#ive also read the first paragraph of the left hand of darkness and it was so beautiful i keep thinking about it

[luckystrike-x]

books i'm planning to read in 2024

[howlsnteeth]

hi, just wanted you to know that if you ever wanted to like. interest-dump about cotl and your thoughts about the lore/storyline and stuff as ive seen you show in your art, id read PARAGRAPHS. im so curious and love to hear about people's interest in game/story/media lore and the interpersonal relationships within the universe!!! - from an autistic system who has loved your art since like. forever. (u can call us moss)

okay hi moss :3

i'm kind of due for an infodump on my cotl headcanons, so! i'll try be somewhat concise because this is going to be a long post anyway rip. i drew some pictures :D

(i can't really think of any warnings to give outside of usual cotl themes/killed race/dying/blood/etc but let me know)

obviously watching the destruction of your entire race is traumatic as fuck, also because it likely took a few weeks or months to achieve. so they died pretty underweight/weak bodied/pretty shut down. the bishops are gone by the time lamb is revived by toww, and their body hadn't quite made it to a 'body pit' (or food pit). still, they get Their Bell from another of their race on the way out. probably weren't thinking about it too hard and just desperately wanted to grab something while their eyes burned in their sockets and this red crown fit like molded clay in their hand. my lamb has a little notch out of their left ear which was caused while escaping, which ends up never healing because of a few reasons but mostly because i like it.

over the course of the game/story they start to slowly physically change. after revival it takes scars a Long time to fade, considering lamb is technically a walking corpse, and also because of their affiliation with Death (narinder, who has similar i'll mention later). they get dark marked lines under their eyes from that classic 'bleeding eyes' action during rituals/etc. their ears but especially horns get longer and sharper. their way of coping is similar to most lambs, jokes and pulled punches.

by the end of the 'main game/toww fight,' they've already made their choice, and start flexing their control/communication with the red crown itself. it gets harder for toww to view through it, and lamb gets somewhat intoxicated with the idea of an ultimate revenge, having killed all the other bishops. they've done everything they can to stop their cult members noticing signs of weakness, but as things get more stressful this kind of rubberbands around to them seeming extremely unstable. by the time they go to fight toww they're muttering nonstop, barely aware, and also they let their wool get longer and basically end up with a mullet. <3 because it's funny to me

they obviously beat toww and for them it's like a smashing of clarity, like a gripped handle let go, standing up from the river of blood. it's freeing but also the most pain they've ever been in. and instead of killing toww this pit in their stomach spares him. lamb went from a corpse to a god and now, in some sick way, they want to watch a god turn into a living corpse, just like them. because with every other sheep dead, narinder is the only one with a connection to that genocide, the cause of the other bishops doing it.

narinder hates their fucking guts. obvs. he thinks, or knows, that lamb is doing it on purpose. but narinder's body hasn't been normal for far, far too long. even before he was made death (as in artworks i've done with him), his body turned skeletal and rotted away. lacerations open all over his body, but especially down his front torso. when he's first brought to the cult, lamb gives him red robes, also because of this 'problem'. but narinder does every single thing he can against them. he gets white robes and lets them turn bloodied and disturbing to everyone around him.

even washing them stops working, and lamb does resign slightly to letting him sit in his dirty stupid robes. it's the pettiest shit. narinder also keeps his veil, and lamb can't bother with a reason to take it away. let that dumbass keep his yuck robes and veil. you can only stick him the stockade for a week before your other followers get too concerned.

over time, they do end up getting closer, but it comes from a place from both being touched and changed by Death, the red crown, and the choices of the other bishops. it takes a really long time and only after all the other bishops have been recruited (another whole thing). both of them catch themselves enjoying little things, and then having moments of all the pain bleeding through. an example is over time narinder does end up wearing darker robes, but it's fairly gradual. in this piece, it's lamb getting too deep in the countless lives that were taken from their race, triggered by blood (a whole little story thing), and narinder does make the (semi subconscious) choice to wear dark robes.

anyway you're probably looking at that giant shadow in the picture huh. it takes a long time but lamb Does end up truly becoming a bishop.

not 100% done with this design, but it has the basics. their main horns end up breaking off (thinking of a story behind that still). the main thing with them that i really like is they have multiple strings of bells on them. so everyone starts associating the sound of ringing bells as Death. so if you hear them, they're coming for you. that being said, they also have the ability to move completely silently, despite being covered in bells. which adds to the scaring-the-fuck-out-of-everyone factor.

there's a ton more i could get into with the other bishops, ratau, the duck siblings, the crowns themselves, more aym and baal, but i'm probably gonna do more artworks with them so i can talk more then :3 this is already too long lmao

thanks for the ask though!! it's nice knowing people are interested in my stuff :D (it's also worth mentioning that i am also a system and have alters of lamb, narinder, and aym and baal, who all contribute to this stuff)

[smndragon]

henlo!! i hope you're doing well! i'd love to get a reading from you, if that's okay! my placements are: sag sun (12h), aries moon (3h) and cap rising! thank you so much for this!

I swear I looked at my inbox and took a second for start the tv and get a drink of water. This is gonna be a long night, I don't think there are meant full readings left though. I'm doing very well thanks for that!

Hm, Sagittarius sun, Aries moon, and Capricorn ascendant.

The Aries moon is the loudest competing with the Capricorn ascendant. Possible glasses I feel from the Aries moon or bad eyesight. The Capricorn could cause you to cut your hair short since I feel some of them really like doing that either their chaotic energy at times✂️💇🏽‍♀️ (I always try to be careful when clicking edit ln these drafts cause it sucks to accidentally delete it ughh) SONG RECOMMENDATION LOVELIES creep by Radiohead! I'm back after getting an ice pop AND OMG IVE BEEN ANSWERING THINGS MY SHEETS ARE WARM AND I HAVEN'T OPENED IT HOW DID I FORGET. Anyways, I wondered if your profile was really you so I looked closer and now I regret I cause the characteristics will be thrown off later on sorry.

Gotta make a new paragraph that was long💀 the Aries moon is hard to see, the connection has been ruined. FOCUS I'm back okay let's go! The Aries Manor is large. I arrived immediately at gates. The place feels like a castle, all of a sudden I'm in a dress on the ground as if this is some kind of lost girl story. My expression looks really confused. As if they're asking "where tf am I" a tall figure comes down the stairs, dressed in a red dress as if her wedding with the world's biggest asshole had was cancelled. Red lips and styled back red hair, their eyes are sharp at the ends and wide in the middle (can't explain eyes lol) they offer their hand to me as if I look like the dumbest bitch at the ball lol. Long and manicured nails. Shes thin and lanky but beautiful non the less. (For all of you insecure people reading to this far I'm watching you😤 love yourself more please you deserve it) she has a butler on standby. "So what are you doing here?" A pretty basic question but I honestly feel so dumb rn lol. They act as if the quest never happened and look around for something in the room turning their head. "You're not Gemini/Sagittarius are you?" A skeptical look on their face. It's hard to interpret what they said. "Alright, maybe you're not here to pull a prank on me if you are." They grab a cigarette from a tin holder a worker offers them already lit and breathing rolls of smoke. "If not them, what are you doing here shorty?" Taking another hit, the cigarette finished by then. Time is going by faster than I thought. "Alright" I hear the click of the case in their hand closing. "If you aren't here for me then I know who, follow me." They get up to lead me up the stares. Hesitantly following after. Aura is red and flaming. Possible placements are the lover stomach or I feel the manor and small parts around it take yo the whole chest. You may have problems with heartburn, chest pains, or issues with the lungs. We leave the lavished hall. I feel there's somewhere you wanna go someday. Possible problems in class as a kid, too passionate or anger issues. Nowadays may be shy or hesitant. Aries people often are fiery, but we also turn more shy getting older.

I see a door down the hall opening it, the Aries moon is gone by now. I feel you have Gemini placements possibly tricksters with your Sagittarius sun. I see the Sagittarius sitting down on something soft and plush. Reading some kind of novel or paper. They seem very intimidating until seeing me. "Ah! Are you here to talk to me? I've been needing company!" Getting up to walk towards me. "Did Aries not come with you? They always avoid me." I see their earrings shine with the night sky. "I mean I did pull that paint trick a bit ago but to mean c'mon who wouldn't?" She once had an elegant purple dress, to match her heavy eyelashes and almost violet blue eyes. But I look into myself now. They are jokes on how we look the same now and they bet she asked me if I was them. They turn to me again after looking off for a bit. You the host may have issues with the contact under pressure or when holding conversations. They do the same thing the Aries does. They may go deeper than shown to me, lifetimes of being stuck with each other in the same hosts. May have liked each other in the beginning but something changed this. Possible placement now is the left side of the chest. Aura color is purple and starry blue. I'm no longer in contact.

I feel the Capricorn ascendant is the puzzle piece to what happened. Change that thought it's Gemini. It's not just you body but in others they've known each other I'm the placements. Possibly a love triangle turned into hate or something. The Aries moon once loved your Sagittarius, they still do. It's just things have changed and Gemini and Sagittarius are better together to Aries. This doesn't seem right. Idk how you could fix this maybe we'll see later. This imbalance could be the cause of some mental issues or your own love problems, both signs aren't as good with such things. They don't know how cause they haven't found true love yet. At least not reciprocated well enough.

The Capricorn ascendant lives in the middle of your chest in-between the abdomen and stomach proportions. This doesn't make sense to me since I believe the stairs were here. I get there, the Capricorn is sitting on the steps sketching. The Capricorn is more boyish. Dressed in a shorter green dress. Cut to the shoulders blonde hair with brown and green mixed eyes. A golden chain on the neck matching the sprinkle of gold on the cheeks and in the eyes. They look at me weirdly. As if they're appalled I ended up here. "Gonna sit or not?" They point to next to them on the steps. I sit down looking at the sketch set down for a second resting in their palms. "You can feel it too can't you?" Clearly they're talking of the energy between the other two zodiacs. "They've been like this for a long time-" "I know." I finally talk I believe after this whole reading. They look down at their drawing. "I'm pretty new here so yeah. I got it fast" they catch me looking at the pencil stokes. "You saw it before. Think it was good?" They look at me again head still down low. "yeah" I nod. "Great!" They pull me up. "Let's get away from here yeah?" There's fields outside the mansion. Green even in the night. Rolling down the grounds and getting grass covered stains and markings. This Capricorn is alive.

Characteristics: dark hair, wider eyes due to the Capricorn or Aries moon, I feel this creates bigger eyes at times. Possibly markings on the hands or arms. Height is fairly average or just an inch shy of it. Possibly have posters in your room. You may definitely need that cup of morning coffee. Strongly built with thicker bones. Took some scrapes and scratches as a kid lol.👷gap in the middle of the teeth. Your nose may scrunch and get bunny lines. Possible love for Halloween. Nice nails but they get broken easily do you have to cut them short. Struggled with self image issue younger. Causing some mental health problems. You aren't an angry person but if boundaries are crossed there's gonna be a problem.

Soulmates/ future relationship: (ignore if already in one unless curious) I feel Virgo influence here. Not the tallest person but also yes? One of those two either really tall ppl or not at all. You guys will try and keep up with each other a lot. Trying to manage schedules and make little completions on who cna do something better or first. On the couch watching movies and sharing food, okay cringey couple thing coming up. You guys may feed each other like it's normal and your friend just stare at you like "wtf??" They love our two though lol they'll get used to it. Possible meeting at s grocery store when in the bread isle or nearby. May have you call them lieutenant or some strengthening name at times or they won't even move to do what you want them to.

Other zodiac influence in your life through people: Gemini moon, Virgo moon, sun, ascendant. Possible same mercury and venus? Random. Cancer mars, Neptune.

Health/future: watch for dogs (i love dogs but I see some trouble here) cars when walking on roads or streets. Just saying duck and lay attention for the next 2 months when in a dangerous working areas or smth.

FINALLY DONE SORRY THIS TOOK LONG

[psychovigilantewrites]

Don’t Call Me That Pt. 2

Wordcount: 10,129

A/N:  I thought this part 2 would total up to 10k words, but when it hit 10k, I realised that I was only about 65 percent done. So based on the responses I got from tumblr, I decided to publish this first and then conclude the story later on!

TW:  mentions of r*pe, mentions of torture, mentions of drugging someone (??) , mental breakdowns, vulnerability, descriptions of anxiety

Also, HERE’S MY FAV MEMES!! I’m so sorry that I can’t tag respective meme creators, because I saved them on my phone and some of them I forgot to include your usernames!! I’M SO SORRY!!! And honest to god is wear there were more but i must have lost them im so sorry im so incompetent lmao

memeesss

You glanced at your phone.

It had already been a week in Hawaii with your friends, and Jason still hadn’t texted you.

Well, you should have expected it, really. Jason was a traumatised, mentally ill man who had been locked away for two years.

Of course he wouldn’t text you first.

You had contemplated texting him over the past few days, typing in an array of messages ranging from a simple “hey” to a whole paragraph, and deleting all of it without hitting send. Did he even switch the phone on? Was he surfing the internet? Or was the phone still there on the shelf where you had left it.

It was driving you crazy.

“Do you have a boyfriend we don’t know about?” a voice called.

You looked up and squinted at the man who was standing up, looking down at you. You were sitting on the beach, a little further away from the ocean where your friends were.

“What are you talking about?” you asked as Alex plopped down next to you.

“You’ve been fidgety the whole time,” he pointed out, combing back his dark shoulder length hair with his fingers, getting sand in them. “We’re on a private beach, and you’ve been fussing over your phone. Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” you grumbled truthfully.

“The girls have been gossiping,” he gestured to the two other girls playing in the water. Your closest friends. It was four of you in that inseparable group.

“Of course they have,” you groaned, “Tell them to SAY IT TO MY FACE, COWARDS!”

You shouted at them, earning you grins and middle fingers from the distance.

“They’re saying you’re in love with someone,” he chuckled, “But they always say stupid shit like that without any evidence. But sometimes, a girl’s intuition is just right, ya know?”

“Stop beating around the bush, Alex,” you rolled your eyes at him despite knowing he couldn’t see past your sunglasses. “No, I’m not in love. I’m just waiting for a text that might never come.”

“Why don’t you text him first?”

“Because it’s not as simple as that!” you flailed your arms, “He’s… complicated. I can’t just text him anything.”

“Girl, unless he’s Mr. Nottingham, or related to you, then it really isn’t that complicated,” he joked.

“Ugh,” you groaned again, falling back onto the cloth you spread out. “Fine. I’ll text him.”

“Atta girl,” Alex grinned, “I’m gonna head back in the water. Join us after. Please?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved.

Opening the text window for what had to be the thirtieth time, you finally decided to text him.

You: Miss me yet?

Staring intently at the small ‘sent’ below your message bubble, you waited for it to turn to ‘delivered’.

“Yes!” you hissed. It meant that Jason had indeed switched on the phone.

But after twenty minutes you realised that it didn’t matter if Jason switched on the phone if he didn’t want to talk to you. Cursing to yourself, you decided to join your friends in the water, hoping it’ll distract you from checking your phone every five minutes for a text message that might never come.

After an hour of actually spending time with your friends, all four of you returned to the villa, your mood elevated. Checking your phone, you could have jumped for joy when you saw not one, but four consecutive texts in a row.

Jason: Duck off. Jason: What the duck Jason: WHY CANT I SAY DUCK Jason: I DUCKING HATE THIS

You couldn’t let out a string of giggles.

“Oooh, lover boy texted you back, huh?” Alex peeked over your shoulder. “Gimme, I wanna mess with him.”

He snatched your phone from your hands, surprisingly swift and smooth for a civilian, raising it way above his head so you couldn’t reach it and opened the camera.

“Alex-!”

He threw his other arm over your shoulder and pulled you into his bare chest, crushing you before you could tackle him down. He snapped a picture and sent it.

You froze in horror.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” you yelled.

“Relax, I was just messing around,” he gave your phone back to you.

“You don’t- you don’t understand, you fucking asshole!” you screamed.

“I- I’m sorry,” Alex stuttered, surprised by your reaction. “I was just-”

“Fuck off!” you snapped.

Panicking, you saw the little notification below the picture turning from Received to Read.

No. No, no, no, no.

This was bad.

You didn’t want to overwhelm Jason by sending him photos of your activities, thinking that he might react badly to the sudden surplus of familiarity and sense of being close to someone. Now you were worried that he might start to push you away in fear, reverting back to how he was before, and months of progress would have been all for nothing.

He would probably start swearing at you, or worse- switch off the phone and reject any form of communication completely. You hurriedly texted a reply.

You: I’m so sorry! I didn’t send that, my friend was just messing around.

Expecting the worst, you braced yourself for the inevitable. Instead, he sent you:

Jason: Who the hell is that guy?? Jason: Why are you in your underwear??

Your mouth hung open as you stared in shock at the screen. Because you took so long to recover from the shock, he sent you another message.

Jason: ???

Snapping out of it, you texted back.

You: That’s just my friend. Sorry about that! And I’m not in my underwear, it’s a bikini! I’m in Hawaii.

You waited for him to reply, but ten minutes of you sitting anxiously on the turquoise sofa in the middle of the villa listening to the waves of the beach outside from the open doors passed by, and he still hadn’t.

Perhaps he’s busy- wait. There’s no way Jason would be busy. You tried to coax him into a conversation.

You: You can turn off your autocorrect if you want to swear without hassle. Go to your Keyboard settings.

You plopped your phone on the empty seat next to you and dried your hair.

“Ugh, come on!” complained Natalie, fully clothed and washed, walking towards the open concept kitchen from her room. “You’re getting sand everywhere!”

“Woops, my bad,” you grinned.

“There’s a shower outside on the porch for a reason you know,” she flipped her blond beach waves at you, looking through the fridge.

Alex stood quietly at the kitchen island, now scared to say anything.

You rolled your eyes. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Okay, I promise!” he grinned.

Ding.

Jason: fuck. fuck. fucking fuck. Jason: found it. You: Proud of you, man.

You went to your room and showered, then dried off and put on fresh clothes while waiting for Jason to reply.

Of course, he never did.

Groaning, you had to remind yourself that he was not used to human interaction, and texting would come unnaturally to him. Which meant that you had to be the one to keep the conversation going.

You: Do anything interesting since I left?

You saw him typing almost immediately this time.

Jason: no.

Of course not.

You: Have you been eating properly? Jason: yeah.

God, it was so difficult. You were in the middle of typing something when he replied again.

Jason: yoire not my mom Jason: yoire Jason: YOIRE Jason: FUCK WHY CANR I TYPE

You felt guilty for laughing, but you did anyway.

You: Now that you switched off autocorrect, it won’t correct your typos and misspells anymore. Jason: i fucking knw that. Ive been gone for two yeard not twenty. You: Then why do you sound like a grandpa? Jason: BECAISE YOU GAVE ME A FUCKINF IPHONE!! I USED AN ANDROID!!

Now you were really laughing out loud, so you sent him a GIF of a woman rolling her eyes.

Jason: wtf you can send gifs throug text now?? You: Welcome to 2020, my dude. Jason: im not your fucking dude

Typing a reply, Jason interrupted you once again.

Jason: teach me how to do that

Smiling widely, you found that you couldn’t wait for the next week to pass by so you could go back and see him.

***

“How’s Jason?” you asked the minute you reached the Cave computers, panting from the run down.

“Wow, hello to you, too,” Dick chuckled, spinning towards you on the wheeled chair.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and Bruce and Dick were in front of the computers, discussing a case that had connections to Bludhaven Police Department.

Gone for two weeks, you had a lot to catch up on.

“According to Alfred, he’s doing well,” Bruce answered, “Even started to ask for seconds last week. Now Alfred has been making portions for two.”

“He asked? For seconds?” you gasped. “How?”

“He left a note on the tray two days after you left. He’s been making meal requests, too. Texts Alfred in the morning to let him know.”

“Texted?!”

“Alfred slipped his number on the tray in case Jason wanted anything specific.”

“I slipped mine as well, but he hasn’t texted me yet,” Dick pouted.

“When did he start texting?” you ignored Dick.

“Last Sunday.”

So the same day you started texting him, then.

“He hasn’t texted me,” Dick sighed, looking dejected like a kid who was told Disneyland blew up.

“He’ll come around, Dick,” you offered him a smile, “I mean- he’s already texting Alfred!”

“Yeah,” he lamented.

“Okaaay, nice talk. I’m gonna go see him now, bye.”

You ran to the box, but stopped right before you opened the internal door. After checking your hair with your phone camera, you tried to stifle the butterflies in your stomach.

Ugh, you were so fucked.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

“Yeah,” Jason’s muffled grunt answered you.

Pushing it open, your eyes immediately went to the bed only to find that he wasn’t lounging around reading a book like you expected. Instead, your mouth dropped open when you saw him on the floor, doing push ups.

Shirtless.

Jason had changed drastically during the two weeks you were gone. You noticed that he had definitely gained weight, as well as muscle mass.

“Uh, wh-what are you..?”

He stood up, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

His muscles were much more prominent and defined now, and he looked like he was going to achieve Dick’s physique if he kept it up for another month or two.

“Welcome back,” he simply said before taking gulps from a water bottle you definitely had not seen before.

“Thanks,” you walked over and sat on his bed, “I’m glad to see that you decided to start taking care of yourself again.”

“What, this? This isn’t for me.”

“Huh?” you cocked your head in curiosity.

“I… I lost a lot of muscle mass. My body- it isn’t how it used to be,” he frowned, “And I can’t have you lusting over it when it’s not at its peak.”

“What- what do you-?” you stammered, suddenly getting hot.

Jason merely smirked and then continued his push ups.

You watched as his developing muscles rippled, a thin layer of sweat making his skin glisten in the light. It was amazing how he had progressed so much in such a short period of time. You guessed that he must have just been occupying his days by working out.

No wonder he’s been asking for seconds.

“Enjoying the view?” Jason breathed, pausing with his arms straightened, his head angled upwards towards you.

“No, shut up,” you looked away.

“Here, be useful,” he started, “Sit on my back.”

“What?”

“I’ve gotten used to my own body weight, I need extra resistance,” he elaborated, “Come on, sit on my back.”

“But it’s all sweaty,” you whined, pretending to protest. Definitely pretending- for the sake of your own dignity.

You got up and went over towards him anyway.

Carefully, awkwardly, you sat on his back as you would a park bench. You rested your palms flat against his sticky skin to stabilise yourself. Suddenly, he dipped down without warning, earning a soft squeal from you.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” he strained, but continued to do the push ups. He was shakier, struggling with the weight, and after twenty-five, he paused. “Okay, I think I’m done.”

But before you had the chance to get off him, he suddenly stood up, throwing you off his back to have you fall on the floor on your ass.

“Jason, you assho-” you clapped your hand over your mouth, realising what you had just said.

Oh, no. Oh, fuck.

He stood towering over you, his jaw clenching as he stared you down with his cold, blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry! I forgot! It was a reflex and-”

“Whatever. I don’t care anymore,” he rolled his eyes, reaching for his bottle.

You blinked. Then scrambled to your feet.

“You don’t care anymore?” you repeated slowly.

“I don’t care if you call me that,” he huffed.

That made your heart swell and melt at the same time.

“I got used to your voice,” he mumbled, expression changing as he looked away. He frowned, as if he was angrily staring at a distant object.

You had just guessed that he didn’t like to be called his name because of a sense of familiarity, but now you were thinking that there was much more to that than what you had originally thought.

“So, I can call you… Jason?” you tested.

“Yeah, call me whatever you want,” he sat on his bed, looking up at you.

You smiled, thankful that you had finally crossed that bridge. “You know, I could get some workout stuff for you? Weights, bands, that bar thing that you can put at your door frame for pull ups…”

“You’d like to see that, huh?” he smirked.

“You flatter yourself too much,” you scoffed.

“How was Hawaii?” he changed the subject all of a sudden.

“It was fun. Beach was great, locals were great, loved the vibe- what are you doing?”

Jason had stood back up and started to walk closer and closer to you, getting all up in your space like a predator finally cornering its prey. You kept on taking steps back until your ass hit the edge of the desk.

Nowhere else to run, your heart started hammering. He leaned in, his hands resting on the desk on either side of your body, trapping you against the table and himself. You looked up and gulped. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.

“Are you afraid of me?” he muttered lowly.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” you whispered.

“You tell me,” he said.

“Well, I’m not afraid of you,” you stated.

“Oh really?” he raised an eyebrow. Then, you felt his hand grip your wrist tightly, pressing down on your skin with his fingers. “Your pulse is very fast for someone who’s not afraid of me.”

“It’s because you’re all up in my space!” you argued.

“Didn’t look like you mind when your friend,” he snarled the word, “was all up in your space.”

“My friend? What- oh,” you widen your eyes in realisation, “You mean Alex.”

“Is that his name?”

“Alex is just a friend, nothing more. He’s just someone I’m close to,” you reassured him.

Which then made you think about why you were reassuring him.

“Oh, you were definitely close to him,” Jason growled.

“Wait- are you… jealous?” a smile creeped your lips.

He scowled at you for a few moments, and you could see the little tics in his expression that said he was annoyed. The flared nostrils, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching, the very slight twitches at the corner of his left eye.

“No,” he finally said, taking a step back from you. “I’m going to shower. Since you couldn’t stop staring at me, the invitation is still open for you to join.”

“You know, I’m starting to think that maybe I prefer it when you were broody instead of this. Please go back to your depressive mental state,” you sarcastically replied.

Jason barked out an actual laugh. Though his laugh was odd, like someone who’s only now discovering that humans were indeed capable of laughter, you found comfort in it. It was no longer hysterical and devoid of humor. He was getting better, learning to embrace a connection with someone, and it made you extremely happy.

“Maybe I should,” he answered with a cheeky glint in his eye, “Then that way you can give me more sponge baths.”

He left you alone in his room, flushed and at a loss for words.

***

“I find it very odd that people would yell ‘Batman!’ when they realise you’re there,” you rambled while climbing out of the Batmobile.

You were absolutely drenched from the downpour that had been going on all night. It was 4 am on a friday night and you had just returned from patrol.

Bruce took off his cowl immediately, revealing tired eyes despite the relatively slow night.

“It’s like they’re saying ‘Look at me! I’m here! Please knock me out or hang me upside down from the-’ Bruce?”

Bruce had stiffen, staring at something behind you. You turned around and was shocked to see Jason in the mid-distance, sitting on the ground outside the black box that was his room, leaning against the cool metal.

He himself was staring intently at Bruce, not even sparing you a glance.

You looked back and forth between the two men, sensing a high tension silent conversation.

Then, Bruce’s eyes relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly in that hardly-there-Bruce-smile.

He gave Jason one stiff nod of understanding, then walked away to the computers at the other end of the cave, leaving you alone with his son.

Jason relaxed as you walked over to him, wringing your hair to squeeze out all the excess water.

“Aw, you waited up for me,” you teased, standing in front of him with your hands on your hips, grinning away.

“Fuck off,” he snorted, “I was bored.”

You noticed him clenching his jaw as he looked at you from top to bottom, eyes lingering longer on the ‘R’ on your left breast.

Ah, it was his first time seeing you in your uniform.

His uniform.

Suddenly, you felt like an imposter in those colors and had the strong urge to rip the uniform off.

You wanted to say something, but Jason beat you to it.

“There were times in that shit hole where I wanted to burn that uniform off my skin,” he grit, “Kept on thinking to myself. I wish I never became Robin. I wish I never met Bruce Wayne.”

Your heart shattered at his confession. It was extremely rare for him to bring up anything related to his two year torture, and the previous times were never in such detail.

Realising you needed to say something, you opened your mouth. “I’m so-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Yes, sometimes you knew that he just wanted you to listen.

You nodded silently and went to sit next to him on the floor.

“It… suits you,” he forced out.

“Hmm?”

“The uniform. It suits you. More than it ever suited me,” he grumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think your ass would look quite nice in green,” you joked, nudging his shoulder with your own.

He chuckled deeply, nudging you back even harder- hard enough for you to lose your balance and topple sideways, earning another breathy laugh from Jason.

***

Another month passed by, and you found yourself falling deeply for Jason- much to your dismay. You knew Jason wasn’t ready for any kind of intense emotions, and that it would take a very long time before he was.

So you swallowed your emotions down, stifling them and hoping it would go away.

The two of you had developed a pleasant friendship, often bickering and joking around, with Jason teasing you about your obvious physical attraction to him.

He also now occasionally waited outside his cube for you to come back after patrol, never really venturing too far from it, and still avoiding contact with both Bruce and Dick. Only you and Alfred had the privilege to speak to him.

Even then, sometimes you would visit his room but only getting a “I’m not feeling it today. Please leave.”

Understandingly, you would nod silently and leave him alone. You knew he still had his bad days, sometimes not eating his meals.

But mostly, he was getting better, both mentally and physically.

With nothing much to do the whole day, Jason was now obsessed with working out and bulking up. He now had a few simple equipment in his room- mostly weights.

You figured that it was a coping mechanism for him, a healthy outlet to channel all his rage and negative emotions into.

But come on. He was getting even hotter and it was making it extremely difficult for you to stop yourself from checking him out, fantasizing about him when he wasn’t around. Still, you couldn’t complain. Even though he hadn’t reached Dick’s size yet, he was very near to it, and his naturally bigger body frame and build made up for the still developing muscles.

Hell, he was now sporting a six pack.

But you knew that he was still not as well as you hoped he would be. The bloodshot eyes he had was proof that he doesn’t sleep well- and you soon found out why.

It was a little past midnight on your night off from patrol, and you were using your break in the best way you could think of- by sleeping. Something woke you up that night.

A soft knock on your door.

You frowned, eyes still closed, wondering who it was.

Bruce would usually knock twice. Strong, clear, and with purpose. Dick would start pounding rapidly on your door, annoying you intentionally. Alfred would give three soft knocks followed by a ‘Miss?’

Your eyes flew open. There was only one other person in the manor.

Throwing your covers aside, you jumped out of bed and rushed to the door to open it.

Jason stood outside your door in the dim lights of the hallway, frowning and running his fingers nervously through his messy dark hair. He was wearing a t-shirt with boxers, standing awkwardly.

“Jason?” you hated how your voice sounded so sleepy. You cleared your throat. “Are you okay? Would you like to come in?”

He nodded silently, and you made way for him to enter before closing the door behind you.

“Sit on the bed,” you told him while jumping back into yours, sitting up cross legged.

The bed dipped when he sat on it, copying your motion and crossed his legs.

You waited for him to say something, your eyes straining to catch his in the dark. But he just remained silent, staring into space and avoiding your eyes.

“How did you know this was my room?” you asked, starting with a light topic.

“Only one that was locked. I already know where everyone else sleeps,” he explained.

“That’s right,” you realised, “I tend to forget that you’re probably even more familiar with the manor than I am.”

“Did you know there’s an old dumbwaiter in Bruce’s room?” you saw him smirk from the shadows that was casted on his face, “I used to hide in there, waiting to catch him off guard.”

“What? Why?”

“Dick and I, we had a bet,” he recalled the memory, “Whoever gets to surprise Bruce first would owe the other a special favor. Only rule was that we had to have it on video as proof.”

You appreciated that moment, the first time he ever spoke about both Dick and Bruce as a fond memory.

“I won, by the way,” he continued, “But- I forgot to press record on my phone.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned for him.

“Yeah, and Dick refused to believe me,” he chuckled, “That old man didn’t want to admit it either. But I swear- the look on his face when I jumped out while he and some model were going at it- priceless.”

Your jaw dropped, and then you burst into a fit of laughter, tears filling your eyes.

“You- you- you jumped out on him while he was having sex?!” you squealed.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “I didn’t even care that it sort of scarred me, because I managed to catch Batman off guard.”

The both of you laughed, his deep voice mingling with your own on that quiet night.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jason,” you smiled warmly at him.

But then, his smile fell.

“I hate my name now.”

“I’m sorry,” you began, “You said it was okay to call you that, so I-”

“No, it’s fine,” he started running his fingers through his hair again, “It’s just- I don’t know.”

“You can tell me anything,” you reassured, “It won’t leave this room. I promise.”

He looked at you, worry in his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Yeah.”

You waited for him to begin.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been having nightmares. Almost every night. It’s always the same one.”

“You want to tell me about it?” you prompted him after waiting for him to continue.

“I hate my name because he said it a lot. Joker,” he scowled, “After repeatedly burning my skin for my name, it’s like that’s all he said. In that annoying, high pitched, sing-song voice of his. Jason, Jason, Jason. It made me hate my name. It made me hate hearing it.”

“I- I didn’t know how much time passed when I was in there,” he continued, “But, fuck. It was- it was hell. And the worst part was that I kept on waiting for Bruce. Waiting and hoping for him to find me and save me. I was so desperate. You- I-”

He choked on his words. His eyes were squeezed shut and his lips tight.

You wanted to reach out to him, hug him, tell him that everything was okay now. But you didn’t. You waited for him to collect himself so he could finish telling you his story, just like how he wanted to.

“Anyway, I- despite all that,” he sighed, “That was the only thing that kept me sane. I kept on clinging onto the hope that he was out there, searching. And that helped for a while. Until- until that happened.”

He was breathing heavily now, fidgeting more. Jason was definitely getting increasingly agitated the deeper he went.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “Fuck.”

The moment you realised he was crying was when he let out a sniffle. You automatically took his hand in yours, squeezing it as a form of comfort.

“It’s okay,” you told him, “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.”

“No,” he shook his head, “I need to. I have to. I can’t take this anymore. Keeping everything in, I feel like I’m about to fucking explode.”

“Okay, then take it slow,” you said, “No rush. Anytime you’re ready.”

He nodded, eyes still closed, as if he was afraid of letting you see him cry.

“One night,” he began, “I think- I don’t know what was different- but I think something went wrong for him. Or right? That’s how it was. Tormenting me was fun, but it was also an outlet for him. But at the same time when he was happy, he also tortured me. He came to me, and- injected me with some sort of drug. That never happened before. He made sure that my head was clear whenever he hurt me so that I could feel everything he did.”

“But- he did- and- immediately, I felt weak,” he continued, “I mean, I was already weak. But my head. It was cloudy. I remember everything clearly, but it was like my brain couldn’t process it, couldn’t communicate with my body. I felt like I was looking out through a window that was my eyes- like I was in someone else’s body, experiencing someone else’s moments.”

“He released me,” Jason’s voice was now barely a whisper. “He released me from the ropes, and I fell to the floor. And then he- he- fuck.”

He let go of your hand and started pulling at his hair, rocking back and forth on your bed. He was sobbing now, his shoulders jerking up in sharp intakes of breaths. The only thing you could do was to stay silent and hold back your own tears.

You rested your hand on his knee, giving him a textile connection with reality so he doesn’t fall into his own thoughts.

“You- he- he- ruh- ruhp-”

Your heart sank to your stomach in horror as you realised what Jason was trying to say. It was as if you were plunged into icy water, chills running down your spine at the true revelation of what he had gone through in that cursed cell.

“Oh, no,” you breathed.

“He pushed me down,” he choked, “Pushed me down and climbed on top. I- I couldn’t even fight him. I was- I was conscious the whole time and I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t fucking do anything.”

Your tears were falling down now, both at the sight of Jason looking so vulnerable and fragile, and at his confession. Not being able to help yourself, you threw your arms over his neck and crashed into his hard body, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

His arms immediately wrapped around you, clutching you so hard it was painful as he buried his own face into your shoulder.

“And he kept on saying my name,” he said in muffled cries, “Jason, Jason, Jason. The whole fucking time. And- and I knew. He didn’t do it for pleasure. He did it to torment me. He- he didn’t even- he didn’t even finish.”

Jason sobbed into your skin for the next few minutes, his tears soaking through your night shirt. “But I did. Even though it was painful. Fuck, the pain was worse than anything he had ever done to me before. But- he- I- I fucking came.”

The both of you were sobbing now, his ragged breaths mingling together with your own on that quiet night.

His grip on you was tight, as if he thought that if he let go, you would disappear. So he clung onto you with all his might to keep you there with him as he recalled the horrific events.

“That's what broke me. I was so disgusted with myself. I hated myself. And he- he saw everything and- and laughed. He laughed so hard, I thought he was going to choke and die. I’ve never seen him laugh like that. And I remember every single fucking moment of being helpless on that fucking floor while he- fuck. Fuck.”

“And then he left. He left me on the floor bleeding and I never saw him again. And I went fucking insane. I tried to kill myself so many fucking times. So many times, I lost count. That’s what I dream about every night. His laughs, and his ‘Jason, Jason, Jason’.”

And that was that. That was the story.

The end of Jason Todd.

The both of you cried long and hard that night in each other’s arms. Eventually, you both lied down on the pillows together, underneath the covers.

“Please don’t tell Bruce,” he whispered to you.

Your head was on his chest, his big arms wrapped around your waist, your legs tangled with his.

You smiled at that. Even with the trauma, even with the sense of abandonment he felt, he still wanted to protect Bruce from knowing the truth.

Because the both of you knew that the truth would kill him.

“I promise,” you whispered back.

And then the both of you fell asleep together.

***

“Has Jason been sleeping in your room with you?” Bruce asked you on one fine Saturday morning at breakfast.

It had been about a week and a half since the first time Jason knocked on your door and poured out his feelings to you.

“He gets nightmares,” you tried to explain.

He thought that if he told you everything, the nightmares would stop. But it didn’t. But he then realised that the only thing that made it better was sleeping by your side, having someone there to wake him up from living his own hell in a loop.

“And do the two of you… Just sleep?” Bruce frowned.

“Yes!” you widen your eyes in horror at the insinuation. “Bruce! Come on!”

“I know you have feelings for him, and I’m sure he does for you as well. But I don’t think something like that is what Jason needs right now,” he stated.

“Yes, I know!” you groaned at the thought having that kind of conversation with him, “Jesus, Bruce. I know. I’m just there to wake him up or help him fall back asleep. Nothing more.”

Bruce nodded, deep in thought. “Has he… told you? About what happened?”

You pursed your lips. “Yes.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” his frown went deeper. “I understand. He will tell me when he is ready.”

“Exactly,” you smiled, hiding the fact that Jason may never tell Bruce what happened. Never the full story.

“He still hasn’t left the manor?”

“No,” you sighed, “I asked him if he wanted some fresh air. Just outside the main door, not even going down the steps. But he refused. Told me to, and I quote, ‘Fuck off’.”

“Well, he’s only just left the cave, and it’s just to your room,” Bruce thought out loud, “It’s still progress. Especially since he’s been talking to you about the past.”

“He only spoke about it one time,” you said, “And then never again.”

“I see,” he hummed, “And you’re okay with him sleeping with you?”

“Next to me, Bruce, sleeping next to me,” you corrected.

“Yes, and you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, it’s all good,” you assured him, “I can kick him out any time I want- but I don’t want to. He looks like a lost puppy sometimes.”

“An angry lost puppy.”

You chuckled at that and couldn’t agree more.

*** While Jason got the sleep he needed when he was next to you, it was counterproductive on your end. You had never been with anyone before, and definitely had not slept on the same bed with another man.

So to feel his body heat and breaths against your skin, his occasional light snores, it made your mind go on hyperdrive.

Most of the time, the two of you would just lie down, your back against his front, or your backs against each other, or both on your backs just staring at the ceiling- and talked. You would be the one talking the most, of course, about anything you could think of. You would tell him about your day, your patrols, something you read about online, or the current news.

But that one particular night during week three of him sleeping next to you, the two of you were silent. It wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, but the kind of silence that was pleasant and was better described as a peaceful quiet.

You had your back pressed against his front and his arm was lazily draped over your waist. It was a cold night, and you were wearing just a tank top and pyjama shorts, snuggling under the covers that went up all the way to your nose.

Shifting a bit while snuggling comfortably, you pressed yourself against Jason’s body to get more of his heat. But then, you were met with something poking against your lower back.

“Ngh, please ignore that,” Jason huffed.

Oh.

For some reason, you forgot that Jason was a physically healthy male who was capable of having sexual thoughts and feelings. All this while, you thought you were the only one.

“Are you- uh- is that- uh-” you stuttered, feeling your face flush with heat.

Feeling your body suddenly alert with excitement.

“Yes, it’s my fucking penis,” he grit almost angrily, “What, never heard of an erection before?”

“Of course I have!” you argued rather defensively, “It’s just- I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Why?” he demanded, “You didn’t think I could get it up or something?”

“No, of course not!” you denied, “It just didn’t cross my mind, that’s all.”

A pause. Then-

“Well,” he sighed, “You wouldn’t have been wrong.”

Your mind blanked for a second.

“What do you mean?” you asked softly.

“It’s my- fuck- it’s my first time,” he confessed.

“Your first time getting an erection?” you gasped.

“No, you idiot,” he snapped, “It’s my first time getting hard since… since… then.”

Oh. Oh, you were an idiot.

“It’s just- after that- even when I was downstairs, alone and safe, I- I couldn’t,” he told you, “I kept on thinking back to that time and- and I couldn’t. I found it disgusting.”

And immediately, like someone doused you in cold water, any feeling of horniness you had when you first felt his erection against you disappeared. You just felt so sad for him, but also angry. Angry that he had to go through all of that, and angrier that there was nothing you could do about it.

“So, why do you think you’re getting it now?” you asked. Perhaps talking about it in an objective manner would help guide him through his thought process.

“Are you kidding me?” he scoffed, “You’re fucking pressing your ass against my dick, what did you think would happen?”

“Wait, what?” your eyes widen, “You’re hard because of me?”

“No shit,” he said, “You’re hardly wearing any clothes, too.”

You shouldn’t feel happy due to the circumstance and context, but there you were ecstatic that he found you attractive enough to pop a boner after so long.

“Fuck,” he sighed, suddenly pressing himself closer to you.

His hand that draped over your waist when to actually grip it. Then, then, he grinded his hard on against your ass.

“Mmm,” he rumbled deeply, “Feels good.”

There. That was it. You were once again flooded with the feeling of heat that pooled at your stomach, a tingling sensation started at your core. Feeling hot despite the low temperature of the night, you clenched your thighs together, needing the slight pressure.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he grinded on you again, and then unexpectedly let out a chuckle.

“What is it?” you smiled, loving it whenever you heard him laugh.

“I thought… For the longest time, I thought I was broken. That he broke me,” he revealed, “I thought I needed to get all Wingardium Leviosa on this little fucker.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed and groaned at the same time, “You’re so fucking embarassing.”

He laughed along with you and continued. “But now I’m hard and- and horny. You made me feel like I’m normal again. Like I’m sixteen again, and getting horny over everything.”

Sometimes, we take the normal things for granted. Food, shelter, clothes. In this case, it was a goddamned boner. In a way, Jason’s erection was symbolic- however funny it sounded. Getting your sexual appetite and need back after being so traumatised was a massive leap for many people who had experienced the same thing.

It meant that Jason was healing well.

“Does that make you happy?” you asked.

“Not particularly,” he admitted, “But I’m definitely not sad either.”

“That’s good enough for now, then,” you beamed.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

Another few moments of silence. You could feel it, his cock pushing into you. However tempted you were to push back and grind, you held yourself still.

“Uh, Jason?” you voiced.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to like, take care of it?” you asked, “I mean. My bathroom is available. Or- there are many empty rooms.”

“No,” he simply stated.

“No?”

“No.”

“It’s kinda poking into me.”

“Just ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” you gaped, “How can I ignore it? You’re literally pressing it into my ass.”

“Well, then do you want to take care of it?” he teased.

You couldn’t argue back. “Fine, I’ll ignore it.”

He chuckled. “I’ll turn around.”

When he made the movement, you suddenly grabbed him by the wrist. “No, it’s fine. Stay here.”

You expected him to tease you like he usually would, make a crass comment, or even a ‘fuck off’.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around you again in silence, and the both of you drifted to sleep.

***

“Do you think this color suits me?” Natalie asked, holding up a floral red dress.

The four of you were at the mall in Diamond District. Now that high school was over, and everyone would be going off to separate colleges in a few months, you tried to spend time with each other as much as you could.

“Any color suits you, Nat,” you rolled your eyes, “You’re hot stuff.”

“Jesus, it’s like you’re shoving it in our faces at this point,” Sarah added, flipping her brunette hair to the side, tight curls flowing down.

“Aw, you guys,” Nat pretended to tear up, “I’m gonna miss you guys so much!”

“Not again,” Alex groaned, “We’ve been through this so many times.”

“I’m gonna be so miserable without you guys,” Natalie continued on, ignoring Alex’s interruption.

“I don’t know,” Sarah shrugged, “I think I’d enjoy New York. I can have pizza parties with the rats in my overpriced apartment.”

You chuckled at Sarah’s joke. Everyone was leaving Gotham except you. Deciding to continue with Robin, you opted for Gotham University- prestigious, old, and most importantly, close to home.

Your phone dinged in your pocket. You opened it to find texts from Dick.

Dick: OH MY GOD. Dick: I’m at the Manor. Dick: Was going to the Cave gym to work out. Dick: AND Dick: JASON IS HERE!!! WHAT DO I DO?!?!

That was new. Jason would usually just use whatever basic equipment he had in his room to work out. The fact that he was at the Cave’s sparring area where all the other fancier work out equipment were was out of the ordinary.

You: Just go. See if he reacts. If he suddenly stiffens and just stay there not doing anything, then leave. If he continues on, then it’s okay to stay- but don’t initiate anything! Dick: OKOKOK

You waited anxiously for Dick’s update. All four of you were now walking towards the food court, but you hardly listened to their bickering. Forty-five minutes passed before Dick texted you again.

Dick: OMG HE TALKED TO ME You: What did he say? Dick: He asked me to pass him his towel. You: That’s all he said? Dick: IT’S PROGRESS OKAY!!

Dick was right. It meant that Dick was now the third person Jason had spoken to. Adding another person to his list of contacts was definitely progress.

You were happy for him.

You:Is he still there? Dick: Nah he left Dick: But WOW he’s looking good. He must have been really going at it. I think he might get bigger than me soon You: All he does now is work out. He’s obsessed. Dick: Yeah I can tell

You decided to leave it at that for now and try to concentrate on your friends, but Dick sent another message.

Dick: ARE YOU TWO HAVING SEX?!?!

You spat out your drink, earning weird looks from everyone.

You: DICK!!!! WTF NO!!

Dick never replied.

***

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Jason asked, his voice breaking the silence of your dark room. The two of you were on your bed, lying down and staring at the ceiling.

“Of course,” you said. It didn’t matter to you what Jason asks for. He hardly ever asked for anything.

“Could you… Take me out tomorrow?” he requested, “If you’re not doing anything else, that is.”

“Uh, sure!” you nodded, surprised. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, okay,” you hesitated, “But- are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to go so far so quickly. Maybe you should start with just going to the backyard?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I’m not a kid.”

“Okay then,” you agreed. “Tomorrow.”

You kept on glancing anxiously at him the next day as he climbed into the passenger seat of your car. He was quiet, but looked perfectly fine.

Switching the engine on, you drove out of the garage and out the large automatic gates. Trees soon surrounded the lonely road on both sides as you descended downhill into town.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

“I thought Robinson Park would be nice,” you said. It was around three in the afternoon, yet Gotham was dark as though the day was ending. It was cloudy, skies grey and wind blowing.

“You’re taking me to a park?” he scoffed.

“It’s more quiet than anywhere else,” you reasoned with him, “Less people. Spacious. Lots of greenery.”

“Whatever.”

Reaching the parking space of the park, you noticed that there were a few cars. Mothers and nannies liked to bring children out to the park around that time. Joggers and teens, college students and retired elderly seeking a little escape from the high rise buildings of concrete and glass.

You turned the engine off and proceeded to open the door, only then noticing Jason stiffening. Looking over to him, you saw that his eyebrows were pulled down in a deep frown, his jaw clenched, his hands in fists on his knees.

You didn’t say anything or make any comment. Leaning back into your seat, you waited until Jason was ready.

About five minutes passed before he took a deep breath, gave you a nod, and then opened his door.

The two of you walked along a path at the park, going deeper inside and further away from your car. There were a few joggers around, some tourists, and some teens taking photos. You saw a group of kids in the distance playing frisbee, and the others were walking their dogs.

An empty bench stood in the middle of the park, overlooking a clearing. You headed there, Jason following closely behind.

“It’s a bit gloomy today,” you pouted, “As if Gotham could be anything other than that, of course.”

You looked at Jason.

He looked like a scared dog being brought out for the first time.

His jittery knees were bouncing rapidly, his wide eyes were darting at every movement, his forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat, and his breathing was heavy.

“Woah, woah,” you reached out to him, putting an arm on his back. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just listen to me talk, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he gulped.

“Try to calm your breathing,” you instructed, “Deep breaths, Jason. In… out… In… Out… Yeah, see that’s great.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, now calmer. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled warmly, “You’re doing just fine.”

“No, I’m not,” he strained, “I feel like everything is too big. Too vast. The fucking sky looks like it’s going to crash down on me and at the same time suck me up into a void.”

“And despite all you’re feeling right now, you’re not breaking down or anything, are you?” you tried, “You’re okay, Jason. This is progress.”

“I guess,” he sighed, “I’m just- I’m so used to having four walls and a ceiling. Now everything feels too big.”

“I understand,” you empathized, “Whenever you want to go back, just say the word. Or we can even just go and sit in the car. No problem.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s do that,” he stood up.

The walk back to the car was faster.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.

“No, you’re not,” you reassured him, “That was great, Jason. Come on, it was your first time outside in two years and a half. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I’m so fucking broken,” he choked.

“Don’t say that,” you scolded, “You’re not broken. And you know what, even if you think you are, we can always fix it. Baby steps. Maybe we can do this once a week. We were out for like, ten minutes? Next week we’ll try fifteen. How’s that sound?”

“Twice a week,” he stated, “I just want to be normal again.”

“Okay, twice a week, then,” you agreed, “We’ll try again in a couple of days, okay?”

“Okay,” he paused, “Thank you.”

“No problemo,” you grinned, “Would you like to stay here a bit longer or shall we go back?”

“Let’s go back.”

“Wanna stop by the diner? You can wait in the car while I ask for a take-away?”

“...okay.”

***

Jason and you had gone out twice more. Once three days after the first time, and the other a week later. The second time he went out, he lasted twenty minutes, though you were sure he was being stubborn on his part. He looked like he was having a heart attack, but he insisted on staying until he hit the twenty minute mark.

The third time, he was much much better. Surprisingly so. The two of you sat down on that bench for half an hour, with you even leaving him alone for a few minutes to get two ice cream cones.

After that, you took him for a drive around the city. He seemed to be more comfortable in the car, so you went all the way from Robinson Park to Diamond District, and back to the manor.

Bruce seemed very pleased with your update, and you swore you could see him actually smile.

“Thank you,” he had told you. “You’ve done more than I could have ever asked of you.”

“It’s no problem, Bruce. Really,” you reassured him.

“I’m his father. He is my responsibility. It’s my fault he’s even in that state. I wish I could do more for him,” he said solemnly.

“The fact that you understand what he needs is more than helpful, Bruce,” you smiled, “Not many parents can do that. You understand and respect him. That’s enough for now.”

He simply nodded.

Ever since your scheduled outings, Jason had become more and more relaxed whenever he was in the manor. He now walked to the kitchen on occasion to mess with Alfred while he cooked meals for him, sometimes sitting in the living room lounging on the couch while reading. Most of the time, though, he was down at the sparring zone of the Cave, working out.

But at night, he would never fail to knock on your door.

And at that particular night, you found yourself in the same situation again while lying down on your side with your back to his front, for the fifth time.

“You officially have to stop calling yourself broken,” you grumbled, “Because that thing poking into my ass is definitely not broken.”

He chuckled lowly. “You complaining, sweetheart?”

Oh, and yes. Jason now had started calling you ‘sweetheart’. Why? You had no clue. It was just a thing that happened. The look on your face when he first slipped it in was probably a sight to behold.

“No shit, I’m complaining, Jason,” you groaned, “You haven’t jerked off, yet? Not even once?”

“Nope,” he popped the P, “I just… I don’t want to… I don’t want to come.”

You sighed, understanding the situation. He had been disgusted with himself because he had ejaculated when Joker… Well, that. You hated to even think about it, so you always shoved the thought away.

“But unfortunately for me, I still get super horny,” he rumbled deeply, pushing his hips into you even more, “So fucking horny.”

“And then I have to suffer,” you complained.

“I can assure you, blue balls are more painful than something poking into you,” he bickered.

“It’s not that…”

“Then?”

“I get horny too, come on man,” you whined, “I’m a hormonal teenage girl. What did you expect?”

“You get horny too?” he whispered after a pause.

“Uh, yeah,” you admitted nervously. Somehow, the mood shifted, and your heart started drumming against your chest.

“Because of me?” he asked.

“Not you specifically, I mean,” you tried to back track, “You’re… Your dick pressing up against me like that, I mean, come on, Jason.”

“Simple question sweetheart,” he told you, “You get horny because of me, yes or no?”

You gulped. “Yes.”

Fuck, why did you say yes? You could have lied. You could have not answered.

“Yeah?” he breathed. You noticed that his hand was now on your hip, right above the waistband of your sleeping shorts, drawing circles onto your skin with his thumb.

You were nervous. The butterflies in your tummy was not helping you calm down.

“Yeah,” you squeezed your eyes shut, as if to protect yourself from anything he had to say.

“Fuck,” he groaned, gripping your hips and grinding his hard on against your ass even more. And did it… Fuck, did it get even harder?

Afraid of saying the wrong thing, and also out of nervousness, you remained silent. Jason’s chest rose and fall against your back, his respiratory rate increasing. His pinky finger slid underneath the waistband, testing the waters before slowly slipping his hand into your pants.

He went in so slowly, as if waiting for you to tell him no, to rip his hand away, to wrench yourself away from him. But you never did, so he went in deeper, caressing the skin beneath your pelvic bone, his heat just burning into you.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he commented, voice suddenly husky.

“I don’t wear them to bed,” you informed him.

“You mean to tell me,” he growled, “That all this while I’ve been sleeping next to you and you never had your panties on?”

“It’s more comfortable that way,” you mumbled.

“Jesus Christ,” he cursed. “Thank God I never knew. Would have been torture, and trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Jason,” you gasped.

“It’s true,” he said, “Damn, sweetheart.”

He went lower, closer to your center.

Your core was tingly, small pulses of electricity buzzed through your body as Jason came closer and closer and closer and-

He slipped his hands between your closed thighs and cupped you.

“Mmm,” he moaned softly, “Warm. Fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?” you laughed, even though you felt like screaming on the inside. Screaming for more.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, burying his face into your nape, taking a deep breath. “You smell nice.”

Oh, shit. You totally forgot about Jason’s aversion to strong smells.

“I’m sorry!” you quickly apologised, “I can switch to an unscented shampoo as well so it wouldn’t be too strong for you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, “I like it on you.”

He ground his hand into your center harder.

“Mmpf, Jay,” you breathed, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “I’ve never touched a girl like this before.”

“Really?” you widen your eyes in surprise.

“I was kept in a cell for two years, I couldn’t exactly talk, let alone touch, anyone can I?” he quipped.

“Right.”

“Teach me,” he said.

“What?” you whispered despite knowing what he meant.

A pause of silence. A deep intake of breath, a slow exhale.

“Teach me how to touch you,” he purred.

Fuck, you felt like exploding.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes. If you… If you want to.”

Your mind quickly tried to analyse the situation. Bruce had specifically said that Jason didn’t need any complicated matters in the relationship. It made sense. You didn’t want to overwhelm Jason with any confusion or uncertainty.

But at the same time, you’ve been figuring out how Jason thought, bit by bit. He’s told you many times that he just wanted to be normal again, to feel normal, to do normal things. And this was something that was normal, that he should do, that he wanted to do.

And you knew that he probably would take the rejection even worse.

“O-Okay,” you agreed.

Slowly, you separated your thighs, raising the one on top and hooking it over his legs behind you. Due to your shift in position, you felt the minute Jason’s fingers dip slightly into your folds.

“So, uh, this is my first time with a guy as well,” you squeaked, “But I’ll try to guide you.”

You licked your lips.

“Uhm, well, I guess you can start by running a finger up and down between my- oh! Yes, just like that.”

His middle finger slid down to your opening, and then up again slowly. His movements were uncertain, brushing only slightly against your clit unintentionally.

It was different, having someone else touch you. Somehow, despite the inexperience, it just felt better.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, “You’re so fucking wet. Do you usually get this wet?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No? Yes? I don’t know! I can’t feel it.”

“Shit.”

You let him play with you some more, his fingers sliding up and down, sometimes pressing against your fleshy parts, sometimes circling and gathering your wetness, sometimes just parting your lips. Hell, he even tapped the tips of his fingers on you randomly or brushed into your delicate fuzz. You knew he was just exploring, feeling you for the first time.

And that thought made you smile and sigh.

“Teach me how to make you feel good,” he rasped.

“Uh, so your fingers are wet, right?”

“Yeah. Because you’re leaking all over them.”

“Okay, good. Now find my clit. It’s slightly above your finger, okay, to the left a bit. More. Okay, there! Yeah, right there,” you sighed, finally feeling that delicious pressure.

“Here?”

He tapped your clit.

“Ah!” you moaned, “Yes- but don’t just- nevermind, just gently circle it. Clockwise.”

He obeyed, and hell since when did Jason just obey?

He circled you gently, like you said. But he also went so, so slow.

“Faster, Jay,” you panted.

He went faster, making you groan in pleasure.

“Like this, sweetheart?” he muttered, his voice low and cracking, and sexy, and husky. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and it drove you wild.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “Yeah, just like that. Fuck.”

“Feel good?”

“So good, Jay. Press a little harder now- fuck. Fuck. Yes, perfect. Just like that.”

The pressure built as his fingers did their magic.

“You- you’re surprisingly good at that,” you stuttered, “You sure- mmm- you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Despite what you think,” he husked in your ear, warm breath tickling you. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“I can see that.”

“But I’m also good at improvising.”

“Wha- oh. Oh. Fuck! Jason! Oh my fucking god!”

He started pressing even harder, and going even faster, throwing away the slow build you were going for and instead pushing you towards orgasm fast and hard, as if he was determined to prove something to you.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he purred, “You gonna come soon?”

“Oh my- fuck, yes! Fuck, don’t stop!”

“You want to come for me?” his deep voice rumbled.

“Yes!”

What the hell? When did he learn how to talk like that?

Because with the mix of his heavy pants, his low voice coaxing you, his barrage of pleasure at your clit, you felt the familiar tightening of your core. You threw one hand back and found his hair. Running your fingers through them, you gripped them tight and pulled.

You pulled on his hair as he forced the orgasm onto you.

“Oh my God. Jason, I’m gonna- fuck- I’m- fuck- ah!”

You moaned loudly as you felt your walls flutter, clenching over nothing as you reached your high.

“O-okay, stop, fuck,” your hand went from his hair to his wrist, stilling him. He withdrew his hands from your pants, and went to grip you tight again by the waist.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he groaned, grinding into you. You pushed your ass back, feeling his hardened length against your flesh in your post-orgasm bliss. “Jesus, that was so hot.”

“That was- yeah,” you giggled, “Fuck.”

His face was still buried in your neck. You could feel his lips on your skin.

“Uhm, I can, you know,” you sputtered, “Try to help you out?”

“It’s fine,” he breathed, body still tight against yours, “Just go to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” you asked again, feeling guilty that he didn’t get off. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” he said, “It’s okay, sweetheart. That was great. I enjoyed that. I told you, I don’t want to come.”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Go to bed.”

“Thank you, Jason.”

“Fuck, I’m so horny.”

“Jason,” you whined, “Really, I can help-”

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, “Goodnight.”

You pursed your lips.

“Goodnight.”

[abluescarfonwaston]

You mentioned once that Dandelion knows Geralt pretty well and canonically managed to read him pretty well in at least one scene (the one before Geralt says Dandelion is uncomplicated.) Could you elaborate on that? I havent read the books yet and Ive got a point to prove to one of my friends

There are two sections where this is a big thing (in the short stories). The first one is in Posada (POSADA- VALLEY OF FLOWERS. THEY JUST MET) after Geralt agrees to look into the devil problem. Even though he just turned down a bunch of ‘jobs’ because the monsters don’t exist. And Devils don’t exist either.

“Knowing you a little as I do, I take it you haven’t abased yourself so as to get us bed, board and lodging, have you?”

“Indeed.” Geralt grimaced. “It does look as if you know me a little, singer.”

The other section is- well its kinda the entirety of A Little Sacrifice but the section I was talking about was this. I’m going to paraphrase cause it’s seriously two pages long. [oh wait i only paraphrase the first 3 paragraphs. I swear these boys but this is literally the scene your asking about so i don’t feel terrible about putting it all in.] There is SO MUCH DIALOGUE WHEN BOTH GERALT AND DANDELION ARE CHATTERBOXES. Thank the other iterations for saving my poor hands by making Geralt quiet. Note: They’re in bed together during this sequence.

“Hey Geralt. Essi is like a little sister to me. Don’t be a dick to her cause she likes you. Admit it, you like her too?”

 “Even if I did like her I wouldn’t talk about it! Or write songs about it. Thanks for your words cause maybe you did save me from a stupid mistake. So drop it! GOODNIGHT.” [direct quotes after this point]

Dandelion lay motionless for a moment, saying nothing, but Geralt knew him too well.

“I know,’ The poet said at last. ‘Now I know everything.’

‘You know fuck all Dandelion’

‘Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. You flaunt your otherness, what you consider abnormal. You aggressively impose that abnormality on others, not understanding that for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal. I, my dear once knew an innkeeper who could fart for ten minutes without stopping, playing the tune to the psalm Greet us, greet us, O, Morning star. Heedless of his - lets face it - unusual talent, that innkeeper was the most normal among the normal...

“What does this have to do with Essi Daven? Could you explain?”

“Of course. You wrongfully thought, Geralt, that Little Eye was interested in you out of morbid, downright perverted curiosity, that she looks at you as though you were a queer fish, a two-headed calf or a salamander in a menagerie. And you immediately became annoyed, gave her a rude, undeserved reprimand at the first opportunity, struck back at a blow she hadn’t dealt. I witnessed it, after all. I didn’t witness the further course of events, of course, but i noticed your flight from the room and saw her glowing cheeks when you returned. Yes, Geralt. I’m alerting you to a mistake, and you have already made it. You wanted to take revenge on her for - in your opinion - her morbid curiosity. You decided to exploit that curiosity.”

“You’re talking rubbish.”

“You tried,” The bard continued, unmoved, ‘to learn if it was possible to bed her in the hay, if she was curious to find out what it’s like to make love with a misfit, with a witcher. Fortunately, Essi turned out to be smarter than you and generously took pity on your stupidity, having understood it’s cause. I concluded this from the fact you did not return from the jetty with a fat lip.”

“Have you finished?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Goodnight then.”

“I know why you’re furious and gnashing your teeth.”

“No doubt. You know everything.”

“I know who warped you like that, who left you unable to understand a normal woman. Oh, but that Yennefer of yours was a troublemaker; I’m damned if I know what you see in her.”

“Drop it, Dandelion.”

“Do you really not prefer normal girls like Essi? What do sorceresses have that Essi doesn’t? Age, Perhaps? Little Eye may not be the youngest, but she’s as old as she looks. And do you know what Yennefer once confessed to me after a few stiff drinks? Ha, ha... she told me that the first time she did it with a man it was exactly a year after the invention of the two-furrow plough.”

“you’re lying. Yennefer Loathes you like the plague and would never confide in you.”

“Alright. I was lying. I confess.”

“You don’t have to. I know you.”

“You only think you know me. Don’t forget: I’m complicated by nature.”

“Dandelion,” The Witcher sighed, now genuinely tired. “You’re a cynic, a lecher, a womaniser and a liar. And there is nothing, believe me, nothing complicated about that. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Geralt.”

It’s worth noting that everything Dandelion says in this section appears to be accurate to what we witness happen between Essi and Geralt although his motivations for acting that way (like a jerk) aren’t stated. I mean. A huge part of Dandelion’s character is explaining Geralt’s motivations to the audience. I mean it happens again when the doppler turns into Dandelion during The Eternal Flame. The doppler as Dandelion Explains why Geralt won’t hurt him. After having been Geralt.

“You’re right, Geralt.” [the doppler said transforming out of Geralt’s form] “I took over your thoughts. Only briefly, but it was sufficient. Do you know what I’m going to do now?”

[Transforms into Dandelion]

... “I’ll go on my way... I’m going. And you, Geralt will not even try too stop me. Because I, Geralt, knew your thoughts for a moment. Including the ones you don’t want to admit to, the ones you even hide from yourself. Because to stop me you’d have to kill me. And the thought of killing me in cold blood fills you with disgust. Doesn’t it?”

Like A. this scene is very gay but more importantly B. the Doppler understands Geralt's thoughts (because he was him) and then turns into Dandelion to explain them. Because its safer. Geralt’s self loathing is so bad he did get a little murdery about seeing his own face looking back at him. Because Geralt wouldn’t hurt Dandelion. But also because Dandelion understands what’s going on in Geralt’s head and has explained Geralt’s motivations to him before. (Although this story happens before A Little Sacrifice. I think. TIMELINES) And Because Dandelion is his main teether to what’s right and Good. To his own moral compass. (Despite being a thief and a spy and a liar and a cynic and a cheater.) 

I mean Geralt asks him what to do during the Dragon hunt because everyone is telling him Kill the Dragon. Kill the Dragon. Yennefer literally gets all teary eyed asking him to do it for Her even. And for a moment Geralt wavers and isn’t sure. So he asks Dandelion.

“And what’s your opinion about all this, Dandelion? What do you think?”

“What does it matter what I think? I’m a poet, Geralt. Does my opinion matter at all?”

“Yes it does” 

“Well I’ll tell you then. When I see a reptile, Geralt, a viper, let’s say or some other serpent, it gives me the creeps, the vileness disgusts and terrifies me. But that dragon...”

“Yeah?”

“It... It’s pretty, Geralt.”

“Thank you Dandelion.”

“What for?”

Also (not to circle back to something that’s literally a page ago but) his comment on Yennefer,

“I know who warped you like that, who left you unable to understand a normal woman. Oh, but that Yennefer of yours was a troublemaker; I’m damned if I know what you see in her.”

and how she made him feel not human also seemed very accurate from their section together in A Shard Of Ice. (which Dandelion was not present for in the books but seems to have gathered well enough) So the fact that Dandelion knows Geralt Really fucking well is. Well its Canon.

[spield]

picking up v (suitor...s enter!)

Hey, hey hey!! So, here’s the latest installment of the picking up! verse! You can read the other “chapters” here.  In which Kakashi meets the other suitors.  part i - part ii - part iii - part iv

“I’m sorry about that.” Sakura apologized, settling the wine glass down. They’ve barely made it to their reservation, with the stare off that happened between Kakashi and Tobirama back at the lobby.

The two silver-haired (foxes) men kept their composure with small (non-existent) small talk, gauging each other. Sakura believed that the only thing that stopped them from going all caveman was the fact that they knew she hated it.

She was not a prize, damn it.

Good thing they knocked it off and Kakashi and Sakura went on their way. The restaurant they chose limited their capacity to provide a sense of privacy and exclusivity to their diners. Their table sat by the window, inside a small function room.

They just finished their main courses when Kakashi waved her off, “Don’t apologize. I didn’t know you were so popular, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sakura’s smile strained, thinking of all the male guests in the wedding entourage. From what she heard, Pein will be there. That’s an entire headache right there and oh if only he knew.

“Ah, well. Tobirama’s an old patient. He got shot by one of  his client’s enemies after court.”

“Hmm,” Kakashi hummed, “I think I read about that in the newspaper. The Shimura case?”

“Yes —“

“Excuse me, here are your desserts.”

The waiter laid out a souffle for Sakura and a plain vanilla ice cream for Kakashi - which Sakura just found completely adorable.

Kakashi watched as Sakura’s eyes lit up at the first taste of the chocolate souffle, her cheeks flushing with delight. He could watch her eat forever. He’ll give her all the souffle she wants, if she asks for it.

Their conversation picked up, rounding with the details of the infamous Shimura case, and how it shook their nation. With the not-so white elephant in the room, Kakashi decided it’s time to bat it away.

Half-jokingly he asked; “So… are there any other suitors I should know about?”

The Uchiha family for all its riches is a subtle one when it comes to throwing parties. Which is the opposite of the Hyuuga clan. Glancing at the grand displays of 7 foot flower arrangements and number of tables for the pre-wedding party, Sakura guessed it was Hanabi’s family that won out when it came to decorations.

The wedding was tomorrow, this party, according to the invitation, was to allow the two families to get to know each other. Or, looking at the amount of passive-aggressive bragging, to one-up each other one way or another.

With the Hyuugas in politics and the Uchiha in the police force, Hanabi and Sasuke’s marriage seems like a political alliance to the untrained eye. But as Sakura sat waiting for Kakashi to return from the restroom, she could see the couple’s eyes soften at the sight of each other at their own table of honor.

It’s about love - and politics. Not the other way around.

“Please don’t tell me you’re not pining for your ex-husband at his own wedding party.”

Sighing, Sakura rolled her eyes at the droll voice from behind her. From her periphery, a red-head moved and sat across her - Akasuna no Sasori.

“Why are you here?” Sakura’s eyes narrowed at Sasori, “You hate Sasuke.”

Sasori shrugged, his indolence marking his movements. “It doesn’t change the fact that his father invested in our hospital.”

Ah, of course it doesn’t.

It’s love, politics and money - what a trifecta.

For a moment, it was silent between the rivals. They’d met at medical school, both studying under the heavy hands of Senju Tsunade and Akasuna no Chiyo. Sasori had been her senior for a year, before their tense rivarly started when Sakura dismantled his thesis paragraph by paragraph, making them graduate at the same time.

Their rivalry’s legendary. Rumor has it Tsunade and Chiyo still had a bet going on about when Sasori will confess his begrudging respect and hate-love for their favorite student - not that Sakura knew that.

“So should I keep my eyes peeled for a dramatic entrance of a scorned ex-wife tomorrow? Let me know, I’ve got to get my camera ready.”

Sakura’s eyebrow twitched, “I’ll peel your eyes for you if you don’t leave me alone.”

Sasori’s lips twitched upwards, satisfied with poking fun. “And here I was keeping you com—“

“Ah, Sasori-san, I didn’t know you were here!”

The Uchiha Matriarch, mother, or was it back to Mikoto-san now? was a lifesaver. Looking every bit of a matriarch with her pearls and beautiful dark blue dress, Mikoto still held an effortless elegance about her.

Sakura’s lips twitched at Sasori’s deflated expression, quickly masked with impassive politeness. He rose and kissed the matriarch’s hand. “I wouldn’t miss your son’s second wedding for the wedding, Mikoto-san.”

Mikoto took the insult in stride. Sasuke’s first marriage didn’t have a wedding - not of this magnitude of course. Given all the… circumstances surrounding it. The matriarch glanced at her former daughter-in-law, now shooting her a relieved smile.

What a pity she had to leave the family. Mikoto mused. Sakura-chan’s a great woman, smart as a whip with a backbone of steel - perfect for the Uchiha. With a glance around the ballroom, Mikoto could already tell the line of men wanting to steal her away, starting with this doctor. She also saw Congressman Uzumaki (yakuza, if she remembered correctly) lurking about and that lawyer Tobirama.

Mikoto smiled a practiced smile at Sasori, before placing her hand on the crook of his elbow, talking about the new technology Suna hospital has because of their investment -

They want her daughter-in-law?

They could try.

Hand-washing was one of the habits (or coping mechanisms) his former occupation left on Kakashi. Counting backwards from 100, he meticulously scrubbed his hands on the sink. From the cubicle behind him, a familiar figure emerged.

“I see that you lost the face piercings - good look. Must be a hit with the voters.”

Pein knew Kakashi, perhaps even knew what he was before he was a high school teacher (and even during that), and it really shouldn’t surprise Kakashi that he was here. A political gathering disguising as a pre-wedding banquet.

“And you lost the mask - you’re almost unrecognizable.” Pein said, standing next to Kakashi and turning on the sink - drowning out their conversation.

Kakashi picked off a few tissues and dried his hands, his customized face mask sitting snugly on his face. “Heh, it was going out of fashion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to attend to.”

“Does she know?”

Kakashi paused, his back facing the legislator. Slowly, he turned and faced the impassive face of the shadow leader of one of the oldest Yakuza families in Ame. “That’s none of your business.”

“I knew you prefer older men.”

Sighing, Sakura turned to Shisui and shrugged off his arm from her bare shoulders. “Hello to you too, Shisui. I’m assuming you’re the one who sent her?” Emerald eyes pointedly looked at the lady Kakashi’s politely twirling.

He’d gotten back right as the meals were served and was promptly whisked away by an overenthusiastic lady with a penchant for pointing out their age differences.

Shisui shot her a grin before bowing in front of her with flourish, offering his hand for a dance, knowing that propriety dictates that she can not refuse.

Soon, her soft hand slid into his and he whisked her away for a dance. As they sway back and forth to the orchestra, Shisui lowered his lips to her ear. “You’d be surprised who’s more devious between Itachi and I, Sakura-chan.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed, roaming the room over Shisui’s shoulder. She found Itachi near the grand staircase, already looking at her with molten eyes.

“You two are persistent.”

Shisui laughed, leaning back an inch. “We prefer, determined. If you don’t mind.”

Sakura sighed, swaying in his arms, “You do know it’s odd if I get married to someone in your family again, right? Let alone my ex-husband’s brother or cousin.”

Shisui’s chuckle reverberated against Sakura’s chest, his lips grazing her ear. “Darling, once part of the family - always part of the family.”

“What are you doing?” Sasuke asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

Finally, Sakura had thrown in the towel and bowed out of the reception with a goodbye and a hug with the newly-weds. She had whispered in Sasuke’s ears a request to keep his relatives away from her.

“You still love her?” Shisui asked, daringly, eyes sharp. They were in Sasuke’s room, lounging, some sort of last bachelor’s party with wine and business plans.

“Of course.” Sasuke answered with not a beat missed.

Theirs was a history too long and too sweet to be brushed away. They may have ended but the bitterness of that ending was nothing compared to what they’ve been through. They grew together, loved together, had a beautiful girl together. How could he not love her?

Shisui watched as his cousin’s eyes glazed over, looking inwards, his body language softening before hardening as his coal eyes narrowed.

Itachi stared at his brother as if seeing him for the first time. It seemed they’d underestimated Sasuke’s loyalty. “We’ll take care of her, otouto, you know that.”

“I’ll always love her.” Sasuke reiterated, pointedly ignoring his older brother. He poured himself a glass of wine, remembering how Sakura looked up to Kakashi when they left the banquet. “Which means if any of you fucks up Sakura’s happiness, there will be hell to pay.”

When they arrived in Kakashi’s room, Sakura spilled out all the “suitors” who suddenly emerged after her divorce. Kakashi was pretty sure they’ve always been around, but he kept that to himself. 

A doctor, nay, an owner of one of the biggest hospitals in the country - Akasuna no Sasori. Championed by many in their field, saying that he and Sakura are the next power couple of the field. 

A lawyer, nay, one of the best criminal lawyers and co-owner of the Senju Co law firm - Tobirama Senju. The contender of the whole Senju family, including Tsunade (who had no apologies to give to Kakashi, she wanted Sakura as her official relative - sorry) 

A legislator and a yakuza head - Uzumaki Nagato. Or Pein. Who was frankly just a pain in the ass to deal with. Kakashi still had some scars to prove that. 

And of course, the Uchiha cousins. Championed by their whole clan, judging by the way the matriarch and patriarch approvingly gazed at them while they whisk Sakura for a dance. 

And then there’s Kakashi. 

“I’m just a humble soon-to-be college teacher,” Kakashi started and Sakura almost rolled her eyes thinking that there’s nothing humble about a retired military man who may or may not still be covertly working for the government and instead let Kakashi continue.

“Are you sure you’re fine with me?” he asked. And though he said it with humor laced in his voice, there’s a hint of truth. 

Sakura’s heart clenched painfully, and she took Kakashi’s hands. “Are you okay with me? I’m dragging you from your peaceful life and well, into this.”

“Can’t say it’s not gonna be interesting.”

Sakura laughed, leaning against Kakashi. In turn, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and smothered his laughter against her hair.  (He’ll have to make some calls. Get the Hatake estates and businesses up and running. He’s not just. And maybe he didn’t have a yakuza family or a corporation, but he had Sakura- and the only approval he’ll ever need - Sarada’s.) 

[dr-who-said-lgbtq-rights]

Hey so ive been writing recently (I know gasp lmao) I find I can really stick with writing if I do it between 9-10 pm so thats what ive been doing and i have three chapters written so far??? Im so happy with myself :)

Anyway I wanted to share the first chapter on here with yall, I’ll put it under a “keep reading” thingy, but if you could read it that would be amazing!!

tw: death

Chapter 1: It Had Begun

The air was cold and damp and quiet as the grave. A breeze drifted through the air, too weak to be felt but strong enough to slowly push the pillowy clouds of fog that had formed over the river. The lazy currents passed by small, moss-green foothills that eventually grew into formidable sapphire mountains. The river was also wide, wide enough that, in order for someone standing on one pebbly shore to see the other, they would have to squint their eyes nearly shut and tilt their head just so.

While it may have been hard to see the opposite shore, it was certainly not hard to see the gargantuan creature dwelling in the river. As wide and flat as the river, the beast resembled a koi fish, with its long barbells and patterned scales. This fish, however, was more of a greenish-blue hue than koi fish tend to be. It also had six eyes.

This remarkable being was the Guardian, a creature with both incredible power and wisdom, as well as a good sense of humor. Its duty was to swim the river, called the Stream of the Stars, and make sure the multiverse was taken care of. It had done so for nearly three googol years, and it planned to do so for the rest of time.

But, as anyone could tell you, plans never work out the way you want them to.

It was the 3.2978534^100th year of the multiverse (for you non-math people, we’ll call it the “Really Bad Year”, for reasons that might be elaborated on later). The Guardian was doing what it always did: swimming in the Stream, laughing at its own jokes in between looking out for potentially universe-ending situations. While it never paid much attention to the shores (as one who lives alone tends to do), an odd disturbance coaxed the Guardian to one of them.

To its surprise, a figure stood firmly on the slick shore. Their dark cloak was drenched, making the Guardian wonder just how long the being had been standing amid the fog. It could hear the figure’s breathing: quick and raspy, like a smoker who had just won a marathon would sound.

“Who are you?” The Guardian asked, though not in the way you humans do. As a fish being, it couldn’t form words with its flubbery lips and fish tongue. Instead, it spoke telepathically, its words seeming to boom in the misty air.

“I am the End,” the figure replied. They appeared to talk like a human, despite not having a face.

“Ah yes, the End. My immortal enemy and shadow; the one to kill both me the multiverse I hold so dear.” The Guardian laughed, ignoring how morbid that might have sounded to you readers. “You’re about...”

The Guardian paused. Not a thoughtful pause, as a scholar would take when pondering a paragraph they had just read. No, this was an awkward pause, the kind well-meaning children make when they have to weasel their way out of trouble, the kind that twenty-somethings make when they have to tell their Aunt Gertrude why they won’t be attending her birthday. After this awkward pause had lasted a horrifically awkward time, the Guardian continued.

“...about 300 million googol years too early.”

It was the End’s turn to laugh. Their laugh was surprisingly nice, considering the proportions of their evil. While one might expect their laugh to be akin to nails on a chalkboard, the End’s laugh was more like that of one’s favorite grandfather, deep and joyful. Of course, considering their role in the Guardian’s life, the grandfather laugh didn’t really help matters.

“I assure you, I am right on time.” The End wheezed, recovering from laughter. “I have been looking forward to this moment since the beginning.”

“The beginning. Boy, that sure was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I was only the size of a large boat, and you had the loveliest voice voice. I wonder, do you still sing?” The Guardian reminisced.

“Quit stalling.” The End said, letting their impatience extend past their generally stoic exterior. “I’ve come to kill you, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

The Guardian sighed. “I suppose it would be rude to deprive you of your very point of existence. But would you please do one thing for me?”

The End said nothing. They only raised their hand and spun it a little, the universal sign for “well, get on with it already.”

“Would you please write this prophecy down for me? And then send it to the Center? Pretty please?” If the Guardian were capable of making puppy-dog eyes, it would be.

“And why,” The End said, “would I do this for you?”

“Simply to humor me, I suppose.” The Guardian mused. “After my death, the multiverse will only have six days until it is wiped from existence. It’s entirely likely that this property will yield nothing more than frantic scrambling.”

Silence ensued. The End was taking a scholarly pause, considering what the Guardian had just proposed. Finally, they spoke. “Speak quickly. I’ll only write it down once.”

“Splendid!” The Guardian cried, almost giggling. “The prophecy is as follows:

“In six winks of a serpent’s eyes,

Universes will fill with the sound of cries,

All will end in fire and torment, 

Leading up to all that is silent.

“The first to go will be on the edge,

The next slipping off a delicate ledge,

The third crying through pain and blood,

The fourth drowning in flaming flood,

“And the final will last, through days five and six,

Praying helplessly to Gods in Heavens,

All will die, all will burn,

If not for the one whose eyes will turn.”

The End scribbled the final words on to a summoned scroll of parchment. As soon as the pen left the page, the paper began to burn. It smoked until nothing but an ash or two remained, a sure sign of its delivery to the Center. 

“Some of that was rather... cheesy.” The End finally remarked.

“I know, I know,” the Guardian said. “Now that my business has been taken care of, you are free to take care of yours.”

The End bowed. They reached into their cloak and pulled out a sword. It was long, almost to the point of comedy, but a sword must be long if it is to cut the Guardian.

The fish blinked its eyes several times, the way you humans do when you try to erase your tears.

The End raised their sword and brought it down in one quick, smooth motion.

The Guardian laid still, its eyes unblinking. The gentle breeze that had been animating the fog ceased, giving the scene an increasingly eerie feel.

The End disappeared from the Stream of Stars.

It had begun.

~END CHAPTER 1~

YEEEEEE I WROTE A CHAPTER!!!! and as of me finishing transferring this I have six chapters written! If this post gets 50 notes I’ll post Chapter 2! plz don’t let this flop i’m really excited about this

[p-artsypants]

Queen! I have come to ask another question if you don’t mind! After reading “Longest Night” I have been wanting to start writing so I can produce works as amazing as yours! The only thing is... I don’t know how to write well... For example my dialogue is boring like “Marinette said”, and when I end up writing a chapter it’s so short and fast paced. I want to produce a story like you did, long, intense, exciting! Do you have links, information, anything for a beginner writer? Much appreciated!

ME? QUEEN?? I’M HONORED!!

(I am not a professional writer, and what I say below is not gospel, but what I do in my own writing.)

Now, hold on. Boring? Let’s say simple. Which is absolutely fine. You have to start somewhere, and you only get better with practice. For me, I read a lot of older novels for examples of writing. 

Tumblr talks about fancy writing. They like to say ‘don’t use said’ ‘don’t use their names over and over’. Except I totally do. If you use ‘said’ a lot, people stop reading it. It acts like a colon, like in a script. You can flavor it of course, by using ‘whispered’ and ‘shouted’ appropriately. Sometimes I just replace it with an action. 

She moved closer to the door. “What did you say?” 

That acts as a tag for the person talking. But you don’t have to come up with a hundred different ways to say ‘said’. 

Same thing with name tags. The more you use careers, ages, hair color, anything, the more it interrupts the sentence. It’s fine to be simple and just use names. DON’T USE HAIR COLOR! I used to do it, but when I did notice that it wasn’t good writing, I started to notice it in things I was reading.  If there’s only two people talking, one male, one female, ‘he’ and ‘she’ should suffice for tags. 

Every time someone new talks, tag the dialogue.  

Example of what NOT to do:

The designer exasperated, “Adrien, this habit is making your grades slip.” 

The blond moaned, “Dad, you just don’t understand! I’m expressing myself!” 

The father articulated, “yes, but rollerderby is a waste of time, and not to mention dangerous.” 

The fencer uttered, “It’s who I am, Father! It’s in my blood!” 

While none of this is necessarily wrong, I find it distracting. You can mention hair color once, to let the readers know that character’s hair color. But I wouldn’t use it as a tag. Using careers or age is fine if the character is not introduced. I used that a lot in Longest Night for the henchmen in the background.

An arm linked with his and pulled him away. “Oh Chat Noir, you shouldn’t drink that. The floor is dirty…”

Grimalkin whined, and met the eyes of the stranger.

No, not a stranger. A tall man, wearing a gray and pink suit with a hat. Mr. Ramier. “Thank you for stopping those muggers, even though you’re in no condition to do so.”

Grimalkin wanted to hiss and pull away and hide, but the pigeon man had always been kind to him. Unless he was akumatized, and even then, it was a relief to be fighting him.

“Come along now, the police will be here any minute.”

Grimalkin whined again and tried to pull away, with little effort.

“Mr. Kemper wants you to hide in the back room. No doubt they’re looking for you!”

He…wanted him to hide? That was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Grimalkin followed Mr. Ramier to the back room that Mr. Kemper was gesturing to.

Up until the bolded sentence, the owner of the store Grimalkin was in was only referred to as ‘the owner’ because he didn’t have a name. After Mr. Ramier says the name out loud, the tag changes from ‘the owner’ to ‘Mr. Kemper’. 

In English classes all through High School, teachers told you not to use run on sentences or incomplete sentences. But, I tend to use both. In fiction writing, a lot of the rules don’t apply. Grammar is still pretty hard and fast, but sentence structure is more loosy goosy. Run on sentences for fast paces sections that go on and on and makes you hold your breath and hold the anxiety. And incomplete sentences. To make you breathe. Focus.

Commas and periods make you breathe. Which. is. why. you. read. this. sentence. like. you. have. Asthma. Using punctuation is a must, but it’s also a handy tool for setting the tone.

I write dialogue the way I talk in real life. Incomplete sentences, pauses, and stuttering in the form of repeated words with a dash. I was recently told by a reviewer that I use ellipses (...) too much in my writing, and that it’s distracting. So, use that one to your own discretion. 

Marinette said, “Adrien, I need to talk to you.

Adrien looked at her. “Sure what’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know...I have feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“Feelings.” She confirmed, a little too firmly. “For...you.”

His eyebrows raised. “Are they...good feelings?”

Alya leaned in. “Good. Good feelings, Sunshine.”

“Okay, they’re good feelings. Would you care to clarify?”

She opened her mouth, pausing, and then, “No.”

“Marinette...” Alya gave her a look.

“Okay, yes. Alright.”

Adrien just stared at Marinette, his eyes kind. Never judging. He was her friend, wasn’t he? He cared about her. Surely, he’d never laugh at her or be offended by her being completely and utterly in love with him--

“I...I love you.” She blurted.

His eyes widened.

“I’m-I’m in love...with you. Is what I mean. I mean, anyone would love you. And even if I wasn’t in love with you, I’d still love you, you know? Even Alya loves you! Right Alya?”

Alya just rested a hand on her forehead.

“Right, so,” Marinette continued. “I’m just...just letting you-you know, know? And I hope that’s-that’s cool with you. That I’m cool with you, er, that you’re cool with me. Loving you.”

“Marinette.” Adrien said.

“Hm?” She squeaked.

“It’s more than cool. It’s amazing.”

Now, as far as pacing. That’s something you’ll have to learn as you go, because I haven’t found a hard rule for pacing. For Longest Night, I have sections that are very flowery:

Paris was a city trapped in time. The rain blurred the past from the future, the happy and the sad, the night and the day. Erik Satie tried to emulate this effect with his Gymnopedie, and the impressionist painters worked with soft edges to create an atmosphere of calming mystery.

Here, on the sidewalk somewhere in Montparnasse, Adrien and Marinette, or rather, Grimalkin and Lady Lacrima, stood in the haze, freedom and imprisonment blurring lines. They were out, Salo was dead…

But it didn’t really feel real.

This section creates an opening scene. It describes the setting and gives the audience a clear image in their mind about what it’s like. But there’s nothing actually happening. The main characters are standing still, and there’s rain. I could have easily just said: 

It was raining. Grimalkin and Lady Lacrima embraced on the sidewalk. They were free, but it didn’t feel like it.

This is saying the exact same thing, only more concise and with less imagery. Now, if that wasn’t confusing enough, consider not dragging it on for too long. Leave some of it up to the imagination. If I pick up a fic, and the first three paragraphs are talking about how the light is so gently flittering into the room, I might just glaze over. 

It was the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. A soft bed, cradling her as if she was fragile, and a warm blanket weighing her to the bed. A soft ambient light held back the darkness, but didn’t pierce through her lids.

Marinette tried to open her eyes, caked as they were. The light was dim, illuminating gridded ceiling titles immediately above her. It smelled faintly of chemicals, while a droning hiss carried through the air. Her neck ached, but as she tilted her head, she briefly looked around the room. No one to her left, though she did see a strange machine and a metal stand, an IV stand. A tube ran from the bag down to her arm. A door cracked open revealed a bathroom and another door on the far side of the room was closed, but silhouetted figure stood in the window.

To her right, she found the owner of the voice, her own mother, sitting in a chair by her side, hand in hers, and reading from a book. Jane Eyre, as it looked. Farther down the bed, her father sat in another chair, his hand wrapped loosely around her foot.

Behind her parents, orange light filtered through the light curtains.

A bright red blob caught her attention. Tikki laid curled up on her chest.

A moment more, allowing her brain to digest all she could see, and she realized she was in a hospital.

I took the time to really flesh out the setting in this chapter for a few reasons. A) We’ve never seen this hospital room in the TV show, so we have no visuals for what it looks like. B) I’m describing it from Marinette’s point of view. She doesn’t know what the machines are for, and she doesn’t know who the person standing in the door is. I, as the author, would know, but even though this is written in 3rd person, it’s limited.  I’m giving everyone the same knowledge that Marinette has. 

I wrote a one shot that all goes very fast. It never really slows down. That’s because I never felt the need to slow things down. There’s a few sections where I really described the anxiety that Marinette was feeling, using her senses and what she was doing. 

As Marinette looked across the three girls, her stomach churned with unpleasant feelings. Nerves, nausea, dread…

And idea popped into her head, speaking in a voice that sounded a lot like Tikki. But she simply waved it away with a shake of her head.

‘Please please please don’t be embarrassing and try to ruin this in a fit of jealous rage.’ Alya’s voice piped up, as the angel on the other shoulder.

She swallowed, and looked to Adrien.

He was hunched in his seat, his leg bouncing quickly. She couldn’t see his face, but his body spoke of uncontested anxiety.

Her voice crawled up her throat, resolution pumping through her veins, pounding in her ears, sweating through her palms.

This was a bad idea, a very very bad idea—

“Excuse me, Mr. Agreste?” She blurted, right as he was about to speak.

All eyes were on her, and she felt the immense pressure of it all. This was not like being Ladybug. These weren’t akumas and she had no authority in her civilian clothes.

“Yes, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Gabriel looked right at her, staring her down. But his tone held no judgement or impatience. Just curiosity.

“I was hoping, if it isn’t too late. May I also throw my proverbial hat in the ring?”

“You?”

“Yes. Of course, I know I wasn’t invited. So I understand if it’s a no.”

Gabriel was quiet a moment, thinking.

Adrien, however, was staring at her, mouth open, eyes wide. Utterly gobsmacked.

“Adrien, do you have any objections to having Miss Dupain-Cheng join the others in the interview?”

He breathed, his whole body relaxing in one sweep. “No, I don’t mind at all.”

Maybe it was the nerves, but Marinette could have sworn he looked relieved.

“Then I see no problem. Please bring your chair over with the others.”

“Thank you sir,” she said, humbly.

By jumping into Marinette’s head for a second, we kind of pause time. Just for a moment. Enough to make it interesting. 

Wow this went on for a while. I hope it was helpful and that I didn’t come off as condescending anywhere! Happy writing!!

[peachcitt]

for the meta writing asks: 20 and 4? ☺️

okay so thank you so much for asking these questions and wanting to know more about how i write and basically im saying ilysm and also that this got really really long SO if you’d like to hear about the stuff i think about/thought about while writing, click the read more!!

warning for: bone tea spoilers (like. spoilers for the end of the fic) and some mention of religion

20. tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

let’s talk about bt! because god knows there’s a whole lot in there that i could talk about for hours BUT let’s talk specifically about gabriel and lila - our two favorite villains. NOW if you haven’t read bt (you can read it here) and don’t mind being hella spoiled for how it ends, gabriel is the father of adrien, one of the main protagonists, and lila is an ex-lover of marinette, the other main protagonist. throughout the whole story, i made it so that the relationships marinette and adrien have with gabriel and lila remain really complicated.

at the start of bt, we know adrien has cut himself off from his father and hasn’t seen him in years. as the story progresses, adrien and gabriel begin to make the steps of re-establishing a father-son relationship, and it’s something that adrien really does seem to feel good about. and then gabriel tells him that he’s hawkmoth, the guy who’s been killing people. so that’s not great.

for marinette, we’re given the sense that she’s been very isolated for a while, at least in the world of magic. when shit hits the fan, lila comes along, and it’s revealed that the relationship marinette and lila had before bt was a very passionate one that ended very badly. when chat confesses to marinette, we learn that in some ways, marinette still hasn’t recovered from the relationship she had with lila. and it turns out, lila joins up with hawkmoth for the sole reason of ruining marinette in any way she possibly can as revenge for breaking her heart. so that’s also not great. 

here’s bits from the final fight scene, aka the scene where both gabriel and lila are defeated:

Within seconds, his body was dropping unceremoniously to the floor, his life buzzing around amongst her teeth, and she was turning around, sparing no glances to the limp form of the man who had killed her friends, killed her other half. 

//

Marinette’s eyes widened. She and Lila both turned their heads to Adrien, pushing himself up from the floor. There was a determined light in his eyes, and Marinette knew. She knew he was going to do it, and he was going to do it right.

“To worlds far and unreturnable-”

Lila also seemed to know.

She turned her head back to Marinette, desperate, unhinged. She raised her arms, the blood and the silver glinting.

“BEGONE!”

it might be a little hard to tell since these are very small snippets, but here’s what i wanted to point out: in this final fight, marinette is the one to defeat gabriel, and adrien is the one to defeat lila. in a sense, marinette and adrien defeated each other’s antagonist.

in the final scene, they felt that they had literally no other choice; adrien was dead, gabriel offered his life, and marinette knew that was the only viable option for adrien to come back. marinette was pinned down, lila had the upper hand, and adrien knew marinette wouldn’t say the words in time to save herself. this was, to me, the ultimate symbol of adrien and marinette���s partnership and relationship; they always had each other’s backs, they were always balancing each other out.

but, i also felt that i was robbing the both of them the chance to feel closure for the abuse they each suffered. despite everything, adrien loved gabriel (his last words before dying were “i love you” directed toward the entire room - not just marinette, not just emilie, but also to gabriel) and marinette loved lila (even when she was inhabiting another body, marinette could still see lila behind it all - her last words to her, and presumably the last words she thought she would ever say were “i loved you; with everything i had, i loved you”)

SO let’s look at two moments from the final chapter:

After a moment, Adrien took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Is he still here?” he asked, and Marinette nodded. Adrien stared down at the grave, eyebrows furrowed. “Go now, Father,” he said softly, almost gently. “Go.”

Gabriel opened his mouth as if to say something in protest, and then he swallowed, glancing at Marinette and Emilie. He bowed his head, and he faded away, out of sight.

“He’s gone,” Adrien whispered. It wasn’t a question.

//

She rubbed her thumb over the little fix insignia, and she murmured the spell to wipe the hex away under her breath. When she pulled her hand away, the fox was gone, and so were all the traces of Lila’s magic. “It’s done,” she said, and she resolutely placed the book back into its proper place.

“Done?” Adrien asked, and Marinette nodded.

“Yeah. She’s gone.” And it was like a little weight had lifted off of her shoulders.

again, it might be a little hard to tell in these small snippets, but here’s what happened: at gabriel’s funeral, gabriel’s ghost shows up and adrien is the one to send him away for good. at marinette’s bookshop, marinette finds an old hex that lila left on one of the books from a while back, and she is the one to wipe away the hex.

so, through these small final scenes, i tried to give adrien and marinette the opportunity to say goodbye to the people they both loved and hated on their own terms. it was important for me to show that they saved each other without question in the final fight, but it was just as if not more important for me to give them each the space and peace so that they could come to terms with and turn the page on their past traumas.

dkjdkdskdkd that was basically a whole ass essay im sorry gnjfghjf BUT ive been wanting to ramble about that ever since i finished bt so THANK YOU for letting me do that

(ive also been thinking about maybe doing a bt reread before/after i post the special extra chapters where i reread bt and make comments like this about the thoughts i had while writing so let me know if any of y’all would like to see that!!) anyways next question sjffkj

4. share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

"We are all God's things, all made of the same materials as everything else. There is a piece of Rome here, and there is a piece of here in Rome. The divinity does not lie in the place, but rather in the hands that shaped the place."

"Construction workers and artists that died hundreds of years ago made Rome," Will said, and Hannibal turned his eyes on him. A tumbling sort of feeling fell upon Will's stomach. "The company down the road made this one."

"Aren't the hands of God's people holy? Aren't the thoughts born from their brains pieces of the clay that He shaped, breathed life into?"

this is from my hannigram fic the dark and the stained glass watchers and there’s a couple of reasons why im proud of this, the first being that i was very drunk when i wrote this fic sfkjhsfkj 

literally i got drunk and i was like. hm i think i will write something gay and kind of blasphemous and then i wrote this fic that has a lot of really really good lines in it that i actually genuinely enjoy sober (if you haven’t watched hannibal and are curious about this fic - don’t worry you can read it if you want! it’s an au, so you don’t actually have to know anything about the show to read it)

im also proud of this bit because i have a sort of complicated relationship with religion skfjkfdk i was raised catholic which, as many know, has the ability to do wonders on your psyche in the long run in certain cases, and ive never really felt very connected to church or that strict sort of religion in general. im still not really sure exactly what i believe, to be honest - but i like to believe in the idea of holiness, of divinity. and, in this blasphemous gay hannibal fanfiction i wrote while drunk, i feel like in some ways i was finally able to put words to the things in my head regarding religion and belief in a way that i think is really beautiful. and im lowkey pretty proud of that.

anyway thank you so much for allowing me to ramble on about this stuff i love you and everyone who managed to read through all of this skjfghsfjh y’all are so strong 

[laughingpinecone]

Press Start letter

I am laughingpineapple on AO3

It’s a long list of character combos so the specific requests aren’t overly detailed, please draw at will from my general likes and general fandom likes in addition or as an alternative to any of those!

All requests are art or fic - for art, the stuff I like is the kind that depicts the characters doing something. I’ll always be happier with a very simple drawing of two characters walking together or sharing a cup of coffee than with an ambitious composition that looks like an Avengers poster. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s).

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships)

Cool with: any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay), canon retellings, consent issues

Dark Souls

I’m only familiar with the first game+DLC! It’s probably relevant to mention that I think that linking the fire is kind of a dumbass move and Gwyn is an ass, but on the other hand Kaathe has his own agenda and there’s no winning move in this world, or at least no obvious one. Feel free to deviate from anyone’s canon endings, to make things happen that’ll stave off their hollowing. I am interested in any of these people meeting and possibly striking up a friendship, and also in exploring Lordran’s temporal/dimensional fuckery, where it’s possible to meet people who have been gone for ages…

Group: Solaire of Astora & Siegmeyer of Catarina: so much fanart of Sun Bro & Onion Bro being bros, so little fic. And yet, the potential! How’d they bounce off each other, what about the fact that Siegmeyer is apparently a proper Catarina knight after all while Solaire just painted his self-made insignia and left, what would Sieg think of Solaire’s quest?

Group: Alvina the Cat & Sieglinde of Catarina: dunno, kitty. I love them both and I want everyone cool to go on adventure with each other. What’s left for Alvina now that Sif is gone, Artorias’ grave desecrated? For her part, did Sieglinde, you know, (mimics Ash Lake)?

Ghost Trick

I am very interested in various characters finding about the erased timeline, but not getting their memories back, and having to live with being told about what they did but never remembering it. Exploring the ghost lore is great. All what-ifs welcome (what if they managed an acceptable happy ending but didn’t reset the timeline, what if a different party went back to the past and kept their memories, what if Alma’s ghost stuck around…) Also open to AUs here, especially for generic fantasy or sci-fi settings or the Final Fantasy ones I prompted last Yuletide.

For the non-canon sides of Jowd/Alma/Cabanela, please no infidelity? I’d be good with either setting the fic during the game timeline or some what-if thereof when the other spouse is dead or unavailable, or simply keeping them offscreen and not mentioning them (eg Alma/Cabanela beach day, Jowd/Cabanela precinct shenanigans)

For Jowd in general, I do love my big boy and enjoy milking that size difference for all it’s worth. In gen contexts too, it’s neat. him big.

Group: Jowd & Yomiel: I’d love to read about the intimate understanding that comes from their shared memories and the horrors they’ve mutually forgiven (and a penchant for morbidity they’ve gained from such horrors probably). Cat dads things welcome.

Group: Alma/Jowd/Cabanela: maybe once Alma and Jowd have figured out he’s smitten and that they do in fact reciprocate... they tease him to death, slowly and deliberately? Is it even a Jowd romance if there’s not an exhausting amount of teasing involved, I ask?

Group: Alma/Jowd & Cabanela: Cabs’ life is wild; his best friends’ home is a safe haven...

Group: Emma & Pigeon Man: Emma’s unsuspected beta reader...

Group: Alma/Cabanela: (taps mic) legs. And fashion!

Group: Cabanela/Jowd: a recent tumblr post made a convincing argument for Cabs liking to be in charge (the argument is just pointing at Cabanela, honestly). Jowd is... agreeable, by his own admission. But is it that simple?

Kentucky Route Zero

I love the ending and I’d love to see its themes and setting explored. I’m all for exploration of any of the game’s themes and for including any staples from adjacent genres - wanna go full-on American Gothic? Dip into surrealism? Take a leaf from Twin Peaks with tulpa / split narratives to explore the characters’ issues? I love AUs so that’s an option too. Or of course there’s Xanadu at the height of its glory, an infinite what-ifs generator. Were the requested characters part of it, what were their digital counterparts up to? A Xanadu narrative would be great! I’d also love to hear about any new spot along the Zero or the Echo river, or an expansion of some place that’s only mentioned by Will in HATATE or only gets a few paragraphs of text. Mostly, I just love all these characters so much and I’m going through the tagset’s options like a hyperactive cat. Any fragment of their lives will make me happy.

Group: Shannon Márquez & Conway & Conway's Dog: does Shannon get to see them after the ending? Even for a moment?

Group: Lula Chamberlain/Joseph Wheattree/Donald: so Lula went back to Mexico. Joseph is pensive. Did the events of the night shake up Donald, or what will it take?

Group: Junebug & Lula Chamberlain: artists! Outspoken... artists... with a complicated personality. Put them in the same room and...?

Group: Junebug & Johnny: where’s the strangest place they played in, and what did Johnny find there?

Group: Conway & Johnny & Junebug (Kentucky Route Zero): their story is about finding individuality, his is about succumbing and losing it. Would any of them pick up on this mid-Act IV? Or just... talking about limbs and stuff?

Group: Cate & Will & Shannon Márquez (Kentucky Route Zero): a few months later, Shannon finds herself on the Mucky Mammoth again...

Group: Carrington & Weaver Márquez & Shannon Márquez (Kentucky Route Zero): maybe the cousins were trying to bond or reminisce or whatever and Carrington dive-bombed into the conversation, but in the end it was an enriching experience... of sorts?

Group: Carrington & Lula Chamberlain (Kentucky Route Zero): I don’t usually look for college shenanigans but this may be the exception? Or Art Opinions?

Group: Carrington & Clara (Kentucky Route Zero): would she even... get a word in? Maybe with the right topic?

Group: Carrington & Cate & Will (Kentucky Route Zero): Mammoth life! ...what does theater have to say about mushrooms again?

Group: Shannon Marquez & Weaver Marquez (Kentucky Route Zero): at the end of it all, Weaver was waiting. After this end, they can stand side by side again...

Group: Emily & Ben & Bob (Kentucky Route Zero): so what does it mean, like, poetically, that they were temporally displaced and Act I is in their future from Act V? Is it possible they were not aware of it?

Mutazione

The island, the sense of community, newcomers joining the community, gardens and music... I love the mood of this little game. Got ideas for some part of the island we haven’t seen? What stories do they tell each other about Moon Dragon and the first days of the new life it brought? The plants encyclopaedia was great - do Yoké’s archives hide some other cool tome? Please, if Graubert is mentioned, I would much prefer a sympathetic portrayal - he’s got his issues but I felt that the game was much harder on him than anyone else.

Group: Yoké & Karoo: I love the friendship between Yoké and Nonno and filtering it through Karoo feels even cooler to me. When did the big spooky bird first visit, did Yoké know or perceive what was going on?

Group: Yoké & Claire: book club book club book club!

Group: Spike/Claire: they’re so cute! Dinner at Mori’s? Swimming together?

Group: Nonno & Spike: I love Nonno’s role in the community and Spike’s role in the community, and they’re the two people who landed there and decided to stay. Could they bond over this?

Group: Dennis & Nonno: Important Tree Health Business!

Group: Bopek & Jell-A: Jell-A is the absolute coolest and Bopek grew on me a lot. Their friendship is adorable! What could they do together? As a side note, Jell-A’s place has the tightest interior decor in the whole game. How’d that happen, and does Bopek get a flair for vintage shapes and volumes in his weaving?

Group: Mori & Nonno & Yoké: FRIENDS. Friends for a long time, through so much pain. An evening together while The Youths (tm) are at Spike’s bar?

Yoké: catch-all Yoké request because he’s my fave! Doing Yoké things, being a big nerd, caring for books and plants and stuff

Pyre

The burning found family feelings, the revolutionary passion, the tension between topside social constraints and the kind of freedom allowed by the Downside! Thoughts about finding oneself at  the end of an age, as everything crumbles down to form something new. I love all the themes, the solemnity, the heart of this game. I adore everyone in that Blackwagon+Dalbert+Celeste, so if you want to add a Nightwing or two to any prompt, please do! I also love all the Scribes and find Erisa a compelling tragic figure. Out of the other triumvirates, I’m “love to hate them” for Manley, Brighton, Udmildhe and Deluge and would not like to see them featured in sympathetic roles. My main interest usually lies in post-canon exploration when applicable, but I’m also into various adventures during canon. Pick a location or a place outside the map and see what happens? As for the ending variables, I’d ask for a peaceful revolution and Oralech alive, but no preferences for who’s up and who’s down, pick whatever works best for any given plot bunny.

Group: Tariq & Soliam: what were Tariq and Celeste like in their earliest days? Were they made or summoned from some sort of preexisting star consciousness? They’re wildly different scenarios! I’m good with either. Does Soliam then see Tariq as a child of sorts, someone he made, or something greater than himself? Did he mean to do that, to have these two immortals around? What does Tariq learn from the First Scribe?

Group: Tariq & Dalbert Oldheart: Any excuse for Tariq to hang out with the Fates for a little while, and treasure and be treasured by dear Dalbert...

Group: Oralech & Vagabond Girl: after all is said and done, Oralech’s view of the Scribes is probably... understandably... dire. So of course I want to see him talk it out with ae!

Group: Celeste & Ignarius: look, listen, if the various triumvirates just camped out near their respective Scribe’s place during the Nightwings’ years-long absence (not the only possible explanation for how you find them all neatly lined up before the first lib rite, but an explanation nonetheless, I think. just let me have my crack), that means Iggy was Celeste’s neighbor for a long time. Neighborly hijinks please?

Group: Bertrude/Pamitha: Pam returning from her travels, again and again, and finding a home in Bertrude’s lab, finding an understanding there... Bertrude’s attitude being thorny in a way that’s just what Pam needs to allow herself to open up... also: snake kisses.

Group: Volfred Sandalwood/Oralech: waking up and remembering that the mourning that’s set deep in your roots is for someone who never died, waking up and remembering that the bitterness that consumed you had made up a betrayal that never was, finding each other through these crumbling walls... 

Molten Milithe: that’s the pov for a love letter to the Downside, right? And/or which Scribe did she bond with the most? Or the least for that matter?

Volfred Sandalwood: catch-all Volf’n’anyone request. I want to see our tree interact with any friend and foe you might fancy! Arguing for his beliefs, being a history professor through and through, finding himself in a tight spot and getting unexpected help, verbally tearing Brighton a new one if they ever cross each other’s path again...

group: Volfred Sandalwood/Tariq | The Lone Minstrel: Volfred’s zodiac sign is Cancer and Cancer is ruled by the Moon, so there’s that.    I love how they both hold the other in the highest esteem, especially on Tariq’s part since he’s the immortal Herald of the Scribes and Volfred is, all in all, a history teacher, but listen to him and you’d think the roles were inverted. I love my nonviolent canon but could anything happen to either of them that may require a rescue, and/or some good old-fashioned h/c? What’s something that could make Tariq of all people lose it? How’s life 100 years on?

Shenmue

This game cares for the little things. I’d love to see fanworks that try to out-slice-of-life canon...

Group: Qiu Hsu & Xianzi Bei: cormorant kung fu adventure! Do they hang out sometimes?

Group: Hazuki Ryo & Shenhua Ling: any moment, discussion, small adventure from their travels together! I love their bond! For all its waifufication of Shenhua, S3 really sold me on their friendship and a shared brand of dorkiness. Alternatively, sometimes I remember that they’d be 50ish in the present day - how and where do you picture them?

The Silver Case

I‘m all for the surrealism, big things being introduced and never picked up again, Rashomon’ing it up with six explanations for the same thing where no single one can be true, people dying and then popping up again like nbd...  maybe the thing I like the most is characters transcending their humanity and looming over the dystopian world like ominous avatars. Correctness’ first ending had me swooning, that kind of mood is unparalleled. I have played TSC, FSR and 25W so far and have vague memories of K7. I’m aware of the “everything’s connected” readings but that’s not my main interest in these games. For FSR-focused requests, I see Lospass as a real island but also a metaphysical  place of transformation first and foremost, where strange things happen that don’t make sense elsewhere.

Group: Toriko Kusabi & Remy Fawzil: What’s Toriko up to when she’s not chasing Chris? I think it could be fun to throw her at Remy and see the island from their point of view!

Group: Tokio Morishima & Edo Macalister: since Tokio stayed at the Flower Sun and Rain... I’m interested in peculiar happenings on Lospass that are not centered on Sumio...

Group: Tetsugorou Kusabi/Sumio Kodai: Tetsu picked one hell of a crush, huh! What’s it like in the aftermath of the games, when Sumio is Like That? How does Tetsu grapple with Parade? Is Tetsu an anchor of sorts for Correctness Sumio, who seems (at best) to be existing on a slightly different plane of existence at any given time and could disappear if you blink too hard?

Group: Tetsugorou Kusabi & Shinko Kuroyanagi: I’m joining the “let these two be foulmouthed friends” masses - who’d be more fed up with the other’s nonsense, and in which ways would they be an unstoppable team?

Group: Shinkai Tsuki & Tetsugorou Kusabi: Both of them end their stories in the shadows one way or another, and defending their protégé may have had a hand in their misfortune one way or another. What kind of understanding could they reach? What IS Tsuki up to anyway?

Group: Christina & Catherine: anthro Catherine, as per the Placebo bonus chapter Yami, was unexpectedly charming. What was Chris before reaching Lospass, and did he also have a chat with her on the plane or on the island?

[early-sxnsets]

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43151156

Chapter 3/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 1553

Chapter Summary: Baz takes Simon's shitpost text a step further, and the outcome ends up spreading a few rumors.

SIMON

bi-sammy: sammy would still fuck huxley if he looked like the fish from shape of water

I grin smugly at my screen, sitting in a dark room with nothing shining but my mobile. The shutters stay shut, and the light from the bottom of the doorway barely filters into the room. It’s just me, this scratchy blanket, and Baz, somewhere else in England on another screen. I absolutely adore that.

gaystrell: why would you say something so controversial yet so brave.jpg

Sometimes, I catch myself smiling. Other times, I elect to ignore how real it feels. It’s weird, given that it feels like I’m just chatting with someone who I see everyday. The casualness of this reminds me of texting Penny in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Except, given the current time, it could be interpreted as more intimate than that of a friend’s text.

8am on a Saturday is usually a time reserved for comfort. For staying warm with someone you care about. Instead, I’m just messaging Baz.

bi-sammy: because im right

bi-sammy: hear me out here ive got a brilliant idea

gaystrell: whoever taught you the definition of a brilliant idea was clearly misleading you

bi-sammy: dont be an arse until youve heard it

bi-sammy: wanker

gaystrell: you’re truly proving your point

bi-sammy: ANYWAY

bi-sammy: shape of water au

bi-sammy: thats all

gaystrell: i’m appalled.

gaystrell: hold on.

I don’t think much of it. Occasionally, he disappears for an hour to two. I don’t bother asking, assuming it’s none of my business, but I do tend to worry a bit. I hope he’s alright.

After clicking off my phone, my head settles against my pillow as my eyes fall shut.

There’s something about this. There’s something about him. It’s a bit hard to pinpoint what it is, but the overwhelming feeling of comfort I have in the notifications I get from him just answering my bullshit is incredibly welcomed. He’s semisweet. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier, but he’s a fantastically bitter person.

My head slowly turns over, eyes opening and straining in the darkness.

I hate my empty room.

I hate the absence of comfort--I hate the plainness of these walls.

I want to say I hate my foster dad, but I also feel like I’m not allowed to say that. Not because the system will take me again and throw me back (even though I could have left a year back, if I was still in it). Instead, I feel like I shouldn’t hate him. Theoretically, I should be thankful for what I have. I’m not in a boy’s home, and I haven’t been since I was 11, but the remnants remain. The fights don’t go away, and neither do the weeks of starvation.

Still, I sort of despise living here under Davy.

That’s what he makes me call him. His name. His nickname. Not dad; of course not dad. He’s had me in his care for roughly six years, but he’s still Davy to me.

Shitty fucking Davy, with his strict curfews and practically using me as a housemaid because he’s too cheap to care for himself.

Shitty fucking Davy, not letting me add anything to my room because the day I turn 18, I’m out of here until his next kid (and cheque, apparently) come in. Told me I’d wreck the walls and ruin his furniture if I did put anything on it, too.

So that’s what I’ve got. Blank walls, blank furniture, blank everything. It’s like a jail cell for a bedroom, and everything I’ve got to show for myself is in a backpack and two dresser drawers/

But, at least, I own my mobile.

Every summer job, mixed with odds and ends shit and whatever I can do for my bill. It’s all mine, and Davy can’t fucking touch it.

Maybe that’s why, when I feel it buzz against my chest, it makes me feel more alive. It’s a reminder of all that work just to be able to talk to someone freely.

Arguably, the best feeling in the goddamn world.

I grab it and flip it over. It’s just an email about uni.

Fuck.

I end up scrolling through tumblr for a little while, doing nothing but liking and reblogging a thing here or there. It takes a little while before a little drop down falls from the top of my screen.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1r7Wkwj7MSFk0--DgquHGhYVBbqneEYq0J01t0uMRmxA/edit?usp=sharing

gaystrell: feel the need to apologize before you click the link, but then again, you asked for this hell

When I click on it, it pulls up a doc titled just “crackfic”, and I’m floored with the first sentence alone.

“Fuck my fish ass harder, daddy.”

My hand flies up, covering my mouth as I practically wheeze as quietly as possible. A few paragraphs in and I’m nearly crying into my palm, muffling my laughter as I read through pages upon pages of the most ridiculous fic I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

I check the word count out of pure curiosity, and it somehow makes me laugh harder.

bi-sammy: holy fucking shit

bi-sammy: i swear to god if you don’t post that i will

gaystrell: already in the process of making the archive post

gaystrell: i seriously believe you underestimate my sincere ability to be the biggest dick on the street

bi-sammy: i dont know whether or not u meant that as ur literal dick or the big dick energy in making that a post but id probably agree with you in both

bi-sammy: tag me in the post pls i want to be the first to reblog it

gaystrell: you’re a ridiculous, sad, little man

gaystrell: of course i’ll tag you

Within minutes, it’s uploaded with the absolute worst slew of Archive tags attached to it, and as soon as he tags me in his post, I tap the notification.

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Word Count: 3,192

Summary: Fish!Huxley and Sam get it on Shape of Water style

@bi-sammy this is your fault (you're welcome)

I immediately slam like and pull up reblog, rapidly typing out my response before posting.

absolute madman. cant believe youve done this. i trust you with my entire life.

As usual, he's quick to reblog back.

anything for the absolute pain in my life x

Smiling shamelessly, I ride on the moment's high as our conversation stays out in the world. I quite enjoy this version of his softness. The public, taunting replies to mine. In all this time of following him, I can't really recall him ever being this friendly with anyone but me.

Makes me feel special. Maybe too much so.

BAZ

The jarring shock of the seemingly endless notifications rattles me momentarily speechless.

It isn't even 15 minutes after I'd replied to Snow and there's already a few people reblogging it with comments about him and I. A quick “i ship y'all’ to “powermove of the century”. Each make me flush deeper as the replies flood in.

If I were to be practical, I'm aware that I shouldn't be so flustered over the concept of us being a couple. It's most likely my overactive, sad, lonely imagination, but the idea of being loved just makes me blush. Especially since it's someone who doesn't seem to absolutely loathe me.

gaystrell: are you reading these?

bi-sammy: the what?

bi-sammy: i have. nothing to read. i cant read.

gaystrell: use your two remaining brain cells look at the notes for the crackfic

bi-sammy: holy shit

bi-sammy: im cackling

A notification pops up, making me snort this time. I pull up the post and send it off to him without a second thought.

gaystrell: sent a post

gaystrell: “sounds like something huxley would do for sam”

bi-sammy: stop im gonna piss myself shits too fucking funny

I pull it back up, scrolling down to reblog and adding a quick reply that, in all honesty, I should have thought out more. Secretly, part of me is glad that I sent it.

huxley wishes he was this smooth ;)

Within seconds, replies flood in from everywhere. From jokes about Snow and I possibly dating to the concept of Huxley writing (purposefully) shitty homoerotica about himself as a fishman. I quite like the conversation about the latter, while the former makes my chest knot in ways inexplicable.

Going through the notes makes me smile, even if it's mildly embarrassing. The amount of times I've seen the eyes emoji used is definitely excessive, but still somewhat welcomed.

Even my archive has a few comments already, although more based around the fic itself. More ironically, though, is the one person who probably took it seriously and just commented, “Nice fic!” I love the abundance of shameless appreciation for obscure fanfiction in the depths of this community.

Snow's messages roll down my mobile screen as I'm checking the comments, continuously replacing the previous message for the top slot.

bi-sammy: mate

bi-sammy: i love you

bi-sammy: also every time you reblog something of mine i get like 5 followers

bi-sammy: if you mention me i get 10

bi-sammy: youre???????????? a god????????

bi-sammy: can i marry you????????????

I slowly close my laptop, eyes on my phone with an absolutely gleeful grin.

gaystrell: when and where?

[indigoforiver]

I wrote a fic for @garashirweek day 7 (AUs)! You can find it here on ao3, or read down below! Apologies in advance for the uh liberties I’ve taken with canon, but it had to be done for the human AU to work.

Title: Anyone Who Knew Anything

Rating: Gen

Summary: Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- their regular literature debates are the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day. The hidden truths of their relationship, too, are well-known to those who watch them.

i. a most interesting new friend

Though he’d only been practicing medicine in the area for four months, anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir. He came in for lunch there nearly every day of the week, unless a pressing medical emergency barred him, and everyone had the dubious pleasure of talking with him at least once. The man was gregarious, with a sunny smile and awkward charm, but he was plagued by an inability to ever, ever shut up that was amusing at best and mildly abrasive at worst. Despite that, Dr. Bashir was cautiously well-liked by Fontaine’s lunch crowd. That was why, when Elim Garak stepped into the cafe, glanced around briefly, and then made a beeline for the doctor, a startled and rather concerned hush fell over all assembled.

Anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s also knew of Elim Garak. He was a tailor, owned a shop across the road, and his wares were top-notch. But nobody trusted him. His movements were just a little too smooth and his mind was a little too clever for him to just be a tailor like he always insisted, and conversation with him felt like a battle that he always won. Rumor had it the man was from Cardassia, though his accent would never give it away, and if you caught the barkeep at just the right time she’d tell you that rumor also had it that he couldn’t go back. Everyone in the know gave him a wide berth, just in case, though nobody had bothered to warn the doctor to do the same. Sometimes talking to the doctor was difficult, as politeness seemed to fly completely over his head, and nobody wanted to be caught gossiping about the tailor, just in case. Garak never visited Fontaine’s during the lunch hour, anyway, so why bother?

The restaurant watched, near silent, as the tailor approached the doctor. On his part, Bashir was completely unaware, engrossed in a massive old book with a faded cover that nobody in Fontaine’s could recognize from a hole in the wall. The doctor’s literature habit was the only thing that could ever get him to stop talking, and the lunch crowd usually was grateful to see the doctor arrive with a book tucked under his arm. His favorites weren’t always in the mood for conversation, but saying no to him was difficult. “Like kicking a puppy,” everyone agreed.

Garak stopped next to the doctor’s table and stared down at him. He seemed to have forgotten his food in favor of reading- Bashir’s customary sandwich, ham and cheddar on wheat, sat on a plate pushed off to the side with only one bite missing, and his glass of iced tea was untouched and sweating condensation across the table.

He read on, oblivious, and Garak quirked a brow. “Excuse me,” he said, mild, and the doctor damn near jumped out of his skin.

All around the restaurant, patrons stifled their amusement as the doctor blinked in confusion and swung his gaze around to Garak, whose smirk could be mistaken for a smile. “Oh dear me. I do hope I’m not disturbing you overmuch.”

The doctor searched uselessly for something to say and, after a long moment of opening and closing his mouth, gave up. It was the first time anyone in Fontaine’s had ever seen him lost for words.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” the tailor continued, politely ignoring the doctor’s floundering, “that you enjoy classic literature, much like myself.” Then he paused for a moment and gasped, eyes comically wide. “Where are my manners? I am-”

“Mr. Garak,” Dr. Bashir interrupted, eager to finally get a word in. “I’ve heard of you- your clothes are quite good, if anyone trusts you enough to step foot in your shop.”

Sharp inhales and murmurs of dismay echoed around the restaurant, though nobody groaned louder at the tactless statement than the doctor himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head, immediately apologetic, and everyone could see him flushing behind his hands. Luckily, the tailor didn’t appear to be offended, as he simply chuckled and took a seat in the chair across the table from the doctor. The contrast between them was striking- the doctor, wearing rumpled scrubs and sprawled over his chair, and the prim and proper tailor, sitting neatly upright.

“I see my reputation precedes me. But I am a simple tailor, nothing more.” Then Garak gestured to the book that sat open on the table. “Tell me, doctor, what is your opinion of the narrator’s preference for the color blue?”

Dr. Bashir, and indeed everyone in Fontaine’s, blinked in confusion. But the doctor rallied, rambling for nearly five minutes about the book that nobody else in the restaurant had ever heard of.

Then Garak raised a brow and demolished the doctor’s analysis in three neat sentences.

The doctor’s jaw dropped, face the absolute image of outrage. “Now you see here, Mr. Garak!” he protested, and they spent the next three quarters of an hour embroiled in a passionate argument over the book on the table as the rest of the cafe looked on in a potent mixture of abject confusion and extreme interest. The two of them left together, still bickering, and as soon as the doors swung shut behind them the restaurant burst into a flurry of conversation.

ii. waiting games

Before anyone knew it, the doctor and the tailor had established a pattern. Once a week they met for lunch and discussed literature, though their discussions really were mostly arguments. The rest of the usual crowd at Fontaine’s established a pattern too- one of observation. Something in the tailor seemed to loosen, just a little, when he was with the doctor, and somehow the doctor’s roughest edges were blunted by the tailor. They sat at their favorite table, in the warm glow of the sun, and argued, blind to the watchful eyes and ears of the restaurant. Occasionally Bashir was detained by his patients and arrived late or not at all, interrupting his own routine, and the tailor’s analysis was particularly cutting those days, displeasure plain to those accustomed to looking.

Rumors spread, like always, but nobody knew anything conclusive. Despite the emotions that flitted constantly across the doctor’s face, he was remarkably difficult to read properly, and it seemed nobody but the doctor himself could even begin to comprehend Mr. Garak.

Someone suggested that maybe that was evidence enough, but he was quickly shushed by the rest of the lunch crowd. They would all know it when they saw it, but not a second before then.

iii. sunshine

Dr. Bashir was a perpetual optimist, always seeing the best in characters and their motives and arguing doggedly for happy, or at least hopeful, endings. Mr. Garak, by contrast, was only ever able to see gloom and doom in the novels he and his lunch companion read.

“My dear doctor,” he would say, and the barkeep would add a mark to the official tally. “You are entirely too generous.”

“My dear Mr. Garak,” Bashir would rebut, smile shining in the summer sun, and up crept the tally again. “You’re far too much a miser. But don’t worry- I can change that.”

iv. close encounters

“I must confess,” said Garak, like the words were being pulled from him beyond his control, “I find myself agreeing- this tale does, indeed, end well for the leading lady and her suitor.”

Bashir beamed and reached across the table for Garak’s hand, and to everyone’s shock, the tailor actually allowed it.

v. shadows

The next week, Garak waited nearly three hours for Bashir to arrive, and the furrow between his brows grew deeper and deeper as each minute passed. The light of the sun, which usually fell evenly over their regular table, had completely abandoned Garak by the time he gave up and stormed back to his tailoring shop.

He left his book behind.

vi. dashed

The barkeep scooped up the book for safekeeping in the lost and found behind the bar. Curious, she flipped through the novel, just to see if she could understand or even enjoy the dense literature the doctor and tailor argued over so passionately.

“Oh no,” she breathed. Page after page was annotated in Garak’s spidery hand, pointing out symbols of hope. The final annotation, a particularly long paragraph at the end of the last page of the novel, was scribbled out with dark black ink, as if it had personally offended the tailor with its mere existence, and the barkeep couldn’t help but wonder at the dashed possibilities.

vii. do no harm

Rumor at Fontaine’s had it that Dr. Bashir had lost a patient that day, and that was what kept him from meeting Garak. The barkeep shook her head sadly. When questioned why, she said, “He may have lost far more than that.”

viii. a matter of time

It was a long, long time before either the doctor or the tailor came back to the restaurant.

Fortunately for business, and for each other, they did come back. Eventually.

ix. last call

The lunch crowd had to grudgingly admit they liked Doctor Bashir more than anticipated when his presence during the midday meal was actually missed. Fontaine’s seemed too empty and quiet without the doctor’s perpetual babbling, and of course, some of the appeal of lunch was gone now that his arguments with the tailor had ceased. Everyone was worried about him, and none moreso than the doctor’s favorites. Gradually, slowly, they hatched a plan to coax the man back.

When Bashir returned to Fontaine’s, it was nighttime, and for the first time in the restaurant’s memory, the man wasn’t wearing scrubs or a white doctor’s coat. His off-duty clothes were well-worn and several years out of style, and the brittle expression on his usually smiling face didn’t vanish until he’d played three rounds of darts and drank two brightly-colored cocktails. Even then, everyone could tell that his good mood wouldn’t last. When his favorites- his friends- eventually had to return home to their families and happiness, the doctor remained behind until last call, sitting beneath a flickering hanging light at the bar with his head in his hands.

x. bashir, alone

After that, the doctor drifted back to lunches, like his presence in Fontaine’s was inevitable. Nobody dared ask about the tailor, for risk of offending him or upsetting him, and he was quieter and more rumpled than usual, sad lines worn around the corners of his mouth when he thought nobody was looking and a wistful quality to his voice in quieter moments. He begun haunting a different table, hidden away out of sight from where he used to sit with Garak, but his new corner seat was still illuminated by the sun.

xi. concerning garak

The restaurant had been able to convince Bashir to return, but they couldn’t say the same for Mr. Garak. Nobody even knew if the tailor was still in town until the barkeep bravely ventured to the man’s shop and caught sight of him sewing in front of a window. He wasn’t trusted, not really, but his friendship with the doctor had improved his standing with the lunch crowd enough that even his harshest critics couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. After all, Bashir had been the man’s only friend, and if he really was an exile, as rumor suggested, then he’d lost everything a second time. So when he finally emerged from hiding and came to Fontaine’s one midmorning, ordering a tea drink no one remembered him ordering before, well, was it any surprise that everyone had something to say about it? It was eventually agreed that Garak came back more polished, sharper than he’d ever been, dark hair slicked back and pale blue eyes filled with vicious mockery whenever anyone so much as thought of approaching him, and he gave lunch and therefore Doctor Bashir a wide berth. But Bashir kept odd hours, and avoiding lunch was no real guarantee of also avoiding the doctor.

The usual easy flow of conversation stuttered to a momentary stop when the door opened on one overcast fall day to reveal the doctor, scrambling in later than usual. Garak, sitting at the bar and poking at a garden salad, stiffened ever so slightly, and otherwise gave no indication of acknowledging the doctor’s presence. Bashir ordered the first thing off the lunch menu and spent his whole meal staring at Garak’s back with big wounded eyes, completely oblivious to the rest of the restaurant.

Once the doctor and the tailor had gone, the cafe burst into speculative conversation. Surely, the consensus went, the tailor would never come back, now that he’d encountered the doctor.

The lunch crowd had never been more wrong, or more glad to be.

xii. fall

Though Doctor Bashir and Mr. Garak had returned to their old table and literature discussions, it was obvious to everyone in the know that things were not the same. The doctor stammered more, backpedaling and giving in far too easily when Garak pushed him, and the tailor was far too cutting and cruel to truly enjoy discussion for its own sake. The changing fall weather didn’t help either. Cloudy days cast long and heavy shadows across the table, adding weight to every awkward and frosty silence that would’ve before been filled by easy conversation.

Behind the bar, the tally board was dusty and neglected from lack of use, and every bet over the date of the next appearance of the elusive endearment ‘my dear’ fell through without success. The patrons, discontent, looked helplessly to the bartender for some plan of action, but she shook her head. They’d done all they could. The rest, now, was up to the doctor and the tailor.

xiii. handle with care

“I think the flocks of birds the author describes in the last third of the novel represent faith,” Dr. Bashir argued.

Garak rolled his eyes and scoffed. He was particularly prickly these days, and needed careful handling that not even the kind doctor could always provide. “Doctor, you are an optimist. Those birds represent faith disappearing- they do fly away, do they not?”

The restaurant, breath bated, froze in anticipation of the doctor’s response.

Bashir was undeterred by his companion’s bad attitude, and he offered the tailor a regretful smile. “Just because we don’t see faith doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

Garak had a lot to say about that, but the doctor could not be swayed.

xiv. found

“I believe,” said Garak to the barkeep, during one of his early morning visits, “I left a book here, quite a while ago. Could you check for it?”

The barkeep nodded and headed into the back office, lingering a moment to pretend to search for the book she knew sat in a place of honor in the cafe’s lost and found, before picking the novel up reverently and returning it to the man waiting patiently at the bar.

The tailor gave her a peculiar little nod of his head and set off for his shop, book clutched tightly to his chest.

xv. know it when you see it

Anyone who was at all familiar with Fontaine’s Cafe recognized Doctor Julian Bashir and his lunch companion, Mr. Elim Garak- they had been a fixture of the cafe’s lunch hour for ages, and were indeed perhaps the main draw of business to Fontaine’s over the middle of the day.

“- really now, you can’t possibly be saying the ships symbolize the end of the world!” Dr. Bashir protested, hands waving wildly. Mr. Garak, in contrast, was perfectly cool and collected as usual, observing his lunch companion with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“My dear doctor,” Garak started, and all of the restaurant inhaled. Under tables, coins and bills and IOUs changed hands, and the barkeep incremented the official tally, but Dr. Bashir and Mr. Garak continued their discussion, oblivious. They always were. “If you would simply place your antiquated notions of literature aside and take advantage of a broader perspective, you would easily see the true meaning of those ships as simply apocalyptic.”

Dr. Bashir scowled, though the almighty mess he made of his fluffy hair ruined the effect. “My perspective is plenty broad, although I couldn’t say the same of yours.” He settled back in his seat, taking an aggressive bite of his sandwich- turkey and swiss on rye.

Garak quirked a brow and leaned forward. “Oh?” he challenged.

Bashir swallowed hard and slammed his sandwich down. Turkey spilled out between slices of bread as the doctor mirrored his companion’s posture, save for his elbows on the table. “Yes,” he insisted, meeting Garak’s eyes without blinking.

A hush fell over the cafe. At the bar, the barkeep quickly and efficiently took bets. She had her routine down to a science by now, after much practice.

“Do enlighten me.”

Bashir grinned, hazel eyes sparking with fire. “From the very first chapter,” he began, and he proceeded to lose every spectator in the cafe. None of them, of course, had read the book that was being discussed- that wasn’t the draw. The draw was the life present in the youthful doctor, the thrill of the collected and private tailor Garak losing any of his poise and mystique, and, of course, the illicit bets. It was rumored that one of Dr. Bashir’s friends had made thousands of dollars from predicting the outcome of the literary arguments, though of course the honorable barkeep would never confirm or deny such a thing.

At his table, the doctor reached the final pitch of his argument. “So you see, my dear Mr. Garak-” again, money exchanged hands under tables all around the restaurant, and the official tally was updated- “those ships don’t represent the end of the world. They represent a beginning.” The doctor searched for any hint of emotion in the tailor’s face, but he seemed to be unmoved. Bashir’s eyes squeezed closed, and when he finally opened them again they glimmered with tears in the tentative rays of unseasonable sunshine. “Elim, those ships represent hope.”

Never before had the cafe been so silent. Nobody who knew anything so much as dared to breathe out of turn as slowly, ever so slowly, the tailor brought his hand forward to rest atop the doctor’s. “Julian,” he murmured, with the faintest hint of a genuine smile, and when the doctor sighed in relief and victory, the rest of the cafe sighed with him.

Gradually, the soft clinking of dishes and the hum of conversation returned to the restaurant. Bashir and Garak continued their lunch as Julian and Elim, and anyone who knew anything about Fontaine’s could tell you exactly why.

[rafaelribeirosoares]

The Last Jedi… For a while? Well, it does seem to be the case. This time guys, I really have to go a little forward and mention some spoilers because of what happened in the movie. But as usual, I’ll make an introduction to the story and then proceed to an analysis. This movie is the longest within the saga, with two and a half hours and there’s a lot of big stuff happening in this one when comparing it with “The Force Awakens”, so let’s begin, shall we?

Alright, so I didn’t review “The Force Awakens”, but that movie ended up with Rey finding Luke Skywalker and with the Rebel Alliance losing their capital world, along with heavy losses on their fleet in order to destroy the First Order’s planetary weapon which was destroyed alongside the same planet where it was based upon, both the weapon and their base of operations.

So, from that point to the next one, the Rebels are evacuating from their last base with only three spaceships because the First Order is now in their pursuit and supposedly, controls the entire galaxy now… Meanwhile, Rey is with Luke on some island on an uncharted planet, begging him to train her in the ways of the Jedi, basically that’s how “The Force Awakens” ended… Notice something odd?

Luke refuses to teach Rei the ways of the Jedi at first, but upon witnessing her resilience he finally agrees to teach her a bit before the two could part ways after a disagreement.

The First Order’s fleet appears from hyperspace, catching the Alliance Fleet in the middle of their evacuation and begins their attack right away. At a cost, the Alliance manages to destroy a dreadnaught and gets on the run from the enemy fleet. This time, however, the First Order possessed new tech that allowed them to know where the Rebels would travel once they entered hyperspace. In a desperate situation, the Rebels try to outrun the First Order’s fleet barrage, but without much fuel left to do so and not even able to outrange their weapons.

A period of time is then stipulated to come up with a plan to get the rebels out of such predicament before their fuel comes to an end. A plan that involves an infiltration of Snoke’s spaceship in order to sabotage the mechanism that reads lightspeed traveling. Rey happens to come around that same spaceship, but (I believe, not exactly sure now…) oblivious to that plan being employed by the Rebels and with an agenda of her own.

Ok, the premise is there, I don’t think I spoiled it too much. Now it’s time for some hammering with spoilers, so read at your own risk. I will not follow the movie’s timeline and therefore, I’ll address matters one by one instead.

Personally, I don’t have anything against Luke’s personality. He has been through a lot since we’ve seen him in episode VI, Return of the Jedi. After the failure with his academy and what happened with Ben Solo a.k.a. Kylo Ren, as we’re told through this film, Luke forsake the teachings of the Jedi and closed himself to the Force, making a living on an island simply waiting for the time of his demise.

Look, it’s okay, I can go with that. Luke learned how the arrogance of the Jedi as a unified and active force with strong ties to the political state of the galaxy led to their own downfall. As if that wasn’t enough, the same happened to him while he tried to revive the order, devastating his remaining faith in the Jedi that trained him. I believe that Luke could not bring himself to kill his nephew. The lack of resolve to do what was needed was what had brought the fallen Jedi Master to that island, as if he was trying to prevent the Force users within the galaxy to grow in number, instead of escalating for the purpose of war by training more Jedi.

That’s how Luke behaves in the movie, afraid of the dark side of the Force, but he was touched by Rey’s determination to help the Rebels. Luke performs the most amazing show of mind tricks that I have ever seen and known within the Star Wars saga, only to vanish into nothing afterwards… It was so good and then so… empty. I felt so empty then. The twist was amazing, only to come with a dire consequence at the end. And with Luke, the teachings of the Jedi die with him.

Supreme Leader Snoke. I don’t know where this guy came from. I don’t know how he managed to lead or found the First Order. I know nothing of this guy besides that he is in charge of the First Order and that he is skillful with the ways of the Force. There was a theory saying that Snoke was Darth Plagueis, Darth Sidious’ Master (the Emperor of the Galaxy in episode IV, V and VI). But now… That question will remain to be answered since Snoke, a powerful Sith Lord with a vast knowledge and skill of the Force, was betrayed by Kylo Ren’s (ingenious) trick and consequently killed without much hope to be resurrected, thus leaving Kylo Ren as the Supreme Leader. I don’t think we will see Snoke in episode IX or in the future for that matter. (I have not read the novel so perhaps I’m a little in the dark here.)

I’ve read more than in one place, that Rey had no training what so ever and yet is able to use the Force and Lightsaber like a Jedi. I don’t think these guys have seen the same movie as I did. She has a huge connection with the Force yes, but can she control it? Not in the slightest… Force push a lightsaber to her hand is probably the only thing she can do at will. Rey can also swing a lightsaber around but can she parry deflect enemy blasters or fight against more than an enemy at once? Not really. She barely held her own against the Order’s Knights while Kylo Ren dispatched most of them and even helped her in the process.

Rey only wants to help the Rebels and to understand what she has inside her. And although she goes a little guano towards Kylo Ren and Snoke, it is still understandable after what she witnessed in the previous movie.

As for the rest, I was really hooked with the urgency of the Rebels’ mission and how the story twists itself around to surprise the audience in more than a singular occasion. There’s a lot of comedy here guys! And also a lot of dire situations that the oppressed have to endure. Be it sentient or non sentient life forms.

The effects, visuals, and costumes all have the great quality that we’re used to see, but even throughout the movie, I felt that we did not see a lot of variety in the scenario department. The main reason for it is because the main story point is to prevent the Rebel fleet and the Rebels themselves from being turned into stardust. So we see a lot of the action occurring in space, within the various spacecrafts of the First Order and Rebel Alliance.

There’s the planet where Luke has taken refuge, where we see verdant and mountainous islands with some flora, stone buildings, and the movie’s mascot species nest there as well. Another verdant and plain planet where Finn and his companion travel to find a person of interest for the Rebel’s escape plan. The city that they visit is something akin to a Greek coastal town but with a huge casino in the middle of it. And then we have Hoth 2.0 but instead of ice, we have salt. Lots of salt… And one of the most beautiful creatures in Star Wars, something akin to a crystal fox!

Now that I enumerated all of the scenarios besides the action that happens inside the various spacecrafts, there is indeed a lot of variety. Perhaps it was the screentime that triggered me to feel like there wasn’t a lot of diversity then? I don’t really know about that, but I felt like writing down two paragraphs because of it.

I’ve pointed my issues with The Last Jedi, even though I’d pay to see it again. It is a great movie, but it suffers from some story elements in a way that the story could be a lot more interesting than the one we had. And I did not point Leia’s use of the Force… Or was it being used by her? Or perhaps…

Then there’s Snoke’s spaceship being torn to bits, how the hell did Finn and Rose who were surrounded by Storm Troopers, who were in formation, and in the presence of Captain Phasma as well, get hit by debris yet the Storm Troopers appear twenty meters away and in formation as well? Remember that scene? Like what the heck?!?!?

We’re probably not seeing Phasma anymore, sadly. And I can only commend Vice Admiral Holdo for causing such a ruckus among the First Order. That was an amazing scene! Only to be followed by such a mess afterwards…

        Star Wars: The Last Jedi - A Lot Of Controversy In Episode VIII The Last Jedi... For a while? Well, it does seem to be the case. This time guys, I really have to go a little forward and mention some spoilers because of what happened in the movie.

[scadplaysdnd]

a reflection

aka “holy fuck mom its been a year”

just warning yall now this is about to get hugely personal and if you’d rather not see insight of the worse sides of me or what’s been going on behind the scenes then i fully understand not reading this. i wont be offended. this is kind of as much for myself as it is anyone else.

so there have been a couple times in my life where ive had to look at myself and go “if i dont reach out for help of some kind, something really bad is going to happen”. around this time last year was one of those times. i was three credits shy of getting my degree and the last thing i needed to do was an internship, which would have started around this time and finished up by the end of 2016. i would have finished my education and gotten my degree.

and then i would have died.

id known this fact for a couple months now but as we were reaching two months from the end of the year i had this thought--maybe i should like, not do that??? so i put the internship on hold. i took a semester off on medical leave. while all of this was going on, kelly and erik had come to me asking me if i wanted to play dnd. i said sure, though i was pretty wary. id only ever played dnd once beforehand and it ended really badly--basically my character died and the rest of the party kind of callously left her behind which hurt and sucked.

ANYWAY i came up with the basic concept for tami. i know i wanted to play an orc because it was always weird to me that orcs are like the stereotypical and defacto villains that most parties are pitted against from the very beginning--what must it be like to be one of those people? but i wanted her to also diverge from the typical orc playable character, in that she was going to be quiet, stealthy, dexterous, and “level headed” (in quotes because yknow her emotions are something she’s always struggling with).

basically tami naruto jumping through the trees was always a key character concept from the word go.

but character creation is easy for me. ive been doing it nonstop since i was 10 years old. i also joined a new roleplay group around this same time. creative endeavors are something i can still pursue rather easily even in the throes of the worst mental breakdowns. in fact, its probably the reason ive survived most of them.

and i had no idea how much dnd was going to be that.

by this point, things were getting really bad and we were basically deciding what to do with me. my support network as ill call them (basically my therapists and doctors) were thinking i needed to be admitted into some kind of program and i agreed with them. but they wanted me to go to an inpatient program--essentially either being hospitalized or cut off from everything while i was taught how to yknow. not die.

but i didnt want to be cut off from everything. i wanted to play dnd. it was pretty much the only thing i had going for me at the time, since i wasnt doing any work or school. not to mention most of my irl friends were still in school or just generally busy and it was pretty much the only social thing i had to look forward to.

of course, that wasnt the only thing. in general, i just really didnt like the idea that i wouldnt be able to have a phone or computer for xyz months, quite literally being cut off from everyone and everything, including all of my essential coping mechanisms that have been keeping me alive thus far. but really, i knew that if i left the campaign just as it was starting for what would probably be months, i wouldnt be able to come back. and i didnt want that.

so i put my foot down and we got me enrolled in a local outpatient program. every day for 5 hours, i had to go to group therapy and learn how to Not Die. i had to go completely sober. i had to get drug tests. it was......hard, to say the least. it was scary and frankly humiliating to get to that point where i had to be constantly monitored to make sure i wasnt a danger to myself or others--even more so that it was justified.

every day we’d have to check in, let them know what our level of suicidal ideation was among other things, and i remember for those first few months, it was never none for me. but as long as it was passive, it was alright. in response, we were supposed to take a step back and look for things to live for, and look forward to. every friday we had to write about what we were planning on doing for the weekend.

and every friday i wrote the same thing: dnd.

it was honestly everything i needed during this time. i was going through a pretty rough period of agoraphobia and social anxiety, but once a week every week i got to be social as someone who wasnt myself. my experience with dnd hadnt been much up until that point, but almost none of you guys had played before. i felt almost an obligation to make a character that was somewhat take charge and open, in an effort to coax you guys out for the same. its kind of hard to remember at this point considering where we all are now, but at the beginning there, i know it was rough for a lot of us. i felt like i had to take charge, which was so the opposite of how i was actually living my life at the time.

and it was...nice. tami is much more confident and forthright than i am, and i had to force myself out of a lot of comfort zones to put myself in that place. but as weeks went on, it became easier, both in and out of character. all yall nerds are busy now but back then we were hanging out practically every night and it gave me a chance to not be alone with everything i was going through. unlike with say, the roleplay group, i wasnt just my character--i also got be myself with you guys. i got to rediscover who i was and could be during a time where i really didn’t see myself as anything worthy, let alone anything at all. plus, my connections to others has always been a driving force of me Not Dying and being able to be a part of such a blossoming close group was essential while living at home with little contact to my other friends.

and this went on for months. in that time, through the program, i was able to learn some essential, new coping mechanisms. i discovered some trauma that was affecting me way more than id given it credit for and was able to start working through it in a way that i hadn’t for years. through helping and supporting the others in my group, i was able to do the same for myself.

while all this was going on, i was constantly doodling tami and others in the margins of my notes. i was singing the praises of the group and the campaign to my program, whose members also became somewhat invested in the story and started asking me every week what had happened. it became such a huge part of my identity and every day that soon members of the program began to identify me with the game itself. it played such a huge role in my recovery.

but by march, i had graduated the program. id started up my internship, and was on my way to getting my degree. i got a nepotism job at my dads company, and i was actually leaving my house on a fairly regular basis. i dont want to say that it was all sunshine and rainbows because it wasn’t. i still had some pretty dark periods, and there were times that if you asked for a check in, i wouldnt be able to honestly say that there was no suicidal ideation.

but i kept on. and the only consistent thing throughout all of this was dnd. i started my own campaign on top of all of that, which has been an adventure in and of itself. tami has been through a lot, both through what has happened and general character development. it would be impossible not to after a year, even if it hasn’t been nearly as long in game. 

i thought i had some sort of linear progression to all of this, and this would be the point where i wrap it up all neat and say that im all better and its all because of dnd but that.....isn’t true. its not true in life OR dnd, and i think thats why i like the game so much?? its narrative for sure, but there’s also so much uncertainty and surprise that you don’t get in general writing or roleplay. not everything works out plainly and neatly, with things being completely fucked just by a dice roll. it can be just as messy as life is. which is funny because thats exactly what i used to HATE about the game, and why i didnt want to play in the first place. i didnt want to not have control over the narrative. i didnt want to not have control over MY narrative

but i needed to give up that control if i was ever going to get help. i needed to put my safety, my mental health, my life into other peoples hands. i needed help and i needed connections--and thats kind of what dnd is all about. and in the end, it still might not matter. our characters can still die, the story can still go in a way that not even the dms are prepared for, we might not save the world.

BUT WE ALSO MIGHT!! we’re going to work together and try our best and do everything in our power to fulfill our own quests, help one another, and create a greater good for ourselves and the world around us!!! and its like yeah, im not fully recovered, i dont think full recovery is ever going to really be an option for me, but i can keep going, and i know im always going to have the support of yall and the people who care about me. that means more to me than you could ever know.

and not to be a downer but like...im still going to die, someday. maybe in the ways that i thought, or maybe not. and in the meantime i might not figure out my life plan or get an amazing job or even move out anytime soon. but for once, that thought isnt as paralyzing and world ending as it was this time last year. its okay for things to be uncertain. its okay that things might not work out neatly in the end. and i think dnd played a huge role in helping me come to terms with that.

so remember like four paragraphs ago when i said i was going to start wrapping this up?? lmao for anyone who made it this far, i salute you and thank you. this game has been really important to me but more so its YOU PEOPLE. you guys are just such a wonderful and awesome group of people and its been a privilege taking this journey with you for this last year--and for many more years to come! we’ve been at this for two months in game and who knows where we’ll all be this time next year or the year after or even more after that. i dont know!!!! and thats okay

love yall im gonna go order a pizza now peace  ✌ ✌ ✌ (i have had nothing to drink thanks)

[perspectives-otherwise]

A Skeptic’s Certainty: How is He Certain of His Beliefs?

The first time I witnessed my father cry, he was standing at death’s door.

I have been raised on the bread and butter of a political household. For the many years that I sat in front of the television, forced to flip to the news channel, dear, my father has appeared behind the tempered glass screen more times than I could count as my age today. Not once did he ever waver in his conviction, nor his voice. His chocolate brown eyes held a steadfast – our family would call it hard – look that could shoot an eagle dead; once his eyes became glazed over in that way, all of us knew there could be no persuasion and negotiation entertained.

I inherited this very look from my father. Eyes that, at first glance, are colored a boring dark chocolate brown, but then one notices them to be a clear, soft almond as the light hits my face at the right angle. When defiant, I could bore holes into another’s pair of eyes. Most of the time, my parents were on the receiving end of it. Though I had never actually went out of my way to stand in theirs.

Everyone at school knew me as ‘the kid with a scary but famous dad’. This was, admittedly, an extremely helpful deterrent for those who loved picking on the timid, puny ones along the corridor – not that I was a shrimp, but small nonetheless. Acquaintances greeted me by my family name, but close friends call me Jo. My real name is Jean, but who likes to be named after an item of clothing?

The memory of books crowds my mind whenever I reminisced about childhood. The four walls of my father’s study room were lined with heavy bookshelves made of oak: each lacquered slab of wood that groaned under the weight of hardbound, leather-bound books had handwritten labels stuck on carefully with tape. Most of the spaces on the shelves had been filled even before I was born, but when I turned 7 and read as much as I breathed, my father called me into his room one day and faced me to the shelf closest to the French windows. He looked at me and said:

“This belongs to you now. Fill it with the knowledge you truly wish to have.”

Together, we began removing the books long untouched by human hands, and the air soon became choked with dust.

As a child, I devoured fairy tales and fictional stories. As a middle and high school student, my teachers unearthed and enthusiastically cultivated in me the love of nature and science. This naturally led me on to pursue environmental studies later in university, which also spelt disaster for the relationship between my father and me. In the years leading up to the falling out, however, I relished the joy in collecting books on geography and philosophy, amongst various classic literature novels that only encouraged my idealism and naivety.

~

“Excuse me, Ms. Brooks, I think the textbook is wrong…and I don’t understand this paragraph.”

It was in the middle of my favorite 6th grade lesson when I pointed out an error in our still crisp, plastic-wrapped textbooks.[i] At home, I had read a little about climate change – something about rising sea levels and melting glaciers – that these were the effects of human activities, such as industrialization and carbon emissions. However, the school textbook printed vague, ambiguous statements that eventually led to the conclusion that climate change is natural, and not at all caused by mankind.

Being the nitpicky student that I am, my hand shot up in the air during quiet reading time.

“Nonsense, Jean, the textbook is never wrong! Just follow the arguments and you’ll understand.”

Being the determined individual that I am, I went home and consulted my father on the matter.

“Jean…your teacher is right. Do as she says and you’ll do well in school. Anyway, you should stop reading whatever it is that is getting you all confused. Trust me, it will bring you no good – because they are WRONG. For every day that I am at the office and campaigns, all I hear about is the same damn thing: that climate change is truly happening and that we are the cause of it, blah blah blah. My colleagues and I are up to our eyeballs in work trying to rebuke these claims and keep the higher-ups happy, so the money continues rolling in for us. Please don’t be an additional worry on my mind, girl!”

I left the room in much greater confusion.

~

Politics never used to interest me at all. Since the textbook incident, however, I began paying more attention to environmental campaigns broadcasted on the news and searched the web for old speeches by my father. Amidst the name-calling and dramatic pauses, I realized the shocking mindsets many politicians had towards climate change, and how deeply rooted their beliefs are.

To them, climate change is a lie.

Besides accusing the activists of hurting the economy in their efforts to reduce carbon emissions, the ‘conservative’ politicians refused to make any further comment or argument by concluding that “I’m not a scientist”, and this statement effectively renders them immune to any scientific discussion or opinion requested.[ii] On the surface level, they claim to have no scientific and thus, expert knowledge on the issue of climate change, but in reality, they simply wish to avoid getting their hands dirty and putting America’s economy on hold. Evidently, they are much more concerned with earning profit than saving the Earth, though they would rather die than admit so.

As an amateur holding a Bachelor’s degree in environmental studies, I could still understand and empathize with some of the senior politicians and the general public; the phenomenon of climate change can be bizarre and its technicalities difficult to grasp, such that even the world’s leading experts are still racking their brains over finding a solution.[iii] If even the scientists are uncertain about the whole issue, then perhaps the average individual should be allowed to entertain a little skepticism!

Total skepticism is pushing it a little too far, however. The research I did online was baffling: one in four Americans were completely skeptical of climate change, and they believed that it is a natural process that humans had nothing to do with.[iv] Most of the time, the skeptical politicians had monetary backing from corporations vested in economic interest, such as the fossil fuel and oil industries. With a cap on carbon emissions, these corporations would face much loss in business and thus, revenue; with profit as the ultimate goal, these companies were little inclined to agree to such restrictions.[v]

Following the campaigns sickened me to the stomach, but I continued to do so in order to be updated on the progress of climate change mitigation. Little was achieved.

~

“You have no right as a daughter to lecture me!”

2009. That year, my father and I contested against each other at the 15th Conference of the Parties. At that point in time, I was considered one of the most established experts on the field of environmental science, global warming in particular. To everyone, I was greeted as Dr. Ernie, and my name was well-respected worldwide, but spat on by climate change skeptics.

My father was one of them.

Our relationship had steadily soured ever since I decided to throw his advice out the window and follow my instincts. Rationality kicked in as I dug deeper into the underworld of politics and environmental science, and I forced myself to stay level-headed whenever my father’s face drifted to mind, his threatening voice commanding me to leave the entire matter alone. Counter-intuitively, as I grew knowledgeable of the subject, his inability to understand my most beloved passion only encouraged my inability to understand the inner workings of his mind.

I worked through years with a single motivation: to persuade my father that climate change is, and has been ongoing for decades. Personal scientific reports were painstakingly simplified and rewritten countless times, complicated models reduced to layman diagrams drawn by hand in order to illustrate the very reality of it all.[vi] Every single time I handed him the papers, he tore them up into shreds before chucking them at my feet.

We had just returned home from the conference before I walked out of his house for the last time. He had ripped every single beloved book of mine from the shelves and set them on fire in the backyard.

~

2015.

I was about to leave my home for a jog when the telephone shrilled through my briefcase. A frantic female voice asked for my name, and I answered yes, speaking. It turned out to be my mother.

She told me that my father was dying.

~

“Hi, Dad.”

The house had remained its exact, spotless appearance. The midday sun illuminated his bedroom, washing it down with clean and golden-yellow warmth.

Blanketed and cushioned by stark white, sterile cotton sheets and pillows on his bed, he wheezed heavily and paused often to catch big gulps of air. My father beckoned me feebly nearer to his side.

Some formal exchanges on how are you, what have you been doing, before we lapsed into an awkward contest of staring each other down. Then he spoke.

My father lamented on the years wasted on preserving his own pride and self-image, instead of embracing new knowledge and making up for his lack of education. Something about cognitive dissonance theory, he waved his hand impatiently. To put it simply, denying climate change completely was the easier choice compared to conceding that his commitment in opinion is flawed; with scientific authorities directly challenging his belief system, the unconscious psychological inclination was to react negatively towards the rejected option, or reduce its initial appeal. In this case, my father was faced with the dilemma between altering his entire belief system on climate change to allow the appropriate decisions in mitigation, or to condemn the scientific consensus as a pack of lies and continue his anti-campaigns.[vii] Also, there was growing economic pressure from the corporations to deliver results and ensure that carbon emissions levels are not restricted.

As an uneducated and conservative man, he could only invest faith in human innovation and technological advancements to reduce the effects of climate change, rather than swallow the overwhelming scientific evidence that condemned everything he supported. Naturally, he sought discord with the latter and picked at any uncertainty that the scientists reluctantly revealed; this he did so especially with climate modeling, which are far from accurate and complete in their analysis and prediction of our climate.[viii]

“I’ve watched the world gradually progress into the technological age, a complete makeover that occurred over a few mere decades. There is so much more potential for the future, and I so believed in humans to conquer anything that stood in our way.[ix] Climate change, to many of us, was just another trivial matter that the government and certain goody-two shoes fussed over in order to gain more funding and support from policy makers. We didn’t want to relinquish any monetary control to them…[x]

Your growing passion in environmental science did nothing to persuade me in changing my mind. I had secretly admired your fierce determination in not letting the matter rest, but this old man of yours was never going to admit to his daughter that he is wrong about something he had devoted his life to fighting against. And I wish to apologize for that now.”

Never once did he let go of my right hand – clasped tightly in his icy cold own, I could only interpret this long abandoned gesture as his final way of expressing affection and regret, perhaps mingled with a little pride. There was no hardness this time, only a single tear clinging on desperately to the corner of his right eye.

 Endnotes

[i] See Singer, Merrill. "Anthropology and Climate Change." AnthropologyNews.

[ii] Atkin, Emily. "‘I’m Not A Scientist': A Complete Guide To Politicians Who Plead Ignorance On Climate Change." ThinkProgress RSS. October 3, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[iii] Dunlap, R. E. "Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction." American Behavioral Scientist 56, no. 6 (2013): 691-98. 691.

[iv] Saad, Lydia. "One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming." One in Four in U.S. Are Solidly Skeptical of Global Warming. April 22, 2014. Accessed March 8, 2015.

[v] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 692-694.

[vi] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 691. Refer also to Atkin, Paragraph 3.

[vii] Gelfert, Axel, “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” Philosophy and Public Issues (New Series), Vol. 3, No. 1 (2013), 167-208, edited by S. Maffettone, G. Pellegrino and M. Bocchiola. 189-194.

[viii] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 179-181.

[ix] Gelfert. “Climate Scepticism, Epistemic Dissonance, and the Ethics of Uncertainty,” 183-184.

[x] Dunlap. “Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction”, 694.

[breeeliss]

[Femslash February]: Asleep

lol that it’s only day 2 and im already late with this >.>

Day 2: Asleep (Chlonette)

Words: 2133

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

[Previous: Snow] [Next: Rescue]

The first time Chloe stayed after school to study in the library, she found Marinette sleeping over her books at a study table near the windows. 

Lycée turned out to be a lot harder than Chloe had thought, and trying to keep up with all of her homework without getting frustrated and forgoing it completely was almost impossible. It led to her bringing in half-finished homework assignments or not bringing in any assignments at all since it happened that Sabrina wasn’t in any of her classes this year. Her teachers packed her up with review sheets and extra homework every single day, and she had to use the hour study sessions at the end of every day to finish up all her work before she went home. It was absolutely deplorable stuff, but even her father was putting his foot down about it, which meant she really had no choice this time around. 

She was dragging her feet to the library and looking for a seat when she found Marinette at a study table all by herself. 

Chloe raised a brow. She didn’t really see Marinette much anymore. They were on completely different bac tracks and they were in completely different classes for any subjects they did share. She did occasionally see Marinette in the halls as they walked to their respective classes, but putting in the energy to mess with her was a lot harder now. It wasn’t the same now that they barely saw each other. 

But, apparently Marinette also stayed for the study blocks after school. And apparently she wasn’t faring too well. 

Chloe put her books on a chair two down from where Marinette was sitting. She was passed out on top of her tablet, and her right hand was still clutching the pen she was using to mark up the book they must have been reading for her French Literature class. Chloe reached over to check the page they were on and realized that Marinette was almost as far behind in the book as Chloe was. 

Huh. And she always thought that Marinette was a studious little thing. 

If Marinette was here, it was probably because she needed to be, and Chloe had far too much studying to get done to even bother with being petty. She poked Marinette in the forehead until she jerked up in her chair and rubbed at the cheek that was pressed against her tablet. She turned her head and groggily blinked up at Chloe. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you probably,” Chloe replied. She shoved Marinette’s book closer to her. “Come on. I don’t need your snoring distracting me.” 

Marinette glared weakly, but other than that she didn’t really rise to the flimsy bait Chloe set up. They both buckled down to work for about an hour, and Chloe left only a couple of minutes after Marinette did. It was the longest they’d ever been in such close proximity to each other without causing a fight. Maybe her father was right and lycée really did make young ladies out of little girls. That or fighting with Marinette really did get old after a while. Especially when school work wasn’t a joke anymore. 

Chloe was having lunch with Sabrina the next day and told her that she saw Dupain-Cheng for the first time since classes started. 

“During the study block?” Sabrina asked. 

“Yeah. Working on Literature homework or whatever. Aren’t you in that class with her?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Chloe frowned. “Didn’t think what was that bad?”

Sabrina shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she misses a lot of classes. Comes in late a lot. Falls asleep during lessons. Hands in things late or doesn’t hand them in at all. She looks exhausted most of the time, so I guess she’s been falling behind.”

They dropped the subject -- Chloe didn’t want to appear too interested -- but she sort of remembered Adrien telling her something about him having a hard time keeping up with his class schedule. He was always missing classes and coming in late and forgetting assignments too. But Adrien had tutors that filled in the gaps pretty well, so it didn’t seem as if his work or his grades were suffering too much. Plus he had a far better attention span and work ethic than Chloe did, bless his heart. 

But Marinette didn’t have tutors to catch her up. She was probably using the study blocks to catch up on extra and missed assignments too, and even then she couldn’t stay awake. 

They saw each other but did not speak to each other after school for that entire week as they struggled to catch up, and Chloe couldn’t help but feel a little bad for her. Chloe was behind because she couldn’t be bothered to do work half the time. Marinette look like she was sprinting to catch up and falling behind every day. She wondered why on Earth that was, but they weren’t nearly close enough for Chloe to just ask. 

One day, after three akuma attacks that interrupted the flow of the entire day, Chloe found Marinette passed out on the tables again, this time over her writing homework. 

She was starting to suspect that she was a narcoleptic or something. Didn’t she sleep at night like everyone else? What did she do with all the time she wasn’t at school? 

Chloe peeked over at Marinette’s work again, and recognized the assignment as one Sabrina had been working on close to a week ago. She sighed and cursed at herself, doing a quick calculation of how much she was going to regret this. 

She smacked Marinette in the arm and jostled her a couple of times before Marinette woke up again. Marinette looked like she was going to say something, but Chloe promptly cut her off and said, “Come.”

“What?” Marinette blinked. 

“Darling, you’re a week behind on your work, and you’re practically drooling on what little you do have written down. So come on before I change my mind.”

Marinette hesitated in her seat for a moment, so Chloe merely shrugged and headed for the exit to the library. She was rounding the corner when she heard a chair scrape and Marinette running to catch up with her. “Where are we going?”

“Coffee. I need it, and god knows you should probably hook an IV of it up to your arm at this point.”

Marinette snorted and Chloe barely caught sight of the dark circles under Marinette’s eyes. “I don’t need coffee, Chloe.”

“You need it like you need a smack in the face. Maybe then you’ll stop sounding so stupid. Hurry up, before they notice we’re gone.”

Chloe bought two cups of the strongest brew they had, only adding enough cream to it to make it drinkable. Marinette looked like she was going to put up a fight about not paying for her own drink, but Chloe held up a hand and silenced her protesting while she handed off her credit card. 

“You should also do something about those bags under your eyes,” Chloe told her as they snuck the coffee back into the library. “Get some concealer. Better yet, have a facial night and get some sleep. You look an absolute fright.”

Marinette didn’t even take any of that as an insult. Instead she nodded along and took a huge gulp of her coffee before she sat back down to work. Chloe bit her lip and opened up her own books. Nope. She wasn’t going to care. Marinette wasn’t her business, and she didn’t like Marinette. This was as far as her kindness would go. 

Of course, during lunch the next day, Sabrina handed Chloe a box from the Dupain-Cheng bakery filled with fruit tarts that had a note affixed to the top. Thanks for the coffee. -Marinette.

She saw Marinette after school that day, wearing some concealer under her eyes, and looking a little fresher faced than she did the day before. She greeted Chloe quietly, and passed her a cup of coffee. “The mask and the makeup was good advice,” she told her. 

Chloe blinked as Marinette dared to offer her a smile before she put her headphones in and started scribbling on her tablet. 

She couldn’t remember the last time Marinette smiled at her without it looking sarcastic or like she was desperately waiting to tell her off. It was....interesting. And different. And probably due to the stress and lack of sleep. Although, Chloe found she didn’t much care what it was or why she did it.

Because a tired Marinette wasn’t a Marinette that Chloe enjoyed seeing. Marinette was always doing something, talking to someone, screaming and being melodramatic over something, and being a star in literally everything. It was abysmally annoying, but it was more troubling to see her not be any of those things. If lycée was going to turn around and throw Chloe for this much of a whirl, she was at the very least going to make sure that the one thorn in her side didn’t go around and change either. 

They settled into a routine of trading off between buying each other coffee every week. Sometimes, Marinette would bring more pastry boxes from home filled with sweets that would keep their attention up, which Chloe heavily appreciated. At first, they were used to just working in silence, but they eventually worked up to the point where Marinette would show her something silly she read in her Literature book or Chloe would complain over the unclear directions her teacher gave while Marinette tried to decode it for her. Sometimes, if Chloe was really feeling nice or hating the sight of Marinette agonizing over an assignment, she’d switch papers with her if it was a subject she was good at. Chloe was a lot quicker with Marinette’s Literature assignments, and Marinette always made quick work of the short paragraphs Chloe had to write for history. It tended to get them out of the library much faster. 

They were three weeks in, and the two of them were, dare Chloe say it, actually civil with each other. 

“Why doesn’t Alya come study with you?” Chloe asked during a short break. “Or anyone else for that matter?”

Marinette shook her head. “She babysits her sisters after school. Plus she helps her mom around the house. She doesn’t have the time, and I’m not going to ask her to sacrifice all that for me. I don’t want anyone to have to suffer through helping me when it’s my fault I’m behind. Besides, you’ll work in a pinch,” she smirked.”

Chloe stuck her tongue out. “Gee, thanks you brat. Why are you always so exhausted all the time? Beauty sleep is a thing, you know.”

“Busy month,” she said vaguely. “Lots going on at home. And other things...”

Marinette wasn’t offering much information, so Chloe didn’t feel the need to be nosy. “Well, at least you’re all caught up now. But, lord, sleep why don’t you. You look like a damn ghost. You’re a pretty girl. You shouldn’t look that exhausted.”

“Thanks I guess,” Marinette said.

“I’m serious,” Chloe said. “Asking for help is a thing. If you’re just going to keep running yourself ragged by keeping to yourself, you’re dumber than I thought.”

It came out coarser than she thought, but Marinette seemed to have picked the sincerity out of it. “I guess you’re right.” She nudged her ankle against Chloe’s. “But if I promise to start asking for help, you have to promise to work on staying focused.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re smart,” Marinette said. “You’re behind because you get bored quickly, not because you’re not smart enough to do this stuff. You just have to find ways to keep you motivated. Keep your attention going. Then you’ll be golden.”

Chloe hummed. “Makes sense....”

“How about this?” Marinette offered. “We’re stuck in these blocks for the next month anyway. You kick my ass and make me sleep and ask for help, and I’ll kick your ass and motivate you to focus on your work.”

“The minute you said “kick your ass” you had me,” Chloe smirked. 

And Marinette actually laughed -- a bright, light-hearted laughter that Chloe didn’t think she’d heard in ages. It sounded foreign and refreshing all at once, and she vaguely realized that she was the one to cause it. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Marinette grinned, bringing her coffee cup up for a toast.

Chloe rolled her eyes, but knocked her cup against Marinette’s before taking a huge sip. 

She was sure it wasn’t going to take much effort to get used to this.