#not sure why anyone would but just in case

[sirxlla]

You Have a No Kill Rule and They Dont / Vice Versa.

(Request @nesting-dreams)

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

Dick: "You know I really wish you wouldn't kill, it goes against everything I have ever agreed with." He had stated this over and over again and you had stated your side. This conversation always went in circles every single time until one or both of you gave up.

"Don't you understand it's wrong to kill?" He pressed relentlessly.

"Don't you understand that it never stopped anyone else in Gotham? Doing this would make sure that those out there can't harm or the innocent people of Gotham. Criminals won't stop killing just because of the fact that you don't want to do it. Meet then were there at, at least then they fear for their life, not a broken nose." You spit words at him like venom. The two of you parted the same way you did every single time with both of you being pissed off at one another.

By the time that bed came you two would crawl up into bed together with no issue like you didnt fight with him at all.

Jason: Before you knew everything about Jason and Gotham as a whole, you would have had these long conversations about exactly why it's wrong to kill people and everything along those lines. Those fights usually ended in screaming matches and someone if not both of you pissed off for several days. You had begged him over and over to just try it your way and for the most part he tried, at least it seemed like it from an outside perspective. If he killed he didn't do it in front of you.

He understood entirely that once you end someone's life or see it done you don't always sleep the best and that's why he never did it in front of you.

Now that he had let you in and you'd learned everything about Gotham, saw how horrible and rotten it was your opinion changed. You saw just exactly the type of people that deserved death and exactly what was the source for Jason's bloodlust.

Bruce: "Bruce, don't even start with that bullshit because if it was Alfred that would have killed them you would have had no issue with it and I know your track record with women and 99% of them kill people so I don't want to hear it because you're being hypocritical. I have no choice and if I didn't do it I would be dead now."

His face turned to stone that's definitely not something he wanted to hear. He often had a bad time being hypocritical and not understanding the entirety of what exactly was life and death considering he forgot you weren't him and you weren't some sort of badass that could take on whoever the fuck you needed to.

Even though the man was small that you had to end, he had a gun to your head and you had no choice but to shoot him through your bag.

Tim: He never wanted to fight about it but it was something that you definitely didn't agree upon. Tim was always kind and soft spoken when he tried to tell you not to do it. Tim was probably the most understanding on why you had such a similar view to Jason and Damian.

Tim had high hopes that there was always a redemption for a criminal. He had more hope than his father that maybe a criminal could change their ways. He saw cases like Harley Quinn and Azrael whom had turned corners and he hoped they's set examples for others.

Tim was always an optimist, he was so soft spoken about it. It was because of that that you eventually came out around to his ways, if he were so adamant and pushy about it you would have stuck to your guns but now you saw the kinder brighter side and how good some of these people could be if given the right opportunities.

Damian: It's something that always left a bad taste in your mouth, how Damian did it so easily without losing a hair of sleep but you knew how he was. He definitely tried to be less prideful in his kills while you were around cause its just something that you hated. In your mind a body's lifeforce was sacred, this is why you wouldnt even remotely begin to hold Damian's sword even if he asked you to hand it to him.

"It's such a sword." He would say as if the blade wasnt essentially stained with the blood of what felt like thousands. Even though it was something that puts such a bad taste in your mouth you were never going to tell him not to do it. It was just the way he was raised but you also didnt bother because the blood was on his hands, not yours.

The only thing that you had asked him to do in regards to that sword? To not bring it into the bedroom where the both of you slept because somehow in someway everytime he did, you had the worst nightmares and sleep paralysis.

(Send me some prompts if you'd like)

Masterlist

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Gingerbread Toad

Debut: Mario Kart 8

It's a Christmas miracle! Toad, that loud little rascal, has been transmogrified into a cookie! Now, you can eat Toad, and it would be okay! No one will be mad at you! I know I wouldn't.

Like regular Toads, Gingerbread Toad is plentiful, conformist, and expendable! There are many of them in the crowds of Sweet Sweet Canyon, where they mingle with Gingerbread Men and Gingerbread Women. All three genders are represented here! But this is not just an impressive display of cookies as you might see as background decoration in a holiday-themed baking competition show. These cookies jump! They live!

They live, I must assume, in gingerbread houses like this one. I hope this homeowner has insurance, because these Yoshis might just mistake this cookie house for Yoshi's cookie, from Yoshi's Cookie! If you look at the top of the house, you will notice Daisy's trademark flower icon... which brings me to the next point!

Sweet Sweet Canyon is stranger than it seems! In this world, I would be willing to accept a place made of sweets at face value, and Mario has indeed explored such places, but this isn't just ANY sweets place. We can see signs for Peach & Daisy Royal Patisserie around, which I think implies the princesses baked this entire place into existence. For some reason. That's also why there are gingerbread Toads! Gingerbread people are like their own thing. I could see them existing naturally in a Whimsy World like Mario's. But the Toads are personal, surely made intentionally. Peach and Daisy brought life to these cookies... for some reason! A power trip? A marketing tactic? Whatever the case, I don't think it was ethical to grant them life, but deprive them any ability other than "hop up and down". They can't even move their limbs. They couldn't open the door to their own house!

Sweet Sweet Canyon is Real, and anyone in the Mario world can visit it, with the implication that it has its own airport, or at least one close by. Gingerbread Toad could even travel the Mario world! He could fly to Water Park, go on a ride, and get soggy. Would that be fun, for a cookie? I don't know. Maybe he would just want to feel something. What was the point of this post? Oh yeah! Christmas! Santa is going to eat Gingerbread Toad tonight, and that is that. Goodbye Gingerbread Toad!

[mindless-existence1]

Hi! Could I request a reader!insert × Canon!katsuki where the reader keeps a cat in her dorm and Bakugo has to fight it for attention from her?

Summery: Literally just the request, a bit changed but still the same for the most part.

Authors note: This is the first request I am tackling from the list of things I need to write! Sorry for the long wait 😅😅 kinda short but hope you enjoy

You can feel your boyfriends glare from across the small comforter. It was currently a late night movie date at your dorm, Bakugo had let you chose your favorite movie while he got the snacks. At the beginning of the night you had snuggled up with your boyfriend but that quickly change when your cat had decided to lay on you.

He had chosen to lay himself squarely on your stomach, making it difficult to move at all. Not that you would in the first place,hoping to keep him there for as long as possible. Bakugo just rolled his eyes and grumbled something as he moved away from you to the other side of the bed. "Ah suki don't be like that." You whined when he layed down across from you.

"If you want to cuddle your cat instead of me than I don't see shy I'd be other there in the first place." You roll your eyes, but smile. "Didn't know you wanted to cuddle with me so bad." Bakugo groaned in annoance at your words.

"How could anyone hate this little guy. He's so perfect and amazing." Your hand softly pets the back of the soft feline, you coo at him as he purrs. "Oh my God I hate that thing." You gasp loudly in dramatic offense. "How dare you, you big bully! He's literally just a little guy. He's a baby and he's my baby."

Bakugo rolls his eyes but looks over at the cat laying on your chest. He watches the kitty's chest rise and fall as it purrs from your pets. "Besides maybe he'd like you more if you were nice to him." Bakugo grumbles a 'whatever' and fixes his eyes back on the movie.

"Suki why don't you come here and lay with us." Your boyfriend gives you a side eye that makes you laugh. "Hell no." You shake you head playfully. "Common babe just lay next to me and maybe he'll even lay with you."

Your words makes Bakugo think for a moment before he sighs and maneuvers himself back next to you, the spot still warm. You lay your head gently onto his broad shoulders. Ever so slightly, and without your boyfriend noticing, you softly nudge your cat towards Bakugks chest.

Before he can protest you cats is stepping onto the hard tank top covered chest. ,"What the hell?" Despite his protests bakugo doesn't push the cat off, instead looks over at you as he lays down. "See its not so bad." Your boyfriends hands are raised away you his chest, nor sure what to do with a cat.

You chuckle at his behavior, it grows when you see the look of suprise when the feline starts to purr. The blond just looks from the cat to you. "You can pet him babe, just be gentle. And promise not to blow him up." Your joking tone goes unnoticed as Bakugos hands slowly move towards your cat.

The purring intensifys when your boyfriends naturally warm hands reach the cats fluffy sides. You watch him for a moment before discreetly grabbing your phone. Ever so carefully you sneek a photo, it show cases your boyfriend gently petting a very happy cat.

Bakugo looks over at you making you quickly put your phone down. "Do not tell me you just took a picture." Feining innocence you shrug your shoulders, "I didn't take a picture." The blond scoffs. "Don't lie either." You chuckle, putting your phone out of his limited reach.

"I swear to God I'll blow up your phone if you don't delete that!" Although Bakugos angry he keeps his moments small and his voice quieter than normal as to not disturb the sleep cat on his lap. "But it's the cutest picture in the world, it's of my two favorite boys!"

Laughing as you keep your phone high in the air, normally this wouldn't work from how big Bakugo is compared to you, but now you get to go to your settings and do your work. "There now it's my wallpaper!"

Yiu show your phone screen to your boyfriend making the blind yell out. "Like hell it is, give me the phone!" You just laugh, "No way I this is the best wallpaper I could ever have!" Bakugo stops his antics and puts his hand down with a groan.

"Watch your back." He grumbles, you know it'd an empty threat though from the way he says it. The way he's still gently petting the cat on his lap doesn't go unnoticed either.

@phtmmsqrde

Masterlist

Mha Masterlist

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part one

I'm backkk 👀 Reminder that y'all do NOT like each other (for now 🤭)

I did a lot of math to make sure I had my timeline in order but I won't bore y'all with all the numbers. Some basics, tho: we're somewhere in s5/6, Foyet doesn't exist here but Haley and Hotch are divorced and Jack lives with Haley, Reader is in her mid 30s and Hotch is in his mid 40s. That's all for now, happy reading! xxx

Chapter warnings: these two are at each other's throats! and a new case begins ofc

Your day started out perfectly.

You sorted more of your belongings into boxes for the movers. Everything will be shipped ahead so it arrives shortly after you do at your apartment in Virginia. You’re running ahead of schedule, so you even have time to stop for a good breakfast before heading into the office.

The day felt…too good to be true. And you quickly find out why. 

“The BAU?”

Your superior, Agent Reynolds, sits across from you and raises an eyebrow, assuming incorrectly that you haven’t heard of the branch. “The Behavioral Analy—”

“Yes, I know what the BAU is,” you cut him off, something he’s used to, waving your hand sharply. “Why the BAU?”

“You were requested,” he replies simply with a slight shrug.

“By who?”

“Agent Hotchner, as I’m told.”

That is the last name you ever expected him to say. 

“Hotch?” you echo incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

Reynolds sighs. “I’m really not.” You know deep down Reynolds will miss you, but he’ll also thank god every day that he doesn’t have to put up with your attitude anymore. 

“Huh.” You could laugh. You almost do. “Interesting.”

Your now ex-boss gives you a look, and a sigh. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “Agent Hotchner and I have met before, that’s all.”

+++

Ten and a half years prior to the present day, you worked on a case with Aaron Hotchner. 

Key word: case. One singular case.

You were joined by agents Gideon, Morgan, and, of course, Hotchner. You were the only woman with them at the time, and that already threatened to drive you up a wall. To make matters worse, you and Hotch could not get along to save anyone’s lives. 

The two of you butted heads for two weeks straight, but even that is sugar coating it. He raised his voice at you and you raised your voice right back. Of course, only in private. In the field, you were as professional as can be. But in the tiny conference room that you had to set up for them coming in unannounced? All bets were off.

You’ve never been a particularly angry person, but something about Hotch brought all your anger to the surface.

He was the most arrogant man you had ever come across. He explained things to you that you already knew, and even when you told him you were aware of the topic, he’d continue explaining like he hadn’t heard you, just out of spite.

He underestimated you in ways that had your blood boiling. He wouldn’t send you to interview anyone, despite that being your area of expertise. He had you doing busy work, like a goddamn intern. 

You were your office’s own little BAU. You had read Gideon’s papers, been to profiling lectures. You became a profiler because you knew your city needed one, and by your fifth year in the office, you were one. You knew what you were doing, and Hotch treated you like a newbie. 

He always walked around in a damn suit and tie. Does he not own a t-shirt? Does he know what that is? Would it kill him to breathe once in a while?

Why does he have to look like he constantly has a stick up his ass?

Of course, you aren’t totally innocent. You found his buttons and pushed them since day one. He hated being talked over or shouted at, so those became your favorite things. Especially after he began doing them to you.

Don’t disobey direct orders, he said. You did. And you got the results needed, so he had no choice but to move on.

Don’t come into the interrogation room unless asked for, he said. You did anyway. The unsub needed to feel important, a high priority, and he wasn’t. So, you walked in and told Hotch that the Attorney General of the United States was on the phone. It worked. While Hotch “spoke with the Attorney General,” you got a confession. Hotch had to thank you through gritted teeth.

When the case was solved and the BAU left town, you popped a bottle of fucking champagne. Good riddance you screamed and drank straight from the foaming top.

+++

You mutter under your breath the entire drive to the BAU. Your boxes arrived this morning, but you haven’t had a chance to unpack them, so your apartment is currently a shitshow. 

And now you’re driving to deal with another shitshow. 

You haven’t received any emails or texts from Hotch, which is odd, but you’re sure as hell not questioning it. The less you have to deal with him, the better. He probably shares the same sentiment, which is why he hasn’t contacted you.

From far away, Quantico looks more like a prison than it does a headquarters. You hope it doesn’t feel the same way it looks.

The BAU office is just a short elevator ride up from the parking garage, and you dread every second of it. When the doors open on the BAU floor, you want to scream.

But you’re a professional, not a toddler, so you walk your ass through the glass doors and into the bullpen, your head held high like an adult.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Hi Morgan,” you mirror his grin, accepting his hug. “Miss me?”

He’s in the same black t-shirt and black jeans he always wears, his haircut just the same but shorter. And he finally got rid of the “shaving my face every morning” routine. Stubble looks much better on him.

“For ten years,” Morgan reminds you. “What brings you here?”

You shrug cheekily, feigning innocence. “I heard there was an opening.”

His grin, somehow, grows wider and brighter. “Come here!” He tackles you in another hug, this time lifting you up and spinning you. “God is on my side to-day. Where’s Reid?”

“Putting a disastrous amount of sugar in his coffee,” a blonde woman says as she passes, then stops. “Oh, hi. I’m JJ, you must be Agent L/N. I heard you were coming in today.”

You escape from Morgan’s grip to shake JJ’s hand. “That’s me. JJ, you said?”

She nods, shifting her feet to a more comfortable position in her heels. “I’m the BAU liaison, so you’ll see a lot of me. And very little of me. It’s complicated.”

“I hear that,” you chuckle, just glad to see another woman has joined the team.

And to your surprise, another joins the circle, this one with black hair parted down the middle. “Emily Prentiss,” she says, sticking out her hand. “Are we finally getting another woman around here?”

You nod, glad to hear she agrees with your unspoken comment. “Looks like it.”

“Did someone call my name?”

You turn and see the infamous Dr. Reid stirring a mug of sugar with a splash of coffee. He’s wearing a cardigan, per usual, and what looks like the same pair converse from when you first met him five years ago at a lecture the BAU put on. He was brand new back then. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you, and then they go wide.

“Y/N? Hi!” he says excitedly, nearly spilling his drink. “It’s been so long! Wha— What are you doing here?”

You give JJ and Emily a look that only you three truly understand. “Why do none of the men assume I’ll be joining the team?”

Emily laughs. “Believe me, I wish I knew.”

“Wait, seriously?” Reid blurts. “Are you really joining us?”

“Sure am,” you grin. “And once I get out of this meeting with Hotch, you’re telling me when the hell you joined a boyband.”

“Oh, ouch,” Morgan taps Reid’s arm lightly with a grin.

“Uh, you too, Derek,” you punch him, letting him know he isn’t off the hook either. “What’s up with the shirt? Do you not own another color?”

“Damn, momma,” Morgan groans. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” you pat his cheek.

“I like you already,” Emily grins.

“Agent L/N,” an unmistakable voice comes from the top of the stairs, effectively ruining the moment. 

He definitely hasn’t changed, you think to yourself as you slowly turn around. 

“Agent Hotchner,” you mimic his tone. “Nice to see you again.”

He grips the railing a little too tightly. And he’s still wearing a damn suit, with a damn tie knotted so tight you wonder if it’s choking him. If it’s not, you want it to be. Maybe he’ll shut up then. 

“I believe our meeting was scheduled for 9am,” he says, earning a sideways glance from the other man standing on the balcony. 

“It still is,” you reply, looking beside his head at the clock on the wall and shit. “I’m late. That’s my fault, sir. I apologize.”

“Yes, it is,” he says. “We need to make this short. Hurry up.” 

He turns and disappears into his office like some imitation of Dracula. You give Derek a helpless look.

“Welcome back,” Reid says, grimacing.

“Thanks, bud,” you reply, knowing he means well. “If any of you hear any screaming, pay no mind, that’s just how we greet each oth—”

“Agent L/N!” Hotch shouts from his doorway.

“Coming!” you shout back, just as loud and just as annoyed. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself.

You hop up the stairs two at a time, reaching Hotch’s office in seconds. 

The man that was beside Hotch offers you a smile. “I’m Agent Rossi,” he extends his hand. 

“Agent L/N,” you return the friendly expression, shaking his hand, just glad that he at least seems happy to meet you. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Rossi nods slowly, mouthing, “Good luck.”

You like him already. You smirk.

Hotch is standing behind his desk when you walk into his office, anger written all over his face. His arms are crossed over his chest, fingers picking at his nails ever so slightly.

“Close the door.”

“Promise not to shoot me?” you joke, but it doesn’t land. You shut the door and take a seat in front of his desk while he remains standing. “Well?”

Finally, he speaks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh. “Oh, great.” You sit up because this is just stupid. “Are you kidding me? This is the last division I wanted to work in, but I was transferred here. At your behest, might I add—”

“I can assure you, Agent L/N, I did not request that you join my team,” he says as he sits down, rolling toward his desk and placing his arms over the files littered before him.

“Well then Agent Reynolds is a fucking liar, I guess,” you deadpan. “He’s the one who told me I was assigned to the BAU — because of you.”

“Well it wasn’t me.”

“Glad we got that settled,” you shoot back, wanting instead to add, like I fucking care if it was you or not. “Listen, whether either of us likes it or not, I was assigned here, so I’m here. If you want me to leave, take it up with Agent Reynolds or whoever the fuck really requested me. But I can’t do shit about this, and this is now my job, so I’m not leaving just because you want to have some pissing contest.”

He looks like he’s chewing on fire. “Your job security is not my problem—”

“For God’s sake, call your fucking boss, it won’t make you any less of a man to ask a goddamn question about why you have a new agent in your office.”

Hotch glares at you, but does as you say, picking up his desk phone and pressing a few buttons.

You sit back in your chair, waiting in silence. You turn your head to look through the blinds because Hotch didn’t close them all the way, and you nearly start to laugh. Huddled around one desk, Morgan, JJ, Emily, Reid, and another blonde woman dressed in bright colors and shapes are listening intently to Reid who is no doubt lip reading and translating this entire conversation.

Finally, the line connects and Hotch starts speaking. Almost as quick as the phone call begins, it ends.

“Well?” you ask.

“There was some miscommunication,” Hotch admits, though he does not look happy about it. “Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You smile sarcastically. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says. “We’ll meet in the conference room in five minutes to discuss the rest of today. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter as you escape his office, just glad he didn’t torture you with a handshake.

Emerging from Hotch’s office, you stand against the railing and ask the team where the conference room is.

Morgan points to your left. “Why?”

“He told me we’re meeting there to discuss—”

“That’s on hold now,” JJ says, whirling around the BAU with an armful of files. “We’ve got a case. Missing girl, thirteen years old.” She passes out files in the bullpen, handing one to you as she ascends the stairs.

“Shit,” you mutter. “How long has she been missing?”

“Starting without me?” Hotch asks as he walks out of his office. He takes a file from JJ and says a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Yep, we are,” you say right back, scanning your file. You think you hear Rossi let out a chuckle at your response. “Gone since this morning. Are they certain it wasn’t overnight?”

“The mother dropped Lila off at school this morning at seven, and by nine, she was absent,” JJ explains as everyone fills into the conference room. “They paged her at school over the intercom, but she’s not in any of the classrooms.”

“How are we hearing about this so quickly?” Morgan asks. “I mean, I’m glad, but it’s been…just over an hour. We don’t normally have this much time.”

“Because,” JJ pauses, pointing the remote toward the TV. “This is Lila’s father.”

On the screen, the FBI’s Most Wanted are staring back at you. JJ clicks again, and one face comes forward.

“Who?” Emily says.

“Richard Monroe,” Reid says aloud. “He’s been on the run for almost two years. He’s said to have killed a dozen people, all females, but they suspect there might be more. Every time we’ve come close to catching him, he gets away.”

“And now his daughter is missing,” Rossi adds. “I’m guessing this guy is our unsub.”

“I don’t know,” you stare into Richard’s eyes on the screen. “When was he last seen?”

“You can investigate that when we get there,” Hotch says curtly. “They’re waiting for us and we’ll lose time by flying. Wheels up in ten.”

Everyone files out of the room and Hotch stays back, waiting for you to be the last one in the room.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch gets your attention. “Since you’ve never tackled a case like this before, try your best to follow orders, and watch what the team does. Don’t make any rash decisions and don’t go off on your own.”

None of his comments anger you as much as the first one. “You don’t know that I’ve never encountered something like this.”

“Don’t argue with me when we have a missing girl,” Hotch snaps. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply, pushing past him.

“I hope you have a go bag,” he calls after you. “There will be no time for shopping when we’re on the ground.”

“Then I’ll just wear your clothes!” you yell back, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him. You hear Morgan snicker down in the bullpen. 

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, and when you turn around, you see he’s giving you his famous stare.

You sigh. “My bag is in my car. It’ll take me two minutes to grab it. That’s clearly less than ten. Unless you have anything else to say that might delay me further?”

“Go,” he says, waving you away as he heads into his office to grab his bag. “Now.”

+++

While you’re on the jet, you do some research on Richard Monroe. He’s a grade A piece of shit if you’ve ever seen one.

But he’s not the type to go after his daughter.

“Garcia, can you check and see if Richard tried at all to contact Lila on her cell?” you ask.

“I would, sweets, but I can’t find Lila’s phone. Their house phone, however, has no calls.”

“He wouldn’t call the house phone, not with Lila’s mom watching over her like a hawk,” you murmur. 

Hotch lifts his head. “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That her mother would be overbearing.”

“Her father’s a serial killer on the run, Hotch,” you reply. “Any mother would keep tabs on her daughter’s every breath if she had a father like that. It’s logic.”

“She makes a fair point,” Rossi says.

“It’s unfounded,” Hotch ignores him, still dead set on irritating you. “Until you talk to her mother, don’t jump to any conclusions about her behavior.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Until I do?”

“Yes, you will be talking to her mother when we get on the ground. Morgan will go with you.” He nods to Derek. “Reid, you and JJ get set up at the precinct. Prentiss, Rossi, and I will go to the middle school. We’ll meet back at the precinct to discuss our next steps.”

You share a look with Morgan before sinking back in your chair, glaring at the file instead of Hotch.

It's going to be a long fucking day.

[thewayitalknj]

I've been listening to a lot of Mötley Crüe lately to hopefully manifest me seeing them in Las Vegas next year. Came up with this while driving, which is how a lot of my ideas come to be recently. Word Count - 1.6k

"Come on please, I have no idea what they have planned and it's killing me." He was practically begging you at this point. You roll your eyes as you walk down the next aisle, stacking the next set of 'romantic comedies' that just came in.

"Eddie, it's your birthday, it's supposed to be a surprise. And can you please stop bugging me while I'm working?"

"Yeah yeah sure I'll stop bugging you" he grits his teeth, "if you tell me what they have planned."

You turn around fully facing him, pushing your glasses back up your nose, taking your voice down to a whisper. "Look I truly have no idea what the fuck they have planned so please stop asking. Just be grateful they're doing something with you and you're not spending your birthday alone." You turn back around, making your way to the 'horror' section.

"At least come with me-"

"I can't, I have my bookclub tonight. But come to my place and tell me all about your guys night tomorrow if you're not too hungover."

He huff's his breath up, his bangs moving in the process. "Thanks a lot."

"I'm sure you'll have a blast."

A strip club. A fucking strip club. As much as Eddie appreciated what his friends were doing this is not what he expected. All he wanted was a guy's night in playing D&D and watching movies but no, his friends had to go all out.

The worst part is it was 'dress up night', so the strippers would be in various costumes. His friends thought the better, dress up plus dancing ladies ; what more could anyone ask for?

After a few hours sitting in a booth a few drinks in, an announcement sounded over the DJ speakers ; "alright everyone we have a birthday in the house! We want to welcome our birthday boy in Booth 21 to come on up for a special dance!" As everyone roared with excitement Eddie blushed under the neon lights.

"Why are y'all doing this to me?"

Garth pushes him forward, "Because we love you, NOW GO!" Eddie reluctantly makes his way up and sits on the chair provided for him. He drums nervously on his knees waiting for the song to start.

The next dancer comes to take the stage, dressed in all red, devil horns, and a red laced mask. Her hair is curled, not one piece left undone. She steps into the spotlight, and Eddie swears time halts and he has to take breath in order to steady himself. He is mesmerized. She slowly makes her way over, putting her hands on both sides of the chair. She eyes him up and down smirking to herself and as her song begins to play ; taking control of the room.

Eddie feels like he's fallen under some sort of spell, like something he wrote out for a campaign. He's so enthralled he completely forgot he was in a room with other people. He watches every move she makes ; the way her hips sway, how she doesn't come too close but just enough to tease him, and the way she makes eye contact with him? Forget about it ; Eddie swears he's falling in love with her right then and there, even though this was his first interaction with the mystery woman.

And in the three minutes the song plays, Eddie is so thankful his friends took him out. He tries to memorize every detail of the devil, just in case he decides to come back another time. Maybe on his own? Maybe with buddies again? Who knows, but he just had to remember her. Particular details ran through his head ; the hair style, the color of her eyes, and while she moved her body up against his, he noticed a small birthmark on the left side of her body, ironically shaped like a heart right above her heart ; and be still his own heart. Right when the music fades and the crowd begins to cheer breaking him out of his headspace, she leans in to his ear and with a sultry voice whispers "happy birthday sweetheart" and it's right then and there Eddie could have been shot through the chest by an arrow and he would feel no pain.

His posse of course never let him see the end of it, with constant teasing as the night went on. One thing was for sure, he could not wait to tell you about his night in the morning.

Eddie couldn't wait, he was practically banging at your door at 9:00am. You reach for your glasses on the nightstand, pull your hair in a messy bun and make your way towards the front door. You look through the peephole and Eddie is waving.

"Ed, what the hell-"

"I gotta tell you about last night." He races in, high on adrenaline pacing your living room.

"Good morning to you too-" You shut the front door, "can I please make some coffee first? I'm exhausted."

"Bookclub ran late?"

"Something like that. Want a cup?"

"Sure, thanks." You sulk to the kitchen and make your coffee, wondering what the hell has Eddie all wound up. You make your way back, handing him his cup as he takes a seat on your couch. "Damn, what book are you ladies reading that has you staying up so late?"

"It's nothing. So tell me, how was your birthday?"

"Amazing, they took me to a strip club."

You swallow your coffee, hard. "Oh wow, what an event."

"You're telling me, it was incredible. Well at least, she was incredible."

"Oh god Eddie don't tell me you fell in love with a dancer-"

"You don't understand. There was just something about her, I-I know it sounds corny but it was like magic. I've never felt like that before." He looks around your living room, then reaching over and grabs your shoulders playfully, shaking you. "Am I going crazy?!"

You laugh, "I don't think so. I just find it hilarious that it's a fucking stripper you're talking about."

"Yeah, well-" Just as Eddie begins to move his arms something catches his eye.

A birthmark. On the left side of your body. In the shape of a heart. He looks into your eyes, the same color and sparkle that were under the mask. He looks at your hair, it's normally straight, why does it look curly and wavy?

All these small details come together in his head. He moves his hands off you and runs them through his own hair, piecing everything together.

"So yeah, uh-enough about me...how was...bookclub?"

"Oh god you don't wanna hear about my bookclub. Why-"

"No no, I do..want to hear....about the bookclub. Please tell me." He takes another sip of his coffee, staring at the birth mark.

You follow his eyes, "is there something on me?"

"Hm, no. Just....so, bookclub?"

"Oh you know, just another night of girl talk about a steamy romance novel and too much wine, just the norm." Eddie can't even think straight, all the events from last night come rushing to his head.

You ponder at him wondering if he's okay, "sweetheart are you alright? You're starting to worry me."

Sweetheart, a nickname normally used frequently but now it's different. He jolts up from your couch. "I gotta go. Dustin and I have...stuff-to do."

You're dismayed, just nodding your head. "Um okay, but if you need anything just let me know-"

"Yeah uh thanks. And thanks for uh the coffee and...talk."

He speedily exits your home, and you're left wondering if maybe just maybe...

Just a Few Hours Ago

You stand off stage looking out to the man sitting on the chair. Only to realize it was Eddie.

"Oh shit-"

"What's up girl? Everything okay?" Your co-worker, Jade, comes up behind you.

"I-I can't go out. You take my slot instead."

"What, why? I'm not on for another 20, why do you want to switch?" She signals to Cassie, the DJ, to hold off on the music. Cassie gives a thumbs up and waits.

"I know the guy sitting in the chair, he's one of my friends. I can't...dance for him."

"Why? He won't know it's you, we're all dressed up tonight."

"Yeah but it's just...awkward that I know and he...doesn't."

"Look, I understand where you're coming from but I think you should just do it. He won't know it's you, does he know you work here?"

"No no, he's here with his friends for his birthday," You watch him drum on his legs, probably nerves. "I wouldn't picture him as someone who would want to come out and do this but, there he is."

"So, give him the dance of his life. Something he'll never forget. Remember, you're not going out as yourself." You nodded your head, Jade was right. You signal back to Cassie to start your song when ready. You quietly thank Jade, take a deep breath and take the stage.

24 Hours Later

As you apply your lipstick looking in the mirror, your other coworker Bianca comes in. "Hey B! How was your daughter's band recital?"

She takes a seat next to you giving you a half hug. "It was great! She crushed her solo, I'm so proud of her."

"That's incredible. I can't wait to see the tape!"

"Oh before I forget, Pam wanted me to tell you you got a private dance at 10:30."

"Wait, really?" You ponder, turning around in the chair. "I haven't done a private dance in weeks."

"Guess someone really likes you because they asked for you specifically."

"Oh wow. Really? Okay then, thanks for the heads up."

"No problem, be safe!"

Once 10:30 rolls around you make your way to Room #2, opening the door and stopping dead in your tracks the moment you see who it is, casually lounging on the couch.

"Sup sweetheart?"

Quick Notes - Hope you enjoyed! :) Thank you for reading! Reblogs are much appreciated! Maybe Part 2? idk.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT as your older brother

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘hi!!! :D saw the svt as your platonic bestie and i was wondering if you could do something about svt members as your older brother. tysm, love your work and blog 💘💘💘’

Worse than your parents - Seungcheol, Mingyu, Chan

Your parents had to override him when he said you couldn’t date. He’s the scary big brother that chases off all of the boys that might ask you out. Won’t think twice about getting into a fistfight for you if someone, especially a boy, hurts your feelings. He insists that you share your location with him, especially if you’re going out. You’ll get regular reminders that you’re breaking curfew - it doesn’t matter how old you are, he wants to keep enforcing a curfew. Could be ignoring everyone else, but will always pick up the phone for you just in case you need him. 

Your best friend - Joshua, Hoshi, DK, Vernon 

Same brain cell vibes. There’s the phrase that your siblings are like your first friends, and he definitely considers you that. When he gets good news, you’re the first person he calls. If he gets bad news, he’s just showing up wherever you are to vent. And he wants you to do all of that too because he wants to be your best friend too. Don’t get me wrong. There will be moments that he’ll shove you away and go, ‘Ugh, I hate you, you’re gross,’ but it’s all in jest. There is designated sibling time during the holidays or on vacation that your parents will just have to accept. But naturally, it’s every parent’s dream to have kids support each other the way you guys do. 

Your worst enemy - Jeonghan, Woozi, Seungkwan

Will pretend like you are the bane of his existence. I’m talking the typical sibling energy of ‘ugh, why are you following me,’ complete with a ‘keep out y/n’ sign on his bedroom door as a moody teenager. Has no hesitation about starting a fight with you over something stupid in which one of you ends up in a headlock. He’s accidentally taught you to fight. Oh god, the bickering almost drove your parents crazy. But don’t let it fool you. He’s the only one that can give you a hard time, and he’ll fight anyone that tries to. You’ll mention that that guy who was teasing you in class won’t even look in your direction anymore, and he’ll just go, ‘Huh, that’s weird,’ like he didn’t threaten him within an inch of his life last week. 

Your biggest confidant - Jun, Wonwoo, Minghao

I think they all would make sure you know that you can come to them, but ultimately, they’ll take a step back and let you try to figure things out on your own. He doesn’t let you struggle for long with things, of course. He’ll only let you face a bully a couple of times, quietly encouraging you to speak up for yourself before he steps in to handle it for you. He’ll bite his tongue about a guy that you’re dating that he doesn’t really like as long as you’re happy, but he can be pretty menacing if you get your feelings hurt. He’ll let you scrape by with a couple of bad grades on assignments before he sits down with you to tutor you on the subject. But if you straight up ask him for help, he’ll drop everything. 

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 1

Ring Schwartz

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Kate: Why did you… kill them…?

Ring: “Why”...? Is it not natural? 

Ring: I’ll kill anyone as long as Dari orders me to.

His face, splattered with blood, showed not even the slightest bit of doubt about the murder he just committed.

It was at that moment when I finally realised it.

He, too— was utterly evil. 

…

One night, I stumbled upon a secret I never should've known, which led to me becoming Fairytale Keeper for a month.

A week after, Vogel, an organisation consisting of Cursed Ones similar to Crown, appeared and seemed to be hiding something. 

…

A few days after my encounter with them, I was called upon by Vogel’s chief— Darius. 

Darius: I’ve heard about it. To deepen your understanding of Crown’s members, you became their lover for a day.

Darius: We want you to do the same thing with us. The kind Miss Fairytale Keeper will surely agree to it, right? 

Unable to make the decision on my own, I quickly went to discuss it with Victor. 

…

Victor: Lovers for a day with Vogel? 

Kate: Yes. They also mentioned that they want me to show them around the city at the same time. 

Victor: I see… I don't have a problem with that arrangement. I happen to also have been thinking about giving them a tour of the city. 

Victor: What are your thoughts, Kate?

Kate: I… I can't stop thinking about what Harrison said to me that day. 

Victor: That Vogel is lying, is it?

Victor: I understand your concern, but we still can’t say for certain whether their lies are harmful to Crown. 

Victor: I doubt that they would be so reckless as to harm you in this situation. Therefore… 

Victor: The most important factor we should consider is what you want to do.

…

(What I want to do…?) 

(Victor did say he'd turn them down if I don't feel comfortable, but…)

(Since I’m going to have interactions with Vogel as a Fairytale Keeper, I’m personally curious about what kind of people the three of them are.) 

(So in order to find out… I’ll accept this request.)

(But before that…)

Kate: Excuse me, who is that tailing me? 

Ever since I left Victor’s office, I’ve had the gut feeling that someone was following behind me. 

When I voiced it out, a man emerged from the shadows.

Kate: Ring…? 

I called his name, although I still wasn't used to doing that because he only said very recently that I could address him as such without the use of salutations. 

Ring: Y-you misunderstood. I didn't mean to tail you today.

Ring: There’s something I want to ask you about… I just couldn't figure out when to approach you.

Kate: … Something you want to ask?

Ring: I wanted to ask who you’re choosing to be your lover for a day. 

Kate: Umm… and what do you intend to do with that information? 

Ring: Depending on whether you choose Nica or Dari, I’ll need to change my route and method for being their escort for security purposes. 

Ring: With the close, intimate distance of being “lovers”... who knows what tricks you’ll pull on the two of them. 

It appeared that Ring was wary of me and planned to protect them regardless of who I chose.

(Hm? But in that case…) 

Kate: What happens to the whole escort planning thing if I choose you to be my “lover”?

Ring: ME!? 

Ring: I- I don’t understand… Normally, either Nica or Dari would be chosen for this sort of thing. You don't need to consider such a possibility. 

Kate: But Darius said to choose “one member from Vogel”. 

Kate: So choosing you isn't a problem, right?

Ring: I-it’s a HUGE problem…! M-me as your l-lo-lov-lover…!? 

… Initially, I asked the question because I was genuinely curious how he intended to go about the escorting. 

But seeing Ring turning bright red and panicking sparked a mischievous impulse in me.

Kate: I’ve decided! I’m choosing you as my lover for a day.

Ring: WHAT!? You absolutely CANNOT do that! 

Darius: Really? I think that's a wonderful idea, though. 

The voice cutting into our exchange was Darius, who happened to be passing by.

Ring: D-Dari… why?

Darius: Somehow, it sounds like it’d be interesting. 

Ring: But what if she “cajoles¹” me into doing her bidding…!? 

¹ The word for “cajole” is 篭絡 (ろうらくrōraku). Here, when Ring’s says it, it was written in hiragana as “ろーらく” to express that his pronunciation of the word wasn't very accurate; possibly because his first language is german and not english. 

Darius: You know such a complex phrase as “cajole”? Good job, good job. 

Darius: But don’t worry. Miss Fairytale Keeper could never be a threat to us.

Darius: Have I ever been wrong about such things? 

Ring: … Never.

Darius: Then there's no problem at all. 

Darius: Go on, Ring. Pass auf dich auf (have a great day²). 

² For the record, I don't understand German at all. I’m only translating based on the Japanese translation provided by the game in the form of furigana.

As soon as Darius said something to him in their native language, Ring became obedient like a well-trained guard dog. 

Ring: … Alles klar (understood). 

…

The next day, I became Ring’s lover for a day and was tasked to give him a tour of the city.

Kate: I look forward to spending the day with you. 

Ring: … Oh, uh, yeah. Dari ordered me to “pretend to be Miss Fairytale Keeper’s lover for a day”. 

Ring: Going on a… d… da… date… with you… I- I’ll do it just fine. Just you watch…! 

(Ring looks extremely nervous…)

I was a little nervous myself, but seeing how tense he was actually made me feel better. 

Ring: S-so… the first destination is The Scala, right?

Kate: Yes. Since it’s a date, I decided to take you to some of my favourite places today. 

Kate: We could take a carriage there, but the weather is pleasant today. Shall we walk instead?

Ring: … Got it. Also, um… 

Ring looked like there was something he wanted to say as he stretched his right arm out in my direction. 

Kate: …?

Ring: Ah! No… nothing. T-this is just me warming up! 

He pulled his arm back and started rolling his shoulders in circles.

[crimeronan]

Okay, catching up on your posts, about that snippet you posted with devins first kill- I think what's so haunting about it to me is how kind the old lady seems. Being genuinely helpful and willing to assist at first, having kind mannerisms and genuinely giving off the impression that she's really sweet. As the piece went on I started to believe when Devin said she wasn't in danger, because why would she be? She's a sweet old lady eager to help. And Devin, in turn, genuinely appreciates her kindness. She's lying a lot in the convo but her appreciation of her kindness towards her seems startling sincere. They're both being pleasant and nice- and Devin continues to be so even when the ruse is up, calm and collected and kind to her, not at all angry and vengeful like I would imagine. Its... unsettling. That this old woman was kind to her and it wasn't a ruse, it wasn't a lie, it was just genuine kindness. Even though, if I'm reading the implications right, she caused the deaths of countless children. This is not a monster; this is a kind old lady who's first instinct is to help, not to manipulate, but just to help. And yet she is also a monster. And Devin... she knows this. She knew this from the start. She is weighing the value of her life the whole time they speak, the whole time she's pleasant to her. And her appreciation for her kindness also isn't a lie; her thoughts make that clear. She considers calmly whether to let her go. She acknowledges that killing her serves no purpose; she's already retired, so she's no longer hurting anyone, there's no justice or honor in killing her. There's no reason to, except that it might make her feel better. And she's so calm when weighing it all. Weighing her life. She appreciated her kindness genuinely, she thought of letting her go, but... she killed her anyway. I'm new to your oc posts so sorry if I got anything wrong (am especially nervous on whether I got Devins pronouns right, but you refer to her as she, right? Sorry if I'm wrong about that), but that snippet was genuinely unsettling and haunting. Somehow... the most scary part of it was the kindness. The startling reminder that monsters are human, too—that they can be kind, and it not be a lie, kind to a stranger for no other reason except wanting to help. That's terrifying to me.

MMMMMM, YEAH. YEAH YEAH YEAH.

(and yes on devin's pronouns! devin uses she/they/he in order of preference. "he" isn't exactly Wrong, but as i've written her more, it's become more and more the kind of answer that's only correct on a technicality.)

the only correction i'd make is that maddie wasn't Directly responsible for countless child deaths..... she was, however, responsible for countless cases of child slavery. proponents of the system would argue it's not slavery, because the children are provided for and have their needs met and just have to work for the light temples until they die or get rich enough to buy out, with basically no legal recourse in cases of abuse. "how is that NOT slavery" because slavery sounds icky :( don't be mean it makes the government feel bad :(

in many ways, though, moira Was a child sacrifice. that's why maddie responds so strongly to her name. maddie truly can't remember every kid whose life she ruined, but moira was different!

one of the biggest driving forces and themes for me in this project is exactly what you said: that people can be both monsters and very kind at the same time. a lot of power fantasy vengeance media reduces its villains to two-dimensional strawmen that are disposable. they're easy to kill. the audience doesn't have any complicated feelings about their deaths.

and people just. aren't like that in real life. they can be selfish and cruel and manipulative, they can be abusive, they can commit atrocities, and at the end of the day, they still have things they love. i'm sure the united healthcare CEO loved and doted on his kids, which is why the media keeps calling him a "father of two" to try to stir up empathy. someone who loves his kids can't be bad, right?

or there's a throwaway bit in an episode of succession where some rich people are making jokes about the impending collapse of society, and a little girl asks about it, and one of them tells her, don't worry, you'll get to live in my bunker :) it's not your problem :)

(or something to that effect.)

maddie loves her grandkids. devin implies she's casually racist (and is probably right), but maddie is still sweet and kind to her. she's not a hateful woman! she loves birds and her rooftop garden and her family. she loves doing nice things for her neighborhood and making people happy. she'll go out of her way to help devin pull records to find a lost family member. she's probably already DONE that for the family or friends of other children she trafficked.

she doesn't see anything wrong with what she did. the government said it was okay, and she was keeping kids from dying impoverished on the streets! she was giving them another chance at life! "would you want that life for your grandkids??" is an irrelevant question, because she worked to save enough money for her grandkids so they'd never be in such a situation, so she doesn't have to think about it. she's kind! she's trusting! she's never even committed a crime!

"people are largely well-intentioned at heart" and "people can be unspeakably selfish and evil IF you promise them it's not selfish or evil" are two things that coexist, imo. it's something you have to get comfortable with if you do irl activism of any kind, too. particularly with any Undesirable marginalized group.

living in portland in america is very interesting sometimes. the people here consider themselves MUCH more politically leftist than the average american -- and indeed, they tend to oppose war, imperialism, racism, homophobia, and transphobia. at least when they're talking about their beliefs. people here are nicer than any other place i've ever visited in america!

they are also willing to unperson thousands of unhoused people and Fervently wish unimaginable cruelty, violence, brutality, and horror upon them. not only willing to WISH it, but also to Passionately Advocate For It in government meetings and in court. desiring this cruelty is socially acceptable & so the people who do so will never consider themselves monstrous. they will be hurt and sad and angry if you tell them it's monstrous.

maddie was a good mom and a good grandma. maddie bore no ill will toward the kids she sold. in fact, maddie's trustworthy demeanor and kindness might be why she was so successful at her job in the first place. because kids who were hurt and scared and alone were told she could rescue them, and they believed her.

monsters don't look like monsters. people have always been people. if we told the truth about what monstrosity is really like, we'd have to admit how many of our friends and neighbors and families and we ourselves are monstrous.

apathy is a political stance.

[sepublic]

IDW Transformers’ take on the war and the origins of the Decepticons was one of those things that was rly thoughtful and interesting to read as a kid (so as the target demographic I guess lol) only as an adult to have some rly troubling implications like the ones you pointed out. I was EXTREMELY relieved that TF One swapped it back so that the Autobots are the low-class miners and the Decepticons were the military (closer to the original cartoon anyway) while still using the IDW comics as inspiration in other ways.

Transformers One is such a strange case for me because on the one hand, it's propaganda. I'm sorry but it's transparently propaganda, it's executives embracing IDW's attempt at "maturity" that well-intentioned or not, inevitably paints the revolutionaries as villains by having them arbitrarily blow up an orphanage, because we gotta demonize revolutionaries who use violence.

We gotta warn kids of the dangers of the violent revolution, because revolution is only permitted if peaceful! Let's just ignore what we were taught about the American Revolution... Seriously, look at the elites' response to Brian Thompson's assassination!

That being said. This is like 95% speculation. But there are clear differences between IDW and Transformers One. So to me, personally, it feels like the writers —Eric Pearson, Andrew Barrer, and Gabriel Ferrari— were aware of the issues of the IDW premise. They were given a basic outline by executives. And so they opted to smooth over the issues as much as they could, work with it, while still being stuck with that basic problem at the end of the day.

So as you've said, I appreciate Orion and D-16 being working-class bots, that they're both coming from the same place. I appreciate the framing of Orion's opposition coming from the concept of Anti-Death Penalty, that no government should have the power to execute people. I appreciate the implications of D-16 siding with disgruntled military soldiers, whose only idea of fixing society is to destroy enemies.

There's something to be said about people who fantasize purely on committing violence, without any of the actual work of rebuilding and keeping things running! That's why Orion's rebellion consists of his fellow miners. I can see the implication, that even if D-16 hadn't gone off, there would inevitably be friction between the High Guard's jingoism and the civilians when Orion reformats things, and bans the death penalty.

...But again, again! D-16 is a black man. Not literally but he's voiced by Brian Tyree Henry, anyone can hear his voice. And his chanting of "Rise up" is juxtaposed with Orion Pax, who is voiced by white MCU star Chris Hemsworth. It feels ridiculous how the movie bends over backwards to paint D-16 as evil with shots of civilians running away from the convenient collateral of his shots, but nothing like that is ever shown with our protagonists and their damage!

B slicing up other Cybertronians is treated as a gag, but Sentinel's life and death matters more than his guards' which is uh. A weird way to frame things. I guess maybe it's because D-16 is doing it out of "reckless anger" whereas B isn't trying to...? But ultimately, the violence of our protagonists is meant to be framed as out of strict necessity, which is something I have to acknowledge.

I can't say for sure what Pearson, Barrer, and Ferrari were thinking. I appreciate Transformers One for smoothing out the edges. But I can't help but see D-16 as a pastiche of BLM activists, of the UHC shooter, because he's willing to be angry and violent towards his oppressors. He's a black man who gets branded and his violence is treated as exceptional and unique because of his anger, meanwhile B's kills are a gag.

There's an irony in that Sentinel's higher-class life is treasured by the narrative, but the lives of his comparatively lower-class bodyguards are worth nothing. The pervasiveness, it felt insidious; It genuinely kept me from enjoying the final battle between Optimus and Megatron, how the narrative wants to be triumphant but the dark undertone can’t be ignored. Call me a buzzkill.

I know people think this sort of trope is meant to be 'nuanced', that it makes for a more 'interesting' villain, one you can relate to and sympathize with. See yourself in. But in the end, you can only go so far in "reclaiming" a stereotype. You can't be in utter denial of the subtext and intention behind it. You can't claim this is actually good writing, I thought we were liking these villains out of spite, not in support of a narrative we think is secretly on our side too!

That executives need a revolution story where the ultimate villain who causes even more violence in the long run is, GASP, a revolutionary who shows people like them no mercy, is telling. There can only be a revolution in media if it shows the elite being deliberately spared at all costs, even to the point of Orion sacrificing his own life (Even if for D-16’s soul), while their own workers like those bodyguards are just fodder.

G1 was not the pinnacle of Leftist media but it was also inoffensive and knew what it was. This is… different.

[funky-lizard-imp]

SINSMAS MAJOR SPOILERS!

I haven't seen too much of it on here but I've seen a lot of it on Tik Tok so I wanna fucking say something about it.

People are saying that Millie cheated on Moxxie and that's why she was panicking and didn't tell him right away when she found out and I am willing to bet everything I have that is not what happened.

People's arguments are that she called Sallie May first and was freaking out like she's realising she can't hide it anymore, but that's not what I got from her reaction at all. It is very normal for people to freak out and panic during first time pregnancies, especially if it was unplanned which I'm willing to bet that this is. And I also think it's pretty normal to first tell someone that you're close with, but isn't very directly involved, like a friend, or in this case, her sister.

Millie might not know how Moxxie is going to react, because even though I think he'd be very supportive and happy and be a great dad, having your own kid can be different, and telling someone literal life changing news like this for the first time can be scary even if you think they would be happy so I think its reasonable that Millie talked to Sallie first.

There are also other reasons why Millie could have been panicking about having a baby, and the one I'm seeing the most is their job. Raising a baby or being pregnant while being a literal assassin can be very dangerous, and Millie might not want to give up her job for the baby and I swear to god if I see anyone calling her selfish for that you're getting blocked instantly because shut the actual fuck up that's also pretty normal. I don't think anyone would say that but just making sure.

Millie also might not be ready to be a mother. Again, a pretty common thing and a pretty normal reaction in that situation.

So my money is on Millie is just scared and nervous because it was unplanned, its new, and she might possibly be scared of raising a kid in a very dangerous business. She's scared herself and still coming to terms with it so she might not be in the right head space to tell Moxxie immediately, but I bet when she does, he is going to be very supportive and happy, and reassure her that everything will be fine. He might even freak out a bit himself, but like I said, that's pretty normal. And I bet they would be great parents and Blitz and Stolas would be great babysitters.

Also, I feel like if she did cheat, there would be a bit more proof and foreshadowing. I know you don't usually recognise foreshadowing until after watching something and going back, but hear me out. When that demon lady was talking about her husband cheating, Stolas was really guilty. I feel like if Millie cheated, they would put more signs, and I feel like they would have her in the background looking very slightly guilty at the moment as well. It's kinda nonsense but at the same time it also makes sense because most plot twists have subtle hints of it before hand so it doesn't completely come out of the blue and people can spot all the signs on a rewatch. I think if Millie cheated, some good foreshadowing would be that and that wasn't there. Again, it's nonsense, but it's part of my defense.

So, in conclusion, I don't think Millie cheated, and stop finding reasons to hate her because I'm convinced that's what some of these people are doing. Her reaction and calling Sallie May is very reasonable and normal when you put more than one ounce of thought into it, and I can't believe I even had to say all this in the first place.

Good day.

[lionwitch]

Tim Drake Edits Reality

Hear me out. Tim Drake has always loved photography, that's wildly accepted and known. But what if he has powers too?

What if whatever Tim edits into his pictures becomes the truth?

The first time it happened, Tim was just starting his photography hobby. His parents bought him a camera and he was so exited! He took a picture of his mom's Rosebush, a single rose in the entire bush, half Withered.

Tim found the picture beautiful, and he started messing with photoshop, editing the withered flower back to the bright red it used to be. He decided it looked lonely and sad, the bush dry and the rose edited to be lively but alone in the middle. So he edited the dry areas of the bush back to the lively green and more roses in it. The picture looked very different from the original, but it was beautiful. Satisfied, he saved the end result.

That afternoon, when he walked through the garden, the very same dry rosebush he photographed looked just like his edited picture: lively, with rich colors and plenty of roses.

It made no sense, but he ignored it.

He kept taking pictures and editing them, though the changes were small, like the lighting and all that. Sometimes he made small changes, and he definitely noticed them and thought it was weird, but didn't quite connect the dots. He was kind of in denial. He couldn't be a meta or anything! Right?

And then his parents left for a few months and he was lonely, but he didn't want to admit it. And at school everyone was talking about their pets, and he messed up and lied. "I just adopted a Border Collie puppy!" he lied, thinking that would be it, people would forget, he would get out of the awkward situation (why did everyone have pets?) and nothing would happen. Well turns out, everyone wanted to see his puppy.

So Tim came home and prepared his camera, in his trusted tripod to look like it had been taken by someone else, and took pictures of himself, a whole photoshoot, with his arms stretched like carrying a dog, and then sitting like he was playing with it.

He searched for a perfect Border Collie puppy, one who had a whole photoshoot just for that one, so he could be sure the pictures were coherent and no one would question them. He carefully edited them and memorized every feature of his supposed dog in case anyone asked, to keep his story straight. Once satisfied, he sent them to those who asked for pictures, and received plenty of "cute dog!" compliments. It had taken him all day, so he went to bed almost immediately after, already past midnight.

He woke up to the very same blue eyed fluffy Border Collier puppy he edited into his pictures, licking his face, the same blue harness and leash hung on his door, and even the bed and bowls he put in the background were on the corner of his room now.

He freaked out, of course, but the small pup didn't seem all that worried. And apparently he now had a puppy? Well, he's always wanted one. He named her Frankie, because her multiple colors and patterns clashed like Frankenstein's monster, like she had been made for from mismatched parts.

He loved Frankie. She was so smart! And Frankie was quite loyal and enamored by him, too. He was her whole world, and she was his heart, his companion and confidant, his best friend and ally in his too-big house.

He did decide to experiment though. He needed more research.

When a boy at school picked on him, he edited his picture bald, and that same day his father shaved his hair. He tried again with another boy who picked on Jason (Jason doesn't know Tim exists yet, but Tim keeps an eye out for him), editing his hair bright barbie pink, and this time he added a date to the corner, writing the date of a week ago, two days before the pictures for his football team were taken.

When Tim saw the football team's pictures displayed at school, the boy had pink hair in them, that he didn't yesterday. He asked around, if the pictures looked different to anyone else.

"yeah, I don't know what persuaded him to dye his hair pink before picture day and the tournament."

"I asked him two days ago, he said he lost a bet."

Two days ago. Tim's mind was reeling. He asked the boy himself when he dyed his hair, and he replied with the date Tim edited on the corner of the picture.

Did Tim just... Edit reality?

He later uses this power to his advantage on patrol, and before that while watching the Bats.

Jason is surrounded? He takes a picture and edits a few goons out of it quickly. They aren't there when he looks up.

Shit Joker escaped? He doesn't have the energy to deal with it right now. He edits tonight's date on a picture of Joker sitting peacefully in his cell and a few more guards for good measure.

His family doesn't understand why he takes a small discreet camera on patrol in his utility belt

[sstardow]

A Study of the Arcane [Arcane Hogwarts AU] Chapter 1

This is Chapter 1. Please read Chapter 0 if you haven't for TW's and information on the story.

This story is targeted at YA, Please do not read it unless you are at least 16+.

TW: Mentions and Descriptions of death.

IMPORTANT: This is an Arcane Hogwarts University AU where Students are sent their letters at 18 instead of 11. So the Students are all young adults and the same/similar age they were in the show.

(Multi Pov)

Vi stepped off the Hogwarts Express with a leap. Following behind her was Ekko, This would be Vi's 4th year at Hogwarts, and Ekko's 1st year. They knew each other as kids, Vi and Ekko, so she was thrilled when she found out he had received a letter too. Vi made sure to show Ekko around Diagon Alley before they boarded the train. She even lent him one of her robes from her first year to wear. 

Vi got her letter to Hogwarts soon after she got into some trouble with the Law back in the Zaun 5 years ago. She decided to attend Hogwarts, partially as a way to pardon herself for the remainder of her time in Stillwater, and also as a distraction from the pain of losing Powder. Vi had figured it would be easier to find her sister while attending a university, rather than being stuck in a prison.  

Vi wasn't very surprised when she got her letter to Hogwarts. Vander told her that their mom was a witch too. Vi always knew about magic since Vander, Her Mother, and Silco were all professors at the University back in the day. Now the only one left from them was Silco. Vi resented him for that. She knew that Silco had a part in Vander's death, she just had no proof it was him.

It happened close to when Vi was arrested. She was 15, Powder was 12. Vander had gotten a call that the School was threatened. Some dark witches and wizards wanted to get to the Headmaster, god knows why, and Vander wasn't going to let what happened to Mom happen to anyone else. He told Powder to stay home and brought Vi along to help get any bystanders to safety. 

Vander was in the forbidden forest looking for the mages, and Vi stood behind him in case he needed backup or someone to run and get more help. Silco told Vander that there were only three mages in the forest. So they brought five professors, and Vander and Silco were two of them. 

But Silco had lied, the dark mages ended up being more powerful, and a bigger group than they were told. Vi couldn't even quite recall how many there were, she counted 8 of them before giving up. And the mages were ready for them too, it was like an ambush.

After seeing this, Vander and the others were quickly outmatched. But against their odds, they were about to win the fight. Until Powder showed up with one of her "magic inventions" Which was really just her putting her uncontrolled magic into a toy and letting it explode. Well, this concentrated magic was a little more fueled than usual. Powder was scared for Vander and Vi, she wanted to help the best way she could. The only way she knew how, so she did. 

Powder always had an affinity for the arcane. But she couldn't control it, ever. She was so powerful for a kid, and because of that, she was dangerous too. Vander tried to teach her how to control it, But he didn't have enough time to.

Back in the battle, with the Professors bloody, but almost victorious. Powder released one of her "Magic bombs" at the group of dark mages. But the explosion was too powerful. It killed the mages, quickly. And most of the trees within a 50ft radius came crashing down. Vander got hit by the blast, as well as two other professors with him. Vi couldn't get the sight of Vander's bloody body under that fallen tree out of her mind for years. She still sees it in her nightmares sometimes.

And Powder never could forget it either. Nor could she forget the feel of Vi's slap to her face, and the words Vi said to her afterwards. "You're a Jinx!" were the words Jinx heard In her head every time she looked in the mirror. 

After they couldn't save Vander, Vi ran away, the night fell quiet and her sobs could be heard the whole time he was running out of that forest. The other professor who wasn't Silco began to bring Vander's body back to be buried. But Silco couldn't help but stare at the little blue-haired girl crying into her hands. Silco met Powder and Vi a few times before, back before him and Vander had that awful fight.

Silco noticed Powder looked just like her mother.

Limping over to the child, Silco offered her a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Ignoring it, Powder jumped toward him, and held on. Silco was knocked to the ground, as Powder held on to him sobbing into his coat, he wrapped his arms around the girl. "Your sister left you. Do you want to find her?" Silco asked as he held her. "She is not my sister." Powder said between sobs.

Vi regretted her words to Powder, regretted hitting her, she regretted every single moment of that night. Vi went back to look for Powder in the forest, but she never found her. A day after the events, the ministry found Vi, they took her in for questioning about the Dark Mages. But Vi couldn't offer them any worthwhile information. Vi's descent into rebellion was quick, acting out whenever she could. She broke many laws trying to find information on Powders whereabouts. Spells, threats, throwing punches, you name it. She ended up in prison fast. Then Heimerdingers letter arrived, Vi had an escape, so she took it.

Silco kept Jinxes whereabouts secret from Vi. He respected her wishes of never wanting to see her sister. But eventually the time came for Jinx to get older and attend Hogwarts. Silco was hesitant, but Jinx was insistent. He knew he could never control her anyways.

And so, unknown to Vi and Ekko, on the other side of the train, Jinx steps out with her black robes adorned. She was unsorted, being as it was her first year too. She would soon find out what house she'd be in. She had an inkling it would be Slytherin, that's what Silco had told her anyway. 

Vi was clueless that Jinx would also be attending Hogwarts, but Jinx knew Vi would be here. Jinx always thought that she would be mad or never want to see her sister again after what happened in their childhood, but she wasn't. She actually wanted to see Vi again, even if a part of her also wanted to scream at her. 

Silco was worried at first when Jinx said she would attend Hogwarts, but he was never one to tell Jinx no. Being the head of Slytherin house, he was confident he would be able to protect Jinx from any threats, whether they be emotional or physical. And he knew that Hogwarts would be the best place to unlock her highest potential.

Nearby at another exit from the train were Jayce Talis, Viktor, and Caitlyn Kiramman. They all wore their blue robes proudly as they walked towards their guide. "Need some help Viktor?" Jayce asked watching Viktor descend the train steps with his cane. "I've got it, like always," Viktor said, now off the steps. Caitlyn stifled a laugh at Jayce's worry, before speaking. "Jayce, What classes did you say you were taking again this year?" She asked. "Students, please follow me to the banquet hall!" A teacher interrupted. Jayce shot her a look that said "Tell you in a bit."

"First Years, come with me!" Another teacher yelled on a different side of the platform. Jinx walked that way, pulling the cloak above her hair. The night was chilly, and she eyed the boats they were about to ride over on. The academy looked huge in the distance, Jinx couldn't help but feel some excitement about attending. She remembered Vanders stories of her mom's time here. It used to make her so happy when he'd share those stories. But now thinking about them just made her angry, or sad, usually both.

As Jinx boarded one of the First Year boats, the water swayed beneath, rocking it side-to-side. Jinx held her breath. She'd never been on a boat before, and the feeling was uncomfortable. There were around four kids in each boat. She didn't know anyone from the first years, nor did she care to learn. 

Vi gave Ekko a nudge in the direction of the boats before heading toward the guide for the older students. She noticed the group beginning to walk toward Hogwarts and had to sprint to catch up. She raised her head to try and catch a glimpse of where the teacher was, and while doing so failed to see the blue-haired lady she was about to go barreling into. Briefly catching herself from tumbling full-force, Vi made a surprised sound as she bumped into Caitlyn. Caitlyn yelped in surprise back, turning around to see Vi, Caitlyn shot her a disapproving look. "There is no need to run around like a maniac," Caitlyn said, eyes drifting down to Vi's unraveling red and yellow tie. "Gryffindor." She added. Vi's eyebrows scrunched. "Sorry, Ravenclaw," Vi responded with more sarcasm than actual remorse. 

Ekko was led to a boat that had 3 other students in it. The night made it hard to see anything around him. The only light to illuminate the students, boat, and water was the moon, as well as a single lantern hanging from the front of each boat. The first years were chatting amongst one another. Ekko took his seat next to a student who had their cloak up which covered most of their head, he didn't blame them, as it was quite cold. He was the last first year to arrive, the teacher took attendance before sending the boats off toward the university. Ekko guessed the boats must be enchanted, cause they steered themselves on their own. As Ekko sat on the boat's seat, he looked around at the dark waters surrounding him. The water looked a lot cleaner here than it did back in Zaun. He inhaled the chilly air, it smelled like a lake, with the scent of algae and pine trees around. But a scent next to him reminded him of the Undercity, gunpowder.

Ekko turned his head to examine the student next to him better. Maybe they were from the Undercity and he knew them. Against the moonlight and lantern's warm hue, he saw a flash of pale skin and blue hair. A pit began to form in his stomach. It couldn't be her. right? "Jinx?!" Ekko asked, voice sounding alert. The chatter on the boat stopped for a moment as they all looked at Ekko. The cloaked student lowered their cloak down to their neck and looked at Ekko. "If it isn't the boy savior." Jinx teased, voice low. "What are you doing here?" Ekko asked. The phrase came out a little harsher than he intended, and he felt a twinge of guilt after seeing Jinx wince in response. "I could ask you the same... thing." Jinx dragged, the corners of her mouth tilting upward at the end. "I- I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that. It's just, we had no idea where you were. Vi has been a mess since you left back then and-" Jinx cut Ekko off with a wave. "Vi's been a mess?" She laughed. "I'm surprised she remembers me at all." Jinx lied. She wasn't surprised. And hearing Ekko say Vi is a mess... Well, that made her secretly feel happy. "We've missed you, Jinx. Why did you run for so long?" Ekko asked. Jinx inched closer to him before speaking. "At least someone has my name right now. and don't be dumb, Ekko." Jinx responded, tilting her head. "You know the reason I ran. We all do..." Jinx said glumly. "Silco and Vander," Ekko said. Realization dawning. he always knew, they all did. But they hoped that if they could find a way to forgive, then maybe Jinx could too. But she thought of things differently. 

The boats docked next to the university, and the students began to stand. "Students, please follow me to the banquet hall!" A teacher yelled. Jinx stood up but Ekko reached out for her arm. Jinx returned his touch with a warning glare, and he let go. 

[apparitionism]

Real

Can’t believe tomorrow is a particular Wednesday already; this season has rushed in like the most foolish of fools, and as a result I’m rushing to push out this new holiday story... because I too am a fool. This is set post-series (including the nonexistent season), though not by much, as the first little bit will make clear. It’s kind of all about fallout. And who wants what, and why, and whether they’re willing to work, wait, and do other things that probably start with “w” to get it. Anyway, season’s greetings to all—and to all (including, eventually, Myka and Helena, I promise) a good night.

Real

“She’s back,” Artie announces one autumn night, and before anyone (Myka) can fully register what that might mean...

...she is.

Is, is, is... a distillation of so much of what Myka instantaneously knows again as possibility, as hopes and wishes jolting back to life, as again (still) the only presence that instantly makes Myka aware of herself as a body, one that responds with barely controllable fervor to that presence—that other body.

Artie goes on saying words, “reinstated” and “agent” among them, but the roaring of Myka’s blood drowns them out.

She fears she will spontaneously combust. She would rather spontaneously combust. That would be better than having to consciously keep from spontaneously combusting, in response to Helena existing, to her moving and speaking, in a proximity that Myka should prize but that her body, fervently responding, informs her is completely insufficient.

Myka escapes as soon as she can, to sit in the dark of her room, to sit and process, but her usual, reliable processing processes fail her.

They always have, where Helena is concerned.

All she does is sit, empty but for the replaying of Helena’s entry into the dining room, her stride so sure, her aspect so unlike the dismissive, shrinking shrugs of Boone... that had sent Myka’s soul soaring.

Helena had greeted them all with good humor, her manner and words to everyone so convivial. So convivial, but also: to everyone, and that is what finds clawed purchase in Myka’s heart, here in the dark.

Here in the dark, Myka viciously tells herself that she deserves no special acknowledgment. Why would you?

She also tells herself, This will get easier.

****

In some ways it does. For example, Myka’s shock at, and subsequent need to recover from, each new sight of Helena lessens somewhat. Or maybe it’s that her body becomes accustomed to absorbing the impact.

In others, it profoundly doesn’t.

Case in painful point: one evening when they’re all cleaning up after dinner, Claudia says to Helena, “So can I ask you something?”

“Clearly you can. You just did,” Helena bats back, in play, and envy stabs Myka.

“You’re as bad as Artie,” Claudia groans. “But here goes: are you still seeing that lady?”

Terror appropriates envy’s knife, gashing anew. Myka has not let herself begin to imagine how to get such a question answered, and here Claudia just says it while lowering a stack of dirty plates into the sink.

Helena’s airy reply: “Still the case. Obviously we’re long-distance at the moment.”

Something previously un-knifed in Myka collapses at that “obviously.” Obviously. Obviously. Obviously, the Warehouse return had not entailed a renouncing of Helena’s non-Warehouse connections. As Myka had obviously, she now sees, believed—hoped!—it would.

The depth and breadth of her error sends her to her room again, lightless, wounded, empty, waiting for time to pass until she once again has something to do.

Such as a retrieval with Pete.

The next one of which proceeds well—it’s not a big, dangerous deal, but rather a matter of a sad, not villainous, loner seeking connection via an artifact-compromised comic-book message board. Pete’s his enthusiastic self about the comics of it all, and Myka lets it lull her into a near-trance of this is how it used to be, before everything.

Until they’re on the plane home, when Pete says, “So H.G.’s back.”

“Thanks for the update,” she says, bracing herself, because of course that won’t be all, because that would be too easy.

“And what about that girlfriend?”

“What about her?” Well, that was stupid: asking some reflex question she doesn’t want answered. She braces herself again.

“You think she’s her one?”

That’s worse than she’d imagined. Myka doesn’t want to go anywhere near that Schrödinger-box, for fear that peeking inside would reveal a very dead cat. Would in fact be the deciding factor in that cat’s demise.

After a stretch of silence, Pete says, “Bet she’s not. So what are you gonna do about it?”

What does he mean? Do about the girlfriend not being, or being, Helena’s one? Do about Helena being back in the first place? She would rather avoid nailing that down—another let’s-not-look Schrödinger box.

“I’m going to ignore it,” she says.

“That’s not healthy. I mean, I get it, but it’s not healthy.”

He coughs ostentatiously. Meaningfully? Myka doesn’t know. Can’t tell. Won’t ask. She hates how she feels compelled to leave this cat in limbo too, just so she can shift away from any potential situational consequences.

If only she had resisted the pressure to shift her definition of love.

She tries for resistance now, even though it’s too late: “I’m not going to try to keep her from doing what she wants to do.”

He cocks his head in that exaggerated what-are-you-saying way. “I thought you might though. Try.”

Myka is tempted to demand, “Why would you think that,” but she knows why he would think it, and revisiting that fight is an impossibility. Especially now.

“But you’re not trying,” he says. His tone, though, ratchets down the danger. It’s a relief. “So why not?”

Now Myka’s tempted to give some indignant “I don’t have to justify my behavior to you” answer... and yet. She does owe him more than that. Especially now, having misled him so severely before, she owes him some decent measure of honesty. So she says it as plain as she can: “Because people should do what they want to do.”

“Huh.” He puts on his “thinking” face—the real one, not the cartoon. “But you’re not doing what you want to do.”

“What?” Myka says, playing dismissively dumb. Hoping he’ll give some dumb response.

“You want to stop her doing what she’s doing.” Myka shakes her head at that, trying to pretend it’s dumb, but Pete rolls his eyes. He sees the weakness. How can he be getting her so right in this when he got her so so so wrong before? But then again she’d got herself wrong... “So why wouldn’t you do what you want to do?” he finishes.

Want, want, want. Myka wishes he would quit using the word.

Yes it’s her fault for using it first. Yes she should have shut him down forcefully to begin with. Yes that applies to situations preceding this one.

In any case, wanting is pointless. It literally does not matter: its only product is empty space, a horrific gaping sink, a vacuum as vast as space itself.

So she says, as pedantically as she can, “Because if one person’s wants affect another person’s wants, that’s a different category of... you know what? Never mind.”

“You only ever say ‘never mind’ when you know I’m right.”

“What? I say ‘never mind’ a lot.”

“Which means...” He taps his temple.

“No. No it does not.” But she does smile.

Pete bobs his head as if she’s actually agreed with him, and so they end on a familiar, jokey note. It’s far better than they could have managed some months ago, in the immediate aftermath of their... mistake? Misunderstanding? Mismanagement? Misadventure? Misapprehension?

Stop dictionarying, she tells herself. Despite its being one of her default ways of trying to process confusion, it rarely delivers the clarity she seeks. At any rate, their short-lived whatever-it-was was a mis-everything.

She takes out the book she’s brought with her, H Is for Hawk, so as to fill her head with Heather MacDonald’s solitude rather than her own. She has lately found that overlaying her own thoughts with someone else’s ruminations is quieting, so she’s reading even more than usual... it beats sitting in darkness, waiting. Which she supposes means she should thank Helena (thank her) for her extensive new knowledge: of, here, grief and falconry, but also, the Wright brothers, Joan of Arc, India’s partition, séances in the 1920s, Salem’s witch hunts, various aspects of the Supreme Court...

Erudition must surely outweigh emotionalism Extremity. Enthrallment? Embitterment.

Stop dictionarying.

****

Relentlessly, the holidays approach. Myka tries to ignore them too, particularly their invitation to soften. Unhealthy, Pete’s accusation echoes.

But in speaking to Pete, Myka had lied: she isn’t really ignoring anything Helena-related. In a folder of significant size in her mind, she stores a cascade of spreadsheets in which she tallies and tracks as many of Helena’s movements, statements, interactions as she can, in as much detail as possible: e.g., it wasn’t enough for Myka to get Steve to tell her about his retrievals with Helena—those accounts, while captivating, were incomplete, secondhand—so she has made perverse use of her hard-earned Warehouse database access to read Helena’s actual mission reports, like some pathetic online stalker. They’re literarily significant, she tries to use as additional justification, ignoring the fact that no one other than Warehousers will ever know how or why.

It’s not that she’s hoping to gain insight from any of this; the activity is simply itself. A flat gather of data. For those spreadsheets.

Which she uses, of course, to torture herself, not least for her damning inability to gain insight. Thus proving Pete wrong: it isn’t ignoring things that’s unhealthy. No, it’s paying them attention—stupid, pointless attention—that causes disease.

That’s true, but Myka genuinely does not know how much longer she can suffer making herself sick.

Lovesick, she sometimes thinks... but that makes “love” too prominent in the mix. No, the “sick” is what matters, and it is chronic, not acute. Which means it must be managed rather than cured, and she will manage it, because she has to: because she is an agent and Helena is an agent and they live in the same house and say the same mutually polite “good morning” to each other each day.

Sometimes Myka wisps a wish, in the wake of one of those morningtides whose undertow she cannot reveal, that she could begin to shift her thinking, to try floating above rather than falling under, the better work her way to commencing the actual ignoring.

But then Helena will talk to Steve about the particulars of his Buddhist practice, or to Claudia about a joint invention project’s feasibility, or to Artie about a disputed wrinkle of history, or even to Pete about, bizarrely yet bizarrely frequently, which menu items should be avoided at fast-food chains... and Myka enters each new datum into the spreadsheets out of avid habit, all while ferally wishing everything different—even, some days, heretically, Helena gone. And while castigating herself for having wished, before, so stupidly inchoately, pleading with the universe to let Helena come back. More: to send Helena back.

How very monkey’s-paw of you, she jeers, to leave out specifics. In particular, to leave out “to me.” Send Helena back to me.

Before Helena came back, Myka was lost; now she’s still lost, but differently. And if there is one thing Myka has never liked—in fact, has always feared—it’s change.

So in truth she can probably suffer making herself sick for quite some time. As long as nothing about the making—or the sickness—changes.

****

The days leading up to Christmas itself are blessedly busy. On the 22nd, Myka and Steve head to West Virginia to bag a problematic coal-miner’s lamp; the work keeps them away until Christmas Eve, and if Myka happens to linger a bit longer at the Warehouse after Steve goes back to the B&B once they’ve deposited the artifact... well, that’s because she’s very conscientious about filing reports in a timely fashion.

In fact, she lingers a lot longer, and she’s happy to arrive home to a mostly silent B&B... however, she is instantly deposited into precisely the sort of situation she’d hoped to avoid: she must walk past Helena, who is in the living room, alone, with the television on. Impossible to slink past undetected, and thus rude to try—particularly once Helena says, “Welcome home.”

How disorienting, for Helena to be here and to say that. Worse, the articulation seems to ring of... before. When Myka was special.

But she is imagining that. She must be.

“What are you watching?” she asks, though she doesn’t need to. Helena is watching the Yule Log.

You strike me. Myka’s thought stops there, true as can be. Aloud, she says, “You know what it is, right?”

“A strangely mesmerizing facsimile of a fire,” Helena says, without looking up. “Do I strike you as hypnotized?”

Now Helena looks up. She blinks at Myka and nods, oddly soft, childlike. “I consulted Google.”

Helena is absurdly fond of Google. Myka struggles to keep from finding this absurdly charming. She struggles similarly with the way in which Helena articulates the word itself—every witnessed occurrence of which is represented in the spreadsheets. so Myka is painfully aware of the way Helena puts a slight formal emphasis on both syllables, such that it sounds, in a capping absurdity, as if she’s saying she consulted Gogol.

Not that acquiring input from a dead Russian writer would necessarily be all that different, absurdity-wise, from having instant access to a towering percentage of the world’s collective knowledge. And Helena probably understands that congruence, if that’s what it is, better than Myka ever could.

Myka knows she’s thinking herself down treacherous paths; she should say goodnight and walk away. But it’s Christmas Eve, and she gives herself a present she shouldn’t want but feels she has earned, earned by ignoring—or, to the contrary, recording—so strenuously. She has done such hard work. So she lets herself ask, “Why are you so focused?”

“Pete gave me a choice: watch the Yule Log or talk to Myka. I believe he thought I would reject the former as unworthy of my attention. Yet here I watch, mesmerized.”

“Since when do you do what Pete tells you?” But thanks, I guess, for letting me know where I stand. She can’t then hold back a jab: “Anyway, shouldn’t you be spending the holiday with the famous Giselle?”

Helena blinks again. This time it’s not at all childlike. “That’s why he wanted me to talk to you. But to answer your previous question: since he told me he’s in love with you.”

He... what? “What?”

“You asked me since when do I do what Pete tells me. I’m answering.”

Keep up, Myka; keep up. “When did he tell you that?”

“This evening. As part of what I fear—or hope?—was intended as a Christmas gift.”

“For you?” That’s not keeping up.

“No.”

“Then for who?” That’s not either.

“Whom.”

“Well, excuse my grammar, but I’m a little weirded out.” This is the most extended conversation she and Helena have had since... before. That’s destabilizing enough to her ability to concentrate on words. but what, exactly, is she supposed to do with these words?

“Weirded out,” Helena says, an unexpected affirmation. “As was I. I wasn’t aware.” She makes a small “huh” noise, as if she has to bridge her way to what’s next. “That the two of you had been involved.”

Oh. Hence the bridge—but this is a shifting surprise. “I thought someone—Claudia—would have told you. Must have told you.” Must have, and that in turn must have contributed, Myka had been sure, to Helena’s lack of engagement. She’s always known your judgment was abysmal, she’d lashed herself, based on those must haves, and this is certainly fuel for that fire.

“Our discussions have been more focused on her future. And my past. And technology, of course.”

“Of course,” Myka says. And then, quick, before she loses her nerve: “It didn’t take.”

“Technology?”

“The involvement.”

“I gathered that from its current status.”

“Right.” The conversation, such as it is, should probably end here... but something is off. “Wait. You said he said he is in love with me.”

“Yes.”

Myka had believed it was over. All over. The idea of having to deal with it, with any aspect of it, in perpetuity, or at least with no clear sundown, preemptively exhausts her. And it rekindles her anger at the entire situation, at its utter pointlessness. “I don’t know what to do with that,” she says. She immediately regrets the admission.

“He said he’ll get over it.”

“Well, that’s something. I guess.” It comes out grudging, and that’s another admission Helena shouldn’t be privy to.

“He said you won’t.”

“What? Get over it? No, the problem was that I wasn’t ever in love. With him.” She’s saying far too much. She supposes it’s fortunate that she’s looking at this repetitively flickery video loop, rather than into Helena’s eyes. She supposes also that said loop is a reasonable metaphor for how her life has been proceeding. Lately. Before, and lately.

“He said that too.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re losing me.”

“Interestingly, he said a version of that as well.”

“That you were losing him?” Not hard to believe; sometimes Pete can barely follow a laser pointer.

Helena focuses her gaze on Myka again, adamantine. “That I was losing you.”

And just like that, Myka is through the looking glass. Trapped like Alice, trying to get out. “Why would you care?” she chokes.

Helena lowers her brow, a stern schoolmarm confronting an intransigent pupil. “Because as I mentioned, he said—and seemed quite certain—that you won’t get over being in love.”

Myka knows now what’s next. Helena is about to say, “With me.” Because once again: that fight.

Oh yes I will. That’s what the ignoring is for. When I work my way around to it, that’s what it’s for.

“I didn’t know,” is what Helena actually says, clearly taking Myka’s silence as affirmation of those unuttered words.

“Oh please. Like I could have been any more obvious.” Obviously. She says it with contempt at herself, past and present: what a pathetic moonstruck puppy.

“At which point?” Helena asks.

That’s a surprisingly troubling question. Timelines. Decisions. What did you know and when did you know it? What did you show and when did you show it?

“All I knew was how you responded. Not how you felt.”

Of course the former was all Myka herself had known, certainly at first, and their consonance surprises her. If only she could share that consonance, and her surprise in it, with Helena... but that seems too much like a reward, one that neither she nor Helena deserves. Again exhaustion: at their lack of merit. “I don’t want to play these games,” she says.

“Then don’t.” Was that a shrug? Did Helena really shrug?

“Fine. I won’t.” It’s childish, yet it feels like the best end she can manage tonight. You didn’t seek this out, she assures herself as she takes a first step away.

Before she can seal the escape with her second step, Helena says, “You might at least release me from this view.”

“You talked to me,” Myka says, doing her best to make it all go away. “You’re free.”

Helena turns from the flames too quickly for Myka to dodge being caught by the look. “I am in no way free.”

That is not my problem, Myka would like to maintain, but Helena’s gaze and tone are implicating, which is entirely unfair but still needs to be dealt with. She sits down next to Helena on the sofa. At a judicious distance.

Now they are both watching the Yule Log, which, indifferent to them both, continues its facsimile flicker. “I guess it is kind of mesmerizing,” Myka says after some time.

“We haven’t spoken much,” Helena rejoins.

“There hasn’t been much to speak about.” Without peril, Myka adds, internally, and by that she means, peril to me.

“On the contrary. But I’ve tried to ignore it.”

“So have I. I hear it’s unhealthy.”

“Perhaps. It’s Pete’s strategy as well, according to him,” Helena says. Then, following a throat-clear, “With regard to his feelings for you.”

Myka doesn’t need to clear her throat. “He’s the one who told me it was unhealthy.” Which puts her in mind of his ostentatious cough: it’s meaningful now. Ridiculous, but meaningful.

“Then I suppose we’re ailing, all of us.”

“I suppose we are. An epidemic of ignorance.”

Helena smiles a little at that. Myka can’t help but smile back, and she maintains it as Helena asks, light, “What is the prognosis?”

“Depends on the ignoring’s end result,” Myka temporizes.

“Pete maintains that ignoring something long enough makes it go away.”

Or it kills you, Myka might say, like cancer. But instead she stays light. As light as she can. “Maybe he’s right. No, probably he’s right.” She owes him that.

Now a pause. A wait. What’s next? “So is that where we leave it?” Helena asks.

Maybe it goes away. Maybe that’s what’s next.

Myka can see it, now: see the spreadsheets dissolving into unnecessarity, see herself not responding physically to Helena, see Helena becoming, in essence, like Pete: someone with a past version of whom a past version of herself made a mistake.

She hadn’t imagined, not before this minute, that it was possible. But now a road leads there.

Can she take that road? She looks again into the fire. The not-fire. It mocks her: Everything you really want turns out to be unreal. On the other side of some facsimilating screen. A mirage. She turns away from it, ashamed. She looks at Helena... for the moment, Helena is still real. Still able to render Myka’s resistance from her body, here in this moment by sitting quietly and watching fake flames, in the next by doing nothing more than breathing out, breathing in.

Myka has not yet taken that awful road. Not yet. One more try, she tells herself. But no, that’s not right. She’s never really tried. Never really. She’s waited—longer than she thought she should—and she’s hoped—harder than she thought she could—but that wasn’t trying.

So: one try.

It can’t be the try she might have made in the past, a desperate just-please-touch-me push. Under the circumstances, that’s impossible. So, what?

An olive branch? No, peace isn’t the right aim, even now.

Better, perhaps: something she wouldn’t have said before tonight’s... encounter. Something related to tonight’s encounter, something more real than she’s offered so far: “We fought. Pete and I.”

TBC

[ashela-ley]

Can we talk about Cartman's tendency to pet Kyle? And the way Kyle lets him do it?

It's such an under-discussed part of their dynamic. Cartman does this all the time. He does it to tease Kyle. He does it to comfort him. He does it to express gratitude. He even does it to pictures of Kyle when Kyle's not there.

And you could say that's just Cartman, he's just touchy, that's just how he expresses himself . . . except that it's really not. All this petting and stroking isn't something you see him do with Stan and Kenny. (Friends he has said multiple times he loves.) It's not something he does with his actual pet, Mr Kitty. It's not something he does with his mom. It's not even something he does with Heidi or Yentl. There's a lot of hand-holding and kissing in those relationships, but Cartman appears to consider this expected romantic partner behavior, and to be imitating that accordingly. What you don't see with them is the clingy, almost unconscious need to touch he demonstrates with Kyle. Kyle has to be stroked, patted, petted, hugged, poked, pulled on . . . it seems to be a comfort thing for Cartman, and that is just so fascinating to me.

It's also endlessly fascinating to me that Kyle - who has no problem putting Cartman in his place about anything else - allows this nearly every time. Maybe there's some token complaining, but he never actually tries to stop it. It's not "ew, Cartman is hugging me" it's always "why is Cartman hugging me?" and that's a subtle difference I think gets overlooked. People like to claim Kyle's response to Cartman having a crush on him would be disgust, and that Kyman could only ever be one-sided for this reason. But Kyle's response to Cartman being affectionate with him is actually pretty much always confusion, not disgust. I get the impression Kyle doesn't know how he feels about it.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say here, but it's just so interesting to me, the relationship they both have to touch. Cartman uses Kyle to fulfil his need for touch and connection - and Kyle doesn't often reciprocate this touch, but he pretty consistently makes the concession of allowing it. They're feeling each other out, trying to work out "who are you to me and what do I feel for you?" It's one of the elements of Kyman that makes the ship so endearing, I think. There's this sweetness to it that absolutely should not exist between these characters, but does anyway.

Definitely! You’re right, Cartman does seem to seek out physical contact with Kyle considerably more than with anyone else he isn’t directly romantically involved with and my favourite instances of this is when he does so under the guise of antagonizing him. Two examples of this are the whole ‘Jennifer Lopez’-thing in “Fat Butt and Pancake Head” and Cartman promoting Kyle to the Germans in “Funnybot”. In both cases he uses an instance of disrespecting Kyle as a front to compliment him, with the ‘Jennifer Lopez’-persona constantly being gushing over him, telling him how much she likes him, calling him ‘handsome’ and of course ‘kissing’ him by Cartman pressing his hand against Kyle’s mouth. This is especially interesting considering the fact that later in the episode it is very heavily implied (and then pretty much outright confirmed in “200”) that Cartman really doesn’t have full control over the character. In “Funnybot” Cartman calls Kyle either ‘gentle/soft’ or ‘juicy’ (lol), ‘pretty’, and ‘very beautiful’ in extremely mangled German (which I guess is just regular German in-universe since the native speakers talk just like that) and while the context of the scene is obviously very dark for the viewer, who can infer what’s going on, Kyle doesn’t actually seem to realise what is happening. He doesn’t appear to understand what is being said at all and as such Cartman doesn’t even really have the excuse that he’s teasing him.

This scene fits the reaction you described that Kyle tends to have when Cartman engages him in physical contact very well: Kyle reacts to Cartman excessively touching him with confusion but simply lets it happen. He has every reason to be wary of Cartman’s intentions and yet he makes no effort to stop him from what he’s doing. In “ManBearPig” Kyle wakes up to find Cartman leaning over him and while he doesn’t actually touch him, he does get extremely close to him, giving us the famous image of their faces mere inches apart. Kyle’s reaction to this is incredibly understated: He appears at most slightly irritated and attempts neither to push Cartman off nor to move away from him. Once again, he mostly just seems confused by Cartman’s behaviour but, as far as we can see, makes no further attempts to investigate the reasons behind it. This understated reaction is an indication of an (imo) often overlooked aspect of their relationship, which is that while Kyle is well aware of what Cartman is theoretically capable of, he doesn’t actually seem worried that he’d ever seriously harm him. Personally, if I found myself trapped in a cave with a person who constantly professes his hatred for me and whom I know has no qualms about killing people, and then woke up to find said person looming over me in my sleep I’d be much more worried than Kyle appears to be. In fact, considering everything that has happened over the course of their relationship and how many despicable things Cartman has done, Kyle seems Weirdly Comfortable And Safe With His Evil, Ill-Intentioned Friend. Because that’s what they are: They’re friends. To call it a complicated friendship might be an understatement but when it comes down to it the simple fact of the matter is that these two do like each other. While in earlier seasons a point could be made that they only spend time together out of necessity (with the main four being somewhat isolated from the other kids, as Craig points out in “Pandemic 2”, and Cartman originally being an incidental part of the group as ‘the friend no one likes’), they’ve both long since expanded their social circles to a point where they are no longer ‘forced’ to spend time together for lack of better options. Kyle would be more than justified in cutting Cartman off completely and yet he doesn’t and I can honestly see no real reason for this other than the fact that he simply cares about him as a person.

So I agree that Kyle probably wouldn’t react with disgust to the hypothetical reveal that Cartman harbours romantic feelings towards him. I’m not claiming that he would necessarily be elated but I’m pretty sure ‘disgust’ would not be his first reaction and I think many people who think that it would be might at least partially hold that opinion due to projection: Because while we, as viewers, are frequently meant to find Cartman repulsive both physically and emotionally (his embodiment of the 'fat bastard' trope is a key part of his character, after all), Kyle doesn’t actually appear to overtly feel that way about him – which is to say he does kinda but not exclusively and it’s all just a bit more complicated than that. Kyle being thoroughly confused does seem like the most likely reaction to me. Regarding the physical aspect: Of course Kyle frequently makes derogatory remarks about Cartman’s appearance, specifically regarding his weight (to the point where it’s been a main focus of their dynamic for almost thirty years) but we see several times that his critique actually seems to stem from a place of worry and that he feels bad when he thinks that these comments have actually managed to hurt his feelings (e.g. “Raising the Bar”). Of course, what exactly Kyle’s feelings towards Cartman are is, with good reason, a source of much discussion and I’d claim that Kyle himself isn’t very sure of this. His sentiment towards Cartman definitely seems very erratic, with Kyle going from actively attempting to get him killed in “Fatbeard” to being concerned for his emotional well-being just a season later (“201”, “Poor and Stupid”). This concern Kyle has for a person he supposedly can’t stand has been a pretty consistent part of his character in later seasons and it’s especially striking when compared to the way he disregards his best friend’s feelings when he’s in genuine need of emotional support (“Raisins”, “You’re Getting Old”). This discrepancy is not only an indicator of the complicated relationship Kyle has with Cartman but imho also hints at at least one reason for it. In a (painfully long-winded😅) comment on AO3 I just touched on the similarities between Kyle and Cartman how interesting I find the very different ways in which they deal with their shared character traits. I believe this is something that draws them towards each other, though I’m certain that neither is actually consciously aware of this. You put it so beautifully in your last sentence: "There's this sweetness to it that absolutely should not exist between these characters, but does anyway." There really is an unexpectedly soft underbelly to their relationship that is a lot of fun to explore. While I wont deny the toxic aspects of this ship (in fact, they’re a major part of what I find interesting about it), there is also the surprising potential for a real emotional connection between these characters.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

have you ever wanted to write paranoid ford

here’s some aspects of our paranoia (and paranoid thinking as a result) that you can use to make him a tad more accurate. of course this doesn’t speak for everyone- but it’s stuff that could help if you have no idea where to start

-if the character’s shower has a curtain, checking both sides before even daring to turn it on. yes, both sides. yes, you do look both up and down. yes, this is an important step that must be repeated every single time to avoid death (in the character’s mind, anyhow)

-on that note, having a bunch of little rules that only apply to them. don’t go in this one room or you die. don’t walk around past x time or you die. be exceedingly careful when opening x kind of door or you die. must sleep with x thing or you die. things like that

-long walks into buildings, especially in open areas. quicken your step, lest someone follow behind. you think they’ll kill you if they catch up. quick quick quick, little rabbit, quick quick quick

-cars. cars driving by (‘what if they shoot me?’), someone sitting in a parked car (‘they’re waiting to run me over’), cars cars cars cars cars

-leaving house. leads you to open spaces, many opportunities to die

-darkness. you cannot see what is coming to kill you

-thinking that there is ALWAYS something coming to kill you

-startling whenever someone pulls out a sharp object near you. they may be cooking. they may just have turned slightly too much towards you when pulling out scissors to open a package. either way, regardless of who it was, regardless of how much you trust them, you fully thought you were about to be gutted like a fish for a moment there

-always keeping your curtains drawn, your blinds closed (‘so they can’t see me’)

-hatred of being looked at (‘why? are you going to do something? if you hadn’t noticed me, there would have been zero chance of you killing me. now it’s gone up slightly’)

-anxiety. always imagining worst case scenario

-flinching when going down hallways and such too fast (‘what if there’s something waiting to kill me around the corner or a fucking spike or something is going to spear me through the skull if i go too fast’)

-*notices one tiny blemish on food* ‘this is going to kill me. i am not eating this. i will die’

-trying to appease invisible forces in order to convince them not to kill you. may include talking to nothing

-if you have objects with eyes or eye-like features in your house, turning them completely away from you when doing something you deem personal and/or important

-going to bed? keep all hands and feet within the ride at all times. you’re sure you’ll die otherwise

-staying in a hotel? you might find yourself focusing on the faint lights of the clock or alarm. you might find yourself focusing on them because you’re sure they’re going to kill you

-‘it’s not paranoia if something’s really out to get you’ and you’re damn sure there is (if only you had concrete evidence so people would believe you…)

-everything is a gamble with staying alive. this thing might lead to your death. this thing makes you fear dying. this thing makes you feel like you have one strike left before you meet your end

-for no reason at all, going to bed and thinking ‘i hope they kill me while i’m asleep so i don’t have to be awake for my death that is surely coming tonight’

-goes without saying, but suspicious of everyone. very hard to get you to trust that someone has your best interests in mind (for example: paranoid ford trusting stan and stan alone to help him, being terrified of anyone else)

-delusions. example from us: actively shutting off your train of thought anytime someone gets too close cause you’re sure they can hear your thoughts and you don’t want them to see anything that could put you in danger (you also just don’t want them to look at those in general)

[knnichs]

RISK

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life.

c. kinich x gn!reader

t. childhood friends to lovers, mild violence (abyss attack, but very short,) no use of y/n, cliche tropes YES i know is it really a knnichs work if theres no cliche stuff, wc: 3.4k

merry christmas, @papiliotao !! i was your secret santa 🧑‍🎄 this is a bit lengthy but i do hope you like it 🧡

Kinich certainly isn’t the type to befriend others.

Not unless it was something formed out of a transaction–or a commission. In this case, his friendship with Mualani was only formed because she was looking for a battle advisor to train Kachina against the wilderness, she said. In the end, he had grown rather fond of them, and gained two new acquaintances that day.

Outside of that, Kinich doesn’t exactly recall when he befriended other people. Sometimes a few people would pass by him while he walked around the tribe and greet him, it is quite embarrassing to say that he doesn’t remember half of their names, if they had never become one of his clients.

You, on the other hand, haven't disappeared from his mind a single day ever since middle school.

BEFORE THE NIGHT FALLS

He remembered the exact moment he got to know you. When his parents had left him as a kid, Kinich went to find a place to live and settle down as he did his work. He had just found shelter in the Scions of the Canopy, and under Elder Liek’s guidance, he was to go to school. Even if he hesitated, he was eventually forced to, the Elder wouldn’t let him help out around the tribe without it. There, he learnt about heroes and their morals–I mean, he questioned it: why would they do something when they wouldn’t profit from it?

In those classes, the other kids would make fun of him. Point at his ragged clothing made out of animal-skin, comment on his dirty feet, since he was always barefoot. You, always his knight in shining armor, called out their behavior and told them that they weren’t being nice. 

Truly a reason of all time, he thinks. Those kids would surely quit their teasing simply because they weren’t being nice.

But he appreciated the gesture. You stood in front of him–arms on your hips, you were determined to drive them away so they could stop picking on people smaller than them. He just looked up at you, (with what he hoped it wasn't a blank expression) curious why you decided to defend someone like him. He had nothing to offer you–he had no mora, no luxurious items. So, why? 

He wanted to ask you before the day ended. Following your footsteps until you were in the middle of the bridge. From there, you would learn his name was Kinich, and he would know what yours was (along with the reason why you decided to ‘protect’ him from that group of kids.) From there, you two would grow quite fond of each other over the years.

He knew he had always adored your kindness, even if it was towards people you barely knew–you somehow always managed to bring a smile to their face and a full heart to come home with. Once, he saw you help a crying child find their play sword–you knew nothing of her, aside from her name, of course.  You found that their sword was thrown all the way down to the river below, it was far from saving–the wood was scratched and torn into halves. So, ‘as any normal human being would do’ (in your words,) you spent the next few hours creating a makeshift sword for them, one that had star stickers and a ribbon wrapped around its handle. 

The kid came home happy to their parents, of course. Boasting about how wonderfully made their new wooden sword was and how this was the first step for them to join the pilgrimage. Her parents only shared a look that was saying ‘thank you.’ You simply smiled and waved, leaving them to enter their home as the kid rushed inside. 

That was all you got, simple two words anyone can utter, and you were happy. You didn’t get mora, you didn’t get any sweets, nor did you get any special treatment. Thank you, it was all you’re going to get for something you spent hours on.

It would be a lie not to say Kinich wasn’t puzzled by your behavior. Somehow, even after he had long graduated from Elder Liek’s class he doesn’t understand. Why do you do these things for free? If that were him, he would have charged them an enough amount of mora just because the work took hours already.

Later on, he would realize you did this simply because you think some things in this world are worth doing–no matter how much it would cost you. And a few years after, just before the next pilgrimage, there was an abyss ambush that almost ended with you hurt.

The sky was dark with a purple fog sabotaging your vision. The smell of smoke from a fire slowly starting to grow, its ashes filled your lungs and burned your eyes. You take another shirt and ran—ran from your home, and the tribe. 

Kinich was away at the time, blissfully unaware of the attack until it was already resolved. He doesn’t quite recall what he was doing before it. All he remembers is the feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach as he heard the fellow tribespeople say you were missing. Had a rifthound laid its claws on you? Where were you?

He would grapple across the forest, letting the branches scratch his skin as he travels, his heart rate increasing at the thought of you getting trapped, wounded—or dead, even. He can’t let that happen, not when he hasn’t told you everything.

Thankfully, he found you seeking refuge in a cave nearby. A few saurians found their way in your arms, a baby yumkasaur fast asleep on your lap.

“Are you hurt?” Kinich steps towards you, observing you quite intently for any injuries you may have gotten. You shake your head, petting the yumkasaur on its head. 

He finds a spot beside you, slouching as he can finally relax, at least a little. He still has to help out later with the damages. Fix a few tents that were broken, check up on the other tribespeople—but you were his top priority.

“I’m fine. Are you seeing this little guy? So. Cute.” You say, only sparing him a glance in his direction before focusing on that yumkasaur once again.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Cute.” 

FEAR

His friend group which consisted of only two people (excluding the dragon he carries around,) were only Mualani and Kachina. Those two were the only ones who truly understood Kinich’s method of maneuvering around the battlefield, pricing commissions, haggling–really, a few tricks in the book he has, they know about it. You’re no fighter, nor are you an errand person, you don’t know how to do any of these, so seeing Kinich do it himself may be surprising enough for you–but it’s really something he does normally.

You do know how Kinich thinks. How the little gears in his brain move, the quick shift in expression before it turns back to his resting face, how he truly feels in each situation–you’ve learnt how to read him. It may just be because you have good observational skills (which he dreads, for multiple reasons) or the two of you have spent enough time with each other to know what the other is feeling with a single glance, either way, Kinich isn’t as comfortable with it.

You can read how he felt, and he’s never felt that vulnerable in his entire life. He felt like no matter how much he tried to run from you, somehow–there's always a somehow with you–he still can’t hide anything from your ‘prying’ gaze. You know what makes him tick, what makes him smile, to the point that he wonders if you know how he truly felt about you. 

If you can read minds (and gods, Kinich hopes you can’t,) he wonders if you’ve already heard of the things he mutters to the moon at night, and the sun at day. Have you heard of the sacred promises he keeps close to his heart? That he would guard you until his dying breath? That under the moonlight, there was nothing he would wish for more than your presence beside him. Grounding the poor boy's heart in the moment only you two share. 

If you somehow have the power to look at someone's past memories, would you see the times he would pick up the guitar collecting dust in the corner of his room, play a cheesy love song from years ago and hum along to the tune thinking of you? There are far too many times he somehow finds a way to make a situation about you. It could be when he’s about to bungee jump, he finds himself tightening the harness a little more because he knows you wouldn’t want to live in a world without him. A few times when he’d go on commissions and look at the flowers, sit on the top of the cliff and watch as the sun set thinking how much more magical the moment would be if you saw this with him. Would you think it was pretty? How would the sun’s rays reflect on your eyes? Will it glow the same bright color that you bring to his monochrome world?

Sa isang munting harana, para sa’yo.

This meager serenade, just for you.

He can’t offer you anything. Nothing but his entire soul—his vow, to protect you, no matter the cost. Even as he bears the name Malipo, just a smile coming from you would already be more than enough for him.

And maybe someday, one day, he would have the courage to tell you the truth he’d been hiding all these years.

‘PRESENT’ TIME

“Kachina, there’s a few stockings on that table over there. Could you get it for me?” Mualani sat atop a chair, trying to hang decorations for your group’s Christmas party. It's not anything big, it wasn't meant to be that extravagant. All of you would just celebrate the holiday as it was, like what you did every year. 

The fireplace burned through the night, its flames becoming the main lighting of the room. It was bright enough for Mualani to see what she was doing exactly, and warm enough that it felt like a normal sunny day in Natlan. It was often cold during the winter, and although it doesn’t snow, the temperature does drop a little colder than usual.

“Here you go!” The girl handed four stockings–all personalized with your names embroidered on them. In green was Kinich’s name, yellow for Kachina, blue for Mualani’s, and yours in purple. With that in mind, you noticed a light green line of thread that resembled half a shape–curved at the top, and straight at the bottom. Kachina had a few sparkles on hers, and Mualani had the shape of a shark. You shake off the detail, deeming it unnecessary anyway.

Mualani gave her thanks and hung up the stockings all in order–her’s, Kachina’s, Kinich’s, and yours.

“This place is definitely starting to look lively. How much time do we have left until midnight?” You asked, sitting down on the world’s comfiest couch. 

“About an hour, we still have time to set up the bonfire outside too.” Kinich looked at the clock–it's frames decorated with reindeer antlers and a small yellow bell. You smiled at him, whispering a small thank you, and looking back at Mualani (who you were quite worried about, since you’re sure she might fall over the chair at any point.) Kachina was also quite occupied, scouring the place to find… something. 

After a bit more adjusting–the stockings were set up, the cookies are almost done, a few dishes have been spread out on the table already, and the marshmallows are just on the table. Perfect, there was just one more thing left.

“Shoot. Hey, uh, can you and Kinich go get the fairy lights? It’s by Altahua’s net.” She climbed down from the chair and faced you, “You know her, right? Yelafath?” 

“Sure do, I’ll just leave my bag here–watch over my stuff!” You say, placing your belongings by the place you sat on the couch. “Kinich, let's go?”

Outside, it was much, much colder than usual. The wind blowing accompanied by the amount of water that was near the tribe was enough to make you shiver. You and the boy made your way to the shop, you’ve only conversed with Yelafath maybe two or three times? But so long as you mention Mualani’s name, you’re sure that it’ll go okay. You rubbed your hands together and brought them to your mouth, huffing it in hopes that it'll magically turn warm. Hearing the sounds of clothes shuffling, you turn to your side and see Kinich already handing his jacket to you. 

“Quick, before Ajaw gets sick of being locked up,” He muttered. 

“Afraid he’ll tease you? Oh, what a softie you’ve become!” 

“Just take it.” He stands behind you, stretching out the fabric to make it easier for you to slip right in. You were getting warm because of the jacket, it definitely wasn’t because of him.

And it all falls back to silence once again. Save for the sounds of waves crashing and the occasional gust of wind. You don’t mind the quiet, actually, and Kinich wasn’t the type to keep on talking all the time either–preferring to be blunt and straightforward. But this is different, it wasn’t because he had ended a conversation too early that you don’t know what to say so it would continue, because you loved hearing his voice, you loved hearing him talk whatever was on his mind. His attitude towards it sometimes made you upset, feeling a little distant with him every time it happened, but you do know it was just the way he does things. The quiet that falls upon the two of you is comfortable.

All of it has to come to an end, eventually finding the shop. You hopped to the counter, calling for the girl who was arranging things in the crates.

“Evening, Yelafath! Mualani mentioned that she had fairy lights with you?” 

“Fairy lights? Oh, I don’t think she gave me any, sorry.” She looks around the shop, looking for something to give you, but shrugs instead. “I wish I could give you something similar, but we have nothing, we’re also closing for the day.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. Thank you, and merry christmas! I’ll just tell her.” You smiled, giving her a wave. Kinich simply nodded, crossing his arms and following you behind. She greeted you back, and you faced the house once more, the lights of the shop behind you dimming before turning off–leaving you and Kinich in the complete darkness of the night. Some stalls were still open, the only few things really illuminating your way were the lamp posts and lanterns scattered across the platforms. 

“Where will we celebrate the next Christmas?” You shuffle with the jacket again, raising the sleeves upwards to bring your hand out. The stars were so bright with the mix of blue and purple from the galaxies above, 

“It’s our turn next year, we’ll be the ones hosting it. I hope you’re not sick of me yet,” He chuckles–albeit quite softly. It’s rare to hear him laugh let alone smile with or to other people. But with you, oh, everything is just so easy with you. He can always let his guard down without any fear of you trying to make fun of him. Even on days when he comes to you battered and bruised from a particularly rough commission, you take the time out of your day to care for him. To treat his wounds, focusing your attention on him that he shies away from your touch, insisting that you were doing too much and it could heal on its own. 

One step after the other, letting the salt air brush against you. 

And it once again, falls into silence. 

Ajaw does come into the picture once more after his 15 minute jail time was lifted, and thankfully fills the air with random and the most unnecessary comments.

You ring the doorbell to the house, tapping your feet impatiently in a not-so-coordinated rhythm while waiting for anyone to answer the door. 

“Mualani, Kachina–” you shout, “HELLO? The lights are on, I know you guys are in there!”  

“Seems like your so-called friends abandoned you two. How long until something goes wrong? Oh, I can already smell it! I, K’uhul Ajaw, will ensure that this world will know exactly what loneliness feels like, starting with you two!”

Your arms lay slack on your sides, breathing a heavy sigh. You knock again, one more, twice–until you just start slamming your fist on the door calling them repeatedly. You shiver from the cold wind and eventually give up. Backing away to face your friend, who was unusually, still quiet. 

“Kinich?” You say his name, ever so soft. His eyes dared not to look at you, in fear of showing exactly what he shoved deep down in his chest for the past few years you two knew each other.

“Ew, that’s gross! Don’t give him those lovey-dovey eyes! You’ll give him ideas, you hear me?! Quit that, you’re both so annoying!” Ajaw says, all while retching, “You know what? You’re both insufferable. I’m leaving!”

Some part of Kinich does wonder what exactly needed to happen for you to fall with him. He deemed it unlikely for three years now, saying that you couldn’t possibly. Not with someone like him–blood stained on his hands for his entire life, not for someone with rough, calloused hands that can expertly wield a claymore. Kinich has never felt something as delicate and gentle as you. The moment you tried to defend him from those immature kids–he knew. You would never hurt him, not once in a million lifetimes. With your gentle soul? You were filled with nothing but kindness and innocent hope. You were that glimmer of light he needed in his darkest time, the feeling he needed in his chest to keep going forward–to keep fighting, all for your smile.

Your eyes dart to where he was looking at, curious enough to ask yourself what exactly has him so speechless at the moment.

Oh.

Oh.

A cheap wreath with that familiar red bow, and the two of you just happen to be standing just right under it.

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will take it. He will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life, and hold it tightly, sure not to let it go.

Being in his arms was nothing new, he’s done this several times as a way to comfort you when you were down, or vice versa. This, however, is different. As if an orchestra directed a symphony of a familiar and comforting tune–one that he used to hum you to sleep during those restless nights. As if you were brought back to the times you sat with him under the starry sky, pointing at bright white dots. The universe is vast and magical, and somehow, somehow, it gave him you. The only sun he ever needed in his bleary sky, the only drops of rain he needed on a hot day, the gust of wind during humid afternoons, the flower that bloomed through the cracks of the concrete. 

He pulls away. Gently, he repeats in his mind, this was a high-risk situation. 

But for you, he would gladly take it.

Kinich looks at you, worry filling his heart–is this the right choice? Even with this amount of hesitation, he pushes through. No matter the outcome, he will live knowing he had you at least once in his life. Gods, you looked angelic. The lampost from the porch illuminates you in a warm orange–exactly the color you had filled his monochrome world with. He brings a hand to your chin, tilting it upwards, muttering only two simple words.

“Can I?” 

“I told ya it’d work,” Mualani said, proudly huffing as Kachina hides in the corner of the room in embarrassment. “Now, I’ll be taking my mora from the traveller right after this. Not a word, Kachina, got it?”

She only nods in agreement.

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

HI REI! merry merry MERRY christmas <3 i had so much fun writing this & i hope that u liked it as much as i did ! :D you’re such a kind n awesome person i hope i managed to incorporate some similarities between u and the “y/n” of the fic cause i wanted to make it as self indulgent for u as possible BWAHDHAJHA IF THAT EVEN MAKES SENSE!! im glad i got to be close w u these past few month(s) & i hope we continue to get closer!!