#i would also say new york and all cities in the french speaking part of canada but those are places i probably will never go to ha

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home. 

[wttt-dirus-work]

Ontario (Headcanon)

This is the first province, here we go!

Ontario, the home of the federal governement.

Here's the flag:

Ontario is the most populous province with 14,951,825 (2022). The country’s capital is Ottawa, and the province’s is Toronto (population of 2,731,571 in 2022), who’s the third most populous city in North America (without Mexico City) after New York City (8,804,190 in 2020) and Los Angeles (3,694,820 in 2020).

She’s younger than Québec in term of existence, since she appeared in 1790s, when the Province of Québec was ripped in half by the loyalists and farmers coming from the US after their Independence. She know New York by reputation, but it’s mainly Toronto and Buffalo who interact. She knows French and can speak it, but refuse most of the time, because her province is mostly English-speaking and the old rivalry between French/English speaker is still there. Yet, because of the Franco-Ontarien (French speaking people from Ontario), she will speak French when Québec is on her side to defend themselves against the hate towards her because the country parliament is in Ottawa.

(Here's the Franco-Ontarien flag)

The Franco-Ontariens are proud of their language despite Québécois looking at them like their lesser than them (mostly linked to the rivalry between Ontario and Québec, the kind of way New Jersey and New York hate each other but got each other back; many feds workers are from Québec since Ottawa and Gatineau are close). She can kind of see why Québec only speaks French with them, and will sometimes answer in French, but the communication is mostly in their native language since they can understand each other (Québec speaks French and Ontario answer in English).

There’s also the fact that people outside of Toronto hate Toronto, and people from Toronto hate everyone else. Some people compare them to “People who would like to live in NYC but can’t afford the rent”. Note: I do not know enough about Toronto people to say if it’s true, all I know is city people are colder than country people and in a “mind your own business” mindset, despite our friendliness. It’s also the most expensive place to live in the country, seconded by British Columbia.

She has cold winter and warmth summer, and the south of the province isn’t as cold as the rest, but the north can be freezing. She mainly lives in the south, with a cool body temperature (12°C/53°F in summer and around -20°C/-4°F in winter). Northern Ontario is a main source of metallic minerals. She leads in production of nickel, gold and silver, second to British Columbia for copper.

She doesn’t really have any friends, with part of the west wanting the Conservative Party as the majority that can’t happen because of the lack of population, and because of the old stereotypes of Ontarians thinking they are the centre of the universe (some of them do, like everywhere else). She’s one of the few ones going to the actual meetings with Cana, with Nunavut and Québec being the ones who’s never there. The former because of the inability to exit his Territory on road (and doesn’t really care about having a friendship with colleagues who can’t really differentiate him and Northwest Territory) and his hunting/fishing/living his best life; and the latter who doesn’t need Cana to help her managing her government.

Ontario is a loner, and sometime resent the Federal parliament to be in her province, but is resigned to her fate, kind of like California. She doesn’t really have good relationship with the rest of the provinces as stated before and is now used to it.

For the sport teams, she mainly root for the Maple Leafs and Blue Jays, and is always kind of happy having debate with BC (Canucks), Alberta (Flames and Oilers) and Québec (Habs) about who got the best hockey team, and she likes it because it gets them at least speaking together.

She’s the second biggest provinces (6’5), behind Québec (6’7), and fourth with the territories added to the mix, behind Nunavut (7’), Québec and Northwest Territory (6’6) (For the curious, Alaska is 6'10, Texas 6'3 and Cal 5'10). She’s white skinned with freckles, chestnut hair usually in a low bun under a Senators toque (beanie, a toque is a beanie guys), green eyes and glasses. She usually wear a beige vest, a Maple Leafs shirt, black sneakers, and pale skinny jeans. Don’t worry, if it cold enough she’ll get a winter coat and boots, but since she mainly lives in the south, she doesn’t really need to.

Fun fact about Ontario: She got four of the five Great Lake shared with the Midwest in her province, and her main sources of energy is from nuclear power (She’s salty about her government allowing the burial of radioactive nuclear waste in exchange of money). Despite being the most populous province, she got way less cases of Covid during the pandemic than Alberta/Saskatchewan.

Also, I think she would be kind of awkward in social interactions, because she’s not really close to any personifications, and despite living in the most populous areas, she got some kind of social anxiety.

Here she is, witness to yet another dispute between Cana and Alberta, both looking at her for her approval, and she tries to not support any of them, because both of their ideas are terrible.

Masterpost here

[lonita]

Montreal - part 1

I figured a trip to a city that I've never seen anything of but the train station, wouldn't be without its adventures and incidents, but I didn't figure those experiences would start with the trip barely even begun. Who knew? The bus station in Hamilton has self-flushing toilets. I also didn't know that the next trip experience would include me developing a head and chest cold on the train to said city. So, my first purchase in Montreal was a bottle of decongestant. Yummy. Never used Robitussin before, and I have to say that it doesn't taste too bad. Certainly tastes better than Buckley's. (Anything would, though.) We walked from the train station to the hostel we were staying at, and on the way passed St. Patrick's Basilica which is a lovely old church dedicated to, and used by, the city's Irish Catholic population. We visited Notre Dame on our last day, which was very lovely, and very blueish. (I never did get to see its named counterpart when I was in Paris, much to my regret.) I'm not a church-going person by any stretch of the imagination, but I like visiting old churches. Some are quite lovely. Our first impression of the city was, "Gosh, it's awfully quiet for a big city on a Saturday afternoon." That impression quickly changed when we headed off to Rue St. Catherine later on. That's one of the main streets, and it seems Montreal retains quite a lot of European style habits that don't seem to exist in other Canadian big cities; namely that all the action is concentrated (more or less) on what (in England) would be called the high street. That street is covered in what one would normally find on a high street; lots of shops, restaurants, a few theatres, and lots of people. Surviving in Montreal isn't too difficult for non-French speakers, since the city is not only well-used to tourists, but is what could be termed the English city of the French province. One of the best universities in the country is there (McGill), and it's an English university. (Most of it scattered through various buildings lining Stanley Street, which goes up a hill towards Mount Royal. Must be hell in winter.) Montreal, like many large cities worldwide, has its own Chinatown, which is marked off by these really lovely gates. (Unfortunately the picture I took of one of those gates, got deleted.) The pharmacy there has a pharmacist who can, according to the sign, speak English, French, and six different dialects of Chinese. It's not a large Chinese section, from what I could gather, but it wasn't without its charms. It had what a Chinatown usually has; lots of shops, lots of restaurants (from very Chinese to very catering-to-North-Americans), and lots of people. The hostel was stayed at (Auberge Alternative du Vieux Montréal), located in Old Montreal near the port and right across the street from what used to be the Central Fire Station but is being reconstructed to be a museum, was quite nice. The people (staff and guests) were friendly, the place was well-equipped, and it was cheap. ($18 per night) I'd recommend it to anyone; and, according to other guests I heard talking, it ranks between 8 and 9 on a hostel scale of 1 to 10.

The metro (subway, tube, underground, etc.) was a metro, but not full of the sort of graffiti one imagines the New York subway to possess. It was clean, and extensive enough. The cars were narrower than the ones in Toronto, but the trains ride quieter, as the cars use rubber wheels. (Fare is $2 per trip, but you can buy a strip of tickets - I think it's 10 - for about $8.50. They also have monthly passes and special three or four day passes mainly geared for tourists.) Though the metro is nice, the only way to see the city is really by foot. It might be a lot of walking, and some of it uphill, but you miss so much of the flavour by staying underground or on buses.

We ate some traditional regional food, of course, but that's one thing you should (in my not so humble opinion) always do when you visit a place you've not been before. There's the smoked meat that the city is well-known for, which is just smoked ham, and poutine. Poutine is French fries covered in gravy and cheese curd. It's really, really yummy. The city has other European touches; like the proliferation of cafes, and the existence of what the population of France would term a tabac. That's just a small shop, smaller than a convenience store, that sells cigarettes, beer, wine, junk food, and small things like that. One thing you have to bear in mind, though, should you stay in Old Montreal, is that there don't seem to be too many grocery stores or tabacs. There's one five minutes walk from the hostel we stayed at, but there didn't seem to be any others, and the closest pharmacy is the one for Chinatown. It's not that far of a walk, though. The city has two IMAX theatres, which is very nifty, and has (of course) the Olympic Stadium. Right under the stadium, in a building that was used for sports like handball and such, is a place called the Biodome. This is now used as an indoor zoo. It's an amazing place. It's set up as forests, each room playing host to a different style of forest. There's an Amazonian type jungle room with crocodiles, tropical birds and fish, and a Laurentian forest room which plays host to North American wildlife. (Including a water area with seagulls… seemed a bit useless to add a room with seagulls, the damn things are all over - like pigeons - but I suppose that's the point.) Another thing to keep in mind, is that sometimes Montreal has what's called Museum Day (not sure how many times a year they do this), and on this day most of the city's museums are free. I think the Biodome has a cost to get in, but it seems that it might be free after a certain hour of the day, since we paid nothing to get in. It costs $10 to go up the elevator in the tower of the Olympic stadium, which might be a bit pricey, but it's really a lovely view of the whole city.

[wonderandwanderinginmexicocity]

Fear and (Self-)Loathing in Roma/Condesa

"I have never felt salvation in nature. I love cities above all."

-Michelangelo

"Poor Mexico, so far from God and so close to the United States."

-Porfirio Diaz (supposedly)

One Sunday morning I stumbled out of an unsuccessful coffee date and found myself in a new corner of Mexico City: Plaza Rio de Janiero. In the center of the park is a replica of Michelangelo's David, porcleain butt portrayed prominently for all to see. I think about what the great Renaissance artist once said, about even how five hundred years ago there were still individuals drawn to cities, and I wonder what Michelangelo would think of this one, for all its beauty, filth, and confusion. I don't know if I have ever felt salvation in cities, as Michelangelo supposedly did. He and I do agree about wanting to be where things are happening. A quiet life in the country is not without its charms, but only in a bustling city can you feel the slow hum of all the potential possibilities.

I sit down on a bench and look around, taking in the sounds and sunshine of the morning. I don't know why there is a replica of David in a park named after a city in Brazil, but no one claimed Mexico CIty ever tried to make much sense. Plaza Rio de Janiero is one of these lovely Spanish style parks that often dot the more affluent parts of the city. Nothing says bougie like a vintage market, and it being Sunday in the Roma neighborhood, naturally one of these was set up. People greet each other in English. Foreigners in shorts and backpacks walk around, taking pictures of everything. I begin to feel vaguely queasy.

During the pandemic, when people were finally free from the chains of office life but also simultaneously stuck at home, a phenomenon began (or at least kicked into overdrive) in the Mexico City neighborhoods of Roma and La Condesa. "Digital nomads", as they are often referred to, realized they could live in a neighborhood that reminded them of Europe at a much lower price than say, New York City, San Francisco, or LA. Often in the tech field, these new foreign workers streamed across the border, many of whom did not have the legal right to live or work long term in Mexico, and have inevitably pushed local residents out. "These foreigners move here, the price of rent goes sky high, and they don't pay any taxes to the Mexican government. They leave after a year or two, it's just a long vacation for them, and then people who are actually from this city can't afford to live in these neighborhoods anymore!" One Mexican friend that used to live in Roma told me. She also pointed out to me that many buildings in Roma and Condesa were destroyed in an earthquake in 2017, and rebuilt as Airbnbs.

An interesting irony is that people like to think that travel changes them, helping them learn and grow. A lot of these digital nomads may travel to places like Tulum and learn a few words in Spanish (I see signs for Spanish lessons in English all the time around here), but many of them inevitably are hanging out with other foreigners and speaking English, French, or German. Sooner or later, they go back form whence they came. What permanently changes from tourism is not the travelers, but the places that get visited. "I knew it was time for me to find a new neighborhood to live in when the cashier at 711 addressed me in English," a Venezuelan who has lived in Mexico City for over ten years told me.

There is nothing wrong with wanting to live in a different country or have a fresh start. But these individuals are coming into Mexico without papers, usually not learning the language, bringing in US dollars that cause inflation and not paying taxes into the system they're living under. It strikes me a bit like elephants stomping around on the grass, not concerned with what happens to the ants under their feet. Personally I don't live in either Roma or Condesa, I have residency, and I work for a Mexican organization. I pay plenty of taxes. Maybe a few years ago I could have afforded to live in these neighborhoods, but certainly not now. Part of me, frankly, is jealous: I'd love to live on a beautiful street with picturesque parks and Greek statues. I can understand the impluse. The queasiness is a reflection, in part, of my own smaller complicity.

But it was a beautiful lazy Sunday, and maybe that was enough thinking about the bigger picture. It's so nice out, I decided to walk the good forty minutes home.

[brokehorrorfan]

4K Ultra HD Review: God Told Me To

If God Told Me To were made today, its mass killing sprees would likely be approached in a less exploitative manner, and the guerrilla filmmaking style certainly couldn't be accomplished at the same scale (more on that later). But — with the proliferation of gun violence, conspiracy theories, and religious zealotry — the concept is every bit as potent now, if not even more so, than it was upon its original release in 1976.

The first two-thirds of the film might lead a viewer to believe it's one of writer-director Larry Cohen's more straightforward efforts — a police procedural thriller with psychological underpinnings — but the wildly unpredictable third act reveal immediately repositions it as perhaps Cohen's most bizarre outing. That's saying a lot, considering his delightfully delirious work on the likes of The Stuff, It’s Alive, and Q: The Winged Serpent.

God Told Me To opens with a sniper picking people off in the middle of New York City from high atop a water tower with astonishing accuracy. NYPD detective Peter Nicholas (Tony Lo Bianco, The French Connection) takes it upon himself to climb up and speak with the shooter. The nonchalant explanation for his heinous actions — "God told me to" — followed by the leap to his death leaves Peter chilled.

This incident is followed by several more killing sprees that end in the same confession, including one reminiscent of a key scene in The Dark Knight: a police officer (Andy Kaufman, in his film debut) marching in a parade opens fire on the crowd. The fast-paced first act gives little indication of the aberration that follows, as Peter’s investigation leads him to learn that it’s a force other than God causing these people to commit such atrocities. I won’t give it away here, as it truly has to be seen to be believed, but it involves a gratuitous close-up of a fake vagina.

Cohen is an audacious filmmaker in every sense of the word. He’s fearless in his approach to offbeat material; in this case, an unclassifiable amalgam of crime thriller, science fiction, subversive exploitation, and religious horror that would make an interesting double feature with John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness. He’s equally intrepid with his filmmaking. He "stole" many of the New York City shots — including a volatile confrontation at the city’s actual St. Patrick's Day Parade — without permits; a miraculous feat that could never be accomplished in a post-9/11 world.

Lo Bianco is a treat as the lead, committed to the peculiar material as if it were Shakespeare. Oscar winner Sandy Dennis (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) plays his wife, while Deborah Raffin (Death Wish 3) receives a guest starring credit as Peter’s mistress. Sylvia Sidney (Beetlejuice) and Richard Lynch (Halloween (2007)) each take on pivotal roles later in the film. Mike Kellin (Sleepaway Camp), George Patterson (I Drink Your Blood), and character actor Robert Nichols (The Thing from Another World) pop up in small parts as well.

God Told Me To has been newly restored in 4K from an original, uncensored negative with Dolby Vision HDR as well as Dolby Atmos and DTS-HD Master Audio options by Blue Underground. The transfer retains the marvelous grain synonymous with ‘70s genre pictures (doubly so for the gritty New York setting) coupled with high-definition clarity with improved contrast and saturation. The new transfer is included on both 4K UHD and Blu-ray. Only one new special feature was produced, but all of the extra's from Blue Underground's 2015 Blu-ray are accounted for.

King Cohen director Steve Mitchell and film historian Troy Howarth sit down for a new audio commentary. Mitchell's time spent documenting Cohen’s career proves to be indispensable, supplemented by Howarth's astute observations about the film. Also included is Cohen’s original commentary from the 2003 DVD release, moderated by his old friend William Lustig (Maniac Cop, Maniac), which makes for a great listen as well.

Other special features include: an interview with Lo Bianco, who flexes his remarkable memory as he recounts stories from nearly 40 years ago like they were yesterday; an interview with special effects artist Steve Neill (Ghostbusters), who built the aforementioned genitalia for his first gig; a 2014 Q&A with Cohen at a Los Angeles screening with no shortage of fun anecdotes; a 2002 Q&A with Cohen at a New York screening, wherein he reflects on how different it is to watch the film after 9/11; two theatrical trailers (one of which is under its alternate title, Demon); seven TV spots; and a gallery of posters and stills.

God Told Me To will be released on 4K Ultra HD/Blu-ray on July 19 via Blue Underground.

[strawberrystar7]

I think People misunderstood Chloé's arc and the season 3 finale (and especially Chloé's role in it.). And here is why I think that.

This is a really long post and I know it's hard to keep reading something as long as this but please, I ask you, either do not read it at all if you don't want to read something like this or read it completely. If you do decide to read this but stop in the middle because you want to comment on something I ask you to not do that. Please read all of it thoroughly. If you want to comment on something, take notes but don't post it before having read all, because if you do not read all you probably won't understand it correctly. Additionally, some things might have been answered later on in the post.

I think the true lesson the writers wanted to give with Chloé's arc and especially the Season 3 finale is that it's good to be forgiving and give second or maybe even 3rd chances but you shouldn't try and help someone who doesn't want to change. There was a time where she maybe wanted to change... I put the maybe there on purpose. This is because if I look at Chloé's behavior it isn't entirely clear if she ever wanted to change because she wants to help others or if she just wanted to "change" so she can have the Bee Miraculous.

Chloé's arc in actuality was a treason arc. It wasn't a redemption arc. On the surface it may have looked like one but if you look deeper I think you'll see the signs.

I know I am gonna get hate for saying the next bit but if you look closely (and I mean very closely) at Chloé's actions then you'll see what I mean. In season 1 Chloe was a stereotypical bully. In season 2 she actually got a backstory, explaining her actions. It basically made her look more like a real person. But even so her actions didn't really change. She stayed a bully. On surface level her actions did change a little, but on a lower level they didn't.

What do I mean with that? Take Despair Bear as an example she threw a party and invitated all her classmates. In itself that's a nice action but do you remember the reason why she threw the party? Adrien threatened to break up their friendship if she wasn't nicer to people. So her Butler Jean gave her the idea with the party and that she should be nice. 

Yeah, I know this happened before the Queen's Battle trilogy (I know it's actually just a 2 part episode (Style Queen and Queen Wasp) but I count Malediktator as a 3rd part because it pretty much is a direct follow up to Queen Wasp.) but this is supposed to serve as an example for Chloé's behavior in season 2.

Now look at Zombizou. Chloé gave Miss Bustier a present the day after her birthday. Do you remember why this happened? Marinette called Chloé out for not having brought one and pretty much embarrassed her infront of the class (I know the way she called her out was mean but that's not the point here). In the end Chloé most likely would never have brought a gift if this didn't happen.

I think this Episode also came before the Queens Battle trilogy but I'm not sure. Anyway even if it was before, it still shows how Chloé behaves most of the time when she does good things.

Now let's look at the Queen's Battle trilogy. In the Style Queen episode we see for the first time how Audrey treats Chloé and while it does explain why Chloé does what she does it doesn't mean her actions are excusable. It makes her actions understandable to the viewers and it makes her, as already mentioned, look more like an actual human being. In that episode we do not really see any more about Chloé and her past or actions besides her finding the Box with the Bee Miraculous.

After that Queen Wasp follows. In this episode the first scene where Chloe plays a rather major role is the scene with Gabriel Agreste, Audrey Bourgeois, André Bourgeois, Tom Dupain, Sabine Cheng, Adrien Agreste, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and of course Chloé Bourgeois. In this scene we see Audrey taking Marinette's feather hat after it rolls infront of her. She inspects it and remarks that it isn't Gabriel's. She then asks if Marinette is responsible for the hat, which Marinette replies to with her having created the hat. You know the rest Gabriel admits she won a fashion contest, Audrey remarks the hat is "exceptional", and then she asks Marinette if she wants to go to New York. That is where Chloé comes in, claiming to never having been in New York. She also asked why she was taking Marinette. Audrey replies with Marinette being "exceptional". Chloé then says that she's "exceptional" too. Audrey then says the following "The only exeptionial thing about you, my dear... is your mother.". I think you know the rest André tries to step in but is interrupted by Chloé who transforms into Queen Bee infront of everyone to proof that she is exceptional.

This wasn't simply to prove her mother wrong tho. She did it to prove to everyone that she's exceptional and her behaviors later on that episode prove that exact point. Queen Bee then disappears.

The others go home and Queen Bee looks around the city to see if there's anything she can do but doesn't find anyone who needs saving. She then thinks of that plan with the train and calls Nadja Chamak to gain publicity for her heroic deeds. As already mentioned this pretty much proves my point. If she really jzst wanted to prove Audrey wrong then why call in one of Paris's star reporters?

After the call she heads towards the metro. She runs on the side of the metro and enters the driver's room. She then Calls out her venom and numbs the driver. The metro speeds up and Queen Bee turns on the metro TV saying she'll save them (this pretty much was to gain even more publicity). Queen Bee isn't able to stop the metro and Ladybug and Cat Noir come in to help stop the metro. Ladybug calls Chloé out for numbing the train driver and Nadja Chamak comes with Audrey Bourgeois on a live call. Audrey then says the following "What? Regarding my daughter's ineptitude? I think it speaks for itself, doesn't it?". Ladybug asks Chloé to give the Miraculous back but Chloé keeps it and runs away with it. Queen Bee then gets akumatized before she transforms back causing her to turn in Queen Wasp. I don't think it's important to mention what happened while she was Queen Wasp because in this case she wasn't willingly akumatized just like Antibug which also means she wasn't herself unlike Chameleon and Miracle Queen who both were willingly akumatized and both kinda knew what happened while they were akumatized.).

When she gets deakumatized Marinette later comes in and tries to help fix Chloé's and Audrey's relationship (atleast as much as it can be fixed) by pretty much insulting both of them and saying "You're also wrong about your daughter not being exceptional. In fact, Chloé is exceptionally mean. She's the worst person I've ever met. She may be more heinous, pompous and selfish than you. Compared to both of you, even a rock seems more capable of love.". Chloé and Audrey then pretty much shout at the same time "How dare you⁈". They then see they do have a lot in common. The episode then pretty much ends after 2 more short scenes (both scenes do not have anything to do with Chloé so I don't think they are important.).

Now let's look at Malediktator. The episode starts with Chloé's documentary about Queen Bee where Chloé-Bee and Chloé-Bug (I'm gonna call her that because that's Chloé with a Queen Bee costume and Chloé with a Ladybug costume) talk about how great of a superhero Queen Bee is. Then it zooms out to reveal that the documentary is watched by Chloé's classmates.

Ivan then points out that isn't Ladybug. Chloé says it is Ladybug and Miss Bustier asks why Chloé did the assignment about herself.

Chloé then says they were supposed to choose an important person in French history. Chloé-Bug talks more about Queen Bee. Alya then points out that's Chloé with a Ladybug costume. This discussion goes on for a bit until Chloé leaves.

Chloé and Audrey then storm in to André's office while a pair is getting married. They force them out and Audrey tells André to close the school while Chloé tells him to ban Marinette and her family.

Audrey then says the following "That monster hurt your little girl’s feelings.". Chloé adds "She got the whole class to gang up on me. They all have to pay.". You probably know the rest. André says he can't do that and Chloé and Audrey leave him alone in his office and say they'll leave for New York. Chloé is then in the Bourgeois suite packing (or more like telling her Butler to pack for her.) André comes in to argue with Chloé and Audrey to stay in Versailles or near Paris.

Hawk Moth akumatizes André after Audrey and Chloé leave with the helicopter.

Chloé flies over the school with her helicopter, throwing flyers showing Chloé in front of the statue of liberty and saying she'll leave for New York. The students celebrate after Chloé leaves.

Malediktator stops the helicopter and says he has the power to close the school and banish the students who were mean to her. He then commands Audrey to be devoted to him and stay in Paris. Chloé runs away/hides. Some time passes and Ladybug goes to Chloé asking her why Malediktator is mad.

Chloé doesn't want to say at first and blames Marinette, then saying André got mad all by himself but then she admits to being the cause of her fathers akumatization.

Then this happens:

Ladybug: Because of what happened in school? I'm sure Marinette probably didn't exactly mean what she said.

Chloé: Oh, it's not just her— actually, I don't even care about her— it's because I have no reason to be here: nobody likes me; I have no friends. I'm… useless.

Ladybug: (remembering what Adrien told Marinette earlier at school about Chloé) A friend once told me: nobody is useless, Chloé.

Chloé: It's easy for you to say that. You're Ladybug, a superhero. You serve a purpose.

Ladybug: Yes, I can fix up all the messes. You said it yourself in your documentary.

Chloé: (gasps) You saw it?!

Ladybug: (nods) Mm-hmm.

Chloé: Oh! I'm so embarrassed. That film's ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. I realize that now.

Ladybug: Don't worry Chloé. You can fix your own messes, if that's what you want. You, too, can serve a purpose, but you have to want to.

Chloé: (sniffles) I do want to.

Ladybug: Chloé Bourgeois, (holds out the Miraculous box) here is the Bee Miraculous, which grants you the power to immobilize your opponent. You will use it for the greater good.

(Chloé hesitates; Ladybug nods approvingly; Chloé takes the box and opens it; a yellow ball of light flies around her and Pollen appears.)

Pollen: At your service, my Queen.

Ladybug: Once the job is complete, you will return the Miraculous to me. Can I trust you, Chloé?

Chloé: (puts the haircomb in her hair) I won't disappoint you this time, Ladybug.

Then Chloé transforms into Queen Bee.

Queen Bee and Ladybug (with the help of Cat!Cat Noir) defeat Malediktator.

Then this happens:

Ladybug: Yep, you missed Queen Bee and Ladybug saving Paris, for real this time.

Queen Bee: I understand, Ladybug. Buzz off. (transforms back into Chloé)

Chloé: (gives back her Miraculous) Being a superhero isn't only about fixing messes. (Ladybug holds up her hand in a fist; Chloé gasps and smiles)

Chloé and Ladybug: (fist-bump) Pound it!

After that Chloé and her family leave.

Then this happens:

Chloé: It's okay, Jean-Yves; I'll take care of it.

Butler Jean: Mademoiselle, are you sure?

Chloé: Yes, I need to do it myself.

Marinette: Chloé?

Chloé: (gasps) Dupain-Cheng?

After that Marinette brings Chloé to the school showing her they threw a party for her. That's pretty much how the episode ends.

I guess this is the episode (Malediktator) that convinced everyone Chloé was changing (and maybe at this point in time she truly did want to change. But I'll explain later on in the text why it did not work out.). After all it literally showed scenes where Chloé was nice without her benefitting from it. And honestly the earlier episodes did not show that Chloé was going to change. The earlier episodes gave depth to her character and kinda explained her actions but they didn't really make her look like she wanted to change. The end of the Malediktator episode tho? It did look like she wanted to change or atleast it made it seem like that. But as I implied Chloé's arc is way more complicated than you think. It can't be just written of as bad or inconsistent writing. Read more and you'll see exactly why this isn't just inconsistent/bad writing.

I don't think we saw much of Chloé in the season 2 finale besides her appearance as Queen Bee again. But honestly I do not remember much about the season 2 finale anyway.

Now let's look at season 3. (I just remembered I forgot about Animaestro. I forgot where in the season that happened but I just put it in the beginning because I feel like it would ruin the flow of the text.) In Animaestro Chloé literally teams up with Marinette to ruin Kagami's day (This was just to show that Chloé still did stuff like in season 1). Anyway, not only is it pretty clear that Chloé would love to be Queen Bee again but she also probably would do anything to be Queen Bee again. So she constantly asks for her Miraculous (seen in Startrain and other episodes) or she pretty much shows everyone how proud she is of being Queen Bee, seeking attention for that (Maledikator). In Miraculer Chloé waits to get her Miraculous but doesn't get it. Then Lila tells Chloé about a fake dance which summons Ladybug. Chloé gets really angry when the dance failed and then lashes out at Sabrina telling her she doesn't want to play with her. Chloé then breaks down after not getting the Miraculous for some time, resulting into the scene where Chloé resists getting akumatized. Instead, Sabrina is the one getting akumatized. Some time later a cataclysmed Cat Noir tries to give Chloé the Miraculous but because of his cataclysmed rips he ends up loosing the Miraculous to Mayura.

You probably know the rest. Rena Rouge makes a Chloé illusion in Ladybug's place, Ladybug gets her powers back, Chloé makes Miraculer even angrier, Ladybug (with the help of Cat Noir, Rena Rouge, Carapace) gets the Bee Miraculous back and gives it to Chloé. Chloé follows Mayura but looses her. After the fight Ladybug talks to Chloé.

This happens:

Queen Bee: Ladybug. Mayura got away from me. I'm sorry, utterly sorry.

Ladybug: That's okay, Queen Bee. We'll get her next time. (reaches hand out for the Bee Miraculous)

Queen Bee: If you'd given it to me earlier, we'd probably would've defeated Hawk Moth.

Ladybug: I'm sorry, Chloé. I should've told you this a long time ago. I might never be able to let you be Queen Bee again.

Queen Bee: What? But I did everything you asked me to.

Ladybug: I know. But this is for your own safety. It's too dangerous for you and your loved ones because Hawk Moth knows that you're Queen Bee.

Queen Bee: Buzz off. (turns back into Chloé and gives Miraculous to Ladybug)

Chloé: I understand. But I'm sure that you'll need me again, Ladybug. I know that I'll be Queen Bee again someday. I will always be Queen Bee.

Ladybug: (notices her Miraculous beeping) Thank you, Chloé. Let's go. (takes off with Rena Rouge and Carapace)

Despite saying that Chloé said she understood she can't have the Miraculous anymore she did not understand.

I know one of the arguments people have was that if Ladybug stayed longer to explain more thoroughly Chloé would have understood. But what do you want Ladybug to do? Risk her identity? She was on her last 5 minutes. Probably less considering how a couple minutes probably flew by from the moment she called out her lucky charm to the moment she called out Miraculous Ladybug. So probably 2 or 3 minutes were already gone from her timer. Additionally, she still needs atleast a minute to not risk her identity getting revealed while she takes Rena Rouge's and Carapace's Miraculous. There was no more time to spare. Despite that I don't really think Chloé would have understood even if Ladybug had more than 2 minutes to spare. Not with how self-centered she is.

Well there had been some smaller incidents with Chloé treating people badly (Animaestro fo example) but that aside those were small moments. I think the next big Chloé moment would pretty much be Heart Hunter and Miracle Queen. Heart Hunter proved that Chloé did not learn from what Ladybug said. She still waited on her rooftop with her Bee signal for Ladybug to come and give her the Miraculous. In the end of the episode we see her so angry at Ladybug for not giving her the Miraculous that she willingly worked with Hawk Moth and actively forcing her will onto Pollen.

This is what happens:

Hawk Moth: (puts up his hand and interrupts) You're right, but I did it for one reason only. So that you would finally realize that Ladybug will never give you the Bee Miraculous again. I, however, always keep my promises. (shows her the Bee Miraculous in his hand)

Chloé: This isn't real! How do you have it?

Hawk Moth: Try it and see for yourself. You're Ladybug's greatest fan. You've helped her, you've trusted her, and what has she done for you in return?

Chloé: (gets angry) Nothing! She couldn't care less about me! I'm done with her. She's irrelevant, utterly irrelevant! (reaches out to grap the Miraculous, stops) I want you to deakumatize has my parents first!

Hawk Moth: Whatever you say, my queen. (Chloé takes the comb and puts it in her hair, releasing Pollen)

Pollen: (urgently) Your majesty, wait!-

Chloé: Silence! You will speak only when spoken to. Your loss, Ladybug. Pollen, buzz on! (transforms into Queen Bee)

She then gets willingly akumatized.

In Miracle Queen we then see her actively work for Hawk Moth, even revealing all the Miraculous Holders. After she gets deakumatized she seems to still have her memory, considering how she wasn't disoriented like every other Akuma Victim. She even jumps after another Akuma.

Chloé also does and says the following "I'm not on your side anymore! How many times have I asked to fight alongside you? And how many times have you refused to give me back my Miraculous? How many, huh? Hawk Moth isn't my enemy, he's yours! And the Miracle Box is mine! (Queen Bee slams down the Miracle Box, and opening it, starts putting on all of the Miraculouses)".

This pretty much proves my point further. Chloé never let go of the Bee Miraculous, thinking it was her own and she had every right to obtain it whenever she wants. The fact that she's only concerned about getting the Miraculous even proves further that she doesn't really care about helping others. All she cares about is her self and as established before this had always been the case. Even in the Queen's Battle trilogy.

Think about it. Chloé is so deadset on keeping the Bee Miraculous that she would do anything. And if I say anything I mean anything. She literally worked with Hawk Moth to get the Miraculous. So if getting the Miraculous and all the attention that comes with it means that she has to help others she'd gladly do it. If helping others means she gets attention she'd gladly do it. We've seen it in Despair Bear and other episodes. Ladybug used to be Chloé's idol so to get her attention she pushed the mind controlled Cat Noir away. To get Adrien's attention she threw the party and was nice to the others. But the moment people didn't look she acted mean. This isn't even the only season 2 or 3 episode this happened. It is totally in character for Chloé to have reacted the way she did in the season 3 finale. Just because she turned bad again doesn't mean she's a 2 dimensional character. She still has the same backstory and all as she had before. The only difference here is that she openly worked with Hawk Moth. So why is she suddenly a horribly written character? Just because she worked with Hawk Moth?

Well let me tell you something: Just look at her relationship with her father. He never denied her anything. He always did everything she wanted. She would throw a tantrum if she doesn't get what she wants. So don't you think it's totally in character for Chloé to react the way she did when Ladybug refused to give her the Miraculous? It's the equivalent to the tantrum of a spoiled rich girl (or boy) would throw if they don't get what they want. The only difference here being that a magical terrorist pretty much took advantage of that tantrum.

As you can see the way she acted was not out of character. It was completely in character for Chloé. In fact, it was so in character that if we've taken the time to truly look at her then we all would have seen it. I gotta admit, I myself got completely deceived the first time I watched Malediktator and Miraculer. I myself thought, maybe she could change (and I still think so). The first time I watched Heart Hunter and Miracle Queen I also thought it was bad writing and I also hated that finale. I thought they did her dirty. I literally blamed the writers like all the others and stated on YouTube how bad of a Episode that was. But now? Now that I actually took the time to rewatch the Episodes (not just the finale but generally any episode) over and over again just to see all the small details people talked about that I never noticed, I noticed those details about Chloé that I didn't before.

People always claim the finale is horrible because they made Chloé out of character... but... In fact, the Season 3 finale is actually good. It may have some plot holes because the writing of the show honestly sometimes isn't the best. There's some episodes that are badly written and have loads of plot holes. But the season 3 finale? It might just be one of the better written episodes. And that only because of the fact that they sticked to how a girl like Chloé would actually react to getting told off like that. And I know for a fact that girls as spoiled as Chloé would react like that because I met a fair share of people like that. They all threw a huge tantrum when they got told off.

Don't get me wrong, I am not saying Chloé doesn't have the potential to change. Infact, she definitely has the potential to change. But not like this. Chloé needs to hit rock bottom before she can actually change. And no, getting told you can't have the Bee Miraculous anymore is not rock bottom. The first thing that needs to happen is for her father to stand up to her. And as seen in (⚠️Season 4 Spoiler warning⚠️) Queen Banana André finally did stand up to Chloé. If he keeps that up that might be good start (⚠️End of Spoiler⚠️). After Chloé doesn't get everything she wants from her father anymore there's two things that can happen: Either she becomes a complete lost cause and doesn't learn anything from it or rather she doesn't want to learn or she learns that not everything will always go her way and that she can't have everything (specifically the Bee Miraculous, as you can't buy it.). This also might cause her to become less selfish and start thinking more about the others. Even if that doesn't happen maybe Zoé (because she's Chloé's half sister) or Adrien (because he is/was Chloé's childhood best friend and would love to help her) could come in to help Chloé become less selfish. But again for that to happen Chloé first needs to learn that not everything goes how she wants it and she can't have everything. And again this won't happen if everything is handed to her like it has been all these years.

Please understand that I am not hating on Chloé. Chloé may even be one of my favorite characters for the exact reasons I mentioned here. Because even tho she's a stereotypical bully she has depth to her character. And if she'll ever truly change she'd might just become one of the more relatable characters in the show.

And I know I am none of the writers so I do not know what they thought while writing the finale and the rest of Chloé's arc but to me this seems like the most logical explanation. I do not think the writers hate Chloé. That just makes no sense. They have developed her past and backstory and stuff like that way too much for them to hate her. If they truly hated her I don't even think they would have developed her character like that. If they truly hated her they would have left her like Lila with little to no information about her past or basically anything that explains her actions.

So please, I ask you please do not harass the writers for their decisions. Just please for once try to understand their thought process. Maybe you just didn't truly understand what they meant because as I explained Chloé's arc was deceiving. On the surface it looked like a redemption arc but truly it wasn't.

I am not claiming to have fully understood what the writers where trying to say but I do think I got close to what they were trying to say. I am also very sorry if I might have not been able to explain some of the points well. While I did rewatch every episode while writing this I did not want to put in every single episode (which might have gotten my points across even better) as the post has already gotten way too long. Not many people like to read much so probably only a few will even have read this completely. But to those who did take the time to read it all, thank you for having taken the time. I'd really like to hear your opinion on my take on this topic. Because while I do think this might be somewhat close to what the writers where trying to do it most likely isn't exactly what they wanted. I'd really like to hear your opinion on my take on this topic. Because as I said while I do think this might be somewhat close to what the writers where trying to do it most likely isn't exactly what they wanted. Maybe some of you have something to debunk or maybe even strengthen my points. Both is fine as long as everyone's nice towards each other. I do not want to see some kind of war. So please be kind towards each other.

[gloriousxdarkness]

S1 E7: “Stick” Part Two

The Black Sky, Bringer of Shadows

Okay so, this part of the episode is mainly relevant to Elektra for two reasons: 

First, because it sheds some (albeit implied) light about her childhood. And second, probably more importantly, it shows us exactly how Stick and the Hand both think about “The Black Sky.”

Here are the facts. A pre-pubescent boy is put in multiple chains, in a barren shipping crate, to journey by sea from Japan to New York City. Everyone except Matt refers to this child as ‘it’ or uses other dehumanizing, object-language (“a weapon”). Nobu has taken extensive, expensive pains to quietly bring him in with the help of Fisk. Stick kills the kid.

O: You're laying out major reserves to clear the docks to make sure the police don't come within 10 blocks. More to bribe the comptrollers to guarantee straight greens. Know how much all that costs? I do.

As a side note: geographically speaking, that is a very long journey by ship. Easily over a month. Also, this is human trafficking.

We know from later on that the blood farm is in NYC. We also know that a Black Sky is not ‘activated’ until they are resurrected with the help of that blood.

So the potential to be a Black Sky is not limited to Elektra. It’s just rare. We don’t learn how this potential is determined except that it can happen at an extremely young age. To pull from the greater MCU, it seems reasonable that they have a test for the genetic potential in infants or young children, whether scientific or mystical.

Here are the lines that get me, from way later in season 2—

?: Where did you say you found her, again?  S: Box of Cracker Jacks.

N: We have wanted you since you were a child. You were taken from us but now you have returned.

When Nobu says this, Stick doesn’t refute it. Elektra also pretty clearly (at least to my eyes) has no recollection of being with the Hand. Now, Nobu is lying about other things in this scene, so I take it with a grain of salt, but it doesn’t seem like a leap to think Stick originally poached her from the Hand on some mission. To not remember, she’d either have to suppress those memories or be like, under 5 years old when the transfer happened?

To be with Stick at all and not her parents or be a ward of the state, he would’ve had to create fake identity papers. Natchios isn’t her last name until she’s adopted. Since French is her accent/first language and “The Wall” compound is in NYC, he had to cross country borders with her. Probably more than once. That is also human trafficking.

S: I tried to housebreak her. Impossible!

Everyone agrees that the Black Sky is dangerous, except Matt, who just sees a kid. Everyone, including Stick, say it’s a weapon and treat the person like a tool to either be used or destroyed.

I point this out mainly to give additional context around Stick and Elektra’s relationship— that she herself was unaware of and possibly never completely understood. 

My conclusion is Stick wanted to see if he could harness her talent for the benefit of the Chaste and keep a close eye on a Black Sky. Which he did, successfully, until she wanted to leave the war. And then he tried to have her killed, presumably to keep her— this person he views as a massively powerful weapon lying dormant, now out of his influence— out of enemy hands.

This gives me reason to believe her childhood before Stick wasn’t roses, either. I don’t think she was chained and shipped like that, because that would be pretty hard to forget. But she might have been a discarded girl, or her parents might have been paid off (or killed), and she probably went from one training compound to another. 

Why’s she so angry, though? /s

S1 E7 Part One

[lady-literature]

ayy, so ya’ll know that Miraculous/DC crossover I screamed about a while back? I found plot for it.

It is not quite finished yet, but it’s also so much longer than I originally planned on it being. (me: I’ll just write a fun little thing to get this out of my head!

me, 13k words later: oh no)

SO! Here’s a little sneak peak!

(or, find the finished product here!)

***

There is an unspoken rule, kept by any outsider who’s ever set foot in Gotham, that you should only ever visit the city once. Most find that visiting even once was already too much.

The most dangerous city on earth isn’t kind to its residents—much less strangers who don’t know how to watch their pockets or keep off the streets after dark. It’s gotten better, perhaps, in recent years since the Bat started lurking on rooftops, but that doesn’t mean the city is good.

Normal people stay as far from Gotham as they can get.

Marinette, (un)luckily, is far from normal.

***

The touring of Metropolis, New York City, and Gotham had been going well as far as Marinette was concerned, no matter what Chloé says to her about carelessness and naivety.

She’s glad her, Adrien and Chloé all decided to take this summer trip before they started University in the fall. It sucks that it was just the three of them, she wishes more of their friends could’ve tagged along but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

Kagami was in the middle of training season and couldn’t come. Luka was touring with his father, learning the tricks of the trade and other things. Nathaniel had already been commissioned to paint a mural downtown before they really finalized dates. Nino was in much the same boat as Nath, just with music and pitch meetings. Felix hated traveling and Alix was doing… something. Time travelling, probably. Or at least spending more time in the burrow.

Marinette was certainly starting to notice the way she’s begun talking about ancient history like she was actually there when she goes on rants now. Felix also probably noticed but Marinette’s also sure that he’s aiding and abetting her in exchange for insider information so…

She’ll probably have to deal with that later, unfortunately. But not today.

Their tour group was going to Amusement Mile later that afternoon, but had been given free roam until then. Marinette decided to spend the time up until lunch at the park near the meetup spot in Gotham Square and Chloé hadn’t complained or vetoed that idea so the trio happily camped out on the grass.

Marinette had returned to her sketch of Lady Gotham in between eating bites of her sandwich. She thinks she much preferred the style of it to New York City’s Lady Liberty. There was just something about the Statue of Justice that inspired her.

She’d been doodling about it since they left the marina yesterday. She also had plenty of pictures of the statue for inspiration later. There’s one she especially likes and thinks she might even print out to put up on her wall at home.

She’s playing with the idea of draping fabrics for formal wear designs like the roman togas both Lady statues seem to wear when a tennis ball rolls up and bumps into her leg. She has only enough time to move her sketchbook out of the way before a large dog bowls into her, tail wagging happily and barking up a storm.

“Oof!”

Adrien’s already halfway up the tree, startled out of his light doze by the barking and Chloé only daintily moved away from Marinette, leaving her to her fate. 

Pushing herself back up so she’s not crushed by what feels like one hundred pounds of dog, she comes face to snout with quite possibly the biggest dog she’s ever seen. From there, there was really only one choice of action Marinette could have followed.

“Oh! Well, aren’t you just the prettiest boy?” she tells the dog happily, reaching up to give him scratches. “Such a big boy! You nearly bowled me over, didn’t you?”

If it’s possible, the dog’s tail begins to wag even faster, enough that he accidentally overbalances himself and decides to roll with it, flopping onto his back and letting her rub his stomach. Marinette does so enthusiastically, her baby-talk to the dog devolving into broken not-words and the occasional exclamation of good boy! in both English and French.

The dog was a great dane, and had the softest coat of black fur she’s ever seen. There was a thick red collar around his throat, and Marinette stopped furiously rubbing his belly long enough to look at the silver tag attached to it.

“Titus, huh?” she says to the dog. “Such a strong name for such a distinguished boy, huh?”

“Oh god,” she hears Adrien groan from his spot still up in the tree. When she looks up, she finds him eyeing Titus with distrust, the absolute kitten. “I hope whoever his owner is, they’ve never read Shakespeare.”

Both her and Chloé blink at the strange non sequitur.

“Uh, why? Exactly?”

“Because they have shit taste in his plays if they do! Titus Andronicus is, like, Shakespeare’s worst play.”

Chloé glares up at him. “You’re such a nerd. Now stop being ridiculous and get down from there.”

“But, Chloé! It’s a dog.”

“Adrien Agreste!”

Marinette tunes out the two blondes as they devolve into sibling-like bickering. It’s a skill she’s had to learn and learn quickly with living in such close quarters with the pair for the last few weeks and also being friends with the pair for the past three years.

“Speaking of your owner, I wonder where they are?” She scratches under Titus’ chin thoughtfully. “Should we go look for them?”

Titus' head flops to the side, almost like he’s listening for something, before he’s clambering up onto his feet to tower over her. He’s almost twice as tall as she is sitting, which is just ridiculous. Why is everything in America so big?

Getting to her feet herself, Titus still stands almost as tall as her. She can rest her elbow on his back when she grabs his collar to make sure he doesn’t run off. He leads mostly, pulling her along at a steady trot she has to jog to keep up with.

He truly was such a well behaved dog and certainly lived up to his breed’s reputation as a gentle giant.

Or at least she thought so, until the call of “Titus! Here!” echoes through the park and he goes racing off towards it, dragging Marinette along for the ride no matter how much she tries to slow down.

Titus comes to a skidding stop, and Marinette barely stops herself from falling by keeping her arm around Titus.

“And who are you?”

Looking up, she finds a young man, probably around her age, staring down at her. He does not look happy—but most Gothamites don’t, Marinette’s found. He’s also, despite the almost glare he’s giving her, very attractive.

When she opens her mouth, incoherent French comes tumbling out, much to her embarrassment.

Ah. ‘Not being able to speak coherently to people she finds attractive’, she had wondered where that particular personality trait had been as of late. Even after so many years hanging around people who should be—and are—super models, she still acts like a spaz. Why is she like this?

The man raises an eyebrow at her, looking very unamused.

She tries again. “Ah- Je suis- I mean, I am very sorry. Your dog found me sitting over there with my friends and I figured I should find his owner instead of letting him just wander around and I assume your his owner because if you aren’t this is very embarrassing for me. Not that it wasn’t embarrassing before but, oh, I’m definitely rambling and I’m going to shut up now.”

Pressing her lips together as tightly as humanly possible so her tongue will stop making horrible life decisions, she holds Titus’ bright yellow tennis ball out to his owner.

The man huffs, taking the ball from her hand. “I didn’t ask for your life’s story.”

Marinette blinks and then frowns. Her hand tightens around where she’s still holding onto Titus’ collar and she has to very carefully unclench her hand before she breaks it or something.

“I didn’t give it,” she says through clenched teeth, embarrassment abruptly forgotten. There’s no need for the man to be rude.

He scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

She doesn't really have anything to say to that. Instead, she turns to Titus, who’s sitting like the good boy he is. She very seriously leans down to eye level—she does not have to lean down far—and tells him, “Your owner is an ass. But you are still a very good boy.”

She plants a kiss to his forehead that makes his tail wag, gives him one last scratch behind the ears and walks back towards her friends without looking back at the rude man. 

***

Colonel Bug: so I met kagami and felix’s lovechild today

MY HONOR: I would never stoop so low.

the evil twin: I would never stoop so low.

ShutUpTurtleMan: Nettie

dearest

the evil twin: Okay first of all-

ShutUpTurtleMan: sunshine

light of our collective lives and reason I breathe

what the fuCK

YoureUnderAgreste: Kagami, my love, how could you?

The Betrayal™

GottaGoFast: ew

Queen of Salt: ew

sneaky snake: Send pics or it didn’t happen

give me art or give me death: [a photo of the ‘right in front of my salad?’ meme]

Queen of Salt: wait

I was with you all day when did this happen?

was it the owner of the dog that attacked you?

ShutUpTurtleMan: WHAT

Colonel Bug: he didn’t attack me!

chloe stop spreading misinformation!

titus was a sweetheart!

YoureUnderAgreste: incorrect

he was, in fact, a menace

give me art or give me death: wait was Titus the dog or the lovechild

ShutUpTurtleMan: ^^^ ?

Colonel Bug: shut up adrien

all animals are great

stop being elitist

give me art or give me death: okay but seriously what kind of dog was it

the evil twin: why exactly was he our lovechild?

GottaGoFast: because of the dramatic tryst you and Kagami had obviously

keep up

Colonel Bug: because he was as pretty as he was rude actually

And gave me the feeling that he’d rant about his honor and parentage if it given the chance

MY HONOR: you say something once as an unsocialized teen

GottaGoFast: MARI YOU DOG!

ARE GETTING TAIL IN GOTHAM OF ALL PLACES?

Colonel Bug: no alix

did you not read the part about how rude he is

YoureUnderAgreste: i mean,,,,,

Felix is pretty rude and we all still like him

ShutUpTurtleMan: and Chloe

YoureUnderAgreste: oh good point nino

Colonel Bug: i hate it here

i spoke to him for like 2 seconds

Queen of Salt: Okay first of all-

YoureUnderAgreste: so i mean it’s not really a dealbreaker yaknow?

Colonel Bug: this familys a nightmare

i shoulda left you all on the street corner where i found you

YoureUnderAgreste: BUT CHA DINDT

ShutUpTurtleMan: but yA DIDNT

GottaGoFast: BUT CHA DIDNT!!

sneaky snake: but ya didn’t

***

I have every no regrets. stay tuned for more!

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 02

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m still stunned at how many of you are enjoying this story. thank you so so much for your support. much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky always woke up at 5AM and waking up at 5 AM was already considered a victory for him - to sleep through the night. Once the digital clock flashed 5 AM in electric red, his eyes were wide open, the sight of constant darkness being the only thing he could see. His routine was precise, as precise as time itself and it barely changed - gym then a dark cup of coffee followed by reading whatever coffee side table book Steve would linger around.

Y/N, unlike him, didn’t have a precise routine. She enjoyed routine but her mornings were always her own time, away from everything. On her free days she would try to wake up by at least 10. After she was fully awake she would turn on the TV in her bedroom and turn on the kettle for a nice tea. She would then lay in bed, surrounded by her blankets and dressed in an oversized cardigan while some random show played.

Bucky’s mornings were always filled with people coming in and out, that was life living in the Avengers headquarters. Some mornings he thought about moving into the apartment in Brooklyn but that would just upset Steve. Heck, he didn’t even know Bucky had bought the apartment, it had been an impulse buy and he would go there every week to check on it. However, Brooklyn wasn’t as close to Y/N’s in SoHo so he guessed he would stay. Y/N’s mornings on the other hand were quiet, too quiet. It was just her, just her in a two bedroom apartment in the middle of wealthy SoHo.

      - Morning, Buck. - Steve, like always, walked into the kitchen, coffee mug saying number one dad in hand. He always had this smile that Bucky couldn’t find the words, a smile that was almost glad that he was still alive yet pitiful. The pure look of someone who’s been burdened, a mother to a child’s look, one she didn’t want. - Excited for guarding your first client?

      - Feels more like guarding property. - he mumbled over the dark coffee, chugging it all before anymore questions could be asked. 

It shouldn’t be a hard day, he thought to himself, mostly looking after her if she decided to go out for anything. He had looked into her profile, she was an easy target. Almost always wearing heels, flowey clothing, things that wouldn’t help her if someone was after her. Anyway, looked like an easy job, easier than saving the world.

Meanwhile, Y/N was laid in the middle of her covers, remote in hand as she skimmed through the channels. Looking around she noticed the loneliness she was in, the empty walls decorated with her own choosing but still empty. No sounds, too quiet. 

She rose from the bed, big socks touching the cedar wood floor as she padded up to the kitchen. The agency had had everything decorated and the fridge stocked but as she opened the door she couldn’t find a single thing she wanted to eat. Disappointed, she closed the fridge, leaning against it to look at the rest of the flat. It was quiet, too quiet, filled with the sounds of quiet if that was even a physically possible thing. She let herself slide down the fridge front, sitting on the floor as she thought about what to do. She didn’t have her script yet, or at least more than two pages of it and going outside was the least thing she wanted to do today.

Y/N was about to fall asleep on the ground against her fridge, she heard footsteps. Quickly, she got onto her feet, rushing over to the door so fast she almost slipped. Pushing the peep hole away she put herself on her tippy toes to see if one of the neighbours was home.

     - Y/N, are you staring out the peep hole? - the person whose steps belonged too was definitely better than any neighbour. Quickly, she unlocked the door, pushing the metal that held it shut to the wall and opened it to see Bucky in a much more casual attire than before. Red henley with some loose dark jeans looked better in her opinion. - If you hear someone it’s always a terrible idea to use the peep hole. Almost always let’s them know someone’s in.

     - Then what are peep holes for? - Bucky playfully rolled his eyes but not before observing what she was wearing. She looked more comfortable. - Do you wanna come in? 

     - Miss Olson said I am to wait outside your door until you want to leave the apartment.

     - What if someone broke my window and took me?

     - Trust me, Y/N. I would know and would win that fight. 

     - You sure you don’t wanna come in? I could cook you some breakfast. Whatever you like. - she had that shine in her eyes, Bucky couldn’t explain it. He just knew it didn’t felt forced but she surely was nervous judging by the pushing of her oversized cardigan’s sleeve to cover her hand. - The agency filled my fridge with so much food I don’t know what to do with it.

     - I’m not a breakfast kind of person, Y/N.

     - Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. - her small hand came to rest over his wrist, pulling at it so he would go inside. He found it amusing how someone who was much shorter than him, head barely hitting his collarbones, would try to move him. Although, surprising wasn’t the fact that he moved but the fact that she touched him, she touched the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wasn’t a kid anymore, he wasn’t naive and he lacked Steve’s “all good” view of the world so he knew what people thought of him. They thought he had been of use but at the end of the day he had been the Winter Soldier for 70 years. They didn’t dare touch him but her she was inviting him into her home and touching him as if he were an old friend.

Once he got in, he immediately looked at everything. There were fake flowers everywhere in little glass jars, if they were broken and she were trying to escape she would get hurt, too many windows and not a lot of mirrored surfaces, people could look in. 

     - Would you like some pancakes? French toast? - her voice interrupted his inspection. - My mom was a cook, I can cook pretty much whatever you want. Can’t promise it will be as good as a cook’s but it’ll be edible.

     - You really don’t need to feed me, Y/N. - his gaze returned to her apartment, open doors everywhere.

     - I just thought ... since you’re going to be around a while we should be friendly with each other. - she looked down at her feet before looking up again, head slightly looking to the side. - I don’t know anyone in here, I didn’t even pick this apartment so I thought I would at least get to know you.

She felt ashamed, heat seemed to radiate from her cheeks to her whole body. Back at the theatre everyone knew each other, they all had show themed hoodies and would say hi whenever they came in and left but things in Hollywood were different. In her first movie she had made friends with only one cast member who still spoke to her but everyone else did their job and returned to their lives without a single hello. She thought that maybe knowing Bucky would make having someone constantly in her life a bit easier but she understood his position.

Bucky himself seemed to read that all on her face and as he did a thought popped into his head “they are gonna eat her alive”. 

     - Let’s try that French Toast. - she smiled at his answer, once again pulling his hand towards the kitchen. It was spacious for a SoHo flat, with cut edge technology and also a very visible knife set. He would have to tell her to put that somewhere else. 

She on the other hand quickly assembled all she needed, placing it on the marble countertop, a happy grin on her face as she started to prepare the meal. It reminded him of memories he had tried to suppress.

     - Mum’s a cook, why are you an actress? - those memories were still memories he wasn’t ready to get back and as such he reckoned speaking with her would keep it out. 

     - I don’t really know how to explain it. - she smiled, pulling a few hair strands behind her ear. - My mum took me to a musical after I didn’t get cast in the nativity play. It was Phantom of the Opera, I just remembered that chandelier rising and crashing and the energy of the performers. There was just ... that was time stopping and rushing at the same time. And the look on the performers faces as they finished a piece, god it was just, I had never seen and I don’t think I have ever seen such passion in someone’s face. 

Bucky moved his head ever so slightly, she seemed to be lost in her own memories, a daydream gaze washing over her features. He wondered what it was like to have memories to be proud of.

     - I’m sorry, I must sound like a sap. Why do you become a bodyguard?

     - I like a challenge.

     - That’s what you told me yesterday. - she placed a beautiful set plate in front of him. Beautiful things make beautiful things, that’s what his mother once told him. Maybe she was right.

     - What can I say, I’m not that interesting. 

     - I don’t know if that’s true. - she added a coffee cup to the French Toast, before pulling a chair. - You know, if I’m at home you don’t need to be outside my door, you can come in.

     - I wouldn’t want to intrude on your personal space.

     - It’s not really my personal space. The agency bought the flat and decorated it themselves so I guess it’s just the space I live in. I don’t really know the city yet so you’re mostly waiting outside for nothing. - she shrugged.

    - How long have you been in New York?

    - A little over 5 months. I was in California during my last movie and prior to that I was living in Haymarket in London. How long have you been in New York?

    - I was born in Brooklyn, about half hour away from here. Lived here my whole life ever since ... at least the part of it I could control.

Bucky waited to see that pity look, the one everyone in the team seemed to give them whenever they looked at him but she didn’t. She merely wrapped her hand around his, caring smile of someone who almost looked proud he existed or proud he was alive. They’re gonna eat her alive, he thought to himself once again.

    - Hey, you could show me around. - she suggested, jumping from the high chair onto the floor.

    - I don’t hang around SoHo, Y/N. 

    - Well, you could show me Brooklyn. Isn’t Coney Island in Brooklyn?

    - You wanna go to Coney Island? - he chuckled. - I don’t think your agency would enjoy that. Too public.

    - They don’t need to know. - she smirked playfully. - If you don’t tell them they won’t know.

    - You’re a celebrity, trust me you’ll be noticed. 

    - You said on your CV you were good at blending and disappearing into a crowd. Please, I’ll get you whatever you want in Coney Island.

    - Whatever I want? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her and she nodded. - Alright, Y/N.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess​ 

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 6/?

Word Count: 2.6-2.7k idk exact

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name)

MUSIC IS INCLUDED THIS TIME! Please enjoy my personal music playlist, or at least a snippet of it.

TO THE PERSON WHO REBLOGGED AND SAID THIS WAS CUTE (at least the first part) you straight up made me cry omfg

Warnings: Swearing, gets really fucking heated at the end (no sex, yet), no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Outfit Context:

Y/N:

Jason:

(Cause I finally found an outfit I liked on the boy, men’s fashion isn’t my strong suit,,, heh :) )

“Sorry, is my mouth hung open?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Very much so,” she mocked.

Jason closed his mouth and outstretched his hand for Y/N’s, cupping it with both hands and kissing the top of it.

“You just look so lovely, Y/N.”

“And you’re chivalrous, Jay. Now, should we get going?” she asked, putting her free hand on top of his two.

“Yes, let’s go,” he let one of his hands go of hers and lead her to the Porsche he brought with him, not intertwining his fingers with hers.

He opened the passenger’s side door and let Y/N get in, not letting go of her hand til the last moment he could hold it. He got in an turned on the radio,

It felt like a good night, for dancing in the moonlight,

In empty streets, well, everybody's got a reason why,

If we could only just get it right,

Maybe it will all work out like in the movies,

But I know Romeo must die before the ending,

With a final poison kiss delivered gently,

Because you don't get lucky twice, and that's the truth,

“Sing to me sweet just like my memory, 

If New York City Still moves me then I’ve found something real,

I’ll be okay, I could go on for days,

But I just don’t have the courage that it takes to be real,

And even if it’s dark at least we’ll be together,

Slowly sinking in the Earth to lay forever,

You better grab a hold and hold on for your life,

Because you don’t get lucky twice,

No, you don’t get lucky twice,” She sung with the tune.

Without the Bitter the Sweet Isn’t as Sweet - Mayday Parade

“You, you have the voice of an angel,” he said.

“It’s not that hard to mimic works of art with my voice.”

“Did you ever take singing lessons?”

“I did when I was younger, so I could sing French lullabies to my cousins.”

He placed a hand on her thigh as he drove them through the countryside of Gotham to Metropolis, taking the long way on what seemed like purpose. So he could encapsulate the moment in his memory for as long as he knew her and what she was to him. She was an adventure waiting to happen, a love story not yet written to tell for ages, a rock ‘n’ roll song written to please the masses in hidden corners of the world.

And to her, he was a masterwork of intertwining memories of pain, sadness, luck and beauty. A mind of complexity she was just waiting to dive into and see how it functioned. A story behind the white tuff of hair he had, why he was jacked to the masses if he was a book nerd. A story of his favourite book and his favourite sibling, his favourite trope, his love, his pain, him.

The moments where she stuck her hand out the window and traced symbols into the Autumn air swirling past the two as they cruised down the empty back roads. When he laughed as she sang Reste by GIMS and Sting. He didn’t understand the lyrics, but she did, and she called it a love song. Well, he got the parts Sting sung, but French wasn’t a language he knew like she did.

“I guess being Bilingual helped you out massively with that one, huh?”

“It’s a talent I never knew I needed, apparently.”

“Well, you did know you needed.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed, “ I guess I did always need it as a skill.”

“Do your cousins speak English too?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit? It’s better English than my father.”

“Can he not speak English?”

“Well, he can, just not well. But my mother is also Bilingual in English and French so they never had to worry about my father being bad at English. My twin sister and I grew up knowing both languages,” she rambled, still playing with the wind, “I guess it’s a one-up I have on a lot of people, being able to just talk and talk in another language, travelling advantage,” she kept going, Jason intently listening to her as she went on and on, he liked the silence being filled by her voice, “You know? You might know, I don’t know how you were raised to a T,” she finished.

“Well, I can assure you I only know English so you have that theoretical one-up on me, too. But I choose to see that one-up as something you can teach me as time goes on and we progress,” he paused, “If you’re down to get serious eventually, that is,” he panicked.

“Well, maybe we’re at that point where we can say we’re casually seeing each other and exclusive, but not serious. Hopeful, but not pressuring ourselves into something that’s going to be put under a lot of pressure as we go on,” she said, still playing with the wind.

“We’ll see about that after dinner.”

“Where are we even going?”

“Fancy little restaurant with a balcony facing over the city,” he assured.

“Really out here living for the moments?”

“Well, most girls crack under the pressure of the paparazzi, you, however, flipped them off, and that’s being rewarded for showing that you can’t give a fuck about those dingy ass tabloids and how they treat you, by taking you out to nice places,” he said.

She laughed, “I’m glad I’m never going to live that one down, it was really fun to do.”

“I hope it continues as we go along, I would hate to see that behavior change when it brings a smile to everyone who’s ever been harassed by paparazzi” when they pulled over for a second, Jason quickly loosened his tie a tad, “Honestly, I want to ditch this fucking tie,”

“It’s not you,” she said, “It’s just not.”

“And you know me that well to take that guess?”

“I could see you struggling with it from a mile away, Jason. Maybe the fancy restaurant isn’t us,” she laughs, “But we aren’t going to not take that dinner date.”

“Oh we’re so going to take that date, but I’m thinking from here on out we do whatever the fuck we want, no fancy dates. Thoughts?” he asked.

“Done deal,” she said.

----------------------------

In the restaurant, the two of them were basically the worst people to be there, it was levels of fancy that neither of them actually wanted, they both wanted simplicity, but they both thought the presence of the other person was enough of a takeaway from the completely wrong choice of restaurant. They had Dick to blame for this one, and Jason made that clear to Dick in a joking text while Y/N snuck off to the bathroom to ‘fix her hair, she was actually checking her breath.

Dick, this fucking restaurant is a god damn bust, man. We aren’t you and Barbara, that’s what we’ve discovered today. lol.

Bummer! We really like that place.

I can see why it screams Dick and Barbs.

You kissed her yet though?

No.

Wuss! Cat got your tongue? Just do it, man.

And at the same time, Y/N was texting A/N about Jason and what to do,

Girl! Thank you so much for reminding me to bring mints, my god, food ruins your breath so much.

You really want the pretty boy kiss huh?

No, I’m eating the mints to not kiss him, YES I WANT THE KISS.

Ha! Honesty is key, just go for it.

She laughed as she packed her phone into her dress pockets (Yeah there’s fucking pockets :) ) and went to leave the restroom to meet up with Jason again. To which, Jason had already paid and tipped the waiter.

“I could have at least helped on the tip, Jay.”

“I tipped him 200%, but if you want to drop more cash, go for it.”

“You tipped that much?” she asked while slipping in a 50$ she had on her.

“Of course, food service workers deserve a lot more than what they get, especially when they have to deal with terrible customers,” he said as he went and grabbed her hand again, not intertwining fingers again, “And my best friend, Will, he complains about people who don’t tip and praises people who quote ‘over tip’ but I think that he deserves 200% each bill for the shit he puts up with.”

“Did you tip him when we went there?”

“No, I called in a ‘No questions asked’ favour. And before you say anything, he did the same to make me babysit his daughter-”

“Your best friend has a daughter?”

“Well, he’s older than me, but yeah, he’s a single dad because her mum kind of sucks, lovely little girl, I’m her godfather.”

“Does she call you Uncle Jason?”

“Well, Uncle Jay, it’s like one of the only works she knows how to say properly, and Dada,” he laughed, “Great little girl,” he said, nervously, “This doesn’t change anything, does it? ‘Cause if he, knock on fucking wood, lord forbids, dies that will be my daughter.”

“Well, he’s not dead and you’re not worrying that he’s going to die, so nothing has to change. God kids are god kids, noble that you took on your best friend’s kid if, lord forbid, anything happens to the man, really,” she assured.

He sighed and kissed the back of her hand, “Then that is just a gift on top of what I did,” he smiled and lead her back to the Porsche once again, opening the car door for her and she slightly turned on the radio, he let out a small laugh to himself, he got the pretty girl. He got into the Porsche again and began backing out.

“There’s something about ditching a really expensive dinner date that leaves you wanting more,” she said, absent-mindedly.

“What kind of more?” he asked.

“The kind you see in the movies, fully exposed and adventurous, you know?”

“Well, we could always sneak into the Wayne Manor Gardens and dance the night away under the stars like lovers do,” he half-joked, placing a hand on her thigh again and pretending like he did it subconsciously, but he was hyper-aware, especially when he caught her smile as she laughed.

“Wayne Manor? With your brothers, sisters, dad, and grandfather?” she paused, “If you’re serious, then no, not tonight. If you’re pulling my leg then, hell fucking no,” she joked.

“Maybe one day, then, huh?”

“One day, for sure. When it isn’t scary to accidentally run into your family on their property running around with you,” she said.

“Well, we can always go into the Wayne Enterprises Ballroom and dance the night away, no one should be in the office for a while and even then since there are no classes in the entire school tomorrow you can just hide out in my office if we stay too long,” he paused to make sure she was still listening, “Security can’t question me because I’m Bruce Wayne’s son, and security is tight as fuck so paparazzi can’t get to us,” he paused to put a little bit of pressure on her thigh, “What do you say? Can I have this dance, Milady?” he half-joked.

“You want to know something Jason?

“Always, Y/N.”

“I took dance lessons when I was younger, can you Waltz?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, I can.”

“Then I’m in, let’s go.”

-------------------------------------

She loved the feeling of being back in her new hometown, Gotham. So when they pulled into the massive black building, she felt even more welcomed, security at the gates did ask ‘Who’s the girl?’ but Jason just explained it very easily,

“You know that date of mine that flipped off the press and you lot loved it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the man responded.

“You can call me Jason, you know that. But this is that girl.”

And they were let through the parking gates and into the underground parking system, they had to travel surprisingly far to Jason’s reserved spot in the lot, but the did get there before it hit AM. Once out of the car, Jason grabbed her hand and they ran into the building’s employees doors. It was a tight squeeze, but the feeling of Jason pressed so close to her sent chills down her spine. They went through many halls and reached the Ballroom, and entering it was like a dream for her.

Walls lined with intricate shapes and colours, but the colours never brought away from the stage at the far end from the door, the curtains seemed to redden with each step towards them, the 3, maybe 4 chandeliers hung above her like crystals in the ocean, it was amazing and beautiful. Checkered floorboards to give it a little bit of dimension, but it was the same colour as the main wall so your brain and eyes wouldn’t hurt after looking at it. It was stunningly beautiful and that’s what drew her in.

When he grabbed her hand and put on Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine, pulling her close to his chest and slowly Waltzing her around the room, spinning her when it felt right for him to do. Neither of them worried about the sloppiness or how it looked to the naked eye because it was for them. no one got satisfaction like they did at that moment. And grabbing her for one last dip was Jason’s goal when the ending of the song hit, although out of breath and his face stuffed in her chest as they both panted, he did pull her up so they were face-to-face on the dancefloor that they wiped clean.

“Did I tell you that you look stunning, Y/N?”

“I think you mentioned it a few times, Jay,” she said, staring directly into his eyes.

“Well, I mean it.”

“And I’m going to mean this,” she paused, taking her hand and placing it on his cheek, “ The way your eyes are a green-blue tint makes me lost in them, they’re like a sea of this mind I find myself liking more and more every day,” she paused to put her other hand on his other cheek, “And the way your nose and cheek freckles frame them is amazing.”

And he went for it. Somehow when he pressed his lips into hers, it felt like they were meant to match, and they both opened their mouths to play the coveted game of tongue-war, but they didn’t play by the rules, it was soft and sweet but full of passion and love, not lust. His hands would travel to her waist and lightly grip her, while her hands would travel to his neck and drape around the back of it.

They pulled away at the same moment to take in air, something they had clearly been missing as they were connected, they both let out a small chuckle before she put her hands in his hair and went in for round 2.

This time it was hungrier, and they both played with the shapes of the other so much more as time went on, he would grab her ass and she would pull on his hair slightly before he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and moved one of her hands to the nape of his neck, this time, they would break for seconds only to start moving towards his office, which, conveniently, had a couch.

To say he threw her on that couch would be an understatement, he fucking thrust her on that couch and climbed on top of her, it was like 3 days of passion and lust combined themselves in a matter of minutes from their first kiss to them meeting on the couch. They both knew deep down that it couldn’t escalate further than this, especially at 1 in the morning, but time moves fast when you’re connecting in this way.

They finally broke after their passionate exchange and he fell to her side and began to spoon her, “Worth it,” he whispered.

“Worth what?” she asked.

“It was worth it to take a chance and defy my anxieties to ask you on that first date.”

“I don’t like a reality where you didn’t ask me on that date.”

“Neither do I, and I’m positive of that.”

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 20: Then Perish

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event​ Prompt: Then Perish (Part 1) Rating: M (violence, minor character deaths) A/N: We wanted to finish Jasonette July with a bang.  The second half will be posted tomorrow for the Saturday Challenge.  We’ve appreciated all your comments and kind words, we really do read every one. It genuinely means a lot to us and encourages us to continue writing together.  As a fandom you have been nothing but kind and supportive, and we enjoy bringing you fics great and small with a wide variety of genres, dynamics, and iterations.  Also blame DC fanboy for the memes in this fic. Marinette loved to travel, she had traveled all over the world from New York to Shanghai. Today, she traveled with her parents to Gotham City to visit her parents' friends, whom they had not seen in many years. Sabine was initially afraid to visit Gotham City, due to its crime rate and ever-growing list of criminals. Tom reassured his wife, saying that his big stature would scare any would-be criminal from harming them, that the trip would be short and they would visit Metropolis afterwards. Marinette wore the Ladybug Miraculous, just in case something were to happen. As the family got off the taxi at Park Row, everyone felt something was off. "Park Row really has...changed." Thomas muttered. Sabine held on to both her husband and her daughter, "I think we should leave." she said. Soon shadows began appearing around the corner, then came the yelling, and soon after came the gunshots. Thomas grabbed his wife and daughter and ran to find shelter from a hail of bullets. Marinette looked back to see many civilians, men, women and children caught in the middle of this gang war.  She needed to be a hero, her father could take care of her mother, she needed to save those in danger. She freed herself from her father's grasp and ran behind a corner, she whispered "spots on" and transformed into Ladybug. Diving and flipping across streaking bullets everywhere, she flung her yo-yo to drag any unfortunate bystanders into an abandoned building. While in a building with innocent civilians, she peeked her head out the window to see a monstrous man.  Wearing a blood red helmet and wielding two pistols, he systematically killed everyone before him. His flips and kicks were graceful yet brutal, the cries of pain and pleas for mercy made her shudder. She couldn't fight him, no, she was afraid to. It would be best to find her family, she did all she could and got bystanders to safety. She quietly transformed back into Marinette and went to look for her family. She ran back to where she last saw them, she scoured the streets shouting "Maman! Papa!" hoping that using her French would help her parents find and identify her. She soon ran into the Red Beast, as she began to turn and run back before she saw the two people at his feet. “<No, no no no, please god no.>” she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. There lay her parents, in a pool of their blood with bullet holes between their eyes. Marinette dropped to her knees, silently crying. The Red Hood either didn't see her, or chose to spare her and decided to walk away. Marinette ran to her parents, grabbing them both and shaking them. "<Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me>” she wept. Later, she was picked up by the GCPD. They escorted her on the flight back to Paris along with the remains of her parents. When she arrived, she was approached by the Aide Sociale à L'enfance (ASE).  They told her that she'll be staying at a nearby orphanage until after her parents' funeral. Then she would then be sent off to live with her only remaining relative, her Great-Uncle Wang in Shanghai. On the night before the funeral, Marinette was unable to sleep.  She curled her legs to her chest while she sat on the mattress.  She has spent the past few days researching the mysterious Red Hood, crime boss and self-proclaimed Prince of Gotham.  She read article after article of his meteoric rise to power, first conquering Black Mask, then The Penguin. Nightmares plagued her whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the Red Hood tower over her parent's lifeless bodies, covered in their blood. She was worried about being sent off to a foreign country tomorrow evening, while barely even speaking any Mandarin. All the while knowing that once she is on that flight to Shanghai, her parent's killer would without a doubt walk free. Morning comes, yet Marinette still thinks of what she should do. Could she really go to Shanghai to start her life anew, not knowing the language and allowing her parents’ killer to go on unpunished? At the funeral, while standing over her parents’ graves, she remained silent. The priest, ASE agents and her friends all came to pay their respects. Each of her friends approached her to give their sympathies, but she did not listen to a word they said. The Red Hood weighed heavily on her mind, and she made her fateful decision. To run, run and never look back. She had prepared a backpack containing the Miracle box with all the Miraculous, along with a few essential supplies and money. She turned into Multimouse to sneak on board a passenger aircraft to make her way to Gotham City.  Jason knew, better than Batman, that fighting crime sometimes meant getting your hands dirty.  What started as a petty squabble between two rival gangs grew into a bloodbath.  He missed Roy at times like these, Artemis and Bizarro were still missing, but he held out hope that they would one day return to this Earth. A teenage girl with an impressively sturdy yo-yo had burst onto the scene, trying to get civilians to safety.  He was a bit too preoccupied with the battle to get a good look at the girl.  Knowing Bruce, the next time he’d see her, she’d be under his wing.  Sadly, there were two civilians that neither of them could save, a large, burly looking man and a tiny woman.  The person who shot them with frightening accuracy had got away, moments later a teenage girl had arrived on the scene.  There was a brief flash of fear in her eyes when she saw him, and she would have just scurried away if only he hadn’t been at the very spot where her parents lay dead.  The girl was inconsolable as she fell to her knees and wept, pleading with them in French.  Red Hood walked away, thinking it would be best to leave her to grieve.  There wasn’t a whole lot he could say in English that would make her feel any better, never mind in French. He watched from a distance as the GCPD arrived to pick up the pieces, Red Hood watched from the shadows as police officers and an interpreter tried to get the girl’s side of the story.  From what he gathered, the girl’s name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her family owned a bakery in Paris.  Her next of kin was a relative in Shanghai, and it sounded like the best option for her would be to go and live there.   The plan was to ship her and her parents’ bodies back to Paris, and let child services take it from there.  He would have probably told her to get as far away from Gotham as possible, away from the clutches of a certain someone who was also orphaned in Crime Alley.  He saw her cradle what looked like a small pink doll to her face as she wept, before he turned and walked away. A week later, Jason had a break in the case.  This was all caused by some low-level members of the Falcone and Maroni families continuing their decades-old battle.  As far as everyone knew, the crime families swiftly executed the men responsible and went about their business.  Two crime families were unable to keep their lackeys in check, and now the people who weren’t lucky enough to be whisked away by Yo-Yo Girl, were now either dead or wishing they were.   He thought back to poor little Marinette, wondering where she was now. Bruce confronted him at the Iceberg lounge shortly after the incident, to which Jason explained that the perp had got away.   He had killed people before, and that wasn’t stopping anytime soon, after all it wasn’t that long ago that he tried to kill the Penguin.  “This may surprise you Bruce, but the Red Hood isn’t the only one who uses guns in Gotham '' he snapped.  There were some lines that even he did not cross, lines that he had drawn for himself. Judging by the accuracy of the gunshots, this was no accident.  Their daughter was probably starting a new life, probably on the other side of the world.  Still, he wished he could have said something to the girl, a simple “Hey, it’s gonna be all right” probably would have sufficed.  Little did he know that Marinette was making her return to Gotham City.  She would have her revenge on the Red Hood, and this time she had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. After her very uncomfortable 10 hour flight from Paris to Gotham City in the cargo hold, Multimouse quietly sneaked out of the crowded airport without alerting anyone. Marinette wandered around Chinatown, thinking of her next step. She was thinking about how she would have to go through the city with a fine tooth comb to search for a lead, likely starting small with his men in the streets.  Before she could put the earrings back in her backpack, Tikki begged her to reconsider what she was doing.  “Please Marinette, you need time to heal, to grieve,” she pleaded, but Marinette didn’t need the powers of healing, luck and creation. If and when she encountered the Red Hood, she wanted to bring him death, misfortune and destruction.  After all, that was exactly what he had brought her.  With a stroke of luck, she overheard someone getting a beatdown.  "You get your ass outta here, this is Red Hood's turf. If you wanna sell that shit, you gotta give the boss his cut."  Marinette whispered "Plagg, claws out" and transformed into Lady Noire, before sneaking up behind one of the Red Hood’s men. He released the person he was beating, and chased him out the alleyway.  She took this opportunity to swing her staff,  hitting the back of his neck and sending him face first into the ground. He immediately tried to stand up, as he stood on wobbly legs he took out his knife from his jacket. "Oh shit, Catwoman?!" he yelled. Lady Noire used her staff to sweep him off his feet and slammed her staff onto his face.  "Where is the Red Hood?" she growled.  "Screw you bitch!" the goon retorted. Lady Noire had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her the location of the Red Hood, so she decided to try a different approach. "Fine then, why don't you give your boss this simple message…" Before she could finish her sentence, she heard the telltale click of a gun being loaded. She turned around and started spinning her staff, creating a grey shield to deflect the storm of bullets that were being fired at her.  She moved her hands at a rapid pace, and frantically pushed back against the hail of bullets.  As the bullet storm subsided she looked up and saw, up on the fire escape, was the Red Hood with an assault rifle. The Red Hood casually tossed his gun aside and asked "So, what's this message you have for me, Catwoman?" He gracefully did a forward flip and landed in a crouch.  "Wait a minute..." he said, the first thing he noticed was that this person was tiny, 4’11 or maybe 5’ on a good day. Her eyes were a bright acid green with dark slits like a real cat’s pupils.  "You're not Catwoman, you're too short to be her, for one thing.” he remarked “also she usually has a whip instead of a staff, who are you?" Lady Noire gritted her teeth, "You killed my family" she answered with a low growl. "Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down Kitten?" Red Hood's taunts made her snap.  She screamed "YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!" The Red Hood stared at her, as he crossed his arms.  "I don't even know who you are, what's your beef with me?" He asked, Lady Noire lunged at the Red Hood with her staff, she swung wildly to try and hit him.  He dodged most of her strikes with ease, “Is that the best you’ve got?  You’re gonna have to try harder than that.”  Where she might have lacked in skill, she made up for in determination.  She wasn’t pulling any punches, he had to give her that.  He caught the staff under his arm, and punched Lady Noire with his free arm.  As he went on the offensive, he slapped her staff aside, and came at her with a series of punches and kicks.   “So, what do you want Kitten? Money? Jewels? A very big ball of string?”  he joked.  “All I want is revenge,” she spluttered. “Get in line Kitten, you’re in the city that runs on vengeance” he retorted. Marinette was lucky that the suit gave her enhanced speed, strength and endurance. She always loved how the Lady Noire suit felt a lot lighter compared to the Ladybug suit. Though she shuddered to imagine what her opponent would do with this power.    He raised his leg to end his combination with a forceful downward kick, Lady Noire raised her staff up to a horizontal block to stop the kick. Upon contact with the kick, the staff split into two, and then Lady Noire launched into her counter attack. She was striking the Red Hood with a flurry of blows with both halves of her staff.  "Escrima sticks too? Looks like we have a Nightwing fan here” he smirked under the mask; this new girl was just full of surprises.  He brought his arms to the sides of his head in a defensive posture, blocking the onslaught of strikes from the escrima sticks.  Red Hood then grabbed Lady Noire by the back of her head, placing her in a Thai clinch. He launched a powerful knee to her face and sent her reeling back. He drew his pistols and fired a torrent of bullets at her. Lady Noire had to dodge, weave and use her staff to deflect incoming bullets. One bullet even grazed her cheek. She then pointed her staff at the Red Hood and extended it with so much force it slammed him against the wall of a nearby building. Without giving him any breathing room, she then retracted the staff. She launched herself towards him and then dropkicked his face straight into the wall. His helmet cracked against the tremendous pressure. "It's now or never” she thought, as she cast Cataclysm and swiped at one half of the Red Hood’s helmet. She saw the helmet dissolve and reveal the target beneath.  She noticed that underneath the helmet he wore a red domino mask, not unlike the one she usually wore.  She would have time to think about how overly dramatic that was later, as she used her other hand to pick up the knife on the ground that the other goon left behind.  She jumped on top of the Red Hood, “Now perish!” she cried out as she thrusted the blade towards the exposed part of his face. Red Hood recovered quickly and caught her hand holding the blade. As the two struggled for the knife, Lady Noire tried to swipe at him with Cataclysm again.  Suddenly, she felt the power of 50,000 volts coursing through her, as the Red Hood activated the taser hidden in his chest piece.  She powered through, running purely on anger, grief and adrenaline. She was only able to struggle for about a minute, before passing out from the pain.  Red Hood flipped Lady Noire’s unconscious body aside, before he took off his helmet to inspect the damage. "The hell?." he pondered, "So, indestructible staff that can do double duty as a shield, and the ability to disintegrate things with one touch. Let's find out who you really are."  He slowly stood up and looked down at her unconscious body. He tried to peel away her domino mask, yet it would not come off. He tugged on the mask, even to the point of lifting the unconscious girl off the ground. He released the mask, and let the body drop with a small thud.  The Red Hood began talking to himself "She either superglued the mask on or it’s something else. Considering all that she can do, I'd say 80% chance it's magic and 20% a lantern. Either way a 100% pain in my ass".  He heard a small beeping noise and gingerly lifted her hand up off the floor.  As it emitted black and green energy, he noticed that she had a ring on.  The beeping came from a small picture of a paw print, which was missing a few pads.  If she was a lantern, that ring was going to run out of charge any moment now.  He took out his phone and called the Iceberg Lounge. He requested that they send for a van to pick him up and his new guest.   He requested that the Su Sisters get her cleaned up and ready. He needed to find out who sent her and who she worked for. He took out the special handcuffs that Batman designed when dealing with metahumans. As he walked towards Lady Noire about to cuff her, he heard some more beeping, followed by a bright light surrounding her.  Her suit and mask disappeared, leaving behind a small girl in pastel pink clothes who was probably no older than 15 or 16.  Her long braid changed back into a couple of shoulder-length pigtails, and she had a pink backpack on her back.  Jason looked inside the bag, there were a few sets of clothes, a wallet and an antique Chinese jewelry box.  He wondered if that ring was just one of many tools in her arsenal.  Jason's eyes widened, he recognised her as the girl he saw a few weeks ago when the turf war in Crime Alley broke out.  "What’s she doing here?" he said to himself aloud, “ Idiot” he muttered. He remembered following the girl and her GCPD escort to make sure she boarded her flight back to Paris.  She was supposed to be with her remaining family. Yet she came back to, no, ran away to Gotham City.  All for revenge.  He checked her wallet and saw the name printed on it, he sighed, this just confirmed that she was the same girl. When she had her revenge, what would she do then?  He wasn’t the undisputed master of thinking things through, but even he thought she was a fool to come back here.  Gotham City didn’t have the best track record dealing with orphans.  He knew this from personal experience, but there was that time where many were rounded up and sent upstate to juvie, for the crime of trying to survive on the streets.  He would have been in the same position, had it not been for his own fateful encounter in Crime Alley. He shuddered to think what her other option would be in a place like Gotham City, becoming a Robin.  Part of the reason he wanted her out of Gotham was so that Bruce wouldn’t get any ideas about taking her in.  When the car arrived, he scooped up the girl in his arms and carried her towards it.  Marinette woke up with her heart beating frantically in her chest, the first thing she saw was a bright light.  She was dead, she had to be, the last thing she remembered was confronting the Red Hood and now he had killed her.  She slowly sat up, she looked down to find that someone had changed her clothes, she was wearing light blue pajamas.  She started to look around, to her left there was a large floor to ceiling window where she could see a city at night with bright twinkling lights.  On the table next to her was the Miracle box, she quickly grabbed the box and looked through it. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw that all the Miraculous she brought with her were still there.   Suddenly, Marinette heard someone clear their throat.  At the foot of the bed, stood a rather large woman who had a bundle of clothes in her hand.  Next to her was a blonde woman with pink highlights who had a tray of food. “Oh good, you’re finally awake” the large woman said gruffly, she set the clothes down on the edge of the bed.  The blonde girl set a tea tray down in front of her, along with a couple of pastries.  Marinette’s heart sank at the sight of the croissants, they reminded her of her parents and their bakery. “Eat up and get dressed, the boss wants to see you later” the blonde woman told her, before skipping to the larger woman’s side.  Just as the two were about to leave, Marinette piped up, “Um, where am I?” she asked, “Who is your boss?” “You’re in the Iceberg Lounge in Gotham City”, the large woman told her gruffly.  “The name’s Suzie, this is one of my sisters, Candy. Our boss is the owner.”  Marinette gave an awkward wave as they left, and Candy returned it with a more cheerful one.    She took a bite out of the croissant, it tasted cold and dry. However, if she was going to defeat the Red Hood, she’d need all her strength. She put Plagg’s ring back in the box and reached for Ladybug’s earrings; she needed a new tactic.  When Tikki appeared in front of her, she also quickly looked around the room before looking back at Marinette with a concerned look on her face. “I couldn’t do it,” Marinette explained “he managed to stop me and I ended up back here”. Tikki’s eyes were sympathetic as Marinette held her closer to her face, “Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” Tikki asked.  “For now, I have to get changed and go upstairs to meet the boss.  Maybe he’s the one who found me after the fight was over” Marinette theorized as she gave Tikki the cookie from the tray.  While Tikki quietly nibbled at it, Marinette stood up and walked over to the edge of the bed.  Inside the small bundle of clothes were a simple white blouse and black skirt. They were a little big, she would probably hem it if she had her sewing machine.    Moments later, a tall woman with dark hair led Marinette into the penthouse, a large room with a desk in the corner.   A tall man in a suit stood with his back towards the door, overlooking the sparkling city skyline.  She slowly stepped inside, looking around the room as she walked towards the man.  “Um hi, who are you?” Marinette asked as she apprehensively walked towards him.  She couldn’t help but feel small in that grand high-ceiling room. “I am the owner of the Iceberg Lounge,” he explained. “I guess the question I should be asking is…” he turned towards her and Marinette saw he had a domino mask over his eyes and a red half mask covering his nose and mouth, “who are you?” He threw something at her and she caught it.  She looked down and saw the Red Hood’s helmet, half of it looked as though someone tried to tear the metal open.  Then she remembered everything she had researched about the Red Hood, and the fight that took place not long after she arrived back in Gotham. “You…” she hissed. To be continued...

[realmadridfamily]

Beautiful Mishele Gerzig has been with us for several years. She started her modeling career at the age of 13, but at the age of 16 she signed a contract with leading agencies in Europe and the United States. With 178 cm and with face of angel, behind her are already many international campaigns. She regularly walks the runways of major fashion weeks, led the global campaign of the prestigious American brand GUESS and also opened the company's covered fashion shows and billboards on New York's Fifth Avenue. "I made no attempt to become famous, I was not involved in any scandal or anything like that, I was in a long relationship, at the age of 18 I preferred to stop my career for two years in favor of significant service in the IDF. When I started succeeding abroad ? It's not that I suddenly became more beautiful and there is a photogenic relationship here and everyone is interested. I still say to myself about what was and what is: what is mine - mine."

In an impressive, spacious mansion, in the prestigious "Valladia del Monte" neighborhood outside Madrid, live Israeli model Mischel Gerzig and her life partner Thibaut Courtois, Real Madrid goalkeeper, one of the best in the world. She was 24 years old, a single woman who canceled her engagement long before her wedding, he was 29 years old, single father of two children, aged 4 and 6, from a previous relationship. "They are amazing children, they accepted me and made me feel like part of the family" - says Gerzig about his partner's children. Every day, a trusted chef comes to the residence to prepare meals for the household with an emphasis on a diet tailored to the athlete, as well as an assistant responsible for cleaning. In short, a good life. But these days Mishele is in her homeland at the photo session for Pix's lingerie so they (she and Courtois) talk on the phone at any free moment and have daily video calls. Gerzig and Courtois first met on Instagram when he commented her photo and she replied to it. It turned out that they had mutual friends and when she came to the session in Madrid, they met them at a restaurant and then kept a friendship. Meetings with the group continued, and the press in Madrid talked about them before they even became a couple: "We became good friends, spent several months with other friends, and finally decided to give ourselves a chance. I met his children before our love story. In the summer, friendship became a great love." - says Mishele. Since then, her parents have visited their mansion and she has fallen in love with his children Adriana and Nicolas who are with them every weekend. She goes to all Real Madrid matches in the city and sometimes joins him on away matches both in Spain and all over Europe. She was a football fan even before they met, but since they were together she has become Madridista.

What do you like most about him?

Let him be a two-meter handsome guy, but most of all he is an amazing person and also my best and true friend who helps and supports everyone. He is a lovely dad. Despite his success and fame, he stands with two feet on the ground. He speaks fluent Flemish, Spanish, French and English, understands Portuguese, German and Italian, and has now started learning Hebrew in an app and even starts reading Hebrew slowly!

Would you have moved elsewhere with him if he had changed teams?

His goal is to stay with Real Madrid, he has even signed a contract for another five years. We will flow with what life brings us. We will be visiting Belgium, but it doesn't look like he will come back to live there.

Mishele was born and raised in Eilat. She is the second daughter of her parents who immigrated from Zion because of Zionism. The father was a taxi driver, and the mother, who previously worked in a travel agency, was also responsible for her daughter's career and accompanied her in all her work at home and around the world. She has a sister who is 12 years older than her, who lives in Germany with her German husband and two children. She will not come back to Eilat, but she loves the city and remembers her wonderful childhood, fun at sea and a jet ski she had at the age of 16: "I was a good student, but I missed school and trips because of modeling. But the school supported me." - she says.

Do you have weight problems?

No. As I got older I became stubborn and someone who came to terms with herself. I did sports, ate right, and to this day I don't gain weight.

And when you were younger?

During military service I gained weight as well as muscle mass. I wanted to go back to the modeling world, and I had to prove myself again. Dark circles under the eyes, trembling. A dark period in my life. I started practicing special breathing. I had strong support from family, my mother followed me everywhere, and I gradually got stronger. The anxiety attack that I went through was strong. I will not starve myself because my mental health is the most important. If you want to be successful, you shouldn't starve yourself to the point of anorexia and tell yourself, "I am who I am."

Have you not thought about developing your career and applying to be active in the military?

I made a choice while taking a break in my career. Everyone around told me that I might miss out on an international career, but I was determined to contribute my part to the IDF. It's a question of the values I grew up on. I passed my service in the difficult role of a navy tug, took a command course, and was in command of a rescue ship. I liked it and thought about signing a permanent contract, but in the end modeling won, but to this day I do not regret those two years. The modeling world was waiting for me and many new projects were opening up for me.

In the military, there were not only thoughts about staying, but also about marriage. She is only 24, but in the past she was engaged to a guy she knew from military service. A relationship that lasted over four years, including a two-year engagement, and eventually each took a different path.

She came to Israel from Madrid for a photo shoot for the underwear brand "Pix", and the chosen location is her apartment in the center of Tel Aviv, which she keeps even when she is in Madrid most of the time: "I haven't been here for three months. I like coming to Israel and my home. There is nothing better than home warmth and a familiar photographic atmosphere, an Israeli team and everything in Hebrew. I have no problem photographing underwear. The Pix collection has great stuff. Off-white, mobility and black colors dominate, the fabrics are very pleasant, and I especially liked the collection with quarrel fabrics that are currently fashionable. I will totally take part of the collection with me to Madrid."

Your parents have two daughters who have chosen to live far away from them, and their life partners are not Jews. How do they deal with it?

Our parents support our choices, and even more so after getting to know our men. My sister has a good life, her children speak Hebrew. In my case, I always said my base would be in Israel, but now plans have changed and I feel at home in Madrid. I help my parents as much as I can.

What is your professional dream?

Campaign for brands like Louis Vuitton, Prada, Calvin Klein and the cover for Vogue - I strive for it.  And outside of modeling, I'm interested in the game world. An entirely different topic: interior design. I did a course in home styling and I volunteer at the 'Gold for Seniors' association and part of the management team.

Are you already waiting for an offer?

What needs to happen will happen.

[theiceandbones]

Nova Scotia Bones: a brief listing of famous haunts in Canada’s ocean playground

Nova Scotia is a lobster-shaped granite peninsula that juts out into the North Atlantic on Canada’s east coast. It’s ancient, it’s damp, it’s rocky, and it’s home. It’s also wildly haunted. The impenetrable granite bedrock that we live upon seems to act as its own tomb for the energies of those who departed their earthly vessels on the volatile shores and in the coniferous boreal interior. Or, perhaps, it is our own maritime culture, one that is freckled with memento mori, that adds fuel to these legends that have been passed on through the ages. A culture that lives and dies by the sea is no stranger to tragedy and haunts, eventually one learns to live alongside them. For better or for worse. 

I’ve collected a few ghost stories that have stood out to me over the years. When one grows up in Nova Scotia these are a select few that everyone speaks of, some may be lesser known but still thoroughly chilling. These will be arranged in order of popularity. 

1. The Young Teazer The Young Teazer was an American privateering schooner who, in June of 1813, would find herself in the waters of Mahone Bay being pursued by the British fleet. Her commander, a Lieutenant Johnston, knew that if he were to be captured he would most certainly hang, and knowing this, he ordered his crew to abandon ship in a major way- the Teazer was exploded, all onboard except for eight perished in the blast. It is now a well-known local legend that on a warm summer’s night, one may still see the reflection of a ship on fire in Mahone Bay’s quiet waters. 

2. The forerunner It’s just now occurred to me that I cannot possibly continue without speaking of the forerunner. This phenomenon features extensively within Nova Scotian folklore and is a key aspect of maritime superstition. A forerunner is an omen of death. It may take the shape of the doomed themselves, their scent, a light, an overwhelming sensation of dread directly linked to the individual, a falling photograph of or other object related to the individual, or one’s name being called by the individual. When expecting company, a traditional maritime host will set the large Pyrex kettle on the stove, always containing at least half a dozen teabags, to boil, but sometimes the recently-expected guest may not arrive- ever again. Here are a few selected tales of forerunners from Nova Scotia’s past. 

Anyone who is familiar with the series Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark will remember the story of “The Thing.” What they may not know, however, is that this story is based on a real event which happened in Victoria Beach, NS. A Mr. Thorne and his friend, Joe, were out walking at night when they spied behind a neighbour’s house a long, spindly, pale creature dressed in a white shirt, black trousers and black braces peering back at them. Well they had no idea what this creature could be and so they ran back to Joe’s house after it had given them a right spook. Eventually the pair returned only to discover that now the creature was standing atop the fence in the neighbour’s yard, a fence so old it crumbled under a person’s touch, and that’s when it was decided they were done chasing this thing for one evening. 

Years later, Joe took ill with consumption and died. Mr. Thorne, his ever-faithful friend, had stayed up with him right up until the very end. Joe’s condition had wasted him away so powerfully he was nary more than skin and bone by the time he’d passed. Mr. Thorne through the years had been hesitant to tell this story at all, for a good reason. Because, he says, toward the end of Joe’s life, lying in bed in his graveclothes, he looked just like The Thing.

In Liverpool, NS, a Mrs. Viola Oickle was seated at the kitchen table playing cards with her friends when she looked up and in the window, plain as day, was her Uncle Ernie. “There’s Uncle Ernie” she said, they’d heard the latch on the door open, but Ernie never showed. After cards she decided she’d go round to Ernie’s house to check on him, and there he was, peeling apples on his front step fit as a fiddle. However, mere hours later, Ernie had died of a heart attack at his home. 

Marion Bridge in Cape Breton is home to a wealth of ghost stories, of course the forerunner is one of these. In addition to one’s apparition, three knocks may also be an omen. A Mrs. MacGillivray tells the story of her mother waiting up one night for her father to come home when she heard the sound of a wagon being pulled by horses up the road. They stopped, then came three knocks at the door- which was strange, but her mother figured he may need a hand with something outside. Looking out, she realised no one was there at all. Of course she knew what three knocks meant and feared the worst for her husband. Eventually he returned home in his usual health, but her mother was still confused. A while later the body of a man was found up a nearby road and the men who’d discovered it stopped at the house to change horses at night. They knocked three times on the door, exactly the same sequence of events which transpired when her mother had heard the knocks before. 

3. Treasure The province has a storied history of pirates and privateering, so it comes as no surprise that stories of buried treasure are quite popular. As superstition has it, when digging for treasure, one must not speak until the task is done. If a word is spoken, the treasure will never be found. The spirits of pirates go to great lengths to ensure this, one tale tells of a man digging for a hidden treasure with his wife and young daughter. His wife pipes up, “oh would you look at those monkeys!” This is eastern Canada, as such there are no monkeys native to the area. Unsurprisingly, there were no monkeys to be found, and the treasure itself was never uncovered. Speaking of pirates

4. Black Rock Beach/Maugers Beach In Halifax’s early days as the port city it remains today, it was no stranger to pirates. Pirates, however, were not so welcome in Halifax as one may assume. When a pirate was caught in Halifax, they would be hanged and displayed in an iron cage at Black Rock Beach at the harbour’s mouth, or at Maugers (pronounced locally as Major’s) Beach on McNab’s Island a little further out. This is how the latter gained its name as Dead Man’s Beach. 

5. Other phantom ships Nova Scotia’s ties to the sea are a major part of its cultural superstition. From “red sky at night” to “never sail if you see a forerunner,” seafaring superstitions are etched into the fabric of life around here. It comes as no surprise, then, that there are so many stories of ghost ships in the mix. One such story comes from 1874, an experience of a Captain Hatfield from Fox River, NS as he was sailing from Cuba to New York. Asleep in his cabin one night, he felt three taps on his shoulder and a voice urging him, “keep her off half a point.” He figured this was the mate or another of his officers, but they each assured him it was not them. He felt the tapping and heard the voice again. As he was growing annoyed, he got up to look around and saw a man climbing up the ladder but was not dressed like the others onboard. Nevertheless, he got up and gave the order to keep the ship off half a point. When morning came, a wreck was spotted half a point off course of his ship, and onboard came Captain Amesbury of the schooner D. Talbot, his wife, child, and his crew. Captain Hatfield recounted the story of the night before to the captain and his wife, to which the wife informed him the man he saw was her father who had passed ten years prior. 

A story from Seabright of a fishing vessel that was lost in a sou-easter tells of a captain who’d not turn back as the other boats did, but instead dared the lord to stop him from staying behind. The ship was lost, of course, and for ages onwards sailors would recount seeing a bright light at night that disappeared during the day. It would tack when the respective vessel tacked, but no one ever saw the shape of the boat itself- just its light. But, as sailors do say, one can feel a ship just as one can feel a person nearby. 

6. St. Paul’s face in the window This one dates to the time of the Halifax Explosion which occurred on the 6th of December 1917. St. Paul’s Church is the oldest building in Halifax, its foundation having been laid in the year of the city’s founding in 1749.  As legend has it, the deacon of the church was standing in the window parallel to the Narrows of the harbour when the French munitions ship, Mont Blanc, exploded. His profile remains in the window to this day and can be seen via Argyle Street. 

7. The Black Window House Another Halifax legend, the Black Window House on Robie Street has a long history of superstition. It was built in 1840 for the first elected mayor of Halifax, William Caldwell. It is said to be haunted because of its infamous black window. Local legend states that once a man peered in the window and saw witches dancing their dance of death on the verandah. When the witches caught him spying, they turned the window black. 

8. The Town Clock One of Halifax’s most iconic landmarks is the Town Clock on Citadel Hill. This is one of the few surviving round structures designed by the Duke of Kent during his visit to Halifax in the late 18th century. It is said that before the clock was constructed, there existed a well near the site where it stands today. A young girl was reportedly playing near this well when she fell in and died. Her spirit is said to remain in the clock tower to this day. 

9. Citadel Hill No discussion of Nova Scotian haunts is complete without discussing Citadel Hill. The Halifax Citadel is today a national historic site, however in the past it was used as a fully-operational military fortification and is one of the best-remaining examples of a star fortress worldwide. Ghost stories from the Hill are many and varied, and some workers have reported seeing strange phenomena themselves such as footprints behind locked metal grates. In the month of October, ghost tours are given by costumed interpreters at the site where famous stories are recounted. Some guests report their hand being held by a smaller, invisible hand, others talk of seeing a ghostly man in the uniform of the 78th Highlanders Regiment walking the grounds only to disappear. It is worth noting that the Citadel never once fired a shot in anger. 

10. The Five Fishermen This popular (and pricey) Halifax restaurant serves up fine dining and spirits...not always of the alcoholic variety. Restaurant staff over the years have reported cutlery flying off of tables, seeing apparitions in the washrooms turning the taps on and off, doors closing on their own, and hearing their name called when no one is around. The form of a grey figure is also said to wander down the staircase. 

11. The gallows For a time after Halifax’s founding, a gallows was set up on the corner of what is now Lower Water and George Streets. Public executions were a spectacle that could be viewed by all townspeople of all ages. According to local legend, on a clear night the ghost of a hanged man is said to be seen swinging by his neck in the spot where the old gallows used to stand. 

12. Dagger Woods I cannot stress enough how creepy and unsettling this area is. In northern Antigonish County there is a forest known as Dagger Woods. In this forest, there is said to live a demon known as the Hidey Hinder who steals unsuspecting visitors to the underworld, the person is never seen or heard from again, supposedly vanishing into thin air. People travelling through the woods report hearing strange and frightening cries that they cannot place, and, understandably, avoid the area afterwards. The woods are the subject of a song by the same name by Nova Scotian folk metal band, The Stanfields. 

13. Peggy’s Cove Peggy’s Cove is by far one of Nova Scotia’s most popular tourist destinations. As a lifelong resident of Nova Scotia, I encourage you to visit this beautiful point but please, PLEASE, stay off the black rocks for god’s sake. Anyway, the ghost who is lucky enough to live here is, of course, named Margaret. The story goes that Margaret and her husband settled here after a shipwreck claimed the lives of their children. Margaret was heartbroken, and so her husband decided to cheer her up. He made his way onto the rocks where Margaret would often sit and lament her lost children and performed a dance for her, but it would turn out even worse- he slipped and fell to his death. In a fit of agony, Margaret threw herself off the rocks and into the sea, and her ghost is said to haunt the rocks of Peggy’s Point to this day.

14. Caledonia Mills, or Mary Ellen’s Spook Farm Back in 1922, the MacDonald family lived on a farm in Caledonia Mills situated in Antigonish County. Their adopted daughter, named Mary Ellen, was not held in high regard. A series of fires that had taken place during the winter devastated the family, and Mary Ellen was said to be at the root of them; it was believed she was born of an evil spirit. When she denied these accusations, she was sent to live in an asylum. Her spirit still resides in her farm, and to any unlucky visitor who’d like to bring back a souvenir, they might find that mysterious fires start to ignite in their own home. Best to leave the farm in one piece.

15. Horton’s Cove This is not one that’s widely known to many, however it is a story very personal to myself. On a spot of land in Guysborough County, the remains of a young boy who died in the early 20th century are buried. The grave is unmarked and the boy’s cause of death is unknown. That being said, his presence can be felt in both the field and the hills around where his resting place is said to be, and trust me when I say there is no feeling quite as unnerving. 

16. Cole Harbour Poor Farm/Bissett Road Asylum In the 1920s there existed a mental asylum in a quiet part of Cole Harbour, outbound toward the harbour itself. The building is no longer there, said to have burnt to the ground in a fire, however the spirits of its residents can be felt in the vacant lot on the hill where it used to stand. Across the street on the edge of a sprawling field is a small fenced cemetery containing ten unmarked white crosses. It is rumoured that these graves house the remains of children who used to live in the asylum, though it is more likely that these graves were intended for adult residents. It is not yet known whose remains these are. 

Dealings with the paranormal and superstition is a way of life for many in Nova Scotia. It is our maritime history and culture which largely feed these beliefs, whether one believes in them is entirely up to the individual themselves. One thing that isn’t so easy to shake, though, is the sensation that there’s something in the trees or that field over there. Say, what’s on the water? 

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color. 

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain. 

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them. 

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself. 

Okay. 

Alright. 

No distractions. 

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal. 

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way. 

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself. 

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them. 

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again. 

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two. 

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too. 

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat. 

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?” 

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times. 

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us. 

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second. 

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one. 

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?” 

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents. 

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing. 

Flash nodded. 

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started. 

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god. 

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp. 

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake. 

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition. 

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply* to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :) Also, there are a few blogs whose tags aren’t working and I haven’t been able to contact them. For the time being, I removed most of the dead tags. If you weren’t tagged and should have been, or if you’ve changed your url, send me a quick message and I’ll put you on my message list!

Tagged: (If I’m missing anyone, send me a message!) @spideymood @solarspidey @tiffanypooh @carrotsunshine @breebree1198 @idontlooklikereginageorge @stumb1ing @bit-bot0711  @justthatshortlittlenerd  @avzuzu   @melonmochi   @happysynonym @the-redthread  @i-love-superhero @ohgloryyy-blog @nicunty @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @realitykilledtheteen@thehanneloner @lionfart   @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines@twentyjuanpancakes @littlekay15  @hi-mishamigos @eversweet-imagines  @thisisthetragicstoryofme @augurydemon@daisy-john @siriuspadfoot14 @debiwolf-t @casual-vaporwave@swimmeranxiety @dangerousluv1   @ghosthiam @homecomjng @deep-thoughts-in-the-shower @bughead-isendgame @qu3en-of-letters @brightcolorsoffendme @cutehollands @enoumen-t @dottirose @justthatshortlittlenerd  @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel@moonofmy-life @royal1958  @ashleyhearto   @pinkleopardss @cutie1365  @spideyschmood @dragoste-lunes @peterparkley @gold-masks @stonesandskeletonbones @myhealingstar  @a-typical-antisocial-fangirl   @love-and-protect-bucky-barnes@fangirldreamsandstuff  @fandom-stuff @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @jellzu  @aussie-mantle@stevieboyharrington  @septicquill @thingfromlove  @dude-whatawave   @me-a-hopeless-romantic @condy-wants-a-cookie @susurrantsoul  @kawaii-girl-101  @lxstneverfound  @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @tepidtrash @emilymarie0422 @styles-bucks@shortstack-ofpancakes @lilbeatlebear @imyourdadssideblog @the-introverted-loner-art @marvelcuties @lesdragly @atomic-chickenwings  @reanne @schwankyblock @nedthegay @kateelyse96@outsider-underwater @omg-lexiloveyou @le-yona  @desteweirdo@thingfromlove @madasameg @bookish-and-shy @lowkeyfriggason @arya-and-sansa @hot-pocket01 @icantthinkofanyusername0 @ajkenwo

[lordmartiya]

lord Martiya’s Lilanette Week 2021, part 4: Travel

@lilanette-week

@lilanette

This chapter features Luupa the Wolf Kwami, a character by StellarStylus. It also features an actual restaurant from Rome. Let’s face it: we Italians are a weird nation, and Rome is our capital for a reason.

06/23: Travel

The school was having a trip to Rome… So headmaster Damocles had asked Lila’s advice to plan certain parts, reasoning that, being from Rome, she knew the place better. And the entire school would suffer for his ignorance – after all, only Marinette and Chloè knew just how trolling Lila’s sense of humor could be.

Still, it had been two days in the trip, enough to calm them down after waiting for the other shoe to drop without anything weird happening – she had even forewarned everyone of the horrible state of Rome’s roads, and the worst they had got had been when Sabrina had said one couldn’t go to Rome without visiting the Vatican and the Roman girl had pointed out it’s the same as saying that you can’t go at someone’s house without going to the bathroom (she had particularly enjoyed the appalled shouts when they had got that). That and trying to flirt with Marinette, but while she understood the language and even a bit of the slang courtesy of her grandmother and the similarities of Italian and French she didn’t know the latter enough and had missed the double meanings.

Of course all of that was about to change now that they were to dine at “Cencio La Parolaccia”.

“It’s my favorite restaurant.” she had introduced it, much to Marinette and Chloè’s horror. Especially Marinette’s, who could translate the restaurant’s name.

Then Damocles paved the way, and as soon as he had confirmed they were the French school that had reserved the place the waiter announced them with “Apprepara l’acqua per’ brodo, so’ arrivati i Francesi!”

The entire group of students and teachers was appalled at how they had indirectly been called a bunch of cowards, with insults to their national bird to boot.

“What were you expecting? This place is called “the swearword” for a reason.” Lila stated.

Or, in other words, they were basically paying to get insulted the whole time, as per the restaurant’s gimmick based on just how crass Rome’s dialect was.

“You’re terrible.” Marinette said at her Italian suitor.

“Welcome to Rome, where a mother can call her own child a “son of a whore” and it only comes off as mildly insistent.” Lila replied.

“Fucking truth.” confirmed the waiter.

That was when Damocles realized he had screwed up. Especially as it was now too late to go somewhere else.

__________

“You have no idea what I just got through.” Chat Noir said to the female superheroines as they met near Trajan’s Column. “It got my group too weirded out to notice I disappeared, but…”

“Welcome to Rome, Paris’ exclusive twin city.” Volpina replied, sure that whatever Chat Noir had gone through couldn’t be as traumatic as the prank she had pulled on her classmates to get them to go to sleep early. She’d have done that anyway, but this way she had joined the useful and the fun, as the saying went. “And don’t worry, you’ll get over it soon.”

“But-”

“She’s right.” Ladybug agreed. “Our cities have an exclusive twinship because we aren’t that different… And I can already see the fun about what this one pulled to get us a distraction. You all remember what we’re here for?”

“Wolf Miraculous – apparently linked to Rome’s foundation and rise to power, and the guys here are now exposing what could well be it in their museum.” Volpina stated. “Guess their claim of descending from Julius Caesar’s family isn’t that fake, if they inherited it from the Julii’s cousins the Romilii…”

“We don’t have time for a history lesson.” Chat said.

Before they could start bickering Ladybug had Volpina cast her Mirage on the cameras and then, using the Horse Miraculous, opened a portal to the room where the possible Wolf Miraculous was being held…

“A’nfame, chi cazzo chiami inutile?! Io te piscio n’culo, e te corco!”

And the related Kwami was insulting Papillon, going so deep in his vulgarity that even Volpina, the Roman one, was blushing. Immediately imitated by two security guards and a man who had arrived there.

“Siam qui apposta.” Volpina said after the Kwami had wished someone killed Papillon.

Then Papillon threw the Miraculous right in Volpina’s face and jumped out of the window, ignoring the guards shooting him.

___________________

“Well, that was weird.” Ladybug said after they had left with the Miraculous, that the man, the apparent head of the family, had insisted they took away.

“Not really, Marcanto’ has heard of the actual stories about jinn, and while he can’t tell the difference with a Kwami he’s smart enough to not mess with them.” Volpina explained. “And speaking of our not-jinni… May we know your name and power, Wolf Kwami?”

“I am Luupa, Kwami of Cooperation, and I grant the power of Pack Unity.” the Kwami replied. “My wielder can allow their companion the best possible coordination in battle-”

“Like a Roman legion! You inspired them!” Volpina was Italian, and while she knew the tales were a bit exaggerated she knew far too well how the ancient Romans used to overcome numerically superior opponents through maneuvers made possible by excellent coordination among their units.

“And a power Papillon can’t use!” Ladybug noted.

“Ugh! Don’t talk me about that idiot.” Luupa protested. “Seriously, what idiot calls himself “The Bowtie”?”

As she chuckled, Volpina mused that this was indeed the Kwami that made Rome, both ancient and present, she wondered how he and Mayura had loved the temporary Heroine they had left behind to deal with Akumas and, if he had done as he had back when they had been in New York, distraction Sentimonsters.

_____________________

The following morning, Lila hadn’t even got her Espresso when Alya made the first attempt to kidnap her. Though even she wasn’t reckless enough to not stop when faced with the Italian’s glare, waiting until she had her coffee before dragging her in a secluded corner and showing how the Tiger Miraculous-equipped heroine, Waghoba sor Roaar, kicked into smithereens the Gamer mech Sentimonster before hammily announcing her name and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were on vacation and had her substitute.

“Lila, you’re her friend… Can you tell me what was Ladybug thinking when she gave my sister a Miraculous?” Alya asked.

“What makes you think it’s Anansi?” Lila asked back, making sure to use Nora’s preferred ring name.

“A Muay Thai championess who uses a tiger god’s name, who else can she be?”

“Point. As for your question… Ladybug’s really stressed, and didn’t take well when “The Bowtie” ruined her previous attempt at getting a vacation.”

“… Remind me to never get her angry at me.”