN MY WATTPAD ACCOUNT ALREADY! :3)

Disclaimer: Pictures used are not mine. Only the edits are and the oneshot of course. 😊

"You still not done yet, doll?" Bucky announced for the 107th time. He was like that donkey in Shrek that kept on trying to annoy you.

Y/N and Bucky had gone shopping for their apartment. She thinks that Bucky's apartment needed more furniture especially that she was finally living with him. Y/N wanted a dash of homey features, and not a bachelor pad that seemed dull and plain. Bucky didn't like the idea at first, but he was left with no choice when she woke him up early and promised lots of cuddles and kisses in return, to which he quickly agreed to without any second thought.

"I think we need some more flowers, I think white tulips should do! It'll be perfect! Oh, and those too!" Y/N pointed at a set of flowers in a plain, elongated sky blue vase. Bucky was feeling the urge to pee since a while ago, he thought they were about to finish their to-buy-list, however Y/N ought to buy more things that weren't listed on their notepad.

Bucky observed both of his gloved hands in front of him, hesitating what to use in grabbing you. Despite of how comfortable he was with you, Bucky was still being cautious about his metal arm. You've talked to him about it a lot, yet he still wouldn't budge at certain times.

Your giant plum bear apprehensively took his lip in between his teeth. His dazzling blue eyes fully taking you in, emitting a glint of sparkle deep within. He languidly clasped his gloved metal hand on your arm, before it soothingly traveled down your elbow.

You quickly shut your mouth when you felt the hairs on your back stood up from his touch. His touches still gives you the goosebumps, and it was the good, satisfying types of goosebumps. Definitely not the bad ones. "Y-Yeah?"

Bucky couldn't help but give a small smile, he felt it. He knew how his touches can affect you that badly, and being the cocky man he is, his hand that was once clasped around your arm was now on your hip, his thumb caressing your pelvic bone in tenderness. "I need to use the restroom, doll. Can you wait for me?"

You scoffed, and felt his breathing hit your ear. "No, I'm going to leave you here and go straight home, Barnes." Bucky was quick to huff out his breath like a child. "Come on, doll..This supermarket is like a maze, this is my first time here in about 70 years. I wouldn't get to find you that easily,"

With a grin, you reached for his metal gloved hand resting on your hip, giving it a gentle pat to assure him that it was okay. "I was kidding, Buck. You go do your thing while I continue shopping. I'm just one call away, remember? Still not used to your Iphone?"

You felt him go closer, and before you know it. Bucky's chin was now on your shoulder, nuzzling his face in your hair. A sigh escaped your lips when you realized you just washed your hair this morning, so it obviously smelt like fragrant aloe/coconut/lavender. Yes.  "I would never get used to it. The damn thing makes me frustrated."

"Yeah, Tony told me you've broken more than what a normal person can break a phone," A set of yellow, fake daffodils that was placed high above you on a display shelf caught your eye. Y/N can't help but tiptoe her way towards it. The white, plain, oblong shaped vase slightly tapping the tips of her fingers. She couldn't reach it, and so Bucky being the gentleman he is, did it for her like it was habit to help his girlfriend all the time. "Told you to stick to android phones instead, Buck. It's less complicated."

Bucky inspected the flowers in his hand, slightly nodding to himself. He approved the flowers, it looked beautiful and perfect just like you.

He turned away, leaning down to gently place the vase in your half filled cart. "They're the same, doll. I've tried one..I think it was called a Sun-sang, but I still ended up breaking the screen when I was playing a computerized bird that kept on flapping in between green annoying pipes," Bucky's eyes brimmed as he stared out in nowhere, remembering how he couldn't beat Peter's highest score in it, having the feel to beat your friend just to show who was the best.."That bird," He thought to himself, getting lost in his train of thoughts.

"It's called a Samsung, Darling." You stand corrected, his broad, cuddly back in view. The urge to hug the daylights out of him made you wrap around your arms around his waist in which he gladly accepted.

"Refrain from saying that. It makes me remember Sam's name and his god damn pranks on me, Doll."

You nodded, peeking beside Bucky as you looked at your cart. Counting and checking what was still needed in your cart full of perishable and imperishable goods. "Yeah, yeah. Now, go pee before you pee in your pants just like the old man you are," Y/N giggled, untangling her arms that was encircled around his waist as she walked around their cart to reach the other side of it, her notebook now in hand as she ticked the goods that can now be considered off the list.

Bucky playfully narrowed his eyes at her, she was definitely teasing him again. "Oh, wait until we get back to our apartment," He warned and started walking off, until he seemed to forget something..and so, Bucky strolled back towards her. Gently grabbing her shoulders to turn her body towards him. Y/N's eyes were now wide, skeptically gazing up at her smiling boyfriend. She was completely stupefied when she saw him smiling so wide. A strand of his brunette hair falling on his eye, she didn't hesitate to reach and tuck it behind his ear in pure affection.

Bucky felt his heart pound, warmth spreading through every vein in his body. He set his eyes on you lovingly, "Kiss me before I go, Sugar."

You can't help but shake your head in disbelief, a smile threatening to tear your face in half. "You're unbelievable, Barnes." Y/N took his face in her hands, giving him one sweet smooch on his plump, cherry red lips.

"So worth it, Doll!" Their hearts were jumping out of their chests, such felicity wrapped around the couple and most importantly was the joy they feel whenever they were in each other's arms..It was a precious sight to see Bucky smiling rather than being grumpy like the first time she met him.

Bucky was now off towards the restroom. Y/N kept her distance around the area where he left her. She couldn't help but get distracted from the lists that were still waiting to be ticked. The couple still needed to buy foods and they were still in the furniture department. She thought that maybe if she waited, they'll be taking more time staying in the mall. Y/N decided to grab some of the groceries listed and decided to just walk back after five minutes to where Bucky left her.

Y/N pushed her cart. Well, she took longer than five minutes when she came back to the furniture department. She was met with a group of teenagers plumping themselves on a big, leather black sofa, randomly trying to take pictures of themselves. Y/N began to pull a grimace when she saw no Bucky Barnes waiting for her from where he left her, guessing that maybe Bucky decided to leave her shopping all by herself.

She checked her phone and saw nothing but a text from Steve that probably took him minutes to type asking about how Bucky was. Y/N quickly replied to the star spangled Avenger, locking her phone then slipping it inside the pocket of her jacket after giving Steve a text back.

No beefy walking plum could be seen, Y/N looked all around, even inspected the ceiling, and even under the rows of beds. Negative. There was definitely no Bucky Barnes.

She went back to her cart, palms wrapped around the handle as she looked in her cart. Her eyes caught a bag of chips and it was a big bag of Cheetos. Y/N began glaring at the unhealthy food. They were both in a staring competition until hell freezes over and nobody wants to lose. Somebody was pushing her hand to grab onto the snack, and she was about to be defeated when a sudden loud intercom yelled through the speakers of the huge supermarket called her name..

"Paging Y/N Y/L! Your child is at register 10,"

'What child? I don't have a child?' Y/N thought quietly, totally bewildered. The cart was now neatly kept beside a display shelves full of school supplies, intellectually telling the sales clerks that somebody owns the cart. She trotted, and jogged towards the vicinity. Passing by carts, rows of goods and customers who was looking at her in utter confusion as to why she was in a hurry.

She was far ahead from the area, but she immediately knew it was Bucky who was sitting on a bench, his burly shoulders slightly slumped in feebleness, the furry navy blue sweatshirt could be seen more clearly with every step you take, strands of his majestic brunette hair that was in a bun have fallen on his neck like he frustratingly scratched his head a couple of times while he was finding his way to search for you.

Once you were close enough, such a precious sight was revealed. You were utterly thankful that you were in a relationship with this man. Bucky was fiddling with the leather black gloves of his left metal arm, legs crossed and eyes focused on his hands with an adorable pout that could even make kids point and say their aw's.

"Buck?" Y/N pitifully uttered. Only a deep, disappointed sigh was sent to you. "You left me," Bucky said sounding defeated, eyes still on his gloves, strands of his hair falling on his face, giving you no chance to fully see his saddened eyes. "You left me," He repeated more to himself, the idea of you not waiting for him seemed impossible for his mind to process. "I told you to wait for me, but you didn't. My Iphone's dead," 

"--I can't call you, so I was left with no choice but to page you out," Bucky honestly spoke, voice sounding lower than the usual and smaller. "I looked stupid running around in circles to find you, but I couldn't. Why didn't you wait for me, Doll?" 

With one lift of his head, you were met with the most beautiful but dejected eyes you've ever seen. Your boyfriend's eyebrows were furrowed, looking like you left a puppy in the middle of the road with no one wanting to adopt him. Guilt and a tight, heavy tug at your heart brought you to lean down and hug Bucky around his neck, keeping his face in between your shoulder. 

"I thought I lost you, I-I thought--I thought they've taken you away from me--"

"Baby, shhhhhh..I'm right here now. Aren't I?" You shushed him sweetly, your hands giving sweet, calming caresses against his broad, ripped back. He couldn't help but love how you were taking care of his sadness, how you can slowly take every pain and misery away, trapping the darkness in a vault and permanently kicking it in the middle of the ocean. Only your light was keeping Bucky in check. Y/N was his sunshine, and you planned to protect him with it. 

"I'm sorry..I'm sorry, James. I'm never gonna be distracted again.. Oh, gosh..I think I need to learn to have patience," You felt him nuzzle his nose on your neck, his thick scruff tickling your neck, sneaky lips stealthily kissing the line meeting your neck and shoulder, and you couldn't help but give him a gentle slap on his back to warn his cheeky self, He was a sad child awhile ago and now he was beyond feeling cheeky. 

"Bucky. It's Bucky. But, James sounds so good to hear when it comes from your lips, Doll." He playfully informed you, craning his neck to tenderly peck your cheek. You can't help but smile at his sweet gesture. "You know that we still got more things to buy in our list right?"

Bucky straightaway groaned at that. The fluffy bear man was never a fan of doing the groceries. Nevertheless, with you. He's been trying to endure it. "Do I have a choice, Sugar?"

"No," You frankly voiced out, breaking the hug that you were both wrapped in as you stood up straight. Your eyes turning around to look at the slightly packed supermarket. "Unless, you want to stay here all day and let people know you're my child then I guess you'll need to stay,"

Bucky was quick to stand on his feet, tucking a hair that fell on his eye, eyes completely looking embarrassed as he tried hard to cover his face from every person in the supermarket, and that made you giggle. He shook his head in disbelief, "Why did they even call me your child?"

"It's because you're my baby. You have no choice but to deal with it, Barnes." You teased him, leaving your boyfriend having to deal with his reddish cheeks and loud thumping heart. With that, Bucky wholeheartedly joined your grocery adventure and was left having fun picking the right plums, fruits, vegetables, meats and everything needed since you've managed to convince him that he was better at picking foods more than you. It was fun after all.

After that incident and a little scolding from your Bucky's best pal, Steve.. you'd always waited for Bucky to return whenever he had to use the bathroom because you would rather burn holes on the floor from waiting than see your Bucky looking sad and lost once again..

Yay! Thank you so much for reading! Did y'all like this one? If so, please do leave a feedback, follow me and turn on your notification bell? (Button? I dunno how Tumblr works lmao) so y'all will be updated for whatever imagines I post! 😊

Let's talk! Go send me an ask! 😊

[ghostsray]

Ch7: Second Chance

(this is a day late oops. but hey, it’s also longer than the previous chapters, so that ought to make up for that, right?)

(first - prev - next)

Niel coughed and waved the last wisps of green smoke away from his face. When his vision cleared, he looked around and saw himself standing in...exactly the same spot he had been in, inside the Fentons' laboratory. Something was off, though. Danny and Ellie were gone. There didn't seem to be any trace that Ellie had melted anywhere in the lab. The table they had landed on was placed against a different wall, and instead of work-in-progress weapons, it was covered with blueprints.

Niel frowned as he tried to recall what last happened. He had made a wish, and then a ghost...a wish-granting ghost? Niel had wished something about change, but that wasn't definite enough to inform him of what that ghost might have done. Then he turned around and saw the portal--or rather, where the portal should have been.

The frame was still there, but in place of the glowing green swirls was a gaping hole. Tangles of cables slithered along the base. Niel didn't even know the portal could be closed.

He wiped away the last tears from his face and furrowed his brows. So he made a wish about changing things...a ghost granted it...and now the portal was closed. That had to be related, right?

He heard footsteps descend the stairs, and he turned around and saw Danny frozen at the bottom, staring at him with wide eyes. Before Niel could say anything, Danny rushed to the nearest shelf and grabbed an ectogun, aiming it at Niel shakily.

"You--you're a g-ghost," Danny stammered.

Niel raised an eyebrow. "Um, yeah? It's me."

Danny looked confused. He didn't lower his weapon. "Ghosts--" he began, "ghosts are real?"

It was then that Niel finally noticed that something seemed different about Danny. He had less scars, less bags under his eyes, and...he was shorter? Vlad had designed his clones to be fourteen after the age he got Danny's DNA from, but by the time Niel was created, Danny was sixteen. He had always been a few inches taller than Niel due to the two extra years, but the Danny that stood before him now was the exact same height.

Blueprints, a closed portal, a younger Danny who didn't believe in ghosts...wait. Niel's stomach sank as he asked, "What year is it?"

Danny frowned, but then he said, "Oh, right. Ghosts come from different periods of time, right?"

He told him the date. It was two years ago.

Niel muttered a curse word under his breath. (It was harsher than Vlad's fake swears. The situation seemed appropriate.) He looked at Danny, who was still aiming that gun at him.

"Put that away," Niel said. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Danny hesitated, but he didn't lower the gun. "My parents--"

"They told you that all ghosts are bad, right?" Danny looked surprised, but Niel rolled his eyes and continued, "You're probably thinking that I'm trying to trick you into trusting me or something."

"And you're not?"

"No! I just want to find a way back to the Ghost Zone." Maybe then, he could find that wish ghost and make her undo whatever she had done to bring him here.

"How did you even get here? The portal isn't finished yet," Danny pointed out.

"Natural portal," Niel lied. "It shut as soon as I came through. Are you sure this portal here can't work?"

Danny shook his head, then said, "My parents made it. Maybe they can find a way to--"

"No!" Niel interrupted. He did not want to deal with the famous ghost-hating Fenton couple. His exclamation startled Danny so much, the boy's finger squeezed around the trigger of his gun. A blast came out and shoved Niel onto the ground.

Danny dropped the gun in shock and covered his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said, then scrunched his face, as if wondering why he was apologizing to a ghost. Niel groaned. As he tried to push himself up, his hand screamed in pain, and he felt his ghost core pull away. Oh shit.

Danny recoiled as the rings of light spread across Niel. When Niel stood up again, fully human, Danny's jaw dropped.

"You look just like me," Danny said. "How...?"

Niel shrugged, then winced when his hand ached. Right. He'd forgotten that he broke a finger. Not to mention his burn from earlier...

"It's a long story," Niel said.

Danny must have noticed him wince, because his eyes travelled to Niel's hand. "Your fingers--"

Niel covered his injured hand. "They'll heal."

"You were just a ghost," Danny said dumbly. "And now..."

Niel shrugged again with one shoulder. "It's...a long story?"

Danny's face scrunched up, then stretched in surprise. "You asked me what date it was. And you look like me...Are you...me from the future?"

That was...a valid conclusion to jump to. "It's complicated," he answered. "Look, I just want to get to the Ghost Zone."

Danny's mouth moved wordlessly for a minute, and then he slowly slid down into a sitting position on the floor. "I think I need a moment to process this."

Niel tapped his foot impatiently. "Seriously?"

"Hey, I just found out that not only are ghosts real, but possibly time travel, too."

"You think that's bad? I'm the one who's stuck in the past, right after--" Niel clenched his jaw and swallowed. He couldn't just say 'right after I discovered that the guy who cloned me from you doesn't actually care about his kids' without delving into an explanation about the whole clone thing and why Vlad even wanted to clone Danny.

Danny looked up at Niel again and asked, "How did I become part ghost?"

"You part died, obviously."

"That doesn't make any sense. You can't be part dead."

"Yeah, well, you were. Or will be. You get what I mean." Niel shook his head and walked to where the empty portal frame stood. Something must have activated it in the future. He knew it had something to do with Danny gaining his powers, but he wasn't familiar with the details...

Danny stood up behind him. "Why don't you want Mom and Dad to help?"

"They're ghost hunters. I'm part ghost. Figure it out." His eyes traced the lines on the portal's sides. A few panels were sticking out, wires poking from beneath...

"But if you just explained things--"

For some reason, Niel felt a flare of anger in his chest, and he turned on Danny and snapped, "I'm sorry, who here is the half-ghost version of you from the future?"

He didn't know why he felt so angry at Danny, or why he was still pretending to be Danny from the future. Maybe he wanted him to hate his parents just like Niel hated Vlad. He knew that was despicable of him to wish for, but then again, he was raised by a supervillain.

Danny took a step back, watching Niel with crestfallen eyes. A heavy footstep descended on the stairs, grabbing both boys' attention. "Dann-o? Is that you?" a voice called out. It was Jack.

Danny looked back at Niel, but the other boy was gone. Truth was, Niel just turned himself invisible, but Danny didn't know that. He turned in place, trying fruitlessly to spot where Niel had went, when Jack's large form peeked into the lab. "There you are. What are you doing in the lab?"

Danny stammered and said, "Um--"

But Jack just grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay, son. If you were curious about ghosts, all you had to do was ask! Just don't be alone in the lab next time, all right?"

"Duly noted," Danny replied.

Niel silently moved toward the lab's exit. He glared at the back of Jack's head as he went. A part of him hoped the man would feel his stare and grow unsettled, but Jack seemed unperturbed.

He swerved past Maddie on the stairs to avoid passing through her as she went to join her husband. Then he picked up speed once he reached the top and phased through the Fenton household's front door.

He wanted to run, as far away from Fentonworks as possible, except moving his arm sent jolts of pain through his hand and he wasn't in the mood for Naruto running, so instead he sat down on the sidewalk and sighed. Welp, he was in the past, before Danny ever gained his ghost powers. That was certainly one way to allow him to "change everything".

The Fenton portal didn't work. Niel hadn't learned how to summon his own portals yet, and he doubted a natural portal would conveniently open up. He wondered if maybe the wish ghost could still be in the human world--she granted this wish, so she must have allowed herself some leverage, right? Maybe he could summon her if he said her name three times, like that musical about a ghost he pirated online once. The problem was that he didn't know what the wish ghost's name was. He was pretty sure he heard about her before, but...ugh, why did his memory have to suck?

Niel's stomach sank as he realized there was only one portal left he could use, and to get to it, he had to go to Vlad's house. At this point of time, Vlad hadn't even met Danny yet. He hadn't begun working on creating a perfect clone. How would Niel feel if he saw him? The image of Vlad's bloodred eyes and glinting fangs snarling at him as he tried to protect Ellie's melting form was still fresh in his brain.

Niel trembled, but he knew he had no choice. He stood up and began walking toward the mayor's mansion. He went a few steps before he paused as a realization hit him.

Was Vlad even mayor yet? It was two years ago. Vlad, from Niel's time, had been mayor for one year. That means he wouldn't move to Amity Park yet until next year.

Great! Not even Vlad's portal was in Amity Park. Niel wasn't sure if that dissapointed or relieved him. He would have to travel all the way to Wisconsin if he wanted to reach the Ghost Zone.

So, his options were either to travel to another state, or go back into Fentonworks and try to open the portal while no one was looking. If Danny turned half ghost from opening the portal, what would happen to Niel, since he was already half ghost? Would he become full ghost, or would the action somehow reverse his genes and make him full human? No, wait, that second option makes no sense. He'd probably just die and go full ghost.

"Danny?" someone said. He looked up and saw Danny's sister, Jazz. She was holding a book from the library and staring at him with furrowed brows. Oh, crackers, was he visible? He glanced down at himself, and sure enough, he was there. Niel mentally berated himself. Losing his invisibility just because he lost concentration? He should have trained his powers better than that.

"What did you do to your hair?" Jazz asked.

Niel unconsciously touched the shaven part of his hair and said with a shrug, "Impulse?"

Jazz frowned. "Carrying out drastic impulses isn't always healthy. It could be a sign of poor psychological health."

Niel was about to wonder why she suddenly started speaking like an encyclopedia, then he read the cover of the book she was holding. A psychology book. So she's into mental health.

"It's fine," Niel mumbled and tried to walk past her, but Jazz grabbed his hand. Unfortunately, it was his injured one, and he hissed as she closed her palm around his fingers. Jazz widened her eyes when she noticed his injuries.

"How did you--nevermind, that's not important. Why did you not heal your hand after you burnt and broke it? We do have a first aid kit."

"It'll heal."

"On its own?"

Right. Humans didn't heal as well as half-ghosts. Jazz shifted her grip onto his wrist and started pulling him inside.

"Jazz, it's fine," he insisted, but she didn't listen. She opened the front door to Danny's house and grabbed him through. His anxiety spiked, and he turned his wrist intangible to slip through her grip. Jazz turned back in surprise when her hands became empty, but at that point, it was too late--they were standing inside the Fentons' living room, and staring at them with wide eyes were the Fentons themselves, Danny included.

"Jazz, sweetie, who is that?" Maddie asked, craning her neck to get a good look at Niel.

Jazz turned around to answer, but her words died in her throat when she spotted the real Danny. "What? How--"

Maddie and Jack saw Niel, and they pulled out their guns. "It's a ghost impersonator," Jack exclaimed.

"That's ridiculous," Jazz quickly argued, but she was scowling at Niel in confusion, trying to figure out how and why he looked so similar to her brother. "Who are you?"

The Fenton couple's weapons began to whir as they powered up, but Danny jumped in front of them and shouted, "Stop! He's me from a different time!"

Maddie frowned. "Are you saying he's a time traveller?"

Jack lowered his weapon and scratched his chin. "If ghosts are real, then why not time travel?"

"Well--" Maddie hesitated. "It's possible in theory, but..."

"None of this makes any sense!" Jazz interrupted, throwing her arms up. "Ghosts? Time travel? Look-alikes? What is going on?"

Niel stepped forward, and everyone quieted down to watch him with anticipation. "Maddie and Jack are right, actually," he said, then made his eyes flash red. "I am a ghost."

Maddie gripped her gun again, but Jazz protested, "You can't be a ghost, you're alive! I felt your pulse."

"He's part ghost," Danny murmured. Everyone but Niel turned to look at him.

"Part ghost? That's impossible," Maddie scoffed, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course you would say that." Niel glared at them with his red eyes and said, "You don't care about scientific discoveries. You only care about fitting the world into your narrow theories."

Maddie frowned, obviously not liking what he was saying. Niel didn't care. He tugged on his core, and the others in the room stepped back in shock as he transformed with a flash of light.

He waited for them to raise their weapons again, or shout out ghost insults. Instead, Jack broke the silence by saying, "That was incredible!"

Niel faltered. "It...was?"

"You were just human--and then you weren't. How did you do that?"

There was no malicious tone in Jack's voice. In fact, he sounded genuinely curious. Maddie nodded in agreement, her eyes wide with wonder.

Niel glanced between them, his brows drawn together. "You're not going to shoot me? Because I'm a ghost?"

"You said we don't care about scientific discoveries," Maddie said. "I don't know where you got that idea from. Of course we're intrigued by new discoveries. Danny said you were only part ghost, and Jazz confirmed this by saying you have a pulse, which ghosts cannot have. That must mean you really are a human-ghost hybrid--something we thought was impossible, but we were wrong."

"We want to know everything," Jack said excitedly, then quickly added, "without hurting you, of course."

"Of course not," Maddie agreed. "We're not that amoral. We would never hurt a person, even if they were only part person."

Niel felt like a rug was being pulled from underneath him...until he held onto that last sentence, and his expression returned to a scowl. "So you wouldn't have cared about what happened me if I was a full ghost?"

Maddie hesitated. She and Jack exchanged a glance.

"To be fair, we've only ever heard stories about ghosts," Jack admitted, "and those stories always portrayed them as evil, so that was what we assumed them to be..."

"But if we gain proof against that, then of course we'll change our minds," Maddie completed.

"Really?" Niel said skeptically. "You won't assume the ghost is only pretending to be nice to trick humans into trusting him?" That was what he had always heard the Fentons say about Phantom on the news. The couple shifted guiltily.

Jazz watched the exchange in quiet calculation. "Hold up, so," she said to Niel, "are you or are you not from the future?"

"I am," he answered, which wasn't a lie.

"Then, something must have happened in your time to make you so bitter toward our parents. Am I right?"

Maddie and Jack were watching him apprehensively. Niel frowned. "You thought your son's ghost form is evil."

"We would never think that about Danny!" Jack exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, Danny didn't tell you about his ghost half."

"Why not?" Maddie wondered.

Niel met Danny's eyes. He knew the same thought was going through their heads. Danny glanced away and fidgeted. "Because...you hate ghosts," Danny said.

Immediately, the couple's expressions morphed into guilt. "Oh, sweetie," Maddie said. "We would never hate you if you became a ghost."

"Of course not!" Jack agreed. "Ectoplasmic or not, you'll always be our son."

Danny looked up at them hopefully. "Really?"

"Really," Maddie promised. She smiled, and Danny smiled back. Both of them were suddenly swept up by Jack's burly arms into a hug, causing Danny to laugh.

"We'll always care for our family," Jack said, then gestured for Jazz and Niel to join in.

"And we're sorry," Maddie told Niel. "Really. For anything we might have done--er, will have done in the future."

Jazz's lips quirked upward, and she joined in her family group hug. Niel did not.

He stayed rooted in his spot, watching them, while something akin to panic rose inside him.

"No!" he exclaimed, surprising the family. "No, you're supposed to hate ghosts! You're supposed to hate me!"

"Scientists can be wrong," Maddie said, startled from his outburst. "Whatever we said, we can make it up to you."

Niel trembled. This was wrong. This was all wrong--the Fentons weren't supposed to be such great parents! And yet he couldn't deny the heartwarming scene in front of him. Maddie and Jack cared for their children...

...Vlad did not.

How ironic was that? Niel had spent so much time thinking that Danny would be better off under Vlad's care than under his parents'. Now, everything was flipped. Vlad was horrible, and the Fentons--

The Fentons were gazing at him warmly, Jack's arms still outstretched in an invitation for Niel to join them in their group hug.

"Danny," Jazz said softly. "It's okay. I think they can change."

Niel didn't meet her eyes. Danny, she had called him. They all still thought he was a future version of Danny. And Niel...didn't want that to change.

Danny's family was amazing, he now realized. And they thought he was their son. They thought he was a part of them. Maybe, if he kept lying, he could be a part of their family, and then he'll never have to return to Vlad ever again.

That thought grew in his head until it was all he could think of. He was brought here on a wish, and that wish was being granted. He could be a part of a real family, and as an added bonus, Danny wouldn't have to go through his accident or fight any ghosts if they never completed the portal. Everyone would be happy. He, Danny, and--

Oh. Guilt swam in his stomach as he realized he had forgotten all about his sister--his real sister, not Jazz. If he stayed, Ellie would never had been made.

"What's the matter, dear?" Maddie asked. Niel swallowed.

"I'm..." he sighed and said, "I'm not your son."

He looked at Maddie nervously to see her reaction...and was confused to see that her expression hadn't changed from its warm smile. Then he looked at everyone else and realized she wasn't the only one--none of them had moved one millimeter.

"Um...hello?" he asked and waved in front of their faces. None of them even blinked. What the f--

"Hi," a new voice said, and Niel screamed and jumped in surprise.

He whipped around and found a smiling ghost. The ghost was blue-skinned and wore a purple cloak along with what must have been a dozen watches. As if those weren't enough to tell him the time, he also held a scepter with one more little clock on top.

As Niel watched, the ghost shifted from a young adult, to an old adult, a child, then back again. A light flicked on inside his brain.

"You're that time ghost," he said. "I've heard about you. Your name had to do with clocks or watches...um...Watchman?"

The ghost chuckled. "Close enough. It's Clockwork."

"You're supposed to be a myth."

Clockwork spread his arms and asked, "Do I seem like a myth to you?"

"I guess not," Niel admitted. "Assuming the myths are true, you either control time, or you have a deep obsession with collecting watches."

"Har har, very funny," Clockwork said. His monotone voice somehow made his words sound funnier. "You know, you're just as witty as he is," he said and pointed his clock-staff at Danny.

"I like to think im wittier," Niel said casually. Internally, he may have been freaking out. Clockwork might not be a myth, but he sure as hell was a legend. One who was talking to him.

Clockwork hummed and floated over to the Fentons, who stood still as statues--frozen in time, Niel now realized.

"They're a nice family, aren't they?" Clockwork commented. Despite how legendary the time ghost was, Niel suddenly found himself biting his tongue to stop himself from retorting. If the myths were true, then Clockwork knew all about Niel's (half)life. He knew how much emotional turmoil this revelation caused him.

"Maybe," was what Niel ended up saying.

Clockwork shifted into a child. Maybe he did it to spite Niel. "You were very hateful to the parents."

"They hate ghosts."

"But not their son."

Niel pursed his lips. He looked at the frozen Danny, being held in frozen Maddie's arms as she smiled. "I guess...maybe they deserve a second chance."

"Indeed," Clockwork hummed and returned to the Fentons. Niel found himself wishing the time ghost didn't act so aloof. He was observing the Fentons like they were an art exhibit, and Niel was a fellow tourist. "You know, you were never meant to be transported to this time," he mentioned to Niel. "Desiree--that's the name of the wish ghost, by the way--she grants wishes, but usually they're supposed to stay small. Nothing as big as changing the timeline."

Desiree. So that was her name. "What happened to her?" Niel found himself asking.

"I'm afraid she's being trialled."

"What?"

Clockwork turned away from the Fentons to look at him. His form jumped from child to old man, so his face looked more serious as he spoke. "Like I said, changing the timeline is a big deal. The Observants aren't happy with her. If this were a one-time thing, they might have let her go, but this wasn't the first time she went too far with her wishes. Time was never supposed to be a part of her arsenal."

"What...punishment do they have for her?" Niel asked. Even though he never interacted with her much, he found himself sympathizing with her.

Clockwork shrugged. "The Observants no doubt have some severe punishment in mind, but I might convince them to go soft on her. Get them to sentence her for a hundred years in jail, maybe."

"That's supposed to be soft?"

"Desiree herself is several hundreds of years old. One century isn't long when you're immortal."

"That's fair, I guess..."

Clockwork observed him with his pupil-less eyes. His form shifted again into a young adult. "I don't believe you feel sorry for her because she granted your wish, do you?" He waved at the Fentons and added, "Surely you know you can't stay here forever."

Niel knew. As soon as Clockwork appeared, he figured the time ghost was here to transport him back to his own time. Still, hearing that from him felt disappointing.

"I don't want to go back to Vlad," Niel murmured.

"You don't have to," Clockwork pointed out. "After all, your sister seems to be doing just fine on her own."

Niel wrinkled his nose. "I'm not living on the streets."

"I don't know. It might do you some good humility." Niel wondered if Clockwork was joking, and then he saw the ghost's grin. Niel frowned.

Clockwork chuckled. Then he turned serious again. "But really. You don't belong in this timeline."

"I know," Niel said dejectedly. That didn't make him feel any better.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Clockwork by his side. "You will be part of a family someday," the time ghost told him. Niel didn't believe that. But Clockwork can see the future, so maybe, just maybe, that was true.

Niel looked at the frozen family once more. "What will happen to them?"

"Their memories of their encounter with you will be erased, obviously. Their fate will progress as it has been written. Things will return to normal--as normal as it is considered for Amity Park."

"And what will happen to me?"

Clockwork gave him a knowing smile. "Telling you would be a spoiler, wouldn't it?"

Niel was quiet for a moment. Then he opened his mouth to say something, but when he blinked, Clockwork wasn't there. A few more blinks, and he realized he was no longer standing in the Fentons' living room. The smells of stale ectoplasm, batteries, and sterilizer filled the air. He was in the Fentonworks laboratory, and judging from the light seeping through the crack between the portal's closed blast doors, he was back in his own time.

"--uck!" Danny said, then stopped. "Oh. Nothing happened. Huh."

Niel turned around and saw Danny rubbing his neck in embarrassment. "I thought, since you said the word 'wish'--but nothing happened..."

Niel's vision moved away from Danny and landed on Ellie. Ellie, who was little more than a puddle. Ellie, who had been attacked by her and Niel's own father, if Vlad can even be called that.

Danny followed his eyes to Ellie. "Oh, right. Don't worry, I've got the Ecto-Dejecto right..." He turned back to Niel, but he was gone. The portal doors were open. "...here."

Niel floated aimlessly through the Ghost Zone. He couldn't stand another second inside that lab, seeing Ellie like that. But he couldn't stand the thought of returning to Vlad, either. So here he was, drifting through the Infinite Realms.

Now that he wasn't currently being pursued by Skulker, he had the time to take in the scenery. Blobs of ectoplasm floated here and there, making the world seem like an oversized lava lamp. Islands, rocks, and doors floated here and there. Occasionally, a ghost flew by in the distance.

Niel didn't feel any wonder from seeing the view. He felt empty. He felt...lost.

[mortimers-cross]

Heroes Return (CATS 2019)

Because our lovely Chorus Cats deserve some attention.

“Not gone home yet?”

The red-coated tom glanced over his shoulder to see another feline, also red-furred though of a darker shade and somewhat burlier build than himself.

“Hey, Adme,” Jonathan greeted. “No, I haven’t gone…that is…”

“Not that the junkyard isn’t your home as well,” Admetus commented, climbing up to join his nephew where he sat on a large discarded tire. “But I thought you and your human were pretty close.”

“We are…well, sometimes. It’s a bit complicated,” sighed Johnny. “Since she lost her son—I told you about my boy, didn’t I? Well,” he chuckled, “that’s really the wrong word; he wasn’t a boy any longer, that’s the human word for tomkit and he was fullgrown. Still, I felt responsible for him somehow—silly, really, since he was the one who fed and cared for me.”

“Not silly at all,” Admetus interjected. “I feel the same way about my own humans—though, to be fair, most of them are kittens—children, that is. But I’d say any human you join your life to becomes something of a responsibility—they become family, somewhat like the Jellicles but different.”

Jonathan nodded. “That’s what I mean. But since the boy died, it’s…not been the same. He and I were close; his mother mainly tolerated me.”

“But I thought you said you and she had got on better lately? That she seemed comforted to have you near?”

“She did, at first, but lately… She seems not to even notice my existence…”

“Humans are a distracted folk—especially the old ones,” Adme shrugged. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I don’t, and that’s not what bothers me; it’s the fact that she seems not to notice anyone or anything around her. First, she couldn’t accept the boy’s death; she would call his name or ask him questions as if he were still there. I’d lean up against her and purr, and she’d seem to return to herself and would cry a little but would seem to feel better after. Gradually, she stopped calling for him, and I thought she was getting calmer, quietening down, but now…she’s stopped doing or saying much of anything.”

“But surely that means she needs your help more than ever, Johnny.”

“What can I do for her? What can anyone do for someone who’s stopped living? I’m afraid,” he confessed, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper, “that one day I’ll be sitting with her, and…and I’ll look up at her to check on her, and she’ll be…gone.”

“That may well happen. It’s the nature of taking on a human family; assuming you aren’t separated from each other some other way, one of you will have to see the other’s life end. Or would you stay away and let the old dame die alone?”

Jonathan frowned. “I’m not afraid to be with her at the end of her life,” he returned defensively, “but it ought to be a good end, not just…just because she lost the will to keep living.”

“Then help her remember why her life is still worth living.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m currently puzzling over. Much easier said than done…”

“Meanwhile, you ought to be with her.”

Jonathan sighed, somewhat exasperated. Admetus was the youngest son of Old Deuteronomy and Gus. Though technically Johnny’s uncle, there wasn’t much age difference between the two. Yet Adme seemed at times to feel entitled to deliver lectures. Part of Johnny knew Admetus was only trying to help, but it wasn’t what Johnny felt like hearing just now.

“Why aren’t you with your humans, then?” Jonathan challenged.

Admetus’s face fell. “Ah. As to that…I admit it, everything I’m telling you I’m telling myself a hundred times over—or ought to be.” He hesitated.

“I’ve told you my predicament,” Jonathan prompted; “let’s hear yours then. See how much of your own sage counsel I can shoot back at you.”

“Fair enough,” Adme nodded. He paused as if considering how to proceed. At last he said simply, “It’s the children.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened. “Something’s happened to them?”

“No—yes—that is, they’ve gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know. Their mother put them on a train. The littlest queen—girl—tried to sneak me along, but of course she didn’t hide me very well and I was caught.” He grinned weakly, then sobered again. “Johnny, it was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Dozens of children boarding a train without their mothers.”

“Boarding school?” Jonathan hazarded a guess. “Or holidays?”

“Usually I would think so, but…this was different.”

“How?”

“The way they said goodbye—the way the mothers embraced them—it wasn’t like an ordinary goodbye. I don’t think their mothers expect them back until… Well, I don’t think they know. And so…”

“Nothing seems right in the home anymore,” Jonathan suggested. “And when something’s not right, it’s easier just to stay away and ignore it.” He chuckled. “Just look at us, pouting and avoiding our homes simply because we can’t handle any change in family dynamics. Meanwhile Jellicles come and go from the junkyard as they please and no one bats an eyelid.” He bit his lip. “Well…except when they stay away from an unusually long time…” He thought of Munkustrap’s mate, Demeter, and what Munk and the kits must be going through, not knowing where Demeter’s humans had taken her nor if she’d be back.

“But that’s usual with the Jellicles,” Admetus picked up Johnny’s previous thought. “We see each other at the Ball and at other times throughout the year, but no one expects to be together constantly. We keep each other aware of our needs and goings-on, but don’t necessarily see each other every day. With the humans—with mine, at least—even if they’re off doing their various tasks during the day, they always spend the evenings together; at supper, then at whatever work or games they have to do before bedtime. But lately things have happened to disturb that. The father has gone off and hasn’t returned; he’s never been gone this long; that’s shaken up the family well enough, and now the children have gone as well.” He shook his head. “The point is, it’s understandable if we’re both having trouble adjusting…”

“But we ought to move past our own struggles and help our humans with theirs,” Jonathan concluded. “Well,” he amended, “not help solve their troubles, since we can’t; but comfort them as best we can and keep them from falling into despair over it. That’s what pets are for. Right?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Adme sighed. “Though truthfully, sometimes I feel like giving up on humans altogether and just sticking with the Jellicles year round. Loads of others have humans, of course, but not everyone, and the ones that do don’t stay with their humans constantly. One way or another, it’s never lonely around here, and even though we’ve plenty of our own troubles, at least there wouldn’t be the humans’ troubles to worry about on top of that.”

“True,” said Jonathan thoughtfully, “though could we ever completely escape their problems, even if we didn’t personally have human families? Most of their actions affect us to some degree—if they knock down a building, we could lose (or gain) a key hiding-place, if there’s a fire we’re in danger as well as them… Seems as if we might just as well try and help them as best we can rather than ignore them.” He shot Admetus a sideways, suspicious glance. “That’s what you’ve been driving at this entire time, isn’t it?”

“Truthfully,” Adme laughed, “I really was just thinking out loud, but you’ve hit the nail on the head, I think. Bottom-line, each of us—and, for that matter, any other Jellicle with humans, we can’t be the only ones struggling—has to decide for ourselves if these silly, confusing, delightful two-legged creatures are worth our time and effort.”

“Of course they are,” Jonathan interjected, thinking again of the old lady, alone in her empty house.

“Of course they are,” Admetus agreed. “In that case… We hop to it and do what we can, never mind how difficult it is. Of course,” he added dryly, “like you said, it’s a lot easier said than done. But we can’t do anything if we never even begin, can we?”

[sternerstufftoys]

A slice of the action

Action Masters are panic. At the start of the 1990s the Transformers brand was collapsing faster than a flan in a wind turbine and for some reason the good folks at Hasbro were not okay with this. Toy franchises come and go all the time, and six years was a healthy lifespan. Hell, at the time He-Man had already gone the way of the plastic dodo and Mattel had basically just sighed, shrugged and gone back to churning out Barbies.

But for some reason Transformers was the brand that they would not let die. Kids apparently wanted the old classic characters back, but rising production costs meant that repeating the entire 1984 product line would be unfeasible (though a spirited attempt was made in Europe, gawdbless). What to do? Why, action figures of course! Action figures with accessories no less! Action figures that were poorly articulated even by the standards of the time, action figures that had to have all the distinctive alt mode kibble removed to the point of homogeneity in order to freely interact with said accessories and vehicles, and yes, vehicles for transformers even though that made no goddamn sense at all. Just try anything to keep Transformers alive, no matter how terrible the idea is!

Which brings us to Slicer, an interesting creation in his own right, being an early example of practice which would later become exceedingly common in the following decade - take an old and familiar character, gussy it up with new colours, and make it someone else. In this case, Wheeljack. So by the time Prime rolled around with it's weird sword-wielding Wheeljack, it made ludicrously easy sense to fire it out in blue and bronze as a new Slicer.

(only officially this is just regular Jack again, because securing a brand new name trademark for a BBTS exclusive would be a complete waste. As a collector, you'd have to be a ridiculously joyless pedant to insist that this was Wheeljack and not Slicer)

It's a remarkably good fit. Prime Wheeljack wasn't a bad character in the least, but it always felt like a strange choice to make the sword-loving bad boy loner character Wheeljack. I strongly suspect that orders from on high said that Wheeljack needed to make an appearance, but the show runners had no need for a wacky inventor and every need for an arsehole with a knife obsession. He might as well have been Drift, or Springer or Roadbuster or anyone else as Wheeljack.

So divorced from the context of the show, this mould is far better as Slicer than it is Wheeljack. The permanent scowl, so deep as to have pulled his entire face in with it, is perfect for a Decepticon. The long ape-like arms give him a feral quality. And, y'know, he's carrying a pair of slicers. So there's that. He has that issue that you occasionally find, where the figure looks awesome in almost any pose, but actual articulation is somewhat limited. The shoulders don't swing out very far and there's no rotation at the elbow, so actual sword swinging is limited. Maybe that's his thing. He's a massive poser, but can't actually fight all that well.

Transformation is far more traditional than many of the Prime line, with no real shellforming and plenty of steps. It's complex without being complicated, which is just great. Not only that but the car mode isn't overly-tiny, another common problem with Prime. You can stick the two swords to the front like massive angry tusks, but this dumb and stupid and people who do it obviously smell of biscuits and ennui. They'd either get stuck or snap off the moment you ram them into anything. Stick them on the sides so it looks more like massive angry bull horns. Made of knives.

So yeah, it fits in with pretty much any CHUG collection, helps fill out the Decepticon ground troops and adds a nice pop of colour with his glittery translucent styles. And here's the thing, there ought to be way more like him. The old Action Master characters all had obvious nods to what they transformed into, like Skyfall's jet intakes, Rad's car bonnet chest or Kick-Off's surly disposition towards Sensible Soccer. They're easy targets for quick repaints of existing toys, and yet outside of overpriced Collector's Club exclusives they've barely been touched. It's Krok, Axor and Banzai-Tron, I guess? Give us some Autobots. Give us Jackpot. Or Mainframe. One of the dumb ones, anyhow.

[homespork-review]

Homespork Act 1: The Note Dawdling Tension Plays (Part 2)

BRIGHT: The next bit of narration continues to establish John’s character: he has no idea what to call the red arm on the mailbox, and doesn’t care. We also learn that much like many teenagers, he doesn’t want to spend hours with his Dad. The author uses this opportunity to drop in a reference to the title.

The next page has a loading screen! I think this is the first interactive page in the comic. (For a certain value of interactive - you can mouseover the vertical lines of the games in the CD rack, and the cover of the game will pop up. Some of these link you to other works by Hussie.)

CHEL: Unfortunately, we then go into sylladex shenanigans AGAIN. Mercifully, this time it’s brief. We’ll let this one go, but I’ve got one eye on you, Huss.

TG messages John again, making reference to “TT”, who is confirmed female and alleged to be “mackin on” TG, and to his “bro” who “basically knows everything and is awesome”. How sincere he is in either of those remains to be seen. Finally, John actually gets told how to use his sylladex. Maybe the shenanigans will stop now… Anyway, he selects hammers for his strife specibus, or his weapon of choice, and the sylladex is confirmed able to hold things which would be too big to carry normally, such as Colonel Sassacre's Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, a book roughly as big as John is. At least the stupid sylladex actually has some practical use - I’m sure John’s as happy as I am to know that!

Next we see the review which put TG off; GameBro magazine explains “Why the ‘Game of the Year’ or whatever isn’t as good as some other stuff I like that’s better”. As it turns out once you get past the Totally Radical verbiage, the reviewer didn’t even play it. Something suspect’s definitely going on if it’s so hyped up on so little information… erm, is it just me or is the term “Brotel Rwanda” rather tacky? I don’t know if that’s worth a point, the point of the joke could be that the game reviewer is an idiot…

FAILURE ARTIST: I’d have that squarely as a point.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 1

CHEL: Okay, then, here’s our fourth count. Title is a reference to a line later in the comic, and I think the point of the count is pretty obvious. Mileage may vary, all works would get at least a couple points in this, and I don’t think it’s a big problem unless/until it starts to climb out of proportion. Not gonna use a WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM count because the reviewer, as seen in the pic, is supposed to be a white guy.

Regarding the rest of the review, I did consider whether this falls under the heading of HNTWAN’s “I, Youngster” (using slang or references from one’s own youth to write a contemporary younger person), but I’d say no, because it’s supposed to sound ridiculous. Same with John’s movies; his taste is supposed to be bad, I don’t think Hussie actually thinks kids in 2009 still all liked bad movies from before they were born. That, and Hussie’s word choices are frankly like nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere else in any time period.

We shall move on, as so is the comic. Forty-seven pages into the comic, the main character finally leaves his bedroom. Wow. Things are happening at breakneck speed here.

TIER: Truly the pace strides forward like a Colossus through Lilliput.

GET ON WITH IT!: 2

CHEL: Though the silly Groucho Marx disguise he puts on is cute.

BRIGHT: Of course, since it would be interesting to see what’s in the mailbox (or at least would move the plot along a bit), John spends the next few pages examining his home.

I’m torn about this. On the one hand, it does a bit more fleshing out of John and his home life, which is more interesting than endless sylladex shenanigans, and the narration is entertaining. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that on my first read through I clicked through all of it, trying to get to something happening. It holds up better on the re-read to me.

Well, something does happen, John knocks over the urn containing his grandmother’s ashes and opens a box from his father which holds a full-sized harlequin doll. Again, how much this appeals depends on what you think of ‘loveable dork’ characters fumbling around.

Then we return briefly to John’s bedroom, where we meet the third character of this webcomic, tentacleTherapist, or the alluded-to TT. The conversation isn’t very long, but it does give a good sense of what TT is like.

CHEL: Specifically, prone to sarcasm and sesquipedalian loquaciousness. Also to inappropriate jokes. An invocation of the hentai trope "tentacle rape" (read her handle quickly) is a fairly uncomfortable username for a child to have.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 2

Anyway, it seems she knows John very well - she’s able to guess he’s wearing “one of your disguises” with no clue in his messages, so evidently he does this a lot. She’s probably the smartest character introduced so far, and she and John seem to have a good relationship.

Now, again, this was originally a reader-driven forum game, but when it was collated into a webcomic, it might have been better to have the conversation with TT moved to before John left the room, so we’re not going back and forth unnecessarily. One journey through the house is enough, I’d say. Another GET ON WITH IT point, or does this come under the heading of the second point still? I’ll be nice and not count it, since he was going back to fetch an item and not just randomly wandering.

We definitely get more points from the text in Colonel Sassacre’s joke book:

And what of that tawny gent who puts his lackadaisical lean near the sarsaparilla font? You’ll have that listless octoroon find the spring in his step just yet! CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 3 WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 2

The point of these lines is that the text is outdated and racist, not that it should be emulated, but the “outdated” point was more than got across by the language used already. And it would seem fairly weird for a person who wasn’t white to read a line like that and not comment on it - okay, maybe John’s read it before and is used to it, but the narrator ought to point that out if it had ever bothered him.

FAILURE ARTIST: Colonel Sassacre is basically Mark Twain with a party hat photoshopped on to him. Mark Twain’s most famous work, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, has gotten into trouble in recent years because of the name of one of the characters: [N-word] Jim. The novel is progressive for its time but it hasn’t aged well. I’m guessing Colonel Sassacre’s unnecessary racism is a nod to that controversy.

CHEL: Get used to Photoshopped depictions of real people, too.

BRIGHT: John ventures out into the house again, ostensibly to retrieve the game but really to stick his fake arms to the harlequin doll and nose around his father’s study. Should the comment about the peanut allergy count towards ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY? In context with the can of peanuts I think there’s meant to be a joke here…

There is also a CAN OF PEANUTS on the desk. Ha ha, oh DAD. You won't be falling for THAT one again any time soon. A severe peanut allergy is a terrible affliction to cope with.

CHEL: That line? Yeah, it's a reference to the snake nut can prank item - have you seen those on cartoons, where someone offers canned snacks and a spring-loaded toy snake pops out? A dark joke, sure, but my sense of humour tends to run that way and I loled. CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS instead, possibly? I don’t know if people with life-threatening allergies would be offended by this - the joke isn’t that they’re weak or stupid or anything, the joke is the play on the reader’s expectations. I wouldn’t mind it if I had a peanut allergy, but as I said, my sense of humour is pretty dark.

FAILURE ARTIST: I feel like if a certain other parent we meet later did that people would take it as abusive.

CHEL: My assumption was that John’s dad didn’t actually mean to give him food that would kill him, that was just an unfortunate way of finding out he was allergic, but in this comic, who the fuck knows?... Come to think of it, maybe he did mean to. Peanut allergies run in families and it’s established much later on that one of the relatives involved (it gets complicated) also has a deadly peanut allergy, so it would seem logical that Dad would also have one and thus wouldn’t have them around to eat himself. Even if he did, that’s a bad move with an allergic person in the house. Maybe it is worth an ARE YOU TRYING point, then? Maybe this is just overanalysing, but then overanalysing is the whole point of this exercise, so there it goes!

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 1

For clarification of the listed counts, this isn’t going under CALL CPA PLEASE because that one’s for when the kids do something disturbing themselves. We’ll show you what we mean when it comes up. We'll be nice and let Rose have an inappropriate username, that's not out of the ordinary for kids that age.

And speaking of said points, what about Dad giving John at least four birthday cakes? (He has two untouched ones in his room at the point he says he’s been eating cake all day, and Dad soon tries to give him yet another one.) That sounds cool from a thirteen-year-old’s point of view, but it kinda comes across as if Dad’s trying to feed him to death, and intentionally making kids horribly unhealthy can be a form of abuse. Or possibly to make up for something awful he knows about… Is the latter further evidence for the “guardians know about what’s coming” theory? Dad’s coddling John because he knows horrible things are going to happen? Hell, were the peanuts an attempted mercy kill, if we wanna get really tinfoil hat about it?

All that’s for later, though. Meantime, we get our first page with sound, as John plays “Showtime”, a nifty little piano tune.

"Homestuck // Showtime (Piano Refrain) // Piano" (Watch on YouTube)

The other kids get their own individual little musical parts too, later on, which merge to form one full piece.

FAILURE ARTIST: Music is a big draw in Homestuck. Not just these four main characters but pretty much every character has their own leitmotif.

[mikauzoran]

Lukanette/Lukadrien Drabble: Nachtmusik Chapter Eighteen

A Little Night Music (Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) Chapter Eighteen: Black and Blue

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m sorry!” a voice called out from abovedeck.

“Is everything okay? You’re not usually this late,” Luka observed, voice thick with concern as Marinette came racing down the steps into the living room like a wildebeest stampede.

Luka dropped his phone onto the couch cushion and pushed his guitar out of the way as he hopped over the back of the sofa just in time to catch Marinette as she tripped on the second-to-last step.

She let out a reflexive yowl of alarm and went tumbling into Luka’s waiting arms.

He grunted as she hit his chest, but he didn’t let go, holding her fast. “You all right, Chanson?”

Marinette groaned as Luka helped her find her footing. She nodded until she got her breath back enough to reply, “Yeah. Yeah. I think—I mean, no,” she chuckled ironically. “No, I’m not, but—” She shook her head, getting ahold of herself. “What I mean is that I’m not hurt. Thank you.”

Marinette looked up at her boyfriend and smiled softly, eyes gentle and adoring. “You’re amazing, Luka. My hero.”

“I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, heart bursting into a million butterflies as she captured him in her net-like gaze.

“You are,” she insisted, arms moving to encircle his neck. “You always catch me when I’m falling.” Slowly, she leaned in and placed a kiss of profound gratitude on Luka’s cheek. “Thank you for being my safety net.”

“You don’t need a safety net,” Luka murmured, nuzzling her hair. “You’ve got wings, and you always catch yourself.”

Marinette shook her head. “I can only fly because I know you’re there to catch me if I fall.”

“All right,” Luka chuckled, admitting defeat. “You win. I’m your hero…” He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. “…and I’ve got you. No matter what, I’ve got you.”

Marinette gazed back, a charmed smile on her lips and a rosy blush tinting her cheeks.

Luka briefly debated trying for a real kiss.

They’d been doing better in recent weeks. Marinette had been trying really hard, but her head was still a mess of not wanting to use Luka as a rebound or, worse, a surrogate for Adrien and trying not to kiss Luka out of obligation because she felt like she should kiss him or just because it felt good or because Luka wanted to kiss her. It was more complicated than it ought to have been. It was unnatural, not the way a relationship was supposed to go, but…they were both hanging in there until Marinette’s love for Luka was the same kind of love that he felt for her.

Because she did love him…as a person, as a friend. She thought he was attractive. She would happily make out with him. She’d said she would even be interested in sleeping with him…but that was just lust. She didn’t think about him the way he thought about her. Her heart didn’t start tripping all over itself just at the thought of him. She didn’t dream of possible futures with him. She didn’t name their imagined future children or their dog or their cat or their hamster. He wasn’t constantly on her mind. She didn’t see an object in a shop window and wonder what he would say about it. She didn’t watch a movie and imagine conversations they could have about it. She didn’t even hear a song played by a busker down in the Métro and wonder what Luka would think.

Luka was a friend that Marinette sometimes kissed when she thought she should or when her body wanted to. He was a close friend, a dear friend, and she loved him…as a person…but she wasn’t in love with him.

Yet.

Or maybe ever.

He knew he was just there because he made her feel good. She had had a rough year with Adrien on top of the previous three and a half years of her taxing crush on him, and Luka made her feel better. He staunched the bleeding, made her feel loved. He was okay with that. He was trying to be okay with just that for now.

And yet…it was so hard in that moment with her face a mere handspan away from his own.

He wondered if her heart was beating as fast as his with them so close together. Did their flirting affect her like it affected him? Maybe this time they could share a real kiss inspired by pure affection. Things had been getting better recently.

Luka leaned in just as his phone sounded with the siren leitmotif text tone, making Marinette move her head to look past him towards the couch.

“That’s that tune that’s been stuck in your head,” Marinette observed, pulling away now that the moment was over, clearly satisfied with the interaction and not wanting more from it. She went to the counter to set down her backpack on one of the colourful stools to make the bag easier to search through.

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, mentally noting the irony that was his life. “That’s the other song that’s been stuck in my head.”

“Why’d you set it as your text alert? I would think hearing it all the time would only get it stuck in your head more?” she chuckled as she fished a plastic container out of her bag.

Luka grimaced. “Uh…reasons?”

Marinette shrugged, not knowing to be upset. “Suit yourself.” She held out the container to him and grinned broadly. “Look. I made you blueberry lemon poppyseed scones.”

Luka’s face lit up. His favourite. He really hoped they had clotted cream left in the fridge.

“Chanson,” he cooed, coming over to accept the gift with one hand. He wrapped the other arm around her, pulling her into a side hug. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Marinette pulled back, laughing nervously. “Oh, don’t thank me yet.” Guilt shadowed her features like storm clouds looming over a picnic.  

Luka frowned, getting a bad feeling. “…These are apology scones, aren’t they?”

Marinette nodded, her left foot toing at the floorboards as she internally fretted.

“Oh,” Luka sighed. “…What are you apologizing for?”

She looked up at him, worrying at her bottom lip as she explained, “You know how on Saturday we were going to get dinner and go to that concert?”

The bottom dropped out of Luka’s stomach. He nodded.

“I’m sorry, Luka, but it’s looking like I’m going to have to work. We’ve got a big deadline coming up, and there had to be some lastminute changes, so…it’s going to be ‘all hands on deck’ Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Gabriel said that he really needs me there the whole time to manage the other interns…. I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him with big, cerulean eyes begging for forgiveness.

Luka shook his head, giving her a watery smile. “Don’t worry about it, Chanson.” He reached out to stroke her hair and face reassuringly. “It happens. Hey, at least this shows how much faith Gabriel has in you. It’s a good sign that he’s giving you that kind of responsibility. There will be other concert dates.”

She bit her lip, still looking unsure. “But you were really looking forward to it.”

He would have felt better if she had said that she had been looking forward to it, but…

He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Marinette deflated, muttering, “I feel like I’m always letting you down like this.”

He beefed up his smile and ran a hand through her hair. “Marinette? You’re not,” he insisted quietly, gently, lovingly so that she almost believed him.

There was a moment of calm where they stood there looking at one another, and then Marinette spoke up.

“Why don’t you go with a friend instead?” she suggested. “That way the dinner reservation and the concert tickets won’t go to waste.”

Luka shifted the pastry container from his right hip to his left. “I can’t really think of anyone who’d want to get dinner and go see Lindsey Stirling with me.”

Well, there was the obvious choice, but asking Adrien Agreste to sub for Marinette on a date was…a surreal thought.

“How about Adrien?” Marinette stole the words from his head, and, before Luka could come up with a suitable excuse that wasn’t ‘Don’t send me on a date with him! He’ll end up in my bed and leave me feeling guilty and sexually frustrated in the morning’, Marinette had pulled out her phone and quickly typed, “hey you free saturday evening to go w luka dinner/concert”.

Adrien’s reply was immediate, “Definitely! Just have him text me the details, and I’ll pick him up.” followed by, “Since when do you pimp out your boyfriend, Princess?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “your father = slave driver so i have to work instead of spending time w boyfriend”

“Sorry!” Adrien responded with a sad cat face emoji. “I’m more than happy to fill in, though. Your boyfriend is hot.” he added with a winking cat face emoji.

“should i be worried about you stealing him” Marinette laughed as she typed.

“What is he saying?” Luka inquired nervously.

“Definitely. I’ve been trying to seduce him away from you for months now.” Adrien responded, including a cat emoji with its tongue sticking out. “Unfortunately for me, he’s crazy in love with you and is resisting my efforts valiantly.”

“He says he’s happy to go with you, he thinks you’re hot, and he’s planning to steal you from me,” Marinette reported, shaking her head and smiling.

Luka blanched. “You know I would never cheat on you,” he rushed to assure. “Okay, sometimes I might encounter temptations, but…I would never cheat on you, Marinette. I love you.”

Marinette blinked in bewilderment as she looked up from her phone. “Luka, I’m not actually worried. I know you wouldn’t. I believe you.” She winced as the weight of her own hypocrisy came down on her once more. “Even though I’ve never been emotionally faithful to you, I know you would never cheat on me.” She looked at him with soft eyes and a pained, affectionate smile. “I really don’t deserve you.”

Luka gulped.

His tongue felt heavy and lifeless in his mouth. He knew now would be the time to tell her about Adrien. All he would have to say is, “Marinette, I’m actually bi, and I have a huge thing for Adrien. It’s probably a bad idea to let us go on a date because I don’t know how much longer I can not kiss him”.

She looked back down at her phone and typed, “you’re so silly Minou” to Adrien accompanied by an emoji sticking its tongue out.

“That’s not true,” Luka mumbled as he set the container of scones down on the counter, losing his nerve to confess.

“Mm?” Marinette glanced back up. “What’s not true?”

“That you don’t deserve me,” Luka clarified. “I’m not as good as you think.”

Marinette tucked her phone back in her pocket and slipped her arms around Luka’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

His hands went to her hips, but he averted his eyes. “Sorry. Just feeling kind of down lately…but you are good enough for me, so don’t doubt yourself. You’re trying, and things are getting better.”

“Why are you feeling down?” Marinette asked gently as Luka’s text tone sounded twice in succession.

Luka made a noncommittal sound and avoided her gaze.

“Is it because of me?” she guessed, starting to chew on her lip again.

He finally looked at her, shaking his head and assuring, “No, it’s not you. It’s me.”

Marinette frowned, not believing him, thinking he was trying to spare her feelings. “Okay. Well, is there anything I can do to help?”

Luka shook his head. “You’re already helping.”

“I don’t feel like I’m helping,” Marinette groaned.

“You are,” Luka insisted, pressing a kiss to her forehead before drawing back to look her intently in the eyes. “I’m really easy, Marinette. All it takes is a little evidence that someone is thinking about me to make me happy. Thoughtful gestures go a long way with me, and you are full of thoughtful gestures.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

“—Like bringing me my favourite scones,” he countered her unspoken argument.

“Those are apology scones,” she sighed.

“You could have just called off on me. Most people would have. I mean, you have a valid excuse, Marinette. It’s not like you’re ditching me to go to the movies with Alya and the girls. The apology scones were a thoughtful gesture. And you’re always making and bringing me things,” he stressed, giving her hips a little squeeze. “Bringing me coffee when I’m writing a paper, coming to my concerts even when you don’t care for that particular band, making me clothes and accessories, helping out with Kitty Section, helping me make flashcards and study for exams… Marinette, this relationship may not be perfect, but I do know without a doubt that you care for me. …So…don’t discount your efforts,” he whispered tenderly and slowly started to lean in.

Marinette blinked but then realized what was happening and obediently shut her eyes, offering him her lips.

It wasn’t passionate. It was reserved, slow. Nice in general. Not the worst kiss ever. Not the best kiss ever. Not particularly enthusiastic, but not reluctant as other kisses had been. It was mediocre, and Luka would take it over his past failed attempts at kissing her.

Times before, she had given him her cheek or let him kiss her but was then obviously not into it. It had been like kissing a statue. Other times she had put some effort in and tried to kiss him back only to pull away during the kiss, apologize, and explain that she wasn’t ready, wasn’t in the right headspace.

This dispassionate, mediocre kiss was infinitely better. Did he feel wanted and loved? No, not particularly, but he didn’t feel repulsive either, like he was forcing her to kiss him. Luka could live with that, knowing that things were improving, had improved already, would improve more still in the future.

Luka’s phone sounded again, the siren leitmotif barging in on the kiss like an overly forceful extended metaphor.

Marinette pulled back with a chuckle. “Someone’s popular. That, or someone in particular really wants to talk to you. Is that your other girlfriend?” she teased.

Luka grimaced. “Marinette, you know there’s no other woman on this earth for me.”

Her cheeks coloured, and she nodded, smiling bashfully. “Yeah. I know.”

“…That’s my boyfriend texting,” Luka explained with a straight face.

Marinette cracked up, slapping him on the arm as she pulled away, shaking her head. “Yeah? And who’s your boyfriend?”

Luka held his breath. “Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, picking up the container of scones from the counter and pushing it back into his hands. “You have expensive taste in men.”

“I was kidding,” Luka rushed to take it back. “We’re not… Nothing’s happening between us right now.”

“I know you’re kidding,” Marinette laughed, shaking her head and giving her boyfriend a light shove. “Now go put those scones away before your mother and sisters get at them.”

With a sigh and a shrug, Luka took the container to his room, hiding it in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

When he came back, he found Marinette sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other pulled into her chest, his phone in her hands.

His blood turned to cement.

“W-What are you doing?” His voice creaked.

She didn’t seem to notice as she smiled up at him. “Adrien has literally been blowing up your phone, so I switched it to silent. Also, Juleka wanted to know if you guys needed more tofu, mint tea, cheese snacks, or fruit cups. I told her there was a whole pack of tofu in the fridge, the box of mint teabags on the counter was still half full, and that I’d check with you on the cheese snacks and fruit cups because I didn’t see them anywhere in the kitchen.” She held out the phone to him.

In a daze, he took it, staring down in horror at his phone screen. “How did you get it unlocked?”

She shrugged. “You’ve unlocked your phone in front of me how many times now?”

Luka made a mental note to change his unlocking pictogram and to not leave his phone unattended in the presence of his girlfriend. He then made an additional mental note that he was really starting to act like a cheating slug.

“Don’t forget to reply to Juleka about the cheese and the fruit cups,” Marinette reminded, turning her attention to the guitar sprawled out on the other side of the couch, grabbing it, and pulling it into her lap into playing position.

“Right.” Luka tapped into the text conversation with his sister. “I’ll just get the cheese myself. Plagg is picky about brands,” he muttered distractedly, taking a seat beside her.

Marinette gave a jerk of surprise. “P-Plagg? You keep cheese for Plagg?”

Luka’s eyes widened as they shot up from his phone to meet Marinette’s. “Uuuhhh…Yes?”

Marinette blinked, befuddled. “Just how often is Adrien over here?” Suddenly, her tone turned angry and accusatory. “Does Juleka know about Plagg? God, how many people has that idiot told?! He’s so freaking irresponsible sometimes.” She pushed the guitar away and crossed her arms over her chest to keep from accidentally breaking something in her agitation. “Doesn’t he realize that Mayura is still out there? Okay, they don’t have the Butterfly Miraculous anymore, but what’s to stop them from sending sentimonsters out to destroy Paris? And what if some other supervillain comes into power? It’s not like Paris is safe now that Papillon no longer has his Miraculous. People could target Adrien for other reasons! It’s not safe to just go blabbing your secret identity to everyone and their sister. I just—God he makes me so angry sometimes. It’s like he doesn’t think. He just does, and then I have to clean up after him. Just—Grrr!” Marinette ended with a snort.

They sat in tense silence for a minute.

Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning shamefacedly to her boyfriend. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. He makes me insane with how reckless he is sometimes. He doesn’t even try to think. He expects me to do the thinking for him, and then he gets all mopey and petulant when I have to dress him down for his idiocy.” She took another long inhale, covering her face with her hands.

Luka bit his lip. “In his defence, his whole life, he’s been trained not to think. You know, until recently, other people decided what he was going to wear each day. He didn’t even get to pick what he ate or what he did with his time. I’m not saying that he doesn’t need to learn to think for himself because he definitely does, but maybe you should try to take his situation into account and cut him some slack.”

“You’re always on his side,” Marinette grumbled, looking away sullenly. “You’re not the one who has to deal with him. You don’t have a whole city expecting you to fix things all the time. You have no idea what this is like.”

“Chanson,” Luka crooned softly, reaching out to pull her into him.

She let him wrap around her, and then she trapped his arms in the embrace with her own. She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, giving the top of her head an airy kiss. “I know you’re under a lot of stress. It must be such a huge weight you feel like you have to carry alone.”

“Mm,” she agreed.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated into her hair, squeezing her reassuringly. “Tell me if there’s ever anything you need. You know I’d do anything to help.”

“Mm,” she mumbled again.

He dropped his lips to her shoulder, planting a reverent trail of kisses up her neck. “I’m sorry that it feels like I’m not on your side. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you were in the wrong.”

“…Everyone’s always yelling at me for being mean to poor, defenseless Adrien like he can do no wrong and I’m just a bully or something,” she sniffled. “Everyone’s always making excuses for him. And, yeah, I get it. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s messed up, but… It just feels like no one ever makes excuses for me. If I mess up, I’m the biggest witch of the century. I’m expected to be perfect all the time, but, in reality, I’m constantly screwing up.”

She laughed bitterly at her situation. “I’m screwing up right this very minute because here I am with this wonderful boyfriend, and I’m griping about some other guy instead of just being happy with what I have. I’m so sorry, Luka. You deserve better than this.”

“Shhh,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “It’s okay. We’re good, Chanson.”

She shook her head.

“No we’re not” was left unspoken but felt.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings weren’t valid. I know how maddening it can be dealing with Adrien, and what helps me is considering where he’s coming from and what he’s thinking when he does things that drive me bats. It’s easier to be patient and sort out the problem when you know why there’s a problem in the first place. I know you’re a logical problem-solver, so I thought understanding the disconnect might help. I didn’t mean to take his side.”

Luka took a deep breath. “…And I’m sorry about the secret identities thing. I know it bothers you that I know. I swear to you I never meant to find out.”

“I know,” Marinette mumbled in frustration, squeezing his arms to her tighter. “That was Adrien’s carelessness.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Luka offered half-heartedly, nervous about defending Adrien again and seeming to be “on his side” instead of Marinette’s.

She exhaled audibly.

“My family doesn’t know about Plagg and Nooroo, if that helps,” Luka tried.

Marinette shifted to look back at him incredulously. “You know who Swallowtail is.”

Luka decided he had better shut up.

“Let me guess,” Marinette snorted. “It was an accident?”

“Adrien had had Nooroo for less than twenty-four hours,” Luka explained feebly. “When Adrien visited me and Plagg came out to get cheese, Nooroo didn’t know he was supposed to stay hidden. It wasn’t even Adrien’s fault.”

“When is it ever Adrien’s fault?” Marinette grumbled, pulling away.

Luka bit his lip and took a moment to analyze the situation. “…Are you two fighting again?” he hazarded. “Or what’s going on? You’re all over the place today. Your emotions are like a seismograph.”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, looking down at the floor and wrapping her arms around herself.

He scooted closer, taking her into his arms once more. “Chanson,” he whispered against her neck. “Marinette, talk to me.”

“It’s everything,” she confessed with a sigh, letting herself slump against him again. “It’s like I’m fighting everyone all at once. The other interns hate me. Alya and I have been constantly rubbing each other the wrong way for the past two weeks. Maman is driving me nuts about this whole having a boyfriend thing and my relationship with Adrien and—she’s on his side too, did you know?” Marinette scoffed. “They’re friends. They get coffee together on Sundays. Chloé goes too sometimes, and sometimes, when my parents know I’m going to be out, they invite Adrien over. They have dinner and play board games and video games and stuff while I’m gone.”

“That makes you uncomfortable,” Luka surmised.

 “Of course it makes me uncomfortable,” Marinette answered, voice high, on the brink of hysteria. “There’s this guy that I have a very complicated relationship with stealing my parents the moment I turn my back. Like, they’re my parents. They’re supposed to be on my side, for crying out loud! And do you know what my mom said when I told her about how I felt?”

“What?” Luka prompted, letting Marinette feel like at least one person was hearing her.

“She said I was overreacting and being childish,” Marinette choked as tears gradually started to escape their confinement chambers. “She said she was disappointed in how uncharitable I was acting. Because apparently Adrien’s such a nice, sweet boy, and he’s my friend, and we should all feel sorry for him because he doesn’t have a mother and his father’s been treating him like crap for the past eighteen years. It’s not my fault he has a train wreck for a family. I don’t see why I have to share mine with him. They’re mine,” she whimpered. “They’re supposed to be mine. I’m supposed to be able to count on them no matter what. They’re supposed to be on my side, but they’re not.”

“Shh.” Luka gently began to rock her from side to side, rubbing at her arms, trying to sooth her.

“Instead, it’s ‘poor Adrien’. Everywhere I go, he’s the victim, and it’s all my fault for not being perfect. God, it feels like the situation with Lila all over again with everyone turning on me. I know Adrien isn’t doing this. I know this isn’t some heinous scheme with an evil mastermind this time, but…it feels like I can’t count on anyone right now.”

“Oh my sweet Third,” he mumbled into her hair, holding her tighter, wondering why she hadn’t said anything, why she’d let it get to this point, why she hadn’t come to him, why he hadn’t even noticed she was drowning.

He’d been too caught up in himself.

She blinked away tears and looked up at him, eyes searching his. “But at least I have you,” she whispered. “You don’t think I’m selfish and childish. You don’t think I’m a bad person for feeling this way. You’re on my side, aren’t you? …You’re mine…right?”

She said the words with such desperation, like she needed them to be true or she would break.

She was letting herself be vulnerable with him. She’d let down her walls and let him see the scared, exhausted, weak parts of herself. She was trusting him to make good on his promises to always be there for her, to always have her back.

It was like a hot stiletto knife to the gut for Luka. How had he failed her so spectacularly?

He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t say that he was hers. His heart was divided, and it felt like an insult to betray her trust when she needed someone to tell her the truth.

So he told her a different truth: “I love you, Marinette…and I’m so sorry you’re feeling like this.”

She closed her eyes and melted into him as he began to pet her hair in long, attentive strokes.

“I wish you’d said something sooner,” he mumbled, feeling the ache of guilt between his ribs. “I wish you hadn’t kept suffering alone in silence. I know you’re tough, Chanson, but human beings can only endure so much.”

She shook her head halfheartedly. “It’s not really that bad. Most of the time I’m fine,” she murmured. “It’s just…some days it all gets to be too much, and I just lose it. Normally I can handle it, but…today was just one of those days. …Sorry you’re getting to see the ugly fallout.”

Luka frowned. “You do know that I don’t just love the quote, unquote ‘pretty’ parts of you, right?”

She opened her eyes and looked back at him in surprise.

“Marinette,” he sighed. “I don’t love you because you’re perfect. One of the things I find most attractive about you is your ability to pick yourself up off your butt and try again in the face of adversity. Your tenacity and your passion, the way you throw yourself into things…that’s what makes you so beautiful. You’re not a quitter, and I adore that about you. You may be down right now, but I know you’ll find some way to come out on top in the end. You’re resourceful and resilient, and you’re going to conquer the dark parts of yourself. …You’re the most amazing girl I know.” He put his all into those words, hoping she could believe them as strongly as he did.

She shook her head and smiled sadly. “That’s Ladybug.”

He took her by the chin and made her look at him. “That’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng…and she is epic.”

Marinette laughed, dabbing at her eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “Chanson, I admire you so much…even when you need to stop to cry…. I don’t love you because you’re perfect; I love you because you’re not…but you keep fighting anyway.”

“Keep fighting, huh?” she sighed, turning in his hold to wrap her arms around his torso and tuck her head under his chin. “But I’m so tired right now, Luka.”

“Then take a break,” he suggested, squeezing her reassuringly. “I’ve got you. Rest, My Love. Stay safe in my arms until you’re ready to stand up and fight again.”

“You are epic, Luka Couffaine,” she mumbled against his throat, sending shivers rippling out through his body.

…He couldn’t tell her about Adrien. Not now. Now was not a good time…but when was it ever a good time? They’d been dating for about five months, and he had never come across a good opportunity to break the news of his past with Adrien and his current feelings to her.

It was starting to fester between them, and she had no idea.

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a time, enjoying the warmth and solidity of each other. Three minutes passed before Marinette found her voice to speak up.

“You and Adrien are pretty close, right?” she inquired, making him freeze in alarm.

“Yeah?” he answered tentatively. Her tone sounded conversational, but…what had Adrien said in his texts that night? Had Marinette read them? Just glimpsed them out of context? “I mean, I’m not Nino or anything, but I’ll flatter myself and say that I’m a close second. Why?”

She swallowed and asked, “Has he said anything to you about his new girlfriend?”

It was like being knocked off his feet and landing flat on his back. “Wh-What?”

Luka pushed back from Marinette to look down at her in total confusion. “What girlfriend? He hasn’t mentioned—He doesn’t have a girlfriend. I mean, I would know if-if…”

It was funny in a way. There Luka was cheating on Marinette with Adrien, and now it was Luka’s turn to feel the sting and burn of infidelity. It felt like having a hole punched through his insides.

“What are you talking about?” he inquired weakly, feeling sick.

Marinette frowned. “He hasn’t mentioned anyone?”

Luka shook his head helplessly. “How do you know he has a girlfriend?”

“I saw them together in the library today. I was going to camp out back in the lounge area and try to get my reading done for History, since I’m going to be working all weekend, but Adrien and his girlfriend were already in there, and they looked like they were having a serious discussion, whispering to one another. I was going to leave and find someplace else, but…” She started to squirm. “I saw the look on his face, the way he was looking at her, and…it just…I was confused because he was…” She shook her head as if to clear it. “And then they were pressing their palms together and leaning into one another, and-and kissing! He kissed her. And then they were talking, and I was just staring from behind the shelves, and a couple seconds later he kissed her again! And then they were laughing, but then they were whispering all serious again and pressing their palms together, and he kissed her again! So I left, and I thought…I thought…”

She shook her head again and looked up at him helplessly. “He hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend or a girl he likes? I mean, as his friend, I’m concerned. If he’s dating a bunch of girls again like he did at the beginning of the year…and, I mean, I should probably check this girl out and make sure she’s good for him, shouldn’t I? As his friend? Because Adrien can be so blind when he’s in love. He does really stupid things. Someone should talk to him, don’t you think?”

Luka stared at his girlfriend as the pieces began to sink into place. “Who is this girl? Do you know her? What does she look like?”

Marinette looked away, shrugging. “I don’t think I’ve seen her before. She’s his usual type, though. Short, dark hair. I think she’s some kind of Asian ethnicity, maybe Japanese? I don’t know.  I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so I didn’t catch him saying her name, but…they looked completely smitten. I’m really worried about this.”

Luka breathed an enormous sigh of relief, all the hurt and fear leaving his system at once, leaving him laughing giddily. “Don’t be, Chanson. Her name is Yumi or Ayumi or something, and she’s in his acting class. They’re partners for this week’s exercise. What you saw was them practicing the party scene from Romeo and Juliet where the lovers meet.”

Luka knew this because Adrien had had him reading Juliet’s lines earlier that week, helping Adrien to memorize his part. There had been much pressing of palms and smitten gazing then too. Luka had drawn the line at kissing, even if it was just stage kissing, for fear that it might quickly escalate into actually cheating on his girlfriend.

Marinette’s entire face from the tip of her nose to the tips of her ears went bright red. “Oh. So…he’s not…dating anyone? I…shouldn’t be worried?—On his behalf. As his friend.”

Luka shook his head slowly. “Nope. You have nothing to worry about. You are the only girl that Adrien has eyes for.”

Her blush increased, and she looked away. “I wasn’t…”

“Shh.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay, Chanson. I know you still have feelings for him, even if those feelings are complicated. It hurt seeing him with someone else, didn’t it?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “…Sorry,” she whispered in such a tiny, miserable voice.

“It’s okay,” he assured.

That, at least, partially explained the mood she was in, her little outburst, lashing out at Adrien. In a way, it made things simpler for Luka. Marinette was feeling overwhelmed in general, and Adrien today had been the final straw.

In a way, it made things complicated because Adrien was hurting Marinette and Luka, Marinette was hurting Adrien and Luka, and Luka got to be Marinette’s comfort object while sneaking around behind her back with Adrien, hurting Adrien who just wanted someone to love him, Marinette who had no idea the extent of the tangle they were in, and even Luka himself who was beginning to really feel the stress and fatigue of their situation.

“Do you want me to play you a song?” Luka offered, knowing that music would calm both of their hearts more than words.

She nodded, handing him the guitar and then sinking back into the couch cushions, hugging her knees to her chest and settling in to listen.

He played whatever came into his head but intentionally steered clear of any chord progressions that might segue into the siren leitmotif. He played the phoenix one instead. The melody in E major was soft and mellow like a down comforter. It glided gracefully like a swan across a pond before soaring triumphantly.

It was like Marinette: gentle but strong. Not showy, not proud, but beautiful and elegant. Constantly rising up out of the ashes, constantly reinventing herself. Creative rebirth and renewal whenever her current pursuits met a dead end. Always shifting, moving, changing, but oddly constant. Dependable. Solid. Lovely and regal. A commanding but unassuming presence. Even when she wandered or strayed or got lost, she was still lovely, lovable. Even when she hurt him, he treasured her.

His Marinette sparkled and soared.

Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and he took note of the peaceful smile on her face.

He placed a whisper-soft kiss on her forehead.

The song continued for another minute or two before the chords slowed, resolving finally from the dominant back to the tonic E. Luka let the notes resonate for a pregnant moment before setting his guitar to the side to take his girlfriend into his arms once more.

“You make such beautiful things,” Marinette mumbled, keeping her eyes closed and enjoying the spell Luka had cast for just a little longer.

“That song was you,” he quietly informed. “It’s only beautiful because you are.”

She opened her eyes and really looked at him, wondering why she couldn’t just love this wonderful boy already. He loved and respected her. He put up with all of her nonsense. He accepted her, comforted her, took care of her… He was everything she needed him to be whenever she needed him. She did love him. There was no question about that. He was precious and dear to her. She even found him physically attractive. She just wasn’t in love with him.

He made her stomach flutter with lust, but he didn’t make her swoon. She wasn’t able to summon up the kind of all-consuming, self-sacrificial, can’t-sleep-for-thinking-about-him love she thought she ought to feel. She didn’t get lost in him. She didn’t love him the way she should.

She felt bad about it because he deserved so much more. What kind of partner was she for him? He deserved better.

Marinette looked into Luka’s eyes, took a calming breath, and leaned in to kiss him. She thought of green eyes and blonde hair and black leather cat ears, focusing on the image and how it made her feel, transferring those feelings onto the man in front of her in order to kiss him the way he deserved to be kissed.

Luka responded at once, eager and hungry, thinking he’d finally done it, he’d finally done something that had made her want him the way he wanted her.

The guitar clattered to the floor as Luka pushed Marinette back and down onto the sofa, following her without breaking the kiss. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in as their tongues danced wildly.

He repositioned as he slowly began to trail kisses down the side of her face, licking and nipping her ear, sucking on her neck. His lips began to wander down her throat, following the cut of her shirt’s neckline. He placed a lingering kiss in the valley between her breasts, causing her to gasp and moan.

“Minou.”

Luka froze, pulled back, and looked down at Marinette in confusion, hoping she could clear up the misunderstanding.

She was staring up at him in horror, her hand clapping over her traitorous mouth.

His heart cracked. 

She hadn’t been kissing him after all.

He hadn’t done anything to inspire passion in her. It was all Adrien.

Luka pulled away, cleared his throat, and retrieved his guitar from the floor, beginning to strum it mindlessly in a way that sounded almost atonal.

“Luka, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just…” She groaned, sitting up and pulling her knees into her chest, curling into a little ball. “I was trying to kiss you like you wanted to be kissed. I thought…”

“Thinking about another guy while you’re kissing me isn’t kissing me…. It’s kissing him and toying with my feelings,” he mumbled thickly, voice getting stuck on the words as his heart oozed out through the notes in sharp cries of dissonant pain.

They sat, not speaking, for a few minutes, Luka’s agonized guitar the only sound in the main cabin of the ship.

Marinette swallowed hard and got to her feet. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

With a sigh, Luka set down the guitar and caught her by the wrist. “Don’t go.”

He tugged on her gently, and she obediently sat beside him, letting him pull her back into his arms.

“Sorry for being a drama queen,” he muttered.

“Luka, you’re not,” Marinette stressed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was just…trying to be a real girlfriend. This is what I mean when I say I always screw everything up. You should really just let me go home now before I do or say something else that makes it all worse.” She made a halfhearted attempt at pulling away, but he held her fast.

“Don’t go,” he repeated. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m just being too sensitive. Just…stay, okay?”

Marinette bit her lip and considered. “…Are you sure you even want to be around me?”

He rested his head against hers and nodded so that she could feel it. He squeezed her to him tighter. “I always want to be around you…. Besides, if you go, I’ll only end up texting Adrien, and he’ll sense that something’s wrong and wind up coming over here, and I’ll probably end up making out with him because, honestly, he’s just irresistible like that, and then I’ll feel guilty and like a horrible person for cheating on my amazing…” He kissed her cheek. “…beautiful…” He kissed her again. “…thoughtful girlfriend.” He punctuated the statement with yet another kiss.

Marinette giggled, turning to nuzzle Luka’s ear. “I wouldn’t be able to hold it against you. Adrien is pretty hot, after all.”

A stray thought wandered through Marinette’s mind: Adrien and Luka making out. She was surprised to find that it was a pleasant mental image.

“Is that why you don’t want to go to the opera with him next Tuesday? You’re afraid of being tempted?” she hummed teasingly.

Luka grimaced, realizing he’d made a mistake in joking about his affair with Adrien. She was going to tease him about this in the future until he was guilt-tripped into finally explaining that it was the truth.

“So you did look at my texts.” Luka clicked his tongue, pretending to chide.

Marinette shrugged. “You should go with him. He was begging so prettily.”

“I mean, sitting in a dark theatre box alone with Adrien Agreste for four hours watching an opera about two people who are going insane because they can’t consummate their love…yeah. That sounds like a really fun test of my willpower. Chanson, are you trying to push me into Adrien’s arms?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, pulling back to sit beside him with one of his arms loosely around her shoulders. “In all seriousness, why don’t you want to go with him? You guys go all the time and seem to have fun. I don’t think he has anyone else, and he really just wants someone to pay attention to him. I think he’s lonely since all of his other friends are pairing off in couples and he’s the only one without a love interest.”

Luka blinked at her, wondering how she could be this blind. He was pretty sure it was plain to everyone else that Adrien had at least two serious love interests, but…

“What if I were bi and actually struggling with feelings for Adrien?” Luka posited in the most neutral tone he could manage. “Would you still be telling me to spend time with him?”

Marinette blinked, clearly thrown off by this line of questioning seemingly coming completely out of the blue. “I…guess I would be telling you…to do whatever you were comfortable with,” she answered slowly. “…Where did that ‘what if’ come from?”

Luka shrugged, looking away. “What are you doing next Tuesday? Maybe we could invite Adrien over for dinner and a movie. That would be a nice break for you after working all weekend, right? I’ll cook,” he volunteered. “You just have to show up, eat, and snuggle.”

“That sounds amazing,” Marinette sighed happily. “Here.” She picked his phone up from where it had fallen to the floor in their scuffle and handed it to him. “Text your boyfriend and let him know we’re on for date night on Tuesday.”

Luka took the phone and was dismayed to find twenty-seven new texts from Adrien. Luka winced.

Marinette raised a concerned eyebrow. “What is it?”

Luka shook his head. “Someone has been blowing up my phone this whole time. I have twenty-seven texts.”

Marinette bit her lip and chuckled. “Woooow. Your boyfriend is needy.”

Luka gave a snort as he scrolled quickly through the messages, getting the gist of Adrien’s rapidly changing mental state. “You would know. Wasn’t he your boyfriend for, like, twelve hours?”

Marinette shrugged, pulling out her own phone to text Alya. “Under false pretenses. I was dating Chat Noir.”

“Newsflash: they’re not that different,” Luka mumbled, finally reaching the end of the texts just as another one apologizing came in.

“…They’re not, are they?” Marinette hummed thoughtfully.

Adrien’s messages were a mix of begging Luka to go to see Tristan und Isolde on Tuesday, flirting and suggestive comments about subbing for Marinette on the concert date on Saturday, apologizing for laying it on too thick, and panicking about supposedly having made Luka mad.

“hey ariel” “not mad just have company” “im not gonna be checking my phone much tonight” “hard no on the opera” “wanna come over for dinner/movie/snuggling with me and marinette instead”, Luka sent off consecutively in a flurry of thumbs and then awaited the anticipated affirmative response.

“Okay, but I want to spend time with YOU.” Adrien replied.

“ill be there” Luka responded, wishing Adrien could be less difficult.

“Ha. Ha.” Adrien answered petulantly.

“well be hanging out saturday for dinner/concert” “well spend time together”

Adrien was silent for a beat too long.

Marinette put away her phone and looked at Luka with an expectant smile. “What does he say?”

“He’s ecstatic for date night,” Luka lied. “He said he’ll be looking forward to it…but I kind of get the feeling something’s up. He’s…” Luka bit his lip. “I guess in ‘needy mode’. I think that you’re right that he’s lonely and wants attention.”

Marinette nodded slowly in understanding. “Maybe I’ll talk to Nino about it. He’s really good at handling Adrien’s moods.”

“See if he can take Adrien on a friend date,” Luka suggested before turning back to his phone.

There were no new messages from Adrien.

Luka’s teeth sank into his lip once more, and he looked up at Marinette. “Sorry. I get the feeling that something’s not right. Can I give him a call real quick? Seriously. Five minutes.”

Marinette nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, of course. I mean, he’s my friend too, so of course I’m worried about him.”

Luka gave his girlfriend a grateful smile. “Could you please get in touch with Nino to see if he could just happen to call in, like, ten minutes to invite Adrien on a friend date or something?”

Marinette gave Luka a thumbs up and took out her phone once more.

Adrien picked up the call on the first ring. “Hey, Orpheus. What’s up?” The nonchalance in his voice was obviously forced. He must have been truly tired if he couldn’t put up a convincing front. Or maybe he wanted Luka to know that he wasn’t okay?

“Ariel, hey,” Luka breathed into the receiver. “Look. Like I said, I have company over, so I can’t really talk right now, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. What’s wrong? Cliffs Notes version?”

Adrien gave a little snort of laughter. “Tired. Lonely. Working too hard getting this new line out. Did something bad today. Really want to make out with someone and forget about my problems, but know that that’s a bad idea and what got me into my current mess in the first place. The End.”

Luka sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Is there anything I can do for you in four minutes?”

Adrien considered for a moment and then shook his head wearily. “No, I don’t think so. Honestly, I objectively know that everything is fine and I’m just in a bit of a funk because the Romeo and Juliet scene I’m working on for Friday has me thinking about the tragedy that is my own love life on top of being drained from work, so…I probably just need sleep, but…” He trailed off with an almost inaudible sigh.

“Hey. Do me a favor and talk to someone, okay? As soon as you get off the phone with me, call Nino or go sit with your parents, but don’t be alone in your room thinking about how crappy you feel right now. Can you please do that for me?” Luka gently entreated.

“…All right. Okay, fine,” Adrien agreed with a little huff, pretending to be put out.

“Okay? You’re going to be all right?” Luka verified.

“Yep. All set to call Nino as soon as we hang up. No worries, Orpheus,” Adrien assured. “Go back to what you were doing. I don’t want to keep you from hanging with your friends.”

“Okay,” Luka sighed, reluctant to let him go. “All right. I’m going to ring off.”

“Bye-bye, Luka.”

Luka bit the inside of his cheek. “Hey. I love you, all right? Take care of yourself.”

Adrien’s line was quiet for a moment before he replied in a surprised yet pleased tone, a smile in his voice, “Thanks. I love you too.”

Luka nodded, feeling better about the situation. “Bye, Adrien.”

“Bye, Orpheus.”

“He’s okay?” Marinette looked up at Luka in concern.

Luka nodded, setting his phone down on the makeshift coffee table. “What did Nino say?”

“He’ll call Adrien in ten minutes and coordinate with Gabriel if Adrien doesn’t pick up,” she reported. “…What was wrong?”

Luka shrugged, placing his arm around her shoulders again. “Like you thought. He’s just a little down right now, but he knows why, and he knows things will be better if he just gets some sleep. I’m concerned, but I’m not too worried.”

Marinette nodded, leaning into him. “…Wanna watch a movie and snuggle? I could really use some snuggling.”

“Sure. Which movie?” he easily agreed.

“The one you were talking about a couple weeks ago,” she suggested, chewing on her lip, fishing around in her memory for the name. “The one that was based on a book written by the lead singer of that one band that did a concept album. Uh…like…something about clocks…and Bacchus?” She started to laugh at herself. “You know what I’m talking about. Help.” She swatted his arm as he began to chuckle too.

“The band is Dionysos, but good job with ‘Bacchus’. Very close. The movie is Jack et la Mécanique du Coeur or Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart,” he supplied. “Are you sure that’s what you want to watch? It’s kind of a quirky movie…weird.”

Marinette shrugged. “I can do quirky. Is it weirder than some of the anime Adrien has shown you? Because that’s kind of the benchmark for me.”

Luka thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Rave Master was weirder.”

Marinette nodded, satisfied with the answer. “All right, then. Go get your laptop.”

Luka did as bid, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he got to his feet.

When he came back, he found that Marinette had made a nest of cushions at the bend in the couch.

“Sit,” she decreed, taking the laptop from him.

Luka sat where indicated among the pillows, and he was slightly surprised when Marinette took a seat as well, nestling herself between his legs, leaning back against him with her head resting back against his shoulder, tucked under his chin.

She took his arms and wrapped them snuggly around herself. She placed the laptop on her own lap and looked up behind her at him, seeking approval. “Is this okay?”

“Scoot your hips forward just a smidge, please,” he requested, and she acquiesced.

Just as the movie started, Luka’s phone lit up, and he reached out to check it.

Adrien’s sulky message read, “You didn’t have to sic Nino and my parents on me.” accompanied by an annoyed cat emoji.

Luka smirked and set his phone back down.

Marinette inclined her neck to give Luka a questioning glance even though she had been able to see the screen plainly.

“He’s all right,” Luka whispered into her hair. “Sorry. No more interruptions. I promise.”

Marinette hummed in the affirmative, turning her attention back to the film.

It was then that it occurred to Luka that his phone had magically teleported between the time he had set it down before going to get his laptop and the time he had come back with the laptop. Just now when Luka had picked up his phone, it had been on the opposite side of the coffee table from where he had left it. Meaning that Marinette had been looking at his phone.

Suddenly, Luka felt uneasy. Why would she do that? What had she been expecting to find there? What had she actually found?

Luka reinforced his mental note about changing the design he used to unlock his phone. He added an additional note about being a better boyfriend in general.

Luka had a lot of good qualities, but he wasn’t perfect. There were things he needed to be doing better. They both had to do better if they wanted this to work.

Luka was committed to making this work, and he got the sense that Marinette was too…in a desperate, trying-to-keep-herself-from-drowning kind of way.

[gwiiyeoweo]

It was a joke, created from an accidental remark of misnaming Cor as someone else. But naturally, things escalate.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Cor/Noctis

It started innocently enough, through a casual slip of the tongue and resulting in an embarrassed prince. 

Cor brushed the tip of his sword across the ground, relaxing from his defensive stance from which he had just parried Noctis’ attack. The boy was still slow, still trying to climb over the hurdles of chronic pain and tough scarring that addled his limbs and nerves, but his efforts and progress was nothing short of remarkable. Not many survivors, at least those with such extensive damage, could ever hope to make half the recovery Noctis made over the years. Still, there were a ways to go and many years before the young thing could land a scratch on Cor. 

“Shit, go easy on me for once, dad —” 

Noctis had been nursing his bruised ego and his even more bruised ass, flung to his back and eating dirt and gravel, until that single word froze his hands in place and blew his eyes wide open. 

Cor knew for certain that the pink dusting the boy’s cheeks was not the sunburn from the clear skies, especially not with how Scientia had slathered him with bulletproof sunscreen when he learned they’d be training outside today. Knew for certain how to spot a blooming teen’s embarrassment for what it was, how the hunched shoulders and brief panic flashing across his face meant a mini crisis taken way more seriously than it needed to be. Hell, Cor had been in Noctis’ position a handful of times, back in his days of youth training under his captain who was truly more of a father figure than a severe militant. 

But of course, Noctis was in that age of rampant hormones and emotions all thrown into a blender, stuck between keeping up this “cool” persona and penting up his anxieties when he ought to be free to feel how he wanted and seeking help when he needed — except, teenage stubbornness was a helluva beast.

In essence, Noctis was embarrassed by the all too common problem of misnaming a not-dad, dad. 

Cor didn’t really care. He’s done it a handful of times, and while he’s not an actual father, he supposed he was something of a father figure to a good number of trainees anyway. So he ignored it, like he did in the past. 

“All the more reason to keep you on your toes, considering you have a hard time even standing,” Cor said, not even batting an eyelash at Noctis’ slip. 

Noctis’ shoulders sagged in infinite gratitude, losing the stiffness that had seemed to seize him in his moment of teenage terror. Really, was it that ego-shattering to accidentally call the man a dad? 

   The accidents never stopped, though they were few and far in between. Eventually Noctis matured enough to not even care himself, even going so far as to intentionally “mistake” Cor as his father. Sometimes, he cracked dad jokes — sometimes, both of them did.

“Gods, I am exhausted. Can we take a breather? Please?”

“Hello, exhausted,” Cor said, offering a hand to pull Noctis up from the floor. The prince almost landed a good blow to Cor’s knees, much to the man’s pride, but his rushed attack left him wide open and prone to a fatal counterattack; once again, he had been flung to the ground with a well-timed kick and shove. Noctis rolled his eyes, already realizing his fatal mistake and expecting the joke to follow. “I am dad. But only ten minutes, no more than that.” 

It was strange. Not because Cor wasn’t actually a father, or that he had issues with being seen as one. It was strange simply because of how easy they had both slipped into this inside joke. Truly though, he could understand the how and why from Noctis’ point of view, even when he doubted the prince himself knew the reason.

Cor’s been around for far too long to not notice, after all, and while he’s no psychiatrist, he suspected it all stemmed from a sort of longing. A need to fill the absence of a father. He couldn’t blame Regis, not when he had a kingdom on his shoulders and a war knocking on his very walls. Neither could he blame Noctis, a withdrawn prince who tried to pass off his loneliness as cool indifference when all he wanted was a pat on the shoulder and a word of praise. Both father and son tried to spend what rare time they could with each other, Regis pushing his meetings and council session as far back as he could just to spare a twenty-minute lunch with his boy, and Noctis keeping whatever complaints he had bottled up because he fully understood that the safety of their people far outweighed his desire for a family dinner. 

He’s seen their struggles. Regis would work himself into the early hours of dawn, foregoing sleep and much-needed rest, sacrifice even more of his life and blood for his kingdom, even though the Crystal has taken more than its due. Both Cor and Clarus would have to physically manhandle their King out of his office and into his bedroom, his weak and tired protests swatted down like shriveled up flies. 

And Noctis? All he could do was watch his father wither away, see the once all-powerful man speed through his remaining years within months. And bear witness to his future in the face of his own blood, see his life cut short in the lines and wrinkles of Regis’ face. 

Cor could never truly replace Regis — he’d never dream of it — but if he could at least help the both of them by just passing off a few dad jokes here and there, then he might just end up writing down a whole list of them just to share with Noctis. 

The young man was looking more gloomy as of late, which is why they’ve been going overtime on their sparring session today. Cor’s learned how Noctis ticked, and he knew one of the prince’s flaws was his habit of bottling everything up. But wear his body down enough, and his mind will follow. Eventually, Noctis would have to spill the beans on what’s been weighing on his heart.

“Your focus is slipping, Prince,” Cor chided, tapping his blunt sword at Noctis’ foot. Said prince chose to take his ten-minute break sprawled on the ground, the cool tiles of the indoor training room a balm against his cheek. He’s even taken the liberty of lifting his shirt up to his neck, making the most of his short reprieve and cooling down as fast he can before he’s hauled back up to his feet. Cor tried not to let his eyes linger too long on that smooth skin, or the hint of a scar that wrapped around from his back to his hip bones, or that teasing peek of his chest and a dusty pink nipple —

Right, so maybe his focus was slipping. 

Cor coughed into his fist and maneuvered his gaze away, somewhere up to the left of Noctis’ face. “Something on your mind?” 

Noctis, unaware of what had just happened, only groaned and rolled his forearm over his face. "Yeah, a lot actually."

Bingo. Cor sat down beside him, placing his practice sword on his lap and folding his hands over it, and decided Noctis deserved more than a ten-minute breather to discuss his woes. He'd sit there and wait for as long as it took anyway, if only to help lighten whatever troubles that shackled his prince's spirits. 

"Go on," he encouraged, hoping Noctis was willing to share his burdens rather than keep them to himself. When there's nothing but silence, Cor almost believed those walls weren't worn down enough, was about to think of another method other than physical exhaustion to get the boy to open up. 

"It's, uh… Complicated,” Noctis finally said.

"Try me."

"Okay, well. Um. So there's a friend. A real great friend. And we have this little joke, yeah? And we're just going at it, having a good time, but eventually it just kind of escalates. I guess. So do I just keep playing? Am I getting the wrong signals here? Does he feel what I think he feels?" Noctis started rambling, flinging his hands into the air and gesturing this way and that, throwing air quotes or just waving them about. 

Cor sort of… Got it. Noctis wasn't releasing any names, but he knew this friend must be male. Prompto, Cor suspected, as he's the only friend Noctis has made outside the Citadel. 

" — like playing that dumb penis game. Like, you're in a library or something and you take turns whispering penis louder and louder until one of you chickens out or you get told to shut up. But no one's around to tell you to shut up, and eventually someone's gonna end up yelling penis because you're both pretty stubborn and — "

Cor wasn't sure where Noctis was trying to go with that analogy, but he nodded sagely along and pretends he one hundred percent understood. But whatever the case, he thought Noctis must be wary of where to go, to continue with apparent ignorance until one of them cracked and spilled how they truly feel or to stop and say it aloud at the risk of fracturing their friendship. 

" — the hell am I supposed to do? I mean, it's weird, he'll probably think it's weird but what if he doesn't? I know what I feel, and I really want to think it's not my bias giving me false signals, but I'm pretty sure he feels the same way? And if he doesn't, well, that's cool too. I won't push him, but I'd really like him to stick around and not feel pressured to keep up a facade if he feels awkward and — "

Cor leaned over and gently slapped his hand over Noctis' running mouth, and the boy shoots him the classic 'how dare you' look. He shook his head and pulled his hand away, Noctis picking up the signal and keeping his mouth shut. 

"Alright, I won't claim to be the best at these things, but I will give my two cents," Cor said, and Noctis perked up at the offer. "Personally, I would confront them, but I understand your caution. If following the rules of the game isn't working, then increase the stakes. If you don't want to directly ask them, do so indirectly but make it so terribly obvious even a blind man can see. Increase the difficulty, bonus round, however you want to think it."

Noctis frowned, mulling over the advice and turning it over in his head. “I… guess I could do that.”

“And if that doesn’t work and that friend of yours turns sour, you have a slew of Crownsguard and I to show up at his doorstep.”

“Stop that.” Noctis smacked Cor’s arm, holding back a laugh as his face brightened up. “That’s power abuse, and I don’t think that’s gonna work on him.”

“Regis would find a kingly way to name it otherwise, I’m sure.” 

That earned him another laugh, accompanied by a roll of the eyes, but Noctis already looked several pounds lighter now that he’s gotten it out of his system. Already up again, dusting his shirt and the back off his pants before hefting up his practice sword. Already raring to go for the next round without even being prompted to — nice. 

“Hey,” Noctis said, resuming his stance and digging his heels into the floor.

“Yes, Highness?”

"Thanks, daddy."

Huh, Noctis hasn't called him daddy before. 

   Cor was a damn idiot. A damn, dense idiot. 

He really should have seen this coming a mile, no, a hundred miles away. He should have seen the signs on himself before even noticing them on Noctis. 

He had seen the odd glances thrown his way, the way Noctis' eyes tended to wander over places they never wandered before, especially with a nuance the prince never used with anyone else. 

But when Cor's own eyes lingered just a second too long at the sweat dripping down that slender neck, he realized Noctis matured in more ways than just age and growth. And gods, he would drive his own sword into his heart the moment Regis found out. 

Yet when Noctis slammed himself down, he thought there might as well be a blade struck in his chest already, considering the shudder that pierced his nerves and pinned his mind back to reality. Pinned his eyes on Noctis straddling him from above and riding him into the next century. Another obscene slap of skin had Cor bite back a surprised breath, but Noctis looked on from his throne with a shit-eating grin and a lick to his lips. Cor didn't think he'd be that turned on, but well. 

“Fucking brat,” he wanted to say, but Noctis’ unrelenting rhythm only allowed him a guttural “ Fuck” instead. And he knew that stroked the prince’s ego even more, considering how he clenched around Cor’s cock at the implied praise. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the low groan, and his fingers dug into the pliant flesh of Noctis' hips, barely keeping himself from leaving more than just a few suspicious bruises. Torn between keeping him in place to simply savor the warmth and to drag him underneath to ravage him. 

Noctis relented in his pace only to grind himself along, slow and burning and gods damnit, the boy was toying with Cor now. He lifted a hand from Cor’s chest, bare and exposed when Noctis had clawed his way through the shirt and ripped it off — when and how he became so brazen, Cor had wondered for only a moment before lips came devouring after his — and he tiptoed two fingers across the hard planes of Cor’s stomach to his sternum, lightly digging a fingernail there.

“What?” Noctis laughed, eyeing the man with something absolutely devious. “Is daddy gonna punish me?”

Ah, shit. Those words alone were nearly enough to undo him, and he fought to keep his seams together as he squeezed his eyes and dug his skull into the safety mats underneath. Cor never thought he’d have a daddy kink, but neither did he imagine any of this would happen. (There may have been a few ambiguous wet dreams here and there, with a blurry imaged prince and the empty echo of his voice, but he had chopped it up to the dry spell as of late.) 

"Oh, I think he likes it." Noctis’ words came in breathy moans, a tell-tale sign of his own arousal and heat. He must be struggling just as much as Cor, slowly rolling his hips and denying that sweet ecstasy from them both, trying to keep his head above water and not drown in the heat of the moment, all in order to relish this rare power he had over the man. 

Cor still had his eyes shut tight, but he felt a slow drag of movement and a shift in weight on his chest. There’s warmth beside his face, where damp hair tickled his cheek and eyelids. Lips crawled up the sensitive skin of his neck, to his jaw then his ears, leaving light wet kisses as they explored and conquered. As if there was still anything left to take. 

His resistance fell to the wayside the moment Noctis had landed his first proper hit on him, taking Cor by surprise with a tricky warp and knocking them both against the nearest wall. Noctis had held the practice blade up to Cor’s neck, the blunt edge pressing against an artery. And pressing a thigh in between his legs. They had been skirting around the tension for the past few months, using their trading blows and crossing swords as an excuse to press skin upon skin and breath upon breath. But in that moment, something had just snapped. Maybe it had been Cor’s reasoning, or Noctis’ buttons being torn off. 

“Does daddy like that?” Noctis whispered into his ear, hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending a shudder down his spine. As if to further torture him, Noctis ground his hips just right and breathed a moan so obscene Cor thought he’d need to go repent at an altar.

Who in the hell taught Noctis to do that? Cor was torn between relinquishing his position to them in promotion and shoving them into the dankest prison cell beneath the Citadel, because this was an utter sin and a blessing all in one. 

Under Noctis’ crafty mouth and within his intoxicating warmth, it didn’t take long for Cor to unravel. He arched his back, even lifting Noctis with him, while his hands groped for purchase and settled on the boy’s thighs, and he came in a burst of white stars and sparklers. All sound was drowned out in the rush of blood in his ears, but he could feel Noctis’ mouth groan against his chest and the shudder of his body against his own. 

Noctis must have come right after, because Cor saw the streak of milk white on his stomach when he finally opened his eyes again, expecting a sleepy-eyed prince but getting a smug-looking brat instead. 

“Heh, thought you’d have a lot more stamina that that, old man,” Noctis said, lolling his head to the side and watching through half-lidded eyes. 

Something inside Cor flared at that, even though he knew what game Noctis was playing. Fine, he’ll fall for it, if only to turn that arrogant smile into an utter moaning mess. 

“Alright, Highness, you asked for it.” Cor growled and gripped the boy’s hips, flipping their positions with a surprised gasp from Noctis. Cor loomed over him, dragging their hips together with a forceful thrust that had the boy tipping his head back in a sharp inhale and eyes blown wide. “I think you’ve been a bad boy,” he began, nipping at a patch of skin just beneath the collarbone. “And a glutton for punishment.”

Noctis hooked his legs around Cor’s back, practically drawing him closer and deeper, keeping him from backing out with a strength that even impressed Cor, and laced his arms around the man’s neck to rake fingernails against the ridges of his spine. With fluttering eyelashes and the most wicked ‘come hither’ look Cor’s ever witnessed, Noctis tipped forward to nip at the man’s lips and gently roll that soft flesh between his teeth. 

Cor would gladly let him eat him alive, he suddenly thought, but of course — 

“Then punish me, daddy.” 

‘This little shit.’

If Noctis was laughing before, he was screaming now. And Cor would make sure to have him begging and chanting his name before he was through.

   “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Highness.” 

They're bundled up together, with Noctis atop Cor's chest and tracing a lazy circle on his skin, blanketed by their old clothes, while Cor played with the boy’s wayward hair, absentmindedly twirling a lock around his finger. It's nice, he'll admit, being able to just bask in the afterglow and finally being able to uncoil all that tension that's been building up for gods know how long. 

“Don't worry about it, already asked dad."

"You what."

So naturally, Noctis would ruin the moment by casually blurting out one of the man's worst fears. Cor's hand stilled, heart going a mile a minute — and yup, there's the pressure of dread building up in his stomach, ripe and ready for his sword. Noctis must have heard the hammering in his chest because he picked up his head to look Cor dead in the eyes and clasp both cheeks in between his hands. 

"Calm down, he's not gonna kill you," he reassured. "Hell, he gave me the shovel talk. His own son! Said underneath that gruff look is a heart that bruises like a peach. Like how you got dumped in your teens and moped around for a good month, writing cheesy poetry and whatever."

Oh, gods. Cor's stuck between relief and mortification. Relief knowing he won't have to redeem himself or repent for his lost honor — for his own, or Noctis', or both — and mortification that Noctis already talked to his own father about all of whatever this is and that Regis had revealed a snippet of his past he thought was buried forever. 

Perhaps, it was Cor who should re-analyze what he's gotten himself into. 

"Stop thinking so hard," Noctis ordered, shifting his weight over Cor, their clothes sliding off him when he straddled him again. He splayed one hand over Cor's chest while he dipped the other lower, fingers tracing the trail of hair that lead down, over muscle and hip bone and sensitive skin and hard planes of well-earned muscle. "Or I'll make you."

But oh, when his prince looked at him with such favor and demand, lips teasing and tongue sharp, how could Cor ever deny him? 

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O 29-30: Blade spoilers within (from someone who has NOT watched Blade)

Ha! Black!Woz walks out of the Storytime vault and into 9-to-5.

White!Woz: Haha sweet I get to choose Another Blade

Swartz: Hey, what do you think of being a person who gets used… you know, hypothetically speaking…

White!Woz: ...ah. Well. Shit.  

(We continue this super spoiler-iffic liveblog under the cut. It gets long - this one made it to about 3,000 words. My apologies to mobile users. Just... scroll. Scroll like your life depends on it.)

Awww… the café from Blade has photos from back then on the counter, that’s so sweet. And Amane’s actually wearing the recent necklace for Chalice – that’s a really nice touch there, Toei. Product placement, but it’s a really nice tribute.

Another Blade’s design is – that’s terrifying, that’s a lot of knifes. I like how the spade symbol glows red, and it doesn’t have the ‘handle’ part of a spade. It’s a heart, too. But the thing is… this is the second Another Rider to not have the lens-eyes. Everyone up to Another Zi-O had them, and he notably didn’t.

I know people have been saying they’re proud of Sougo for managing to graduate, and I agree. I really do. I’m happy for our book-dumb protagonist. It’s actually kind of nice to see all four of the ‘team’ together. You know, for certain definitions of ‘team’.

Noting here the Tsukuyomi hasn’t told Sougo that his ‘dream’ was. Not actually a dream, so much as a memory. It makes sense that a small 8-year-old reality warper would take the trauma of something like what Swartz did, and assume the first time he saw it was a nightmare, too.

(Seriously, screw that guy.)

Okay, so, I have not watched Decade, but… from the two (2) films I’ve seen with his cast – WxDecade and the first Hero Taisen movie – this seems to be pretty damned in-character for this Daiki guy. “Lol sup hi just saying hello don’t mind me” *proceeds to steal all your transformation trinkets*

Case in point… Sougo and Geiz don’t notice their personal watches are missing until they go to activate the button on the side. Not when they don’t pull anything out – no, when they go to turn them on. Boys. Boys please.

Also, can I just say that I’m starting to see why people pair Tsukasa and Daiki? I mean, the guy came out in a ~magenta~ apron. And they’re both little shits.

Sougo just shoves Woz in front of them. Woz!Kikai is so OP, oh my god. First the mind control thing when it debuted, the satellite dish lasers in Another Zi-O, and now it has extendable robot arms to grab the watches back. Oh my god.

(Kaito, suddenly copied into another existance as Baron: GFDI just let me be a tree spirit already)

(I know it’s a doppelganger, but seriously. So many Barons. So little patience on his end for people constantly trying to revive him as a pawn.) 

Sougo: Okay, so, you guys’s past is my future, and since it’s 2019, anything that happens in 2068 is the future now, so aren’t you talking about things that haven’t happened yet?

Woz: My lord, please, verb tenses get complicated enough without you speaking.

OOF. Yeah, uh, there’s gonna be a. A few problems with Blade ‘2019’. Namely that he isn’t supposed to be in, like. Japan. Ever again. Because Bad Things Happen when he is around fellow Undead. (He made an exception for Gorider, because a certain zombie f*er was stealing his gig, and poorly at that.

((Am I saying that he’s an asshole who is also a zombie, or that he would do a zombie? … Both. I’m saying both.))

Sougo: Okay, so, we need one person who can fight on both ends, and really, if a team is going after Geiz’s watch, it ought to include Geiz, and you guys want me to go after the Another Riders, so of course the groups are me with Tusukyomi, and Geiz with Woz! :) It’s only rational! :) And if you happen to work out whatever’s going on between you, well, that’s just a bonus, isn’t it? :)

Geiz: ...if I kill him, it’s your fault, you know.

Tsukuyomi: This is a terrible idea.

Sougo: I know! :)

(gasp) Dark Toei is giving us the forbidden rebel backstory!

Oh goody Woz was the leader of their team! And he said he was going to ‘infiltrate’ Oma Zi-O’s camp! And everyone died because he seems to have switched sides. Delightful.

White!Woz: Excuse me? I see a pair of powerups here, but not the one I specifically requested you get.

Daiki: Lol you mad?

White!Woz: ...fight us irl bitch.

Daiki: Heh.

Huh… So… when White!Woz’s tablet makes someone do something, they’re supposed to hear his ‘narration’… and maybe that’s a recent idea from the team, but. When it seemed that he was compelling Sougo to come after him – I can’t remember when, it was during either Shinobi or Quiz, but Sougo and Black!Woz were talking in 9-to-5, and he summoned Sougo away, that didn’t happen. Hm.

Sougo: Dang, couldn’t even knock the watch out temporarily. Drat.

Hm. Regulus is showing up in the daytime now… and so is the rest of the constellation. That can’t be good.

Oooh, nifty. Another Blade has the inverted heart for Chalice on her torso, but the spade for Blade on her. Well, blade. As well as a circular saw, which is a bit overkill when you consider the literal knives sticking up from her shoulders.

Oh, hey, remember that theory about how the Another Riders are technically the enemy that each rider fought? Like how Another Gaim opened cracks into the Helheim forest, and Another OOO bled Cell Medals like a Greeed?

And remember why Kenzaki can never return to Japan?

Undead are drawn to fight each other.

Okay, I get why a speed versus speed battle, to counter Woz!Shinobi, would wind up with Diend summoning Accel. But why Birth? Date’s version was never particularly fast – he’s more of a Mighty Glacier. And the suit isn’t really intended for speed, since Gotou was only particularly speedy when he used the Cutter Wing ‘attachment’.

And then I am immediately answered. Bike juggling to get Woz into the air, so that ‘Birth’ can shoot him down without mercy. (Was reminding us of the bike form really necessary? Was it? I don’t think it was. I could have done without seeing that in-action again.)

Diend: Wow, that’s cold, even for me, watching your friend get beat up like that.

Geiz: Bold of you to assume we’re friends. He’s a born liar. I mean, he’s using a ninja form right now.

Geiz: Yeah, no, Woz, screw you. I know you wanted a distraction. Asshole.

Diend: Aw, look, they do like each other.

OH THANK COSMOS it’s Chalice Versus Zi-O. ...for now. There’s about minutes left for everything to go terribly, terribly wrong. (Because Blade.)

And then it immediately went terribly, terribly, wrong.

Kenzaki and Hajime haven’t transformed in years, because they can’t. They would feel each other’s power, seek each other out, and be forced to fight. Probably the only time Blade has reappeared was in a slightly-alternate reality. (shakes fist at Gorider). And Kenzaki looks absolutely terrible. How did you get here so fast, sir? That jacket has clearly seen far better days, is the damage recent?

Some excellent ‘teamwork’ on Geiz and Black!Woz’s parts – using Shinobi’s finisher to get the two targets in one spot for Geiz’s finisher. Clever. Pity that the other two watches aren’t here.

And with that, and some brutal slashes exchanged between Blade and Chalice…

we move to episode 30.

The power-up watches get all electro-staticy, and try to start a chain reaction with White!Woz, but it doesn’t hold up. Hm.

Geiz: What’s your issue?!

Diend: Looking for my boyfriend-rival. No big deal.

Oh man, neither of them want to be in this fight, but they don’t have a choice. Zi-O accidentally knocks Another Blade into the line of fire for Actual Blade’s finisher, so naturally Chalice steps in to try and take the hit.

It doesn’t… technically work. She still gets knocked out of her transformation, back to Amane, and he’s still in his armor.

Kenzaki: oh god oh shit what the hell?! Amane?! what’s going on oh shit

Woz’s storytime vault…

Oh… The Day of Oma is apparently meant for Sougo to stop the end of the world… apparently as brought on by the Battle Fight.

… Rider versus Rider, right? A pair of Riders who can’t coexist, but also can’t not coexist. And yet another who is supposedly erasing all Riders from history. Starting with the primary members of each group. So… if Blade goes, the world goes. If Chalice goes, the world goes. If they both go, Oma Zi-O rises.

“An interesting game, Professor. The only way to win is not to play.”

Zi-O II’s shot in the opening has been replaced by Zi-O Trinity.

Geiz can relate pretty hard to Kenzaki’s resignation to having to fight Hajime, but also to his desperately not wanting to do that thing.

Once again, we have the question of “What is the future you are aiming for?” The question of “And then what?”

Geiz wants to see the one that Sougo – that they will create.

<3

Junichiro: Hey, what are your plans for the new era?

Sougo: ...Uncle, you have no idea how loaded that question is with this group.

(or does he?)

Hey, that camera’s a clue in more ways than one, isn’t it? Another Blade was attacking photo studios, because Hajime’s a photographer. But that camera’s awfully similar to Tsukasas. Who asked you to repair, that, I wonder…?

Yeah, Woz, you’re kind of being a hypocrite here. Criticizing a woman for wanting to reconnect with an old friend/mentor, while unable to get over the urge to lord over having been Geiz’s superior. GEIZ has a point in his anger. WOZ is just being an ass. And Sougo hones directly in on this.

Kid’s got a decent Charisma stat, too.

When Amane picks up the photos, through to when Kenzaki calls for Hajime. That! The Background!

I think that’s a piano ballad version of “Zi-O: King of Time”!

OST when?

And, also, can we get another instance of Future Soldier in-show anytime soon?

Okay, okay, sorry, back to the show.

OH NOOOO.

Firstly, White!Woz summons the two into a fight.

Then he forcibly activates the Another Blade watch inside of Amane.

The transformation has a screen with Another Blade’s face appear and move over her, just like the card that appears when Kenzaki transforms.

Ow, my heart.

OH SHIT RIGHT.

These two episodes have made no effort to hide the green blood that both Kenzaki and Hajime have – from the miscolored bruises to actual bloodstains. And Undead can be ‘sealed’ away – that’s where the Rouze cards come from in the first place. Another Blade – no. Amane doesn’t want them to fight – doesn’t want them to have to fight. So she seals their powers. Their emblems move onto the Another Blade… armor, I guess is as good a word as any.

And now their wounds are red.

But she just took the powers of two Jokers, absorbing them into one person. Leaving one person with the Joker designation.

Herself.

Please note that I typed this immediately before restarting, only to watch the Sealing Stone appear.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and nobody feels fine.

Oh, the cinematography of this show. A beam visually separating Sougo and White!Woz from their angles on the stairs – it’s going the opposite direction, making an x with the handrail behind them.

We’re back to the question of “And then what?”.

White!Woz’s future is gone, the potential isn’t there anymore, so he’d rather there not be a future at all. I guess we’ll never see if my ‘a future frozen in an endless moment’ theory was right. Pity. I was wondering if they would go that route for him.

Oooh, an orchestral version of ‘Zi-O: King of Time’!

“You can’t just give up! What’s the use in assuming that it’s over?” Sougo is cheering on even his enemy this boy is not nearly as dark as he assumed in the Ryuki arc, oh my goodness. “You can’t say that any one future is set in stone, so keep trying, keep opposing us! I’ll... No. We’ll keep foiling your plans, but you can’t just give up on the world.”

And the orchestral theme just keeps rising in the background.

Oh… and Sougo said the same thing to Woz. Geiz says that he can’t stand living in the past. And, like I guessed last episode, in like, the fourth section of this liveblog… The past that they’ve lived is, technically, still in the future from where they are now. From Sougo’s perspective, and from the perspective of time itself, none of that has happened yet.

Besides, like Geiz is saying, they came to the past to change history anyway. They’re making a new future, all of them – Sougo, Tsukuyomi, and Geiz… and Woz.

“Do you want in?”

“… That sounds interesting.”

Hm. The Trinity watch – which is somehow successfully created by White!Woz – has all three of the current Belt Voices, doesn’t it? The two that the Ziku Driver uses and the high-pitched one from the BeyonDriver.

“If you use this, I will accept it.”

… accept what? The option to create a new future? The future that Sougo’s aiming for?

Nifty – the light from Regulus and the Day of Oma burns out the clouds from the Sealing Stone.

Pffft - ‘the light is guiding us’ no, no it’s not so much that…

(I love the ‘wtf is going on’ faces from Kenzaki and Hajime)

GEEZ Trinity’s basically a mini-Sentai mech, with all three of them in one place inside.

“Guys, no, I’m sorry, I know none of us know what is going on, but I have to take control for a second, I have to do my speech okay, it’s in my contract. This is not optional.”

I like how the hand on the clock moves to point to whoever’s in control of the body.

I really like how Trinity forms all of their weapons – and how they dissolve when discarded. Nice touch.

And I really like the triumphant section of ‘King of Time’ playing behind this fight.

...Regulus is shining still, brighter than before. With a ‘shine’ of pink, yellow, and green. Their colors.

“Why did you choose to let me stay?”

“Because I think you have more potential.”

White!Woz accepts that ‘his’ world will never exist, and that Sougo will create a better one. He goes out peacefully, and warning Black!Woz – no. Warning Woz that Sir Swartz is planning more than they know.

He goes out with a shimmer of golden motes of light, and the glitching effects that have been a key sign of time re-writing an existence.

Oma Zi-O: You’re almost done… only six more until you’re me.

Sougo: But what I don’t want to?

Daiki yoinked the Future Note. Show off.

Which, of course, creates a slight problem for me and my potential ‘fix it’ of Zi-O, down the line in the Re-United ‘verse. Or, rather, a complication.

See, the draft I’ve got has at minimum one of the Den-O’s and Zeronos ferrying Riders back and forth. THAT is how I plan to deal with the amnesia issue. Not warning them in the present and past, like I had planned. But having the ‘contemporary’ versions of them just. Sorta travel backward, and pretend that they’re the ones that from in the past. Just… ya know, keep their past selves unaware of what’s going on, take the brunt of temporary power removal. Fill in for themselves when Zi-O and Geiz meet them.

And I had everyone scheduling this from Tsukasa having somehow duplicated Black!Woz’s book when he grabbed it during the Ghost arc. I have never seen Decade, and have no idea if that would even be part of his powerset. But, like, Trinity just knocked off his ability to turn Riders into weapons and stuff, so. Ya know.

I’m apparently not that far off, if I can work Daiki into it. … need to watch Den-O and Decade first, but that’s just how it goes.

The complication is my stated ‘not wanting to touch on Zi-O’ aspect. I now admit that I want to handle it somehow, but if they keep airing concepts similar to ones I’ve been working on for months, I’m going to get accused of lying.

Arceus, Cosmos, and Gaim DAMNIT.

Of course, you may have noticed I skipped a scene there during the re-cap.

Because not for the first time, something has been saved by Zi-O taking powers away. I’m still decidedly not here for the amnesia concept, and I am not okay with the fact that certain characters have potentially been un-created – Ankh, Parad, Poppy and the like among them – but here’s the thing.

Both Kenzaki and Hajime remember being Blade and Chalice. They can properly retire – They’re both bleeding red. Hajime was never human to start with – he was using the Spirit card to be human. But he seems to be human now. The Blade and Chalice watches appear to have taken their Joker situation out of the picture.

Like how his intervention by introducing the father to Emu, who clearly went on to point him to Hiiro, saved the son during the Ex-Aid arc.

Like how the girls would have never gone missing during the Fourze and Faiz arc, to say nothing of Takumi and Kusaka being decidedly more alive than usual.

Like how Kaito also appears to be alive again after the Gaim arc.

And how neither the girl or her brother died in the Ghost arc.

How Rentaro can become Shinobi in a newly created potential future.

How Mondo got to meet his father.

… admittedly, his apparently re-creating the events of Ryuki might be a problem. I haven’t had a chance to watch any of the RIDER TIME specials, but I hear that’s what happened? Sorry, Shinji.

But here’s the thing. A not-insignificant number of things have turned out for the better… and as long as the ‘you were never riders’ thing can be… worked around…

Hmn.

((also, just a quick note, if you comment on any of the sections in here, I’d really appreciate it if you specify which statements you’re talking about. These recaps get really long, so... y’know, it’ll make it a little easier for a conversation.))

[zoadgo]

somewhere to begin | Raven/Shaw | The 100

Rating: General Audiences Words: 3461 Tags: Fluff, Casual Conversation, Canon Divergent, Canon Compliant, Romance while fleeing for your lives A/N: I know people are already writing fluff for them, and better than I can, but I love them and want them to be soft and happy. my note for this one was “ wherein Raven and Shaw try to have a light conversation and it isn’t light at all. this  is blatant fluff and also an ode to ‘raven reyes deserves better’”

tagging: @zavenkru

ao3

The gentle flicker of firelight on cave walls is soundtracked by quiet murmurs of conversation and light popping of wood. None of the people talking would risk any more noise than that, there’s no chance of any sort of exclamation or raucous argument such as Shaw is used to hearing. Everyone gathered here, secreted away in a vast network of caves and tunnels, knows how much danger they’re in right now. They glance around constantly, nervous and confident that at any moment McCreary and his thugs will come racing in to slaughter them all.

They’re right to be nervous, and Shaw knows it better than any of them. If they’re lucky, McCreary will be so consumed by rage when he finds them that he will just kill all of them. The unlucky will survive that, and he’ll keep them around, to torture and kill as the whims take him. Shaw keeps that knowledge to himself, though, and lets the others fear only death.

The risk of all that, of course, would be mitigated by him leaving. Shaw knows that his staying with the group only puts them more in harm's way, and he really ought to make his escape as soon as possible. Not for his sake, because whatever waits for him back in camp isn’t going to be pretty, but for the sake of all the refugees - well, one in particular, but everyone would benefit just the same. That’s why he’s kept himself separate, simply observing from his position in a dark corner of the main cave. His presence is dangerous, and he’s not the only one who knows it.

From across the room, Shaw can feel Echo’s eyes burn into him with naked intent. She hasn’t killed him yet, but he knows that she would, if she were given just a moment without someone nearby to stop her. Sometimes, when Shaw remembers some of the more horrific things McCreary has done in the name of extracting information, he thinks he ought to let her. It would be the correct thing to do, right? But if he’s being entirely honest, Shaw doesn’t want to die.

He makes very sure not to react to Echo’s attention, avoiding eye contact and trying not to tense up. It’s hard, especially without something to distract himself, only able to study one of the small fires in an effort to prevent himself from going over there and demanding she either kill him or move on already. Shaw’s pretty used to death threats after all his time with criminals, and he has to remind himself that Echo doesn’t have any real reason to restrain herself. The Eligius criminals couldn’t kill him, for the very same reason that she wants to.

Shaw holds out for a remarkably long time before the constant observance gets to him, and he pushes himself suddenly to his feet. Several people around him startle, so caught up in their own worry that the slightest change in their environment is a cause for alarm. Screw this, though. Screw sitting there as Echo fantasizes about his death, isolating himself in an effort to… what? He knows he’s not going to leave, he would have done so already if he were seriously inclined.

Shaw makes his way very intentionally past Echo, over to where Raven and Emori are seated, tinkering with some mechanical thing. Making weapons, he’s pretty sure he can deduce that much from the snippets of their conversation he picks up on. But the way they talk is that of the self-taught; he has no doubt that to themselves and each other they make sense, but the amount of half finished sentences leaves Shaw entirely unable to fully understand what they’re doing.

Emori notices his approach first and nudges Raven’s knee with her own, leaning over to whisper something as Raven looks up at him. Whatever it was startles a smile and a half-laugh from Raven, which Shaw can’t help but smile in response to. There’s something about her that makes it impossible for him to hold his composure, especially when they’re not actively in danger, and her smile is brighter than the campfires littered around them.

As Shaw reaches them, Emori stands and passes by him, leaving him alone with Raven with no comment other than a conspiratorial wink. He nods at her as she leaves; Shaw likes her, at least as well as he can given their brief interactions. He likes her even more now, though, for giving him time alone with Raven.

“Shaw,” Raven greets him warmly, still seated amidst a pile of scrap metal, and Shaw is tempted to take a seat right next to her. But the hair on the back of his neck stands, and he glances over his shoulder to see Echo still watching him.

“Is there somewhere more private we could go?” Shaw asks, thinking only of getting away from the obsessive assassin. Raven perks up and starts to push herself to her feet immediately, taking Shaw’s hand when he offers it to her for assistance.

“Yeah, let’s just-” Raven cuts off and looks around the central cave for a moment before spying Emori again, gesturing with her chin. “Come on.”

Shaw is more than happy to follow her as she walks over and makes a vague excuse, saying that they’re going to go see if there’s any other ways into the cave system. Not that there’s any chance of that, of course, these caves were all well explored and mapped as soon as they took up base here. But it lets someone know where they are, and gives them a reason for Shaw to follow behind Raven, picking up a torch as they cut out of the main cave into one of the tunnels branching off of it.

Until they step finally out of sight, Shaw swears he can feel Echo watching him, and he has no reason to doubt that feeling at this point. He sighs with relief as the light of the main cave fades, leaving him alone with Raven and their single torch.

“She really wants to kill me, huh?” Shaw thinks out loud, and Raven looks over her shoulder at him with her eyebrow raised.

“Echo?” At Shaw’s nod, Raven shrugs a shoulder in an awkward gesture. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she does and you should never be alone with her, but it’s not anything personal.”

“Gonna be honest, it’s hard not to take that personally,” Shaw jokes, and Raven gives him a half smile for his efforts.

“Yeah, I get that, but it’s- here.” Raven kicks a few rocks and holds her hand out, reaching towards the torch that Shaw gives up without question. She plants it in between a few rocks, and then sits on a natural sort of chair made by the rock wall, stretching her leg out in front of her with a sigh of relief. She looks up at him expectantly and pats the rock ledge next to her when Shaw doesn’t seat himself right away.

“As I was saying, it really isn’t personal.” Raven picks her train of thought back up, looking at the rocks on the other side of the tunnel as Shaw indulges himself in turning to look at her. “How much do you know of her world? In between yours and now, I mean.”

Shaw tries to recall all that he knows and comes up relatively short. Kane’s told Diyoza some of it, Clarke gave them a brief history, but he himself doesn’t know a lot of details. “Some of it. Nukes wiped out most of the planet, people formed tribes or something in the wake of it.”

“Kru,” Raven corrects him. “And while you’re not wrong, there’s a lot more than that. For Echo, she was raised from infancy to be a spy and an assassin. All she ever knew was serving her King and her people. Some of the stuff she’s told us- Well, it’s not pretty. She did everything she could for them, and then she was cast out, and that’s where we came in. We picked her up right before the world ended again, and we’ve tried to help her grow and figure out who she is beyond what she was made to be. And she has, but-”

Raven frowns for a second, gathering her thoughts, “She thinks you’re a threat to us. And she’ll do anything to keep us safe. So, while she does want to kill you, it’s not because she doesn’t like you or thinks you deserve to die. It’s the best way she knows to keep us safe. When you grow up and all you know is killing and death, it’s hard to think of any other way.”

“I get it,” Shaw admits, “I definitely understand wanting to keep you safe. It would be nice if I didn’t have to die for it, though.”

Raven laughs lightly, “Yeah, that would be nice. Stick by me, and you’ll be safe. The one thing she’s more afraid of than us getting hurt, is disappointing us and getting cast out again.”

“That’s-” Shaw thinks about it, about what kind of person Echo must be and what she must have gone through that she would let a known threat live just to avoid being left alone, and he can’t deny it touches him. “That’s really sad.”

Raven, somewhat to his surprise, simply shrugs. He wonders at that, if she genuinely doesn’t think that’s sad, or if she’s experienced so much else that it seems like nothing in comparison. He realizes, not for the first time, that he doesn’t know that much about Raven. She had a rough childhood that he understands a little too well, but surely in between then and now there must have been something other than tragedy.

“I guess I was the one who made it not a casual conversation this time, huh?” Shaw attempts to lift the mood and change the subject, and Raven turns her head to grin at him.

“Well now we’re both culprits of that, I guess.” Raven stretches her arms above her head with a small grunt and drops them to her leg, idly massaging it. “Honestly I don’t even know what a casual conversation would be at this point.”

Shaw wants to ask about her leg, but he knows that’s not going to be less tragic. He wants to know everything about her, the good and the bad, but now isn’t the time for that. They need a distraction from the awfulness of the world, not a reminder.

“Well, you could tell me about what it was like back on the Ark, maybe. What you did before you had to save to world all the time.” Shaw bumps her shoulder with his in a playful move. She doesn’t shrug off the contact, and to his delight, she even leans against him a litte.

“That seems like so long ago,” Raven chuckles, leaning into him further. Shaw barely controls the urge to put his arm around her and hold her to his chest. One day, maybe, but they’ve barely talked beyond life or death yet. “I was a Zero G mechanic. Youngest in 52 years.”

Shaw whistles, low and impressed, “Damn, I knew you were smart, but…”

“It’s what I’m good at. Fixing things, making something work with some electrical tape and a prayer. I mean, hell, I built most of the things we were using down here before Praimfiya, or at least drew up the plans for them.” Raven speaks plainly, not bragging, even though Shaw wouldn’t blame her for it. He’s gone up against her in a battle of wits and come out the poorer. “I guess that’s when I’m happiest, when I get to take a mess or something broken, and then I get to make it work.”

“So when did you get into coding?” Shaw asks, remembering her locking him out of his own ship. Not that a Zero G mechanic couldn’t learn how to hack, but he doubts that it was in her curriculum.

“I picked up bits and pieces that we needed to know on the Ark, but most of that was ALIE. She was a bitch and a half, but there were upsides to it.” Raven says, nonchalant.

Shaw racks his brain for a moment, but comes up dry. If Clarke or Kane had told them about ALIE, he either wasn’t privy to it, or had somehow forgotten it in with everything else. Admittedly, it had been an eventful hundred years, and he hadn’t had much time to study his recent history.

“Who was ALIE, again?” Shaw asks, and Raven hums pensively for a brief moment.

“She was an AI. Ran the City of Light, a virtual network in which everyone was… ‘perfect’.” She makes the air quotes around the word with her fingers. “Just put this chip in your body, and she’d take you there. No pain, no hate, no suffering. And no free will. She used me to further her plans, and I became one with her mainframe and coding. I could learn it all, it was just as easy as breathing. Even after Clarke and Bellamy saved me, I retained a lot of it. That almost killed me, though.”

Raven snorts at that, as if the concept of her almost dying is funny, and Shaw frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they fried the chip in me with an EMP, and it left some nasty gunk in my brain. I started having hallucinations and seizures. Don’t worry, though, I’m better now.” Raven pats Shaw’s leg, to comfort him even though she’s the one who had such a horrifying thing happen to her, nevermind all the implications that Shaw actively decides not to pursue in that moment with being wired into an AI.

“That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you just get better from,” Shaw insists, concerned despite Raven’s flippant tone and effort at comfort. She’s at the same time awe inspiring and concerning; that she could treat death so lightly, and also that she clearly is far too well acquainted with the matter.

“Well, not exactly. I figured out a way to fix it right before Praimfiya. It was risky, but if I didn’t try, I was definitely going to die. I figured that lowering my heart rate and brain activity to near death levels in an ice bath and then kick starting my system back into action would work, and it did. Hard reset,” Raven explains, in the same tone of voice she’d used to describe building tech for her people.

“So basically, you tried ‘turning it off and turning it back on again’?” Shaw asks, shocked that she had managed to come up with that solution, and doubly so that it had worked and not just killed her outright.

“Yeah, basically. It almost didn’t matter in the end, though.”

“How so?” Shaw prompts, and Raven shrugs, her shoulder pressing into his arm.

“I was alone in the lab, and like I said, impending death wave. I thought I was going to die there, even after everything I went through to live, just because no one would come get me.” Raven seems a little sad at that, but in a casual way, as if over the loss of a nice jacket, not her own life.

“Wait, you hard reset your entire body, basically dying and coming back to life, and you were alone during that?” Shaw doesn't even try to hide the baffled surprise in his voice. It was terrifying enough to imagine going through that, but alone? That means she must have had to restart her own heart, and after coming back from death, she would have had no one there to hold her and tell her it’s okay.

No wonder Raven is so flippant about dying.

“Well, n-” Raven cuts off whatever she was going to say with a sad little frown and a far away look, before shaking her head slightly. “Yeah, I was alone. But it’s fine, really Shaw, I’m okay.”

“No, Raven, it’s not okay. You’re fine now, I get that, but,” Shaw doesn’t even hesitate before taking Raven’s hand in his, “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have needed to die.”

“We’re all alone in the end, Shaw.” Raven sighs, but she doesn’t pull away from him. With her free hand, she starts tracing the tendons on the back of Shaw’s hand, and for all the sombre mood, he can’t help the happy fluttering of his heart. “And we certainly all die.”

“No, I don’t accept that.” Shaw shakes his head, and Raven looks up at him, her brow furrowed in a quizzical expression. “We all die - hell, right now we might die at any minute - but we don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone.”

“What, are you going to be with me every second from now until I die?” Raven asks, a dark sort of humour turning up the corners of her mouth, and Shaw gives her a small smile in return.

“Maybe. I’ll do my best.”

Raven looks away from him at that, towards the far wall of the tunnel, but she doesn’t pull away. He wonders, sometimes, if maybe he’s coming on a bit too strong, but nothing he’s done so far seems to have scared her off. He can’t really imagine Raven being scared of anything, let alone him and his awkward, century-out-of-date courtship. So Shaw lets the silence grow, until eventually Raven breaks it.

“Do you like me?” She asks, not quiet and shy, gaze diverted to their joined hands, her fingers never pausing in tracing lines on the back of his hand.

“I thought I was pretty obvious about it.” Shaw laughs, a little self-conscious, but continues with total sincerity, “Yes, I like you.”

Raven’s hands still, and Shaw wonders for a moment if he’d done something wrong. He had thought their flirting was mutual, but then again, he's more than a little but out of practice with the whole deal. Plus, Raven's from an entirely different time and culture than him, it's entirely possible he'd been misreading everything.

“Then why haven't you made a move on me?” Ravena asks, and Shaw’s heart starts beating again as relief floods through him. Raven looks up at him, something close to accusation but much more vulnerable in her gaze. “You haven't even tried to kiss me.”

“Somehow it just didn’t seem right. You know, you were our prisoner, and then I was all beat up and- Well, the moment hasn’t been right. Running for our lives and being at war isn’t the most romantic, you know?”

“Romantic, huh?” Raven scoffs lightly and shakes her head, “Shaw, I was raised in space on strict rations under a totalitarian government, and then I came to Earth and the world has been ending in one way or another ever since. I can’t say romance has ever been high on my list of priorities, if that’s what’s holding you back.”

Shaw shrugs a little and leans forward slightly, as if conspiring about some secret with Raven. “Well, I happen to come from a different time, and believe me when I say that if there’s anyone in the world who’s ever been deserving of romance, it’s you, Raven Reyes.” Shaw savours the taste of her name on his tongue and his heart skips a beat at the slight flush that darkens her cheeks. If only they could have met before, how he would love to just take her away on his Harley and shoot the shit with her for hours. Maybe someday, they can do something like that. Shaw clears his throat and continues with a smile, “And I’d like to be the one to give you that, if you let me.”

Shaw has never seen Raven at a loss for words, but in this moment she seems to stumble for them, and Shaw’s heart swells at it. It’s incredible, to be able to have such an effect on such an incredible woman, and also sad to think that the reason she’s blushing is possibly that no one has ever paid her such a sincere compliment before. Of all the injustices in the world, this is one Shaw can’t abide.

“Yeah,” Raven replies after a moment, and Shaw’s grin grows. “I think I’d like that.”

“Well, then,” Shaw looks away from her at the firelight dancing on the rock walls around them. He raises one of her hands in his and returns his gaze to hers, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a chaste kiss. “This isn’t a bad place to start.”

[lxveille]

Hewwo~ can I request 68 + Joshua? boy needs more love uwu

100 ways to say i love you (requests closed)WC: ~ 2050 ; scifi!AU

You find Joshua at the back exit of the bar. Just outside that heavy door marked only as a fire exit for the patrons outside is the favored break spot for the Odd End’s employees. And Joshua had certainly earned more than five-minute break, what with the bruise he’s tending to on his cheek. Just one of the hazards of the job when you sometimes have to be the one telling seasoned galactic travelers that they’ve had too much to drink. Or that their payscan hadn’t been verified.   

“How you doing out here?” you ask, offering him a fresh pack of ice.

Joshua sighs and accepts the wrapped bundle with a grateful smile. “I’m okay, really. I could’ve guessed the guy’d react that way he did. I cut him off anyway.”

You lean against the wall beside him, glad for a bit of reprieve from the thudding music that carries on just inside. “No one could fault you for not following the rules,” you comment, staring up at where there had once been stars. Light pollution from the city and the build-up of new space habitats and intergalactic ports in orbit around you had long killed any glimpses the ground-bound could get of the worlds beyond.

“Lot of good it’s ever done me,” Josh says with a familiar edge of resentment that doesn’t suit his pleasant demeanor and welcoming smiles. But you understand why. The rules are what say he’s only qualified for terrestrial work. Merits like that might as well be a prison sentence. Very little work nowadays doesn’t require at least minimal departure credentials.

You understand not just from compassion, but from the struggle you’d had finding a job yourself.

When you started at the Odd End, your manager had said point blank the good thing about hiring earthbounds is that you’ll never be able to leave for a better bartending job on one of those cruisers or life centers. Which would still be a pretty shit job – but at least you’d be off of this last-limbed planet.

“It’s about to be last call. You wanna come in to see if you can get some sympathy tips off of that bruise?” you suggest, squeezing the mostly melted ice of the a pack you’d taken off of Joshua’s hands.

Joshua scoffs, but there’s a faint smile on his lips as he looks down at his shoes. “I’m okay. I’ll help you with clean-up, though.”

“If you say so,” you stand up straight, sending a last reassuring smile his way, “See you soon, then.”

The Odd End after closing is a desolate place. Once all the neon lights are switched the for dim fluorescent overheads, it becomes obvious that the metallics of the bar and tables are just cheap coverings over aging furniture. There are sticky floors to be mopped up and carelessly abandoned belongings to be gathered for the lost and found. More often than not, things lost at the Odd End are never retrieved, not unless it’s something of real value like a wallet or ID or keys.

But it’s during clean-up that you get a chance to really talk with Joshua. A small thing that’s come to mean more to you over the past year since he became your coworker. The volume during operating hours makes any real bonding difficult to accomplish. Though there were plenty of shared, sympathetic glances exchanged when clients ordered complex drinks or complained about the taste as soon as they took a sip of exactly what they ordered.

Those things pale in comparison to the conversations you get into when the place starts to smell more like cleaner than mixed perfumes and hard liquor. Often you share second-hand stories from friends or patrons about what life is like off of Earth. Other times, you’d recount the personal journeys that’d brought you both here.

Neither of you were born in this city. And no one really just happens to end up in one of Earth’s most prominent dock-in cities for space travelers. Joshua told you his story early on: how he’d visited the city once as a kid. How he’d fallen in love with the planetarium; how he fell for everything the city promised about the universe. How it was the only place he could see himself once his final credential decision came in. If he couldn’t be part of the world beyond this planet, he at least wanted to be as close to the heart of it as he could be.

But your talks are not always so serious. Quite often, they end up with both of you laughing over something minuscule. There’s too many jokes to count that have made no sense at all when you try to retell them to someone other than Joshua. And the two of you will wind up sticking around even after the bar is done being cleaned, talking until the sun starts to peek up from the horizon remind you that you really ought to have gone home quite some time ago.

It’s no wonder, really, that some of your friends have already caught on to your infatuation with Joshua.

His bruise has only just disappeared off his skin when you recognize Choi Seungcheol sauntering into the Odd End late one night.

Before he, or any of the boys entering after him, can make their way up to the bar to place orders, you grab hold of Joshua’s arm just as he’s finishing up serving another customer. “You see the guys that just came in?” you ask him quietly, shooting a quick glance over your shoulder. Joshua follows your gaze before nodding, brows already creased in concern. “Okay. Trust me – something weird might happen with their cards when they pay, but don’t question it, alright? Unless you’re looking for another black eye.”

“Wait, what kind of weird?”

“Like, if the system looks like it’s glitching just before the payment processing goes through.”

“Isn’t that usually a sign the card’s not linked up to a legit fundsholder?”

“The money will come in either way. These guys are good for credit.”

“It’s against the law to —”

“They know. This is probably the least illegal thing they do.”

Joshua frowns, taking another glance at the group pushing a few tables in order to sit all together. “So we’re taking dirty money now?”

“Look, I’ve been through this with the boss. The policy’s not to care where they get it along as the payment comes through,” you tell him with hushed certainty, “I just don’t want you to end up in another argument that ends badly.”

Before Joshua can reply, a familiar voice interrupts to remark, “Glad to see you’ve still got a job here.”

You raise your brow at your coworker, hoping he’ll take it as a wordless reminder to remember what you’d just told him before putting on a smile and turning around to take Seungcheol’s order.

“Glad to see you made it back to Earth safely,” you return the greeting, reaching for a pint glass before he even says what he wants. “It’s been a while. I was starting to think you must’ve had an oxygen malfunction on your ship or something. Having your usual?”

Seungcheol laughs and nods in regard to your last question. “You know a whole lot about how oxygen systems work on spacecrafts?” he teases; he holds up his hands in surrender as you shoot him a frown from the draft system. “Went out a bit further than usual. Always good to come back home to the galaxy’s best dive, though.”

“You’re not getting shit on the house just because you’re a sweet talker, Captain Choi,” you tell him as you set the full glass of beer in front of him on the bar. You nod your head back towards his already noisy crew members. “You’ve picked up some new faces since the last time you came by.”

“Well, it has been a while.” Seungcheol shrugs and pulls his drink a little closer to him. “It’s a growing industry.”

“Piracy?” you put blatantly, leaning into the counter top between the two of you.

He gives you a shameless, mischievous grin. “I mean, the more regulations they put out, the easier it is to break one or two.”

You roll your eyes and ask if you can get anything for the waiting table.

“Is there a thing with you and that smuggler captain?” Joshua asks once the lights are up and the bar is emptied out of everyone but you two.

“Seungcheol?” As if it isn’t obvious who he’s referring to. “Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t look up from the table he’s wiping down as he shrugs. “You two seemed friendly.”

“He was a regular back when I first started working here. He helped me out a couple times back before I knew how to stand up to stubborn drunks myself.”

“It’s hard to imagine you not knowing how to do that,” Joshua comments, looking up with a half smile you hope means he’s dropped the idea of you and Seungcheol having some complicated arrangement. “So you really trust him, then?”

You pause before nodding. “In the long run, yeah.”

“But you still had to warn me so I wouldn’t end up getting punched by him?”

“He’s still a criminal who was gonna get drunk, so… Yeah.”

Joshua shakes his head and moves on to the next table. “I did get to talking with one of them,” he tells you after a few moments of silence tick by. “Jeonghan, he said his name was.”

“And you think it was a fake name or something?” you ask, setting dried glasses back into their places.

“No, not that,” he laughs and starts making slower circles with the rag he’s using to clean. “It was interesting, the story he gave of how he came to be part of this group of Seungcheol’s.”

“Alright, I’ll bite,” you reply, stilling your busy hands to direct your attention to Joshua properly. He’s still acting as if he’s focused exclusively on his current chore; his back turned to you as his hand moves slower over the metal facade of the table. “How’d he end up with them?”

“Well, his final assessment only gave him the bare minimum of travel credentials. Apparently he was working stockage on one of the geo-synched life stations when he met Seungcheol.”

“And..?”

Joshua shrugs and turns to look at you over his shoulder. “I guess the advantage to the criminal thing is they don’t really care where the government say you’re allowed to go.”

It’s not until later, when you and Joshua are locking up the Odd End and getting ready to head home for the night – or, for the early morning, as it is ��� that his comment settles in properly.

You’re walking with him down the deserted sidewalk of near-dawn, a comfortable silence settled over the two of you as exhaustion from your long shifts hits you both entirely.

“Joshua,” you begin without knowing how you even want to go about voicing your concern. He hums to let you know he’s listening. “You’d tell me if you were planning on doing something… stupid, right?”

“Do you wanna define ‘stupid’?” he asks. The smile he sends your way has an undertone of embarrassment, like he hadn’t expected you to catch on so easily.

“Like, running away from Earth with a crew of pirates and smugglers? That’s the kind of stupid I had in mind, mostly.”

He stops at the corner, obeying the sign indicating not to cross despite the lack of cars in the street. “Yeah, I’ll tell you,” he reassures. And you notice he’s not speaking in the conditional. It’s future; a promise of intent.

You scan the flashing billboards overhead and curl your fingers into your palm, nervous to say the only thing you can think of. The walk light comes on before you work up the nerve, and Joshua nudges you lightly with his shoulder to prompt you back into step beside him.

“Would you invite me along with you?” you manage half a block later.

Joshua doesn’t have to deliberate over his answer. “Of course I will.” He slips an arms over your shoulders, pulling you into a kind of side-hug without breaking either of your strides. “You didn’t have to ask.”

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where

Once again, our heroes sit down and try to figure out what happens next with their now larger and much more complicated party.

Of course, the same principle applied to their actions as to Totenkopf's – just because they knew what they needed to do didn't mean they knew how to do it.

“So now what?” asked Dr. Wilson. “What do we do, just go to the Orkneys and check all the henges one by one? How many are there?”

“Well, we know we don't need to check the Twelve Apostles because I can already see that's not the one,” said DI Carter. “But yeah, there've got to be dozens. Probably way more that have fallen down and nobody knows about them anymore.”

“Well, there's gotta be a better way than visiting them all,” Dr. Wilson said. “We'll be there until next year! How were you planning on finding it, way back when?” he asked Sir Stephen. “Did you have, I don't know, a mystical druid or somebody who was going to show you the way?”

“No,” Sir Stephen admitted. “As you say, we thought we would simply visit them all in turn until we found the one that matched the map. We think the Red Death had a way to rule them out, but we never knew for sure.”

“We do know a couple of things,” said DI Carter. “We know it's thirteen stones, and we know they're not in a circle...”

“Medieval maps aren't known for their accurate cartography,” Natasha said dubiously, “and we don't even know for sure it's a stone circle. That's just what Sir Steve thinks it is. Maybe it's a riddle instead of a map.”

DI Carter shook her head. “We've got to make some assumptions or it's like Dr. Wilson said – we'll be here for months,” she said. “In the force, if we have unknowns we start with the strictest set of criteria and rule those possibilities out first, and only then do we cast our net a little wider. So we'll start with thirteen stones in an oval.” She looked around at the pictures and bookshelves on the walls. “This is an archaeology department,” she observed. “Do you have, I don't know, some kind of list of henges in the Orkneys? Preferably with maps?”

“Yes!” squealed Sue. “We do!”

Her voice sounded so odd that everybody turned to look at her, and when they did they found her eyes wide and her hands held out, as if she were terrified and grabbing at the one straw of a thing she understood here. “Lau's Enquête sur l'Ecosse Néolithique! I found it mis-shelved in the Spanish section of the faculty library at the end of last term! I'll go get it right away!” she said, and literally ran out the door to find the room.

“Uh... is she gonna be okay?” asked Rushman.

“I hope so,” said Nat. Sue was an organizer – her job as department secretary was to keep things in order for a dozen scatterbrained professors. Her world needed to make meticulous sense and she'd just witnessed something that made no sense whatsover. Nat could only be grateful that she hadn't been present for Zola's transformation, or the poor woman would probably have lost her mind.

“We have it!” Sue shouted through the wall. “Here it is!”

She bustled back into the room with a very large hardcover book bound in blue canvas – if the cover had ever had a paper sleeve, it had fallen apart long ago. Sue put it down on her desk and opened it so she could fold out a map for them. “This should be just what your research requires,” she declared. “Come on, let's get you all comfortable in the meeting room, and I'll see if I can find you some cookies.” Her voice had a high-pitched, desperate edge to it that made Natasha think she was going to pass out at any moment.

Nat went and reached out a hand, but did not actually touch the woman. “Sue,” she said, “I know I'm not the department head, but... why don't you take the rest of the day off.” People had their weirdness threshholds and Sue had clearly reached hers.

Sue grabbed Nat's arm. The relief in her face was obvious, and it was merely a bit of politeness that she asked, “are you sure?”

“Very sure,” said Nat. “Go visit Brandon or something. I bet he misses you.”

“Oh, thank you, Natalie,” said Sue. “I do think I need a break. Yes, thank you very much.”

“You're welcome.” Nat patted her shoulder, and the others made way for her to bustle out of the room.

Natasha locked the office door so they wouldn't be disturbed, and everybody got themselves settled into the library. This was a tiny room behind Sue's office, crammed with bookshelves that just barely left room for a table and chairs. The shelves held everything from textbooks of old English to more archaeological surveys to a disintegrating Penguin Classics edition of the Prose Eddas, and there was a single small window, above the radiator, that looked out on the car park. Through this, Nat could see Sue getting into her car. Hopefully she would be okay. Natasha liked Sue.

There were four chairs in the library, but with Allen Rushman there were now five people in their party, so Natasha parked herself on the edge of the table as she opened the book for Sir Stephen. When she thought about it, the Enquête sur l'Ecosse Néolithique was a perfect piece of the modern world – a book about Scotland, written in French, by a man who'd been born in Taipei. When else in human history would you find something like that?

It was also exactly what they needed – one of the appendices included detailed survey maps of all the larger known stone circles in Scotland, all to scale and with north at the top, and documenting the suspected locations of missing stones. If any trace of their circle still existed, it ought to be in there. She turned to the section with the fold-out maps, and slid it across the table to Sir Stephen. “Look through this,” she told him. “If you find any that look like your ring, put one of these on it so it sticks out at the side.” She gave him a package of post-it notes. “They're sticky.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Stephen, and reverently unfolded the first map. He would be from an age when books were rare and precious, she observed. They wouldn't have to worry about him being rough with them. “I had not expected any part of my quest to take place in a library,” he added.

“I'd say libraries are where most questing goes on these days,” said Natasha.

In order not to distract him, the rest of them filed back out into Sue's office, where there were more chairs and more space not to feel like they were sardines in a book-liken can. Rushman went to pour himself another cup of coffee, the first one having been spilled when Natasha attacked him. Dr. Wilson wandered around looking at the posters and replica artefacts that decorated the room, and DI Carter checked her email.

“Hughes identified the blood from the warehouse floor,” she announced.

“Pierce's?” asked Nat. She wasn't sure if that would surprise her or not. She had a feeling Mr. Pierce, trying to convince her his statues were real, was not merely a victim in this after all... but she was also plenty familiar with people who turned on their allies the moment they were no longer useful.

“No. It's a guy named Mick O'Herlihy. We had his profile because he'd been arrested for breaking into people's cars six years ago. We did community service and we let him go.” Carter frowned. “Why is his name familiar?”

“The Loch Ness Monster guy was O'Herlihy,” said Nat. Could they be relatives? Or was this just a coincidence.

“Oh, right.” Carter nodded. “That's why. Anyway, she says she's gonna work on the shield right away, but it might be a problem getting DNA off of something made of beat-up wood and leather. She's as likely to get a profile for the tree or the cow as for whoever bled on it.”

“Fair enough,” said Natasha. Now they just had to wait for Sir Stephen to find a match, if one even existed. In the mean time... she looked over at Rushman. What the hell was she going to do about him?

He looked back at her, and ventured a timid smile. “So, uh, who are your friends?” he asked uncomfortably. He was trying to sound as if everything were normal. He knew it was not.

Natasha thought of telling him that they weren't really friends, but didn't feel it was worth it. “Well, that's Detective Inspector Sharon Carter from Inverness.”

“Hi,” said Carter.

“Nice to meet you, Inspector.” Rushman stood up straight to shake her hand.

“This is Dr. Sam Wilson, who worked at Raigmore Hospital,” Nat went on.

Rushman shook his hand, too. “That was a terrible thing to hear about,” he said, referring to the hospital falling down. “Any clue who did it yet? Has anyone claimed responsibility?”

“I don't know,” Dr. Wilson said. “I've been pretty busy.”

“We're working on it,” Carter promised.

“And the guy we left in the other room is Sir Stephen of Rogsey,” Natasha finished. “He's a Saxon knight from the eleventh century. Or at least, he thinks he is.” The unspoken corollary hung in the air: like you think you're my father.

“I see,” said Rushman. “And, uh... what are you all doing with the stone circle thing?”

“We're on a quest,” said Carter, in a perfect deadpan. “We seek the Holy Grail.”

Rushman seemed to decide that made about as much sense as any of the rest of it. “I'm not sure what kind of help I can be with that,” he said. “I've only seen the movie... I've been to Stonehenge, though,” he offered, and smiled at Natasha. “That was your Mom and I's second honeymoon, remember? You stayed with your aunt in the city, and she said she took you to the museum...” his voice trailed off as Natasha shook her head.

“I don't remember,” she said.

She felt a little bad for him honestly. In Rushman's own mind, he'd come all this way to see a daughter who'd thrown him on the floor and told him he didn't exist... or had he? Maybe that was just what Zola, or somebody else, wanted Natasha to think? She couldn't shake the feeling that this was deliberately playing on her emotions, giving her something she'd always wished she had in an attempt to weaken her. Maybe to soften her belief in objective truth, the kind she tried to uncover in mossy ruins and smashed pottery, and make her more open to some alternate version of reality. That was what Zola had said in the police station: truth is something we make up. This was certainly an ample demonstration.

“So your parents left you, huh?” Rushman asked.

“I'm sure they had their reasons,” Nat told him. She'd hated them for it once, but since then she'd come to realize that the world was more complicated. “That was during the end days of the USSR, shortly after Chernobyl. Maybe they had no money. Maybe they were dying of radiation sickness.” Either way, she liked to hope they hadn't actually known who they were leaving her with. If they'd believed their daughter had been raised and loved... well, that was just another beautiful lie, wasn't it?

“Well, on their behalf, I apologize,” said Rushman. “They don't know what they missed.”

“They didn't miss anything,” said Nat. “Whatever you remember about me isn't real. I never did any of that.”

“You were never in ballet recitals?” He smiled kindly. “Never built snowmen? You weren't your high school valedictorian?”

Nat shook her head. “None of that,” she said.

“Oh.” He fell silent, and Nat couldn't help feeling like she'd robbed him of something.

For a moment Rushman just stood swirling his coffee. Then he drained the cup and put it down on the table.

“I came here to see you,” he told Natasha. “If you don't want to see me, I guess I might as well just go home.”

Nat's gut reaction was that this was a terrible idea. If he were something Zola had created, somebody they couldn't trust, then she didn't want him out of her sight. Keep your friends close, the saying went, but your enemies closer. Besides, there was another complicating factor.

“Do you have a home?” Nat asked. His address in Manhasset was for an empty lot, and his phone number didn't exist. His credit cards and passport probably didn't either. What would happen if he tried to go home? What would happen when he got there?

“Of course I do,” he said. “I was just there last night!”

“You didn't even exist last night,” said Nat. She sighed. “We'll figure something out.”

There was something else, too – if Natasha wasn't sure she could trust Rushman, then how did she know she could trust Sir Stephen? He seemed to believe he was in the right, but was he? After all, his goal was the same as he claimed the bad guys' was, to find the Holy Grail.

Maybe that was the real reason Nat liked archaeology, she thought. It was full of puzzles and politics, but none of them had immediate consequences. If DI Carter had been investigating the case of a man accused of murdering his two young nephews in order to steal their inheriance, it would be a case with grieving relatives and demands for justice, not to mention the national scandal if they'd been members of the royal family. If Nat were doing it, then King Richard III and the Princes in the Tower were long dead, and historians and archaeologists could theorize however they wanted without worrying that they were ruining somebody's life. When you made it real, it just wasn't fun anymore.

[the-knights-who-say-book]

this is a story about a sorcerer and a knight. well, a knight-in-training. they go by KiT, a nickname for their title, but a perfectly good name for anyone. kit’s a good squire, for the most part, but they have a knack for getting into trouble.

this time the trouble is they just fuckin decked another knight in the middle of the tavern.

“keep your hands off my friend,” kit tells the shocked personification of grossness, now sitting on his ass on the ground. kit’s pretty sure the message was already sent though the ass-kicking, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.

the man splutters for a minute before finding his tongue. “you— you— you piece of shit, you’ll pay for this. i have powerful friends.”

“bring it on,” kit retorts. they’re feeling pretty confident right now.

they’re feeling significantly less confident as two other men step up behind the first guy.

“outside,” the first growls.

“we’re zit and wedge, and we’re going to kick your ass,” the second one clarifies. 

zit nods. “but we don’t want to make a mess of you on mal’s floor, since it was just scrubbed and all.”

kit glances at mal, who they rather thought was a friend, to find her nodding appreciatively. “brawlers these days are so polite. out you three go.”

kit wilts. “but… there’s just one of me.”

it’s around this time, when the two other guys are starting to crack their knuckles and look like they’re going to drag kit outside whether they like it or not, that someone else pushes their way through the small crowd that’s forming.

“’scuse me, pardon me. hello. what’s going on here?”

she’s got bright blue hair, of the kind that you get from mucking around with magic too much. everyone immediately reassesses the situation, and watches her warily. a sorcerer can quickly change the way a brawl plays out, if they feel like intervening. kit sincerely hopes she does.

“miss,” zit jumps in before kit can get a word in, “this young… person, here, just brutally attacked my poor friend, and me and wedge think we ought to be able to teach them a lesson in manners.”

the sorcerer studies him for a moment, as if considering his statement, and kit grabs their chance.

“pimple here is completely leaving out the fact that their friend wouldn’t leave my friend alone, after she asked him to go away twice!”

zit bristles, and looks to the sorcerer for her judgment.

she considers for while. “can anyone vouch for this knight’s statement?”

“i was the one getting hit on!” tea shouts from behind kit’s shoulder.

the sorcerer digests the witness’s statement. “hm. i’m inclined to see this as a case of self-defense, through the channel of someone who was not the self being hit on. i would suggest that all the parties involved accept the ruling of “he who gets their ass kicked probably deserves it”, and move on.”

“fat chance,” wedge growls. “the pack sticks together. we have to defend our leader.”

werewolves, kit sighs internally. it just figured.

there’s a dramatic pause, then the sorcerer says cooly, “you try it, and you’ll get your asses kicked too.”

zit and wedge eye her warily. kit eyes all three of them, which is hard with only two eyes.

“i reckon we could take a sorcerer,” wedge hypothesizes— an idea that would be quickly proven false in any laboratory experiment.

but this is a tavern, and the sorcerer has a delayed reaction, only raising her hands when zit charges at her. kit flinches back, sure she’s about to be crushed, but the next moment flames explode in the small space between the sorcerer and zit. there’s a yelp, and mad scrambling back from the sorcerer.

“i have nowhere to be until book club at midnight,” the sorcerer informs them calmly, her hands still out, palms up and ready to summon more flame. kit squints at them. “so i have plenty of time to teach you a lesson.”

apparently rescinding their hypothesis, all three werewolves make a mad dash for the door and disappear into the night.

the sorcerer smiles victoriously, and shakes her bright hair out of her face. kit squints at her scalp as she turns to them. “all good?”

“yes, thank you,” tea says, sounding impressed. “wow… a fire summoner. i didn’t know there were any teenagers powerful enough.”

kit has no other specific places to squint, so they just stare hard at the sorcerer’s face. “yeah… thanks. that was really cool.”

she waves their thanks off with one hand, a few strands of smoke issuing from her sleeves. “all in a day’s work. i’ll be off now.”

kit leaves tea with mal, though they frankly no longer trust her so much, and follows the sorcerer out the door. “hey, wait! you, blue hair magic person. what are you?”

“a masked vigilante,” she says, after a pause. “without the mask, because magic.”

kit blinks at that, before realizing she’s perfectly right. besides the definite ideas that she’s female and blue-haired, kit seems to forget what she looks like one moment to the next. kinda neat, honestly, though disconcerting.

they shake their head. “no, i mean… you’re not a sorcerer. i’ve seen people summon fire, and it comes from a loosely closed fist, not an open hand. also, your hair is dyed, not magically changed.”

she doesn’t answer for a moment, then looks stumped, and continues to not answer.

“well?” kit asks.

“fine,” she admits. “i’m a sorcerer in training, but the fake mask is about the most complicated magic i can do. the hair is so people will take me seriously when i do masked vigilante stuff.”

“and the fire?” kit persists.

after a moment, she shakes out her sleeve, sending a tiny purple dragon tumbling into her other hand. “my helper. my fire aid, if you will. you’re the first person to notice, you know?”

“just logic and being awesome,” kit says with a shrug, feeling pleased. neither are skills they get to show off a lot. they kinda feel like they’ve earned something for it. “hey, can i ask you a question?”

after a pause, the sorcerer in training says, “go for it.”

“why do you wait a second before responding to anything?”

their question is punctuated by a pause before she answers.

then the sorcerer motions kit closer, and tucks her hair behind her ears. the knight-in-training leans in, gaping. there’s a green dragon no longer than the length of one finger perched behind her ear, claws holding onto her piercings for balance. it unwedges one tiny wing to wave at them.

“what the fuck,” kit says, unable to find a reason for this from logic or being awesome.

“what the fuck,” the dragon repeats, pushing its snoot practically inside the sorcerer’s ear.

“this is peep,” she says. “my hearing is shit, so it helps me out. i call it my hearing aid.”

the draconian hearing aid preens under the knight-in-training’s stare.

“shit,” kit mumbles, for lack of better words.

“shit!” the dragon crows, gleefully.

[bonnissance]

I wish you would write a fic about the adventures of pastel bi Morven Digby, and the loves of her life, and the lesbian foster mum Bernie Wolfe, who tries to help her along the way.

AAU? more like GAyAU I think (a.k.a THE GAYU GAYAAU OF G A Y). AAU ensemble cast, teen rating, 2600+, (canon compliment fluff).

So this ended up being w a y longer than I’d originally anticipated, so it’s under the cut to save everyone’s dashes, and many thanks to the darling @biancagrieve​ for the beta and half the title :)

Bernie heaves yet another heavy sigh as she flips the patient file shut and thumps the now complete paperwork in the out tray. She sighs again, possibly even harder, as she looks at the still looming pile and sneers.

“Bloody Ric,” she grumbles to herself, “coming in here, demanding all paperwork get done but not doing any of it himself.” She purses her lips, grabs the next file, and picks up her pen again. “I mean, I know it’s my paperwork, but he could still lend a hand till I’ve shifted this backlog,” she reasons, “that’d be more useful than posturing around the ward all day.”

She knows it’s petty, even if it is a bit warranted, but sometimes grumbling is good for the soul. So Bernie grumbles as she works her way through some of the stack while the ward is quiet. She likes to thinks it’ll make the time move faster until her shift is over soon.

She is still grumbling at the now almost finished pile when she hears a knock at the door.

She looks up, sees Morven blinking back at her, decked in civvies and presumably already clocked off.

“Fancy coming to Albie’s tonight?” Morven asks, chipper and beaming at Bernie in the low light.

“Ah, probably not tonight, I want to get this bloody stack sorted.”

“Ric had another go at you about paperwork?” Morven ventures and Bernie smirks.

“You know it,” she says with a chuckle. “Albie’s another time?”

“Oh, okay, see you tomorrow,” Morven says, close to a sigh, and makes to leave.

Bernie mightn’t be the most skilled reader of humans in the world but she isn’t completely dense; if she didn’t know any better she’d think Morven looks downright dejected as her rebuff.

“What’s up?” she asks before Morven can turn to walk away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine, of course,” Morven reassures with a flap of her hand. Her face shifts as she seems to reconsider. “It’s just, ah, actually, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about?”

“Oh, okay.” She never liked the sound of “we need to talk”. “What’s Ric done now?”

“Oh, nothing!” Morven flaps again. “It’s not about the ward at all, and I, ah, I’d rather talk about it away from work, if we can?”

Bernie blinks, a bit confused, and wonders what it is that Morven needs to talk about, talk to her about, specifically.

“Ah, yeah, sure, of course.” Even if Morven has only asked to talk because everyone else she’s already reached out to hasn’t helped, she’s still asked for Bernie’s ear, and Bernie ever was one to leave a friend stranded. “Give me half an hour and I’ll meet you at the bar?”

Morven beams wide and nodded vigorously. “Great, I’ll see you there! Thank you!”

Bernie watches Morven as she races past the window and stops herself wondering what Morven wants to talk about. Instead, she turns her attention back the paperwork and does her level best to get it all finished before she leaves to find out what exactly it is that Morven needs to tell her.

*

Bernie walks into Albie’s and spies Morven sitting at the bar with an empty seat next to her, waiting for Bernie. She strides in, straddles the bar stool, and gets herself comfortable. She tries to flag down one of the bar staff.

“So,” Bernie prompts in lieu of a greeting. “What do you want to talk about?”

Morven snaps towards her, face shocked—Bernie notices the phone on her hand and assumes Morven had been too distracted to notice she’d arrived—before collecting herself and smiling. Bernie mumbles an apology and wonders what’s got Morven so jumpy. She is nervous, to say the least, and Bernie beings to wonder what Morven has to talk about it and why it has to be Bernie she talks about it to.

Morven brushes off the apology, says it’s nothing to worry about. The barman comes over and Bernie orders a glass of pinot gris. Bernie turns back to Morven and the look in her eye has Bernie more worried than ever and her brain goes to the absolute worse case scenario it can muster. The barman comes back and starts pouring as Bernie blurts out her suspicions.

“Has Cam got you pregnant?” Morven snaps her head towards Bernie and blinks. The barman keeps pouring the wine. Bernie’s hyper-anxious brain takes Morven’s silence as a “yes” and she just manages to keep herself from flying off the handle. “I’ll kill him, I swear to god,” Bernie rambles, reaching for her phone to give her son a right earful about safe sex precautions.

“What!” Morven’s shout gives her pause and Bernie looks up with her hand hovering over the call button. “No, god no, it’s nothing like that, I mean, we aren’t even together, I just—”

“You’re not?” She really ought to keep better track of what the kids are doing now days. She turns to her glass of wine, realises it’s ¾ full and the barman has slunk away rather than get caught in their conversation. She reminds herself to tip later.

“I mean, we’re not, we’re kinda dating, maybe?” Bernie frowns at Morven and carefully picks up her glass. “We, um, we both have things we need to figure out, about ourselves, so we’re keeping things very casual at the moment.”

“Ah, I see.” She doesn’t, not really, but she thinks it’s a good idea to sit back and let Morven lead this conversation than put her foot in it again. She’s going to stick to supportive “umms” and “oohs” until she knows what’s going on and sip her wine until she understands the world again.

“You do? Oh good! I was wondering if you’d heard about the catfishing thing or not, I mean you obviously has more important things to worry about at the time and—”

“Wait, sorry, catfishing?” Bernie wonders what the aquarium had to do with anything.

“You know, someone pretending to be someone they’re not online to, ah, strike up a relationship?”

“Right,” Bernie says incredulously. The things kids get up to these days. “And that’s a thing, that happened, to you, ah, recently?”

“Yes? I mean, you haven’t heard?”

Bernie shakes her head.

“Oh, right, well, Jasmine catfished me, pretending to be this guy named Nathan, and we were messaging a lot and he was really kind and sweet and funny and I really liked him and hoped we were dating but in the end it was just Jas trying to be nice and at first I was really mad but then it got me thinking I really liked Nathan, only Nathan was Jasmine and, ah, I…” Morven trails off and Bernie nods, trying to keep up—she didn’t remember dating being this complicated when she was young—and waits for Morven to figure out what else she needs to say.

“So, I figured out that what I was feeling was for Jasmine…and, ah, that got me thinking, about liking Jasmine…and liking girls…” Morven trails off again, rubbing her fingertips together and staring at the ground.

Bernie finally cottons on what this conversation is really all about.

“Ah, right! So, Jasmine…endeared herself to you while pretending to be this, Nathan fellow, and then you found out she’d just been lying to you only you weren’t as mad as you thought you should have been and it made you wonder if you might like her and then end up being a little, well, ah, gayer than you planned?” Bernie asks gently, hoping to coax Morven out of the nervous shell she’s encased herself in now.

Morven giggles, looks up at Bernie with a small smile, and Bernie smiles back.

“That’s the long and the short of it, really,” Morven says as she scrunches her nose and shrugs. “And I was, um, hoping you could ah, teach me how to ask out girls?”

Bernie blinks at Morven before bursting out into reams of honking laughter. Eventually she calms down enough to wipe her eyes and sees Morven has clammed up again.

“No, no, sorry, Morven, it’s just… I’m really not the best person to ask about that sort of thing, I’ve never really asked anyone out, not properly.”

“You haven’t?” Morven asks, disbelieving, and Bernie shakes her head.

She really hadn’t ever, except with maybe Serena and the dinner that never happened. But by that stage they were already best friends and half in love and muddling through, and that’s not really the same thing as asking someone out at all, Bernie reasons, and she rather doubts that suggesting to aim for that kind of situation is actually good advice. And with Alex, they were really just a rush of wanting and not thinking and it wasn’t as if they ever really dated, not with Bernie as Alex’s commanding officer, and no chance of being public about them at all. She hadn’t ever really gotten around to it with blokes either, there hadn’t been many before Marcus and he’d been the one to ask her out, all she’d done was say yes to pints after class one day.

Bernie scrunches up her face and shrugs.

“But I imagine it’s not very different from asking out blokes, and I supposed the best way to do it it just to, ask them out.”

“Oh, thanks,” Morven says, a touch snarky. “That’s very useful, never would have thought of that on my own.”

“No, I mean, literally, just ask, suggest coffee, or drinks one day, something casual, and see where it goes from there.”

“But, what if she’s not, interested like that?”

“Then she say no,” Bernie replies simply, still unsure how she managed to get herself into this conversation. “Maybe she’ll get a bit embarrassed, or flustered, and I know it’ll suck, especially if you already like someone and they say no, but really Morven, it’d hardly be the end of the world.”

Morven ponders the thought and Bernie retrospectives for a moment. “You’re still figuring yourself out, and it helps to be kind to yourself as you go, and don’t stress yourself out. Just, focus on the first step, on asking, before you get too worried about the rest of if.” Bernie smiles kindly at Morven. “Because if you get too bound up in the what happens after you ask, the what ifs and the maybes, you’ll never ask, and you’ll never know that the answer might have been. Isn’t it better to ask and know, than never ask at all?” God, her therapist would be proud of her right now.

“You’re right, I know, I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Oh, so you have got your eye on someone then?” Bernie asks, she had wondered. Morven smiles and Bernie has a thought. “God, it’s not Jasmine is it?” Even Bernie can see how that would be a less than stella idea, given what Morven’s just told her.

“No, no, it’s, ah, you know the new barista at Pulses?”

Bernie shakes her head and reminds herself to pay more attention when she orders coffee next. She smiles, eggs Morven to keep on talking, and sips her wine as she listens to Morven gush about the barista with the dreamy eyebrows and a peach perfect smile.

*

Bernie is midway through ward rounds with the F1s when Morven comes racing into the ward. Well, not really racing, given it would be highly dangerous to actually run on the ward, but more of a very fast waddle on the tips of her toes. She rushes up to Bernie, eyes sparkling, with smile so wide and practically bouncing.

“She said yes!” Morven hisses, trying to keep her voice down but evidently wanting to shout things from the rooftops.

Bernie snaps her attention to the junior doctors and excuses them both. “Be back in a moment,” she says as she guides Morven, gently and by the elbow, towards her office.

“Who said what?”

“Laura, the barista, said yes!” Morven eyes are still gleaming with excitement but she’s calmed down enough not to be bouncing anymore. “I was taking a break at Pulses and she had her break too and she come over and there were no other tables so she asked if I’d mind if she sat with me and of course I said I wouldn’t mind and we got chatting and she said she always like serving me because I was always smiling and I just, asked her out for drinks, thought coffee might be a bit too mundane given she works in a cafe, and she said yes!” Morven stops and sucks in a huge breath before adding, “I even got her number!”

Bernie beams wide, eyes bright, as she fully catching on to the conversation. “Well done you,” she congratulates Morven. “I’m very glad to hear it went well.”

“You were right, about not worrying what she said, and now I’ve got a date for Friday night!”

“That’s great!” Bernie exclaims, before frowning when she remembers. “Hang on, aren’t you covering for Fletch on Friday while he and Raf have date night?”

Morven’s face falls. “Bollocks.” She runs her fingers over the nape of her neck and scuffs her toe on the ground, looks up at Bernie with big pleading eyes. “Any chance that you could cover me covering Fletch?” she asks, voice sugar sweet.

Bernie purses her lips, huffs out her nose, and remember Cam is rostered on to work that night. They’ve not gotten a chance to catch up since her and Morven’s discussion and Bernie is still wondering what sort of soul-searching Cam has been doing recently.

“Oh, go on then.” Maybe if they’re both trapped on the ward she can get him to spill the beans. “I’ll take the shift.” Morven beams at Bernie and almost claps with excitement and Bernie can’t help smiling back. She turns serious again, just for a moment, to add “but you’ll own me, remember that!”

Morven giggles, nods her head vigorously, and dashes away. Bernie watches as Morven ends up getting flagged down by Fletch for a consult. She looks at Fletch and thinks of Raf, still upstairs in Keller but due back soon.

She looks away and thinks of Serena, gone from the ward and waiting for her at home. Thinks of waking up that morning with Serena wrapped around her. Thinks about how very hard it is to get out of bed each morning when it means leaving Serena still curled up in their bed. Bernie knows the only thing that gets her out of bed in the morning is keeping the ward firing on all cylinders, just the way she promised. She knows she only leaves the house to look after the ward the way Bernie promised Serena she would in her absence.

She looks back at Morven and Fletch and then behind them. She notices Lou chatting up the new agency nurse on the other side of the nurses station. She smiles as the new nurse chats right back, hand on her hip and ponytail flicking from side to side as she laughs at something Lou said.

Bernie turns her attention back the new brood of junior doctors: sees Jane making eyes at a patient as she asks how she managed to dislocate her knee (playing lacrosse, Bernie hears the response as she walks back up to the bed) and her two other doctors, John and Romesh, flirting with one another (they snap back to attention when she stands in front of them).

“Jesus!” Bernie thinks as she bites back a smile while Jane fills her in on the patient history she’d missed. “Is anyone on this ward straight?”