#like. its very obvious the real problem here is you feel threatened by these guys

[youngpettyqueen]

Malcolm ilu but ur being a lil bitch and not in the fun way

[qqueenofhades]

Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

[hyuckssunchip]

눈빛

~the expression of one’s eyes

Pairings: Mark x Reader, ft. Johnny

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, unrequited love

Synopsis:

It wasn’t as if Mark couldn’t see it, in fact he was almost sure that Johnny could see it too. The way that you looked at him. At Johnny.

“Horror or Rom-com tonight?” You turned to face Johnny, dressed in his familiar pajamas, plaid didn’t do him justice.

“I dunno, it’s your night to choose.” Your eyes followed his figure, and you admired the messy hairdo you had gotten so used to.

“Horror? Are you up for some nightmares tonight?” He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat at the sound.

You giggled at his response, but he recognized the nervous look on your face.

“Don’t worry I’ll keep you safe, just like old times.” He plopped on the cushion next to you, his body flushed against yours. This was nothing new, his warmth was a familiar feeling, but you could never get used to the butterflies that the contact sent through you.

“Remember that time you thought that Pennywise was hiding under your bed?” He snorted at the memory of you huddled on the couch in the middle of the night, begging for him to stay up with you.

“That was stupid, and I told you I didn’t like clowns.” You grumbled, wrapping the blanket around you tighter, trying to ignore the teasing looks.

“Sure, so I’m guessing you don’t like ghosts either?” He nudged you, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’m fine with ghosts.” You mocked back, but the hint of fear was evident in your voice.

“Great! I know a great movie then!” He moved towards the remote, checking out your reaction from the side of his eye.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, sinking further into the couch.

You were interrupted by the soft slam of the front door. 

“Johnny?” You turned at the sound of a new voice.

“Oh, hey Mark. We’re about to watch a movie, wanna join? It’s horror.” He sang the last part, taunting you.

“Oh.” The awkward tension didn’t leave, and you turned to face Johnny, indicating you wanted to be introduced.

“Oh. Y/N this is Mark, Mark Y/N.” Johnny went back to the TV searching for the movie and leaving you and Mark to awkwardly acknowledge each other.

“Hi.” You let out a soft whisper, waving a shy hand at the newcomer.

“Hi.” But all he could do was stare back, a tiny smile adorning his face. You returned his smile, and turned to Johnny, digging your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What?” He flinched, rubbing his ribs and giving you a teasing glare. You nodded your head in Mark’s direction.

“Mark, you gonna join?” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” He stuttered out, glancing between the two of you as he fell into the seat adjacent from you.

The starting credits of the movie began, lighting up your faces. Throughout the movie you had dug yourself into Johnny’s side, his arm making its way around your shoulders, laughing at the way you used him as a shield. 

“You could’ve said no to ghosts.” He whispered in your ear, with a teasing grin on his face. 

“Shut up.” You smacked his chest.

From the other couch Mark watched your interaction, the way that you looked at him, the way that you held onto him.

“Oh, hi.” You were startled, looking up from the comfortable position on the couch.

“Hi.” You winced at the awkwardness, suddenly wishing you hadn’t showed up to Johnny’s place early.

Mark slowly sat down on the other couch, as if he was worried that you didn’t want him there. Which wasn’t exactly true, but also not far from the truth.

“Are you waiting for Johnny?” He asked, choosing to look at anything but you.

“Yeah, it’s movie night again, but he said he was running late.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at the plant on the coffee table.

“Oh.”

The silence was heavy. Normally you weren’t this awkward, but apparently your social ineptness and his just made things worse.

You giggled at the thought and as a way to relieve the tension.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows, worried that he had done something.

“Nothing.” But you couldn’t help but giggle again. The laughter was contagious and soon you found each other’s company comfortable.

You wiped the small tear that was threatening to escape, “Oh my god, my cheeks hurt.” You shook your head, the last half an hour you and Mark had been laughing non-stop, bantering as if you had known each other as long as you and Johnny had.

He had the biggest grin on his face, a goofy look that you thought was sweet.

“What’s going on here?” Johnny entered, chucking his back by the entrance. He commanded attention, pulling you and Mark away.

“We were just talking about you actually.” You smirked, winking at Mark.

“Hey, that’s not nice. What’d you talk about?” At the sound of the both of your laughter Johnny had wielded one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. He felt content at the sight of the two people he loved most being happy. 

“Oh, just some things… like that time where we went swimming and you-” His hand slapped over your mouth as he sent you a glare.

Mark doubled over in laughter, as you ripped his hand away from your face. “I already told him, it’s not new news.” You laughed at the look of horror on his face.

“You said you’d take that to the grave!” He threw an accusing finger at you.

“Oops. I lied.” You giggled at his face.

“Whatever. Horror night again I guess.” He smirked at the way your face fell.

“No, it’s my turn to pick.” You whined at him, to which he promptly shook his finger at you.

“Uh-uh, you lost that privilege the moment you opened your mouth.” He reached for the remote, quickly trying to find the movie.

You pouted, crossing your arm over your chest. “Whatever.” The smile grew on your face as you made eye contact with a very red-faced Mark, who looked as if he was going to combust from holding in his laughter. “It was worth it.”

Mark snorted, unable to keep it in. “I can’t believe you-” But the rest of his sentence couldn’t be heard, his own laughter ruining the story. 

“Whooo.” He calmed himself, dabbing the undersides of his eyes dry.

“Okay. You done now?” Johnny teased sarcastically. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the grin that stretched over his face.

“Yeah.” But the tips of Mark’s lips never went down.

“Where are you going?” Johnny shouted at your back as you tried to leave the apartment.

“Mark’s taking me bowling. We’re going to practice so we can whoop your ass next Friday.” You shouted back, shoving your feet into your worn shoes, victims of your lack of patience.

He smiled at the sound of the door slamming, pleased that you two were getting along great. He wanted so badly for your friendship to work out, and possibly move to something more. Mark wasn’t exactly shy in the way that he looked at you, or talked about you. And Johnny could think of no one better he would approve of.

But the problem wasn’t with Mark, it was you. You were oblivious to his feelings, and even more so to your own. No matter how much time you spent with Mark, you told yourself that your heart belonged to someone else. No matter how wrong that was, you had convinced yourself that what you felt was love, and it wasn’t possible to feel that way for anyone else.

“You know I think you should get out there, I mean I know a really great guy that would be perfect for you.” You frowned at his words, not liking the sound of it.

You hated the way he was pushing you into a random relationship, especially when you just wanted nothing more than for him to reciprocate your feelings. But he was doing the opposite. 

“I don’t want to get with a random guy.” You tried to push the idea away and move away from the topic.

“But you can’t just keep hanging out with me,” He frowned at your scowl, “I just want to do you a favor, I think you’ll really like him.”

“I don’t want to, Johnny. I’ll get into a relationship when I want to.” You pushed back, grabbing your phone as a distraction.

“When is that gonna be? You can’t just wait forever.” He tried to get your attention.

“Who says I’m waiting? I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy.” You snapped at him, his words now hitting a little too close to home.

“I’m not saying you’re not happy, just that you should find someone that can love you the way you deserve.”

You tensed at his words, not quite yet understanding where that was coming from.

“I know, and I’ll find that when it comes along.”

“I can’t do that for you.” He let out, biting his bottom lip.

Your heart stopped and suddenly you felt your chest tighten. 

“So you knew.” You felt hot tears of embarrassment threaten to fall. 

“Y/N…” There was a pleading tone as he realized your hurt, but that didn’t stop him from his next words, “It was hard not to.”

You swore you heard your heart break. “How long?” You croaked out.

“A long time Y/N.” He faltered out, watching your expression fall.

The feeling of betrayal hit you hard, and unable to reach his eyes anymore you turned on your heel, just narrowly missing his outreaching grasp.

“Y/N…” He paused, noticing the way you hesitated. It was hard not to, after all your feelings were still so strong and so real.

But he never finished, and you took that as a sign that the conversation, or whatever this situation was, was over. 

It was only natural for you to find comfort in the person that seemed to know you best after Johnny. Mark.

“I was talking to Haechan yester- hey, what’s wrong?” Mark immediately found your eyes, a pool of empathy that you longed for.

You sniffled and your bottom lip trembled as you tried to speak. “He...Johnny.” That was all you got out before your voice was swallowed by a sob.

He reached out for you tentatively, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. You automatically melt into his embrace.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, softer than before, but just as genuine.

“Johnny found out I like him…” You faltered, not wanting to come to terms with his rejection.

You were terrified at the sight of his face, he wasn’t at all shocked at your confession.

“Was I that obvious?” You asked, moving to wipe the streaks off your face.

He sighed, trying not to meet your desperate eyes. “I mean…”

Your shoulders dropped, face heating in embarrassment. “Does everyone know? Am I just that transparent?” 

“So what if you wear your heart on your sleeve? What’s wrong with that?” He leaned down to make eye contact, trying to console you.

“He doesn’t…”

You didn’t finish, but he didn’t need you to. Once again, his arms wrapped around you and he swayed you in embrace for a moment of silence.

Although he hesitated to ask, he desperately wants to know the answer to the question on his mind. His timing wasn’t great, but he’s human too. 

“Do you… still like him?” He asked the top of your head, not daring to move as he felt you stiffen.

“Yeah…”

Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t want to though.” 

“Sometimes you can’t help it.” He mumbled, some of his own truth behind his words. “The heart wants what it wants right?”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N.”

You froze, it was too early for you. You knew the moment you laid eyes on him you would break again.

“Are you mad?” He asked gently to your back, although you couldn’t see him, the Johnny you knew was genuine. 

You sighed, it was soon, but you wanted to be able to hold yourself together for this conversation.

“No.” It came out as a squeak and you flinched at the sound of your vulnerable voice.

“I don’t want… I don’t want our friendship to be like this. I don’t want things to change.” Your heart sank at his words, although he had good intentions you knew the meaning behind them. That anything more than a friendship was never going to happen.

“I can’t do this right now.” You whispered out, sliding past the door. You felt your throat tighten involuntarily and a sob escaped you as you ran down the hallway, bumping into Mark on the way.

“Y/N?”

You continued past him, not wanting to take the chance that Johnny had followed you.

But the steps caught up with you, and you found a pair of arms enveloped you from behind and your shoulders sank in defeat.

“Y/N?” You relaxed at the familiar voice. You turned around in his arms, choosing to wrap your arms around his waist. You fit snug against his chest, the warmth and his heartbeat calming you.

“Shhh…. It’s okay.” He patted the back of your head, raking his hands slightly through your hair.

You simply hummed, not able to formulate a sentence yet. Together you rocked silence, slowly but surely calming you.

“I’m just not ready.” You answered eventually, muffled into his chest.

“It’s okay.” He murmured back.

“I want to be ready to face him, but it still hurts.”

“Y/N, just take your time, you don’t have to be ready yet.” He comforted you, ignoring the own pain that he felt.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, sniffling as you pulled away. You laughed nervously wiping your nose, “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He giggled back, trying to make you feel better, “My shirt isn’t worth your apology. I’ll be your human tissue any time.”

You smiled shyly at his words, and you felt a small flutter in your stomach.

Another week had passed before your dreaded conversation with Johnny arrived. You finally felt ready to face the truth, but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared for the change that came with it. You weren’t stupid, awknowledging this meant that things weren’t going to be the same between you two. As scary as that was, nothing was going to get fixed if you avoided it.

“I- I don’t know where to start.” You had never seen Johnny so shy or confused. You were used to him being the powerhouse, the moodmaker. And it hurt you to see him look so defeated.

“Then let me. I have some things to get off my chest, and I honestly don’t know if I can do it if I don’t say it now.” You sighed, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

He nodded, letting you take your time.

“It just hurt, you know. Like not only was it one-sided, but I just kinda felt betrayed that you played along with it. If you knew the way I looked at you and you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t have to play into it so much.” You paused, still looking at the ground. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want things to change. I love our friendship, and I never wanted something to come between us. I thought for sure things would get weird if I said something. I mean, look at us now.” He let out a nervous laugh, something that you couldn’t reciprocate.

“But don’t you think it would’ve been better to let me know, so I didn’t feel like you played with me and my feelings?” You felt bitter when reminiscing the moments he made your heart flutter.

“I never once meant to play with your feelings, I swear. I know it looks really bad, and it didn’t help stop your feelings when I acted like that. But I truly didn’t do it to mess with you, or purposely hurt you.” He reached for your hands, grasping you softly. “I didn’t want things to be like this, I just figured that you would find someone else and forget about me. I mean that’s what I hoped.” 

You faltered at his words, heartbroken that he wished that your feelings would just fade. 

“I know it was stupid, and it was harsh, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you and I thought this was the best way.”

You pulled your hands from his, fiddling with your fingers. But slowly you nodded, starting to understand him. Of course Johnny wouldn’t do that to you on purpose, you could trust him.

You watched as his expression visibly fell, and you wanted so badly to comfort him. “I know that you meant well, I just wish it didn’t come out like this, I wish you would’ve just told me. But I get that you didn’t want to hurt our friendship and I know this is probably better. I don’t think that there would’ve ever been the right time to tell me. It just hurts, you know. It would’ve hurt at any time though.”

You sighed at your admission, realizing that this was inevitable. With your feelings and your relationship with Johnny, this was inevitable, it was only a matter of when and how.

“I don’t want to say sorry for being hurt, or say sorry for having feelings for you, my feelings were valid. But I do want to say I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I should have come to terms with it a long time ago but... I didn’t want to.”

He smiled sadly back at you. “Can things go back anytime soon? I don’t want things to be weird between us. I would hate our friendship to end.”

“Me too. I do think that it’ll take some time for things to go back to normal, if it will. But I want everything to work out the way it did before, and I’ll try.” You gave him a small smile, a means of offering your attempt in saving your relationship.

“Don’t be stupid. I told you it’ll never work, you’re just wasting your time.” You snorted at the loud thud that followed your words.

“I’m telling you, balancing upside down won’t get rid of your hiccups, what kind of logic is that?” Mark moaned in pain from his position on the floor, now sprawled out.

“Then what do I do?” He rubbed his head, face still red from the blood rushing to his face.

“Uh I don’t know, learn to live with it?” You snickered at the look he gave you.

“Uh… why is Mark on the floor?” Johnny walked in, staring between the two of you with a weird look on his face.

“He’s trying to get rid of hiccups.” You replied, leaning over the back of the couch to get a good glimpse at Mark.

“That doesn’t work.” Johnny said confidently, “I’ve tried.” He plopped on your right, staring down at the hiccuping boy, who glared back.

He wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you into a soft headlock. 

Things were still different than before, but you were starting to go back to normal. His touch no longer sent flutters through your stomach and you smiled at the interaction. 

“What you need to do is hold your breath.” He motioned to the way he was holding you, “I can help you out with that.” 

Mark glared at the older boy, “No thanks, I rather enjoy breathing.”

He rolled over and slowly sat himself up, leaning back on his hands. He cleared his throat, sparing a glance up at the two of you. “And hands off my girlfriend.” 

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Get Me To Church, I’ve Done So Many Bad Things It Hurts

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: you guys, idk what this is. I only know it’s not what I initially planned. Title is from Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me To Church”, which hijacked this story’s initial plot. It reminds me of Wilhemina, and it’s a very good song <3

Word count: ~ 5 400

Your brain no longer was a brain but fucking mush. Mush that stunk and made one want to throw up at first sight. You had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since you had been sent to Outpost 3 a few months ago. You were running on a few hours of rest snatched here and there and on the disgusting, weird food cubes. At this point, when someone talked to you, you would gap at them until your brain suddenly gave a start and registered their words. Your body felt twice its weight. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Days went by looking exactly alike. You would get out of bed, meet the others, try to have a talk, listen to the same song over and over again. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Stare at a book maybe, open it, stare at a page, fail to understand a single sentence. You would wait for time to pass. Complain with Coco or Andre or that guy whose name you couldn’t remember even though you had been living together for months now. One day, Coco and you decided to exercise by running up and down a staircase, but you didn’t last more than five minutes before you dropped on the floor, panting. You didn’t try again. You lacked the motivation.

Sit at the table, eat your cube. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Go to bed. You were going crazy. You could no longer tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination.

In truth, there was one thing at least you knew was real. The butterflies in your stomach every time Venable – freaking Venable, of all people – so much as walked into the room you were in.

It was terrible. Why her, why you, you did not know. The only thing you knew was that you were falling hard for her, for that sadistic, mean, scary woman.

In typical mush-brain fashion, you couldn’t string two sentences together when she would ask you a question and her dark eyes would bore into you. You would laugh stupidly or give one-word answers. You would trip over your own feet when you passed her in a corridor.

So, really, it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that she hated you even more than she seemed to hate the others. For starters, she never looked at you. When she did, her eyes were as cold as the North Pole. Icy winds and all that. And when she talked to you, her voice was always so condescending, so sarcastic, as if she knew you were the most idiotic idiot at the Outpost. She probably wondered every minute of every day why you had been chosen to survive. It was a mystery to you, too.

But then – but this was part of your imagination. It must be. There was no rational explanation. For the wistful look on her face you had caught a glimpse of, once, when you had turned and shot her a glance. She had been staring at you. Or for the faint blush that had risen to her cheeks when you had accidentally – accidentally? – brushed past her, way too close to her, on your hurried way to the bathroom. Or for that one time, that blissful, ethereal time – but that had been a dream, it must have been, you had passed out from exhaustion and dreamed – when she, coming out of her room, and you of yours, had paused with her hand on the doorknob, and raised her head, met your eyes, and smiled. Not her mocking, cruel smile. But a fond, almost shy smile. A genuine smile, reflected in her eyes. This you were sure you had dreamed. Were you?  

You were falling for her. Love, intimacy, would make things more tolerable. You craved a strong, true connection with someone, and part of you was convinced you could have it with her.

In the past few evenings Venable had made a habit of joining you in the music room as you whiled the time away before bed. She wouldn’t say anything, merely sit and read a book. The first time she had done it, you and the others had exchanged half surprised, half worried looks. What was she doing? Studying you? Deciding which one of you she would cook for dinner? You didn’t know. Her presence had made you all uncomfortable at first, but now you were used to it. You ignored her, just as she ignored you.

She always, always sat facing you.

And you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Marvel at the beauty and neatness of her. Your eyes would travel down her body and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild and your head fill with want. For. Her.

Her eyes never met yours, not even once.  

One evening as you sat brooding and she sat reading facing you, and the others chatted about some boring things, and the music, the music went “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”, you abruptly jumped on your feet to stretch your upper body. The sudden movement surprised Venable, who looked up at you. You met her eyes and gave her a goofy smile. She scowled.

“In your mind you have capacities,” you heard yourself sing to the music.

“But do you, Y/N?” Venable sneered.

That shut you up. You straightened up and glared at her. “Do you have, like, a problem with me?” you asked in an annoyed voice.

“Do you mean apart from your obvious lack of brain cells?”

“Why are you always so mean?” you heard yourself whine.

“Oh, boo hoo,” Venable cooed. “Poor you. Look at you, standing among the few who have been allowed to survive the Apocalypse. Do you really think I should feel sorry for you?”

You considered that. “No,” you grumbled.

“No, Ms Venable.”

You didn’t know what came over you then. Probably it was a mix of exhaustion, anger, frustration and want. Your hands clenched into fists. In what was both the bravest and stupidest moment of your life, you retorted, “Bite me.”

Someone in the room gasped, and then chuckled. Venable’s eyes went wide with shock. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were dead meat, you knew that. So really you couldn’t make things worse by adding: “I’m sorry. I meant, bite me, Ms Venable.”

Impressive. You were a genius. Gosh, you needed sleep.

You couldn’t meet Venable’s eyes. Instead you stared at Andre, who was gawping at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Coco give you a thumbs-up. You smiled shyly at her.

“Right,” you said. “Um. Goodnight.”

You hurried out of the room before someone could call you back. Your heart was beating too fast in your chest, but you couldn’t really understand why. You needed sleep.

You closed the door of your bedroom behind you and collapsed on your bed.

**

You couldn’t sleep.

It was always the same: you were exhausted all day, but the minute your head touched your pillow, your brain roared back into life. Someone in your head turned the light on. You were wide awake.

You groaned and turned on the bed. You didn’t have the slightest idea what time it was or how long you had lain under the sheet. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been a century. You turned again, forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bite me, Ms Venable. Damn it, you were such a fool when you were exhausted! You had survived the bloody Apocalypse and now you were about to die for something so, so stupid. Venable was probably plotting your death right now. She would order you out of the Outpost and condemn you to a horrible death among the repugnant creatures that haunted the nuclear winter outside. In your current state, you wouldn’t last a day. You’d trip over something and break your neck or get stabbed by the first hungry person you’d meet.

Fear clenched your stomach. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t feel like giving up on life yet. Even if the world as you had known it was gone, even if there was almost no hope of a bright, safe future. God, you wanted to live.

You sprang out of bed before you knew what you were doing and ran to the door. Locked it. Looked around the room for things to build a barricade with. The chair would do, and if you could move that huge chest of drawers –

You heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards you. And something else, unmistakable. The sound of a cane.

Shit. Your whole body froze with fear. Then your hand automatically reached for a decorative statuette close-by, that had sharp angles and that you could use as a weapon if need be. The footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at your door.

You waited, heart hammering in your chest. Venable must have a spare key, of course she must. You stared at the doorknob, expecting it to move, expecting the door to open, on Venable standing tall and threatening and radiating off anger and satisfaction. How so very beautiful she would look.

Nothing happened.

What was she doing? You couldn’t hear anything but the mad pounding of your heart. Had you imagined her footsteps? The sound of her cane? But you had been so sure –

One of your hands came up to press against the door. Fingers splayed out, palm pressing against the cold, hard surface. To try and feel her through the wood.

You waited. Your heartbeat was drumming against the wood. And it was slowing down, and your eyes were fluttering closed, for she was here – just behind the door, and you could almost see her, her eyes on the doorknob, the spare key in her hand, her lips slightly parted. It was as if your soul had connected with hers and now they were softly singing to each other.

There was a sound like a sigh. Before you knew it you had unlocked the door and opened it.

Venable stood in front of you with her left hand in the air, a few inches further to the left than yours had been. She met your eyes in surprise as her fingers curled up. She lowered her hand, and schooled her features.

You decided your safest option was to play it cool.

“I thought I heard a noise,” you said, assuming a casual expression.

“I was on my way to bed,” Venable answered. A pause. “I saw your light was on through the gap under your door.”

She didn’t sound particularly mad or threatening. Relief flooded your chest. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill you, after all. Maybe you’d been over-reacting.

Her eyes fell on the statuette you were still holding.

“What’s this?” she asked very slowly. Her eyes met yours again. They were dark, her eyes. The darkest eyes you had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she repeated, louder. You started.

“Oh, uh.” You raised the statuette to your chest and shrugged. Play it cool. “I don’t know why I’m holding this.” You tried to laugh. It came out nervous and foolish. “Must have been sleepwalking or something.”

Venable’s gaze was boring into you, piercing your skin, piercing your veins, piercing your bones. You felt too hot suddenly. You laughed again. Then it finally dawned on you.

“My light isn’t on,” you said.

You always kept one candle burning when you slept, but its light was very faint. There was no way Venable could have seen it from the lit corridor.

Her face didn’t change. “It’s not?” she said in a toneless voice.

You shook your head. “I’m afraid not.”

She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. Her grip on her cane tightened just so.

“Were you planning on attacking someone with this?” she asked, nodding at the statuette.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” you answered, holding her gaze.

“I cannot think of any other use you could have for it.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Has someone threatened you?”

You scoffed. Gave her a look as if to say the joke wasn’t good. She narrowed her eyes uncomprehendingly.  

“Um, let’s see.” You folded your arms as you pretended to think. The statuette dug in your chest. “Maybe I’ve gone just a little bit too far with someone who’s quite obsessed with hierarchy.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her.

“You thought I was going to –“She didn’t finish her sentence, her laugh lingering on her lips as the incredulity reached her eyes.    

“Well,” you retorted, leaning your hip against the doorframe, “you did have those two Greys shot the other day for making love.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “For breaking one of your rules. So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly safe right now.”

The smile vanished from her face. She closed her mouth, stared at you. Your eyes shifted to her lips. Back up to her eyes. You licked your lips.

“I wouldn’t have you killed merely for being stupid,” she said after a short moment.

How were her cheekbones so sharp? Her eyes so dark? You swore whomever had made her was the most talented artist and the cruelest asshole in the whole goddamn universe. How many years it must have taken, how much sweat, how many skills, how much patience and love, to make her.

You cleared your throat. What had she just said? Called you stupid. Wouldn’t have you killed. Something like that. You couldn’t remember.

“My light wasn’t on,” you said mechanically, “so why did you stop at my door?”

If the question surprised or unsettled her, she didn’t show it.

“I thought it was on,” she answered without missing a beat. She paused. “You thought I was going to have you killed?”

“Um, maybe.”

Her eyes fell on the statuette again. When they met yours, you swore you saw something like sadness deep into the black. She blinked, and the sadness disappeared.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

You realized you didn’t want her to go. What if you invited her to come in? What if you told her about your insomnia, and asked her to help you while the night away? Merely have a talk with her. Merely sit by her side, and watch her, and share secrets with her. Show her you weren’t as stupid as she must think you were. You could light dozens of candles and watch the light dance on her face. Have her relax, make her laugh. And maybe if things went well, at the break of dawn you could lay your head on her lap, and certainly then sleep would find you.

You assumed a nonchalant expression. “Well then, goodnight to you,” you said with a smile that hurt your mouth.

She nodded, turned and walked off.

You listened to her footsteps fade away. You let out a long, shaky breath, and closed your door.

For a very long time you stayed with your back against the door, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The sadness you had seen in Venable’s eyes haunted you. You tried to think of something else. What you would do tomorrow. Boring. That summer holiday you had spent in Spain with your best-friend. Venable’s hair in the flickering light of the candles. Venable’s face. Venable’s eyes. How you absolutely adored the fact that she could stand up to anyone. Venable’s eyes. The sadness in her eyes.

You groaned. You had half a mind to bang your head on the door to knock yourself out and finally get some sleep. Perhaps you could go to Venable’s room and apologise. Tell her you hadn’t meant to question her authority. You’d like to see her again.

It was a stupid idea. Lack of sleep made you so, so stupid. She would be angry, would order you out, slam her door in your face, maybe hit you with her cane. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You tip-toed down the corridor till you reached her door. It was slightly ajar, which surprised you. Heart beating fast, you opened it just enough to peek into the room.

Venable was sitting on the floor by the dark fireplace, her head bent, her hands joined on her lap. What was she doing on the floor? Surely the position couldn’t be good for her back. Then you noticed that her lips were moving, forming silent words, as if she were praying. Her eyes were closed.

The flickering light from the candles threw shadows on her face. Patches of black and red and orange vacillating and oscillating. Touching her face, fleeing to the walls. You watched her in silence, at a loss for what to do or what to think. You heard her sniffle, saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek.

There was something so fragile about the scene in front of you. To see this woman who was always so proud, and so strong, and so dominating, murmuring silent words to herself on the floor in the dead of night. Or maybe those words weren’t for herself. Maybe they were addressed to someone else, whoever would listen, whoever would take the time to stop and lend an ear. Was she asking for strength? For mercy? Salvation? Her back was leaning slightly forward just like the backs of worshippers you had seen in churches.

Her lips stopped moving for a moment. She opened her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall in front of her. You saw her bite her lower lip, saw her take a shaky breath. The silent murmuring started again.

You scratched your arm nervously. You knew you should leave, and erase from your mind this private moment you had no right to witness. Part of you felt like a thief. But your legs seemed to be frozen. You could not move them.

So you watched her. At one point she coughed softly, and the next two words came out loud enough for you to hear them: “Let me...”

Was she praying? You didn’t think she was a religious person. Why should she be? She had helped bring on the Apocalypse and had not received so much as a word of complaint from God. You squinted at her in the dim light, your body instinctively leaning towards her, your hands coming up to grip at the doorframe. Your heart was pushing against your ribs as if it wished to burst free from your chest and wrap around her.

Venable paused, sighed, went on murmuring. Once again her words reached you. “…soothe and let it save me so she can think it acceptable to love me.”

Your clammy palm slipped on the doorframe, unbalancing you. You gasped in a breath. Venable’s head jerked to the side. Her eyes locked with yours.

You could have screamed. Surprise then anger then fear flashed across Venable’s face as you took a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you tried to find something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. For a moment there was only silence, and you and she holding each other’s gaze.

Venable’s face closed up. She stood up, supporting herself on her cane, so calm, so composed. It was impressive, the tight grip she kept on her emotions. Always so perfectly in control of herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a firm voice.  

“I –“you stuttered, “I – I’m sorry, I just – I, uh, saw your light was on.”

That was a risky answer, and you knew it. But today had been crazy, and any minute now Venable would unleash her wrath and it would destroy you. You had nothing left to lose. So you held her gaze, her inscrutable, unreadable gaze, admiring even now the flickers of candlelight that danced across the black.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you heard yourself say, your voice coming from far, far away. “I’ve not been able to sleep for quite a while. So I roam the corridors to try and distract myself, and I saw your light was on.” A pause. “What were you doing?”

Venable’s expression didn’t change. She took her time to answer, and you waited, waited for the inevitable anger, the inevitable punishment. You felt too distanced from yourself to be afraid.

“That is none of your business,” Venable said eventually. She turned away from you. “Go back to your room.”

That brought you back to yourself. Your soul crashed back into your body.

“Is that all?” you blurted out. “Go back to my room? Aren’t you going to, like,…” You didn’t finish your sentence, but she must have understood, because she turned to face you and shot you a somewhat outraged look.

“You seem so very certain I mean to hurt you,” she said sharply.

“Er, well.” You folded your arms on your chest and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “In the last few hours I disrespected you and burst into your privacy. And, no offence, but you don’t strike me as a kitten kind of person.”

“Kitten?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” You brought a nervous hand up to scratch your head. “Fluffy and cute, cuddly and helpless.”

She stared at you as if you were stupid. “Kittens scratch you for no reason.”

“Yeah, but...”You shook your head at yourself.”Never mind, don’t mind me. I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

Long seconds passed. None of you moved. You both held your ground, staring at each other. Waiting.

Your mouth opened again. “I don’t know whether I should run away from you or towards you.”  

She didn’t react. Didn’t answer. She kept staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you repeated. “May I stay here and sleep with you?”

Her expression did shatter at that. She blinked in surprise, then in consternation.

“Uh, I mean, not like that,” you stammered. “I mean sleep as in actually sleep. Uh, get some shuteye.”

Venable let out another one of her small, incredulous laughs. “No, you may not,” she answered sharply.

“Right, of course. Stupid me.” You tried to laugh, ended up choking on your own spit.”Sorry. Uh, forget about all this.” You quickly turned to go.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” came Venable’s voice. You stopped.

“Gosh, I know,” you breathed.”I’m sorry.” You waited. No reply came, so you started to walk away.

“I may have a few sleeping pills, if you think they can help,” Venable called after you.

You turned on your heel and rushed back into her room. “Yes, please, I’d be very grateful. Thank you.”

Venable nodded, walked into the ensuite bathroom. You heard the sound of a drawer opening, some fumbling, and then she was back into the room holding a small pill box.

She dropped one pill in your extended hand. “Try this tonight. I can give you more tomorrow if it works.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers curled around the pill as her eyes bore into yours. You almost reached out to touch her cheek. Almost.

But then your breath hitched. For that was it, wasn’t it? Her punishment. Her revenge. You glanced down at the pill in your hand. Poison. It had to be.

You glanced back up at her, and your thoughts must have shown on your face, for her eyes momentarily glazed over with the same sadness as before.  

“This is hydroxyzine,” she snapped.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Do you think some of my rules are too harsh?” she asked suddenly.

You blinked at her. “Well, I mean…” You paused a second, considering. You chose honesty.” Most of them are useful, I’ll give you that. But, Ms Venable, the copulation rule? People being shot for, what, loving each other? Finding comfort in each other?” You took one step towards her, growing irritated. “Those two Greys didn’t deserve death. They did nothing wrong. And what’s so bad about copulation, anyway? What’s so wrong with affection? Intimacy?”

You paused, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were very big and shining in the candlelight. They were different, now. It was that sadness again. She looked almost sad.

“Tell me, what’s wrong with this?” You reached out and laid the pad of your index on her right wrist. She tensed up, her hand tightening around the knob of her cane. Her eyes grew bigger still.

You swallowed, refusing to lower your gaze, as you slowly ran your finger down her hand, circled one of her knuckles, moved to the next. You could feel her shaking under your touch, her skin soft and hot.  

“This never hurt anyone,” you said softly. Her brow tightened, just so. She made as if to withdraw her hand from your touch. Your finger stuttered, your eyes questioning hers. Well, maybe affection had hurt her. Undoubtedly it had. You could read it in her eyes.  

You removed your hand, but she captured it in hers and brought it up close to her mouth.

“We cannot possibly take the risk of having to deal with a herd of babies, can we, Y/N?” she said very slowly. Her breath grazed your knuckles and sent a shiver down your spine. Her grip on your hand was strong.

“We can’t, Wilhemina,” you heard yourself say.

Wilhemina. How did you remember her Christian name? She had told it to you exactly once, on the day of your arrival at the Outpost. Months ago. And it wasn’t a very common name.

“But then again, Wilhemina,” you went on, “you and I would never have this problem.”

Venable brought your hand up to her mouth, her gaze burning into yours, and sank her teeth into your skin.

“Ow!” you yapped. “What the…”

She tightened her grip on your hand to hold it back. A smirk crept up her lips.

“Bite me,” she said, her mouth hot and damp against your skin. “That’s what you said. So, here.” She did let go of your hand, then. You held it protectively to your chest, smoothing it over your shirt. “Happy to oblige.” She turned away from you.

You watched her in consternation as she bent over her bed, apparently rearranging the pillows. Her teeth had left a row of white marks on your hand. A moment passed, until she straightened up and met your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, almost teasingly. And with that she sent you off.

**

“You’re still alive,” Coco said in surprise the morning after.

“You’re very observant,” you mumbled, slumping onto the chair next to her. You still felt a bit woolly because of the hydroxyzine. But at least you had slept.

“You’ve been observing our Earth”, sang the female voice from the radio.

“This song will drive me crazy,” you groaned. “Can’t we turn it off?”

“And we’d like to make a contact with you,” the voice retorted.

You straightened your shoulders as Venable walked into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on you. You held it, not sure what to think of the night before, her helping you, her biting you for God’s sake – mechanically you massaged the back of your hand where her teeth had sunk. And those words you had overhead. They had been addressed to someone else, but you couldn’t help but hope she had been talking about you.

You thought you saw something in her eyes, eagerness perhaps, as she walked towards you. She stopped in front of you and tapped her cane on the floor.

“Good-morning,” she said. You gave her a smile in answer, then lowered your eyes to study your nails. You could feel her gaze on your face.

“How did you sleep?” she went on in a casual voice that sounded just a tiny bit strained, as if she were uncomfortable or nervous.

You squinted at her, fighting back an amused smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

You were vaguely aware of the hush that had fallen upon the room. There was more to it, too, some sort of tension, expectant and apprehensive, a holding of one’s breath as one waits for something the nature of which one isn’t really certain of.

“We’ve been observing your Earth, and one night we’ll make a contact with you,” the robotic, distorted alien voice burst out.

“Good,” Venable answered. “I am glad to hear that.”

A pause. The pause stretched.

“Maybe now some of my brain cells will finally kick back into life, “you prompted.

Venable blinked. “We can only hope so,” she answered after a while.

The smile you had been holding back danced across your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Coco shoot you a perplexed look, saw her contort her face as if to ask, “what the hell is happening?”

Venable’s cane tapped on the floor. “Everyone, please,” she called, “I have an announcement to make. Some good news for you all.”

Excited whispers filled the room. You straightened in your seat. Venable waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then spoke with pride in her voice. “To renew with tradition and entertain you, we will now have board games nights. Whist, backgammon, chess.”

Was she… actually trying to be nice? Giving you all something to look forward to? A bit of fun, to help pass the time? You almost gawked at her.

She’s trying, a voice whispered in your head. What was it she had said? Make it acceptable to love her. You were vaguely aware of the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Excuse me,” Coco blurted out, “I thought you’d said ‘good news’, not ‘you’re now officially living in a shitty Jane Austen novel’.”

Venable glared at her. You caught just a flash of pain in her eyes.  

“I think it’s a good idea,” you retorted before Venable had time to. “It’ll keep our minds distracted.”

“I don’t even know what whist and backgammon are,” said Andre. “And I’ve never played chess.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Venable sneered. “It will be the perfect opportunity to inject some knowledge into your vacuous brain.”

“Not as vacuous as that,” Andre retorted angrily, “seeing as you filled it with my boyfriend’s own brain.”

You had never seen Andre stand up to Venable before. Like the others, he had been too scared of her to dare contradict her. But now his voice was openly belligerent, his eyes shooting daggers at her, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair as if he were contemplating standing up. Something had changed, and it didn’t take you long to realize you were the cause. Or rather, Venable’s behavior to you. You had been insolent to her, and she had not punished you. She had not even verbally abused you.  

“What will it take,” Venable enunciated, “for you to finally understand me when I say that I did not feed you Stu?”

“Then where is he?” Andre growled, jumping to his feet, “And what was in the fucking stew?”

“Alright, okay, calm down,” you spoke, rising too, and holding out a hand in front of Andre. “I’ll teach you chess, okay? I know chess, I can teach you. Just, relax, man. Gosh.”

Andre glared at you. You raised your eyebrows at him. For a minute he stayed still, hands clenched into fists, and then he let out a breath and moved back to his chair.  

Coco threw her hands up in the air. “Board games nights it is,” she said sarcastically.

You turned to Venable. She was studying you, her expression strange, as if she could not quite decide between anger and gratefulness.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said, her eyes locked with yours, “I do not need your help when it comes to dealing with idiots.”

You took your time to answer, to think of the right words to say. A smile crept up your lips again, and this time you let it.              

And you knew everyone in the room would be able to hear you. But you didn’t care. Blame it on the hydroxyzine. Blame it on the freaking interplanetary and most extraordinary occupants. The world had ended. You were exhausted. And you were falling for her.

When you spoke, your voice was a singsong, as insolent as it had been the evening before. “Why, fuck me, Ms Venable. I know that.”

[write-orflight]

Galileo: Chapter 5

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Light smut, 18+

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Unedited because i’m sleepy. There’s a fic I read when I first joined the fandom that inspired some of this chapter. i can’t remember the name but if you do, please tell me so I can credit. Comment on this chapter only or message to be on taglist please.

                             Chapter 5: Saturn 

There was a rare occurrence that happens sometimes in Space where a Planet will tilt off its axis and disrupt the order of things in the galaxy forever. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn't make it not possible. You had always thought about that phenomenon and how you never quite understood how so many scientists just blindly believed in that possibility with no proof. It wasn’t until that dance with Spencer that you believed in it. If you were the galaxy, that dance was the tilt in your axis. 

Nothing could quite be the same again. 

It seemed that Spencer himself was the disruptor. 

Since that day, everything between the two of you was different. It was simpler. It was too easy to have conversations, to laugh at each other's jokes, to spit inane useless facts at each other. But it also became too easy to melt at Spencer’s bright smile, too easy to stare at his hands as he helped you with your math sometimes, too easy to flush whenever he paid you a compliment on your work. 

Too easy to fall in love with him. 

You didn’t want to think about that but you couldn’t help it. At first, you wanted to chalk it up to you not knowing how to differentiate your feelings. Maybe you just thought you were in love with him because he was the first guy to be nice to you since Jonathan but as the days went on you knew that to not be the case. None of this felt like how you were with Jonathan. With Spencer, it just felt easy. Just felt right. 

It was the weekend so you had off work. Before you would always end up going into work anyway and getting some extra logs in but now you liked staying in and hanging out with Spencer. Right now the two of you were walking in the plaza near your home, fresh cups of coffee in hand. Spencer, at first, did not want to be out but after some convincing (which was just you threatening to leave without him, which he did not like) he was all for joining you out. The two of you stopped in a bookstore and you made a beeline for the astrology section. You hear Spencer scoff when you pick up a book to look through it. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” You say. 

“Astrology, really? Aren’t you a scientist?” 

“Yea, an astronomer. I love Space, so while Astrology isn’t a proven science. It’s fun to think the stars have a say in what kinda person you are.” You shrug. “When’s your birthday?” 

“October 28th.” 

“Of course you’re a Scorpio.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Astrology isn’t real.” 

“You must be real fun at parties.” You roll your eyes. 

“Well, what’s your sign?” 

“I’m a Cancer. Did you know that water signs are the most compatible? Especially Scorpios and Cancers.” 

Spencer laughs out loud at that. You turn looking him in the eye. “What’s funny?” you say. 

“That itself doesn’t tell you that astrology is bullshit?” He laughs. You narrow your eyes at him. “I mean, us, compatible? It’s funny.” 

You try. You try so very hard not to look hurt by his words, you know Spencer’s a profiler and will see right through it. And he does by the sympathetic look he gives you. 

“You’re right, maybe it is bullshit.” You say, putting the book down instantly. “Let’s go home.” 

You and Spencer don’t talk the whole walk home, in fact you don’t talk when you get there. You’re about to just retreat to your room when you feel a hand circle your wrist. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. 

“You didn’t do anything.” 

“I hurt your feelings.” He says. 

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lied. “I’m just with you all the time. Sometimes I just need a minute alone. Is that okay?” 

He lets go of your wrist. “Of course, I’m sorry.” 

You nod and retreat to your room, blowing a heavy breath as you fell into your bed. Might as well take a nap. You thought as you let sleep take you over. 

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

Long, slender fingers found their way into your hair and yanked roughly. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that came behind it. You felt the lips that were sucking hard bruising marks into your neck smirk slightly. His other hand trailed your body lightly until they met their final destination at your sex. You gasp loudly when the digit rubbed soft circles around your clit. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked, you nodded dumbly before moaning out loud when the first digit found its way inside you. Spencer smirked at you. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asked, you nodded and gasped again as he found that spot inside you. “Hmm, I don’t think you want it enough baby.”   

You’re shaking your head immediately. “No. Ple-please fuck me.” You stutter. “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

The smirk he gives you is almost devilish. “Alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says as you feel member pressing up against your sex--

You wake up to the smell of something burning and Spencer shouting expletives from what you assumed was the kitchen. You groaned, frustratedly. Since that day your mom came to visit, you dreamed of Spencer almost constantly. Today was no different. You couldn’t escape him in your waking hours and now it seemed you couldn’t even escape him sleeping. 

You hop out of bed and run to the kitchen. The sight before is Spencer frantically waving the billowing smoke that was coming from your oven. You run to open your window and turn the oven fan on. You both look at the pan that had something that couldn’t even be described as food anymore by the degree of which it was burned. Spencer looked at you guiltily. 

“You seemed upset so I thought I’d make you dinner but I was reading and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You smile at him. “Thank you for thinking of me but I wanted chinese tonight anyway, sound good?”  You say, he nods gratefully. 

Later the two of you are sitting at your kitchen table, eating chinese out of the takeaway containers. You were talking about nothing and everything until the topic came to College. You talked about how freshman year you did the whole partying thing before quickly finding out it wasn’t your scene and keeping to yourself for the rest of your college career. Spencer told you he never went to any parties in college. 

“You never went to any parties?!” You asked, shocked.

“Well, I was 12. No one was really scrambling to invite me to frat parties.” 

“So you didn’t do any traditional college games? No beer pong? No ‘Never Have I Ever’?” You ask, Spencer shakes his head. That’s when you get a fantastic idea. You get up and look in the cabinet above your stove which is where you kept your liquor and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Spencer sees this and immediately shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“Aww, come on. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” You smile. “If you’ve done the thing you drink.” 

“I don’t want to play a remedial drinking game.” 

You think for a second. “How about this? You’re a profiler, right? And I like to think I’m a little observant so how about this. We’ll take turns making assumptions about the other if the person is right, the other drinks and if they’re wrong, you drink.” 

“I don’t know… it probably isn’t wise for me to be drinking. I’m supposed to be watching you.” 

“It’s not like we go anywhere that’s not here anyway.” You say. “Plus, if you're good at your job, you’ll hardly have to drink.” You throw a pouty face on for good measure. Spencer rolls his eyes. 

“Fine.” He says standing up and snatching the bottle from you, walking to the living room. You giggle at him before grabbing two glasses to follow him out. “Just so you know, it’s wrong to peer pressure people.” He says. 

“Well, what’s a college drinking game without peer pressure.” You laugh. 

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

“Who’s starting?” You say as you watch Spencer pour your glass. The two of you are settled on opposite ends of your small couch, facing each other, your knees just almost touching. 

“You can.” Spencer says. “I want to see if you're actually observant.” 

“Okay.” You say, sitting up slightly at the challenge. “You’re an only child.” You say. Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, shocked you actually got something right, but drinks anyway. 

Spencer looks at you for a second. “You have an older sibling you are not close to.” 

You drank. “Yea I’ve got an adoptive older brother. There’s nothing wrong, it’s just he was already much older when I was born and we have nothing in common, other than our parents.” You look at Spencer for a second. “I wanna say divorced parents, but only raised by one.” 

“You’re a lot more observant than I thought.” Spencer says as he drinks. “Dad left when I was 10.” He says offhandedly. 

The game goes like this for a while, both of you confirming your beliefs of each other. You find out about Spencer’s mother's illness, Spencer learning you smoke when you’re stressed. Spencer was winning though, not that you had a problem with that as you wanted to drink, hence why you suggested the game. You were giving him a little bit of a run for his money. It was now your turn and the alcohol in your system must’ve turned off your filter because you say. 

“You’re a virgin.” 

You pause for a second waiting for him to drink when you realize he’s waiting on you to. You widen your eyes in shock but take your drink anyway. “I thought Maeve died before you got to meet her fully.” 

Spencer nods. “She did.” He says, “The two don’t correlate.” He says, like it's obvious. 

You hadn’t been expecting that. “You just didn’t strike as the hit it and quit it type.” 

“And I’m not, but sometimes things are just temporary.” He says looking at you, deeply in your eyes. “You were upset today, in the shop because I said we weren’t compatible.”  

You solemnly take a drink. “Why?” He asks. 

“Hey, that’s not a part of the game.” You say. 

“Please?” He adds. 

You sigh. “I don’t know… I guess, it seemed like the idea of being with me repulsed you. And that was upsetting.” 

Spencer looks at you with the most intense look in his eye. You had never seen that look before and you were glad you hadn’t because it was so heated that it was melting you where you sat. “The idea of being with you…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Doesn’t repulse me. Trust me.” 

You knew you weren’t the best at social cues sometimes but that seemed like a pretty big one. You move closer to him, so that your faces were close but someone would still have to make that final move. You realize it’s your turn, so you think, Fuck it...  

“You want to kiss me right now.” You say, looking Spencer in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow swig from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. He sits his glass down on the table next to him before saying. 

“You want me to kiss you.” 

You sip your drink, looking him right back in the eyes. You sit your glass down next to his and Spencer's hand catches your wrist on its way back. Before you can even get a good look at him, his lips are crashing on to yours. You groan in surprise before melting into it, your hands immediately going for his hair. His massive hands almost engulf your face as he tries to pull you impossibly close to him. He groans as he licks into your mouth, both of you tasting like the Jameson you had just drunk but there was also something under it that was just pure Spencer. You push him back until you are fully seated in his lap. His hands go immediately to your waist. Feeling risky, you experimentally grind your hips, causing Spencer to groan and grip you tighter. His hands slide up your shirt slightly, you moan at that. 

“Fuck-” Spencer says as you suck bruises down his neck. “Fuck, w-we’ve gotta stop.” 

You pull back. “Why?” you ask. 

Spencer swallows, pushing you off his lap. “There’s this thing called transference. You only want me right now because I’m protecting you. You don’t like me.” He says. “We don’t like each other.” 

You realized what Spencer was trying to say. You were both drunk and there, he didn’t really want you. It was being stuck together for so long that was making him attracted to you. You were foolish to think a guy would actually want you. 

“You don’t like me.” You say. “And I read this situation wrong again. God, I’m an idiot!”  

“I didn’t say that, Y/N-” 

“No, you’re right. You only kissed me because I’m what you’ve been stuck with for weeks. You don’t like me. I can’t blame you no guy ever does.” 

“No, Y/N, I just didn’t want to take advan--” 

“I need to smoke. I’m going out.” You say, grabbing. “Alone.” 

“Y/N, that’s not safe and you know it. Let me go with you.” 

“I think we both need to be away from each other. I’ll only be out front. Please.” You plead to him. 

  Spencer doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue to go. You pull your pack and lighter out the kitchen draw and stomp out the door. As soon as you get in front of the building, you light the first cigarette as stray tears fall down your face. You were such an idiot to think someone like Spencer would want you. Sure you were both smart but you were arrogant and spiteful. Spencer was the sweetest person ever when you got to know him. It was stupid to think there was a world the two of you would work. 

You frustratedly put your cigarette out and stand to head back inside to probably embarrass yourself some more when you feel it. 

The hard slam to the back of your head knocking you out cold. 

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

Taglist: @lokislilslut​ @spencerreidslove​ @evelyncade @ceeellewrites​ @diesinspanishbcimhispanic​ @eevee0722​ @fiftyshadesof-reid​ @cielo1984​ @differentkettleoffishalltogether​ @criminalmindzjunkie​ @bbygirlq2020​ @quillanpie​ @themanwiththreephds​ @itshatertatertotblog​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @graciehams​ @no-honey-no​ @capricornmashmallow​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @big-galaxy-chaos​

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY THURSDAY – Why Did Metroman Retire?

Happy Almost-Friday, everyone! And even though Minion threatens to smother everything he cooks in old Limburger cheese each time I say it: SPOILER WARNING!

Yes, I know, it’s three a.m. and it’s technically Friday, but I’m still calling this Thursday night, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Okay, let’s be honest, Metroman is a character who seems, on the surface, to require little explanation in the film Megamind. He’s only present in the beginning and end, and we spend half the movie believing he’s dead, and we learn that Metroman has done something almost unheard of among superheroes: he’s chosen to retire. The question is: why? There is a tendency to think that he's simply a spoiled rich boy who, (in his social life, at least,) does what he wants without regard for others, but is that really fair? Or could there be other possible reasons? Well, let’s take a look at a few fan theories that may explain why he chose to abandon heroism for a music career.

Metroman Didn’t Want to Be a Hero

Although he’s clearly based on—and perhaps even poking a little fun at—the Man of Steel, Metroman was no Superman. (I mean, okay, he was technically a super-man, since he had strength, speed, and powers far beyond what a human would possess.) Except, here’s the thing: he’s not a carbon copy of the Man of Steel; Metroman and Superman have completely different lives and personalities. This remains true despite the fact that they share a similar origin—that of being aliens from a dead planet—and identical powers—including laser-vision and flight. Even their code names are comparable. However, if we look deeper, it becomes obvious that Metroman and Superman are two very different characters.

Superman is all about being an upstanding hero. Although he can be annoyingly persnickety, and sometimes displays nearly oppressively unyielding strictures about right and wrong, one thing you can say about the Man of Steel is that he’s generally integral. He is exactly what his public image portrays him to be: a Good Guy through and through. The same isn’t true of Metroman, and in some ways that makes him a more complex and interesting character.

The childhoods of the two heroes are extremely different. As I’ve mentioned in Why Was Megamind Raised in Prison, when a boy, Metroman was a bully, not only making young Megamind an outsider and the object of everything from teasing to physical attacks, but also inspiring other students to do the same. Superman, on the other hand, far from being a bully was bullied by Pete Ross. Rather than using his powers against others, he was too responsible and good-hearted to use them even against Pete Ross. Metroman is adopted by super-wealthy parents, and is essentially a trust-fund baby, while Superman was adopted by a farm family. He grows up with a good work ethic and hometown values. Indeed, this economic discrepancy continues into adulthood. As far as we can tell, Metroman doesn’t need to work and has no job outside being a superhero. Superman, conversely, has to earn a living as a journalist. Finally, in the majority of comics, Superman avoids most public appearances, unless he feels they serve some beneficial social purpose. Indeed, he goes to great lengths to keep his identity a secret and avoid the public eye as much as possible. The first time we see Metroman in the film, however, he is basking in a crowd’s adoration at the dedication of a museum in his honor. Indeed, in the original script, then called Mastermind, Metroman’s real identity seems to be widely known. (In case you’re wondering, this is where the name Wayne Smith, commonly used in the fandom, originates from.) So, we see that these character are actually very different: one is a hero strictly for the greater good, and the other, while he certainly does a lot of good things, is also in it for the fame.

This may seem like I’m being harsh toward poor Wayne Smith, but his flaws do not, in fact, make him a bad person. The issue is that we’re comparing him to Superman who, while still certainly imperfect, is intended to be a better-than-average person in every way, including moral. Make no mistake, Metro City’s former hero isn’t any sort of villain; what he is is normal. If we’re honest, most of us would be pleased by wide-spread accolades and honors. He reacts to positive fame the same way nearly anyone would because, at his heart, he’s really just a typical guy. That is the material point: Wayne Smith really only wants to be an average citizen—a music star, perhaps, but still a relatively ordinary person. In that way, he and Megamind are alike: they both desire, more than nearly anything else, to be normal. The key difference is that Megamind’s sincere and driving concern for his city also makes him ideal for becoming a hero. (You can learn more about this particular fan theory in The Warden and in Megamind and Identity.)

So, why did Wayne Smith become a Defender in the first place, then? Again, I’ve briefly touched on this in previous posts, but it appears likely that Metroman was pushed into heroism just as much as Megamind was pushed into supervillainy. Because he was a bully with superpowers, it’s likely that adults around him realized something had to be done about Wayne. Otherwise he was a danger. So, they constructed an environment—the Li’l Gifted School—where he could be conditioned to seek the praise of others as well as to fight Megamind, who had been singled out as his future nemesis. (In fact, that conditioning is probably why he opted for a career that would put him on stage, aside from a probable love of music.)

Because the path chosen for Megamind involved more hardships and pain, it’s easy to forget that Metroman was in essentially the exact same plight. However, the fact remains that these were both children, and they were both being coerced into perceived destinies they didn’t want. Neither of them were given a choice and, in the end, both of them cast off the expectations pressed upon them to become the people they really wanted to be. The difference is that, because of our natural biases, Megamind’s rise to Defender of Metro City seems more noteworthy than Metroman’s step into Mr. Average Joe. The truth, however, is that both characters were basically doing the same thing: being true to themselves.

Metroman May Have Had Health Concerns

We know Megamind and Metroman are close to the same age—although the latter appears to be about a year rather than days old when he lands on Earth—but what that age is is open to supposition. We know, however, that they are almost certainly in their thirties, probably in their mid- to late-thirties. (Take a look at How Old is Megamind for more information about that.) However, we can see that Wayne is already going gray around the temples. Of course, some people’s genetics simply cause them to go gray earlier, and that’s certainly a possibility, but one fan theory suggest there may be more going on. The idea has been put forward that Wayne’s super-speed may be having an adverse effect on him, forcing his body to work overtime to keep up. The resulting physical stress could be making him age prematurely.

That’s not the only factor to consider. As hard as heroism may have been on his body, the effects on Metroman’s mind would have been even greater. Before the events in the movie, Metro City’s authorities—and, indeed, all its citizens—became too reliant upon their superhuman hero, and as a result that hero was run ragged. That isn’t a mere hypothesis. A scene that was storyboarded but never included in the final film makes Metroman’s plight perfectly clear. We see him being called from one end of the city to the other for everything from a massive explosion to an old lady needing help opening a jar. Keep in mind that, when hearing a cry for assistance, the hero would likely be unable to tell who truly needed him urgently and who was simply making unnecessary demands, thus he would have to rush to every call he heard. Even the city’s law enforcement seems to take him for granted, refusing to take criminals he just hand-delivered to jail because they’re on lunch break. The cumulative effect is that Metroman looks nearly frantic with stress.

This is important because, aside from the obvious mental and emotional concerns, this sort of stress accelerates aging as well. According to an article in the Huffington Post, when glycation and telomere shortening, as well as the over-oxidation, are caused by enduring heightened stress for prolonged periods of time, it can result not only in graying hair and premature wrinkles, but heart trouble as well. Even the memory can be affected, as one study by the University of Wisconsin found that stress can age a person’s brain up to four years faster than normal, and contribute to cognitive problems later in life. (The study was part of a presentation—you have no idea how badly I wanted to write that word in all-caps—and is thus currently unpublished, but information about it can be found in an article from Over Sixty.)

Metroman Retired for the Good of Everybody

As you can see, in a strange way, having a super-powered Defender was actually crippling Metro City. In fact, it may be truly damaging to the local infrastructure and official organizations. Youtuber Olaf Scholtens, in his video Megamind: Power and Identity, uses the metaphor of an airplane manufacturer to explain what’s going on. (If you’ve read my own post Megamind and Identity, you’ve seen this before.) Engineers and factories put a lot of effort and expense into making certain aircraft are as safe as possible, but what would happen if they felt they could confidently assume a superhero would simply catch any plane that crashed, saving everyone on board? Safety standards would probably become far more lax, and people might be in far more danger as a result. Given the way that nearly everyone in Metro City seems to assume Metroman will always save the day, it’s possible that, within the urban area, the same thing could be happening with things like building code enforcement, large construction projects, and even public safety measures. Bridges might not be properly built, fire hazards might not be addressed, and, given the blasé attitudes of the cops in the storyboard, law enforcement officers might not even be bothering to keep an eye on things. By retiring, Metroman forced the city to become more self-sufficient again.

That, however, may not have been the only problem Metroman was trying to solve. Remember the whole discussion about the former Defender’s school boy bullying and the apparent conspiracy to turn one boy into a hero and the other into a supervillain? It’s possible Wayne may have felt remorse for the former and found out about the latter. Having battled Megamind so much in the past, he also may have realized that the blue man never actually hurt anyone, and in fact went out of his way to stage their confrontations in abandoned places. (Again, you can read more about that in both Megamind and Identity and The Warden.) It may be that Metroman real “brilliant plan” wasn’t simply to fake his death, but in doing so to prod Megamind into becoming a hero and thus accepted by society.

There is an alternative theory, put forward in a Reddit post, that Megamind and Metroman’s parents may have known one another, and may have sent both children to Earth with the intention of them becoming a dynamic duo, fighting evil together with Megamind as the brains and Metroman as the brawn. This could have been what Megamind’s father meant when he told his son: “You are destined for greatness.” While there is very little support for this in the movie, it would explain why, in the vast cosmos, both of the young survivors were sent not only to the same planet, but even to the same city.

Whatever the reason may have been, one thing is certain: there certainly is some evidence that Metroman intended his one-time nemesis to become a hero. One of his lines, after Roxanne and Megamind discover he’s still alive, supports this. You know the one. “If there’s bad, good will rise up against it. It’s taken me a long time to find my calling; now it’s time you find yours.” Then, of course, there is another line, when Music Man is watching his former enemy take the role of Defender of Metro City: “way to go, Little Buddy. I knew you had it in you.”

If Metroman really did purposefully help Megamind step into heroism, that could also explain why he didn’t stop Megamind from taking over the city—perhaps he trusted the blue man not to harm anyone and to eventually come to his senses—as well as why he refuses to overtly help defeat Titan. He does, however, clearly subtly assist Megamind, as the latter almost certainly went back to Wayne’s hideout to scan his appearance and voice into the holowatch. All of this together makes it seem quite plausible that Metroman not only wanted to retire, but also wanted the blue man to take his place.

Megamind and Metroman by White-Night-56 on Deviant Art

Maybe this means that, now that Megamind is the Defender of Metro City, he and Music Man occasionally get together to commiserate over the more difficult aspects of being a superhero and joke about the old days.

It’s also quite possible that all of these fan theories could be true. The film Megamind is, among other things, surprisingly subtle, complex, and subversive for an animated movie. Every time I dive deep into some aspect or other of the plot, I am once again impressed by the amount of thought and detail that went into this work. No wonder Megamind—and its characters—have so many dedicated fans.

[dylanobrienisbatman]

Omg give us ur rant abt hating d*rklina as a ship.. im petty

Okay Anon, so i saw this the other day and I wasn't in the right headspace to answer but i am now!

So to start off, I am firmly in the ship and let ship category. You like a ship, i don't care. That doesn't mean i won't rag on the ship itself but I don't send hate, I don't really engage with shippers from ships I don't like, and I am liberal with the block button and the blacklist feature. Cultivate your tumblr/online experience, y'all. You don't owe anyone on this hellsite (or any other) a damn thing.

However, I REALLY do hate d*rklina as a ship, and I have a big problem with the way the shippers talk about it, so I hope you were being serious about wanting a rant because here it goes.

As for the ship itself, i feel like the reasons I dislike it are pretty obvious and standard. It's abusive. He is her abuser. He manipulates her. He spends months grooming her and gaslighting her, intentionally trying to get her under his control so that when he literally enslaves her it will go over easier. He never actually loved her, he wanted to use her for her power. It's not complicated, it's not really 'up for debate', that is the way its written, and the author has explained that that was the intended interpretation of her work. I mean he literally sexually assaults her in the second book, and straight up tells her he's going to kill everyone she loves so that she has no choice but to fall to him because she is completely alone in the world. He threatens to skin her alive in the second book when they're on the boat, he has no problem torturing her to get Mal to do what he wants. That's not love. He does not love her. It's pretty black and white, its explicitly written as an abusive relationship. The point was to show how easily powerful men can manipulate and abuse young naive women who don't know any better and try to see the best in people. Alina 'fell' for the version of Darkles Sparkles that he intentionally created to try to control her. Nothing he told her was true, from his backstory, to them both being 'the only one like [each other]' (hello, baghra), to using Genya to convince Alina that Mal had abandoned her, everything he did was manipulation so that he could get her under his control. It is not a romance, it is not 'a ship war', d*rklina is not written as romantic. He is her abuser. Full stop.

There is also the point about him being just a generally horrible person all around. He's not morally grey. He just isn't. He sold an 11 year old into sex slavery, forced her to stay in that situation so he could use her, and then mutilated her when she defied him. He also groomed and abused Zoya, because he saw that she was exceptionally powerful and wanted to use her the way he wanted to use Alina. He enslaved Alina. He blinded and mutilated his own mother. He is a genocidal maniac. He shows no remorse, he doesn't care about anyone but himself and his own power. He is not the type of character that should be romantically shipped with anyone. If you like him, that's absolutely fine! One of my fave characters ever is Kai Parker from TVD. Dude was a straight up psychopath. He tried to kill multiple pairs of toddlers. He brutally murdered his pregnant sister AT HER WEDDING. He is a HORRIBLE person. But I think he's a brilliant character. But do I think he's a good guy, do I want him anywhere near any characters in that show in a romantic way (ehem b*nkai)? Absolutely fucking not. Being a fan of a villain character is fine, but fucking own that shit. Villains can be SUCH good characters, but they're still villains. Erasing the bad they've done so you can justify putting them in situations where they WILL harm the people around them because you can't level with yourself about the bad things they've done doesn't make you 'woke', it just makes you look like you don't understand the media you're consuming.

Which leads me to why I have such a problem with the way D*rklina shippers engage with the ship. They simultaneously wanna say "oh we know it's toxic/bad/abusive/etc., that's why we like it!" and then also they try to claim that it should be endgame, they romanticize scenes where he is abusing her (and by romanticize I mean they literally try to frame his abuse as romantic, not like "oh yeah my ship is interacting!!". those are different things. You can be excited about ship interactions without trying to say that things he is doing to her are actually romantic), they try to argue that he is morally grey/misunderstood/etc., and they straight up try to lie and say he's not her abuser.

If you wanna ship an abusive ship, own it. Be straight up about why you like it. It's okay to be into dark shit, y'all. It does NOT make you a bad person to be into dark shit. But this idea that fiction doesn't impact real life, and that people can't call the ship out for what it is is a problem is a very troubling trend in fandom. Nobody is saying you can't ship it, do what you want. But this idea that these people are 'oppressed' because fans of the show/book continue to point out the facts about the way the story was written and how the relationship is actually presented is fucking insane. Someone saying that D*rklina is abusive is not calling you out, they are stating a fact. It's the story as it was presented. You trying to say it's not makes it look like you have no reading comprehension. And this idea that 'well i'll be on the lookout for evil shadow wizards in real life lol' is such horse shit too. His shadow wizard powers aren't the issue. He is a powerful man who grooms and abuses young women. You're telling me you lived through the Me Too movement and you wanna act like thats not a real threat that young women face every day? You're telling me that you can't see that the actual real life connection you're supposed to be making here? Okay, well you should maybe deal with that and come back to me, because that's an issue.

Fiction is meant to teach us lessons. Darkles is meant to teach us something. He is meant to show us that sometimes, powerful men lie to, manipulate, groom, and abuse young women, and we should be aware of that. The story is about a young woman who is sucked into an abusive situation, and then she breaks free and in the end she is able to defeat her abuser. That is a really powerful story, and one that millions of real life women can relate too. To pretend that that story doesn't have real life connections makes you look insensitive and frankly, kind of cruel.

So basically, in the end, my biggest issue is that D*rklina shippers love to spout this nonsense about 'knowing' it's bad and that he's a villain, and 'that's why they like him', and then turn around and try to say that he's not actually the villain, he's not actually bad, and the things he does to Alina that are abuse are actually romantic and sweet. You wanna ship an abusive ship, you do you, but lets not pretend it's anything other than what it is, but romanticizing and normalizing abuse tactics so you can feel, what? morally superior? Cool? edgy and different? That has real life impacts. You are normalizing abuse. Real people will engage with that rhetoric, and it will make it difficult for them to see abuse when it happens to them or the people around them because they believe its romantic or normal to be treated that way.

You wanna be a villain stan? You wanna ship dark ships? Good on ya, but fucking own your shit, y'all.

[frenchphobic]

long fucking post on why a c!dream is a shitty person and probably should not have a redemption because it is unpog

honestly i just want to refute dream apologists thats why im making this post. i think that dream as a villain is interesting but i think that trying to make him out to be secretly a good guy is just bad ngl. also /roleplay and all

tw for abuse and mentions of suicide

dream as a villain

dream is a villain. he is chaotic evil according to wilbur, deliberately does not stream to appear less sympathetic (and yet), and is set up as an antagonist to tommy who bears the title ‘hero’. dream is not a good person, no matter how you look at it or try to justify his actions.

‘but he wants to unite everyone to be a big family :((’ the ends dont justify the means believe it or not. having a vaguely positive goal does not excuse the actions you’ve done. it also goes hand and hand with saying dream is correct for punishing tommy the way he did because he acted up. if i socked you across the face and then suddenly said ‘sorry there was a roach on ur face’ does that make it okay? probably not i still punched you, enacting an unnecessary amount of violence. thats a very simple analogy i will admit and there are more complex comparisons. another example off the top of my head is say a child just scribbled all over you walls with crayons. would hitting them be a justified answer? if u said hes thats really fucked of u go seek help u loon. violence as a punishment is very toxic, just because it gets the job done does not mean it is okay. at the end of the day, you still committed this act and the harm you caused is real, having a good motive doesnt suddenly make it okay.

‘but tommy causes all of the conflict’ the disk war wasnt even caused by tommy, it was sapnap and then tommy got involved. and the reason why tommy even caused conflict was because of the discs, because he wanted them back. and most of the time there was a level of antagonism from another party, such as schlatt exiling him, dream taking the disks in the first place, dream threatening l’manberg. and if dream wanted to end the conflict so badly, why didnt he just give tommy back his disks? tommy upfront said everything started with the disks, so he wants them back so he could end the conflict. notice how after tommy got his disks back he has been staying out of conflict, apologizing to everyone, and the only bad thing hes done is try to scam people but everyone does that. this would have been the most peaceful option, yet dream chose the path that would further antagonize tommy which then draws everyone else into conflict. why did dream need to have leverage over tommy so badly? why did he want to hold power over tommy so badly? its because of control, and that’s ultimately dreams end goal. sure he wants a big server family, but would said family have a free will?

‘but dream is sad’ the thing is dream is completely at fault for everything that happened to him. he pushed away sapnap (and george ig). he tried to take control over the server and their possessions. literally everything that happened to tommy. literally everything involving ranboo. villains can be sympathetic, i am not arguing against that. but it does not mean that they should be left off the hook. that doesnt mean u should ignore the shit theyve done because ‘oh no theyre sad’ because it doesnt make anything better. dream had this shit coming for him.

now people also skirt around calling dream an abuser. which is fair ig, its a very loaded word. its much easier to say manipulated. that being said, dream can classify as abusive. and no, tommy is not abusive. abuse is about control and a power imbalance. dream has power over tommy, but tommy does not have power over dream, at least not in the way dream does. he’s taking back power to stand up for himself, dream uses power to control.

the reasons i listed for why dream is from the Domestic Abuse Intervention Project so if u want a source on that, there you go.

using coercion or threats: dream often threatened tommy, such as the pit thing and often employed violence on him. while normally this could be attributed to Normal Minecraft Player Go Smack. minecraft mechanics cannot always translate to real world since violence is pretty normal in minecraft however we also need to consider the context of the scene. dream gave an order, tommy refused, dream applies violence, tommy submitted. thats why its a threat, it has tangible effects that can correlate to real life.

using intimidation: dream blew up logsteadshire as a punishment. dream also destroyed tommys items anytime he visited. dream also hit tommy with his axe i believe. he killed mushroom henry, one of tommys pets.

Using Emotional Abuse: dream guiltripped the shit out of tommy for just hiding things and pinning the blame on tommy for just wanting his own private items. he definitely played mind games on tommy, pretending to be his friend. honestly i probably dont even need to go as in depth because it was so obvious.

Using Isolation: putting him in exile in the first place. destroying the bether portal so no one could visit tommy anymore. i really dont think i need to expand upon that.

Minimizing, Denying, and Blaming: dream in tommys stream when he got trapped said that exile wasnt that bad. he does shift the blame onto tommy for logsteadshire being blown up, even though dreams reaction was entirely unjustified for not listening and hiding.

Using Economic Abuse: see this is where i attempt to parallel minecraft mechanics to real life. obviously, there is no monetary system in place, so when i mean economic, i will use valuables such as armor, food, etc in place of currency. the idea behind economic abuse is to limit the victim’s resources so that they are dependent on the abuser and cannot escape. dream only really allowed tommy to have the armor he gave him while not giving access to armor so he does not regain a sense of power, and in the prison stream, dream holds all the potatoes which puts him in a position of power over tommy. this argument is more ambiguous i feel cause the whole minecraft mechanics thing is kinda weird so u don’t necessarily have to take this part in.

i feel like i need to emphasize this very strongly because dream is not a good person. abuse cannot and should not be a response to someone. its an awful mentality to have. i just want to prove the point that dream is not a good person, his reasons absolutely do not justify his actions.

what makes a good redemption

redemption arcs are tricky. when done right they are great. when done poorly, its a slap in the face. rn im going to establish a formula to what makes a good redemption with an example.

the most well known example of a good redemption is zuko from atla. first, its the magnitude of what theyve done and why. zuko did commit some shitty actions, since he was in a position of power in the fire nation but its because he is a child being abused and wanted to regain honor. zukos real awful acts was season 1 and the whole betrayal thing. thats not to say that zukos actions suddenly are okay, he did shitty things. but its something that can be traced to a higher entity or seem less malicious then the other villains. the thing also about the magnitude of actions is that there is a certain point of atrocities that there is no redemption. some people simply cannot be redeemed because the actions they commit are so ingrained in their character or the action itself has serious moral issues that it would just be wrong.

the next is acknowleding what they did was wrong. a genuine reflection on the self and analyzing what they did and why it was not okay. zuko realized what he did to uncle iroh was bad for example. he turned his back on his father, realizing he didnt and shouldnt seek acknowledgment from someone as heinous as him. its pointing out your actions and going ‘hey, this wasnt right i should not have done this’ and not even excusing ur actions. its also going straight for the root of the problem and figuring out to stamp it from the source. just because a character is sad does not mean they are reflecting, sometimes they are attempting to garner pity. it has to be direct and clear acknowledgement of the injustice.

and finally, an important part about redemption arcs is the actual redemption part. its when you make amends. zuko made amends with katara by trying to help her get revenge, he fought against the fire nation and tried to make things more peaceful in his rule. he apologized to iroh. an important part of the amends section is that it does have to be a genuine desire to change and become a better person, not to change a person’s perception of you. the thing is u cant expect a person youve hurt to forgive you. you cant expect people to be sympathetic towards you nor should u attempt to make urself sympathetic. u shouldnt be expecting a pat on the back or an award. redemption is about internal and character change.

why dream should not be redeemed

ive already established the key points to a good redemption (imo) but heres where dream falls short. his actions are extremely heavy so redemption may not even really be possible. abuse is not something you can wave off so it does cross to the point of fucked up. acknowledgement of what he did was wrong? all he said was that he changed, yet never explained why he changed or was too vague. he needed to label specifically what he did and bring it up. attempting to make amends? he’s been doing the exact opposite in fact he continues to manipulate tommy and ranboo. its not a genuine change. he is still repeating the cycle and has given no indication of ceasing. at the moment he does not have any signs of redemption.

and the thing is most of the attention around a dream redemption comes from either justifying his motives (which i do want to emphasize does not make anything suddenly okay) and because he is sad in prison sad face. these are not good reasons. its gonna pain me severely to bring this up but snape from harry potter does have some form of sad character ig yet he very much abused his authority to bully children as old as 11 just because he said ‘aight gonna die’ doesnt suddenly make his general bigotry and abuse suddenly okay there is a threshold. again im so sorry for using harry potter as an example none were coming to mind and i needed a popular one i do not like harry potter please dont say i do i would pass away.

and the last thing to consider is the audience. keep in mind that the audience is composed of minors and while yes there are adults, minors are the main component of the fandom. keep in mind that there are quite a few people who can relate to tommys character because they might be in the same position or have gone through his experiences. tell me what kind of message does it send to that audience that abusers can be redeemed. this is not a narrative u should push to this audience in these situations and the writers are seemingly aware of it. remember how in exile tommy spiraled into a suicidal mentality? consider how fucked of a message it would be if he just committed suicide instead of escaping abuse and attempting to recover from his experiences. tommy did an excellent job in not going that route and having a message of ‘it will not get better’. its the same thing here. victims are not obligated to care for or forgive their abuser, and portraying an abuser as sympathetic might fuck with the message a lot, even change their perception in that ‘oh, maybe my abuser was right, maybe they had a reason for treating me the way they did’. this is not to say that every victim watching this will internalize this message, but people also look up to these characters. there can be a degree of influence from the story onto oneself and thats the dangerous part.

conclusion

all in all dream is a shitbag asshole and probably shouldnt get a redemption because it would not be pog thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[alexanderwesker]

My analysis of the character of Jeremiah Valeska (pre-Insanity Spray)

I've finally come around to actually write that analysis, I promised you guys some days ago. I actually tried to read up on how to do a character analysis, for this. But decided to just go with the flow of my though so sorry if this turns out to be too rambly. This whole analysis is also based on the impression I got from Jeremiah the first time he was presented in 4x17 "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". And that impression was that Jeremiah Valeska was (well I don't wanna use medical terms because they bore me and because they have been thrown at me too often so I'm gonna put it in layman terms) a man with paranoiac tendencies and low empathy, and he had also some kind form of obsessive/intrusive thoughts. From this basis we can start the actual analysis (plus some congectures of the twins childhood, because that did shape them to be the men they became): Between the twins Jeremiah was, probably, the quiet one, but not out of some sort of shyness or anything similar, but just because he didn't know how to interact with people... normally. In the sense that when he spoke up he'd probably be kind of unsettling for how cold and emotionless he appeared to be as he wasn't yet that apt in picking up social clues and read the minute instances of body language, and as such could fake any kind of emotional responce that wasn't particulary obvious, and so usually let Jerome do the talking, so that he could learn, and imitate. So that he could become the perfect one between them. For his sake, for his need to learn how to 'fake being normal' he probably pushed and pushed Jerome as far as he could, to get any sort of reaction that he could learn from. (Jerome let him because he didn't know how harmful it was enabling that behaviour; Jerome let him because Jeremiah was his twin and he'd never hurt him.) He, also, probably started 'manipulating' Lila very early on, as soon as he understood that he could get people to do what he wanted if he acted like they wanted him to act. (That was probably the first wedge between the brothers). Lila wanted a little Mr. Perfect that was studious and clever, and silent and polite, so Jeremiah gave her what she wanted so to make his life easier. And since he started so early on, he probably has problems in discern the difference between who he really is and what he is so used to show others. (Jerome is the only one who knows the difference, the only one who can see behind the facade that Jeremiah presents to the world, and has always being able too). Of course as time passed, say the twins were nine or ten, Jeremiah felt like he needed to get out of there that that wasn't the life for him, so he used all of what he had learned. He lied and he created evidence to support his lies, even if that meant hurting himself, why? Because his goal was more important, because it was self-preservation after all. And with that he managed to escape the circus. Went to St. Ignacious, created a new identity for himself and lived it, and because he was yet to young to lie and not being affected by it, slowly he started believing his own lies. That Jerome had tried to kill him, that he would find him and hurt him. He also wasn't adopted probably, people don't tend to like children that are too disconcerning (and trust me I know how much people don't like people like me), but he was a genius and got to emancipate himself, started working as an engineer as soon as he was able too. Somewhere during that time he met Ecco that basically took Jerome's place as Jeremiah's anchor, but as she wasn't Jerome, as she probably was more suscettible more malleable, he changed her instead of letting her change him.  He made her what he needed: a protector, someone who'd be his voice and eyes in the outside world as he shut himself in further and further away, letting his fear turned obsession for Jerome, Jerome finding him, Jerome killing him, Jerome hurting him. (And even though he knew that was a lie, he was already too lost in his own web of lies to actually rationalize that he didn't need to do any of that.) There was probably some period of his life, either before or after he worked for Thomas Wayne in which he felt like he didn't have control on anything, not even having Ecco at his beck and call was enough. And that was what made him create the labyrinth, his perfect home. A place where he'd be the one with all the power, and anyone else would be just like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Which bring us to the Jeremiah we see in "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". That Jeremiah has long passed that period of his life in which he didn't have control. In fact he was in perfect control, he probably even made possible for Jerome to find Ecco, because if they had to actually met, he'd want that to happen by circumstances he created. He is so sure, like a tarantula in its nest calm and quiet till bothered, that he even let the police in his maze. He doesn't fear them, he doesn't have any reason to (his only fear locked up tightly in a place where, he thought, he could never escape from), and that we can see in the scene where Jim and Harvey met him. Jeremiah isn't allarmed, he isn't even scared when they point their guns at him, why? Because he knows that he isn't in danger, they are in his den, they are the one who are in the wrong place, they don't know how to leave the maze. If he'd so liked he could have leave them to die forever trapped, of course that's not what he wants, no, what he wants is for them to leave him alone. So he puts up the old mask of vulnerability and tells them the old lies he told, he tells them that Jerome threatened him, that Jerome was violent, that Jerome was the broken one. He? He's always been the poor, poor victim, he's always been the one who was born right. (Is that true, no and yes. If he had had actual support? He'd probably be as normal as someone as me can be, but he didn't have support so he just... worked around that in a way that made sense to him). Then Jim discovers his trick, he discovers that Jerome is there trapped in his maze, and Jeremiah starts desperately grasping at that control that he knows is starting to fade away. He has still enough to keep his mask up, though it’s cracked as he shows less concern for others than he knows it’s normal. He doesn’t pretend to care about what’s happened to Ecco, or to be worried about the detectives lives, he cares only about himself, his own self-preservation once again. But then he loses control again completely; Jerome is freed, two maniacs enter in his perfect, perfect maze. He loses even Ecco, who gets hypnotized, and even though he doesn’t care about her as much as he pretends to, it does somewhat hurt to be betrayed like that. And you can see that, that lost of control from his part. You can see that in the way he confronts Jerome, scared and angry, in the way he acts at the words that Jeromes spews at him. Because Jeremiah doesn't have masks in that moment, beside the pretending to care for his mother.  And that reality is that Jeremiah is afraid of the conseguences of his actions, because he knows that now Jerome is a real threat, that he beat the rabid dog that one time too much, and he is angry because he's lost control again, because of Jerome, and he doesn't know how to gain it back. Then everything just spirals down from there. Once he has lost his foothold, he doesn't have time to regain it. Then the events of "That's Entertainment" happen, and he never actually has the chance to ever regain it. He loses everything that's important: his control, that part of him that actually cares enough for himself to actually force him to try and act like a 'normal' person. He just stops caring, or well in reality he just stops pretending to care. But this analysis isn't on Post-Insanity Spray!Jeremiah so I'll stop here. Sorry if it's rambly or nonsensical but I feel a lot for him, or well not feel exactly, I just liked to see someone like myself on screen. For that little he was there as himself and not that... being he became after. Though I guess, people will always see people as myself as monsters so... was Jeremiah's end really a surprise?... Not really.

[bnhayyy]

The Call (10)

Chapter Title: Friendship

Wordcount: 2.9k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: The death of Marco Bodt.

Notes: I stopped uploading chapters to tumblr for a while, but I've decided to get caught up! And getting caught up meant starting with. This. Enjoy? Also! if you want to see what happens next, please know that the next eight chapters are all already posted on Ao3.

"Kirstein. It's Ymir; I'm sure the slayers have told you all about me. Probably not good stuff either, so right now, I need you to ignore all of that and listen to me. Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover are vampires, Reiner has a gem that lets him walk in the sunlight, and Annie is in league with them. I have too many damn calls to make to go into detail, but Reiner's the killer you've been looking for. Bastard almost took Krista out last night. They're after Ackerman, and if you want to stay alive, you'll stay the fuck away from them. I mean it. They are not the people you think they are."

***

"Hey Jean, I just got a really weird voicemail from someone called Ymir. She was talking about vampires and magic rings and... something about Reiner being a murderer? It's probably nothing, but... she sounded really worked up and angry for a prank. I'm going to go over to Reiner's place and talk to him. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure we can talk it out. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know in case you get a call as well. I've got it under control."

***

Jean felt all the blood drain from his face as he stared down at his phone. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to think or feel.

Then he called Marco.

No answer.

He called again.

No answer.

After the third missed call, he pulled on his shoes and raced out of the apartment.

The first message had left him breathless - how the fuck had the vampire that Mikasa and Annie were hunting gotten his phone number?

That much he figured out almost immediately. It wasn't a nice thought, but it was the obvious answer. Ymir and Krista had been seen together at the club, and from the sound of it, they had been very friendly. Maybe the slayers were right and Krista was being manipulated. Maybe they weren't. Either way, he imagined that someone as charismatic and involved in the college as Krista wouldn't have much difficulty getting her hands on some phone numbers. It was an upsetting thought, but it wasn't his priority right now.

He didn't believe Ymir for even a second. But if she was involved, he did believe that Marco was walking into danger.

And he was walking into it blindly.

Jean cursed himself for listening to Erwin as he raced down the steps and to the rack that his bike was attached to. With fumbling fingers, he put in the code and yanked it free. He tore it from the rack and jumped on without bothering with a helmet.

As he peddled, his heart raced. Something cold slithered down his throat and into his stomach as he considered what might be waiting for him. Was this some elaborate trap set by Ymir? Would he get there to find everyone dead and the vampire waiting to set upon any of the slayer's friends who were foolish enough to show up? Did Bertolt and Reiner know about the story she was spinning? God, was she planning on turning them? Was she planning on turning Annie ? He didn't know what a slayer being turned into a vampire would mean in the grand scheme of things, but he couldn't imagine that it was anything good.

Was Marco going to die because Jean hadn't told him the truth?

The cold feeling spread throughout his body as worse and worse scenarios flashed through his mind. He could almost taste the fear threatening to paralyze him - or maybe that was bile. He definitely wouldn't be surprised if he ended up vomiting at some point in the night. The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that if he didn't do anything, it could cost Marco his life. He had to - he had to -

He didn't know what he would do. What he could do. But he had to do something. Every bit of logic and reason within him told him to go back home and call Mikasa, and he wanted nothing more than to listen to it. The only problem was the obnoxious little thing he called a conscience, reminding him that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to do something.

Damnit. He was probably going to get both of them killed.

He'd almost made it to Reiner's house when he rode past an alleyway. Jean caught sight of three figures standing by its mouth out of the corner of his eye. It was only a glimpse, but with his heart pounding in his chest and adrenaline rushing through his veins, it was enough to make him slam his feet against the pavement to stop his bike. He jumped off and abandoned it right on the side of the street as he rushed over to the alleyway.

His first instincts had been correct. No more than a few feet into the alleyway, Marco stood facing a stern-faced Reiner and Bertolt, talking rapid-fire and peppering his words with expressive gestures.

"Marco!" Jean called.

Marco, Reiner, and Bertolt all turned to face him. "Jean?" Marco asked, blinking. "What are you doing here?"

Jean cursed under his breath as he raced over to his friend. "Stopping you from doing something stupid," he said. "What about that call made you think this was a good idea? Ymir-"

"Did she call you as well?" Reiner asked. His expression was a combination of stony, frustrated, disappointed, and angry. It was a little odd, but far from the highest priority at the moment.

"Yeah," Jean said as he stepped over to Marco's side. He and everyone else looked uninjured - good. Ymir must not have been able to try anything yet. "She tried to feed me some nonsense about you two being vampires."

Bertolt groaned and shook his head. "Reiner, if she told Jean and Marco..."

"She probably told everyone," Reiner finished.

"So?" Jean asked, scowling. "It's not like any of us would believe her. The important thing is making sure that she isn't able to do anything serious."

"Yeah!" Marco added. "I mean - I'm still kinda... struggling to wrap my head around this, and that all this is real, but... just because you guys are vampires-"

Jean snapped his head around to stare at Marco. "Wait, what?"

Reiner sighed heavily.

There was only one short moment between that sigh and Reiner starting to speak. However, that moment was enough for Jean's innards to freeze up with a whole new sort of cold.

Maybe he should have given Ymir some credit after all.

"You see, Jean," Reiner began, a whisper of regret staining his voice, "Ymir wasn't lying."

"Maybe not completely," Marco said, oblivious to how Jean's heart was sinking in his chest. Oh, he was definitely nervous - the sweat beginning to form on his face and anxious strain to his smile said that much. But he also sounded like he sincerely believed what he was saying.

Because he didn't know what being a vampire meant. But then again, neither did Jean, now that he thought about it. He knew that they were blood-sucking monsters, but... maybe that wasn't everything. The Reiner and Bertolt that he knew were good people. Marco was a naive goody-two-shoes, but maybe there was some merit to what he was trying to say.

In the time that it took for Jean to go through that train of thought, Marco continued speaking. "But just because you're vampires doesn't mean you have to be killers!"

A shadowed look fell over Bertolt's face, while Reiner just frowned. Jean felt his stomach twist, and Marco's smile twitched fractionally.

Yet he didn't give up.

"A-and even if you are," Marco stammered, "this could be an opportunity to turn over a new leaf! I mean, is there any rule saying that you can't be good? What's stopping you?"

Bertolt bit his lower lip. "It doesn't..." Reiner gave him a heavy look as he trailed off, and he took in a deep breath before finishing, "it doesn't work that way."

"Why not!?" Jean demanded. The words felt like they were shards of glass forcing their way out of his throat and his heart was all but ready to burst out of his chest. He knew that he should turn and run. If Bertolt and Reiner really were vampires, he had to turn around and run if he wanted to get out alive.

But his friends needed him. Marco for sure, and maybe, if he wasn't being a complete moron, Bertolt and Reiner as well.

Jean should have turned around and run away. Instead, he stepped in front of Marco and held his arms out. "Why can't you be good? Vampires might not be the same as humans mentally and emotionally or whatever, but you have free will, don't you? And we're friends, aren't we? So why does this have to mean anything? Even if..." Jean swallowed and tried not to think too heavily on the horrible implications of what he was saying, of what Ymir had said, even as he forced himself to acknowledge their existence. "Even if you've done horrible things, I'm sure the others would be willing to give you another chance if you're willing to atone and try to do good now."

"He's right!" Marco chimed in, stepping forward and around Jean. "I-it might not mean much, but I would vouch for you."

Bertolt faltered. Beside him, Reiner closed his eyes, just for a moment.

When he opened them, all of their usual warmth had been replaced with ice. "Enough of this."

"Reiner-"

"No, Bertolt. They know now. Ackerman knows. We need to show them that we mean business."

Jean was moving before he even finished speaking. He grabbed Marco's arm and tried to drag him toward the mouth of the alley. However, his friend fought back and remained rooted to the spot. Both of them spoke at once.

"H-hey, let not do anything hasty-"

"-Marco, we need to go now-"

Meanwhile, Reiner jerked his head toward Jean and said, "hold him back."

Then Reiner twitched, his gaze jerking off to the side for a moment.

Bertolt didn't seem to notice. He didn't hesitate in closing the distance between himself and Jean and, with far more strength than any human should - could - have, tugged him away from Marco, and pinned his arms behind his back. Jean flailed and yelled wordlessly, but was unable to break out of his grasp.

"I'm sorry," Bertolt whispered. "We were only after Mikasa, you weren't supposed to be - this wasn't part of the plan."

"If you're sorry, then why don't you do something!? " Jean shouted.

Meanwhile, Reiner was approaching Marco. He looked steady, unstoppable - aside from how he kept looking over to the side every few seconds. At the same time, Marco took one, two, three steps away, until his back was pinned to the wall. 

Reiner's sudden twitchiness did nothing to soothe him. "Don't do this," he pleaded. "Reiner, please, we're friends, don't-"

"What's going on?"

All four of them froze. Despite his need to keep his eyes on Marco, Jean's eyes momentarily darted toward the opening of the alleyway. There stood Annie Leonhardt. She was beaten and bloody. At just a quick glance, he noticed that her shoulder was positioned oddly and there was a gruesome cut on her leg. Even so, for one bright, shining moment, he felt something that almost felt like hope. For a moment, he wanted to call out to her for help.

Then he remembered Ymir's call.

"Annie!" Marco called out, still hopeful where Jean could feel despair lapping at his heels. "Th-there's been some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe you could-"

 "Ymir knows about us," Reiner interrupted, making Jean's eyes snap back to him. Where Jean, Marco, and Bertolt had all paused to look at Annie, he had gotten ahold of himself and re-focused his attention on Marco. A predator fixated on its prey. "She told everyone."

"Mikasa knows too," Annie said, voice empty. "She got away."

Reiner's expression darkened. "She got away, or you let her go?"

No sooner had he spoken than a twitch ran through his jaw. But of course, with all that was going on, Annie didn't notice it. It looked like she was going to say something, but she never got the chance.

"She should let Mikasa go!" Jean exclaimed. "Annie, you're a slayer! You can't do this. You're supposed to be a hero. "

Meanwhile, Reiner grabbed Marco by the shoulder and pulled them both around to face Annie. "I think you've gotten too attached," he said. As soon as he spoke, he visibly tightened his grip on Marco's shoulder as he spoke, jaw clenching a little tighter yet.

Annie scowled. "No! I just-"

"None of you are too attached!" Marco pleaded. "We're friends! Annie, Reiner, please- "

"Reiner," Jean hissed. "Annie. Bertolt." The vampire holding him swallowed audibly, but made no move to cut Jean off, nor did he try to join the current cacophony of voices. "Listen to me. If you do this, I swear to god, you will- "

"Shut up, Eren!" Reiner snapped.

Silence fell over the group. Or rather, everyone aside from Reiner, who went on to murmur, a hint of intermingled exhaustion and agitation creeping into his voice, "I'm not going to regret anything."

Jean stared. Marco didn't dare move, but he could make out the confusion on his face. Annie's expression morphed into a frown.

"Reiner," Bertolt whispered, "who's Eren?"

Reiner raised the hand that wasn't clutching onto Marco to scrub at the side of his face. "No one," he said. "Let's just get this over with."

He lowered his hand and pushed Marco into Annie's arms. "Kill him."

Annie grabbed onto Marco, whose expression had settled firmly into one of horror.

"Annie, please," he begged, "we can still talk this out, we can-"

"Annie!" Jean howled. "If you do this, you'll-"

"Annie has a soul," Bertolt called out, voice pitched loud enough to cut through the din.

Reiner raised an eyebrow at Bertolt. "So?"

" Look at her," Bertolt pressed.

So Jean looked. He saw that Annie's eyes were wide and her face was pale. She looked pained, but that could very well be because of her injuries.

Perhaps it was because he wasn't as kind of Marco, but to him, she just looked like a murderer in the making. Nonetheless, Bertolt pressed on.

"There are other ways for her to prove her loyalty, but you need to remember that she isn't like us, Reiner. You're asking her to kill a friend. That sort of thing-"

"Right," Reiner said, letting out a mirthless laugh. "We have to look out for the slayer's precious soul."

Reiner wrenched Marco out of Annie's grasp and snapped his neck.

Nobody had time to do anything. Nobody even had time to react. One second Marco was standing there, terrified but alive, and the next his lifeless body was falling to the ground. It was the sort of thing that was impossible to witness without receiving a permanent scar on your soul.

But vampires didn't have souls to scar, and as he stared down at Marco's body, Reiner's expression was utterly impassive.

"Annie," he said, voice empty save for a faint hint of irritation. "Someone will need to dispose of the body. Do you think you can handle that, at least?"

"Once I get the arrow out of my shoulder," she said. Her voice was choked up. If Jean didn't know better, he might suspect that he would see tears in her eyes if he looked at her. But he didn't. He wasn't able to look at anything but Marco's body.

"I'll help," Bertolt offered.

"Not yet," Reiner said. "We aren't done here."

With that, he approached Jean, eyes dark and heavy. Jean met his gaze with his own, eyes promising vengeance, for all that he knew that his death was probably upon him.

Yet when Reiner opened his mouth, it was to say, "now that you know we're serious... Jean. Because we're friends, I'm going to let you live. And if you, Sasha, and Connie stay out of the way, none of you will be hurt."

Faintly, Jean heard Annie murmur, "hypocrite." He couldn't tell if Reiner caught it, as his eyes remained fixed on Jean, waiting for his answer.

A smart person would have agreed. A selfish person would have agreed. If you asked Jean prior to that moment, he would have expected himself to agree.

Instead, he looked Reiner in the eyes and said, "we won't. Reiner, if you let me live, I promise that you will regret it."

Reiner gave a thin smile. "Good thing I'm willing to take that bet."

He stepped away and collected Marco's body in his arms. For a moment, it looked like he would pass it - him - to Annie, but he hesitated upon getting a closer look at her arm. With a sigh, he called, "Bertolt?"

"I really am sorry," Bertolt murmured before letting go of Jean and stepping away.

Jean wanted to charge at Marco's murderers. To fight for his body so that he would at least get a proper burial. To avenge his death. Instead, without Bertolt to support him, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees.

"Think about my offer," Reiner called.

With that, the trio left the alleyway, taking Marco's corpse with them.

And Jean was alone.

[streets-in-paradise]

Let’s talk about the amazingly on spot social commentary on The Boys

Warning: This post contains spoilers from Season 1 and the first three episodes of season 2 of The Boys 

Tags: @nehoymenyoy asked to be tagged. I don’t know if my tags are working well but if they don’t i will send you the link of the post. 

I decided to make this post because i finished all the avaliable episodes of the series two days ago and, having a long talk with my sister about this topic, i tought this is too awesome to not discuss it here. We are both studying in careers of the social field, i'm in sociology and she is in social work. We watched the show together and talking with her inspired my own ideas i would like to share here.

This show was a wonderfull surprise in terms of social commentary. I haven't watched one with such a great commentary since American Gods. In that case i was expecting some degree of progressive commentary because i had read the book previously and i was aware the source material had some, the one added for the series is even better and it was great, but it wasn't a shock to find it. For The Boys i haven't read the comics first and , even when i loved the show for lots of reasons, the amazing on spot social commentary was a hell of a surprise. I have been frustrated lately in terms of the messages in entertaiment products because, even when there is a lot of intention for part of the makers to make more progressive points in their stuff, everything becomes bland marketing to me most of the time. I remember that some years ago media used to came out unintentionally with some really cool progressive messages ( like, for example, " a bug's life" and its anti capitalist message). That stuff seemed soo genuine and today i feel that everytime a product targets my demographic in that sense what they deliver it's soo bland and fake that the progressive intention of the message gets lost in the absolutely obvious intention of selling something to me using my ideals as catch. Precisely this is an important point of critic in this show. I didn't expected at all to get a genuine feeling in the social commentary of a superhero show. I'm not saying that this means i think the makers believe in this (after all, it's amazon), what i praise here is how good they did it. In a time when most productions claim to have a social commentary behind to come out as cool but result in shallow fake bullshit this series has provided me with something that feels autentic. Like American Gods, what i feel the show is trying to tell me actually gets me.

Before starting with the proper talk i want to dedicate a few línes to recommend a few scenes of the show i just mentioned. I was super dissapointed after finding out they will probably end up turning it into more bland fake bullshit for season 3 but, to anyone who likes well delivered social commentary, check on Orlando Jones's scenes as Anansi. He is my favourite character from the show and all his scenes are a blessing. 

I would also want to clarify that this post and the opinions displayed on it are from an anti capitalist, intersectional feminist and latin american perspective. I know the show is very american, the issues it discusses are most of the time worlwide but it has particularities of the american context so i will try to talk only of what i feel i know enough to have a word. I'm argentinian and we have our local versions of some of this problems but i will stay in the series territory trying to be as faithfull as i can to the american reality it gets inspiration from. Also, forgive me for any mistakes on my writing and expresions. English is not my native language. 

Superheros are modern mythology. How would this work in real life?

This is the basic premise of the show’s worldbuilding. The great thing is that this concept is not developed in an edgy, pretentious way. It is serious and painfully real because it’s not only a subversion of tropes, it says a lot of what superheros are to us as a modern times myth. In a superficial view, the world of The Boys feels like what the MCU could have become after the Sokovia accords if they would have been efficiently followed on a worldwide scale.

In that particular universe i use as reference, our superheros are noble and morally heroic individuals.State intervention is the factor threatening to corrupt their actions making them follow the interests of the system. The risk there, along with some very shady violations of human rights to powered people, is having superheros tied to something as unstable as political power. You can fear, for example, what a Trump-like president could do if he had power over the Avengers because, again, the heros are not corrupt, their line of command is. Now, if we strip away all the idealization we had putted on this bunch of powered persons and see them as what they truly are at the end of the day, people like everyone else. Why are we supposed to believe they are immune to corruption? If we also consider the phenomenon of strong privatization of security that has been growing worldwide . Wouldn’t they be more like security workers working for a private contractor? Less like heros and more like private military / security officers?  Now, this is what we are talking about. 

What feels so different from this show is that it assumes a surprisingly realistic point of view on a modern fantasy we are very used to consuming and still constructs a new power fantasy that empowers the viewer. I’ m saying this as an MCU fan, I had grown too comfortable with this optimistic fantasy and this twist from it is brilliant. To put some context on what i want to say here i will try to explain myself first on why i think that superhero fiction have this enormous popularity today and it has become such a huge thing in entertainment. Besides of the obvious reason of big companies producing big exciting action blockbusters for the genre, it’s curious to think on how much these stories gathered a lot of progressive audiences. In past decades action blockbusters didn’t felt progressive, today’s superhero blockbusters were embraced by progressive audiences and this was the start of a twist in general for the media. I think that there is a contextual social reason for this, not the only factor but one i feel is considerable. 

Late Stage Capitalism crushed us, we are so used to injustice and the control the system has over us is so big that we have slowly stopped dreaming of changing it ourselves. Instead, the fantasy of a superhuman who has the power we don’t have saving us from oppression feels really comforting. Captain America becoming such a huge icon in the middle of a time where extreme facism is rising again all over the world, for example. I don’t know much about his comic counterpart but, at least from what i see in the movies, Steve’s ideals feel to me like all those aspects from French Revolution’s  Enlightenment that capitalism dropped away once bourgeois defeated their feudal rivals and capitalism got consolidated, the freedom and equality that feudal lower classes fought for. Today, we feel too small to make a difference so we enjoy the fantasy of powerful persons leading the fight for us. Capitalism feels more unstoppable than ever, it is the only thing who seems strong to remain in a terribly chaotic world. The suffering this cruel system brings to this world is overwhelming, we feel only a miracle can save us now. This is what feeds the narrative of the superhero as modern myth and saviour of humanity.

The Boys tosses aside all our hopes and dreams, presenting us with the most realistic escenario. Superheros are not the miracle we are waiting for, they are humans like everyone else. They are not sacred entities existing beyond our societies, they are part of the system and they insert on it as part of the security industries. They can be corrupted and they work in corrupt institutions in benefit of the ruling class like every other security provider in capitalist societies. They become a new face of the security forces in constant tension with police and military because the myth of the superhero provides them with the public trust those other two forces lost. People lost their trust in cops but they trust sups because they are supposed to be this noble individuals mobilized by their personal feelings of injustice trying to make the world a better place … right? Police are the forces of the ruling class but superheros are supposed to be with us, or at least this is what common sense and propaganda claim, having our hopes as a base to work on. 

For someone so used to the typical superhero fantasy this felt like a slap on my face back to reality. It soo accurate , the system tends to capture any revolutionary input and turn it into profit. Even if the sups could had been a revolutionary factor at the beginning, the most likely thing to happen is for them to become a profitable industry. If we add to this what we already know of the actions of police and military in our real world we have a combo for disaster. The realistic twist is so fresh and painfully real, i can totally see this happening in real life if superheros were a thing. 

We have already introduced ourselves in the world of this story, let’s check on the first main character this series introduces to us. Hughie Campbell, a college age guy who works in an electronics store, lives with his dad and has the most boring average life you can imagine. This guy who is too afraid to ask his boss for a pay raise changes overnight when a superhero kills his girlfriend in front of him and the big corporation the asshole works for covers up the whole thing. The “average guy becomes a hero” trope is not new at all, but the use it has here feels fresh because it is not there only to feed the male geek power fantasy. Hughie is not a geeky average guy only so geeky average guys can identify with him in an action series full of geeky references,he is not there to be the nerdy guy from Robot Chicken. Hughie’s characterization makes a point for everyone. The smallest most unimportant person, the one who can't even stand up for themselves in everyday situations, can make a change. Remember Samwise Gamgee fighting Shelob in Lord of the Rings? Hughie killing Translucent gives me that vibe. If we consider the point i already stated about superheroes being there when we feel too small to fight back injustice, this is the exact opposite. This is a fantasy that gives us the power, makes us think in our own strengths. Hughie is standing up for himself for the first time in his life and he inspires us to fight for our rights. 

Pharmaceutical,Security and Entertainment industries and their business system : Superheros as lab rats,elite security forces and celebrities. 

This part of the post is the hardest to write and the most exquisite. There is so much to talk about about this system Vought shaped tying these three billionaire industries together. The first thing i want to mention, as a point to start, is Butcher’s ramble over the teddy bear with a camera inside in his meeting with Hughie. Perfect introduction for the character with a delightful moment of commentary. In our current societies people live in constant fear for hundreds of reasons. Fears over street crime had skyrocketed all over the world even when crime is not growing uniformly in every country and that accelerated the privatization of security, fears of parents over the strangers they leave they kids with when they are not home inspired products like the one mentioned in the series’s moment, fears on the effects of processed foods are an impulse for the diet industry and i could keep naming lots of other examples. Fears, and the emotional response they trigger , are the base of profitable businesses. 

I had been reading some authors that describe this stage of capitalism as an emotional one. Capitalism preached science and rationality during the past century but today its base of support is an emotional one. To excite the sensations of the people as consumers, to eliminate rational criticism, to push anti popular agendas through emotional excitement and mass hysteria. To cite another example that you can consider bounded to the series, Right Realism in Criminology is now almost common sense and there are people who keep asking for harsher punitive systems. This ideology, with the help of media panic, goes straight after their feelings and fears of being victims of violent crimes. Rational thinking is not the area of discussion, the base of the argument is on fear and pain. Fear of being potential victims, pain shared with the victims thinking in solutions that sound more like revenge than justice. 

Going back to my point, in the world of The Boys this type of punitivism seems to have succeeded even in a greater way than in our current world because it has superheros as backup. If real life harsh punitivism feeds on fear and a wish for social revenge, in this world it has the positive emotions supes inspire on people as a trust certificate for the persons who may not feel that way. They are loved and worshipped celebrities, their faces are everywhere, they have thousands of fans… who would see flaws in what they do? Can you imagine a world in which we worshipped cops and soldiers like we worship celebrities? This is it, people put their blind faith in them because most of them seem to be their fans. Even the people who are against brutality in the actions of security forces would end up trusting them because they are famous people. Our culture has taught us to make ourselves blind to the bullshit we see on the celebrities we love. Fans have a strong emotional attachment to their favourite celebs and this can turn into emotional manipulation in this context. If actors or singers in real life can have a fanbase that forgets to see them as human people how would these actual superhumans not end up being worshipped as gods? 

There has always been military propaganda in entertainment but this marriage between the industries through superheros is far more sinister than that. It makes you think about the unfair amount of credibility we put in celebrities. The plane crash scene of Homelander and Maeve it’s even more devastating looking at it from that perspective. Those persons had their full trust in them and they were safer with the terrorists. Can you imagine being a Homelander fan and dying there?  That’s horrible, the last thing you get in your life is the biggest disappointment ever from someone you trusted and stanned. 

 Speaking of Homelander, he is a right wing wet dream and one of the best villians i had ever seen, he makes me feel sick with how fucking despicable he is. His character is an excellent point to start the ramble on the third wheel of this corporate nightmare. Superheros are products of the pharmaceutical industry, injected with a drug since they were babies. In his particular case, he was raised like a lab rat and the series is realistic even in this detail. The lab rat kid with superpowers is another common trope that we see pretty often and here it also gets twisted. I’m thinking for example on Eleven from Stranger Things, she has been raised by abusive scientists who treated her as an experiment, yet she is this sweet kiddo who has a hard time socializing. Instead, Homelander is a monster without conscience or mercy and seems to be severely affected by his abnormal childhood. Brilliant, he is the ultimate product of this corporative triangle and depicts everything that's wrong with it. 

The cycle is pretty clear: drugs create them, they play their role in security and their media notoriety justifies their actions. As it is shown in season one,  the security aspect of the corporate complex represented mostly in Homelander’s actions craves to grow bigger and get supes into the military since, in the startpoint of the series, they only work with cops. Since the industry feeds on fear and Vought seems to have a monopoly in the production of powered persons there were no threats big enough to justify the intervention of superhumans in wars. Dismissing the importance of this monopoly for the company, Homelander suministrates the drug to terrorist groups in an attempt to create the first super villains. This is a perfect analogy of how the american war machine works. There is no way for terrorist groups from Third World countries to get access to sophisticated war technology without help from the ones who wield that power better than anyone. The first mentions of the supe terrorists reminded me of when i was in my course of worldwide history in college and i learned there how most of those famous names in middle eastern terrorism were actually friends with the CIA before at some point. Here in South America we have other history regarding the style of USA intervention, the Plan Condor dictatorships in the 70’s and early 80’s. I was just starting my career when I had a month of history classes about the Middle East and, being pretty ignorant on the matter, it shocked me the way in which the US villainized people they used to work with. I think the series makes a great point with this part of the plot because it hints something of this war mechanics. 

Gender politics of the series: a surprisingly complex approach on the topic of sexual assault ,a realistic critic to bland white feminism and the empty cashgrabbing ways in which mainstream media adapts feminist discourse.

This topic was even a bigger surprise for me. I wasn't expecting such an interesting approach of gender issues, mostly because this is the area in which media wannabe woke messages had become more dissapointing to me lately. Specially in a show about superheros, i wasn't expecting to get very interesting points.

I will start talking of the portrayals of sexual assault. We have two sexually assaulted characters in the series, Starlight and Becca. First, i think it is great that they didn't used the "rape as character development" trope. Actually, it's cool how they mock this conceptions. When Starlight saves a woman from being raped on the streets or when she makes a public statement about her sexual assault it's the people behind her, building her public image as a character, the ones who push that trope. In the first time their great character development idea is to sexualize her outfit, after the second event mentioned they literally push her sexual assault as development. I love how the public relationships team acts oftenly in a men writing women way, serving as mirror for the most common mistakes of writers on pop culture products when they write female characters.

Going back to my point, i like the effort they putted into portraying differences in both cases. Homelander is the typical portrayal of a rapist, a narcisistic monster without remorse, a deranged son of a bitch. The Deep is also a piece of shit, but of a different kind. There is a phrase that feminists of my country had popularized " los violadores son hijos sanos del patriarcado" ( it means, the rapists are healthy sons of the patriarchy. It tries to explain they are not crazy individuals who act outside societal circunstancies), the Deep reminded me of that.

He is not crazy, he is an insecure guy with a super fragile ego who abuses women for power. Insecurity on men under patriarchy tends to become bashing of women. This is not a black and white portrayal of a sex criminal, it is surprisingly complex. Of course,his actions were unexcusable. He will never repay what he did to Starlight and other women before her but he has chances of working on his issues and, eventually if he trully wants to get better, stop being the scumbag he is. He is not a deranged criminal whose only fate is to be neutralized for the safety of others.

I think this is important because, at least in my country, i had seen people using sex offenders as an example of why countries without death penalty should implement it. I don't support extreme autoritarian security measures and it makes me sick to hear that there are people claiming those as solutions in the name of women's safety. I like the approach they took to portray The Deep as the piece of shit he is but still showing the complexity of this issue instead of going for a more traditional dichotomic way.

Back to the mocking of mainstream media's attempts of adopting a feminist approach i mentioned, the season two got even better at this commentary on the "Strong Female Character" trope with the introduction of Stormfront. She is the literal embodiment of what shitty marketing says an empowered female character must be and has the biggest "I'm not like other girls" complex ever. That interaction she had with Starlight in "pink = bad, pants = cool" mood was super annoying and blaming her for the assault?? Freaking disgusting.

Honestly, i hated her soo much even before she showed her true colours completely. Stormfront represents everything i hate in Hollywood's feminism and the crappy meaningless messages it's pushing lately. She reminds me to all the fake "woke" advertisements i had seen on tv, like a Carefree (pads brand) advertisement that pissed me off last week because with the slogan " self trust is beauty" it portrayed girls who wear make up as fake and insecure.

Now, speaking of that particular scene of her killing Kimiko's brother. I felt literally sick, even sicker than in every Homelander scene. This bitch is worst than Homelander because at least he gathers a public that serves to his views. If you ever need to provide someone with a proof of why intersectionality in feminism matters use this racist bitch. Horryfying racism hidden behind the progressive mask of a bullshit privileged version of feminism, the thing i hate the most. She has a strong nazi terf vibe. I think she absolutely applies as mirror of critic to stuff like Rowling's terf nonsense. 

The introspective look this series has regarding the multiple issues on today’s attempts of gender approach on media entertainment surprised me. It’s everything i would had wished something to point out but nobody seemed to have the guts to make it happen because, as i already said, the current trend is what it’s being focus of critic here. 

I will end this now, i feel there is plenty of more stuff to talk about but this post is getting very long and, if i get more ideas i want to discuss, i can always make a second post. As i said before, this expresses my humble opinions and i’m open to hear different interpretations that can enrich my views. 

Thanks for reading this extra long ramble. 

[backtothestart02]

Just Best Friends - 7/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Enjoy. :)

...

Chapter 7 -

Iris rolled over the next morning, stretching her arm across the empty bed. She blew out a puff of air and opened her eyes when she realized it was just her in the bed. She groaned and rolled across it, getting tangled in the blanket and bed sheet before she realized she was nearing the edge of the bed and would fall off if she wasn’t careful.

Scooting back to the middle, she moved one pillow with her while pushing the other off the bed, then stretched out her arms and legs so they reached the bottom corners and sides of the bed.

“So,” she spoke aloud to herself. “He’s really gone.”

She curled herself up so she was sitting upright and pulled the blanket and sheet free of her legs. She scooted to the edge of the bed and got up, walking into the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

She really wished he hadn’t left. With the way she’d been feeling – and still felt – towards Barry and her dad, Eddie would’ve been the perfect distraction from all that. Maybe she could’ve even forgot about it entirely. Then Barry wouldn’t have to worry about her spilling his secret at all.

Not that she owed him anything. Not for keeping that secret from her for almost a year.

And what about you?

She decided to ignore the little voice in her head that continuously tried to point out the facts she didn’t want to acknowledge. That she was attracted to Barry, that she might have feelings for him, that she’d broken his heart not for the first time because she refused to acknowledge those two facts.

“And because I’m in a relationship!” she said aloud, wondering why she felt the need to defend herself to herself. It didn’t make sense. She’d already decided who she wanted. She wanted Eddie. He was her boyfriend, and she refused to break the loyalty she had to him.

Except when you cheated…

“Shut up!”

She sighed and braced her hands on the counter, watching the coffee machine work its magic for several minutes until the coffee was ready. Pulling a mug down from the cupboards, she poured some of the hot steamy liquid into the container. She set the pitcher back on its platform before digging in the fridge for the milk. She poured some into her dark beverage and put the gallon back. Then, after mixing the contents with a spoon and depositing the utensil in the sink, she walked over to the couch in the living room and took a seat.

Blowing on her drink, she then set it on the coffee table on a coaster she’d handpicked, and waited for it to cool some. She sank back into the couch and thought about the last time she’d been there.

The night she’d cheated…

No, no. The night Eddie had come home drunk and kicked her out.

And then nicely apologized the next morning.

That’s no excuse!

Neither is yours…

Ugh.

She hated her inner voice. She hated how right it was, so instead she opted for how annoying it was. What did it know anyway? It was a conscience. Maybe. Probably. But it didn’t take into account how she felt through all of this.

She’d been incredibly hurt by Eddie’s dismissal of her. The fact that he came home drunk at all was so shocking she hardly knew how to handle it. She’d tried so hard to make it a good night for him, for them. And it was all thrown out the window when he couldn’t get past the fact that she and Barry were affectionate with each other and that somehow meant that deep down they had more than platonic feelings for each other.

Well, he was right…

Argh. He was not right.

Oh, really? Then how come-

Pushing herself forward to cut off the voice, Iris reached for her mug and downed some coffee, even though it wasn’t quite cool enough to not burn her tongue and throat on the way down.

Right now, she decided, her cheating on Eddie was a non-issue.

Her inner voice snorted.

What mattered now was that Eddie was out of town and Barry and her dad had betrayed her. What was she supposed to do as a distraction? Work? She supposed she could work on mending things with Linda. Though, what was the point? They had never really been friends, and Iris had always been a little intimidated and felt threatened by her because Barry had chosen her to move on with.

She still remembered that first day he had come by CCPN, not to see her at her workplace, but to meet up with Lin-daa to go on a date. She scrunched up her nose in disgust. He’d never come to see her at her job even once, but he came to meet one of her co-workers that she didn’t even know about to go on a date.

She remembered shaking Linda’s hand and smiling brightly, happy to meet her, ecstatic even. Linda was happy, Barry was happy. They were all happy. And the next time she heard about them going out again, this time at Jitters, she’d been happy for him too.

She was so, so happy. She could hardly stand how happy she was. He was finally meeting a wonderful girl who would give him what she couldn’t. A romantic relationship.

And then that night had happened, and it had changed everything. For her, for Barry, for Eddie, for Linda. Barry had been so quick to break up with Linda after it, she realized there’d been no point in her being jealous at all of their relationship.

Ohh, jealous? That inner voice teased.

“Not jealous,” she said aloud, shaking her head.

She blew over her coffee another time, then hesitantly went in for a tiny sip. It was cooler now. Hot but not scalding. The perfect temperature.

There was nothing for it. Mad at Barry for his Flash reveal or not, she couldn’t face Linda at work. Even if she didn’t recognize her existence like before. Between Barry and her dad betraying her, Eddie being gone – mostly because he was mad at her – or hurt? Probably mostly hurt. And because he believed the answer to their couple problems was her making up with Barry. She rolled her eyes at that.

And then there was Linda and their nonexistent relationship. She still hadn’t been able to get a solid conversation out of her, or even a greeting. Linda hadn’t told Eddie of Iris’ little dalliance with Barry yet. That much was obvious. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t though.

Iris nibbled on her bottom lip and stared down into her coffee, setting it back on the coaster before going into her shared bedroom with Eddie and unplugging her now fully charged phone. She practiced her sick voice aloud a few times, the same one she’d used as an example for Barry when he needed to convince her dad he was sick back in elementary and high school.

“Hello?” she croaked as soon as HR came on the line. “My name is Iris West. I’m an employee at CCPN,” she rasped. “And I…” She coughed into the phone and heaved dramatically. “I won’t be able to come in today. I’m sick.”

Yeah, she didn’t want to deal – or not deal – with Linda at work today either.

…

Barry zoomed just to outside CCPN on his work break. Then he straightened his jacket and flattened some of his hair that had blown wild during his running. Glancing at his reflection in the glass door, he decided he looked okay enough. At least he didn’t look like he’d been running at super speed or been blasted by a massive wave of wind.

Joe didn’t know that he was here. He’d left a little earlier than his usual lunch break when he knew Joe was probably still busy with own work at the station or maybe even out at a crime scene that he – Barry – was hopefully not needed for. He knew that they’d decided to not interact with Iris for a few days, give her some space to breathe before making some peace with her, but Barry had decided what was the harm in trying it at least once the very next morning?

After all, her being mad at him was almost worse than her breaking his heart. It kind of was worse because it broke his heart in the process, and he knew she was right to be mad. About this at least. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d tried to convince Joe to just let him tell her. Joe would have none of it though. At least he was seeing the error of his ways now.

Swinging the door open, Barry walked in and immediately saw that Iris wasn’t at her desk. Mason, the Nobel-prize winner that had finally warmed up to her wasn’t at his desk either, which Barry found very suspicious until he spotted the man across the room.

He approached him and cleared his throat loudly.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir?”

Mason finally looked up at him and squinted his eyes where he stood at the copier.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Barry felt fire in his cheeks but forced himself to get past it so he wouldn’t blush too hard in front of this stranger.

“I’m a friend of Iris. Iris West. Do you know if she’s in today?”

Mason made some sort of a grunting sound, then shook his head and pushed past Barry roughly, heading back to his desk with his papers.

“I-” Barry frowned, unsure of how to proceed.

Luckily, Linda had witnessed the entire thing and felt sorry for the poor guy enough to try and get his attention when Mason was gone.

“Hey, Barry. Barry!”

Barry looked in the direction of where his name was being called and sighed in relief.

“Linda!”

He walked over to her quickly.

“What’s with that guy?” He pointed in the direction of Mason with his thumb.

Linda crossed her arms and looked over Barry’s shoulder to where Mason was getting settled at his desk. Then she looked back at Barry.

“Oh, uh…he’s not super friendly to newcomers.” She winced. “Sorry about that. What did you need?”

Barry blew out a puff of air.

“I was looking for Iris. She and I had a little…”

“Oh, another…?” She winked dramatically.

“No, I mean, yes, but…” He sighed. “She found out I’m…” He mouthed the words ‘The Flash’.

Linda’s mouth fell open, and she shut it quickly while nodding slowly.

“Ah,” she said. “I thought she was supposed to…never know about that.”

“She wasn’t,” he ground out.

Her brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it some.

“Apparently,” he lowered his voice, “I didn’t think to change my make-out style from Barry to a certain…scarlet speedster. She put two and two together real fast, and…yeah.”

“Wait a second, let me get this straight.” She held up a hand. “You made out with Iris, as…” she mouthed ‘The Flash’. “After you and I…as in, the same night?”

Barry’s head fell to his chest.

“Not my finest hour, I know. I just can’t…”

“Resist her,” she finished, shaking her head and smiling. “I can see that. Damn, it’s really good we broke up when we did or I’d be going mad with jealousy at this point. Not even sex can keep you from straying.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” she said, giving a short, quick laugh. “If anything, I’m amused.”

“Yeah?”

“Consider us friends, Barry Allen. That’s much better than just exes, isn’t it?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

“Besides you should have someone who knows…” She lowered her voice. “Your secret.” She returned to normal volume. “That isn’t pissed at you about it. After all, we were only dating a few weeks. You had every right to your secrets at that point.”

“And you’ll keep it, right? You’ll keep my secret?”

“Of course,” she said automatically. “I said I would, and I will. You have my word on that.”

He smiled tremulously.

“Thanks, Linda.” He looked back over his shoulder before looking back at her. “So, about Iris?”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I think she called in sick today actually. I thought I overheard that when I passed HR’s office this morning.”

“Oh.” Barry frowned too.

“But if she’s as mad at you as you make it sound like she is, then I probably wouldn’t be bringing soup by her apartment any time soon. A) she’s probably not actually sick, and B) she’s probably still rattled from the recent revelation she discovered.”

Barry sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, she came over to the house last night and gave Joe and I a piece of her mind,” he muttered, still feeling scarred from just how angry Iris had been.

Linda rubbed her hand on Barry’s arm to soothe him and pull him out of his dark thoughts.

“Just give her a few days, Barry. She needs time to process everything before she can even think of forgiving you or even being nice about any type of apology on your end. That’s how it would be for me if I was in her position, at least.”

“Right,” Barry said, mostly to himself, as Joe’s voice loomed in the back of his head. “A few days.”

Linda tilted her head to the side.

“Want to have lunch with me? Might serve as a good distraction from your problems.”

He shook his head.

“No, thanks. I should get back to the station before Joe realizes I’m missing.” He paused before meeting her eyes. “He also suggested waiting a few days before trying to talk to Iris.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “See you later then.”

“See you,” he said quickly, then power-walked to the exit and flashed back to CCPD.

Linda watched and shook her head in wonder.

“That is…something else,” she murmured, then sat back at her desk and pulled out her paper bag lunch.

…

The next day Iris came into work. She came in the day after too. Barry didn’t interact with her that second day at all. He just flashed past CCPN to see if she was at her desk, to make sure she was okay and not genuinely sick. On day 3, he decided three days was the absolute bare minimum of ‘few’ and that he would wait till the end of the workday to surprise her and hope she didn’t blow him off. If she did, he’d probably have to wait a couple more days to see if she’d be more open to talking then. But if she gave him an opening, he wasn’t going to just sit by and not take it. She wasn’t just his best friend. She was the love of his life, and deep down he saw a future for them romantically.

Iris, exhausted after a long day, and having realized there was no danger in Linda surprise-interacting with her, got her things together and headed for the exit. The last thing she expected was Barry standing there in a suit with a huge arrangement of roses in a heart shape on a stand. She couldn’t even get a word in before he interrupted her thought process.

“It’s too much? It’s too much. It’s the heart, right? It’s too cheesy. Alright, hold on.”

And before she could blink, the flowers had been rearranged. Now they formed her name in all caps: IRIS.

“Is that better?”

Still trying to process, all she could do was stare, looking at the masterpiece before her and wondering how to respond to it, especially since she’d decided at the beginning of the day she was still mad at him.

“It’s worse?” His face fell. “We’ll go back to the heart. It’s-”

“No, Barry! Wait, wait. It is so beautiful, and you are so sweet…in theory.”

His frown deepened.

“In theory?”

She sighed and approached him tentatively.

“Did you forget what happened just a few days ago? Already?”

His shoulders slumped.

“I thought that would’ve been enough time.”

Her brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For you to forgive me.”

She took a step back and scoffed.

“You kept a life-altering event from me for months, almost a year, and you thought a few days would be enough for me to just…let that go?”

His mouth fell open but nothing came out.

Iris rolled her eyes and started to walk away. Luckily, Barry snapped out of it and immediately pursued her.

“Wait, wait, Iris, hold on!”

“And what’s with the suit?” she demanded. “It’s not like we’re going on a date.”

“No, I know that. I just…I wanted to look my best.”

“For what?”

“For you, obviously.”

She stopped and turned to look at him.

“And I think flowers look best with a suit accompanying them. I mean…right?”

She sighed, ignoring the tug on her heartstrings from how hopeful he looked.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” she began. “How can I possibly be mad at you for keeping a big secret when I’m keeping an equally huge one from Eddie?”

His voice squeaked a little. “Well.”

He hadn’t wanted to say it, but…yeah.

“We’ve been friends for over 15 years, Barry. We tell each other everything. Or we’re supposed to. I may have had a few days to let things sink in, but that doesn’t mean I can forgive you for it. It’s too huge.”

He took a step towards her.

“Okay, if you don’t want to talk about that, can we at least address the elephant in the room? You’ve been avoiding it since it happened, and I don’t think it’s fair. With Eddie gone, I mean…”

“Eddie did not break up with me,” she said. “He’s just out of town. That doesn’t give me permission to just…pick up where I left off with you.”

“No, I know that,” he was quick to say. “But do you ever…want to?”

He knew it was a risky question to ask, but if she wouldn’t even consider talking about the Flash reveal from the other night, he figured the other ginormous elephant was worth talking about. It had been long enough.

Iris took a breath, fighting with herself to not break out in a screaming match in the middle of the street.

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest? I’ll be honest.”

Barry held his breath.

“Am I attracted to you? Yes. Did I just figure it out that night? More or less. Has the memory of that night been stuck in my brain ever since? Pretty much.”

His eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“But here’s the thing.”

Uh-oh.

“It’s just sexual attraction.”

He frowned.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…we’ve been friends for so long, we were bound to develop a physical attraction to each other at some point. And for some reason neither one of us was smart enough to give in to a one-night stand to get those completely natural attraction feelings out of our system. It was going to come out and some point sporadically.”

“So, what you’re saying is…”

“I don’t have feelings for you, Barry. I love Eddie. He’s the only person I love. Romantically, at least.”

“I…see.”

“Ideally, a one-night stand would fix all of this, but I obviously can’t do that without cheating on Eddie again. And this time with actual sex.”

Barry gulped.

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“Right.”

“I will just have to…figure out some other way to get you out of my head. Or your body, rather.”

He wrapped an arm around the back of his head and did not succeed in stopping the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“I see.”

“And even if I did have feelings for you, which I don’t…”

“Yeah?” He licked his lips.

“All of that is moot, because I can’t trust you.”

His face fell.

“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore. Like you’ve been a completely different person since the moment you woke up from that coma.”

“Iris…” He reached for her, but she took a step back and held up a hand to fend him off.

“I’m sorry, Barry, but a few days and some flowers, gorgeous though they may be, is just not going to cut it.”

He found he had no words to that.

So this time when she turned away, he didn’t chase after her. He watched her walk away and out of his life. Again.

…

The plan was to go back to the apartment. That was the plan. But for some reason after Iris got into her car, she kept driving past a street she was supposed to turn onto and went to a familiar place instead. A place she knew better than the apartment she shared with Eddie and felt more like home to her, though she’d never admit it.

Jitters.

When she got inside the coffee shop, she headed straight for the back staircase without even stopping to get a drink. She opened the heavy, gray door and looked up at the long winding staircase above her. Taking a breath, she started the ascent, memories playing over and over in her mind with each new step she took.

She saw that first moment she really met the Flash again. That wink he’d sent her way. It had immediately caused chills to race down her spine. She’d been breathless, absolutely and completely. Was that what a crush felt like? It’d been so long since she felt that. She skipped that step with Eddie. He’d just come into her life when she was absolutely falling apart, and they’d naturally gone through all the relationship steps, but she never really had a crush on him. They’d missed that part somehow.

But she had a crush on the Flash. There was no denying it now. No denying how superficial it was either. She was a dedicated fan, and he was a superhero. There were probably loads of people had a crush on the scarlet speedster. She couldn’t be the only one.

But he’d met with her.

To stop her from running her blog, sure, but she knew the reason behind that now. She wondered how different things could’ve been if he hadn’t been trying to stop her during every clandestine meeting they had together. He’d probably have revealed he was her best friend sooner. But then she probably wouldn’t have had a crush on him or would’ve stopped having crush on him.

Right?

She kept walking up the stairs as another time flashed before her mind. Their second time on the rooftop. She’d been so happy, so full of life, so eager for even a snippet for her to include in her blog. And she’d been flirty too.

“My hearing is fine. It’s just selective.”

She smirked at that.

Another time… the time she cut off all contact with him, at least for a while. Because a meta had taken over his mind and nearly killed Eddie.

That made sense now too. Of course in a warped mind state Barry would go after Eddie. Eddie had wanted to take down the Flash since the second he believed in him, and then there was the other thing.

Barry was jealous.

“Don’t contact me again. Okay?”

If she had only known it was Barry.

She would’ve responded so differently. She would have understood. She would’ve wanted to know if he was okay, what he had gone through, how he’d broken through. She would’ve been entirely focused on him instead of her boyfriend. Eddie might not have liked that, but he would just have had to deal. Barry was her first and foremost, always.

She burst through to the rooftop, heaving, and went to the far side, leaning on the half-wall, which practically came up to her shoulders.

Her hands were trembling, so she gripped them to the stone as tightly as she could. And then she felt a gust of wind behind her and knew who was there. Who else could it be?

“Did you search the whole city for me?” She swallowed, as she turned around.

Barry approached slowly from the doorway.

“Didn’t have to. This is…your spot.”

Her irritation boiled up inside her again. Of course he knew that. He knew things about her that she hadn’t known that he knew. All because he’d kept this ginormous secret from her for months. He hadn’t let on at all, and she’d never figured it out. Maybe that bothered her the most.

“Yeah, it’s a special spot,” she said aloud. “It’s where I first met the Flash.” She shook her head. “All those times, you were standing right in front of me, and I had no idea. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Words she’d said before, but somehow they bared repeating. He needed to get it through his thick skull that she wasn’t going to just…forgive him because he was persistent.

“What are you even doing here?” she demanded.

He took a breath, ignoring her question.

“Every time I falter make a mistake, the thought of you is what picks me up and keeps me going. And not just as Barry, as the Flash too. With every meta, every crook, every time I have to step in and be a hero, it’s you, Iris. It’s you.”

Iris licked her lips, the words hitting home for her despite how much she didn’t want them to. It was a boost to know she was the support for a superhero. Even if he was just saying it to get her to consider forgiving him.

He closed the remaining distance between them.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is…even though you didn’t know everything about my life this past year, that does not mean that you weren’t a part of it. You were. Every. Single. Day. Without you…there wouldn’t be the Flash.”

And she knew in that moment, she was going to forgive him.

Her dad might be a different story, but this was Barry. How could she not?

Barry reached down and grazed his fingertips across one of her hands. She swore she felt a spark. She’d bet her life on it. She gasped even, albeit quietly.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, his voice gravelly and rough, almost like the Flash. Almost. “Are we good?”

And in that moment that she looked up into his eyes, she saw their whole life together flash before her eyes. Past, present, and future. She felt hope and longing and love. And she didn’t see Eddie in the future just then. She wasn’t thinking about him at all.

She felt butterflies too, exploding inside of her, and a dawning revelation hit her stronger than the one before she’d kissed him weeks before.

Oh, my God. I’m in love with him.

She could hardly breathe, and it was dangerous to be this close to him, to be touching him, knowing what she now knew.

“I think…” She licked her lips. “I think we might be okay.” She tried to push past the feelings cascading around her, but it was impossible. “Fresh start?” she made herself say, and he nodded.

“I’d like that,” he said. “No more secrets?”

She could almost laugh. She was sitting on a big one right now.

Tremulously, she smiled.

“No more secrets.” She tilted her head to the side, not wanting to part with him but knowing she needed a distraction that wasn’t confessing her undying love for her best friend while her boyfriend was out of town.

“You want to go see a movie?”

He grinned, and she wanted to melt. She’d forgotten how sexy that grin was. She hadn’t let herself think it, but now she was having trouble thinking of anything else.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

He dropped her hand, but she looped her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked toward the door on the far end of the rooftop. She felt like a girl with a crush, and she knew then with absolute certainty that if Barry had told her who he was from the beginning, her crush wouldn’t have gone away. It would’ve intensified.

And that should’ve worried her more than anything else.

But for some reason, it didn’t.

[giorno-plays-piano]

You were all I wanted Part 3

Pairing: mob!Peter Parker x plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, human trafficking, mentions of non-con, minor character’s death.

Words: 1600.

Summary: You are bought by the head of Stark crime family for a kid he cares about.

Part 1

Part 2

P.S. Peter is an adult!

This chapter turned out to be shorter, but it's still pretty eventful. Hope you're going to like it <3

___________

"But what... what if he won't like me? What if he'll take me away?" You sobbed, panic taking over you as you imagined Tony Stark pressing a gun to your forehead.

"No, he'd never do that." Peter left a little kiss behind your ear. "Mr. Stark doesn't take the gifts he's made back. You don't have to be afraid of that."

You sniffed at his words. That's what you were now. A gift. A possession. A pet whose job was keeping its master happy. You had to be grateful you were given to someone like Peter, at least. You didn't know whether he would always treat you kindly, but as of now he had never threatened to hurt you. You could only pray for him to fancy you so he wouldn't throw you away like some garbage - apparently, Tony Stark treated his women exactly like that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Of course, you got upset." Peter cuddled with you some more, but you weren't sure whether he was being sincere. Wasn't he sending you a clear message?

Don't go against me or you'll end just like her.

"Oh, I have an idea. Let's go out! Do you wanna see the movie or something?"

You did your best to wipe away your tears and stared at the boy, perplexed. "What?"

"We have a nice little cinema not far from here. We could go right now, just let me check what they've having today."

"But didn't you say I can't leave this place?"

"I meant without me." He showed you the same smug smirk Stark was wearing all the time, and you lowered your gaze to Peter's chest instead. "With me close you can go wherever you want to."

Funny thing to say. In thruth, you could go wherever he wanted to take you.

"Wow, they're having Beyond Darkness in 30 min! We gotta go, you'll loooove this."

"Sure."

In five minutes you were already hurrying after Peter and trying to look nowhere but your shoes. Regardless of what was there in Stark's Tower, you didn't want to see it, not even mentioning all those guys with guns scattered across the building. Peter was saying his hello to each and every one of them as if he were some mafia's social butterfly.

Whatever. You knew Peter was Tony's favorite not because he had a pretty face. You had never particularly asked what his role in all this was, but it was obviously something way bigger than running errands for the gang. Maybe it was better to never figure it out.

"Hey girl, wanna have fun?" Somebody to your left asked you, and you flinched involuntarily, keeping your head low.

Peter stopped in the very same second and sent the stranger a hard look.

"Mike, you offer my girl drugs one more time and I'm gonna shoot your cute little brother in the leg, you hear me?"

You raised your eyes to Peter's smiling face and regretted it immediately. There was something so dark in his gaze you wanted to turn around and run until you were back to your room, hiding somewhere in the corner.

"Shit! Sorry, Spidey!" The guy's high-pitched voice sounded frightened. "Didn't know you got a girl!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you later, we're kind of busy now." Peter grabbed your hand and pulled you away, heading to the exit. "I forgot to mention before that we don't do drugs. At all. They're good for business, but not for us, ok, Baby?"

"Yes, Peter." You answered and kept chewing your lips, thinking of all the things he had just said. You suspected him to be more ruthless when you weren't around, but never to such extent. How damn scary was real Peter Parker?

"And don't worry, I'd never shoot his brother in whatever part of his body." The boy said it like it was something obvious and you didn't even need to pay attention to it.

Why then did that guy look completely horrified?

When you had finally stepped outside and felt the wind playing with your hair you were ready to cry. Just walking out of the Tower was a fucking torture.

It was already dark, and you pulled the zipper on your pretty blue jacket up, going almost shoulder to shoulder with Peter. Normally you'd be at least a little scared to walk the streets of a big city at night, but the guy your mother had warned you about was already holding your hand.

The place the boy brought you to was truly small but cozy with nice vintage red seats, the delicious smell of caramel popcorn spreading everywhere. It turned out that the movie was something in between Star Wars and Star Trek, which wasn't surprising because Peter was a sucker for anything related to sci-fi. Anyway, it wasn't bad and you actually enjoyed watching it. The movie helped you to keep your mind off your earlier encounter with the drug trafficker and the words Peter said.

The only way to live like that and stay sane was to turn a blind eye to anything that happened around, you thought. It was cowardly and revolting, but what could you do against one of the most, if not the most, dangerous gangs in New York? Surely, even if by some miracle you could flee the Tower and go to police, would they really be willing to help you? No, they would return you to Mr. Stark. You were a hundred percent sure he got it covered.

"Are you feeling tired, Baby?"

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Peter who smiled at you so lovingly it could make any girl cry.

"Just a little bit."

"Want me to give you a massage when we gonna get home?" His expression quickly turned devious, and he winked at you.

Yeah, great, now you'd have him fucking you before your knees were giving out. The kid had such stamina he could be an Olympic athlete, no less.

"Aw, I love when you blush like that." Chuckling, he put his arm around your shoulders and inched closer to give you a quick peck on the lips. You forced youself to enjoy his little signs of affection and start thinking you ought to be thankful he wasn't into heavy BDSM practices or something like that.

While you two were kissing again, you heard someone's loud footsteps as if this person just jumped out of the corner, and then there was a hateful outburst, "Stay were you are. Your wallets, quick!"

You froze, your hands getting cold as you stared at the face of a guy standing in front of you with a knife in his hands. He was clearly unstable, sick - you could see the dark circles around his eyes, the unhealthy color of his skin, and his greasy hair sticking to his forehead. You didn't know what was wrong with him, but he was twice bigger than Peter. The guy would probably have no problem with slicing both him and you into pieces if you didn't comply.

"I said g-"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Peter let out a frustrated sigh before you heard the loud sound of the gun firing.

There was a little black hole in the guy's chest, blood seeping through his dirty white t-shirt and coloring it in a beautiful deep ruby color. You could see the confusion in the eyes of the stranger, his mouth half-open. Slowly, he went down before his legs gave out and he landed at the ground with a loud thud. He didn't move after that.

"Come on, attacking a couple of high shoolers? You're such a psycho, man. Who were you gonna go after us? Kids?" Peter rolled his eyes and hid the gun under his bomber, turning away from the man he murdered and shouting to someone behind him. "It's ok, people! It's just me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Calm down, go home, it's late!"

You were still staring at the large pool of blood spreading beneath the body of a stranger - lack of light made it look like it was an odd black liquid. Before you could take your eyes elsewhere, you felt bile quickly going up your throat and vomitted, moving to lean your hand on the wall of a building. He killed him. Peter killed him. You didn't even see him pulling out the gun.

"Oh Baby, I'm so sorry." The boy gently held back your hair when you threw up again, feeling scared, disgusted, feverish and cold at the same time. "That's why I don't like drugs and what they do to people. That shithead lost his mind, you see? No sane guy would ever jump on me or my girl like that."

Despite him being so tender, you couldn't even turn your head to look at him as you started shaking from his touch.

You kept emptying your stomach a few more minutes before Peter softly wiped your mouth with his handkerchief and took your arm, walking you back to the Tower and saying all those unnecessary things about how terrible some people are and how everyone has to take care in the dangerous world they're living in. You didn't hear half of that, but you cared little for his chattering.

Peter had shot the man without showing even the slightest regret. He'd shoot you the same way if you ever turned against him - he was Stark's favourite, after all.

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki  ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @msruchita @opheliadawnwalker3

[prismatales]

An idea for Endeavor’s quirkless child maybe would be where reader gets the okay from the doctors at the hospital say Rei is stable enough to see reader even though she has red hair now? Or another interaction between Dabi and Reader would be great 👍 love your writings and can’t wait to see what you have planned!💕

This was actually a really good detail to consider, since Reader didn't really dye her hair because of what happened with Rei, but to go as unnoticed as possible in school. But I really enjoyed this, and hopefully so do you guys! 💖

Mom

Deep breaths, positive thoughts, don't drop the box.

Deep breaths, positive thoughts, don't drop the box.

Deep breaths, positive thoughts, don't drop the----

"Todo-chan?" The doctor's voice snaps you out of the anxious chanting going off inside your mind. Why were you nervous in the first place when visiting your mother at the hospital became a regular part of your routine?

Oh yeah....Because this was the first time after that incident five years ago that she'd be seeing you with red hair. You know it was completely different from last time, your mother's mental health is stable enough now, she was able to see Shoto without a problem after all....But the memories from that time still terrify you just thinking about it, the idea of going back to square one with her?

"My colleagues and I have talked it over, and I'm more than pleased to say it's alright to go see your mother as well as allow her to keep this gift of yours, based on the description we're positive it may help with her recovery"

There's confidence in each of her words, and that gentle smile of hers helps to ease the anxiety inside the pit of your stomach, a breathe of relief you didn't realize you'd been holding in escapes which send her into a small giggling fit, but she doesn't say anything else and offers to accompany you on the way to your mother's room

"Dr. Chigusa?" She glances in your direction with curiosity, this woman had been one of the people taking care of your mother since the very beginning of her treatment, her kind demeanor had quickly won over every single one of the Todoroki siblings, everyone who's met her knows that had she been there the day of the accident things would have probably gone differently...

The footsteps echoing through pristine halls are equally soothing and distressing, a seemingly endless hall keeps going and going till a certain room is eventually coming into sight.

"Yes dear?" She takes a small glance in your direction and stops walking, the way your hands grip the corners of the box tightly, she can easily perceive the insecurity and fear coming through every inch of your being, body shaking slightly once you observe that spot in the wall right besides the door, that spot where a young girl once sat with her back against the wall suffering in silence.

"...What if it happens again? I don't want to see my Mom going through that all over again"

Worry seeps from every pore in your body, heart pounding loudly against your chest it's a surprise the woman walking beside you doesn't hear a thing, panic surrounds every part of your being just by the memories of that day.

Chigusa grabs your shoulders gently, the moment her quirk activated all those feelings of doubt drifted away like traces of smoke being carried away withing soft currents of air.

"Listen (Y/N), your mother is an incredibly strong woman who's come a long way despite everything she had to endure, I promise you over my medical licence that everything is going to be alright...Do you trust me?"

Confidence radiates from each and every single one of her words, strongly enough to sway the most doubtful of hearts, even without needing to employ her quirk anymore, her eyes shining with assurance accompanied by the warm hold on your shoulders allows you to step forward to face the one thing that separates your mother from the rest of the world.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll go in first and let her know you're coming, how does that sound?" God really blessed your family when Chigusa came into your mother's life.

She goes inside the room first just like she promised, leaving you in the hall alone with the box. After a few minutes boredom takes over and you start checking out some messages with our friends. Some of them send pictures of study sessions, the girls from Shoto's class are having a spa day at the dorms complete with face masks and cucumber in their eyes, there's also a text from Bakugo and his friends, one that makes your eyelid twitch in mild annoyance.

"I guess we can't call you Omurice head anymore, uh?" They say jokingly after seeing your new profile pic.

"Have you ever seen a hedgehog covered in glitter? Cause I think you will soon" You quickly text them back.

The door opens right after you send the message and Chigusa comes out with a big smile on her face.

"You can come in now Y/N, I'll give you two some space, but remember everything...?" She goes quiet, waiting for an answer as you inhale deeply before finishing her sentence.

"Is going to be alright"

"Good!" Then she leaves, not without sending another smile in your direction.

Turning back towards the door and staring for another few seconds you take another deep breath...and finally your hands push the door open. Sunlight illuminates the whole bedroom with beautiful shades of golden light...and right in front of the window your mother's sitting with her back facing the door.

"Here goes nothing..."

"Hi Mom"

Your eyes close in panic, a part of you expecting to hear the screams all over again just like that one time carved into your memories, instead the only thing perceived is silence, slowly looking back at her most serene look is adorning her features, confusion slowly morphing into that kind smile which had only been seen a couple of times when you were less than 6 years old.

"Y/N" The smile never left her face, not even when she took a good look and finally caught sight of the one thing that terrified you in the first place, despite that she didn't stop smiling.

"It's been a while since the last time you visited, is everything okay?"

Not only did it not affect her anymore but this time she paid no mind to it, making a wave of relief flow through your body, she noticed the way your shoulders began trembling.

"Yeah..." your hand wipes away a single tear threatening to come out, mouth curving into a tiny smile before looking back at her "Everything's alright..."

That's how part of the visit went, catching up with her after being unable to visit her for the past three weeks, the answer she got was half true to avoid scaring her.

After all being kidnapped by a psychopath and thrown off a building wasn't the best way to start a conversation, right? So all she was told was how busy you had been with classes, along with this new project.

Speaking of project...

"By the way Mom" You get up from the bed to get the box you had left in the small table "I asked the doctors if I could bring you this, is something I've been working on for a while now, and some senior students from school helped me out with it"

Rei gave it a curious glance, specially when you placed the box down on the floor and pulled out a smaller baby blue metallic box with no cover, inside the box there's this white ball that looks like plastic with a few black and brown spots.

"What is it?"

You smiled at her before pressing a small button on the edge of the box, the actions makes it let out a charging noise and the small ball slowly starts to inflate until its peaking out of the top.

Rei's eyes go wide when it starts taking the shape of a mix between a Japanese bob tail cat and a marshmallow, but the surprise is not over yet once the noise finally dies down and the "cat" slowly opens its metallic black eyes and starts looking around from left to right, once it catches sight of her the small thing carefully climbs out of the box like a small kitten.

"Fuyumi told me how much you love cats, and since it's not possible to have pets in here I talked about this project with the staff" The "cat" turns to look at you with curiosity, and when it gets a nod in response the first thing it does is dart straight towards your mother to nudge her feet. Surprising her by how soft its body feels.

"I heard having a pet around can be therapeutic, so It's programmed to behave like a domestic cat and keep you company"

While you explained its function the cat was already being cradled in your mother's arms, purring softly with every stroke of her fingers on its chin, the excitement on her face couldn't be more obvious once it bopped its face against her hand, demanding more of her attention just like a real cat would.

"Do you like it?" It was obvious she loves the little guy, but you still wanted to hear her answer with eagerness.

"I love it, does he have a name?" she asks happily, but you shake your head no.

"Not really, I wanted you to name it since well, it's your new pet now"

That's all she needed to hear.

"Thank you Y/N" She hugged the cat closer to her "Thank you so much"

In the end the last thing you tell her are the instructions, how the box is actually its charging station and it needs to be re-charged every now and then, and just in case something malfunctioned the staff had a small instructions manual and your number, in case it needed any repairs.

That afternoon you left her room with a bright smile and the ghost that haunted your memories finally gone, this time for good.

Nothing could ruin that moment for you while going back to the dorms with a bounce on your feet...Not even when you ran into someone and nearly fell on the floor had it not been for this mysterious person catching you by the wrist.

"I'm really sorry about that! I should have been more careful!" your voice comes out in a nervous squeak, face full of embarassment while this guy just kept staring at you, a black hoodie covering his head and even with the sunglasses he sported the feeling of his eyes staring at you was easily noticeable.

"It's fine, just be more careful next time, you never know who you might run into" The calmness in his voice made you glad he wasn't pissed off by crashing straight into them, but before any more words could be exchanged the characteristic sound of your ringtone went off.

"I need to pick this call, sorry about that again, see you!" Fishing the phone out from the bottom of your pockets the last thing he saw was a small wave aimed towards him before you ran off, this time paying attention to the surroundings while answering the call.

"See you soon...Firefly"

@t-amajiki @undead0relived @shoobirino @bnha-ra @godtieruwu @mysticalite

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (4/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

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Rating: T Word Count: Another 9K or so, but with feelings AN: I had every intention of posting this on actual Christmas, but there was a Doctor Who marathon on and, well—I got distracted by other time travel. Hopefully my timelines are more consistent than River Song’s. Sorry, River Song. Here’s a whole bunch of kissing and feeling feelings. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

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“Were you ever actually going to paint?”

No eyebrow movement that time, although Killian’s actual eyes widen ever so slightly and that particular reaction is starting to do dangerous things to Emma's ego. He keeps his coffee mug hovering just above his lips, which she’s certain is a carefully calculated ploy to also keep her staring at his lips, but that’s not all that difficult and she’d spent at least seven full minutes kissing those same lips senseless that morning. 

In bed. 

The one they’ve slept in — for four days straight now, which is probably more time than it should be, but he was right. Falling asleep with his arm around her is far easier than the opposite, and he only occasionally complains about the frost-like tendencies of her feet. Mostly into the back of her neck. That’s just where his mouth ends up. 

So, everything is still going great. Not potentially problematic. Because neither Regina nor Tinker Bell have come up with a working time-travel theory, and Emma’s baking endeavors haven’t gone over all that well either, but she’s discovered Killian’s tendency for stealing batter, and that’s even more ridiculously endearing information that’s only sort of skewing with her sense of reality, and— “Is this you volunteering?”

Startling, Emma almost forgot she’d asked a question. His mouth does something else. Stupid, and distracting and he uses almond milk in his coffee. 

Claims it’s a modern convenience he’s more than willing to take advantage of. 

Great, great, excellent. Possibly falling towards something, in a free-fall sort of way, and Emma shakes her head. Brushes away dangerous thoughts and hard-drawn lines in the much more metaphorical sand, and she wonders if sand ever lingers in their entry way during the summer. 

They must go to the beach. 

Spend time on the Jolly Roger, and she hasn’t seen much of the ship, but she’s starting to think it’d be nice to pass an afternoon on the water, with the sun and the salt and— “Swan,” Killian says, obviously not the first time he’s tried to draw back her attention. Chair legs scrape across their kitchen floor when he stands, and Emma’s brain barely acknowledges that particular pronoun before he’s crowding her space and bumping his hips against hers and nothing like that has happened yet, because that’s not just a line, it’s an entire rhombus or some other geometric shape that’s more like a tangled mess and knotted feelings and she flinches. 

When his hook drifts under the hem of her shirt. 

Floral patterned, and far gauzier than anything Emma would even think about owning now. Or then, she supposes. Tenses continue to be their own specific type of issue, and she’s starting to like the clothes hanging in her questionably large closet. 

They’re soft. 

Which is probably not a commentary, or observation of whatever tense she’s willing to use, but it’s definitely different and possibly better and Killian chuckles in her ear as soon as her head falls to his collarbone. He kisses the top of her hair. 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Scoffing into his shirt threatens to rumple the fabric, and she doesn’t really miss the billowy fabric of what’s now years past, but she also wonders if he kept them and where he docks the Jolly during the winter, and she can’t start giving pirate ships nicknames. Not now. Not yet. Not when she’s got to leave, and that only makes, like, half her muscles ache, so it’s probably not as bad as it could be. 

“They’re not worth that much,” Emma mumbles, the soft laugh she gets warming her from the inside out. A mix of magic and much more, and she’s back on the alliterative. As a defense mechanism or something. 

For her heart, maybe. 

“Luckily for you, I’ve got something of an eye for undiscovered treasure and—” “—Is this a line?” He laughs again, noses at her temple and the crown of her head and neither one of them mention how tightly Emma’s arms wrap around his middle. “If you can’t decipher when I’m flirting by now, we may have some issues.” “Some is a vast understatement.” “It’s going to be alright,” Killian promises, but it rings a little hollow and part of Emma knows. Still dark and distant, it doesn’t want to acknowledge everything it’s ignoring and a pointed voice echoes between her ears. With the same mantra. 

Magic is emotion. 

And Emma’s emotions are decidedly split. Just like Pan thought they’d be. Maybe she’s not just a coward; she’s selfish and greedy and inching dangerously close to a crying jag in the middle of the kitchen, but then Killian’s fingers drag across her spine and it’s a rhythm she can time her breathing to. 

“We’re running out of time.” “That’s not entirely true. Time travel’s apparently heavily involved, makes deadlines rather defunct, don’t you think?”

Emma scrunches her nose, but the voice is back and it’s sharper and a little angrier and stamping on several different parts of her brain if the growing pain is any indication. All magic comes with a price. “Talk to me about paint instead.” “Not much to talk about,” Killian says, but the caution in his voice makes it obvious they’re both all too aware of what they’re avoiding. Possibly even dreading. Emma is, at least. 

She’s going to strangle Peter Pan when she sees him. 

“But you haven’t done it.” “Some other things have been going on, you see.” “Don’t you want to paint?” “It’s not particularly high on my list of ways to occupy my time,” he admits, one side of his mouth tugging up. Flirting is getting easier. Some joke about practice, Emma is sure. “But, if it’s something you’re willing to help with, and it will get those thoughts of yours to settle for a few moments, then—” “—Who says my thoughts aren’t settled?” Tapping the all-too-noticeable furrow of Emma’s forehead, Killian’s eyes widen again. “Absolutely God awful at masking them, m’dear.” “Maybe that’s just a you thing.” “Aye, my mind-reading talents have been well-documented, but I suppose if we’re going to wait for Her Majesty to come up with yet another pointless—” “—Kinda harsh,” Emma mumbles. He kisses the furrow. Traces the lines of her brows, and hovers just on the edge of her eyes, grazing cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, until Emma's skin is buzzing and her magic threatens to pour out of her, and she’s only just able to contain whatever wave joke is pressing against her lips. Good, since those lips can be put to much better use against Killian’s. “Better plan, anyway,” he mumbles, working his arm back around her waist. So he can tug her up, and pull her closer to him and neither one of those things feel like the multitude of other problems Emma’s overactive brain is dealing with and they do eventually get out of the kitchen. 

Finish the coffee, and figure out where Hope’s favorite hat has disappeared to, because Emma’s rather quickly learned that this hat has legs that quite often move from its spot on the shelf into the hallway, and the overall width of Mary Margaret’s smile when she opens up the farm’s screen door isn’t as jarring as it would have been a week earlier. 

Getting back home takes longer than it probably should — ducking into the alley behind Granny’s for at last forty-two seconds of totally uninterrupted kissing, and Emma’s not entirely sure this is what being a newlywed is like, or was, she supposes, but it’s still pretty fantastic and she doesn’t want to name the sound that works its way out of her. 

Part giggle, a hint of overjoyed, and some sort of lingering fear because this isn’t quite real, but feels like the exact opposite, and they find old drop sheets in one of their half a dozen closets. Right next to the shirts she’d been wondering about before, and that’s probably not serendipity or fate or anything except Killian’s own sentimental tendencies, but she’s got to change her clothes anyway, and she doesn’t drown in the fabric like she worried she would. 

Likely not a metaphor, either. 

“Cheating,” Killian accuses, reaching for Emma anyway and moving the furniture isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Until Emma also remembers she’s got magic, and the ability to be very attracted to the guy who can’t seem to keep his hand off her, and she only has to blink once. 

For the furniture to move into the basement, at least for the time being. 

“Impressive, right?”

“Look who’s fishing for compliments now.” “C’mon, that was a shit ton of—” She doesn’t get the rest out, far too busy gasping and blinking and he’s swiped paint on her nose. “Are you kidding me?” Shrugging, he dances out of her reach before Emma can totally react and the paint’s already starting to dry. And crack. The signs are just getting obnoxious now. Makes much more sense to keep ignoring them. 

“No, no,” she argues, not bothering with the brush stuffed into the top of her leggings. Twisting her wrist, paint soars towards Emma’s fingertips, curling around her wrist and practically vibrating with the energy she’s flush with. 

Killian takes a step back. One more, another. A quick shake of his head makes the strands falling across his forehead shift again, and she’s not counting how often that happens, but she’s also paying fairly close attention to it and—“Revenge is never wise, love,” he advises, not able to keep the laugh out of his voice. 

“Pots and kettles, and all that, right?” “I’m completely reformed now. Ask anyone.” Humming, Emma advances on him. Magic ripples up her arms, power she’s never quite experienced before and it’s oddly intoxicating. Not in an overwhelming, potentially villainous sort of way. It’s far too warm for that. 

Villainy has to be cold, Emma’s sure. 

As it is, she’s not quite sweating, but she’s decidedly comfortable and all of her internal organs are functioning with an ease that belies their situation, or the problems it presents, and none of the paint ever touches her skin. Hovers in the air around it, wholly controlled and that’s not something Emma’s particularly familiar with. 

It’s nice. It’s—much more than nice, but she fell once while trying to do the long jump in that one Minnesota high school she spent a few months in when she was fifteen, and the prospect of something similar makes her wary of leaving the ground again. The line’s still there. Drawn with precision, and possibly permanent marker, and they can’t paint over that. 

Not yet, at least. Not entirely. 

“It does kind of match your eyes,” Emma says, hoping Killian doesn’t notice the shake in her voice. No such luck, she knows. Can see the flicker of concern in his gaze, but he’s able to push away. Not from the wall, and there’s something cyclical and symmetrical about this too, emotion almost visibly hanging between them. Another thing they haven’t talked about, and likely won’t have time for. 

Totally fine. Absolutely great. 

Falling for—

No, no falling. Standing and walking and Emma lifts her chin. Lets her magic twist its way up her spine, and flicker towards her bare feet, and Killian’s mouth twitches again. 

“Care more about the dress, really.” “What’d it look like? And where was Elsa’s—you said it was a wedding, right?”

“Her wife was here, you saw Mulan yesterday.” “No shit!” “Always with the perfect response,” Killian grins, “but yes. Met while Mulan was doing ambassador work for Aurora and Phillip, and love conquers all or so I’ve been told.” “Say it again without making it a joke.” Not shuddering under the force of his ensuing gaze is another victory Emma’s going to relish, even when she’s wherever she’s actually supposed to be, and she hopes she remembers this. In picture-perfect detail. “Conquers all,” Killian repeats, “as far I know.”

“Personally?” “Deeply so.”

Emma licks her lips. Killian stares. Tries not to, but she really is getting better at reading him and he doesn’t put up as much of a fight about information anymore. Seriously, everything’s so fine, the word barely holds any meaning now. But, like, in a positive way. “So, we went to Elsa’s wedding because—” “—You and she are rather good friends. Hope’s godmother, in fact.” “Oh. That’s—wow, that’s kind of nice.” “It is,” Killian agrees, not adding to it. He doesn’t have to. They both hear what they haven’t said — how few and far between friends are for Emma, and she briefly wonders if he knows about Lily or the kids who showed up, only to disappear just as quickly, and it would be second-nature to tell him. Part of her wants to now. 

Rehashing seems silly, though. 

“Anyway,” he adds, “Elsa and Mulan got married, and there was a dress that I will admit to thinking quite a lot about still, and it was blue. With these…” His eyes flutter closed. Magic roars in the very center of Emma. “Little bits of twisted fabric on top, looked like starbursts.” “Like the candy?” Gods, she an idiot. An entertaining one, if Killian’s smirk proves anything, though. So that’s something, at least. “Did we dance?” Nodding, his eyes keep darting back towards Emma’s hand and the paint that’s become some part of a questionably romantic thing, but she’s also starting to get the suspicion he’s using the wall to stay upright. Something thumps into it. 

Light bursts from the end of Emma’s hair. 

“Oh,” Killian groans through clenched teeth, and a jaw that can’t possibly be comfortable, “that’s hardly playing fair, sweetheart.”

Huh. 

The light grows. Flares, even — until it’s casting streaks across the floor and hovering just under Emma’s skin, because apparently she can glow now, and she almost feels like she’s floating. On endearments and sentiment and the air blowing through windows opened solely so they didn’t suffocate on paint fumes suddenly smells a little sweeter. 

“You’ve got your hook embedded in the wall,” Emma points out, none of those words all that even either. She doesn’t sound like herself, but she also didn’t know she was a person who reacted quite like that to one ten-letter word, yet here they. So, whatever really. 

Wider eyes and slightly parted lips meet her somehow still-lifted chin, and Killian’s nod barely warrants the description. Leaves his chest shifting, but Emma’s also admittedly staring at his chest because for as big as the shirt she’s wearing is, his is just as tight and touting a college she figures Henry thought about going to at some point, and she seizes her opportunity. 

Paint flies — literally. Soars across the barley-there space between Emma’s toes and Killian’s socks, and she genuinely cannot cope with how he only ever takes his socks off to sleep. He gasps when color splashes his cheeks and his shoulders, hangs from the ends of his hair, and threatens to find the edges of his lips. “Gotta close your mouth,” Emma advises lightly, getting the exact spark in his eyes that she was hoping for and she yelps all the same. When he ducks his head, nosing at her neck and the line of her collar. Which is technically his color, but she’s been using all those collective pronouns, that it can’t possibly matter at this point and she definitely giggles. While his fingers trace patterns across her stomach and the side of her waist, dragging lines of blue paint over skin and fabric and she’s not sure when they fall over, just that they’re a tangle of limbs and slightly ripped sheets and— “Do you think I could magic the paint on the walls?” Emma asks, flipping her paint-covered head to her side. Without opening his eyes, Killian mumbles an agreement, his fingers fluttering against hers until they lace between them and she’s only like seventy-four percent positive he does it on purpose. 

Concentrating on the twenty-six percent that absolutely knows it’s that same instinct and inherent habit from before, Emma twists her lower lip between her teeth. Feels the first brush of magic, and the small inferno that erupts between her ribs doesn’t actually set her on fire. So, more victories. 

And it only takes about twelve seconds. 

Give or take. 

Blue walls appear around them as if by—well, magic. Not a streak out of place, or mark on the baseboards and Emma’s only a little annoyed that they bothered to move any of the furniture. “Single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen,” Killian mutters. “Your eyes are still closed.” “Aye, but I know it’s happening.” Not letting go of her lip or his hand, Emma’s heart thunders in her chest as soon as she notices the question sitting on her tongue. “When did that start? Because—well, as far as I know you can’t tell in Neverland.” He doesn’t respond. Not immediately, anyway. And that’s only momentarily terrifying, before a slightly different and passably darker shade of blue meets her. “That’s not entirely true. It gets a little confusing, though.” “Don’t offend me like that.”

“I’m not saying you won’t understand,” Killian laughs, “just—the other time travel adventure? Well, that happens rather early in my timeline. And, uh...well, by that point you’re feeling some things and—” “—Kissing as a distraction,” Emma breathes, realization shaking her and this version of the puzzle is equally surprising and wonderful. 

“You’re an eavesdrop.” “Piracy excuse.”

He laughs again, kisses her cheek and pulls her closer to his side until nearly all of him is touching all of her and that’s another word much bigger than nice. “As far as I’ve been able to reason it, that sets off a chain of sorts. Magic exists in you, can be felt by me, I don’t entirely remember it—” “—You don’t entirely remember it?” “Making it difficult to tell the story.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s always been this sort of—presence, I suppose. In the back of my mind, a reminder of something. Good and possible, and it makes it rather easy to tell when you’re agitated, actually.” “Seems like cheating.” “Piracy excuse,” he repeats, and Emma’s mind trips over itself. Falling across line and thoughts and leaving here might be one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Part of her wonders if she knows how, though. 

“You know about Neal. Everything that—” Her breath catches, out-of-place tears already threatening to fall, and that’s kind of lame. Killian’s cheek brushes Emma’s. While he nods. “For what it’s worth, your parents do feel bad about the naming legacy one they realize.” “He’s not here.” “No, that would be rather difficult for him. He’s—” “—Dead?” “Honorably,” Killian says, even through the hint of acid and Emma drapes her arm across his stomach. “And he does care about Henry, quite ardently. But...well, I don’t imagine I’ll ever entirely forgive him for everything he did, and it was difficult to rationalize the Bae I knew with he Neal who acted like that.” “Probably weird to be attracted to that, huh?” Chuckling, his lips press against her hair. “Whatever way you’re willing to be attracted to me, is something I wholeheartedly approve of.”

“I’ve got another question.” “Waiting with baited breath.” “You’ve got a ship still, right?” 

Tensing the way he does isn’t really the reaction Emma anticipates, although she should probably be ready for anything now, and Killian mumbles, “aye, I do.”

“Could we—I mean, I’m capable of teleporting, right?” “I’ve got no doubt. But it might be cold.” “Good thing you just radiate heat, huh?” His tongue pokes between his lips. Emma’s staring again. Has a hard time stopping, really. Which makes the magic return all the stronger and all the more suddenly, and Killian’s soft hitch of breath is oddly pleasing, even as the smell of salt replaces half-dried paint. 

Strictly speaking, Emma hadn’t spent much time exploring the Jolly Roger before they got to Neverland. Portal-based travel, and those mermaids and massive rain storms, all made it difficult to notice much else, and it takes her a moment to realize she’s blinked them into the captain’s cabin. 

“Efficient,” Killian observes, already perched on the edge of the room’s lone cot and the bedding looks crisp. Military-grade folds, and pillows that aren’t quite as fluffy as the ones in the house, but Emma’s already glancing at the shelves to her right. Books line them, in what is obviously alphabetical order, while the desk nearby is covered in instruments for navigation, and maps of several different realms, and she knows Killian’s watching her. 

Feels the force of his stare as it tries very hard to read her mind again, baited breath that’s not quite as much of a joke anymore. He's hoping. For the response, and the reaction, and she belatedly realizes what a big deal this is. 

Falling into the deep end of it all is really the only reasonable thing to do now. And appropriately water-based pun. 

“Give me another random fact,” Emma says, failing to keep the demand out of her voice. “Royal decrees are coming much easier for you now, Your Highness.” “Something good.” “I’d hardly give you a bad fact.” “Weird, I’m still waiting for one.”

Stabbing a finger into the space next to him, Emma’s leg bumps Killian’s when she sits down and she’d been right about the body heat. All of the blankets stay exactly where they are. “We go to Boston one weekend, relatively soon after we get married. To—” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s deciding what details to include. “Get some stuff out of your apartment. That’s not the important part. But we bring Henry with us, and drive out there. Spend a few days, and go to all of the tourist spots you say we should avoid, but Hope learned that eye trick from Henry, and it works all the time. So we go to Quincy Market, and that one brewery. Tour guide makes some history jokes, which in turn make you roll your eyes, but we get free samples, and Henry tries very hard to steal one of his own.” “Doesn’t work?” Killian shakes his head. “Not as such, no. I’m rather good at observing, you see.” “All those nights as lookout?” “Something like that,” he agrees, “It’s the first time in a very long time that we don’t have any looming threats. Nothing to worry about, no villains to contend with. We sit and walk and eat, and then eat some more, and it’s not the first time I let myself believe this is real, but it might bet the first time that reality seems to linger.” She’s holding her breath. Lungs burn in Emma’s chest, letting go of a shuddering exhale that also comes with tear-filled eyes, and Killian’s fingers hover near her neck. With the chain around it, and Emma knows it’s important — that ring that hangs just behind her stolen shirt, but she doesn’t ask and she wants to live it, anyway. 

Wants those moments to come of their own accord, at their own pace, until they linger as well. Settle into her and take root, building a foundation for everything else. 

“Can I do something?” she whispers, another imperceptible nod and he doesn’t object. When she unbuckles the leather at his brace, trying very hard to keep her pulse steady and her magic relatively quiet, but neither one of those things work very well and it doesn’t take very long. 

Snaps and pieces of metal give way under Emma’s touch, eventually pulling away from his skin and the scars aren’t worse closer up. Just more obvious, maybe. 

It’s another stupid sign. 

Following the lines with her fingers, Killian’s not much more than a statue. With exceptionally wide eyes and slightly erratic breathing, watching her like he’s bracing himself for impact or the inevitably of her disappearing. Emma sits. Presses her feet into the floor, and there’s no dust on the floor. She has to swallow more than once while she accounts for every mark on him, though — emotion clogging up her throat and her thoughts in equal measure, and it’s not really instinct to bend her neck and kiss the first spot she can reach, but it’s absolutely want and she wants far more than she’s supposed to have. 

Right now, at least. 

“Emma,” Killian exhales, without the regret it should hold, and honestly the goddamn symmetry is as good as it is awful. She smiles. Against his skin. 

“You said, ‘until I met you.’ Did you mean it?”

Glancing up without moving is another hint of cowardice, but Emma’s neck isn’t all that interested in participating in the conversation anymore and it’s easier to notice the state of Killian’s jaw like this. “More than I realized, actually.” “Yeah, me too probably. If I had said—well, I’m the worst liar in the world, y’know?” “At least several different realms.”

Scoffing, Emma’s teeth graze the blunt edge of his wrist and that only gets her a noise she’s never heard before and it’s better than all the other noises, and she loses her shirt eventually. Nothing else happens. 

Still can’t, still won’t. They’re both all too aware of the inability of this to linger, but want’s a funny sort of thing and contentment’s just as strange as ever. Falling asleep with her cheek pressed to his bare chest makes sense, though, the steady rock of the ship lulling Emma until her eyes close and her thoughts silence. 

“So, you’re not even trying anymore, huh?” Emma sighs. “Here I thought we’d get through the afternoon without any pointed opinions.” “Well, that was just foolish of you,” Regina shrugs, sitting on the front steps of the farm with her legs stretched out in front of her and that’s almost strange. She’s wearing jeans. No one else is surprised by that. And Mary Margaret is leaning against the door frame behind her. 

One arm wrapped around her middle, she doesn’t cross her feet at the ankles like Killian would, and that’s probably for the best. Emma’s brain can only cope with so much at one time, and she might not be trying anymore. 

Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. 

“You think the wisdom is our problem?” Mary Margaret asks, barely blinking at the sound that erupts from Regina. Snarl and sneer, and Emma rocks back on her heels. Like that will put some distance between her and the queen, who doesn’t appear all that evil anymore, but could be even more determined than ever and they’re still waiting for that goddamn bird to come back. 

No one’s mentioned the knights in the forest, either. 

Emma’s not sure they’re still there. 

“Can’t steal intelligence from the dead,” Regina reasons, and Emma’s shiver doesn’t have anything to do with the cold. It smells like cookies, even outside. “Should that make sense to me?” she asks. Mary Margaret shakes her head. 

“Not at all. Just—when Zelena did this...she had a bunch of ingredients.” “She has no idea who Zelena is,” Regina mutters, shrugging at Emma’s slack jawed expression. “Don’t bother telling me you’re standing right there, you’re very predictable and I am painfully aware of your continued presence.” 

“Was anyone actually going to tell me who Zelena is?” Emma snaps, a better reaction than the magic she’d like to use. On Regina, and her judgmental face. Tinker Bell went to help in Wonderland. Where magic is failing, more than it was a week earlier. 

“The Wicked Witch of the West," Mary Margaret replies. “Was bad, had strong magic, gave up her magic, got it—no, she never got it back, did she?” Regina makes a contrary noise. 

“How can you possibly keep track of all of this?” 

Mary Margaret’s smile isn’t entirely effective, but there’s still a bit of the friend Emma occasionally worries she’s lost and of all the things breaking the curse did, that’s probably one of her bigger issues. There just hasn’t been time to deal with it. “Living it helps,” she laughs, “but she was holding Rumplestilskin hostage when she built the spell, and that’s—” “—Wait, wait, Gold is dead?” “That’s a little harder to explain, actually.”

“Huh.”

She should be upset. She should mourn...maybe not the jackass who consistently ruined everything, but at least the idea of the person he could have been, or the help he occasionally offered, but Emma’s feeling a little vengeful, and is even more annoyed. By like—the entire state of the world, right now. 

She’s definitely not trying. Magic is emotion, and all of hers are far too scrambled to be effective as part of a time travel spell a witch who—“Was she actually green?” Emma asks, before she can stop herself and Mary Margaret’s smile works better that time. 

“Occasionally,” Regina drawls. “But as your mother pointed out, she’s also lacking any magic now, and with Robyn in the Wish Realm—” “—That can’t possibly be a real place. And who is Robyn, exactly?”

“You met her. She brought you to—” “—That was a witch’s daughter? You realize that none of the ages for any of these kids makes sense? She was an actual adult.” “Don’t think about it too hard,” Mary Margaret advises, “will only make your head hurt.” “That ship sailed, like, two weeks ago,” Emma admits, refusing to look at whatever face Regina is making while also growling softly. Fire dances between her fingers. “Keep interrupting like this,” she warns, “and I will put you under a sleeping curse.” Jaw dropping and air rushing out of her in a wholly undignified huff, Emma’s reactions are so loud that she hardly notices Mary Margaret’s quiet “that might not be all that bad.” But then it clicks and there’s another puzzle, and more words she should not be thinking about right now, and Regina’s eyes thin enough that it’s difficult to notice any color in them. 

“Huh,” she says, echoing Emma and that’s not very comforting, actually. “Well, that’s fascinating isn’t it?  Plus, we don’t have any innocence.” Mary Margaret’s shoulders drop. “Oh, yeah that might be right.” Emma’s mouth is already hanging open, and her jaw physically cannot separate, so she can’t quite react like she wants to. Magic rattles around her all the same, Regina’s eyebrows doing a fairly good job of masquerading as someone else’s because— “Back to the drawing board, it seems,” she says, all but jumping back to her feet and glancing at Mary Margaret on her way back into the house. 

Moving is something of an impossibility for Emma, torn between embarrassment and objections and the second one isn’t entirely possible either, but her mother only looks passably amused and that’s not the right emotion for this situation at all. 

“Sleeping curse could force us into all kinds of realizations,” she reasons. 

“That’s fucked up, Mom.”

More titles. More feelings. Not enough time to deal with any of them. 

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret agrees, “it kind of is. How much batter do you think the rest of your family has stolen?” “At least an entire cookie sheet’s worth.” “Sounds about right, let’s see if we can cop any of our own.”

“Where is everyone going to sleep?” Emma asks, sitting at a dining room table that’s nearly buckling under the weight of food covering it. “And where did they even get all this stuff from?” Fingers drift over her bent knee under the table, Emma’s hands preoccupied with doling out food and Hope’s a very big fan of mashed potatoes. As she should be, really. Less so by the small feast of vegetables her mother has provided, but certainly not cooked because Emma’s spent most of the afternoon with her mother and Regina, trying to figure out if they could replicate Zelena’s time travel spell, and it didn’t work. Like, at all. 

Lack of innocence likely isn’t their biggest problem. “Not everyone stays here,” Killian explains, “although I doubt your mother would mind all that much if they did.”

“Doesn’t explain where they’re going to sleep.” “Are you concerned about privacy, love?” “Pirate,” she accuses, but it lacks any actual vitriol and someone whistles when Killian’s lips brush hers. “I just don’t want to sleep in the hallway, if there’s no more room at the inn.” “Very confident in your own brand of religion-based humor aren’t you?” “Oh, color me impressed with your knowledge.” “Not many of your jokes evolve much over time, that’s why. And I think you’ve proven your ability to relocate us fairly well, don’t you?” Twisting her lips only gets her a flash of amusement and eyebrows that move so quick, there should also be smoke involved. “As far as I know, Her Royal Highness Snow White has concocted a rather extensive and possibly color-coordinated sleeping arrangement, that ensures no one will be forced to sleep in the hallway, while also allowing for maximum comfort and the ability to ransack parents as early as possible tomorrow morning.”

Something drops into the bottom of her stomach. It’s dread. And fear, and what Emma knows is that growing selfish streak and if her hand finds Hope’s back, then that’s neither here nor there.

Plus, Killian can totally tell. 

The overall volume of her magic helps too.

“Mary Margaret’s pretty in her element, huh?” Nodding, he ignores the brussels sprouts in favor of the broccoli casserole, and she’s resolutely not attracted to that. No sane person could be attracted to side dish choices. On Christmas Eve. 

It’s Christmas Eve. 

“She is, indeed,” Killian agrees, “which is why outsourcing made quite a bit of sense.” Emma’s eyes dart towards Granny, and no one’s introduced her to Ruby’s girlfriend yet, but Ruby also hasn’t announced that she quite obviously knows something about this family gathering is off, and that’s nice enough that pushing the issue seems like another asshole move. 

No one can be an asshole on Christmas Eve. 

Emma assumes, at least. Hopes a bit too, just for good measure. “Granny made all of this?”

“Eh, certainly tried. Coerced Ruby and Dorothy—” “—No,” she hisses, drawing a few curious glances and half of Hope’s plate is covered in mashed potatoes. Killian’s fingers tighten. 

“Someone told you about Zelena, didn’t they?” “I met her daughter without realizing, I guess.” Making a sound of understanding, Emma doesn’t miss the length of Killian’s drink. From the wine glass next to his own mostly-filled plate. “Is that another reason they went to that Wish Realm? So she didn’t have to talk to Dorothy Gale?” “I’m sure it was a consideration.” “Keeping track of all these things is a full-time job. Ok, so—Henry’s staying here though, isn’t he?” More noise, another sip of alcohol that Emma’s strangely jealous of. Nearly knocking her own glass over, her drink is closer to a gulp her dad absolutely notices, and whatever this is, it’s not any wine she’s familiar with. 

“Camelot vineyards are enchanted,” David says, answering another question Emma hasn’t actually asked. Ruby’s eyes noticeably flicker towards Henry. 

Who is not very subtle. 

“Something about the soil, right?” Regina asks, although it certainly sounds like she’s perfectly aware of the reason, and Emma’s less sure as to why her mouth immediately dries. Possibly because Killian’s fingers have gone vice-like. 

Glancing at him isn’t very subtle either, but she couldn’t care less and curiosity’s always been a bit of a thing for her. He probably knows that, anyway. “Camelot wasn’t my favorite place,” he explains, like that’s a reasonable string of words, but this isn’t the time for that and the knights are gone. Disappeared entirely, it seems. 

“No Arthur, huh?” Silence descends on the table, silverware clanking on plates and chairs scuffing when they’re pushed away from the table. Emma widens her eyes. 

Challenging that no asshole on Christmas Eve policy. 

“He was kind of a shitty king,” Henry shrugs, Regina glaring in that same maternal sort of way that immediately makes him look far more like a teenager than a grown man with a kid. Emma can’t figure out the timeline of Lucy at all, either. 

“Redeemed himself a bit in the end,” Killian adds. “Had no trouble from that particular area.” There should be more to that sentence. Emma knows, can hear it in the clipped way his voice cuts off and his tongue swipes the front of his teeth, and—“Whatever happened to that girl Henry knew in court?” Ruby asks, and they all lack subtlety it seems. 

Emma tilts her head. “Henry knew a girl in the court of Camelot?” “Very complex story,” he mumbles, dots of pink on his cheek and Ella laughing at his side. 

“Should I be upset I didn’t know about this?” “He used music to woo her,” Mary Margaret adds, some of the tension hovering over them evaporating. Killian’s fingers don’t move. “Although I never entirely understood how the iPod managed to stay charged.” “Magic,” Henry reasons. “And Violet went back to Connecticut, with her dad.”

Groaning, Emma’s reaction to this wine is even stronger than anything she drank in the diner or the buttered rum, and Henry’s face might stay red for the rest of the night. Festive, at least. “A guy from Connecticut?” she asks. “In Camelot?” “Didn’t click for me at first, if that makes you feel better.” “He was too busy flirting, that’s why,” Killian adds. 

Henry scowls. “Reminiscing about any of this is not nearly as fun as you guys think it is. Plus,” he slings an arm around Ella’s shoulders, kissing her temple for good measure, “it all worked out in the end, so—” “—So,” Ruby echoes, “did we decide on snowmen rules, or…”

Voices all but explode around them — shouting over one another, in what is another questionably competitive Christmas tradition, and there are apparently judges involved and boxes of decorations that Mary Margaret keeps stored in the basement. Which Emma assumes is a much better use for the space than hoarding weapons, but any thought about her house quickly gets lost in how delicious this food is and how Henry’s arm rarely leaves Ella, and at some point Hope clamors onto Killian’s lap before Lucy starts demanding snowmen and they’ve all turn into giant pushovers, it seems. 

“The theme,” Granny announces from her spot on the porch, because she’s head judge, and that holds more weight than anyone else, “is whimsy. Delight me, or you’ll lose points.” “What does that even mean?” Ruby challenges. She’s already rolling snow together, Dorothy’s head barely visible while she digs through one of Mary Margaret’s boxes and produces a pair of plastic fairy wings.

“Why do you own these?” she demands. 

It’s difficult to tell if the color on Mary Margaret’s cheeks is a blush, or simply a product of how cold it already is, but none of that matters as much as the inches Henry has on her and how easy it is for his arm to find her shoulders as well. “Like to be prepared for any potential theme, isn’t that right, Gram?” “Not too old for any of the parental figures around here to ground you, you know,” Mary Margaret threatens. As much as she’s able. 

David throws a snowball at both of them. “Build your snowman, kid. You’re going to lose, and it will be something else we can reminisce about for holidays to come.”

“C’mon, love,” Killian says, directing Emma to their own patch of snow and overflowing box and Hope’s already discovered the plastic tub of glitter that’s inexplicably in there. “We’ve got a reputation to uphold.” “Do we win this a lot?” “Don't insult me like that.”

He kisses her to ensure she doesn’t. Emma doesn’t argue that. 

And as promised, Regina magics everyone’s snow creations to ensure they won’t melt for “at least a month, maybe longer” and the dread in Emma’s stomach threatens to rise up her throat. Until there’s a hand tugging at the side of her jacket, and—

“Can you get him to smile, Mama?” Hope asks, what looks like a slightly lopsided snowman’s bottom behind her and Emma might be the biggest pushover of them all. 

Waving her hand is easy, though. And magic’s getting closer to second nature than she’d like to admit, positioning shiny rocks that Mary Margaret inexplicably had into what actually looks like a smile onto another freshly-made mound of snow. 

Hope is overjoyed. 

Emma tries very hard not to cry. 

And fails spectacularly. 

Monopoly is an adults-only game. This takes Emma at least forty-two seconds to come to terms with, but then there’s more wine and it’s a miracle they don’t wake up any of the kids, and Killian really does cheat. 

She just can’t figure out how. 

Bills appear in front of him like he’s the one with magic in this relationship, and Emma’s definitely drunk enough not to care about her word choice. She’s admittedly far more concerned with the houses that keep cropping up on Killian’s properties and how close some of those properties are to forming multiple Monopolys and he grins at her. From across the board. 

David made it very clear that couples weren’t allowed to sit next to each other. 

For fear of collusion, or something — although Emma can’t imagine there are actually many alliances formed in this game, particularly after the snowmen and the judging and it took Lucy nearly an hour to come down from the understandable high of her win. Hope was more interested in getting glitter everywhere than properly constructing a snowman. 

“What was that about revenge?” Emma asks archly, more than a few other alcohol-saturated adults groaning at what is blatantly even more obvious flirting. And he hadn’t been lying about the state of her parent’s tree. 

More candles line the branches, not a fire hazard when the flames have been enchanted and that’s for the best because there’s just—a copious amount of tinsel on those same branches, and a few ornaments that are obviously hand-made by kids and grandkids and it’s nice to know that even descendants of fairy tale characters use popsicle sticks in their arts and crafts. 

Mary Margaret probably has a box of those too. 

“This has nothing to do with the snowmen,” Killian promises, quirking his lips when Ruby lands on Marvin Gardens. He owns Marvin Gardens. “Look at that.” “Are you playing with weighted dice, pirate?” Ruby cries. “Because that is—” “—Cheating,” David finishes. 

Killian shrugs. His eyes don’t leave Emma. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. You owe me twenty-four dollars, Lady Lucas.”

She throws the bills at him. 

“How would I even use the weighted dice I don’t own anymore—” “—Anymore,” Henry repeats, and he’s only got a few bills left in front of him. Killian ignores him. Emma is far too charmed by this. 

She got a Monopoly on the green properties, though. And she didn’t cheat to get them, so she’s also in possession of the moral high ground. Gives her free room to be entirely charmed by her husband. Kind of. “To calculate what you’ll land on,” Killian finishes. “That doesn’t even make sense. 

Shaking her head, Ruby’s hair nearly flies into her face, threatening the state of the board and several other player’s pieces. All of whom are very loudly offended by that. “I hate you,” she sneers, and she doesn’t get back to Go before she goes bankrupt. 

In the end, the moral high ground doesn’t help Emma’s ability to turn profits when Killian gets the Monopoly on that yellow corner and immediately starts building hotels and she nearly snarls when she lands on Atlantic Avenue. 

“I think I might have won, Swan.” “Shut up.” “You don’t have to actually give me all your money, I’m more than pleased to simply hear the words from you.” “Shut up,” Emma says, and her mom fell asleep at least an hour earlier. David rolls his eyes. When she leans across the board, knocking over pieces and hotels, and Killian built so many goddamn hotels. He’s smiling when she kisses him. 

Nothing overly magical happens, but Emma swears one of the candles flickers in the corner of her eye. 

They do get a room. Directly next to the one Hope and Lucy are sharing, but Emma’s finding it harder than she expected to walk away from the tree and she never had a Christmas tree when she was a kid. Lights start to blur the longer she stares at it, floorboards creaking in an unnecessary announcement of the hand that finds her and— “I put an ornament on, you know,” Killian says, staring ahead when Emma turns towards him. “Was worried you’d notice, but I’m actually rather good at—” “—Sneaking?” “Covert movements.”

Scoffing out a laugh, her head falls to his shoulder. With the magnets and the feelings, magic fighting against dread and a slew of other feelings that are now as twisted as any family tree they could create. “Is it wrong to ask you what you wished for? Or should we talk about why you hate Camelot?” “They go together, actually.” “Do they just?” He kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s grounding himself or reminding himself of something that may not happen if they don’t somehow fix all of this, and Emma’s tongue is doing that thing again. Taking up way too much space in her mouth. 

She’s not sure what she’d say, anyway. 

“Dying makes it rather easy to shuffle a man’s priorities, and—” “—You die?” Emma shouts, but Killian’s shoulder only bumps her cheek and half the candles flicker. “How is that—God, that’s…” More kisses. A few hand squeezes. Her knees shake all the same. 

“Doesn’t stick any of the times.” “It happens more than once.”

His cheek shifts her hair when he nods, a picture of only passably believable calm, and that wasn’t a question. “Something of a stubborn lass, though. So you don’t accept it very often, and occasionally that doesn’t work very well, but—” Tears fall down Emma’s cheeks, hot in the way a brand is, or she figures it would be, and she swallows as his thumb brushes over her skin. “You save me. Several times over.”

“Does calling me lass ever end well for you?” “Not as such, no.” Sticking her lower lip out is definitely a misplaced attempt to regain control of the situation because Emma’s all too aware of just how quickly Killian’s gaze will drop, and she’s not disappointed. A little nervous, but she figures that’s to be expected and her voice only kind of shakes when she whispers, “That’s not just a you thing, you know that, right?” “A me thing, what?” “The saving. Being stubborn too, I guess, or holding onto this with both hands, and this is an us thing. I’m...well, maybe I’m not totally there yet, but—” Her lips are chapped. Cracking with more emotion than she’s entirely sure she’s capable of, and Emma swallows once. Her tongue doesn’t do anything else. “Is that what you wished for? The saving?” “Awfully selfish, I know, but I—I think I need that.” “No, it’s not,” she objects. “Might be sweepingly romantic, even.” Eyes trace over her face, like he’s memorizing all of it, all over again, and innocence was a long gone ideal when they made out in the jungle, but this feels entirely different and somehow more important and Emma has to push up on her toes. To press her lips to his, and make sure his arm pulls her flush against his chest, and there’s no music or rainbow, but that might have something to do with her greed and her want and neither one of them pull away. 

While a clock chimes down the hall. 

“Merry Christmas, love.” She closes her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

Something taps at their window. Incessantly, until it’s obvious Emma’s not dreaming the sound, and it takes her a few blinks and one grumbling, half-asleep pirate to realize it’s a bird. Without a sense of direction, it seems. 

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, pulling the blankets over her shoulders like that will keep them here and the bird outside and that’s an exercise in futility that lasts less than a full minute. Once the bird realizes he’s at the wrong room. 

She counts. Seconds and breaths, trying not to give into the whimper that’s pressed behind her lips, and Killian’s fingers find hers. The floor creaks. Doors swing open, and David’s voice calls for them and Regina, and there are more squeaking hinges and calls to action because—

Mary Margaret knocks before she comes inside, already dressed with a full quiver of arrows strapped to her back. “Camelot’s gone,” she says, which may actually be the last thing Emma expects to hear at whatever time it is. Late, if the lack of sun is any sign. “Disappeared in a wave of...nothing.” “How can a wave be nothing?” Emma asks. “That—” “—It’s the opposite of magic,” Regina finishes, curled around the door with her hair twisted and there’s no fire in her palm. It’s in her eyes, instead. The end of reality turns Emma into something of a poet, apparently. “Get ready, we’ve got to head this off before it gets to the town and,” her gaze drifts towards Killian and his hand and his hook his on the bedside table, “might want to get your sword out of storage, Captain.”

Nodding silently, Killian doesn’t show any other signs of acknowledging his marching orders, but then he’s looking at Emma, a mix of expectant disappointment and unhinged longing and she blinks. Twice. They’re dressed. 

And his sword hangs from his hip. 

“You alright?” he rasps, which seems like more cheating and entirely unfair and Emma nods too. 

“Let’s fix this.”

[dented-nado]

So so- James gets sick (you decided how sick he is loll) and Walter/Stolas/both take care of him

Im sorry sickfics are just so wholesome

Takes place before William, Grelle and Ronald were reapers (or even alive at) – For the reaper realm is sort of more in a colonial era vibe, but in the human world it’s currently 1568.

James is a character that’s had one appearance in my Black Butler Fan-Comic Will to Live – Stolas is an upcoming character – and Walter is a fan character that’s formed on our discord server lol.

Hope you like this!!! I kind of hinted at Walter’s existence and helping, but I ended up writing more about Stolas trying to get James just to go heckinnn rest lol. Hope that’s okay!

=====

Anyone who worked anywhere within the reaper realm in England would tell you their general manager was being particularly nasty. There was a rumor going around that his eyes were turning red with rage, Red.

Stolas, being the current head manager of the London Reaper district of course ended up hearing about the rumor. One of those little things that would come up during coffee breaks. Sometimes rumors spread quickly, many of them ended up not being true or over exaggerated… all of them had been there are REALLY long time after all, and sometimes rumors were the only thing that made their grueling jobs a little bit interesting.

This one… however, made Stolas sigh, he knew James too well, if those under him are especially scared of him at the moment, something was up.

Many of his coworkers thought Stolas was insane for remaining cheery with James, or they feared him too by proxy. Stolas wasn’t stupid, he knew why everyone was scared of James – James did it on purpose for Christ’s sake. However, since he had come on some 200 years ago and had many an interaction with the guy, finding himself unphased by his scare tactics... (he had seen men much more monstrous than James after all), he couldn’t help but feel some sort of…. Sympathy? No, that might not be the word? Maybe sometimes he just got a glimmer of the kind of man James could be and wanted to reach out and pull that glittering little gem out. He just hoped he wasn’t seeing something that wasn’t there.

He gazed at the large grandfather clock ticking away in the corner of his office, such a device was new to him, but he had picked it up a little quicker than James had who had kept time by candle for much longer than most of them.

He had 10 more minutes before his break would be over…

Stolas closed his large book he had snuck in to read on his breaks, it was one on the Tudors he had gotten quite lost in. Normally more ancient societies piqued his interest, but it was harder to get good accounts… he half wished he could just explore those ancient cities and discover their secrets himself. But… alas… here he was, not that he could have gone far in his human life either.

He downed the last bit of his tea before sitting up, making sure his ink well was covered and his quill was secure for when he inevitably came back to work.

He walked out of the London office and down the hall, tapping on James’s office door cheerfully, barely waiting for a grunt before coming in.

“What do you want?” James accused, looking up from his paperwork.

Now he did look quite the sight, more tired and grouchy than usual – and judging from the redness of his nose, it was irritated.

“Well now, I had heard you were especially difficult to deal with, and now I know why!” Stolas said, pushing his glasses up his nose and grinning.

James sighed, leaning back and rubbing his left eye slightly, they looked a bit bloodshot.

“Maybe if everyone did their job correctly…”

“Yes, then you wouldn’t be so cross all the time, blah blah blah, I’ve heard the script.” He took a few steps forward, leaning on James’s desk, something only he seemed to get away with. “You’re sick.”

“You’re pissing me off.” James snipped back, baring his teeth.

Stolas shook his head. This man was like trying to be friendly to a wolf on a good day, a rabid one on a bad day.

“Why don’t you just take the day off James? If your sick its not as if you can help it.” Stolas offered.

“I can get up, I can walk, I haven’t sprouted any pustules, not that reapers could get such a horrible thing thank god…” He paused, rubbing his hands together as if having the urge to wash them. “Unless I keel over, I’m still coming into work. Any reaper disease can’t be serious, it won’t kill me.”

“You’re a stubborn man James.” Stolas said, deciding to state the obvious. “What does Walter think?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

Walter was supposedly a ghost from James’s old life that followed him around. Stolas wasn’t entirely convinced he existed, or if he was a ghost in the sense of something James had been through that haunted him, or perhaps was his way of coping with the state of things. He cared for James enough that he didn’t want to try and tell James what he was or wasn’t experiencing… he couldn’t see through his eyes after all. If Walter was real… well… maybe it was good that James still had someone around to keep him grounded. If he wasn’t… what could he really do about that?

“Walter can mind his own business too.” He growled stubbornly, seemingly reading the same sentence on his paperwork a third time over, getting more frustrated.

Stolas narrowed his eyes, he slammed his hands down on the desk briefly, startling James a bit as he suddenly crossed over to his side of the desk, leaning down from his decent height and pointing his finger only inches away from James’s face.

“Either you let me take you home willingly, or I pick you up and carry you kicking and screaming.” He said very seriously.

James’s eyes widened before turning into a glare, leaning up and meeting his gaze with his own threatening one. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Stolas grinned.

James didn’t have time to run. He growled as Stolas tackled him and lifted him up out of his seat, having no problem lifting the bearded man up onto his shoulder.

“STOLAS SANTORI YOU PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!” He barked.

Stolas chuckled, he could tell all of James’s teeth were razor sharp just from the tone of his voice.

“You stay out of this!” James then barked, seemingly pointing at thin air in irritation, and Stolas was almost sure the air got colder.

Stolas walked towards the door, ignoring James struggling. “Last chance, I can put you down and you can go with me and retain some dignity…”

James stiffened and stopped flailing before sighing and going limp. “Fine, FINE! Just put me down or I swear I’ll have you- GAH!!”

Stolas followed his order and let James fall off his shoulder, only barely catching his balance.

James breathed heavily before coughing a bit, trying to straighten his hair and jacket. “If… If I’m penalized for being gone today…”

“I’ll take full responsibility. You can say you were kidnapped.” Stolas responded, walking out into the hallway with James in tow.

“…If I were to say you kidnapped me and disrupted my work… you could be put on trial.”

Stolas simply slipped his glasses off, cleaning them as they walked. He knew the halls well enough by now he probably could have found his way around without being able to see at all.

“If it happens… it happens.”

“How can you be so calm about such a thing?” James snapped before sneezing, grumbling, and pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to blow his nose into.

“If that’s my fate, who am I to argue with it. I prefer to do what I think is right James, not what is easy or safe. And right now… seeing you rested is what I believe is right.” He said, looking down at James sincerely as they walked out of the building.

James hung his head for a moment, grinding his teeth slightly before walking again to head to his assigned home, Stolas not far behind.

“You’re a fool.” He said simply, and quietly.

Stolas just laughed. “Maybe. Most people seem to think so for getting within 2 feet of you.” He said softly, nudging James with his arm.

James felt miserable, he was annoyed, and on some level, he was scared.

But despite all that… he smiled.