#personally i think giant pigeons would be far more interesting

[strawbeb]

in 2023 we are saying NO to giant spiders in fantasy media.

[whatiswritteninthestars]

TWD: Daryl Dixon “Paris sera toujours Paris” Review

☕️Beware of Spoilers☕️

Last week we finally learned how Laurent was brought into the world and we now reach the third leg of the journey for Daryl Dixon and the location this time is Paris. Before Isabelle and Daryl reach the city they come across the town of Angers to one of Isabelle’s allies who has a radio, or so she leads Daryl to believe. Sylvie and Laurent stay behind armed and ready. I’m not sure if this was the brightest move on their part leaving them out in the open but Daryl and Isabelle venture into the theater to her contact and he’s one strange musician.

Of course, we reach the never-ending saga of French radios that do not work, which is becoming way too predictable at this point. Daryl remains more than irritated that the radio has been used for nothing more than to feed this man’s musical obsession. Instead of trying to help, the man leads them to his stage of zombies in an orchestra. The bodyless head playing the strings was a nice touch but this was undoubtedly one of the strangest scenes in The Walking Dead and one giant waste of time as the crazed man was no help at all. And just as predicted the kids got in over their heads with walkers coming their way. Daryl must save the day and he has had enough of Isabelle’s leadership. It’s time to do things his way now. Though I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing given his track record so far in France.

Soon the group reaches Paris and it’s a homecoming for Isabelle. From afar Laurent admires the Eiffel Tower for the first time, much like Daryl did upon his arrival. But Paris brings back a lot of memories Isabelle would rather not relive. It’s the very reason why she spent the last decade avoiding it.

As they march on Isabelle shows Laurent some of her mother’s old stomping grounds. It’s not quite clear if Laurent knows Isabelle is his aunt. She has been lying about so much already so that wouldn’t be surprising. She then tells Daryl about the “pourvoir” movement. During the outbreak in desperate times, people think to order..”Yeah or God.” Daryl remarks back. That line makes it evident that Daryl doesn’t believe in either side of the fight in France. It makes it really hard to fight for something you don’t believe in.

The group stumbles upon the grave of American Rock star Jim Morrison after Laurent tells another story that nobody asked for about the fortitude of a weary woodsman. How death came for him and he had a change of heart. It is nice to know Laurent has so much “useful information” but I’m not sure that it adds any value to the story. Laurent assures Daryl that he will not face the same Morrison fate and die in France. Unclear if he thinks he’s a psychic or trying to ease Daryl’s fear but I think we all know Daryl Dixon is untouchable and not going to perish anytime soon.

Another ally comes along just in time, Fallou. He has heard the story of Laurent but not seen it with his own eyes and he is mesmerized by the child as are all his people. They’d been waiting a long time to meet the miracle boy. It is a small community of 64 members and Sylvie quickly catches the eyes of a young man.

And on come the homing pigeons. They are used for messaging because they always find their way back home. Daryl thinks this idea is crazy and to get a message to America, it would just take too long. What came next was the most interesting part of the show. Carol is alluded to throughout this episode but this was the moment that screamed her name. While the trainer is holding one of the pigeons to be released he looks at the small creature and says “Maybe he has a girlfriend..we all have a person who waits for us somewhere.” And as Daryl listens he drops his head in both sadness and guilt. He’s dying to get to a radio to send word back and the further they keep going the more walls he is running into. I do however think the girlfriend line is very interesting. They didn’t have to throw that line in if they were trying to stick to the platonic soulmate trope.

Another fun fact is when pigeons mate they mate for life. Which is how Norman Reedus always saw the character of Daryl. No matter where they go they can always find their way back home to their mate.

At this point, Daryl is over the games. These people are no use to him if they aren’t living up to their end of the deal. Daryl knows that Fallou can get them to The Nest the rest of the way and if there is no radio then she can’t help him. Fallou lets him know there are people in Paris that trade for all kinds of things but he will need currency. He’s ready to steal so he can make a trade to get back home but Isabelle said she will get what he needs. After all, it is the least she could do after the amount of times Daryl has saved them.

Now here lies two major problems in this spinoff:

1. The lying to Laurent, these are supposed to be people of God and Laurent's life is nothing but one big lie. I felt for the kid last week in “Aloutte” when he told children all the lies he’d been told about his past. They only knew him for 5 seconds and knew it was fabricated. They are putting a lot of hope and pressure on Laurent when he doesn’t even know he’s the face of humanity in France. Daryl thinks they should be honest with him. Laurent has strong empathic abilities to read people but I don’t think he’s a miracle child by any means. Everyone is given a gift.

2. Isabelle believes Daryl was sent to her by God to deliver Laurent to revive humanity. However, she seems pretty capable of handling bad people on her own. She’s been out there a long time growing the Union of Hope. The “killer nuns” know how to defend themselves so I don’t see why they needed to use Daryl as a man who can escort them. It seems very outdated. On the other hand, Isabelle does a horrendous job at fighting walkers even if she can kill humans like it’s nobody’s business. At this stage of the game she should be experienced in that area.

Codron is still after Daryl and he’s not going to rest until revenge is served. He comes to Genet with information and Genet hires him to find the American. Strange experiments are going on with walkers/burners and I get the vibe these are not being done to free the world of tyranny. I believe there is a dark purpose behind it all. If you look back on the burner walkers that is not something that just naturally happens.

Now we have reached the infamous Demimonde underground nightclub club which Quinn of all people owns. There are acrobats, a drag queen, and performers of all kinds. A lounge-type singer named Anna has a miraculous voice and seems to be somewhat of an item to Quinn.

Eventually, they get to Isabelle’s to gather some things to trade. There is a line from Isabelle that just clarifies how much Isabelle doesn’t know Daryl..” you seem like someone who’s always thinking” She is glad the two of them crossed paths she tells him but he refuses to share the same sentiment. He isn’t happy to be there but in the same turn, he doesn’t hate her for it. She’s not the reason he ended up here. He must play nice for now to garner a ticket back home.

Isabelle is admiring some artwork on the wall. A piece by Monet called “The Water Lilies.” She tells Daryl she used to go visit the museum every weekend and admire it. It was like a port in the storm for her. “It kind of reminds me of home,” Daryl replied to her. Upon those words, Isabelle looks like him with a hint of remorse for even pointing it out to him. There’s a tinge of jealousy every time Daryl talks about going home. But there are two very interesting things regarding this scene that are written subtly in the script. “A port in the storm.” We know that Daryl and Carol are each other’s safe harbor. Carol has always anchored Daryl. “The Water Lilies” also reflects home making him think back to Carol and the Cherokee roses by the water. She is his home and just as Isabelle walks away to speak to Quinn Daryl takes one last look back at the painting missing the happiness he was so close to having.

Quinn lets Daryl know it’s not impossible to get to America. He’s heard things and they travel to his office to talk about it in a deeper capacity. He offers champagne to which they decline. Quinn starts to lay into Isabelle that she should have told him about Lily and the baby. Isabelle is not sure why she would because he didn’t even want to help Lily back in the day. Then it is revealed that Quinn is the father of Laurent leaving Isabelle in an alarmingly shocked state. It was Quinn who saved Isabelle’s life before when she tried to take it and Quinn never lets her forget it. Daryl doesn’t like the way this is heading and tells her he doesn’t need a boat from them this badly. He can find another way. She is irritated with Daryl at this point because she’d come all this way to help him to help him keep his promise. “That’s all you care about isn’t it?” She asks him and Daryl doesn’t deny it. Well of course not his plans are not going to be changed over a group of strangers he just met. Isabelle’s constant annoyance with Daryl wanting to get back to his family and fulfill a promise is very peculiar. What else would she expect? “Oh since you said so I must be a messenger of god and I’ll stay with you forever and do everything you ask?” Come on now.

On a side note I don’t think it’s a huge deal Daryl was not prepared to have Isabelle go through pain to get a boat. Daryl has always been a good judge of character. There’s nothing shippy about him not wanting to be a jerk to get what he wants. Isabelle doesn’t exactly exude the same energy though.

Just as Daryl is about to leave for the second time this episode he tells Isabelle she should stop lying to Laurent. Quinn being his father will just be added to the mountain of lies. I love seeing the old Daryl shine in this episode especially when he tells her Laurent deserves to know who he is. Maybe that’s something she needs to believe, that he’s a gift from God. He can still be a miracle and not be the messiah he tells hers just as hell broke loose. Laurent overhears them and gets furious with them both while Codron has tracked him down regardless of the deal Genet and Quinn had to steer clear of each other's territory. Daryl goes on the run and it becomes another glorious beta vs. Daryl battle before he falls through the floor in a cliffhanger. My favorite part of this scene was Daryl dropping his knife that resembles Carol’s. The camera really panned in on it which purposeful symbolism.

My takeaways:

Too much inconsistency with Daryl. He’s a hero one minute then seems incompetent on his own at other times. The amount of times he says “I’m better off on my own” and it’s proven otherwise is countless.

Isabelle is often the same, she comes across as a strong and capable woman but then acts as if she needs a man to get her from point A to point B. I don’t think she needs Daryl at all so it does beg the question as to why is she trying to hold onto him and control him? However, I do understand the script had to be written a certain way to prolong Daryl’s stay in France to give Carol time to arrive. It would be devastating if he left when Carol arrived.

There is no chemistry between Isabelle and Daryl. I know that’s what some of you are worried about. With any Daryl/Norman Reedus ship they are going to try and point fans in that direction for drama and attention but I just don’t see it. Especially not with Carol returning. This is not Daryl’s happy ending…a happy ending is not something that you have to be forced or guilted into. A happy ending is not an obligation because you get stuck in a place you don’t belong. I think deep down it feels good for Daryl to help people but he wants to carry on paying it forward. He’s not looking for a place to hang up his hat just yet. Though we all do wish he would hang up that scarf.

We have not seen the last of Quinn. He still has feelings for Isabelle. Isabelle has shut that part of herself off. But I do think it’s a little hypocritical of her to judge Quinn’s lifestyle when she used to be the same. She was the one who wanted to give Daryl the benefit of the doubt and compassion even if he didn’t believe in God. It is pretty clear she’s a master manipulator and does exactly what she needs to get her way. Whether that is towards Daryl to get him to babysit them all across France or to her ex, Quinn to get what’s needed to secure a boat. For me, it all looks like a game to Isabelle. I’m not sure how much she wants to get a boat for Daryl but as a Christian, it is her duty to be a woman of her word.

Now call me crazy but I thought Nuns were supposed to be as honest as possible. Isabelle lies to Daryl from the start to manipulate him into helping them get to The Nest(and you will see how in a later episode.)She has not only lied to Laurent about who he is and where he came from but also created stories about a pseudo-father. Laurent doesn’t know she’s his aunt or that he is going to revive all of the humanity of France. All she tells him is that he’s special. Meanwhile, everyone they cross looks at Laurent like the angels are singing when he walks.

Fallou did say the radio hasn’t worked in a long time. That had to be information Isabelle was privy to. Much like how she led Daryl on at the Abbey about their radio only to tell him it doesn’t work. I don’t think Isabelle is a villain but she does too many selfish acts for me to like her. It doesn’t matter if she’s a nun now it’s like this selfish manipulative side was something engrained in her from before that’s never gone away, not even with the cloth.

The best takeaway from this episode is Daryl’s heart and his willingness to get word back home. He can only imagine what is going through Carol’s mind right now. Daryl always checks in with her and he does seem frantic about getting to a radio. Every hurdle he jumps over to get radio access comes to a screeching halt so now his best bet is to find a boat to travel back home. From there he can radio out to her.

“SAY HER NAME”

The Carol writing is all over the wall but it’s not definitive enough for my liking. Anybody who knows how to follow a narrative is going to know the safe harbor, home, the promise, and sadness that washes over him is because of Carol. And just as The Walking Dead usually does with the most popular ship of the show they don’t make it obvious enough. There is always that wiggle room. I do understand the poeticness of it but we need both Carol and Daryl to lay their hearts on the line once and for all. But I do however love all the symbolism. Famous french paintings that remind him of Carol, the pigeons, the girlfriend call back, and the knife.

I hope you enjoyed the Caryl hints in this episode. I know I did. There’s a scene coming up in Episode 4 that will completely warm your heart and I believe is another nod to Caryl and their future! Feel free to ask me questions to dive in deeper. Xoxo

[toujoursmiraculous]

Thoughts and Reaction to Mr. Pigeon 72!

I knew this was going to be a really good episode, just because the synopsis we got and the trailer seemed pretty bland. Whenever ML does that, a lot of big things happen in that episode. I screamed and choked on my water in the opening scene where Ladybug's with Alya in Marinette's room. I've been looking forward to Alya and Marinette scenes sooo much since Gang of Secrets! Wayzz & Alya: Hey Marinette, you should take a break and rest. Marinette: Nah, I'm good I gotta keep working Alya: YOU'RE LOSING IT, GIRL! Marinette: Don't care, must work Alya: Okay... you know Adrien and Kagami broke up, right? Marinette: Wait what?! Oh no, Kagami needs me! Alya: Not the reaction I was expecting but okay "Let's not wait for the storm to pass, but let's dance in the rain." I really like this quote! Even during bad times, you need to find the good and enjoy it. And Marinette reaaaally needs to do that. But in a literal sense, please don't dance outside during a dangerous storm.

ALYA AND TRIXX ALDJFSLJDS oh I love them, I'm so happy we'll get to see more of them. The way they both reacted to Marinette saying she has to go console Kagami, they weren't expecting that. xD But I was! I find it very amusing how in episodes like Frightningale she was more upset with Chloe being Ladybug than Chloe being in a video with Adrien that Alya's shocked by her decision, and in Frozer where Marinette was putting Adrien's wants before hers. I really don't understand why people think just because she likes Adrien, she'd not want to help make those around her happy even if it wasn't what she wanted for herself. I'm not surprised at all that Marinette would do this for Kagami, but I'm very happy that she is. "Alya, in Paris, Kagami has no other friend except me. Only I can console her." This makes me so happy. The only times in this show I like Kagami, is when she's with Marinette. After watching this episode, I'm more and more thankful she finally told Alya about being Ladybug I don't even want to know the state she'd be in had she not. O.O She almost ran out of her room as Ladybug (whoops), then almost ran out in her pjs (again, oops). Thanks to Alya, she didn't do either. xD That little detail where Marinette runs out and the sun's really intense, letting us know she's been inside a really long time, so everything outside is really bright. I really appreciate the little things like that. Or at least, that's what I take it as. Unless they're hinting at summer coming up soon... Dang Marinette, just jumps on Kagami's back LOL Kind of reminds me how Chat Noir likes to come up on Ladybug. xD "Your so original friend." Marinette is pretty original! I know the tone implies that's not a good thing, but eh. She's letting her go with Marinette and spend time away, so who cares! Marinette trying really hard to convince Kagami to get back with Adrien and how she's going to help her. I think it's really sweet of her, but Kagami of course clearly doesn't want to. Plagg: What's wrong with you, jumping into ice water! YOU'RE LOSING IT! Adrien: *exposes duffle bag full of Camembert* Plagg: I take back everything I said about you Also huh, Alya just told Marinette she's losing it, now Plagg tells Adrien he's losing it...hmmm. Bob Roth is a horrible person and each time we see him, he does something else to show it. Poor Adrien's allergic to pigeons specifically. I guess he's okay with some birds but not others? Idk? But he told Gabriel it'd be doves, so he approved. But it turned out to be pigeons instead. To be fair, at least in the US, Mourning Doves are often mistaken as pigeons, at least where I live, so they'd make a decent substitute... if it wasn't for Adrien's allergy. Adrien in Gorizilla to Wayhem: If you stop following me around screaming, I think we could be good friends! Wayhem with Cardboard Cut-out Adrien in Mr. Pigeon 72: ADRIENNNNNNN! :/ Marinette has a bag full of everything she may need in all kinds of situations. Comes in handy but good grief girl! How do you lug that all around??? What kind of scenarios do you think up to think of

some of that stuff!? Marinette's so adorable in her bathing suit awwww! Dude. Bob Roth. He said he's allergic to pigeons! And you blame Mr. Ramier because Adrien sneezed and it scared the pigeon away? How is this man successful again? He doesn't listen to anything or anybody. Marinette's like hey Kagami, look at Adrien. You'll start liking him again. Do you feel your heart beating fast now? And she's like "I feel especially bad for the trainer (Mr. Ramier)". I mean same though. He's being treated horribly! x.x Next take, Adrien dives and he sees Marinette with Kagami. But I think he only saw Marinette. Because he says he thought he saw a friend from school (Kagami doesn't attend their school, just the fencing class, as far as we're aware) and also he makes no mention of Kagami at all in this episode. Which means...

Why's your jaw dropping at the sight of your "just a friend" in a bathing suit, Adrien? And, you know, Kagami's literally right there in a bathing suit, too. Just saying. But it's like she's not even there to him. Hmmmmm. Poor Kagami's like, this entire thing is embarrassing, I feel embarrassed for me, Adrien, and this situation. Kagami: Marinette, stop! It's getting crazy! Marinette: Love is crazy! Don't think about it! I love how the more Marinette tries to help Kagami, the more things are working out in Marinette's favor. Interesting, isn't it? The more she tries to tell Adrien her feelings and make opportunities for them, the more they fail. The more she tries to help Kagami, or someone else, the more opportunities for her land in her lap. Hahahahaha the way they both fall LOL "Marinette? 😮" *guilty smile* AND THEN THEY TAKE DOWN POOR EDGAR! :( Mr. Ramier's in the background giving the poor bird CPR as he's drowned and Marinette and Adrien are just casually talking not paying attention lolol "What are you doing here?" "I came to surprise you." Kind of, she was hoping to help Kagami get back with Adrien. So that's a kind of surprise! "Uh, well to relax!" True too, actually. Alya did send her off because she needed to get out of the house and relax from her Ladybug and Guardian duties. Marinette, everyone needs to be careful when at a pool. Clumsy people like you especially need to be careful! lol Good thing Adrien's already seen her fall so many times, it's nothing new lol Gabriel: It's a failure Bob Roth: It's not my fault, it's his! Mr. Ramier: You are under arrest! Edgar is my best friend. He's the most intelligent of the pigeons! Gabriel: It's a pigeon Bob Roth: WHAAAT? IT'S A PIGEON? RAMIER, YOU LIED TO ME. Sorry Gabriel, I'll replace this man! I know a shark trainer First off... LOL that whole scene XDD I actually knew Bob Roth was going to say that entire thing before I heard it lolol Second... awww Edgar's okay! c: and third... I'M SORRY, YOU WANT OUR PRECIOUS BOY TO BE AROUND SHARKS?!?!? Who keeps this man employed?!?! Idk why but this whole time I thought that everyone would turn into giant talking pigeons lol ah well "I realized my mistake! We'll recreate the moment where you fell in love!" ohhh? Like I mentioned earlier, whenever she tries to do something to help Kagami (or someone else) that's when her intentions work out best for her. 😉 One of my favorite things from Style Queen was Plagg and Ladybug working together. Now they're working together again and just... ahhhh I gushed so much at that scene! x3 YESSSSSSS what I've been waiting for! Ladybug can just call Alya now and be like hey, I need your help! And Alya can just be like okay cool, and either goes to her room to get the Miraculous herself, or finds her and gets the Miraculous. So cool! Of course, I'll be most excited if she ever gets to just keep it on her, but... baby steps. Rena did a phenomenal job speaking as both Ladybug and Chat Noir lol. She's such a fan of them both, she knows just how they are around each other. Oh, oh no. We're trapped against a wall by a few pigeons. Looks like our only option is to give up and remove our Miraculous and reveal our identities. Are you seriously buying that, Gabriel? Plagg's like HELLO I'll be taking this! Alya did everything from inside Marinette's room. Ladybug was trapped in that room at the pool the entire time. All it took for this akuma to be defeated was Illusion that can be done from anywhere and Plagg getting the object off Mr. Pigeon. That's amazing! Also, this is the first time Ladybug didn't have to actually see things around her to know what to do. She just focused and thought about it. o.o Okay so hold up. Thanks to Alya, Marinette now knows she can create charms to protect past akuma victims and keep them from getting reakumatized, which is wonderful. I love how much of an impact Alya knowing is having! BUT How exactly does Monsier Rat come about then if he has a charm to protect him??? 🤔🤔🤔 I really like how her drive to want to figure things out was

especially because Mr. Ramier's been akumatized so many times, and she wanted to help him from having to continue to go through that. "This girl is truly Miraculous" awww cute how he got to just watch that this time.

I screamed at this moment because I knew. Since Origins, we have not seen this exact sky. Even during rainy scenes like in Chat Blanc or New York, they didn't look like this. YES, Kagami knows that the way Marinette feels about Adrien shows how much she loves him, but she knows she doesn't feel that way about Adrien too. And "You're right, Adrien is perfect... perfect for you." With a smile and everything! Awwwwww! This acceptance, and the Marinette and Kagami friendship in this episode is really, really good! 😭 "Wow, have you kept it [the umbrella] all this time?" She sure wasn't expecting that!! But wow Adrien, you noticed? Then Coup de Foudre happens again. Yeah, this girl is never getting out of her feelings for him.

Of course she's having trouble with her words still, but that's okay. But she's like oh, I'll give it back, and he just pushes it to her and says she'll need it to get home... unless she'd like a ride with him. AND SHE ACTUALLY ACCEPTED AND WRAPPED HER ARM AROUND HIS OMG.

To then only have the umbrella close on BOTH of them!

AND THEN ASKS IF HE WANTS TO WALK INSTEAD BECAUSE THEY HAVE THE UMBRELLA! She's come so far! And the sheer disappointment when he remembers he can't because of his Chinese lesson :/ And then, because he can't not be looking at Marinette, he hits the back of his head on the car, making himself look silly, just like in Origins she made herself look silly. This time she laughs, and he laughs with her. And it's literally Umbrella Scene 2.0 and it's absolutely everything.

DORKS ❤️❤️❤️ "They are made for each other." awwwww instead of Master Fu, this time it's Kagami. And she sounds very okay with that, that's so nice. "Let's not wait for the storm to pass, but let's dance in the rain." Then proceeds to dance in the rain!

Ahhh what a refreshing, good episode after how much she's been struggling and crying! So lovely! Her friendships with Alya and Kagami were really strong in this episode, her doing her best to help her friend with the guy she herself has always liked, and then Kagami was the one that wasn't really into it, and it made both girls realize that Marinette loves Adrien and is the one best for him, not Kagami. And I'm pretty sure this episode helped Adrien to open his eyes to Marinette more too. At least, this is the beginning of that, anyway! Alya's such a tremendous help to Ladybug now, which is everything. I do wonder if more friends will very slowly start to find out her identity and they end up contributing more to bringing down Hawk Moth, so she really, really isn't alone like she once thought. I don't really have any complaints about this episode at all! Just a bit sad we had no actual Chat Noir, but we got Ladybug and Plagg from it, so it's fine with me! x3 I know some may see it as "Chat Noir isn't necessary, how dare they do this to him!" but no, he's very necessary, sometimes he just can't be there and she can't do it alone. You have to remember how much Chat Noir means to Ladybug, and that she wouldn't even BE Ladybug if it weren't for Chat Noir! I'm really curious now about what episode 5 is, since now we've gotten Episodes 1-4, 6, we're getting 7,8, and 13 later, and we've already gotten 11. Filling in the gaps for the first half of the season! This entire week is going to be crazy with the new episodes, and for each one I'll be writing one of these posts for, so be on the look out for them!

[echodrops]

Home and a Half Pidge Headcanons

An ask I got yesterday reminded me that I never posted the HaaH headcanons for Pidge like I promised, so here they are! (I’ll answer the actual ask as soon as I can with some new material instead of headcanons I already had written... oops...)

Anyway, without further ado, some headcanons for Pidge related to my fic Home and a Half!

Pidge:

- Grew up in the picture of the nuclear family: mom, dad, two kids, dog, nice upper-middle-class house in a quiet neighborhood, dinner on the table at 7:30pm on the dot… Of all the paladins, Pidge had the most stable and “average” childhood… at least on paper.

 - In reality, there is not a single person in the Holt family who isn’t eccentric as fuck. Grandma Holt? May or may not still be an active intelligence agent for MI6. The dog? Woofs in Morse code. Auntie Ariana? Has actually seen the Jersey Devil. Colleen Holt? Has killed a man. If you ask Pidge, she’ll say that her upbringing was perfectly normal and she’ll genuinely mean it, but this is a consequence Pidge having no idea what “normal” even means.

 Rest under the read more to save your dash:

- Not actually a girly-girl when she was young. Although they’re eight years apart and thus unlikely to be mistaken for one another, very early on Pidge got frustrated by how similar she and Matt look, and she definitely did not want to wear his tacky hand-me-down clothes, so she pitched a royal fit and insisted on wearing dresses and hairbands so that her family would have to buy Pidge all her own things. (They probably would have bought them anyway if she’d just asked calmly, but Pidge was three at the time, and they were all very impressed by her grasp of cause and effect.)

 - Of course, when Matt disappeared on the ill-fated Kerberos trip, those tacky hand-me-downs ended up being some of the most important items in Pidge’s life. Even outside of infiltrating Garrison, wearing Matt’s old clothes was one of the few comforts Pidge would allow herself—when she cut her hair and put on his baggy shirts, for a second, looking in a mirror, she could almost convince herself he was still there—

 - Pidge has no intention of changing the way she dresses or styles her appearance until she’s reunited with Matt and her father. After that? Well, they may not be the coolest looking things ever, but Matt does have a point that baggy t-shirts are very comfy…

 - And okay, because I’m sure everyone expected this headcanon first: Pidge and gender is a surprisingly uncomplicated subject. Side note before I go further: I’m sure everyone has their own headcanons for this and none of what I say here should be taken as rejecting or invalidating any other fan’s views on Pidge. The only thing invalid in the Voltron fandom is canon. Anyway, I personally like to imagine that Pidge is very ambivalent on gender. There is so much else going on—the war, Sam and Matt being missing, freaking giant robot space cats—that sitting down and sorting out the question of “Do I identify as male, female, nonbinary, or anything else?” is just really, really low on Pidge’s to do list. Pidge thinks of Pidge as “Pidge” and even that’s rare because Pidge doesn’t sit around thinking about herself or what other people think of her.

 - In fact, what strangers think is, in general, extremely low on Pidge’s radar. Although she used to be more self-conscious due to bullying from both classmates and her teachers, the combination of her parents’ consistent support and Matt’s… extreme tactics (“I’m telling you Pigeon, nanobots in their lunches will solve all your problems.” “That’s illegal, Matt.” “Nothing is illegal until you get caught.”) Pidge (mostly) overcame the phase of being affected by other people’s opinions. Who cares what strangers think? Absolutely none of them will ever be even close to as smart and talented as her family anyway. (My IQ is three times yours, your argument about my gender is literally invalid.)

 - By the way, I’m using “her” simply because that’s what I’m used to seeing in the fandom and to keep the fic and headcanons consistent, but in the functional world of HaaH, Pidge answers to any pronouns and doesn’t have a preference for any set in particular over others. In fact, Pidge is used to going by different sets of pronouns coming from different people, and might be “he” to one person, “she” to another, and “they” to yet someone else. Pidge is just… Pidge.

 - Again, with the war and Voltron and missing family and literally everything else going on--and the fact Pidge is far more practical than all of the rest of her fellow Team Voltron members combined--she isn’t wasting time and energy doing something as troublesome as falling in love with an alien. (“Keith, can’t your melodrama wait until after we win the war?” “My drama waits for no man.” “Then please explain how you and Lance manage to engage in synchronized dumb-fuckery at least three times a week.”) Eventually, after life has settled down and Pidge has had some time to think about it, she’ll realize that the reason she somehow managed to avoid any romantic entanglements in space isn’t because she’s just much more mature than her teammates (although this might be true)—it’s that she’s just not really interested in romantic engagements with anybody, period. 

 - Pidge’s one true love is discovery; she feels far more passionate about knowledge and learning new things, encountering new puzzles, and grasping new concepts than she does about anything else. In between all her creations and codes and experiments and observations, it just doesn’t feel like there’s room—or that there needs to be room—for a romantic relationship with a real person.

 - Pidge will make room for friends though, if and when they insist on worming their ways into her life. She tends to be a fairly private person who has never really had a large friend group (back on Earth, before Garrison, there wasn’t anyone but Matt and her parents who really understood her, and she didn’t have much in common to discuss with children her own age), but once someone earns Pidge’s trust, she does open up and form close bonds and she will give her all to help and be there for her few, but close, friends.

 - Meeting Hunk at Garrison was a huge revelation. Up to that point in Pidge’s life she had never really met any young person outside her own family with a soaring genius-level IQ that was a match for her own. Although she and Hunk bicker frequently because their approaches to science are extremely different, she’s still over-the-moon to have someone who doesn’t stare at her like she’s talking gibberish whenever she goes off on one of her tangents.

 - If you ask Pidge, she will violently swear up and down that Lance never and in. no. way. reminds her of Matt, fills in for Matt in the lame-older-brother role, or helps her miss her brother just a little bit less. That did not happen, never had a chance of happening, what are you even talking about—

 - But if you ask about Shiro, she will be flat-out honest and admit she totally thinks of him as Space Dad. It’s not her fault. Shiro literally hero worships Sam Holt (still to this day!!) and may or may not have taken on more of his mentor’s mannerisms in order to fill the leadership role for Team Voltron. Sometimes Shiro will say or do something and Pidge will be absolutely dumb-struck because he got that from my dad is an actual thing she has to deal with.

- “Pidge” is actually a derivative of “Pigeon.” Everyone in the Holt family has a bird-based code name. Mr. Holt is Eagle Two.

 - People often get the impression that Pidge is scatterbrained because she can talk about ten different things at once and pounces on leaps in her own logic that other people just can’t follow, but her thoughts and speech are very organized. It’s not her fault you couldn’t understand her system of organization if you tried.

 - Put Pidge on the spot on a subject she doesn’t know, though, and watch the awkward jump right out. (“Oh, you meant the pop band Galileo, not the person. You know, that’s really an easy mistake to make. You can hardly blame me when you stop to consider all the similarities between modern chord progression and the trajectory of supermassive objects like—”)

 - And if it’s not awkward, it’s defensive. Pidge may be hyper-intelligent, but she’s still very, very young, and it’s hard not to get snappish when challenged by people whose opinions she really does care about. She has a far quicker temper than Matt (who is a “revenge is a dish best served cold” champion), a trait she shares with their mother. Colleen, in turn, blames it on her having been born in New Jersey. Pidge has flipped so many tables on the Castleship that Coran and Lance eventually went around and bolted them all down.

 - Do not even so much as hint that Sam and Matt Holt might be dead instead of just missing in space. Keith is still scared after his last attempt at reasoning with Pidge about her family’s fate.

 - Has a bad hoarding habit. Back on Earth she had her parents there to insist she clean her room at least once a week, but in space, things are getting a bit crazy. The Castleship closets and cabinets can hyper-condense their contents and she’s STILL running out of room for all the neat doodads and parts and scientific wonders she finds on their adventures across the galaxy. Is definitely in the “Look, there’s still a mostly clear path to the door; it’s fineee” category. It’s not like she finds it hard to let things go once she’s gotten attached to them or anything. Nope. Definitely not.

 - Pidge’s mess is absolutely of the “everything has a proper place” type though. Move anything with her name on it and you will feel her wrath.

- As the only one of the Earth paladins to have technology on her when they were unexpectedly swept off to war, everyone on the ship relies on Pidge’s laptop for their monthly dose of Earth nostalgia. Good thing for them Pidge and Matt’s pirating skills put Pirate Bay to shame, and she’s got basically every Earth movie from 1980 to the present. She even has every episode of the timeless classic F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (Keith hates that show with a burning passion that even he cannot explain.)

 - Speaking of technology Pidge had on Earth—every single person in the Holt family is (and has been for decades) aware of the existence of aliens. Pidge’s family tree has been involved in communications, radio wave technology, and interpreting space observations since those fields were first invented. When Earth first identified patterns of waves that obviously corresponded to alien communications going on outside Earth’s galaxy, Pidge’s great- great- grandfather was there. When world governments covered up the discovery, he was the loudest voice of dissent. Since then, the Holt family has been deeply involved in military and space operations across several countries, operating from within an oppressive system they fundamentally disagree with, using their positions of authority to monitor the Milky Way and beyond, keeping tabs on what the aliens might be saying—and what messages Earth might be inadvertently sending back.

 - Of course this is top secret work—secret even from the Garrison and government where the Holts were employed. Other kids learn how to play piano and soccer; Pidge and Matt learned how to hack virtually impenetrable military databases and hide their data behind uncrackable ciphers instead.

 - But the Kerberos Mission was supposed to be safe. They’d all monitored the chatter so closely—there hadn’t been anything hostile anywhere even near Earth’s galaxy, no sign at all of any technologically advanced race like the Galra in years and nothing about one little Earth mission that would disturb any other intergalactic travelers anyway… Why would they...

 - Pidge is surprisingly athletic for a self-professed nerd. With youthful energy to burn and a family to save, Pidge took to Allura and Coran’s intense Altean training like a duck to water, and while she’s not quite Shiro or Keith when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, she can definitely holds up better than Hunk or Lance.

 - Favorite color is actually yellow, and if Green wasn’t totally The Coolest™ lion, she’d be sort of salty about Hunk getting the Yellow Lion instead.

 - Absolutely capable of cursing up a blue storm, and hasn’t been friends with Hunk quite long enough yet to remember to censor herself around him all the time like Lance does with his “Holy crow!”s. She’s trying, dammit!

 - Big on pets. Gets attached to pet-shaped creatures (whether living or robotic) very easily. 110% kept the space caterpillars, who live happily free-roaming the piles of space junk in her bedroom. The space caterpillars and the space mice do not get along, however, as the space mice do not take well to having their status as the favored fuzzy team mascot squad threatened. In their micro-Cold War, which is occurring without any of the ship’s humanoid occupants being aware, the space caterpillars are currently winning.

 - The caterpillars’ names are Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton.

 - Remember that one post about Lance drawing angry brows on the space caterpillar and siccing it on Keith? I very much accept that as canon. Pidge was Not Happy™ when she found out what Lance had done and she is NOT letting anyone else near her caterpillars again any time soon. Is very, very careful not to let Niresh see the space caterpillars so that they don’t end up stolen right from under her nose.

 - Speaking of the kids, Pidge is super awkward with them and skedaddles at the first sign of tears. Next to Allura, there is probably not any member of the team worse suited to babysitting duty. That said, as someone who has lost members of her family in the war, Pidge is probably the member of the team who most directly understands Dulsara’s anger and the children’s loss. That doesn’t mean she’s really ready to let herself sympathize with the Galra though, at least not until she finds her own family first.

- Pulls all the most bullshit moves in Monsters and Mana. Whenever the team reminiscences on the truly legendary moments from their campaigns, somehow Pidge is the star in all of them.

And that’s all I’ve got for now!

[the-magic-lava-lamp]

Caught Up In You

Chapter 3 -  A Very Loki Chapter 

Summary: A story revolving around a group of teenage friends, their mishaps, their relationships and their coming of age.

Watch as they navigate through the highs & lows of high school relationships and learn to grow up as most of them are approaching the end of their Senior year.

Ships: SamBucky, ThorBruce, Stony, ValJane…(More ships & characters to come)

Word Count: 6,497

{Wednesday Night} 

The thick rim of sweat which wrapped around Loki’s ankle was finally given fresh air as he kicked off one of his old sneakers. 

The night was over; Thor had gone to his room with a joyful grin and ice-cream dotting the corner of his mouth and Wanda had been dropped off at home. Which was an event all on it’s own. While waiting in line at the happy little Frosty’s store-front, Wanda’s Mother called and asked her home to see her Grandparents who’d dropped by as a surprise. 

Loki was irritated with the abrupt change of plans and Wanda’s angst about it only fueled him on. But Thor managed to make the little time they had left kinda fun. Paying for their treats and scrolling through the multiple snapchats he had of Loki doing weird shit to compete with Wanda’s captured moments. 

And Loki was never one to shy away from being the center of attention, so he was absolutely delighted.  

But now, his face was overcast with that tiny sheen of moisture which made his makeup heavy. Really hammering it in that he’d gone out & done all he could for the day with nothing left but to do but try and sleep. 

He swiped remover down his face with a cotton pad and revealed in the euphoric sense of relief instead of focusing on the slight disappointment which always came. 

Half his face was clean, one shiny green eye gone while the other still glittered under the flickering bathroom light, when Odin knocked on the bathroom door in his special way. One thump. 

“In here.” He called out, filled with a little teenage venom. 

Odin huffed a bit before speaking. “Can I just pee really quick?” 

Loki turned to scrunch his face at the wooden door, where an eight year old Thor had once proclaimed he saw an image of a turtle between the lines. He rolled his lips together and popped out his leg before reaching out and unlocking the door. “Fine.” 

He’d try to avoid the bickering match by giving him what he wanted & tried to speed past his father before he got a good look at him. But Odin managed a quick peek. “Interesting.” He hummed in that condescending tone that he always argued was just his regular voice. 

Loki frowned and remembering that if he quipped back, fighting would escalate and Odin would just say shit he didn’t understand was offensive. 

But the flickering light and sense of suburban ‘comfort’ was driving him insane all of the sudden. He blinked and spun to grab the door with his special grace. “You like it, father?” He smirked in a way that he’d once seen one Tony Stark do to his father in the school parking lot last year. It’d been an expression which stuck with him. The perfect mixture of innocent and bitchy. That had really bubbled Loki’s old crush on the arrogant guy. 

Odin shifted, either from the fact that he hadn’t pissed yet or the nerves he always got when talking to his younger son. They both pretended that didn’t exist for a few years now. 

“Lovely.” He tried to mutter out without sounding annoyed but he really wasn’t good at that. “Did you go out like..that?” 

Loki smirked slightly, as if that didn’t bother him, and tore his gaze to the stupid framed painting of a bathtub which hung on the wall. “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you.”

“Don’t be snotty with me, Loki. I didn’t mean it like that and you should know that.” Odin shook his head which only served to truly piss his son off further. 

“Oh of course, you’ve been rather happy with my behavior lately. Just admit that you can’t accept it-” 

“Well, I’m not exactly ecstatic, son. I never have understood you." Odin burst, for the first time voicing some kind of confession to the feelings Loki basically already knew of...But it still hurt him. Loki stepped back a little, losing some of his confidence. 

Odin frowned but took the opportunity to shut the bathroom door to escape. 

Loki stared at the door, a little winded and suddenly overwhelmed with bitterness. 

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There was a full length mirror in his bedroom which Loki used to remove the rest of his makeup. It worked out very poorly considering all he had to clean it off with was a dish towel and some water he poured into Thor’s lame childhood baseball team trophy. He’d stolen it a few weeks ago from his older brother's room and he’d yet to notice it’s disappearance, sadly.  

There was a tiny knock on his door which couldn't possibly be Odin, so Loki gave them permission to enter as he scrubbed his left eye. He’d sort of expected his Mother but was greeted with the gentle looking giant called Thor. Of course. 

Loki turned his chin to look at him over his shoulder. “These kinds of moments are a little too ‘sitcom trying to tackle serious subjects’ for me, Thor. So, I’d rather not have a heart-to-heart, ok?” He smirked and turned back to the mirror, watching his brother’s reflection as he sat on his bed. 

Thor rolled his eyes but looked somewhat amused. “I think we’re quite better at the ‘heart-to-heart’s than those dumb shows.” He glanced down at Loki’s reflection and smirked right back. 

“I don’t know about better. But, we are far more entertaining.” Loki chuckled, remembering a few times where their nice talks ended with fun playful punching. “This is between father and I, Thor. You couldn’t possibly get it.” He frowned and finally turned his whole body. “The man thinks the world of you.”

Thor stiffened slightly. 

“Anyone can see you're his favorite.” Loki shook his head with sudden anger. “Hela moved as far as she did because of him. And he can barely stand to look at me. I can see it in the way he looks at me. Complete and utter...embarrassment.” 

“Father has a complicated way of showing his love-”

Loki felt his chest burn with the sudden urge to argue until he couldn’t breathe. “Not with you. Never with you.” He spat and threw his crappy towel onto the carpet. “He has some kind of personal issue against me, brother. Don’t act like it’s not there cause that just...drives me crazy.” His voice grew more tiresome than he would’ve liked and he deflated a bit. 

“He likes to pretend Wanda’s my little girlfriend because he doesn’t like the fact that I’m so obviously attracted to men too! And it’s not even because he’s against the idea of having a queer son-” Loki stumbled on his words because he was barely sure how he identified, himself. “If you were to bring home Banner, he’d be waving the flag! I’d bet my life on it.” 

He stood and started pacing his floor while Thor watched him go. 

“But because I didn’t turn out to be someone who could pass as a straight, manly jock to family and friends, he despises me.” Loki looked up to the ceiling in frustration. 

Thor was stunned to silence, not used to seeing his brother so distraught. Green glitter was still smudged and wet over Loki’s eye and he was doing his best to never make eye contact. “I know it’ll probably frustrate you and mother but...” Loki paused and rolled his lips together “I’m not going to fight for a relationship with him if he won’t even meet me halfway.”

“Brother...” Thor stood from the bed and took the way Loki moved back with embarrassment to notice. “I am always going to be in your corner, you know that right?” He asked. 

Loki looked as if he didn’t know how to respond which absolutely crushed his older brother. “I haven’t always made it easy for you so...why should I think that?” He shrugged. 

Thor swallowed, feeling as if he’d just gulped burning tea. “I think the world of you, Loki.” He shrugged because that answer was just so simple. No matter how many times they fought, Thor loved his brother. 

Loki looked down at the carpet before letting out a long sigh. “Ok. I’m uncomfortable and would like to get the rest of this shit off my face and maybe watch a film.” He rubbed hard into his left eye and glanced at Thor. “You can watch too but you have to stop talking.”

Thor smiled and did a mock salute. 

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{Thursday Morning} 

Loki rested his head on Wanda’s shoulder; her chin resting on the tufts of his hair. Her glance was desperately pointed downwards, eyes strained as she still couldn’t help but try and look at her friend as he spoke. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She frowned and Loki softly smiled. “If it helps, my Grandma spent the whole evening asking me about boys and trying to give me tips on how to ‘Snag the best kind of fellow’.” 

Loki rolled his eyes. “I doubt she was that...nineteen-fifties about it, Wanda.” He pursed his lips, taking in her most subdued outfit of the week. He’d been pretending not to notice her ‘subtle’ evolution from complete ‘middle school witch’ to a ‘maybe hippie girl’? 

Wanda hummed. “I don’t like her, Loki.” She shook her head a little (best as she could). “All she does is talk about Neil Sedaka and say offensive things that we’re just supposed to ignore.” 

Loki giggled in a way that not most people could get him to. 

She chuckled into his hair. “She did ask about you though. My little friend from school, very condescending about it by the way.” Wanda momentarily raised her head and twisted down to look at him. “I told her you died but I kept a vial of your blood on a necklace.” Her voice seamlessly fell into a casual tone. 

Loki hummed in a sinister little chuckle. “You’re such a freak.” 

Wanda pinched him. 

“So...” Loki got up from the bench. “How do you snag the fellow?” He teased. 

Wanda popped up after him and started to reluctantly follow his motions to get to class. “Just the usual steps. Y’know pass him by in the hallway, let him carry your books...” She delicately tapped each of her fingers as she walked. 

“Stand in the corner of the room & cry so he asks what’s wrong, sit on a park bench & feed pigeons, take a piece of his hair to put in a traditional love-bringing fire-” 

Loki pushed her arm and laughed when she stumbled. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” She bumped him back and hugged her books to her chest. “Why do you think I’m constantly pushing away attention?” She sarcastically put her hand to her chest and smirked. 

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“They make me nervous.” Wanda complained as she took the familiar steps up to the Odinson’s door. Loki rolled his eyes and dug around for his key. 

Thor was inviting his old buddies over for a little after-school hang-out which Loki was 100% sure was just an attempt for Thor to distract himself from agonizing over Bruce. Loki’s brother was not subtle about hiding his feelings, even if he thought so. “They’re idiots, Wanda. Nothing to stress over. All you have to do is walk past them and go to the kitchen. They won’t bother you.” 

Wanda crossed her arms and took off for the other room as soon as the door opened, neglecting to greet Thor or his friends in the living room. Though Loki moved a bit more slowly as he shut the entry & observed the group of jocks. He saved his most annoyed look for Sif, who’d always seemed annoyed with him. 

Even with the strange time without seeing that company in their home, Loki was a master at ignoring them. 

“Loki! Look who’s here!” Thor was quite joyous with the mini reunion But. Loki just rolled his eyes and went for the kitchen where Wanda was setting up their books to study. Hogun, Volstagg,  Fandral and Sif gave the little brother tiny nods before he’d managed to escape but weren’t given a response. 

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Sif pursed her lips. “He hasn’t changed much.” She scooted closer to the table from her seat on the carpet. They surrounded the furniture like a group of poker players, bits of schoolwork littered it and circled the fake-fruit bowl. “Nor his little friend.” She smiled softly. 

“I suppose the ice is part of his charm though.” Fandral added, throwing a plastic apple up-and-down with his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t very well be Loki without it, Don’t you think?” 

Thor observed his old friend's conversation with warm nostalgia in his chest. While it was endearing to see them all laughing & talking in his living room like they’d used to, Thor’s mind still drifted nervously to his plans with Bruce the next day. 

While Thor was overthinking and the others chatted, Sif managed to get up and slip into the kitchen without much notice. Fandral’s apple now hanging loosely in her grip while she walked to the fridge. 

Loki didn’t so much as look up at the presence he knew was there but that little friend of his did. Her expression was hard to read. 

In her head, Wanda was agonizing over the idea of whether she was supposed to say ‘hi’ or not. Sure, she knew of Sif but she didn’t really know her. They’d just cross paths sometimes in the Odinson household when they were younger. But she was standing in the kitchen now-...though Loki wasn’t even moving and surely if she should greet the girl then so would she. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She absolutely despised that she announced that to the room but at least she could then leave. Which she did. 

Wanda darted off which finally pulled Loki’s attention from his books with a twitch of his brow. 

“Guess I made her nervous, huh?” Sif’s charmed voice came from behind Loki. She moved around the table to stand awkwardly in front of him, hands oddly resting on her hips. There was an intense feeling of effort in the interaction which made Loki even more annoyed. Sif was a freaking jock. She’d been one all her life and the only reason she felt the need to be nice to him was because of Thor’s begging.

“She’s not attracted to you, bonehead. Your presence just gave her such social anxiety that she then had to use the bathroom as an excuse to leave. She’ll be hiding there until you’re gone.” The dark haired man spoke smoothly as he flipped through pages. 

“Which-” He finally glanced up at Sif and made a show of folding his hands together “I hope it will be soon. Now that you’ve gotten the...coffee creamer you needed so badly?” His thin brow jumped up. 

Sif really hadn’t been paying attention to what she was grabbing. She simply missed the days of annoying Thor’s little brother by mere existence plus hell if Wanda wasn’t adorable. She smirked and tossed the creamer from palm to palm while obnoxiously observing Loki’s work. She came closer and rested against the counter. “Still as kind as ever, Loki.” 

The younger boy looked up and met his eye in an oddly amused way. “Still as back-handed as ever, Sif.” He scrunched up his nose and shut the Chemistry book he’d been pretending to read. 

The girl just grinned as she straightened his back, finding the bite to be sentimental. All the times she’d teased the quiet boy whenever she passed Loki in her best friend's home, sitting on the ottoman by himself, to get Kool-Aid (or whatever the hell they were drinking in middle-school) popped back into her mind. “You do possess the ability to be nice, y’know that?” 

Loki hummed, flipping his pen around in his hand. Those fingers moving quickly yet gracefully was somehow mesmerizing. “Yeah but you’re not worth the effort.” He flicked his tongue and went back to writing. 

Sif nodded, as if the reaction was expected and went back to her friends because maybe Loki wasn’t worth her effort. 

Once she was gone, Loki shoved himself out of the chair and trudged over to the bathroom door with a bit of an amused smile. His knuckles burned slightly as he tapped insistently against the white wood currently keeping him from his absurd friend. “Wanda, dear? You’re free to come out.” He hummed happily. 

There was a quiet thrush of water from the sink and some shuffling but the door remained closed for another minute or two. It gave Loki the time to pause...and maybe think about the other night. He’d come to expect that disgusting attitude from Odin but that didn’t take away the sharp pain it put in his chest everytime he put another back-handed comment on the table. Damn if Loki didn’t keep a tiny bit of hope for change. “Did you decide to take a nap on the linoleum, Wanda?” 

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” She finally answered, voice thick and unamused. 

So much so that Loki whistled, putting his hands up in a mock surrender as he backed away from the door. Just in time for his friend to pop out with that smug little nose-scrunch smile of hers. However Loki didn’t miss the slick way she shoved her phone into her back-pocket. He cocked an eyebrow, arms crossing elegantly over his chest. “Who were you talking to?” 

“Nobody. I was peeing and hiding from Thor’s friends.” 

“Then let me see your call history.” 

Wanda scowled. “No, Loki.” She shook her head and stomped past him, beginning a dance of irritation. She’d lead into a step only to have Loki block and counter it, pretending to be doing something of importance that just so happened to be in her way. It only lasted so long. 

When Loki reached over her body to get the cookie jar, that conniving little smile on his face, Wanda couldn’t help it. She pushed his arm back with a bit more force than intended and watched him stumble with heat in her stomach. “Are you so arrogant that you can't understand you’re annoying me so much right now?” Venom in her tone for sure but Wanda was a master remaining unsettlingly pleasant even when angry. 

“Oh please, spare the dramatics.” Loki rolled his eyes. “It did seem like you were growing tired of me.” He spat a little too bitterly. Wanda turned, leaning back on the counter. Her outfit annoyingly consisted of flare jeans which dragged against the floor. 

“Loki.” She frowned, moving towards the table. “We’re soul-siblings-” She gently poked his shoulder with one finger. “Just because I’m dressing a little differently doesn’t mean I’m becoming someone else.” 

Exceedingly embarrassed, Loki looked off to the side. “So tell me who you were talking to.” It was pitifully childish but something about his best friend, who often openly gushed and giggled over boys, being so suddenly secretive about a phone-call was bothering him. It had to be someone she liked. He knew her tell-tale signs...that and he swore he’d heard a muffled giggle from behind the damn bathroom door. 

“Fine.” Wanda shook her head once more and handed over the phone. 

[otterskin]

A Rebuttal to a ScreenRant thing on Loki and the Thor films for no reason other than the catharsis similar to shooting at clay pigeons that aren’t even trying to fly

Don’t click on this but here’s the article - https://screenrant.com/mcu-things-make-no-sense-about-loki/

Ah, ScreenRant, my old foe...you hath fallen so far these past few years...time was you were almost legitimate, but once you were sold to new owners, you became a rag of thoughtless clickbait 'journalism', seeing plotholes where there none. Let's dance.

ScreenRant Text: (So you don't have to feed them clicks)

Loki is often considered one of the greatest superhero movie villains of all time due to his never-ending schemes and tricks. As Thor's adopted brother, Loki has always been jealous of the God Of Thunder. His animosity mostly stems from the inheritance of the Asgardian throne.

Loki was denied the throne because he is the biological son of the Frost Giant ruler Laufey. After being abandoned by his father, he was adopted by Thor's father Odin and raised as an Asgardian prince. While Loki's never-ending deviousness makes for great entertainment, there are a couple of things about him that make no sense.

We begin with a Bonus Round! Loki is considered one of the greatest superhero movie villains of all time for various reasons, but the 'never-ending schemes and tricks' thing is a little...lackluster. It's not exactly what I'd say made himso successful, nor is it particularly true, but this is a matter of opinion. I'll let it slide. This, however:

His animosity mostly stems from the inheritance of the Asgardian throne.

Untrue. Thor 1 even has him state explicitly that the throne was never an objective of his, which is something I liked very much about the character and that film. It didn't go for the boring, stereotypical, low-hanging fruit, but actually tried to give the character a bit of humanity and zigged when most characters of that ilk zagged. That's the actual reason people like Loki, IMO. He surprised people by being - gasp - interesting. His animosity comes from a variety of things, but to simplify, if I may get schmaltzy, it comes from his fear of rejection and abandonment, and of being seen as less-than.

Loki was denied the throne because he is the biological son of the Frost Giant ruler Laufey.

We are never told why he was 'denied the throne'. We can guess. We assume this is the case, but it also seems like a) as the elder son, Thor was always first to inherit and b) When Odin promised that both his sons would be kings, it seems likely that at one point he intended to install Loki as king of Jotunheim, but then changed his mind. However c) it's mentioned clearly in an older scene in the script that Odin and Frigga had hoped that while Thor was officially king, that Loki would essentially be sharing many of his duties and would wield substantial power. 

I won't say this is 'wrong'. Loki, after all, claims it as the reason Odin didn't choose him as his successor. He may have been right. But we don't know that. Ambiguity is part of what makes films interesting, but apparently nerd media can never have a 'maybe' for an answer, sigh. This is a bigger problem than ScreenRant, so I'll let it go.

After being abandoned by his father, he was adopted by Thor's father Odin and raised as an Asgardian prince.

...this is what Odin said, immediately after Laufey tells us that Odin is a 'liar and a thief'....and then is proven right. Again, it's possible this is true, but we're also given reason to doubt Odin, and it's also possible Odin thinks he's telling the truth but is...wrong! Which he is about many things. It's something that makes him an interesting character. Ambiguity and interpretation. It's what makes you think about something long after the movie stops playing.

While I'm already disagreeing with SR here, this is more a fandom-wide problem of taking the text at face value only and reading the most shallow interpretation possible. However, stating that Loki's animosity comes from wanting the throne is in contradiction to what we've seen in the films, or at least a gross oversimplification. I award myself a half-point for that.

Points: 0 SR, 0.5 Otterskin

10. Unrealistic Survival

During the final moments of Thor: The Dark World, Loki became impaled and passed away in the strong arms of loving brother Thor. Dead? Not really. He was back in Thor: Ragnarok. Apparently, that was just one of Loki's holograms and the villain himself was very much okay.

However, recent history in the MCU proves that he holograms cannot be touched. In Thor: Ragnarok, Thor even failed in his attempt to throw a rock at Loki’s hologram. But in the death scene, Thor just happens to be holding him comfortably. And given that rocks go right through a hologram, then any other hologram shouldn't have been stabbed either.

EHHH wrong. Yes, Loki's 'light' magic can't be touched when there's nothing else there. But, as we see also in Thor Ragnarok, it can be touched if Loki is inside it - say, when he's pretending to be Odin. Thor grabs his shoulders and holds him in place after throwing Mjolnir. Great moment. As for that wound....who says Loki wasn't actually injured? After all, the scene was filmed 'for realsies' at the time and a reshoot retconned Loki into surviving later...but that doesn't mean he faked the whole thing. It's also possible that Loki just plain survived, due to some unknown Frost Giant ability that perhaps he didn't even know he had. We've never gotten a clear answer. And yes, keeping up the pretense of his death is still 'faking his death', even if he was really fatally injured. So no contradictions there.

SR - 0, OS - 1.5

9.Poor Attempt At Trying To Kill Thanos

Before he was made to look incompetent by Thanos, Loki was a very intelligent villain. Catching and defeating him wasn't easy, and this was all thanks to his ability to create illusions at will. He used this trick very many times and it always worked.

But when Loki is trying to kill Thanos in Infinity War, the only trick up his sleeve is pretending to pledge loyalty to the Mad Titan with secret intentions of stabbing him with a blade. Of course, Thanos stopped him and killed him. Why didn't Loki use a smarter trick? More importantly, why didn't he use his tried and tested illusion trick?

Hmm. Plenty of people have complained about this, but I never had a problem. For me, the answer is simple: what kind of intelligent is Loki? He's not a mastermind. He's not particularly gifted at tactics. What he's good at is misdirection and manipulation. And, when he does it, it usually has some kind of terrible personal effect. When I saw this scene, I had no problems with it from a character standpoint. Loki is a character who thinks with his emotions and does things based on that, even if they aren't logical. It's his fatal flaw going back to Thor 1 and present in every appearance since. In this case, I think Loki was manipulating Thanos. Manipulating him to kill Loki. Probably because Loki knew that would mean he'd spare Thor. However, this is my interpretation, and you're allowed a different one, SR. We'll just disagree on this one. I leave it to the commenters to decide who gets this point. For now, I'll give us both a 0.5.

SR - 0.5, OS - 2

8His Evolution Into A God

According to the MCU, Loki's parents are the Frost Giants Farbauti and Laufey. Despite his parents not being gods, Loki evolves into the “God of Mischief.” How is this possible, given that he was only adopted by Asgardian parents who were gods, but he himself had no god lineage?

RELATED: 10 Loki Memes Only Real Fans Will Understand

For Thor, his god status is understandable given that his biological father and grandfather are gods. So, can one become a god even when they aren't directly related to any god?

...I don't even know where to start with this. First off, we do not know who Loki's mother is. In fact I don't think it's even in the comics. If you mean the myths, then Laufey is his Mother, not his father, and in many myths Laufey is in fact Às (Asgardian), while Farbauti is his giant Father. He would also have two younger brothers. This is not the case in the MCU. There's some evidence that Loki's mother, whoever she is, is not a jotunn - he has biological features the giants do not, and Sir Kenneth Branagh indicated in the commentary for the movie that he was 'at least part giant', which could mean 'only part'. Eh.

Next...have you not been paying attention? This whole character arc is about Loki finding out he's not 'a god' due to his blood and trying to figure out who he is without that blood. At the end, he embraces his identity and decides for himself to be 'God of Mischief' and 'Odinson' regardless of his bloodstatus, while also, if not exactly coming to terms with his heritage, no longer hiding or rejecting it. Yes, it's about him 'becoming a god' and always having been a god, reaffirming his identity and recontextualizing it.  It's his whole...THING. And in fact, it’s the main thesis of Infinity War. It’s the challenge to Thanos, which he then accepts. Infinity War is Thanos’ ‘God Quest’, in which he endeavours to gain the powers of a deity. However, what being a ‘God’ meant to Loki is being ‘an accepted part of a family’. Thanos destroys his children in his quest to become a god. It’s an interesting contrast between the two ‘villains’.

Geezus, this is just being dense. And for the record, many Norse Gods and Goddesses are also giants, full-blooded and otherwise. Skadi, Goddess of Skiing, is my favourite goddess ever and she’s full giant. Her husband has very handsome and large feet, which is her preferred feature on a man. You know. To walk on snow with.

Two points to me for dealing with this nonsense. And a half a point for Skadi, she always gets you a half point.

SR - 0.5 OS - 4.5

7.Blue Hue

As the son of a Frost Giant, Loki was born with a blue skin tone. When Odin adopted him, he cast a spell that changed his tone from blue to white. However, Loki never seems to have an idea about his true skin color. Given his history of mischief, he has never attempted to change back either.

After, Odin’s spell to keep Hela far from Asgard ended in Thor: Ragnarok, his spell on Loki ought to have ended too. Or perhaps Loki has always been aware that he is blue. If so, then the confusion ought to be cleared up.

You know what? Point to SR for knowing Odin cast a spell on Loki and that Loki is blue (dabadeedabadie). We gotta throw them a bone, and that’s something other people forget or get wrong all the time.

As for the spell not breaking...Dr. Strange said it himself. A dead wizard’s spell is harder to remove. A spell falling apart in the event of the wizard’s death seems like a major design flaw. Can you imagine if other things worked like that? If a test was too hard, you could pass if you killed the teacher? Or if you locked yourself out of your house, all you had to do was track down the locksmith and murder him to destroy every lock he ever made?

I find it highly unlikely Odin would have been foolish enough to create a spell that would have failed upon his death. Hela was being actively contained, and even then she didn’t immediately appear upon Odin’s death. It still took her a minute to break free.

SR - 1.5 OS - 5.5

6Mind-Controlling Hawkeye Instead Of Fury

Loki found himself in the S.H.I.E.L.D. base after using the Tesseract’s portal to transport himself. One of his first tasks involves mind-controlling Hawkeye so that he can use him as security.

He also mind-controls Dr. Selvig to make him create the Chitauri portal.But it's strange that he doesn't mind-control the boss ,Nick Fury. If he had done that, everything he wanted would have been achieved more easily. Fury would have been his puppet and he could have used him to make the Avengers make regrettable decisions.

Honestly if he’d just walked into the UN it would have been easy-peasy, we can go down this rabbit hole until we end up in Oz.  But hey, we’ll give this one to SR, as one of those typical ‘CinemaSins’ things that Alfred Hitchcock would reply ‘because then there’d be no movie’ to.

I would add that this is more Thanos’ plan than Loki’s, though, so we don’t know if that was ever an option the purple man would’ve allowed.

SR - 2.5, OS - 5.5

5Thanos Was Too Lenient Towards Him

Long before they became enemies, Loki and Thanos were associated. One of the instructions that Thanos gave Loki was to get the Tesseract as soon as possible, or else. Yes, there were stipulations from Thanos outlined to Loki by The Other. Loki was promised a kind of pain he'd never known before.

RELATED: 10 Best Recurring Jokes In The MCU

However, Loki wasn't able to deliver the Tesseract for more than six years, and nothing really happened to him. Given how ruthless the Mad Titan is, it's a mystery why he was so lenient towards Loki.

...interesting that being promised untold pain is related to recurring jokes, ha ha...not sure what that’s about.

I dunno, Loki got the most brutal and graphic death in the film, seems pretty un-lenient to me. Not to mention half the people he’d just saved were all slaughtered in front of him, making him responsible for Asgard’s second destruction.

As for why not sooner, Loki was living under an assumed identity for those 6 years as his own father, his death widly publicized as a popular play. I imagine Thanos caught a matinee or something. Let’s just call this a draw.

SR - 2.5, OS - 5.5

4Stopping Agent Coulson

During 

Loki's invasion of Earth

 in

Avengers

, he trapped Thor in a cage, and while he was talking to his brother, Agent Coulson tried to stage a surprise attack. Not so fast Coulson. It appears the God Of Mischief is also the God Of Anticipating. Coulson ended up shooting a hologram instead of the real Loki.But how exactly was Loki able to anticipate Coulson's arrival? Can he see the near future? If such is the case, why didn't he see the attack from Hulk coming? Why didn't he use a hologram during the beatdown that left him in a pretty bad state either?

These are getting weaker, not stronger, as we get to number one. Didn’t expect people to still be reading, huh? Guess I’m the real loser, wasting more time on replying to this than was spent writing it. Oh well.

Chances are Loki turned himself invisible and left a copy in his place before walking behind Coulson. Which he’s done before. Illusions and mind-tricks are his main power.

SR - 2.5, OS - 6.5

3Hatred For Thor

Thor has always cared about Loki, but Loki has always wanted to end his brother. During the events of Thor: Ragnarok, a flashback scene showed Thor and Loki during their childhood days. Apparently, Loki did plenty of bad things to Thor.He once transformed Thor into a frog, while he also transformed himself into a snake to fool Thor into picking him up. Thor loved snakes, so when he tried to pick the reptile, Loki transformed back to himself and stabbed Thor. Why was there so much hatred? According to the first movie, Loki used to love Thor. He only started hating his brother when he found out that Thor was going to be the Asgardian king.

Always wanted to end his brother? Where is that coming from? Because he stabbed him as a kid in Thor’s anecdote in Thor 3? These are Asgardian kids, I expect there to be five stabbings before lunchtime. Kids are practically given daggers as teething toys.

I’m guessing this writer has never been or met a pair of siblings. Why is there so much hatred? Gee, I dunno, maybe because ‘Thor won’t stop hogging the X-Box and it’s my turn, Mum, it is!’ I mean, brothers and sisters do terrible things to each other. They make each other eat dirt and bugs, push each other off the deck, cheat at chess, spit in their hair, hide frogs in their bed, you name it. Now upgrade that to the level of the gods and you got some real fun shenanigans, and several more centuries of time in your childhood to get up to even more mischief.

You can still love someone and turn them into a frog. 

SR - 2.5, OS - 7.5

2Takeover Plan

Still, in the first film, Loki began scheming after finding out that he was adopted and he'd never become king.  The God of Mischief assisted the Frost Giants in gaining entry to Asgard so that he could destroy the Frost Giant King Laufey before he could kill Odin.RELATED:

 10 MCU Moments We Need To See In Disneyland’s New Marvel Land

Sounds good, but then Thor tried to feud with the Frost Giants too, and this didn't turn out so well for him. In fact, Thor was banished and dispatched to Earth because of this. It is thus strange that Loki thought Odin would like him for doing what Thor had done. Loki also waited for Odin to sleep first before trying to destroy Laufey. Wouldn't it have been better for him to try and do this while Odin was awake?

The order of events is all wrong. Loki did not discover his heritage until they went to Jotunheim, and didn’t hear the whole story until the Vault, at about the halfway point of the film. Yes, the film opens with him secretly helping the giants into Asgard to disrupt Thor’s coronation. He intended to goad Thor into going to the Bifrost to attack Jotunheim, and, as he says later to the W3 and Sif while their wounds are being treated, he hoped they’d be stopped there by Heimdall. However, Heimdall was more prideful than he’d accounted for, and that’s when they went to Jotunheim, which wasn’t the plan. Everything after that point is Loki improvising and reacting - it’s not so much a scheme as a scream, if you know what I mean.

Loki was unexpectedly made interim King while Odin was asleep and Thor banished. That’s a condition depending on Odin’s sleep and Thor’s banishment, either of which could end at any time, as Frigga tells him. She also tells him that Odin can see all of Asgard, even while asleep. Laufey reiterates this right before he tries to kill him. Odin also cries in his sleep, indicating he can perceive his children fighting on the bridge later in the film. Loki is putting on an elaborate play to demonstrate his loyalty to Odin and simultaneously sever his connections to Jotunheim, which he sees as a threat to his bond with Odin. He has room for only one father.

Were you on your phone when you were watching this movie? ...It’s okay if you were, but...man, you’re writing about this film, at least get the sequence of events right. It’s not a particularly complicated film.

I feel like I’m getting mean. Lose half a point for meanness, gain two points for two points made.

SR - 2.5, OS - 9

1Not Teaming Up With Hela

Loki and

Odin’s abandoned daughter Hela

had the same goals, but strangely enough, they didn't team up to make everything go smoothly. Given the kind of unity Loki had seen from the Avengers, he'd have been smarter enough to value teamwork more.When Hela arrived to take the throne and get revenge, Loki ought to have been the first person on her side. Her plan was basically a newer, small-scale version of his own plan in Avengers. Given his nature, it could have been more logical for him to team up with her then destroy her.

Same goals? You don’t mention them, though. I’d say their goals are entirely opposite. We see Loki’s rule contrasted with Hela’s quite clearly in Ragnarok. Loki withdrew Asgard from the other Realms (in my opinion, likely because he only has love for Asgard, and his interest in it and its people). He’s not interested in invading or enslaving or plundering (yes, yes, I know, Avengers, but that film was constantly making it clear that Loki wasn’t enacting his plan, but Thanos’, and he was being baby-sat by the Other to make sure he didn’t forget it. The stone was meant for Thanos, and we also know Loki wasn’t at his best self mentally at that time. He looked like he’d been chewing on coal and his skin had all the healthy pallour of a plastic bag. Compare that to Ragnarok, where he’s much more at ease and less...’my whole world has crashed down upon me’). Loki is like a cat in a sunbeam, happy to soak up praise, adulation, and acceptance from Asgard. Hela also wants those things - she’s upset when people don’t bow to her, that no-one remembers her, and that her cool paintings are gone. However, her solution to this is to kill everyone until she’s left with the people who are loyal to her. Loki’s was to create the play (which is either propaganda or much-needed Loki representation in the media, depending on how you view it), and convince people to like him. Hela demands loyalty, Loki wants love. Very different.

Her goal, of course, is to make Asgard great again, through conquest. Admittedly Loki did do something similar when he tried to flambé Jotunheim in Thor 1, but he did that for personal reasons, while Hela has a policy. Also, Hela wants Thor and Loki dead, and possibly was a large reason why Odin died (likely he was drained from imprisoning her). Loki loves Thor and Odin and does not want them dead; he also does not seem to want to be killed, at least by any hand not his own. There’s also the little problem of him being a frost giant, which Hela would likely not look kindly on (heck, original drafts of that painting depicting Hela conquering show her essentially enslaving the giants and forcing them to help build Asgard.) Hela isn’t looking for an equal partner. Loki wants equality above all else.

So no, no reason to team up.

SR - 2.5, OS - 10/10, a very good girl, here’s an invisible gold star

Aight, that was a great waste of time. But sometimes, you just need to refute every single point of something to feel better.

TL;DR: ScreenRant didn’t watch the movie(s).

[mistydacat]

Cursed || A Felinette Story || Chapter 1

Who would've thought that a seemingly ordinary Thursday afternoon, a letter would arrive in the mail that would change their life?

Marinette sure didn't.

So she was surprised when her parents called her down from her room, claiming that a letter had arrived in the mail for her.

At first, she was confused. It couldn't be from any of her friends; they could just text her. Who would send her a letter?

It must be something super important. Marinette thought to herself. People were only sent letters these days if it was an invitation to some sort of fancy event. Though, she supposed schools sent out letters sometimes as well.

Marinette tried to rack her brain for anything she could have done that would have been worth sending a letter home for, but came up with nothing. Maybe Lila had come up with another lie to get her into trouble again? However, she hadn't been in school for a while, so that didn't make sense.

But one look at her parents' faces destroyed that theory, much to her relief. They were smiling at her.

So now, she was back to confused. Instead of further dwelling on it and jumping to conclusions, like she usually did, Marinette decided to just ask.

"A letter? Who is it from?"

"Do you know that art school that's not too far from here? Lycée D'Arts en Hausse?" Her mother asked.

"Yeah?" Marinette responded, unsure of where this was going.

Her dad handed her the letter with her name printed on it. A similar envelope lay on the counter, opened. She could just make out her parents' names on it from where she was standing.

She opened up hers and began reading. 

Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng,

We, Lycée D'Arts en Hausse's talent scouts, have found the exceptional work you have done as a designer. We have seen the world-renowned rock star, Jagged Stone's new album cover, and the Pigeon Feather hat you skillfully created for a recent Gabriel fashion show. We have unanimously agreed that your talent is something we would happily accept at this school.

Attached to this letter is a pamphlet that features some of the many things Lycee D'Arts en Hausse offers to its design students.

If you think that this school is fit for you, you can send an email to lyceedartsenhausse@gedsb.fr so we can book you an interview and start the school transferring process.

Sincerely,

Lycée D'Arts en Hausse

Marinette jaw dropped.

"No way," she breathed out, looking wide-eyed at her parents.

"It's your choice if you go or not, of course. I know you'll probably miss your friends, but you can always meet up with them on weekends and after school. You could even arrange to spend your lunch hour with them if you'd really like to," her mother said, offering her a comforting smile.

"This could be an excellent opportunity for you to get a head start in the fashion industry." Her father butted in.

Marinette, still in shock, could only nod at her parents. She was still trying to process what was happening. 

She weighed the pros and cons. On the plus side, her dad was right, this would be a great opportunity. She could go to class with other young designers like her and have a professional teacher. She would probably learn things that she wouldn't have been able to teach herself!

But, on the downside, she was moving to a new school. At her new school, she could get away from Chloe and Lila, although they don't really bother her as much as they used to. She didn't know anyone there, and, unlike what would happen if she transferred at the beginning of the year, she would be the only new student. People had already established their friend groups. What if no one wanted to talk to her? Or worse, what if there was someone ever more awful than Chloe and Lila? What would she do then?

"Marinette?"

Marinette blinked back into reality, created by her parents' worried faces.

"Sorry, I'm just... taking it all in, I guess."

Their expressions relaxed. "You can take a few days to think it over if you'd like. This is a big decision." Her mother comforted.

"Thanks, Maman. Thanks, Papa." She kissed both her parents' cheeks. "I love you both so much."

"We love you too, sweetie." Her mother smiled.

»»————- ⚜ ————-««

Marinette went up to her room. She felt that she needed to ask Tikki for her opinion, then she would video call Alya and ask for her advice.

"I'm so happy for you, Marinette!" Tikki beamed.

"Do you think I should go?" Marinette asked her.

"It would be a pretty significant change for you, but not necessarily a bad one! Think of all the new experiences you'll go through!" The kwami of creation cheered.

Marinette sighed. "I don't know. I guess I'm just..."

"Nervous?" Tikki finished for her.

She nodded.

"You have to go through changes in your life, Marinette. It's inevitable. But it makes you a stronger person." Tikki assured her.

"You're right." The young designer smiled at her. "I'm still gonna call Alya and ask for her opinion, though."

Tikki nodded. "Go ahead!"

Marinette unlocked her phone and texted Alya.

ThatOneDesigner: Hey, I need to talk to you about this super important thing.

Alya responded quickly.

ThatOneLadyblogger:???

ThatOneLadyblogger: What is it??????

ThatOneDesigner: Can I call you?

ThatOneDesigner: Sure.

Marinette hit the call button and watched as Alya's face filled the screen after she accepted.

"Hey girl, what's up?" Asked Alya.

"So... I don't know how to say this, but..." Marinette started.

"But what?"

"There's this super awesome arts school that liked my work and offered me a spot there in design!" She blurted out quickly.

Alya gasped. "Oh my gosh, Girl! That's so awesome! I'm super excited for you! Did you respond to them yet? Do you know when you're gonna start? I'm soo jealous! Oh my gosh, tell me everything!"

Marinette smiled at her best friend's reaction. How could she ever have thought she would react otherwise?

She quickly filled Alya in on all the details she knew of.

"-So, I called you to ask for your opinion." Marinette finished.

"Girl, there is no way I am letting you pass up this opportunity! Do you really have a reason not to go?" Alya told her.

Marinette pursed her lips. "Well, I was scared of what you'd think. I didn't want it to seem like I was abandoning you."

Alya let out a fake gasp. "How dare you think so lowly of me!" She yelled dramatically, striking a classic 'woe-is-me' pose. "What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn't extremely over-supportive of you going to this school? Marinette, you should be ashamed! Ashamed, I tell you!"

Both girls simultaneously burst into a fit of giggles, which then erupted into roaring laughter. They didn't stop until they were struggling to breathe, tears forming in the corners of their eyes.

Things always seemed a hundred times funnier when they came out of the mouths of your best friends.

"You know what would totally be awesome?" Alya began after (mostly) recovering from their laugh attack. "You should definitely introduce me, Nino, and Adrien to any new friends you make at your school. That way, we could have one giant friend group! Also, I'll need to run a background check and approve of all your new friends. I don't want you to befriend anyone that could potentially hurt you."

Marinette laughed. "Alya, I don't even know if I'll make any new friends."

"There is no way anyone could meet you and not instantly want to be your best friend. Literally, our whole class loves you, except Chloe, but I don't think she loves anybody. You'll make tons of new friends."

"Alya, you know what? I think I'm gonna go."

Alya squealed. "I knew I could convince you! But you have to call us every day and have lunch with us at least once a week. Also, if you're not busy, we have to meet up on weekends."

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully. "Obviously. Those are all given."

"I can't believe you're gonna go to a fancy art school!"

"Why do I feel like you're more excited about this than I am?" Marinette teased. 

"That's because I am. Overly-supportive best friend, remember?"

Marinette laughed again. Talking to Alya had really hyped her up for the move.

"I've gotta go help my mom with some stuff. See you tomorrow?"

Marinette nodded, giving her friend a little wave. "Bye!"

"Byeeee!" Alya blew a kiss at the screen, then hung up.

»»————- ⚜ ————-««

The next few days went by rather quickly. Marinette had come home from school on Friday and told her parents that she had made her decision. The next thing she did was send an email to the school telling them that she was interested in enrolling. They sent their response back rather quickly and scheduled an appointment for her, which she attended a few days later.

They mostly just gave her a tour of the building and introduced her to some potential teachers. She met the principal, Mme. Ambroise, who had seemed to be a very kind woman who genuinely cared for each one of her students.

A week later was her last day at her current school, Collège Françoise Dupont, and boy was it emotional. 

Her classmates gathered around her, offering their goodbyes and wishing her good luck. Some have even brought gifts. Rose had handed her friendship bracelet with her name on it, and a quick glance showed that the entire girl squad had one as well.

Mylene, Rose, Juleka, and Ivan had also gotten Luka to help them make her a song that she downloaded and vowed to listen to on her first day. Nino had also made a few remixes of it, so she had a variety.

Nathanial had drawn a portrait of her as a half-phoenix, to represent rebirth and starting over.

Alya had gotten her a set of brand new charcoal pencils, and Adrien had gotten her the prettiest sketchbook she had ever seen. It had the Eiffel Tower on it, which he said was because he had heard her say it inspired her. He and Alya had thought that since she would be starting at a new school, she should have some new supplies to really start off fresh. 

The gifts really touched her heart, and when it was time to hug everyone and say their last goodbyes, half the class was almost in tears.

»»————- ⚜ ————-««

Marinette was very tempted to collapse onto her bed the second she got home and contemplate her entire life, but she needed to get her things ready for the next day.

She emptied her backpack of all the workbooks and papers from her old school, but then she decided to dump everything else out so she could clean her bag. There were a lot of crumpled up papers and even if you stray pencils.

Once she was done, she put in her pencil case and a few other supplies, along with the new sketchbook and pencils she had gotten.

When Marinette was done, she realized how much spare time she had since she didn't have any homework to do, and decided to clean her room. Tomorrow was a new beginning, why not start off with a tidy bedroom?

She cleaned up and put away some stray fabrics, yarn, and thread. She also took the time to hang up the art Nathanial had given her.

Marinette stared at her walls, hesitating. Should she take the pictures of Adrien down? 

This was supposed to be the start of a new era for her, right? Adrien didn't seem to have returned any of her affections, so maybe she should move on?

No, what was she thinking!? Just because she was moving to a new school doesn't mean she was giving up!

But at the same time, what if she met someone else? Adrien was clearly uninterested, maybe she was thinking these thoughts because she had already partially moved on. She had even gotten over her stutter. 

Marinette's hand hovered over one of the pictures, then she shook her head. She would just wait and see if her feelings changed the next time she saw him.

»»————- ⚜ ————-««

Marinette spent the rest of her day helping her parents in the bakery and working on a leather skirt. She didn't usually work with leather, as it was one of the more finicky materials to sew, so she was getting some practice in.

Marinette went to sleep early that night, grateful that Hawkmoth had decided not to release an akuma that night. She hoped that maybe tomorrow she'd actually get to school on time. »»————- ⚜ ————-«« 

Cursed Masterlist

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mistydacat Masterlist

[moviebuilding]

Shoebox Adventures- the power of space in Roy Andersson’s “A Pigeon Sat On A Branch Reflecting On Existence”

In 2014, Swedish commercial-maker Roy Anderson tried to bring his school science fair project to the Cannes film festival. A series of solemn set-pieces on the human condition shot in hyper-real grey spaces that simultaneously evoke familiarity and discomfort, his odd little diorama was bound to make a storm. 

Except Cannes rejected it. 

But Venice let it in! And thank god they did, saving this cinematic gem from public negligence and (a mere 6 years later) bringing it to my attention! “A Pigeon”, as I will now be referring to it, is almost certainly the strangest film I have ever seen. It might also be one of the most wonderful, thought-provoking and funny films as well. Characters, plot and setting are largely absent or deliberately vague, instead thrown in the all-consuming mixing pot known as ‘mood’. But when you’re telling a story about the nuances and complexities of humanity, it seems stupid to make it like a story. Much of it is left for the viewer to assert their own personal interpretations, to feel what they feel from the film’s peculiar exhibits. Not because “A Pigeon” has set out to confuse or provoke different audiences, but because different people see life differently. And this film has something for those different views. Who knows, it might even help them live alongside one another. 

As part of my recent architectural fad, I thought this would be a great chance to explore the power of spaces within films, which is probably the medium in which we consume the largest quantity and variety of architecture. What Anderson has done with his little spaces is all kinds of captivating. Natural and alien, his scenes grow and decay off the tiniest differences. Now, to work!.

The opening scene puts everything on the table as to what we’re in for. Peering at a talcum powdered women scolding a talcum powdered man peering at stuffed birds in the world’s greyest museum, accompanied by plinky strings, you can already tell this isn’t going to infringe on The Fast and the Furious’ turf. The camera sticks 10 feet back from the ‘action’ and never once zooms or pans, so we can continually survey the scene without any distracting close-ups, leaving the characters spied-on but not fully known. The open doorways and windows are everpresent throughout the movie, a clever trick to alleviate feelings of claustrophobia. This also serves to give us a view to equally stately goings-on in the background, which helps to create Andersson’s diorama world. Every wall is flat in colour and texture, the lighting uniformly gloomy with no hint of natural light or shadow. And the cages that hold the taxidermy are metaphors for our cages of loneliness in the modern world, but you knew that already.

This hospital scene starts out as static, a painting-like arrangement of a classic scene, the children witnessing the gradual passing of their mother. Andersson keeps it uncluttered by having the dialogue occur two doorways away.

And yet after pleasantries are dispatched and pretence discarded, the whole scene swirls like Vertigo; the brothers contort, the sister slumps in her chair, the presumed-still body of the mother’s body squawks out in alarm as her bed is dragged sideways across the room. We do not zoom in to see her anguished face, making her all the more powerless and the viewer confused at what to feel. The nurse arrives silently at the threshold, hesitant to cross into this family’s hysteria. She watches the painting come to life and ruin itself, just as we do. The notion of characters watching characters is one that Andersson returns to a lot in “A Pigeon”, which ultimately provides a heavy dose of the film’s realism. In traditionally-shot movies, the two-way dialogue close-ups obscure the silent characters from our interest. Andersson lets us see them gawp, knowing we do too.

A romantic getaway might seem like a departure from the film’s predominantly urban setting, but whilst the sand and soundtrack provides the impression of a beach-scene, we are actually in another of Andersson’s dioramas. The intimacy of the couple is uncomfortable, and not just for the man’s awkward movements or their judging dog. The wall-like dunes rise up, obscuring the horizon as a pair of far-off high rises intrusively leer into shot. The sky is a pastel blue, withholding any sense of time or importance on the moment we’re presented with, the mutt our audience sleeper agent who stiffly watches it unfold.

The closest the film gets to any main characters are a pair of grey-clad salesmen who potter about the scenes with mixed financial success. Throughout the film we get to know them, and thus Sam and Jonathan carry the largest targets on their back for Andersson’s gentle ridicule, here pictured bursting into the bar like outlaws into a wild-west saloon, in which they explain that they’ve gotten lost looking for a mythical shop named ‘Party’. The gorgeous painted background, viewed through a window, is our first glimpse of a horizon- a grey/green wasteland dominated by gargantuan transmission towers. our heroes have traversed this wilderness, by foot or car we are never told, to find the Party and reap the rewards! Unfortunately for them such a place does not appear to exist, and fortunately for us they are cut off from their usual sales pitch by the arrival of the army of King Charles XII.  

You need to go and watch it!

Sam and Jonathan’s spaghetti western (perhaps Swedish meatball western?) journey is revived somewhat later, with what looks like a briefcase-wielding standoff inexplicably located next to a railway. This normally charged setting is relieved of all potency by their slow hobbling around the mid-ground, exchanging insults and emptying briefcases. Which makes it more pathetic, more silly and more real. Probably the three words I’d use to describe the film.

The cruelty sequence of the film begins in a stark grey laboratory. A monkey is hooked up to electrodes and shocked according to a time. The scientist talks vapidly on the phone. In the room behind another technician feeds the remaining inmates. The monkey is closer to the camera than almost any other character through ‘A Pigeon’, close enough to see it writhe. Out the window are more grey high-rise buildings, now somewhat more suspicious and responsible for the monkey’s torture. Andersson’s world is the same palette and yet it’s ever-changing, the mood altering with each new skit. The monkey has nowhere in the film to escape to, you can’t imagine a happy ending for it and thus it’s the most blatant moraliser of the film (until the next scene). 

The scene in question witnesses African slaves forced by British colonial soldiers to march into a giant cylindrical drum with horns protruding out. It’s then set alight, and we squirm as it spins, implying the frantic scrambling of those inside to produce a resonant rumble while we watch from a safe distance. I won’t spoil what happens next, but it’s sufficiently sobering.

Waking from this horrible dream, Jonathan wails to Sam to make sure the viewer got the point the point of this sequence- “Is it right to benefit from the pain of others?”. Andersson makes his plea the more pathetic and powerful by giving us a view to his sink and mirror, the latter a reminder of his role in the pain.

Once Jonathan is told to go back to sleep, the camera stays resolutely on the corridor. It is a bizarre space. The flat doors defy depth, the corridor is long yet finite, grubby yet sterile, lonely yet constantly surveyed by the permanently grumpy security guard. 

i hope you enjoyed this dip into “A Pigeon”, and I say dip because there’s about 39 scenes in total and I wasn’t going to do all of them (for free *wink wink*). I thoroughly recommend that you watch this film (and currently you can for free on all4 in the UK) and then maybe re-watch it two more times. You may not like much of it, some of it or most of it. But I think you will love part of it. And that can be your bit of it, to take to parties and share with everyone else. Because like the hokey cokey, that’s what it’s all about.

[camillemontespan]

this is your invitation to the beaumont bash [interview with maxwell beaumont]

I wrote this last week and it’s been in my drafts since. This is Maxwell’s turn for an interview (I know it might a weird way to write fic but I actually kind of enjoy writing this sort of thing).  It’s pure fluff. 

I also did this for Drake, which you can read here

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @drakesensworld @brightpinkpeppercorn @katedrakeohd @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @dcbbw @iplaydrake

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‘Cinnamon brioche bun?’ 

Maxwell Beaumont brandishes the pastry at me, a wide grin on his face. I have no choice but to take it; I feel like if I reject it, it will be like kicking a puppy. 

We are sat in the Living area of the Beaumont Manor. It is now September, the month of the annual Beaumont Bash. It is like the Met Gala but on a lesser scale. That said, it is still the biggest party in Cordonia and anyone who is anyone marks the Bash in their calendars.

The Beaumont Bashes are legendary. Maxwell and his older brother, Bertrand, the Duke of Ramsford, are renowned for spending obscene amounts of money on menageries, fire breathers, a torchlit procession - yes, really- and everything else in between. 

Today, I am interviewing the younger Beaumont brother as he is in the final stages of planning the Beaumont Bash.  This is Maxwell’s first interview and I’m honoured he agreed to meet me. In three weeks, the Beaumont manor will open  to the elite of society and wonders will await behind the door. He is giving Duke Magazine exclusive behind the scenes access to his final touches and judging from the mood boards he has propped up against the walls, this may be the biggest Beaumont Bash ever.

Maxwell is taller than he looks in photographs. He is lanky and a smile permanently lights up his features. His voice isn’t that deep, more soft and lilting, occasionally increasing into a high pitched screech as he gets excited showing me his mood boards. 

‘Last year, the theme was Greek Odyssey,’  he tells me. ‘So think white dresses, white suits, waitresses dressed like goddesses, we had a giant fountain in the foyer with a life size statue of Poseidon built into it. But this year, we’re going bigger.’

He guides me over to the biggest mood board he has. It is pinned full of images of flapper dresses, vintage cars, bathtubs with champagne bottles inside, fireworks. The theme is obviously the 1920s, which seems apt considering a Beaumont Bash is always decadent and excessive. 

‘I’ve hired a stage show!’ he says. I ask him to repeat that, certain I’ve misheard.

‘As in, I’ve hired a stage show!’ he repeats. ‘The Great Gatsby is currently on Broadway in New York, so I’ve hired the cast to come to the Bash and act out their show! It’s a musical!’

He runs me through the night’s time line. ‘Okay, so 7pm, our guests arrive. They have to dress up in 1920s style, otherwise there is no admittance. Sorry, but an effort has to be made.  Drinks and canapes will be served - note the fountain which will pour out champagne- and then the stage show will perform for an hour and a half. Afterwards, fireworks outside, more drinks, more dancing, more debauchery!’ 

He leads me outside to the vast gardens. ‘The stage show will perform here,’ he says, pointing to a stage. As we walk, I study him. He is fizzing with energy. He is like a champagne bottle that has been waiting to be opened for months, before being shaken and its contents burst out of the bottle. I ask if he has always enjoyed parties and party planning; clearly, this should be his job.

‘I’ve always loved parties,’ he says. ‘My parents used to throw legendary parties when I was younger. I was always sent to bed early, just as the guests were getting a little more excited, and I would always sneak out of bed at midnight to watch. I’d sit on top of the stairs, trying to stay hidden, and watch as the guests drank more champagne and danced. I once saw my father use a sword to open a bottle of champagne; I learned how to do it so I can continue his party trick.’ 

I tell him that it’s interesting that his brother gets involved. The Duke of Ramsford is often seen with a serious expression on his face, tight lipped. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who lets his hair down but as photos and witness accounts tell me, he is the first person on the dance floor and the last to leave. 

‘I think the Bashes give him an excuse to let loose,’ Maxwell admits. ‘He is always so serious, so responsible.. hosting the Bash means he can put on a different persona, be the person he wants to be. Do you think he enjoys wearing sweater vests? Hell no! If it was up to Bertrand, he would wear kimonos and sparkly boots every day. He is a flamboyant peacock hidden in the body of a pigeon.’

I blink at this description but I don’t question it; Maxwell knows his brother inside out. He takes me back into the manor and upstairs to his bedroom. It’s a large space, painted blue, with beautiful artwork hanging on the walls and random items that he tells me he picked up in flea markets or while on holidays to far off places.  There is a painting of a peacock on the wall above his bed. 

‘Peacocks are my favourites,’ he says bashfully.  I ask why. It’s not like they’re cute or cuddly. 

‘Why wouldn’t they be?!’

I ask Maxwell what he does in his free time. 

‘I plan parties, I write, I like to visit museums and galleries..’

I’m surprised and I tell him so. 

‘Why?’ he asks me. ‘Museums and galleries are where I get my inspiration. I visit the exhibits and I think of what I could do next. A few years back, I visited an exhibition about India and I was obsessed with this beautiful silver and blue sari that was on display. I went around and managed to source similar material and had it made into my own outfit; the Bash that year was India themed. We had elephants in the garden and the food was excellent.’ 

He looks down, picking at his fingernail, before saying quietly, ‘Life is meant to be beautiful. I never see things in black or grey. Everything to me is vivid. It has to be bold and bright; it’s why I’m always happy and positive. Life is to be enjoyed and surrounding myself with pretty things, making pretty things.. it makes me happy.’

I see now that Maxwell Beaumont is always underestimated. Many of the public just view him as a party boy who doesn’t contribute anything to society.  Others adore him, mainly because his Instagram feed is full of fun photos of holidays, his friends, animals, books he is reading. 

But he is so much more than that. In front of me is this young man who has a membership to the National Museum of Cordonia. He has a subscription to Architectural Digest magazine. He tells me he is currently writing a spy novel. He is warm and kind. I like him.

He stands up and opens his wardrobe to show me his outfit the Bash. It is a white shirt with black trousers, but he has made it interesting by adding a blue sequin blazer, blue sequin bow tie and blue suede loafers with silver tassels. He adds white gloves and a pocket watch on a chain. 

He gives an excited giggle and claps his hands together. I ask who is on the VIP List. 

‘Drake and Camille, obviously,’ he begins, name checking the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria. ‘I’m so excited to see how Camille depicts the theme, I’m thinking she’s going to be all sultry... the King is going,  his brother Leo, Olivia, Hana...’

Maxwell blushes when he mentions Hana Lee’s name. The best friend of Duchess Camille of Valtoria, Hana has been spotted out on Maxwell’s arm over the past six months. The two of them kept their relationship private for a while but eagle eyed fans watched out for candid photos. When Maxwell finally made it Instagram official with a photo of the two of them at a carnival sharing candyfloss, with Hana shoving a big piece of it in Maxwell’s face as she laughed, captioned with a heart emoji, his followers rejoiced.  They christened them Hanwell. 

Having interviewed Hana myself, I was surprised to hear about the two of them. Hana is shy, quiet and incredibly polite. She was a tricky interviewee to begin with as she seemed so nervous in case of divulging private information, but once she settled and got into the swing of the interview, she opened up and was giggly, sweet and complimenting my shoes. 

In contrast, Maxwell offered me a cinnamon brioche bun before I had even sat down. 

But, having talked to him more fully now, I guess I can see why the two of them work.

‘I push her to be bold,’ he tells me. ‘She can be so down about herself but she is honestly brilliant at everything. Anything she does, she turns to gold. But she often doesn’t believe in herself so I push her to just do her best. Believe in herself more.’

What does she do for you? I ask.

‘She makes me see that I don’t have to be 100% on all the time. I’m allowed to feel sad, or be quiet, or just stay still. I’m always on the go, needing to do things. Maybe it’s because after my parents died, I felt like I needed to be the one to make my brother laugh.. I made myself into the joker, the fun loving guy. But Hana has taught me that it’s okay to have quiet moments and not to pressure myself to be constantly on adrenaline. I can relax and nothing is going to go up in flames.’

I feel I need to probe him further about his dynamic with his brother but I don’t want to over step. Their parents died in a car crash when Maxwell was ten and Bertrand was fifteen and it is common knowledge that Bertrand became Maxwell’s guardian - their family is very small and as a result, they were the only Beaumonts left. 

Maxwell waves his hand away. ‘You can ask me,’ he tells me. ‘Bertrand is basically my dad, brother and teacher in one. He’s taught me so much about the importance of being a Beaumont, about our roles in society. He always made sure I studied hard at school; considering I couldn’t sit still most of the time, he made me put my head down and just work. I studied loads and got A’s across the board. I was such a geek! But in all seriousness, Bertrand assumed this responsibility for me. I owed it to him to work hard at school.’ 

Maxwell went on to study at Cordonia University, despite achieving top grades. He could have attended a more prestigious institution but, as he tells me, he wanted to experience something normal. 

‘My life, being a Beaumont, it’s not normal,’ he admits, flopping down onto his bed. ‘I’m friends with the King. My life is just a carousel of parties, titles, etiquette, balls, money.. so when I graduated from high school, which was a private education that was full of boys like me, well, I wanted a change. So I chose to go to Cordonia University. Just to stress, it’s not a bad school in the slightest. It’s a great school; but compared to the institutions I could have gone to, it was on a lower level. I hope that comes across okay? I don’t want to sound arrogant..’ 

He blushes and stammers, trying to think of the best way to word it. I can tell you this now, reader; he is not arrogant. 

‘Anyway,’ he says, giving up on trying to justify his words, ‘I went there and I loved it. I still studied hard but I made friends with people who weren’t noble. Bertrand wanted me to have a bodyguard with me at all times but I said no; I wanted to be a normal student. So for four years, I went to lectures and seminars. And the parties! That was my proper education! Beach parties, pizza parties, revision parties... so many parties! But some of the people I’m friends with are still from my university years. I think it’s why I’m not exactly your typical noble..’ 

He certainly isn’t that and it’s quite refreshing. 

Maxwell finished university with first class grades  (despite all the partying) and came back to Cordonia to learn the ropes from Bertrand. 

We go back to lighter topics. I ask what he thinks about the Met Gala. 

‘I am waiting on my invitation from Anna Wintour...’ he says, giving me a wink. His face then goes serious. ‘I mean it, I’m waiting. You work under the Conde Naste company right? They also house Vogue. Ask her to send me an invite!’

I wonder which celebrities he thinks interprets the Met theme perfectly every year. 

‘Blake Lively,’ he says instantly. ‘Oh my God, her red dress and that crown she wore last year, god she looked incredible! Rihanna too, dressing as the Pope. I would love to invite her to a Bash. Who knows what she would do?!’ 

My questions turn to his guests. Who drinks the most? I think it has to be the Duke of Valtoria, due to the fact he is known for always drinking whiskey at balls and never champagne, and that he just looks like he can drink you under the table. 

‘You would think that Drake drinks the most..’ Maxwell muses, ‘but honestly - I hope he doesn’t kill me for saying this because this could be treason.. is this treason? Can he decide what’s treason and what isn’t? Fuck it - King Liam. Liam drinks the most.’

I choke on my water. 

He nods quickly. ‘The King, god save him, loves to let loose. He tried to raid our wine cellar once. Bertrand caught him.’

I ask who is the heavy weight.

‘Olivia,’ he answers. I blanch at her name. The Duchess of Lythikos is notorious for her cold exterior. Every journalist I know who has met her have left their meetings with her in tears. 

‘Yeah, Olivia can shot straight vodka and just doesn’t feel any effect,’ he says. ‘By contrast, Camille can handle four drinks then ends up trying to steal the sword I use to open champagne bottles. A trip to A&E happened once.. ohhh boy, Drake looked like he was going to kill me for letting his wife near that thing.. '

I am tempted to get the full story on this but I have a feeling Maxwell won't be as forthcoming. Drake Walker might actually kill him this time.

We go back downstairs to the kitchen. Maxwell shows me his plans for the menu at the Bash. ‘Canapes first, but they’re... scientific...’ he says mysteriously. He won’t tell me why they’re scientific but I imagine they’ll taste interesting. ‘My favourite food item is always the dessert. This year, I’m putting together something mixed with Toblerlone, Nutella and marshmallows. A sugary feast!’ 

He starts to look impatient to continue his planning so I take this as my cue. I start to pack away my notes and dictaphone. Maxwell gives me a warm smile and stretches out his arms. 'Bring it in!' he hollers, pulling me into a bear hug.

I part from him awkwardly. Maxwell goes pale. 'Okaaay so what's the correct way to say bye to a journalist? I've never been interviewed before.. Sorry, I'm a hugger, everyone always gets a hug from me.'

He steps back and he looks at the table before clicking his fingers. He reaches out for a wrapped item and hands it to me.

'Another for the road!' he beams.

It's a cinnamon brioche bun.

[quirk-registration-office]

Take a Flying Leap

Despite being used to rising early, Fuyumi was not what anyone could refer to as a morning person. She was no more than a zombie, trudging down the hall Saturday morning with glasses askew, hair unbrushed, and swaddled in a too big sweatshirt and yoga pants long enough to keep tripping her.

She walked past the sitting room on her way to the kitchen and stopped. Taking a few steps back, Fuyumi stared silently, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t trapped in a nightmare.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, exasperated. Grinning from his spot on the couch, Hawks set down her favorite coaster, his autographed picture spotted with multiple coffee stains, and stood.

“I’m here for our date.” For a moment, Fuyumi blinked her bleary eyes and stared blankly with no idea what he was talking about. Slowly memories of a certain class earlier in the week floated through her mind, including a specific conversation she had with him. She blanched.

“You were serious about that?”

“Go get dressed,” he told her. “I only have one day to win your heart.” For several moments, Fuyumi didn’t move, honestly contemplating whether or not she would go through with it. Ultimately, she turned around and lumbered back to her room, all the while muttering that she had agreed to a single date, not to have her entire day snatched away by a giant pigeon.

Fighting back a yawn, Fuyumi tried to figure out what to wear.  She didn’t want to get too dressy and give the wrong impression, but she wasn’t rude enough to dress like a slob. Regretful or not, she had said yes when she didn’t have to.

In the end, Fuyumi went with a flowy, knee-length gray skirt and a light pink cardigan. She even put on a little eyeliner before pulling her hair into a high ponytail. If she didn’t put in some effort, she decided, then Hawks might say this date didn’t count and demand another one.

Returning to the living room, she found him poking around at the very few family photos and books she kept around. Her sleep addled brain hadn’t cared enough to notice before, but this was the first time she’d ever seen him out of his hero costume. It was almost surreal seeing the winged hero in plain jeans and a black button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He quickly herded her outside once he saw her, leading her down the block and refusing to tell her where they were going. This early in the morning, Fuyumi had no inclination to speak, fighting a yawn instead, leaving Hawks to ramble on about his week had gone.

She politely listened to his recent heroics until they walked up to the cafe he had met her at earlier in the week. It was smart of him to pick a place he already knew she frequented. Determined to put his best foot forward, Hawks went so far as the pull out her chair for her. Fuyumi wanted to laugh, but his earnest expression made her smile and humor his chivalry.

Okay, so maybe the gentlemanly gesture made her blush the tiniest bit. He sat across from her, and once she got her espresso and turned into an actual human being, she was a little more receptive to his attempts at conversation.

Thankfully, Hawks was quick to realize that Fuyumi had no interest in his hero work, a refreshing change if one that left him bumbling. Instead they talked about coffee and pastries. A rather homely topic, but one that seemed to please Fuyumi and put her in a pleasant mood, a blessing considering he hadn’t known what she was like on early mornings.

“Are you usually up so early?” she asked when they stood to leave the cafe. Hawks fluttered his wings.

“The early bird gets the worm,” he joked, slipping his hands into his pockets. He felt a pit in his stomach when he heard her snort, but it quickly disappeared when he saw her fighting a smile.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, but there was no heat behind her words. They both started chuckling until she asked, “Well it seems you have me for the day, so where to?”

Hawks grinned and just kept walking. He led her to a building she quickly recognized as the natural science museum. There was a special exhibit only in town for a couple weeks, and the gleam in Fuyumi’s eyes when he showed her the tickets made the following hours worth it. Not that he didn’t enjoy museums, but Hawks could walk through an exhibit giving everything a brief look and be in-and-out in half an hour and feel satisfied.

Unsurprisingly, Fuyumi was the sort to walk slowly, reading every word on every display, leaving him to wander about behind her trying not to succumb to boredom. Spending too much time inside had always made him feel fidgety and claustrophobic, and the silence between them wasn’t helping.

It wasn’t until halfway through that she asked him his opinion on a particular display, and from then on the two actively engaged, Hawks made jokes that she actually laughed at as well as impressed her with surprisingly thoughtful observations. By the time they left the museum, Fuyumi couldn’t stop talking about the exhibit, and Hawks had never seen her so expressive before.

He happily listened to her on the way to a nearby park where they got a simple lunch from a food truck and enjoyed the scenery. Even if it made her think he was showing off, Hawks stretched out his wings now that he wasn’t stuck inside. Casting a cautious look at his date, his eyes widened when he saw hers were trailing along the rows of feathers.

Suddenly their eyes met, and Fuyumi quickly looked away. It may have been wishful thinking, but Hawks thought he saw a blush bloom in her cheeks. Their conversation slowly turned from the exhibit to her students, as she was now considering taking them on a field trip to the museum.

Once their food was eaten and they had enjoyed the park for a while, Hawks whisked her to the next phase of the date – bowling. After renting their shoes and getting an alleyway near the end, so that the hero would be better hidden from the public, Fuyumi signed in their names. Hawks frowned when he saw “Pigeon Boy” underneath “Fuyumi” and rolled his eyes at her choked back laughter.

When she got ready for her first throw, Hawks curled a wing along her back, noting her barely noticeable shiver.

“You know, I’ve got a pretty great technique, if you’d like me to show you,” he offered, smirking as he purposefully trailed his feathers softly down her skin.

Fuyumi humphed and rolled her shoulder before rolling the bowling ball. It clashed against the pins as she got a perfect strike. She turned and gave him her own smirk. “Or I could show you mine.”

Accepting her challenge, he picked out a ball and rolled his own first strike, raising a cocky eyebrow at her narrowed eyes. Their first game went in Hawks favor, however Fuyumi smacked his shoulder and laughed, arguing that she saw his feathers throwing her rolls off course.

Naturally he denied such blasphemous accusations.

By the time they left, Fuyumi dominating the next game, it was nearing dinnertime. Hawks pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text. They walked around aimlessly until his phone vibrated.

“I’ve got a surprise ready. Close your eyes.” As a rule, Fuyumi didn’t enjoy surprises, but Hawk’s excited smile wore her down and she nodded and closed her eyes. A small gasp escaped her when he lifted her into his arms. Her chest tightened in fear as she guessed his next move, but before she could stop him, they left the ground all together.

Fuyumi threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. Her whimper was lost to the wind rushing past them. She was shaking when she felt his feet finally touch ground, but when she opened her eyes and saw nothing but the skyline, she tightened her grip on his shirt, fingers clawing the material.

“What do you think?” asked Hawks. Whatever it was, he sounded very proud, so Fuyumi forced herself to look, keeping her gaze locked to the rooftop at her feet and slowly moving it until she saw the picnic blanket kept down by the weight of a basket and several candles.

A breeze swept by, and she shoved her face back into Hawks’ chest. Her quirk reacted to her fear, and frost began creeping along her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Fuyumi shrunk in on herself, not wanting to admit her problem, but Hawks could feel her shaking and saw the thin layering of ice on her cardigan. “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?” Briefly hesitating, she nodded. His arms wrapped around her. Warm breath tickled her ear when he said, “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Fuyumi.”

“Tell me about the picnic. When did you do this?” she mumbled, silently begging him to switch topics. She swore she could feel the building sway beneath them.

“I got my favorite intern to do it,” he answered then laughed. “You’d love Tokoyami. We’re two halves of a whole bird.” He felt her giggle and breathed a sigh of relief. Hawks warned Fuyumi that he was going to move them over, waiting for a nod before slowly walking them over to the blanket, and he kept distracting her by rambling about how awesomely weird Tokoyami was.

Hawks held her closer when she yelped as he was lowering them down. Once they were sitting, Fuyumi pressed herself up to his side, biting her lip and fighting back embarrassed tears. She felt something move around her and flinched.

“Fuyumi. Open your eyes,” he whispered, but she frantically shook her head. “Trust me.” She audibly gulped but slowly cracked open her eyes and first realized it was darker than before, gasping when she realized why.

Large feathered wings surrounded the both of them, blocking out the sight of the skyline so that she couldn’t see how high up they were. Her fingers slowly untangled from Hawks’ shirt. Keeping his wings up made maneuvering a little difficult, so Hawks used a few feathers to move the basket closer.

With her view shrouded, Fuyumi calmed down enough to pull out the food. They ate and chatted, and she had to admit that it was nice. Embraced by his warmth, the frost on her skin slowly started to melt. When it was time to get down, Hawks placed her arms around his shoulders before lifting her into his arms. She still shut her eyes and pressed her face against his throat, but he flew so smoothly that if not for the wind, she might not have believed they were even moving.

Normally, Hawks would’ve flown her straight home, but figured the sooner they landed the better. Fuyumi finally fully relaxed when her feet touched the ground but did her best not to react too strongly. She threaded her arm with his for the walk home. Afraid she’d change her mind, Hawks refused to comment. 

“So?”

“So what?” Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Have I earned a second date?” His tone was light, but he was obviously worried about the answer. Fuyumi hummed thoughtfully.

“Well you did try to kill me,” she teased, though she felt the tiniest bit guilty when he winced. Before he could try to apologize again, she added, “So I guess you’ll have to make it up to me next time.”

His wings flared out involuntarily while his face flushed, but before he could say anything, they arrived at her front door.

“By the way, I need a new picture.”

“Want something to keep you company during lonely nights?” he cooed slyly.

“Nah,” she said, holding back a matching smirk. “I need a new coaster.” At his mock petulant expression, Fuyumi grinned and shot him a wink before going inside.

Wings fluttering, Hawks was walking on air, literally since flying home was the fastest way. He’d make sure the next autograph was laminated.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[lore-a-lie]

Chapter 3, Act 2: From the Diary of a Fly on the Wall

Daily Life

Kaede was feeling much better the next day at the dining hall. She felt a little bad that she hadn’t told Gonta about the flashback light Kaito and Ryoma had found, but it wouldn’t take long to explain. It wasn’t like she was really in the mood to have seen the memories either, after getting what she needed to hear out of Korekiyo, so she was glad Angie and Tenko pushed for them to wait a day.

It was really fucked up, don’t get her wrong. But assuming he was being honest, and he hardly seemed to have a reason to lie with how he kept trying to set her off to see what she’d do, she had her closure.

Not that it made seeing him any easier, as Korekiyo was still one of the first people there along with Kaito and Ryoma. It looked like they were taking over for Gonta right now, since he wasn’t here yet. Neither was Kokichi for that matter. Odd that she hadn’t seen him at all today. Unless he was trying to avoid her.

“Ey, Kaede! Bright and early again I see,” Kaito said, beaming like he normally did as he encouraged her to take a seat by Ryoma. However given his current company his chipper mood was returned with a poorly disguised facepalm by his short companion and a dark glower from his supposed ward.

Seeing such a harsh contrast Kaede couldn’t help but weakly giggle a bit as she sat in the open chair. She was pretty sure Ryoma was giving Kaito a glare, but she couldn’t really tell from this angle without making it obvious she was staring. Probably because of how close it put her to Korekiyo, and rightly so.

I mean I don’t really know how I should be reacting to this either. If they still see me shaken they might lose faith in my ability to lead or make decisions, and if I’m too openly angry or spiteful that might be considered as me being too biased against him or risk someone killing him and lead to a trial. But on the other hand if they wanted me to be more decisive about him I might be seen as too soft right now.

“I could say the same to you. Anything going on?” she asked, trying to avoid looking Korekiyo as much as she could to help keep herself calm. Which was made harder by him being the first to answer.

“You mean aside from there being a thief among us?”

“According the serial killer.” Ryoma quickly brushed him off.

“Why should that matter? Items are missing from my lab and you can’t deny that! Besides, last I checked that applies to both of us and only you earned a tabloid name for it.” (Boy he’s heated over this. Good.)

“What about “Ladykiller”?” Kaito jokingly suggested, also ignoring the possibly more serious subject.

“... That was not a request to be given one. Do try to learn some tact. You’re worse than Kibo.” With the exasperation in Korekiyo’s tone, he was probably gesturing to her to prove his point. Not that Kaede risked looking at him to know for sure.

Though as if to remind her what kind of people she was still dealing with, Korekiyo ended up derailing his own train of thought with another tabloid tangent. “Why must they all have “Killer” in them anyway? Considering our own “Killer Tennis” and how “ Kirakira ” sounds like “Killer-killer”. Though at least we aren’t misusing the word “Genocide” again, like the Genocide Jack fiasco. How could anyone  ever think that was a decent name for a possibly female murderer, given her choice of victims, is beyond me.”

“ENOUGH PLEASE! Do we know the objects being missing means they’ve been stolen? I mean if someone’s watching this game then maybe Monokuma’s meant to take away pieces of evidence so they can’t be used in later cases. You know, to keep later murders from being too similar to the others and keep things interesting?” (God I hope he buys this. I mean if stuff related to crimes is going missing and it isn’t Monokuma it’s probably Kokichi’s handiwork. Or it could just be him tormenting Korekiyo.)

“I didn’t say the relics that are no longer present were ones related to any of the murders from before.” His tone sounded like he was suspicious of how Kaede knew that. But as far as she knew she did nothing wrong so she swallowed and tried to keep her voice level as she explained herself best she could.

“Sorry, I was just guessing. I mean I saw that the katana was still missing from its sheath before and I wasn’t sure I saw that mask back in its case when I stopped by yesterday. What else is missing then?”

“You did what?” Ryoma seemed shaken by that admission. But even though the question was probably directed at her it was Korekiyo he turned to glare daggers at.

“Yes, she visited to give Gonta some more “pleasant” company. Likely to make sure I hadn’t bored him to death with my old books. Nothing you need to worry about, Ryoma.” Korekiyo lied as easily as breathing, and Kaede had no reason to want to correct him. It’d only upset Ryoma and Kaito more, she was sure. He turned to face her as he addressed her question. “Your guess was largely correct, however I’m not sure if the book I was going to use for the would-be seance murder should’ve counted as evidence in that case. However this theory does seem fairly plausible otherwise, as the syringe and other supplies related to Himiko’s death haven’t been returned to Miu’s lab either last I checked.” (KOKICHI LIVES ANOTHER DAY!)

“Aww, Gonta if you were that lonely you could have just locked Kiyo up in there and hung out with me~” Kokichi’s teasing drawl came from the hallway doors, and Gonta stood by his side, looking troubled at the group. They must have overheard, but if Kokichi picked up on Korekiyo’s lie he was content to let it slide. Gonta didn’t point it out either for whatever reason as he took to sitting on Korekiyo’s other side as Kokichi took to Kaede’s.

“Gonta sorry he late! He forget Kiyo also get up early, and Kokichi wanted to teach Gonta about-”

“Not talking to strangers in weird creepy masks!” Kokichi pointedly cut him off as he pointed at Korekiyo and gave him an exaggerated glare, getting only a skeptical look in return. But Korekiyo chose to play along with the obvious lie, as if returning the favor of Kokichi not calling his own out.

“I may be strange, but is it still right to treat me as a stranger? We all knew each other too well for that sort of false distance yes?”

“Gonta pretty sure Kokichi right if Kiyo treats bugs as candy.” (WHAT?! EW, NO! NO. NONONONO. No.)

“Reptites don’t? That’s a surprise, I’d figure they’d have at least one similar recipe considering how many “ethnic” sweets may go into such territories. But not to worry. I wouldn’t dare touch any of your beloved specimens for such a petty treat I promise. No matter how well candied crickets would go with my tea.”

“WHAT THE FUCK, I WAS LYING TO HIM! I mean, it’s not like I haven’t used licensed candies like that for some pranks, but seriously? Whyyyyyy?” Kokichi whined and flailed about, which seemed to help keep Gonta from having a clear shot at Korekiyo if the gentle giant lost his temper. But aside from some breathing exercises and tensing on his part Gonta took the news pretty well! (What a shame.)

“Beggars can’t be choosers when looking into other cultures, and as said they can be quite tasty.”

“Not when people are eating please!” Kaede complained, and possibly a bit too loudly at that.

“ARE YOU BULLYING KAEDE OVER THERE?! Kaede I’m sooo sorry, I had no idea I had left you alone with these immature ruffians!... And Gonta.” (... Did she just- Is she making an exception for Gonta? YES!)

Tenko was quick to run to Kaede’s side to give her an overblown hug as she looked at the boys as if they had done something horrible to her. Tsumugi and Angie were a ways behind her, along with a… pigeon?

It was definitely a pigeon that flew by and sat itself on Tenko’s head, and since she wasn’t overreacting to this Kaede could only assume this was some sort of normal. (One of Himiko’s doves maybe? I haven’t seen any lately. Not since the party come to think of it- ACK, that was days ago! Oh dear, are they okay?)

“Yup, yup! We’re sorry, so sorry, Angie just wanted to try swimming with Himiko’s fishies during feeding time! They enjoy Tenko’s daily blood sacrifices nearly as much as Atua does, so cute~”

“Please stop calling Himiko’s piranha “fishies” Angie, it really downplays how dangerous that could be!” Tsumugi scolded, still obviously distressed by whatever had happened in the dojo.

“It’s fine, it’s fine~ Nothing to worry about!”

“Tenko’s going to make a swear jar for you misusing that phrase at this rate.”

“Can we make one for all the third-person people too? OH, or how about catchphrases, like Ryoma’s?”

“Pretty sure your “it’s a lie” spiel should count enough too if you wanna go there kid.”

“Or it could merely be a genuine swear jar. Kaito would end up paying handsomely for that I imagine.”

“H-hey, come on dude don’t be like that. How’d you like it if we went with a purple prose penalty, huh?”

“Gonta not sure what that mean, but if it make Kiyo talk simple Gonta support it!” (Get back on topic!)

“Knock it off you guys, it’s not like money even really matters if we don’t bring it up. But I didn’t know Tenko was taking care of Himiko’s pets, why didn’t you say anything? I could help sometime if you want.”

“Didn’t I tell you? I guess that was just a student council thing, when I was asking if we could take out the pool’s chlorine thingies so Himiko’s fish could have some more room to swim around. But if you want to help there is something I was going to ask you girls! … And guys, if you agree to take things seriously.” (...I’m sorry what was that? Come on Tenko, I mean I know you can’t use the pool but why would you try to ruin that for the rest of us too?! Even if the water level looks way too low for normal swimming.)

“Kibo isn’t here and Kokichi is so I’m not sure we can honestly say we all will. But go on, shoot.” Ryoma deadpanned with a smirk, to which Kaito jokingly hit him in the shoulder in response to that verbal jab.

“This dove’s been pretty chummy with me for a while now, but I don’t really know what to name her. And before you ask yes I know for sure it’s the same bird! I even gave her a little tag on her foot, see?”

The bird in question did have a little red tie on her left leg, as she hopped from Tenko’s head to her hand at the girl’s prompting to aid in this display. As she began pecking at said tie a moment later, despite Tenko’s attempts to convince her to leave it be, it didn’t look like she was too keen on keeping it though.

“Gonta going to ask how Tenko knows it a girl bird. Birds hard to tell, if boy birds aren’t pretty colors or girl birds aren’t really big. Harder than bugs sometimes, and bugs no always have boys or girls at all.”

“What are you talking about, just look at this face! Of course she’s a girl dove!” (I don’t think that’s how this works.)

“Well what about “Himiko”? She’s probably heard the name enough to recognize it at least, right?”

“I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that. Like maybe “Yumeno” or “Yumeko” would work, but not just “Himiko”. Not yet.”

“Right, sorry Tenko.”

“Not to worry! Thank you very much for your suggestion Kaede, it was really nice. Maybe that’d work for another bird, later. Like a… sleepy one, or something.”

“Well, if we’re starting this off with dead name suggestions why not we go with the most innocent victim of all: Hedwig!”

“Hey, watch your spoilers Kokichi! And that’s too soon…”

“Oh my god Tsumugi that was years ago, get over it already!”

“You do realize she was named for the patron saint of orphans yes? It really isn’t fitting for this at all.”

“Definitely not using it then. I don’t even know what show you all are talking about.”

“Okay, so something more light-hearted and fitting… How about “Oko-san”? I mean yeah he was a fantail, but out of everybirdie he looks the most like her and that name should be gender neutral enough.”

“I’d prefer not naming her after some degenerate bird if I can help it, but that could work! If nothing better comes up I’ll consider it. Thanks, Tsumugi!”

“If a feminine name is needed how about “Inanna”? After the Sumerian goddess of the many aspects of both love and war, due to her association with doves. I think invoking her suits you.”

“... That’s actually kinda pretty but I hate you so no.” (Thanks for that Tenko, I hope he’s disappointed.)

“Well, there was no harm in trying. You did ask for at least one of us to take your dilemma seriously.”

“H-hey we can take this seriously too! How’s about “John Coo”?”

Some distinct groans came from Tsumugi and Kokichi upon hearing it, but Kaede didn’t get the joke. Tenko did at the very least, but she also didn’t seem to appreciate Kaito’s suggestion. Ryoma however looked like he was very valiantly trying to keep himself from laughing, with the weird grin he was making.

“What, no! I just said she was a girl dove you degenerate male!”

“Um, why’s everyone groaning?”

“A bad pun I assume?”

“Seriously Kiyo? I mean a girl not getting it is one thing but what sort of man doesn’t know John Woo!?”

“And that would be?” Kaede tried to push for an actual explanation.

“That action director guy with the weird pigeon fetish!” Kokichi chimed.

“Then that would be the sort of person who doesn’t enjoy such exhausting displays of overstimulation. And here I thought such a description was limited to Tesla.”

As Kaito and Tenko were distracted arguing Gonta made a sort of chirping to get the bird to come over to him. With the small white dove perched on his finger he made another series of coos at it, to which it seemed to be responding. (I guess he really can talk to animals, huh?)

“Uh, Tenko? Birdie say she like the name John Coo.”

“Well there we have it, John Coo it is! Of course she’d like the name given to her by the Luminary of the Stars!”

“I said no!”

“Aww, I was kinda hoping that she’d at least insist on being called “Miss” John Coo or something.” Tsumugi mumbled to herself. Kaede wasn’t sure how a pigeon could really “insist” on that though.

Ryoma had apparently worked his way through his laughter for now and was the very picture of serious as he gave his two cents on the subject. “Any good pet parent would know to respect her wishes. John Coo is a lovely young lady and this should be her decision to make, not yours.”

“But it’s dumb!”

“Don’t say that in front of her Tenko, you’ll hurt her self-esteem. This is a delicate time in her life and John Coo needs you to support her right now.”

“HOW CAN YOU SAY ALL OF THIS WITH A STRAIGHT FACE RYOMA!?” (Pfft. Of course our only decent gambler has the best poker face. How can he do that over something so silly?)

“Easier for me than you I’m sure.” He replied with a wink and one of the most self-satisfied smiles Kaede has ever seen on his face. She, Tsumugi, Kiyo, and Kaito were all obviously trying to hide their laughter, as opposed to Angie and Kokichi who dissolved into a pair of giggling idiots. Gonta didn’t seem it get it.

“... You’re all horrible and Tenko wants you to know she hates you.” Tenko grumbled. (I can live with this.)

“Nyahahaha, that’s okay because John Coo still loves us! Just like Atua, John Coo is too pure to judge~”

“Only because she’s a bit... slow.”

“Just like both of her mommies!”

“I WILL END YOU KOKICHI-”

“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Kibo’s voice came from the door, looking ready to walk back out of it if the answer was “yes”. Tenko took the opportunity to gather herself and sit back down, with John Coo flitting back to her which helped calm her down.

“Nope, you just missed the christening of John Coo the lovey dovey. Say “Hi” John.” Kokichi chimed, and John did actually give a coo at the command. Or it may have been her attempt to complete her name, if that’s how a pigeon could insist on that. Tenko still seemed sour about it all as she pet the little dove.

“I… See. Sorry if you were waiting for me to use the flashback light. We are actually using it right Angie?”

“I guess… Atua still disagrees with this though.”

“Wait, no one tell Gonta flashback light found yesterday! Why no one get him or Kiyo?” (Because of me.)

“After the mess with the last video we decided to give a delay before we all see this one together again. Since not everyone thinks we should use them, but things could get difficult if we learn something big,” Kaede summed up best she could. No one appeared to have much to add to her explanation, and while Korekiyo understood why the knowledge gap could become a problem Gonta looked a bit confused.

“In case it becomes relevant the last video indicated we all may have been part of the same school, despite us all now having the uniforms from whatever highschool we attended before then. There may also be some sort of government program we tried to hide from, which was why we saw that funeral.” Korekiyo supplied, which made enough sense to Gonta that he didn’t look nearly as lost anymore. Angie and Kibo were more troubled by this information, but Tsumugi and Tenko accepted it without question.

And so, despite the concerns against it, Kaede took the light from her backpack and thumbed the switch.

Again she became nearly overwhelmed by the sense of vertigo with the world warping itself around her. But this time the onslaught of memories it unlocked within her were far from pleasant or comforting. It was like the motive videos all over again.

Meteorites had plagued the world, and led to a significant amount of damage to her hometown. The chaos and sense of end times it caused so many people to feel, as if the sky was literally falling around them. How could she have ever forgotten something this important? Or anyone else for that matter.

This explained the state her house was in though. She and her family had left it long before her kidnapping, so of course it would be a mess now. And this fit Kaito’s “natural disaster” theory from before too, for how so many people could be facing some horrible future outside of these walls at the same time.

It sounded like everyone’s experiences were a little different with this batch of memories, unlike before.

The only one who really seemed to have been in a similar situation to her own was Tsumugi, whose hometown also suffered greatly and had been faced with similar fatalistic groups causing havoc. Not that they were they were the only ones who remembered the cults with their flyers declaring that “mankind deserves damnation” and the other violent gangs that sprang out; Kaito and Kibo clearly saw those too.

As Kibo explained his it sounded like he and his professor were rather protected from the event itself, as he remembered more of the news reports and Internet buzz about them than the actual impacts. Tenko and Gonta seemed similarly disconnected, as they had also only heard about the civil unrest it caused.

Angie’s people were mostly faced with rising waters caused by the meteor impacts, which had led to her being sent to Japan as she could recall, but she couldn’t quite grasp why yet. Korekiyo offhandedly mentioned the madness everyone was facing could be part of why he could get away with killing as many girls as he did, as many people had gone missing, but when pressed he only admitted the number was greater than ninety.

He did also remember that the meteorites seemed to have been the cause of a deadly new disease that sprang up. He had encountered it in his travels rather often too, but never showed any symptoms himself. His sister wasn’t so lucky, and that was what had caused her to cough blood when they saw her film before.

It was hard to tell who was more distressed by this particular addition, Kaito or Korekiyo, but only the latter gave them an explanation for why as he tried to keep himself from having another panic attack.

Apparently her doctors couldn’t be sure if she had caught it on her own or if he unintentionally served as an asymptomatic carrier. He was confirmed to have been conventionally immune to the disease, but that was no comfort if it meant he might have been the cause of his sister’s untimely death.

Ryoma suspected a similar immunity may also have been why his prison let him out early, if only to use him as a means to help others through this calamity, considering it a form of “community service”. Tenko and her master also helped out wherever they could, but she didn’t seem as sure whether some of the “degenerates” they fought in the name of justice she remembered were parts of any larger movements.

Gonta also remembered there was a scientist who claimed that, based on a similar event happening millions of years ago, if nothing could be done all life on earth could be wiped out in an event worse than the end of the dinosaurs. Ironic considering he was raised by some of the few surviving descendants of that time.

Kaito was the first to remember the plan that was humanity’s last hope. The “Gofer Project”. With an “f”, as in the trees used for Noah’s ark, rather than the animal as Korekiyo pointed out, as it unsettled him. Like even with all the countries of the world working together they wouldn’t be able to save many from the metaphorical “flood” they were being faced with. (Of course, he’d worry more about the cultures that could be lost. Not the actual people or animals that could die or go extinct in that. The heartless bastard.)

Not that it mattered how many they were hoping to protect, if Kokichi’s memories about it “failing” somehow were true. But no one else seemed to have memories that elaborated on that.

“... What if that’s the project we were hiding from before? From the previous memory.” Ryoma asked, as no one else provided any theories for it.

“Hmm, maybe! Maybe it wasn’t really a school uniform you saw everyone in back then either.” Angie said, still smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world despite everything.

“No, it was definitely a school’s since it had an emblem on the blazers and everything. I don’t think people would waste the resources on making a uniform for this sort of thing anyway. And how else would we explain why we’re all around the same age?” Kaede replied.

“What if Angie was right before then? About why we should stay in here instead of focusing on the “outside world”. I mean this could be part of the Gofer Project right? So being here’s a good thing. Especially if we’re all here because we’re “immune”, since Kiyo hasn’t made any of us sick yet!”  As Tenko spoke about their possible immunity, Korekiyo looked over at Kaito rather specifically for some reason.

Kaede probably wouldn’t have noticed when it happened, since Korekiyo was still recovering from his panic attack, if not for how Kaito went out of his way to avoid making eye contact with him. She had no idea what this could mean though, since Kaito wasn’t acting too differently otherwise.

“Hmmm, I wouldn’t really say that. Though I suppose you missed most of the “dude eats bugs” thing.” Kokichi’s attempt at a horrible joke was enough to pull Korekiyo from his thoughts, much to Kaito’s relief.

Not that his new thoughts were better. “If you value your life I would refrain from making jest of this.”

“H-hey I thought you said you wouldn’t kill me! ‘Cause I’m a guy.”

“... True. Though it will be more difficult trying to keep things from turning fatal with our lack of medical supplies. Even when the warehouse was open Kaito was right in pointing out so many things we lack.”

“Y-yeah, which is also why this probably can’t be that government project anyway! No matter how much they had to rush they wouldn’t forget to install something that important in here, especially not with the risk of a disease mutating into something we wouldn’t be immune to anymore. Assuming we really are.” Kaito exclaimed, but Korekiyo started giving him an odd look again when the disease came up. (Why?)

“O-oh, yeah that’s a good point.” Tsumugi began, before mumbling “Didn’t really think about that,” mostly to herself again. After calming down enough to stop her stuttering she had a new thought. “But without someone who really knows about that sort of stuff would facilities like that matter anyway?”

“I dunno, I mean things are pretty high tech. Who knows what science can do if they can make Exisals. Maybe we don’t have med stuff ‘cause they injected us with nanomachines to keep us healthy. Or maybe these “flashback lights” aren’t exactly what they say on the tin.” Kokichi suggested as if trying to make the rest of us catch up to him.

“What are you talking about this time Kokichi? I will not appreciate being “trolled” by you again.” Kibo warily complained.

“Sure is convenient how none of us have ANY idea about what we “remember” with these lights before they’re triggered, huh? Kinda like how the motive videos triggered something in Kirumi and Kiyo in a way that was super convenient for keeping a killing game going for as long as they were still in it, riiiight?”

“W-well, of course, they were “motive” videos after all-” Kibo started again before Kokichi cut him off.

“And yet, both of these things came from the same source, didn’t they?”

“Atua agrees that He thinks these lights may be doing us more harm than good! Angie’s not really sure if He means brainwashing though. It could just be undoing some type of hypnosis, and if it is than it only shows us what we all had to agree to have suppressed in the first place.”

“Oh yeah, Himiko told us during our sleepover! Hypnosis only works on people who want it to work and don’t really object to what they’re being asked to do anyway. But… Does this mean we shouldn't use them anymore? I mean they still are our only clues to get out of here right? If we all still really want to.”

“Right. Besides, we can’t really prove any memories are wrong yet,” Kaede said.  “Most of them seem to line up well enough, and if this isn’t related to the Gofer Project there could be a reason for the missing medbay. These still seem to be a risk that’s worth taking for us to find out what’s going on and get out.”

Tenko seemed convinced by Kaede’s reasoning, but Angie and Tsumugi still seemed a bit wary of the idea. No one else expressed any explicit objections though, not even Kokichi who cast doubt on them at all. (Guess he’s just expressing some paranoia? Or maybe he was just lying about that for some reason?)

“It does make sense to use a place that doesn’t have any means to help save lives for a killing game, doesn’t it? No reason to base a project meant to “save humanity” on a prison school anyway. This killing game could be all this was built for, for all we know. It’d explain the death road too.” Ryoma pointed out, the unpleasant reminder never letting him forget the school’s unusual design for long. It was all too easy for the rest of them to overlook it over time, that even Kaede stopping being as aware of it at points.

“True. No sane designer of anything would make something that difficult to get through, not to mention the many codes and regulations it intentionally breaks. It’s clearly made to keep those on the inside from escaping, based on the false “Cleared” message we found. It wouldn’t read right going the other way.”  Kibo said, looking bothered but contemplative.

“So… We still no know much?”

“Well, we do maybe have a better idea of what the world’s like outside. That’s a start, ain’t it big guy? Things can’t be as bad as they looked though, since this place hasn’t felt any impacts or anything! And look at all the plants still growin’ in here, that scientist probably just exaggerated things so folks would really know to prepare for the worst. Better set positive expectations low than high right?” Kaito said to try and cheer Gonta, and everyone else, the best he could.

“I doubt the greenery we see here does genuinely reflect outdoor conditions, as the environment was made to at least support us so by extension plant-life would also be capable of thriving. We haven’t ruled out this being a sealed space yet, like an underwater facility, despite how old it seems to be.”

“Well as I doubt anything more can be gained from this I will be heading to the computer lab if anyone needs me.” Kibo excused himself, and everyone else began to part ways.

Kaede made her way to the fifth floor with Kokichi and Ryoma in tow, intending to visit Shuichi’s lab again. Tsumugi wasn’t the only other person heading that way though this time.

“Gonta going to take Kiyo to see 5th floor, since we no saw it yesterday, okay?”

“Oh, that’ll be great! I can show you my lab now, so if there’s any sort of outfit you’d like me to make you I can definitely do it now. I’m pretty sure even a plain ol’ tux would suit you, mask or no mask.”

“Huh, really? Yes, Gonta like that idea! Many gentlemen have tuxedos. And fancy hats and masks.”

“Do you want to come Kaede? I nearly finished that pair of slacks you asked for~” (As long as HE stays far away from me and keeps quiet for once in his miserable life. I can’t just say no, that’d be ungrateful.)

“Sure, I can stop by! I was just going up there anyway to look into Shuichi’s lab again.”

“For the record Gonta, under no circumstances is Kiyo allowed in that room, got it?” Ryoma glared at Korekiyo as if to emphasize his point. But it was hard to say if he was just saying that or threatening him.

“Oh? Whatever for? And I was so looking forward to seeing if it also invoked victorian era design in much the same way Kirumi’s lab did, given the proliferation of murder mystery series set in that period.” (Because murderer or not he deserves better and why the hell would any of us trust you in his lab now?!)

“Hm… It okay for Kiyo to just look in then? No need to go in room to see that, right?”

“Fineeee, I guess I’ll keep it open for that long.”

“You’ll keep it open? What do you mean?”

“Ah, right you both bailed before Monokuma gave his spiel. Apparently if a student dies before their lab is open, like Shuichi, the lab’s supposed to remain locked. Lucky for us, the way they are locked can still be picked open, so I’m your handy dandy gatekeeper now! Since I always pick it back shut to be safe.”

“What about Rantaro’s lab? Gonta thought it be up there too.”

“Maybe, if it’s behind that big ol’ door thingy, but there’s no way to open that yet. Believe me, we tried.”

Gonta looked confused again by his mistake, but quickly got sucked into Kokichi’s ramblings so it didn’t bother him for long. It was about that point that Tsumugi seemed to realize that by inviting Gonta into her lab Korekiyo would end up being with them as well, as she started nervously glancing between him and Kaede.

In an effort to help ease her mind Kaede tried racking her brain for shows she watched as a kid to find an anime Tsumugi could use as a launching point for her own rants but was coming up empty. Ryoma had better luck with “Prince of Tennis”, and having something to talk about seemed to do the trick.

Apparently he read a lot of series like that back when he still played, and Tsumugi got particularly enthralled by his admission about basing some of his moves off of ones the heroes would use in their works. “Bringing the fiction he loved to life in his own way” as she put it, much like her own passion.

But then she started talking about something called “shunpo” and lost him too, not that she noticed.

When they got to their desired floor Kokichi and Ryoma broke off to go to the Ultimate Detective’s lab like they originally planned and the rest followed Tsumugi.

Gonta and Korekiyo were taken aback by just how big it turned out to be, before Tsumugi led the entomologist to her sewing station and Korekiyo went to look into some of her established sets.

With a flourish she showed off to Kaede the “rule 63 slacks” she designed, whatever that meant. They were nice though! When Kaede tried them on in one of the changing areas they fit well, despite barely giving Tsumugi any really reliable measurements, and while they were different they still suited her.

The color wasn’t too unlike her normal skirts, but instead of music notes they had a bar of piano keys running up either side, adding a bit more black and white to the look. At closer inspection the plum color was pinstriped with the color of her socks, which Kaede tried to ignore as it reminded her of Shuichi, and the bars actually had all 88 keys, 52 white and 36 black, instead of just being a pattern for pattern’s sake.

And now I won’t need to worry about flashing anyone if I need to be more active than usual! Or just walk up stairs or ladders like what happened with Shuichi before. Wait… this means I don’t have any more training excuses either. Oh well. Maybe situps are easier than push-ups? This is gonna suuuuck.

“Thank you Tsumugi, I love it! I hope you don’t mind if I don’t wear them all the time though.”

“Not at all, I’m used to making things people may only use a handful of times! But making “original” stuff is like this is a weird feeling. But so’s my lab having a set focus over a sewing one at all, so it’s plain to see I just gotta get used to it. It’s a shame it opened so late, this would have been great for the talent show.”

“The nature of these sets also strikes me as odd, would you truly need these? The bar for example isn’t terribly unlike the one that already exists in the casino. Even the false labels on the bottles are all the same, and this is supposed to be a high school setting we are in, is it not?” (Okay, so I can leave now! I just need to keep it from being too obvious, so Tsumugi doesn’t feel offended. I need a good moment.)

“W-well, the ones I have here should be non-alcoholic so that isn’t really against any laws I think? Besides, that set there is a lot more like one of my part-time jobs so it’s kinda comforting to have.”

“Why Tsumugi work at bar?! Alcohol bad for young people! Shouldn’t let young lady in. It dangerous.”

“Cosplaying’s expensive work, especially if you want to work with the best materials. Girl’s gotta make a living somehow, you know? It’s not like I’m the only one here who may have faked an ID or two anyway. Kaito pulled something similar for his astronaut test stuff right? And who knows about Kokichi.”

“With how unkind either genetics or puberty has been to him one of those could be how he got here.” Korekiyo suggested, probably as a joke given the look in his eyes. Or at least she hoped that’s all it was.

“Hey, Kokichi looks like he could really be 15 at least.” Kaede said as Korekiyo simply chucked. “... Okay, maybe not much older than that, unless he’s a really late bloomer. Which could also fit Himiko!”

“Gonta pretty sure Kokichi older than Gonta.” Gonta said while lightly scratching at his cheek. When he noticed all the blank stares he was getting from his friends he seemed confused, but didn’t elaborate.

“... I am heavily inclined to doubt that. Though in terms of mental development I can see where this could be coming from. He is mature for his age, when he wants to be. It is odd how our profiles don’t actually list our ages, only our birth dates. I wonder if that could be relevant to our predicament at all.” Korekiyo began to theorize. (He has a point though. But no one's ever asked me about that either. Neither have I come to think of it, I’ve just assumed most of us here are my age-ish. Except Kokichi and Himiko, of course. Ryoma, Kirumi, and Korekiyo too I guess since they all feel like they could be adults.)

“I don’t think so. I mean it’s not like ages really matter in highschool right? Especially not if we can’t have any upper or lower classmen dynamics to work with.” Tsumugi spoke up, still working with Gonta through some measurements. She had to stand on a chair to do so, with how big he was, but if she hadn’t said anything Kaede would have assumed she was too focused on her work to hear them at all.

Content with what she had down she took a break as she skipped off to the working bar that started this conversation. “If anyone would like to try a cocktail I know I could make one right now if you’d like? I can make anything from a Blue Fairy to a Gut Punch! Or to a Sunshine Cloud, if we want to stay alphabetical.”

“WHY TSUMUGI PUNCH PEOPLE?!”

“It’s just the name of a drink, don’t worry. She isn’t actually threatening anyone.” Kaede comforted him, which only seemed to work a little bit since the nature of this work still worried him.

“I would have talked about a Bad Touch instead, but with that one the alcohol isn’t optional.”

“Not exactly the “classiest” bars you worked at I take it?” Korekiyo asked with what could be a grin.

“Nope, not at all. But it was fun and paid the bills!”

Kaede turned down the drinks and took the chance to catch back up with Ryoma and Kokichi. Gonta and Korekiyo didn’t make any attempts to follow her though, as Gonta still wanted to help Tsumugi where he could and Korekiyo took up her drink offer. Only after agreeing that either she or Gonta would take the first sip of her creations though, as he was still cautious around beverages after Angie’s earlier stunt.

Seemed he got to rambling about alcohol’s relevance to other cultures, reflecting drinking ages and whatnot, so Kaede was glad to be out of there. Though Tsumugi sounded like she was having some fun with it, bringing up some sort of “Shrine Maiden Saki” or something from one of her anime, and falling into her own tangent, as a Kunihimo cord from it caused her a lot of issues since the length wasn’t clear.

It was only after she got to the Detective's doors that Kaede realized how lost Gonta must feel with the way those two could talk, and the waves of guilt and regret poured in. (But there’s no saving him now.)

Shuichi’s lab felt so wrong to be in. She couldn’t put her finger on it but something about it was off, beyond how much more dangerous this lab was from some others. But as Kokichi pointed out the first time they got in it made sense for a former blackened’s lab to feel more like Moriarty than Sherlock.

Assuming Shuichi really wasn’t framed by the mastermind, so that someone would die without ending their sick game. Not that it would change the fact he was dead, and they were the ones who killed him.

Kokichi was messing around the chem cabinets as she entered, wearing the silly bowler hat they first found on the small round table instead of the hat rack. Ryoma was keeping him company and Kaede was a bit surprised Kaito hadn’t joined them yet. The tennis pro looked content though, sitting in the rocking chair by the fire with a book in his hands.

“Heey Ka-yay-de~ What can we do you fer this fine mornin’?” Kokichi asked as if he was trying to imitate some British potion seller or bartender as he pocketed another vial for who knows what.

“Depends, did you find another laxative?” Kaede had asked to see how their first experiment went in order to test if this threat could be neutralized by just getting rid of the contents, or at least the dangerous ones; Kokichi had found a “prank worthy” harmless bottle and took it to see if it would stay missing.

She chose not to ask if this stunt had any connection to Angie spiking Korekiyo’s tea earlier, as she figured no answer would really be comforting to her in this situation.

“Yup! So it really does restock everyday. It’s a real bummer, it means we can’t just smash all of these.”

“Not that we should have considered that an option anyway, since some could be air activated for all we know,” Ryoma blankly stated as he flipped another page, as if resigned to being Kokichi’s voice of reason.

“... Oh. Riiiiight. Good catch. But that’s why you were put on Kokichi-watch duty! Nee-heehee~”

“Am I being paid for this?”

“You get to keep your peace of mind, does that count?” Kokichi offered with an otherwise “innocent” grin and a gleam in his eyes.

“Eh, I’ll take it.” Ryoma said with a shrug as he put his book down to address Kaede. “So were you going to look through the files again today?”

“Yup! I mean if this isn’t the first killing game these may be related somehow. It’d make sense for the detective's lab to have clues regarding our biggest mysteries for this game right? Especially since it was meant to be sealed, if he was going to be executed regardless of whether he killed Rantaro or not.”

That didn’t narrow down which files would actually be related though. With 52 to sort through, 5 full rows of ten files with the sixth only having 2 as if waiting for more entries, they couldn’t possibly all be real and even them having drawn crime scenes or photographs wasn’t helping to narrow things down.

She initially sorted them into groups based on which had “Ultimate Detectives” leading their cases, like “Kyoko Kirigiri” from the first and third files with the help of her partner “Makoto Naegi”. But then she noticed that the third kept making reference to the second, headed by “Hajime Hinata” and his partner “Nanami Chiaki”, which also dealt a lot with missing memories and how returning them triggered a killer.

That was also a double murder in fact, but both were done by the same culprit that time. Not two parties similarly affected by memories acting during the same case period. (Almost more like the first file’s 3rd case’s double murder. And this was the 3rd case for this group too. Is this an intentional pattern? I’m not sure how anyone could control something so specific, so this may be a sign of these files just mocking us.)

As a result most of the day before had been spent reading through those connected files best she could, and then trying to find out when the files got close enough to the present that the pictures changed from anime inspired illustrations to photos. No matter which format they were in though the blood kept showing up as pink rather than red for whatever reason. Probably to stress how “fake” this all could potentially be.

She knew she couldn’t really trust these, there were way too many Ultimates and scenarios that got even more outlandish than what her group has faced yet, but there could still be some truth hidden in them. Like they were never outlandish enough for the cases themselves being unfeasible. One in the second file even involved a robot with the same emergency shut off button on the back of his neck like Kibo did, so they were all dangerous to have lying around.

These files and the various poisons was why no one was allowed to be in here alone, and why Kokichi kept it shut at all other times. And if this was how bad Shuichi’s lab was she doesn’t want to consider what Rantaro’s may be like. They didn’t even know what his talent was.

Kaede lost track of time as she poured over the notes, covering murders from monsterous to mundane. The suicides and accidents almost came as a pleasant surprise when they came up, but then there were files that barely had any cases in them. They still had the culprits and how they did it listed, but it was different. Like the person investigating wasn’t the one who caught them, and they got away with it.

At some point Kaito showed up to regroup with Ryoma, so he and Kokichi would bicker when the latter got bored sorting through which poisons had antidotes and how dangerous they were. Kaito helped her sort through the files, but he didn’t really have the stomach for reading them much like Ryoma didn’t.

The background noise was comforting in its own way, much like the sound of the fire was despite her growing urge to just throw a lot of these papers into it in disgust. Sometimes she wasn’t sure if it was because of the actual cases or at herself for not finding any leads to get out of there.

There was another knock at the door as she took something of a rage break, and she was surprised to see Kibo there instead of Gonta and Korekiyo, as she had been expecting.

He looked a lot happier than she had seen him in a while too. “Hello everyone! I have great news!”

“Well this can’t be good.” Kokichi deadpanned as he started looking at a corner again with a smirk. (Is a camera actually there? I don’t see anything, but why else would he keep doing this? What am I missing?)

“H-hey it is! Please don’t be so quick to dismiss my efforts! I finally got the last of the bugs out of the main program the computer lab was made for. So everyone can safely use it now! I’m sure you’ll all really enjoy it if you give it a chance.”

“Of course we would Kibo, I was thinking about taking a break anyway.” Kaede told him with a smile. She was a bit curious what it could possibly be, with how long its set up took, and she didn’t want to waste his efforts. No matter how potentially dangerous anything Monokuma gave them could be.

Kokichi wasn’t convinced though. “Are you sure-”

“Yeah we’re sure, don’t be a brat. Kibo’s been practically married to that thing since he got it, and it’s his first computer project too right? Of course we’ll give it a look!” Kaito urged the boy forward as he stressed how important this was for their friend, all smiles. Despite the floor it would be on.

“Do you need me to get anyone else for you while you go set things up?” Ryoma asked.

“No need, Tsumugi already offered to do so! Gonta and Kiyo should be on their way down there as we speak, so let’s go join them, shall we?”

It was hard to say no, with how happy and excited he was to show off his pet project. So they all followed the robot to see what he had in store for them.

And hopefully find some more clues to what’s going on, since my other leads are coming up empty.

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[theinvulnerabletide]

OC Ask Meme: wardrobe, poison, contact (Whisper); microscope, mixtape, hobby (Oriana); photo album, ufo, interiors (Celandine); fragrance, parachute, psyche (Lyra); conspiracy theory, shooting star (Maggie); lighting, love note, chess board, wild card (any)

Alright, this got super long so the answers are under the cut!

Whisper:

Wardrobe:What is your OC’s style like?

It’s kind of hard to describe; Whisper tries not to beas loud and clashy as, say, Ignatius, but after living with a carnival foralmost seven years, it is hard for her not to be a little bold. Far from themore simple, elegant style she started with. Bright, jewel-tone colors that compliment and play off the color of her skin,complicated embroidery, statement jewelry pieces on her ears, around her neck,and wrists and horns and tail. But while it is bold and eye catching, it is allpainstakingly coordinated, so it’s visually interesting but not exhausting tolook at. She loves cute dresses with diaphanous layers, or travelling breaches andblouses so tight they might as well be a leotard, stuff she can move in, or runin, as needed. Even when she tries to dress simply, there’s plenty of embroideryor an innovative cut to her clothes.  Her brand-new armor, the one with the mithril weave, is a play off of one ofher old performance outfits. It’s a sort of bold teal, the blue and the greensmixing and changing along the fabric, which plays interestingly with the darkerindigo of her skin, and it’s embroidered along the tight bodice with gold. Thesleeves come down to a midshoulder and there’s a bit of flutter to them, andthere’s a bit of a half-skirt, more of a sash really, in a bold blue-green,also chased through with gold. That ends mid-thigh, revealing a pair ofleggings in a darker blue, which disappear into a set of boots she can walk in.It clashes a bit with the gem on her focus, but it works.  Poison: Vices/Bad Habits? What are they?How do they affect your OC?

Whisper has quite a few vices, yes. Drinking, quiteoften, the occasional drug, or spot of gambling, and sex. You know, all themajor ones.

I don’t think they’re too out of hand. While shedefinitely self-medicates with whiskey, and sex when there’s a willing partner,she isn’t necessarily dependent on them. Like, she hasn’t had a single drinksince boarding the Star Song, because drinking and the subsequent hangoverswould impede her ability to work on this spell. But they are the first thingshe turns to when she doesn’t want to deal with her emotions or with whatevertraumatizing thing just happened.

Contact:how does your OC feel about touch/physical contact? Are they affectionate? Ifso, ow do they display affection to others?

Whisper is very touchy; the circus she spent the lastfew years in was very, very close, and there was basically no such thing aspersonal space. While she knows other people aren’t usually as touchy as sheis, she definitely still gets in other people’s personal space quite often. Shehugs people, cuddles up next to them, jabs their arms and high fives and allsorts of things. No forehead kisses though, she thinks that might bemisconstrued. Or construed correctly, as the case may be.

Oriana:

Microscope:Zoom In: describe the little, insignificant details about your OC.

Oriana’s nose is small and slender, upturned at theend. Between that and the freckles that constellate across the bridge of hernose and along her cheekbones, she can almost be called cute, though she won’tthank you for saying it. Her eyes are gold, molten and dark towards the centerand lightening outwards. Her ears are ever so slightly pointed, barelynoticeable under the sable of her hair, even when her hair is pinned up and outof the way.She is shorter than most of the rest of the party, 5’ 4’’ or 5’ 5’’ on a goodday, but broad shouldered and well-muscled, with a little bit of a belly, whichno one ever sees because Oriana is rarely out of her armor, even if her newarmor clings a little more than she’s used to.

Mixtape:5 songs that describe your OCs, or songs they themselves would like.

Take Up Your Spade – Sara WatkinsWaking Up the Giants – GrizfolkNever One Thing – May ErlewineSpark – Backstage CastWhite Flag – Bishop Briggs

Hobby:What do they love? What captivates them? What are their passions?

Oriana has surprisingly few hobbies. She reads, a lot,about everything: copper dreadfuls to ent philosophy, to religious doctrines tohistorical texts. She loves the simple act of reading, of being transported, ofassimilating knowledge and understandingthings.

Stories are what really captivate her though: strongand vibrant heroines and the men who support them, toppling evil empires andmaking their worlds safe forever after.

She also likes to knit, though she hasn’t had a chanceto do that in a very long time. Yarn has been hard to come by recently.

Celandine:

PhotoAlbum: Describe one of your OC’s favorite memories:

Probably the first time she felt like the Lunch Bunchwere really her friends, and not just humoring her or setting her up to be meanto her later, all of them laughing together at their lunch table.

UFO:Identity! What are some of key identifying traits of your OCs? How do theyidentify in regards to gender/sexuality?

Celandine is a 13-year-old super genius, so her intelligenceand creativity, her inventions, are what she puts the most emphasis on. Sexualitywise, she’s 13, so she’s still exploring, but she’s definitely had crushes onboys and girls and enbies before, so she thinks she might be pan.

Interiors:Describe your OC’s bedroom/home/place they consider theirs? What’s in it? Docertain items have special significance to your OC?

Celandine’s room is a little small, even by gnomishstandards, made smaller by her insistence of having an entire workbench in herroom, stocked with tools and materials. Her bookshelf is full to bursting, withmore books stacked on top—fantasy novels intermingled with instruction manualsand text books—and on every other available surface, her projects are laid outin various stages of readiness. Half-finished music boxes balanced on herbooks, her armor on the bed, the heelies she’s working on the actual workbench,and whatever is currently taking her fancy balanced on her lap as she sits inalmost the perfect center of her room.

The only part of her room that’s clean is her dresserand her closet—she keeps that meticulous. Clothes are the last thing she wantsto worry about, so she makes it so she can just grab an acceptable outfit andgo in the morning.

The walls are covered in band posters and schematics,with the one from Kaylie’s last word tour pasted right above her bed. She doeslove music, so she, of course, has a radio that she “fixed” on her bedsidetable, and it is always on while she works.

Lyra:

Fragrance: What does your OC smell like?

Lyra doesn’t wear fragrance—perfumeheralds your arrival as much as an errant step can—and all her soaps arelikewise unscented. So she smells of the leather she wears (leather gloves,jerkin, boots), and the polish she uses on every one of her weapons after takingthem to the whetstone, and possibly, after spending so much time in the crow’snest and at the bow of the Star Song as it races through the skies, a littlebit like a strong headwind.

Parachute: who does your OC trust the most? Who makes themfeel safe? Who would they do absolutely anything for?

There are exactly 8 people in theworld Lyra trusts at all, 8 people she will drop everything to help if theyneed it. Her old party: Arannis, Cora, Atrauk and Haskell, Esssstefan, the Yuan-Tiwho taught her how to fly, Elissssabeth, Lucien, and the milliner who makes herhats in Kamery.

But it’s none of them individually thatmake her feel safe, though having her party at her back helped, as does Lucienwhen he brings her back from a panic attack. The first time she ever felt safeafter the catastrophe in Kamery was when she and her party took the airship upfor the first time. It’s probably the only time she feels safe at all, really,when they’re a thousand feet off the ground and the world below looks small andinsignificant, and she knows nothing down there can touch her.

Psyche: what’s their headspace like? Do they have any mentalillnesses? How do they process difficult or emotional situations? What aretheir coping mechanisms. Lyra’s headspace is… dark, for lack of a better word. Functional, but not muchelse. She spent quite a lot of her time scraping by on the streets of Kamery,in all kinds of deprivation before she was swept up by one of the more highprofile gangs as a sort of catchall, though her expertise was infiltration andtheft, and the occasional murder. She can manage to charm a pigeon into herhand for a small amount of time, but she is just as like to stab them as liftthe thing she needs from them.

Blackthorne tried to hone her into anunquestioning weapon in his arsenal, using pain and necessities as punishmentand reward, and mostly succeeded. The rest of the Magpies—Cyrene in particulartried remind her she was a person, but Lyra pretty much snapped when they alldied around her, killed at Blackthorne’s orders.

So basically, Lyra has some prettymajor PTSD and an inability to handle more complex emotions. So mostly shejust… doesn’t process them. She shoves them back into the recesses of her mindand tries to remain more or less emotionless. It doesn’t work, obviously, butshe has managed to make it so she doesn’t have emotional responses like onemight think. And they always come out in her nightmares and occasional panicattacks.  

She’s gotten better since Lucien hascome into her life; forcing her to talk about them, just being at her back; halfof Lucien’s job is to play therapist after Lyra has a particularly bad episode.He keeps her from breaking apart into a million pieces.

Otherwise, Lyra meditates onoccasion, and keeps her skills sharp. She makes sure she’s never anywherewithout a weapon—which has become easier since she gained some magic of herown—and keeps daggers hidden all throughout her room. She counts them beforeshe goes to sleep, making sure that they’re able to be slid out of theirsheaths and be in her hand at a moment’s notice. And woe to the crewman whotries to slip into her room while she’s asleep without announcing themselves;their like to get a dagger in the eye for their trouble.

Maggie:

Conspiracy theory: what are your OC’sbeliefs? Are they skeptics or do they believe easily? Who acts on blind faith,who needs to see to believe?

Maggie’s relationship with religionis… complicated. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in Avacyn—she sees the magicpriests have, and she assume it has to come from somewhere—but she does distrustthe church, perhaps even the Goddess herself, and has a hard time believing thatthey have the people’s best interests at heart. After all, they’re in power now,and people in power very often will do anything to keep it.

Maggie does also tend to be a bit ofa skeptic, at least when it comes to people, but she knows magic can make quitea few things possible, and that the world is a complex place. Even seeingsomething doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s real. Shooting star: If your OC could have onewish, what would it be?

To see her father again.

Any:

Lighting: Who is the most impulsivecharacter? Who is their impulse control?

Honestly, I love impulsive characters?So more often than not my character is going to just say “fuck it” and do whatthey want. Basically because I have no impulse control myself. I think Az’ar andOriana might be the only charactersof mine who doesn’t give into their impulses more often than the do.

But of my other characters, I thinkWhisper, Lyra and Celandine might be the most impulsive. Whisper is held backby Thia and Oriana and her mother’s voice in her head, Celandine is pretty muchheld back exclusively by Caela (the poor girl), and right now Lyra doesn’t haveanyone to hold her back—maybe Lucien, but crew seems to be just as bad as sheis—she’s had to learn how to hold herself back, now that Arannis and Atrauk andCora aren’t around to council her to be careful.  

Love note: who likes who? Crushes? Relationships? Are theymutual or unrequited?

I think of all my D&D characters,Wren is the only one who is actually in a relationship, and whose love is requited.In fact, finding Narissa, who was taken back to the Feywild, is her wholereason for going on this adventure.

Whisper expects her attraction to mostof the party is mutual—why wouldn’t they be attracted to her, she’s gorgeousand clever and an absolute delight—but the feelings she may or may not have forsome of them she expects are completely unrequited.

Celandine is 13 and has basically hadbrief crush on half the school, though her most enduring one is on KaylieShorthalt, who is also her favorite singer. Since Kaylie and Celandine areyears and years apart and have never actually met, it’s safe to say that’sunrequited.

Lyra has something for Arannis. She refusesto think about it and stubbornly tells herself that it’s just admiration andrespect and friendship, but even if it were mutual, Lyra would never let ithappen. Chess Board: who is the most logical? Orthe schemer/planner?

Az’ar, Lyra and Celandine are all schemers.They’ve all got plans for days, though Lyra less so than she used to. EvenWhisper has schemes of her own, though they’re mostly borrowed from Ignatius’play book. Az’ar is probably the most logical of them all though.

Wild card:

I stole this question from another askmeme, and, well, as someone who loves angst, I couldn’t resist:  Is your character afraid of death? Ifthey got to choose how to die, how would they want to go?

I think, of all my characters, onlyOriana is not scared of death to some extent or another. Az’ar is so terrifiedof it that she’d kill the god of death to secure immortality, and Whisper woulddo almost anything to avoid it herself, at least until her appointed time.

But Oriana would like to die inbattle, Whisper would prefer to die completing her mission, Maggie merely wantsto die ‘doing the right thing’, and I think Lyra has no preference. She’shonestly surprised she continues to breathe. But she expects to go down in ablaze of glory with the Star Song when the years finally catch up with her.

[promisedangel]

Dollywood Review

Welp, now I know one of my friends knows of my Tumblr, so I kinda have to put this up.

Tuesday: -Travel day. Drove from home to Tennesse in about ten hours with the stops. Made more than we should have, but that’s mostly because one gas station was being a pain with my card, so I cash prepaid a bit and then got out of there cuz I was pissed at the damn machine. -Was snowing when we left our home in Ohio. Once we got near Cincinnati, no more snow! NO MORE SNOW! -Lovely scenery on the way to Pigeon Forge. -Once again, my mind saves me from boredom. I wanted to put Critical Role on in the car, but with three other people, it would be a captive audience. y mind instead went to dumb and fantasy scenarios to pass the time as I shuffled the music on my phone. -HOLY SHIT Pigeon Forge is such a tourist trap! There’s so much stuff to do there! We only went for Dollywood, but we are considering going back to do more touristy things. -The hotel we stayed at, the Music Road Hotel, was GORGEOUS! We loved it. Beds were a bit weird for me; I kept tossing and turning one night, and I think it was the firmness of the bed. Dunno. -After we got settled, we heard about this alpine coaster, which is a track that uses the mountainside to have a coaster-like experience. The one we heard of first, Pigeon Forge Alpine Coaster, was unfortunately closed for seasonal repairs. BUT, it was set to reopen Friday, the day we leave. We decided to do it then. -Went down the road some more and found ANOTHER alpine coaster not too far from the first one. It was called the “Goat Coaster” at Goats on the Roof of the Smokey Mountains. Loved it, great start. -Went to a place called Calhoun’s for dinner. Pretty good place. Had my only glass of booze for the whole trip there. I liked my chicken sandwich, but I wish they put honey mustard on it. -Went back to the hotel and found out one of my friends brought his Nintendo Switch! We played Mario Kart until it was time for bed. We had Dollywood in the morning!~

Wednesday: -The first day of Dollywood! -Decent breakfast at the hotel. Too used to bacon, cuz they had none and I was sad. They had some good tea, though! -Got to everything we wanted to, so this’ll be the long one. -CUBBIES! Oh my gods. Every single ride had cubbies for stuff! Love it! -Played Pokemon Go a lot of the time at Dollywood in between rides. Got a lot of pokemon and powered up a couple I already had. Got my first Moltres there <3 -First up was Lightning Rod. Pretty fun ride. Has a lot of airtime that kinda jerks you a bit. Could do with a little more padding but it doesn’t really hurt ya. -Had some fun doing some flat rides. The Carousel, bumper cars, swings, sky rider, Dizzy Disk. Pretty fun. -Went and got some of the supposedly famous cinnamon bread. It was good, but not overly so. But that’s also not the thing I’m overly into. -Brainstormer was fun, always good to have a giant swing ride. -Saw the park had its own Bald Eagle preserve and displayed some other birds like owls, hawks, and a raven! You never know how big ravens actually are until you see one! They’re twice as big as you think they are. Beautiful birds. -Blazing Fury was kinda boring dark ride. It was interesting to have a fire figther theme, but they didn’t really do much with it. -The Tenesse Tornado was really fun! Even though it was mostly just a few loops. Short, but sweet. But the walk to the loading station was so darn long! Kinda common for these rides. -Wild Eagle! Probably one of my favorite rides in the park! Nice wing coaster with awesome airtime and the turns take you by surprise in the back! -Firechaser Express was a fun little family ride. The surprise backward part was fun! -Drop Line was a fun little drop tower that spun you on the way up! Still think the one in King’s Island was better. -Had some trouble with Thunderhead at first. It’s an older wooden coaster so younger coaster enthusiasts will think it’s bumpy. Take my advice that I learned on the second day; sit in the back, it’s tamer back there and you get sweet airtime on the turns. -We hit the water rides next cuz it was in the seventies and we didn’t want to do  them the second day cuz it dropped to the fifties. We hit River Rampage first. We didn’t get as soaked as we were expecting, but most of our pants were soaked while our tops were mildly so. The ride also teased times we could have gotten soaked. -Daredevil Falls also didn’t get us too soaked. Two of us stood on the bridge to purposefully get soaked. Also, one of the operators noticed two of us wearing brony t-shirts and commented positively in a way we didn’t get at first but we laughed at regardless. -Rockin’ Roadway was one of those nice little automated car rides. Just nice. -Relaxed on the Dollywood Express. Got a little history of the area and park with a couple laughs. It was a real steam engine, too, so there was a bit of soot and some of us had to cover their mouths. Still found some soot on our clothes after we returned to the hotel. -The Mystery Mine was closed until near the end of the day cuz of mechanical issues. So we hit it last. This ride had the best theming in the park and was fun overall. Pretty lite in intensity until the end, but it can bump your head around a bit if you’re not careful. -After the park closed, we changed out of any wet clothes at the hotel and went out to dinner. The same guy who brought the Switch found this restaurant called the Old Mill and it was AWESOME. Good southern three-course meal for about $20 per person. Had some authentic southern sweet tea with it. Started with corn fritters, salad, and corn chowder. Didn’t care for the chowder but the fritters were so good! Next was our main dishes. I got the country fried ham and OH MY GODS IT WAS LIKE I WAS EATING A GIANT PIECE OF BACON IT WAS SO GOOD! We also got dessert. I got a good chocolate cake while two of our group had a blackberry cobbler that they said they would sell someone’s soul for. Seriously. If you ever go to Pidgeon Forge for any reason, eat here! -Relaxed in the room with more Switch before bed.

Thursday: -This was our relax day. We took things slower and rerode anything we wanted to and ignored what we didn’t. Wild Eagle eventually got closed for the day, but not before we rode it a couple times. -We took our time and did some shopping. Bought a necklace for my moirail and two plushies, a sheep and a fox. THE SHEEP IS SO ADORABLE and the fox is prety cute too. -Since we did Pokemon Go things, three of us did a raid which we won! But I was the only one who didn’t get the pokemon from it! I was so pissed. -We ate at the buffet in the park for an early dinner. Funny story about it. The guys wanted to reride the flat rides, but the girls of the group didn’t. We decided to split off and do our own thing and meet at the buffet. So, the guys went on the teacups and one of them spun the cup as fast as he could. We found that he got the other one kinda sick cuz of it. Our waitress at the buffet, Charla, was so concerned about him, asking if there was something she could do to help. He just walked outside the buffet a couple of times and got better. We eventually chatted with her throughout the meal. Lovely woman. -On the note of customer service, we loved the rumored ‘southern hospitality’! Everyone was so nice and things were served quickly! I swear, if someone was rude to the Dollywood staff, ESPECIALLY CHARLA, I swear I will physically manifest into the park and punch them in the face! They were nothing but nice, giving us directions when we mildly expressed some confusion among other things. -The buffet was good. Mac and cheese was a bit bland, but the mashed potatoes and the turkey were so good!! I regret not eating half of my second slice of turkey, but I wanted to save room for dessert. Then after I ate dessert, I had room, and I know I could have finished off the turkey T.T -Finished off with more rides on Lightning Rod before running to the bakery and sweet shops at the front of the park for some chocolate truffles, cookies, and cupcakes at the hotel. We were gonna get some monkey bread, but they were out of over an hour before we got to the shop. I got some truffles and a giant cookie. They were good. -We relaxed back at the hotel and began to pack up a bit to help ourselves in the morning.

Friday: -We had a nice surprise when we went down for breakfast at the hotel. This guy was down there with a cockatoo and another small bird i forget the name of! We was advertising this interactive bird zoo thing and we got to play with the birds! This guy next to us was playing with one of the birds when we had the other one. It was clear he was a bird guy. He flipped the small one onto his back and gave him belly scratches. He snuggled the cockatoo and gave her neck scratches. They were in heaven. The cockatoo liked to nibble lightly at our sweatshirts and was pretty chill. The other guy liked to explore and zip to our shoulders. He even gave one of us kisses! I was so jealous. -We went to the alpine coaster that was closed. It was a lot of fun. Better than the one at Goats on the Roof, but both of them were still fun. -We said our goodbyes to Pidgeon Forge and headed home. Got stuck in some Cinncinatti traffic, but we were fine other than that. Arrived later than I would have liked, but we also kinda stopped a lot so that’s on us.

Overall, good trip!

[jimlingss]

His Name [6]

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 Words: 3.7k Genre: Angst, Multiple Personality!Au Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a puzzle with too many missing pieces from his past and too many sides. Somehow, it’s become your job to solve him. → Inspired by the Korean Drama - Kill Me Heal Me Warnings: Topics of mental health. Mentions of death, suicide and medical disorders. Mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Disclaimer: Although this piece of work required lots of in-depth research and was attempted to be as accurate as possible, at the end of the day, I am not a psychologist and this is fanfiction. Specific things may be altered or exaggerated for story-telling purposes. Please take all medical terminologies and procedures with a grain of salt. 

Cr.

“What are you thinking about?”

You tilt your head, peeking at the concentrated profile of his face.

“Hm?” He doesn’t look at you, eyes glued outside the window and the fast-paced moving sceneries. “Nothing.”

There’s no therapeutic purpose, no reasons or explanations. This morning when you awoke, there was nothing but a sudden urge to go out with Jungkook, not as a romantic date of course, but a simple outing. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just with him and no one else. No obligations or duties.

He agreed happily, wanting to escape the nightmare of his life and the both of you jumped onto a train together. Two tickets, nothing but the clothes on your back and with no idea where you’re heading. It wasn’t until three hours had passed where the train stopped at its last station - a tiny town and empty rolling hills.

“This is…” You’re in awe, mouth agape as you stare at your surroundings.

Jungkook soaks in the vibrant emerald colour of the fields.. “...beautiful.” He finishes for you and you both take off onto the small streets.

“This is not as bad as I thought it would be.”

He laughs. “What did you think?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, looking into the windows of the trinket shops. “I thought we’d end up at an industrialized factory or somewhere completely deserted with no way back and no one around.”

He smiles, teeth shown as his eyes crinkle. “Thank god then. Hey look at this, Y/N!”

Jungkook pulls open a beryl door, the scent of bread and cakes wafting into your nose and your eyes light up. There’s not a second that goes to waste before the both of you enter the bakery. From there, the two of you laugh and giggle together, walking into the odd shops while piquing curiosity from the owners, not used to strangers in the small part of their community.

“Hey.” He nudges you with a lift of his eyebrow, mischievousness painted blatantly across his features. “First person to eat all their ice-cream, the other has to pay for another one.”

“What?” You look down at the creamsicle in your hand. “Why would I do that?!”

He pouts, “Because it’s fun.”

You stare at him like he’s psychotic….until you finally give in with a huff, his puppy eyes hitting your most vulnerable parts. “Fine.”

The moment the word leaves your mouth, he goes to town, shoving his entire ice cream cone into his mouth. You laugh hysterically, biting your teeth into the coldness to scream out in pain. He grunts out, the both of you rolling onto the ground as your brain freezes. “Jeon Jungkook! You and your stupid challenge!” Spit unattractively spews past your mouth but he doesn’t care, simply dying of laughter as the cone is crushed in his hands.

Pigeons begin to flock at his feet, nipping at the pieces that have fallen to the ground. “Cheater!” You shout out as he continues despite the excruciating pain in his head. It fuels you harder not to lose.

“Am not!” He retorts childishly, hands a complete mess. The melted parts of your own treat are dripping off your fingers.

By the time the both of you are finished, Jungkook’s won. But in a way, he’s the one who loses as he grabs his head, shouting at his frozen brain. You clutch your stomach as it churns mercilessly at how you threw it down your pipe. Both your teeth are aching from biting into the ice. “Not worth it.”

“No, it is.” He huffs out before standing up weakly. He raises his hands to the sky, face impassive as he declares- “I won.”

You laugh, waving him off. In the end, he decides not to eat more ice-cream. You keep your five bucks.

Hours and hours pass on the run down paths, bantering and joking around until you walk off to the grassy hills.

“There’s something that I never told you.” You plop down onto the meadow, staring at Heaven’s blue canvas. “It’s not important and it doesn’t really matter but I want to finish what I started.”

“What is it?” Jungkook takes his seat next to you, lips pouted as he looks at you in interest. “Is there something wrong?”

“No....well…” It takes one giant inhale that fills your lungs before you muster up the courage. The past has always been kept hidden, under a black veil and away from the light. And now, there’s never been a better time for you to finally confront it - your soul has never been more at peace. “The reason I became a psychologist...why I chose this path…”

The memories are still as plain as day. The images of him smiling, of you running after him and calling his name. The youth and naive years are almost tangible at your fingertips.

Though underneath his wide grin and below his mask was pain and utter suffering. You knew.

You had seen the bruises on his arms, the black eyes, the cuts on his face that he dismissed as clumsy accidents. His red, swollen bags that told you he cried himself to sleep again. You had seen his father passed out onto the couch, fist battered blue and the numerous, empty bottles rolling on the floor. The cigarette buds burning in his hand matched the burns on his son’s arms.

Seonho’s entire life was full of blood and scars, beatings and insults. He was abandoned by his mother, left in a home where his limbs were chained down and he couldn’t escape; a nightmarish reality. Yet, he still found reason to laugh and smile, maybe as a way to trick himself that life would get better. But he helped you. He gave you a reason to believe after your own father had passed ‘it’ll get better’, ‘I’m here for you’, ‘you’re not alone’.

And though he helped you - you couldn't help him.

“I tried to understand why his own father would do that to him.” You’re lying on the grass, staring up at the boundless sky - your freedom that doesn’t at all make you feel free. “I wanted to shoulder his burdens.”

You were a coward. You couldn’t find any strength to confront his father and it didn’t feel like your place to. But there were so many days you clenched your fist, wanting nothing more than to hit him back as many times as you could, scream in his face and shake him until he realized how badly he was causing pain to his own son.

Time eventually passed whether you wanted it to or not. Seonho was eventually able to run from that house but you knew the past still chased him like shadows of the night. His physical wounds had mended and though you couldn’t help with the scars - with desperation, you wanted to heal him mentally. You knew you could do it; stitch his heart, fit the pieces of his soul like a puzzle back together.

And though you rushed with all your might, it was too late.

“I didn’t hear from him for three days.” A tiny sigh floats from your parted lips and you can feel Jungkook’s stare boring into your skin. “It turned out..he went back and he…”

“He killed his father.”

Thus began the endless game of ‘what if’.

What if you had done something sooner? What if you had been more than a lending ear and leaning shoulder? What if you had stopped him in time? What if you could’ve done something years before?

You should’ve told someone. Even if police sirens were heard down the street and Seonho told you nothing had happened the next day, even if the teachers had turned a blind eye, even if it seemed like no one cared. Maybe if you had reached out hard enough, plunged yourself into the ocean - a hand would’ve reached out to help.

What if you could have been that helping hand?

Perhaps Seonho wouldn’t be sitting in orange, trapped in a room behind iron bars.

“I loved him.”

It’s the first time you admit it outloud. It’s liberating.

But it hurts so much to breathe. “I loved him….so much.”

Jungkook swallows hard, removing his gaze from you to the wispy clouds that hide the sun. “Do you still love him?”

“I-...I don’t know.”

He doesn’t respond. You can’t find it in yourself to say anything more.

The two of you stay laid down, drowning in the serenity and feeling the warm breeze twirling through the strands of your hair, kissing your blooming cheeks. You imagine what it’s like to lead a simpler life without any troubles. It seems like a far-away fantasy that you can only dream of.

Eventually, the both of you stand up to leave. There is no choice but to return to the place you call ‘home’.

As you and Jungkook walk back to the train station, his hand reaches out.

He hesitates, the tips of his fingers grazing your wrist….and then he pulls back. You pretend not to notice but you do. There’s a simmering desire in the pits of your chest, to grab his hand and twine your fingers together, but the boundary is a glass barrier. You have your place and he has his.

He looks away and you do too - hoping that he doesn’t notice your bitten lips and the million regrets clouding your eyes.

//

“After my mother died….” Jungkook is leaning back in the armchair, hands clasped together in his lap and his lids are closed. “I remember…..standing outside a door.”

“What colour is the door?”

“White.”

You ask him carefully. “What are you doing there?”

“I knock...twice. But there’s no answer. I know he’s in there and I call out for him.” He can see it - ‘dad?’ - the disappointment he feels - no answer - the confusion of where his mother is. “Then someone takes my hand and tells me that he’s busy. I’m dragged away.”

“What do you remember after that?”

“He….. negl...ected me.” Jungkook whispers out in realization, his eyes open wide. “He left me. After my relatives left - he didn’t even talk to me.”

“Take a deep breath. Calm down, Jungkook.” You speak calmly and he nods, swallowing hard while sitting back in his seat. “What happened?”

His hands have grasped onto the images. A recollection storms into his mind, blaring and screaming at him. Slowly but surely, Jungkook is recapturing what has been lost.

“My father...he wanted to get remarried...so I...I-..” His face twitches, his brows furrow deeper and it’s a bare murmur that leaves his mouth. “I ran away.”

“You ran away. Did you bring anything with you? Did you tell anyone?”

“No...I didn’t tell anyone. I-....don’t remember. My head hurts, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. Try your best to trace back to the last thing you recall. Give me details if you can.”

Jungkook relaxes, chest heaving slightly. “An alleyway. It’s dark. I feel scared. I think I want to go home but I continue walking because-….I don’t know. But then there’s a car and I can’t see. The headlights are burning into my eyes, the tires screech on the pavement and two men come out. They...they…”

“What did they do to you?” You whisper out, afraid of what he’s about to say.

“They…”

“They...kidnapped me.” He opens his eyes, head falling into his lap as he groans in agony. “Y/N...it hurts. My head. I-I….”

You move over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders as his eyes meet yours. “Jungkook. Listen to me. You’re going to be okay. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Before you can ask him if he’s comfortable with stopping, he nods and continues. “They kidnapped me...I remember sitting at the back of the van, blindfolded and my hands...my hands are tied together.”

“Can you recall what happened after that?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I remember the police. The lights. Returning back home. And my dad. He….” A drawn out pause before he whimpers. “He hurt me.”

Your next words drown in his ears and he shudders. Darkness, limbs in pain. Bruises on his arm. He cannot open his right eye. His nose is bleeding. He’s shaking in fear, terrified at the looming shadow casted down from the staircase. It’s his father, standing there...crying. The tears mark his face but he’s expressionless. His eyes are stone cold. “I’m s-s..or..ry. Dad. Don’t….”

“...hit me.” He whimpers. “Ple-...ase! It’s not my….fault. I didn’t mean to!”

Jungkook thrashes in your arms, crying hysterically and you grab him in an embrace.

“Jungkook! Listen to me!” You call over and over again, desperately in a mantra. He struggles against you, eyes still shut and face twisted pale. “You’re here! You’re with me! Nothing’s going to happen. You’re safe.”

He pushes you off as if his life depends on it, blind in complete panic.

“Don’t! Please! I didn’t mean to. No! NO!”

“You’re safe. You’re safe.” You murmur, moving to tighten your arms around his shoulders. He trembles against your touch. “You’re safe.” His eyes shoot open, chest still heaving with gasps. His pounding heartbeat pulverizes his eardrums. But he hears you - and listens.

“You’re safe with me.”

Jungkook clutches onto you, fistfuls of your sweater in desperation. He keeps you as close as possible. You’re as shaken as he is, digging your face into his shoulder. The remnants of his tears falls onto the wooden floorboards. The two of you hang onto each other, never letting go as silence covers the breaths taken. You can only wonder: at what cost has this all come to?

The memories have returned. The past is as clear as yesterday. But Jungkook knows-…

There’s still a very important part of the puzzle missing.

//

Anger; it’s not even a word that can begin to describe the hatred that sews itself within your stomach, a red tide of fury that constricts your chest and makes it difficult to blink. When you open your eyes, all you see is red. When you close them, you envision a smaller Jungkook, cowering in the dark away from his father and crying out for help.

Maybe it’s your own guilt. Maybe you’re trying to redo the past, fix your mistakes that you made with Seonho. All you know is that this time, you can’t just stand by and simply watch. You can’t take another chance at ‘what if’.

The door is kicked down, slamming against the wall. “Miss Y/N!” The secretary screams behind you. “Please!”

You already know that you’re pushing the boundary barrier.

You’re getting too involved.

Jungkook’s father looks up from his desk, brow moving upwards at your abrupt entrance. “Nice to see you too. It’s fine, Jen. Leave.” She hesitates, sending you a glare and a second look to him before grabbing the knob and closing the door. “Take a seat, Miss Y/N. Is there something wrong that you bombarded into my office in such a way?”

Your hand is curled into a fist, jaw clenched. It takes four strides for you to reach his desk and lean over, face to face with the man. “Did you hit him?”

He scoffs, surprised at your sudden question. “Excuse me?”

“Did you abuse your son?” Each word is spoken like bitter knives, heavy on your tongue and past gritted teeth. “Why?”

His eyes are cold, looking right through your own as if you’re transparent glass. “It is none of your business if I did or did not.” He spits out. “Just do your job.”

A silent whisper of shock. “Disgusting.”

His voice raises in volume. “What?”

“You’re disgusting.” You step back, appalled to the bone and sick to your stomach. “Do you know what you’ve done?” Mr. Jeon stands up from his chair, ignoring the papers that fall from his desk, floating to the carpet. There’s a lump in your throat, tears filling your eyes. It’s a calm before the storm, bare murmurs that leave your lips. “Do you even know what kind of harm you’ve caused him? Are you aware?”

Jungkook’s father directs a hardened glare towards you, furrowed brows and a knot between them. “Get. out. of. my. office.”

You ignore his command, staggering towards him. “Why? WHY?!” You shout, a scream that roars through your throat, one full of agony. You grab him by the collar of his shirt, shaking him silly like a rag doll. Yet, he does not falter, eyes frozen as he tries to pry your grip off of him.

“Get off of me!”

For a second, it feels like you’ve returned five years to the past; the dream that plagued you a million times over, Seonho’s father in your grasps - a path you never took. “Do you know what you’ve done?! He can never be the same again. You ruined him! His past, his future! You destroyed it all.”

Hot tears stream down your face, rage that ties it’s string around your throat, playing you like a puppet. You’re shouting, crying out loud at the top of your lungs. His knuckles are white, digging into your skin and finally, he pushes you off of him. Your back slams against the wall and you fall to the ground. The door immediately opens, his secretary looking on with wide eyes and mouth fallen open. But Jungkook’s father simply dusts off his suit and looks at her, speaking calmly- “call security.”

He’s not Seonho’s father. He isn’t and he will never be.

That doesn’t make his crime any less or any more. You might’ve not seen Jungkook’s physical scars, battered hands or bleeding noses, but the damage is still there. You know. The wounds are internal. And they can’t be healed on their own or with bandages.

He’s being chased by nightmares, shadows of his past. His soul is fragmented, fractured and split into seven. You know. You’re the one who's been trying to fit the puzzle pieces back together.

You know. But why can’t you do anything?

“Let me go!” You cry out loud, struggling against the hands that haul you out. “You’ve broken him! Do you know what you’ve done?!”

The door shuts in your face. You’re dragged by your limbs, thrown out the building. The concrete meets your hands and tears.

The boundary cracks.

//

It’s not easy to hide. Not when he’s looking right at you and you can’t do much to cover your swollen eyes or shaking hands. “Y/N.” He rushes over, nearly tripping on his feet. His face is writhed in concern, in worry and he puts his firm hands on your shoulders, making you look into his eyes. “What happened?!”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook sighs tiredly before he hesitantly moves his arms around your body. You give in without any protests, needing an embrace and a comfort that you know only he can offer you. Your hands stop shaking as you grab onto the fabric of his shirt, head leaning against his chest.

The split of the boundary wall grows, rigid groves that mark the once clear surface.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into the quiet.

Your ear tunes to his pounding heart….thump...thump...thump. “Why are you apologizing? I should be the one...apologizing.”

He pleads, “Y/N. Tell me what happened.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not my place but I...” You flutter your eyes shut, still holding him close. “I spoke to your father.”

He doesn’t respond, the stillness of the air suddenly making you tense. You pull away from him and Jungkook is stuck in his spot, eyes glued to the wall. “You…...You’re crying because of my dad.”

“He...he...he hurt you-…” The words struggle to leave his mouth. “didn’t he?”

“Jungkook.” You call him calmly but he doesn’t hear. “Jungkook, I’m fine. Listen to me.”

“My father hurt you.”

He grunts out, screaming as his fist clenches. He hits the wall, damaging his hand, turning to a hue of blue. When you shout at him to stop, throwing yourself at his body, he pushes you away. Jungkook doesn’t look back, rushing to the door and you’re afraid. Deathly afraid of what he’ll do to people, to his father - if he’ll repeat the same mistakes as Seonho did. You’re afraid not of him but for him.

“Jungkook.” You stop him from opening the front door, standing in his way.

A shout tears through his throat, past his closing throat. “Move!”

“No.” You plead in desperation. “Don’t go. Please.”

“Y/N-....move...m-..ove.”

His face contorts, shoulders tensing. He groans. He whimpers. He fights the alter that pries it’s way to consciousness. Jungkook looks at you once more with his eyes welled up with tears before they flicker. His body relaxes. He changes.

Your breath hitches. It’s him.

His orbs are stone cold.

“Move.” His husky tone is calm but menacing. He is unlike the person you know, not needing to show his anger but let it simmer within him, nursing it into a bigger flame. His command is a simple one, a powerful one that nearly makes you step aside but you stand your ground.

“No.”

“Y/N.” He steps forward, expressionless but somehow full of melancholy at the same time.

“Don’t go. Please.”

He gazes at you tenderly. You look back into his irises with the same intensity and somehow his eyes once cold have grown warm. His hand slowly raises, outstretched to your face; perhaps to allow the pad of his thumb to gently graze against your cheek. But then with a flash of thought, of sadness, he withdraws it. He takes a step back and abides to your will. Don’t go.

He turns around but you catch his hand within yours, something lodged inside your throat. It’s hopelessness and it aches within your heart. The corners of his lips upturns as you twine your fingers through his. Don’t go.

It feels like he’ll slip away. You’ll never see him again. He’ll withdraw back into the darkness and stay there for eternity, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for a hand to reach out but you know - you are that hand.

You will lead him into the light.

Tell me. Please. I want to know. I want to help you.

“Who are you?”

He never stops looking at you - holding your hand as if you’re fragile - tracing each of your features with his softened eyes. And with one final sigh, he gives in to your unwavering will.

The nameless man is no longer nameless. “Yoongi.”

“I am…Jungkook’s dead brother.”  

[the-pontiac-bandit]

and the dish ran away with the spoon

okay. here it is. if you’ve been wondering why i’ve been posting about geese for so long, this is why. it’s The Goose AU. based on this joke prompt sent to me by the lovely @lovelycraters (who also drew ABSOLUTELY AMAZING ART for this that imma make her post asap). all the thanks to @startofamoment, who helped me world-build and egged me on from a dumb 3-sentence response to this and to @jakelovesamy for listening to me whine and googling yacht clubs in nyc and obscure latvian dishes. and to @wrenjamin​ who has listened to me develop a severe goose phobia over the past several weeks THOSE THINGS HAVE T E E T H YALL 

For Terry, it was a falcon. A dark, oversized, absolutely majestic (at least, according to Terry) bird landed on his windowsill every day for a week, disappearing as he got dressed in the morning, until Sunday morning, when it tapped on his window gently with its beak, asking for entry. It led him to the farmers’ market, where he bumped into Sharon, also in line to buy locally-sourced honey.

For Charles, it was a dog, a mutt who ran up and started humping his leg in the middle of the grocery store. It wasn’t until he’d taken the dog home, when none of his neighbors seemed aware of its presence, that Charles realized that this particular stray was meant to lead him to his soulmate. Twelve days later, on a walk, the dog dragged him to an exotic food truck he’d been in search of for almost a year, where Genevieve was doling out Latvian frikadelu zipa.

For Gina, it was a panther, large and sleek. It twined around her legs for a day, prompting her to frequently and dramatically strut around the precinct, bragging about jeweled collars and fur as smooth and voluminous as her own perfectly-conditioned hair. The squad resisted the urge to point out that none of the rest of them could appreciate the apparent magnificence of the panther – Gina may live her life out loud, but they’d never seen her this transparently happy. That night, the panther accompanied her to watch a dark, curly mane of hair win a motorcycle race for which her love was the prize.

Given these experiences, Jake is fully prepared for a majestic, dignified lone wolf. Obviously, it would be large enough for him to ride like a horse straight to Diamond Point Yacht Club, where a gorgeous speedboat model would be lounging in the sun, her own wolf napping beside her.

These expectations are why, when a goose lands in his passenger seat on a mundane overcast Monday morning, Jake’s first emotion is annoyance.

Cursing his windows, which never close, he tries to shoo the bird away. This is far from his first unwanted avian passenger – pigeons seem to be regularly attracted to the various unhealthy delicacies that sit in his glove console – so he’s become an expert at shooing birds out the window one-handed with his eyes on the road.

Much to his deep annoyance, the goose won’t leave.

That should have tipped him off, he tells everyone later. Terry reminds him that hindsight is 20/20, Gina tells him that any true dazzledove would have known instantly, and all he can think is that he should have gotten more sleep – maybe then he would have put things together quickly enough to make a better decision.

Instead of embracing this goose, who was nuzzling affectionately at his elbow resting on the console, Jake chooses a less advisable course of action. At the stoplight ten blocks from the precinct, he grabs it and dumps it unceremoniously into the bike lane.

He hears its squawks as he drives off, and he spares a moment to be thankful that he won’t have to keep listening to it – the loud, nasal squawks were ruining his already-awful Monday morning.  

It isn’t until he gets in the elevator to head up to work – only ten minutes late today – that he realizes he made a mistake. That’s when the goose reappears, standing next to him. He sees it, notices that not one other cop waiting for the elevator to come has reacted to the very large goose standing in the crowd, and starts to wonder. And then, it bites his ankle – hard, with a shockingly sharp set of teeth – and he groans aloud.

He’s not at all surprised when the goose hops into his lap before Terry starts the morning briefing. He’s doing his best to ignore this highly unfortunate development – he has no desire at all to admit to Gina that his wolf (which he’d already named Vendetta) had been replaced by an intrusive, vicious goose. Seeming to sense his thoughts, the goose hops up, beating its wings in his face so hard that he tips his chair backwards. Jake’s indignant shouts and flailing arms, swatting at something no one else can see, as well as the resulting crash when his chair tips backwards, leaving Jake lying on the floor with a goose sitting triumphantly on his chest (who knew geese were this heavy) is impossible to ignore. Charles is hovering over Jake, concerned about bruises and broken bones and bruises and brush burns – “They’re no joke, Jakey! You could scar that perfect skin!” – Jake decides to come clean.

“So, my animal may have…dropped in this morning,” he mumbles.

Charles gasps, tears springing to his eyes at the idea that his best friend will finally meet the love of his life.

Terry, from the front of the room whoops. “What is it? Come on – spill! You know Terry loves love!”

Gina, reclining with her feet in a beat cop’s lap and her nose in her phone in the back of the room, looks up. “Oh, goose!” she exclaims.

“Yup, that’s it. Did you guys know geese are the worst?” Jake mutters darkly, unceremoniously dumping the aforementioned goose on the ground as he stands up, brushing off his wrinkled flannel and showing Charles he’s still alive.

“What’s it?” Charles asks, a little confused. “Jakey, do you have a concussion? I didn’t even think to worry about a concussion!”

Charles is trying to make Jake follow his finger as he waves it wildly around Jake’s line of vision, and the chaos is all too much, and the goose is pecking at his toes through his shoes, as if testing to see if they’re edible. It’s a lot – especially for 9:21 in the morning.

He sighs. This was not how this was supposed to go. “My animal is a goose. A really mean goose,” he adds with a pointed look at his foot.

Terry smiles affectionately and starts babbling about personalities and animals and birds and the beauty of finding your match, and Charles starts to sob uncontrollably, talking about happiness and futures and the majestic nature of Vendetta the goose (Jake immediately regrets telling Charles the intended name of his wolf. Vendetta the goose sounds much less badass, much to his dismay). Gina just laughs.

Jake shuts his eyes, trying to pretend that the morning isn’t happening. Tragically, the goose, which has flown up to perch uncomfortably on top of his head, isn’t particularly interested in allowing him to forget.

It takes nearly twenty minutes to calm down Charles, with Terry holding him (a few tears leaking out of his own eyes as Charles sobs happily into his shirt, suspenders clutched in both hands). Gina live-tweets the whole thing. Jake wants someone to sink into the floor – whether he’d rather it be him or the goose, he truly isn’t sure.

Jake’s awful morning doesn’t improve as it progresses. Charles, sitting in the desk across from him, keeps staring at him for truly weird amounts of time, with a starry look in his eyes. He puts Genevieve on speakerphone, where they shout loudly about the beauty of new love over the din of angry Latvian construction workers placing their lunch orders.

Jake doesn’t make it out on any cases. His life has stalled over the appearance of the goose – he can’t concentrate on his cases, and the goose ate his X, H, and A keys while he was at lunch, so his progress on paperwork is slow and riddled with far more spelling errors than usual. Finally, mercifully, his shift ends, and he’s allowed to leave his desk, now covered in goose feathers that only he can see (there are so many feathers he’s convinced the goose must be pulling them out and putting them there on purpose, but he can’t prove it to anyone else).

Jake directs his car out of the parking lot and onto the street. Then, he pulls the goose onto his lap. “Okay. I can’t ride you, but you’re going to have to show me where this person is somehow. Try driving?”

The goose honks (Jake already hates this noise more than he hates listening to Charles talk about Genevieve’s hair) and grabs the steering wheel with its beak. Briefly, Jake is encouraged. Maybe the goose will drive and Jake can find whatever nerd he’s supposed to end up with (seriously, who ends up with a goose as their animal, he wonders sourly, pointedly ignoring the fact that he, too, has a goose as his animal). Then, exactly twenty yards into his experiment, the goose jerks the car right, doing his best to run them onto the sidewalk.

Jake slams on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt in the shoulder of the street, mere inches from a very solid-looking mailbox. He mutters a string of curses under his breath as he looks around on the street for another goose, hoping beyond hope that his goose turned right to find his match, rather than out of sheer malice. The lack of other people battling mean geese, as well as the self-satisfied expression on the face of his passenger, suggest otherwise.

Jake repeats the experiment twice more, on side streets where he’s less likely to accidentally hit a pedestrian. First, the goose tries to run him into a lamp post. Then, a giant statue of a teddy bear advertising a nearby toy store. Finally, Jake decides that geese must not be able to drive. When he releases his companion, the goose jumps, flapping his wings in Jake’s face (he gets a smelly mouthful of feathers when he protests) before heading for the passenger seat. For half a second, Jake thinks he’s headed out the still-open window, and his heart leaps. It’s only been eight hours and thirty-nine minutes, but Jake would already commit to a life of solitude where he never found a soulmate if that life lacked geese.

Unfortunately, the goose just lands on the interior door handle, lengthening his neck out the window and sticking his tongue out to catch the breeze like a very white, very feathery, very mean dog. Jake sighs and turns the car around to drive home – if he has to deal with the goose, he at least wants pizza and Die Hard to help.

Pizza and Die Hard do help, but only marginally. The goose dives in and licks a full half of the pizza before Jake can even touch it. Much to Jake’s frustration when he tries to feed the goose the spoiled pieces, geese don’t even seem to like pizza – apparently this particular goose just wanted to spite him. Then, the goose sits on the remote (Jake swears it’s on purpose) and turns off the TV thirty-eight minutes into the movie. Jake doesn’t really mind having to start it over – the first thirty-eight minutes are eternally rewatchable, but he’s still mad at the goose on principle.

Finally, mercifully, it’s time for bed. Jake manages to save his toothbrush from the goose, who has decided it would be an excellent idea to sit on Jake’s bathroom counter, carefully positioning its rear end over all of Jake’s toiletries. He also manages to save his favorite academy t-shirt from the goose, who grabs it for a game of tug-of-war. He manages to settle the goose in the hallway (an extended process that involves the sacrifice of several old t-shirts for a goose bed and a sprint for his bedroom door, which he locks, breathing hard after the sprint down the hall and hoping beyond hope that magical animals are unable to charm locks open), and he goes to bed, hoping that either his soulmate will be on his doorstep tomorrow or that the goose will be gone – he’d honestly settle for either.

But only thirty minutes after he drifts off to sleep, he wakes up to a loud squawk and a very warm weight on his chest. He groans and turns over, dumping the weight in the process.  For a second, his groggy brain thinks he’s solved the problem. And then, only centimeters from his ear, he hears the loudest squawk he’s ever heard in his life. He jumps up, startled, and hits his head on a surprisingly hard goose beak. The goose reels back with the impact before nipping Jake’s arm in retaliation. He has never sympathized with the stranglers he puts away before, but he thinks he finally gets it.

While murderous thoughts flood through his brain and he begins to consider asking Charles about the various ways to cook geese, wondering whether magical invisible animal flesh is edible, the goose hops off his bed and runs to the doorframe, looking back at him expectantly.

His first instinct is to bury his head back in his pillow and hope the goose goes back to bed. But then he remembers why he has a goose squatting in his studio apartment in the first place – is it possible it’s actually trying to be useful? Could it be that his soulmate is walking by outside at this very moment?

Jake is disgusted by the sappiness of the hope running through his brain, but this doesn’t stop him from rushing for his shoes and following the goose out the bedroom and towards the front door, with a quick stop in the hall bathroom to squeeze some toothpaste into his mouth. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is mussed, but he’s sure his soulmate won’t care – surely she’ll just be happy to get rid of the goose, too.

He sprints out the door, the goose nipping at his heels, urging him faster. He stubs his toe hard against the kitchen counter and bumps his head against the corner of his cabinets as he rounds the corner, but he makes it to the front door in eight seconds flat – a personal record. He slams through the entrance, already turning right to head for the staircase. It’s as he barrels down the hallway that he trips over the goose, wings spread wide and feathers fluffed to look as large as possible. He goes down hard, catching a large mouthful of dirty carpet, and rises to his feet, uttering a long string of curses that he’s sure will wake his neighbors, only to find that the goose is still blocking his path.

When he tries to approach, it squawks at him, all of its sharp teeth on prominent display, so Jake takes a few steps back, hands up. He tries some soothing words, muttering nothings about goose tacos and fried goose and goose sandwich in the most calming voice he knows, but as he takes his fifth step back towards his open apartment door, the goose flaps its way over his head (slapping him in the face with its legs in the process) and slams his door closed.

“Oh, God, that auto-locks,” Jake groans, his words slurred a little with sleep. He walks over and tries the handle anyway – the goose stands off to the side, watching almost as if it knows the door won’t open, no matter how many times Jake rattles it.

Five minutes of non-stop leaning on the door knob yield no results, and Jake is finally forced to admit that he’s locked out of his apartment in boxers and a t-shirt. His neighbor has a key, but he works a night shift as a hot dog vendor, and his phone is inside, so he can’t call Gina for her spare. So instead, he slides down the wall so that he’s sitting, head on one knee, against the door, hoping against hope that the goose locked him out here because his soulmate is some new girl who moved into the vacant apartment down the hall and will be walking home any minute. His last thought before his eyes fully shut is that a speedboat model better be the one waking him up.

Tragically, the next face he sees is that of Fred, his middle-aged neighbor who lives across the hall, asking him if he’s okay. He mumbles something about automatic locks and broken doors and carpet that smells like mildew, but it isn’t until he adds “…and dumb soulmate geese trying to ruin your life…” that Fred’s face lights up in understanding.

“I’ll go get my key,” he assures Jake quickly before speeding inside.

The sounds of his clumsy neighbor slamming cabinets and rifling through drawers, accented by a colorful string of angry curses, clears Jake’s mind enough for him to sit up, stretching out his cramped limbs and rubbing his eyes, dry and itchy from one of the worst sleeps he can ever remember. That’s when he sees the goose, curled up peacefully like a dog on his welcome mat. He has never hated anything more.

Fred disrupts his reveries about gruesomely bloody water fowl murders by returning with a key, slightly bent but still functional. Jake pushes himself off the ground – with a great deal of effort and several loud (arguably unnecessary) groans – while Fred unlocks the door.

“Well, Jakey, I’ll bring you some hot dogs tonight – you look like you need them. Good luck with your soulmate…did you say goose?”

Jake dives in the door before he has to explain further. Of course the goose is already sitting on the couch, and even though beaks are possibly the least expressive food-holes available, Jake knows it’s grinning at him.

Work doesn’t improve his mood – he goes out with Charles first thing in the morning to check out a crime scene, and it should be simple, but the goose starts moving around critical pieces of evidence, scaring the beat cops who see nothing but floating kitchen utensils in the trashed apartment, and Charles, with tears in his eyes threatening to soak his face, has to tell Jake he should probably wait outside.

Charles also calls the goose Vendetta almost obsessively, as though he’s trying to convince Jake that this goose is somehow better than the wolf Jake’s always dreamed of. Jake calls the goose Quackers. This elicits a fresh round of honks every time he uses it.

In the afternoon, Terry tries to take Jake out to investigate a B&E – a low-stakes call was made about a broken window a few blocks away. The goose spends the car ride using its beak to open and close the windows so much that it breaks the button for the passenger seat. Jake’s a little mad about the repair costs that now fall on him, and very mad that the goose got to be the one to break the window – something he’s wanted to try all his life.

He’s confined to the precinct after that.

The goose seems more interested in eating the Chinese takeout Jake picked up on his way home than it had been in the pizza the night before. Jake’s even hopeful that they’ve reached something of a truce – Jake feeds it the vegetables that always come in his fried rice, no matter how many times he requests carbs and meat only, and it lets Jake eat both fortune cookies.

Jake’s smart enough to know now that when the goose wakes him up - more gently this time - he shouldn’t follow. Part of him - the part that still maintains some iota of optimism - wonders if maybe tonight is the night when Quackers actually does his job, but the part of him that is maybe now convinced that his bed - lumps and all - is actually probably his soulmate lets his eyes fall all the way shut without a second thought.

He wakes up to the angry beeping of his alarm far too early, and he groans as he slams the snooze button. He could sleep for another ten days, so it’s the easiest decision of his life to slam the snooze button - just once.

Five painfully short snoozes later, the hell-goose, whom he’s forgotten is sleeping at the foot of his bed, stinking up all of his favorite shirts and peppering his blankets with feathers, decides to intervene.

With something vaguely resembling a growl, Quackers lands on his face, batting the side of his head with its wings. Jake lets out a strangled yell, muffled by the feathers that are obstructing his airways, and flails his arms wildly until they make contact with the large goose that is definitely trying to kill him.

When Quackers goes flying, Jake takes the opportunity to roll over and bury his face in his pillow, which might be suffocating him, but at least it doesn’t smell like bird. He thinks that he’s done it, that Quackers will leave him alone, and then it only takes a few seconds for him to doze off, content in the knowledge that his alarm won’t go off for another nine minutes.

But thirty seconds later, the hell-goose is back stomping ferociously on his back, so hard that the breath is being forced out of his lungs. For a split second, Jake wonders how long he can endure this, if he should just resign himself to the fact that this is the end. That he’s going to be killed by this feathered beast, half goose and half demon, in his own bed. Then the goose shifts, allowing Jake to take a tiny breath in. Jake’s a cop, so he’s had his fair share of near death experiences, had to fight for his life more than once, but he swears that it’s never been as difficult as the fight with this goose. He waves his arms around, angled back towards the goose, rolling to one side to try to throw it off of the side of the bed, feeling its short claws digging into his skin. Somehow, Jake manages to turn and wrestle the goose off of him, finally rolling off of the bed himself, more breathless than he’d care to admit.

He takes a minute to collect himself, glaring at Quackers as he pushes the blankets around the bed, making a nest for himself and perching smugly in the middle (Jake didn’t know that geese could look smug before). Once the goose is settles, Jake briefly considers just climbing back into bed and reclaiming his blankets just to spite Quackers, but then he realises that he may very well be late for work if he doesn’t get dressed right this second. Much to Jake’s dismay, the goose won this round.

Jake’s sure that this particular Wednesday is the day that he’s going to find his soulmate. He’s earned it after a goose-fight that was somehow more exhausting than taking down even Brooklyn’s most hardened criminals. The day finally seems to be going his way - the sun is out, he gets his bagel for free after he accidentally drops it while paying, and no one notices when he’s five minutes late to work, Quackers trotting in behind him. Things seemed to have changed between them since the bedroom fight. Quackers settles at Jake’s feet quite happily for much of the day, with a self-satisfied possessiveness that makes Jake wonder if the goose thinks it’s the alpha.

This school of thought is reinforced when Charles brings in a casserole dish full of vaguely-green paste and orange chunks. With a sigh of resignation, Jake goes for his desk fork and stabs the casserole, steeling his stomach against whatever concoction Charles has brought for him to try.

When the fork, dangling mysterious strings of green, hits his tongue, though, Jake loses it. He spits it all over his keyboard, eyes watering as he rubs his tongue with his hands in a wild attempt to erase the taste from his memory.

“Charles! What was that?”

Charles looks only mildly concerned. “It’s a grass-and-carrot pâté. You know - for Vendetta!”

Jake blinks twice - both to communicate his confusion and to rid his eyes of the tears that are still forming at the memory of the grassy, overly-spicy taste that reminds him of the time Gina dared him to eat a handful of dirt on a dare. “Charles. You know that the goose doesn’t deserve a name like Vendetta. It’s Quackers, and it definitely doesn’t deserve treats. And also - why would you let me try it?”

Charles shakes his head, as if he knows something Jake doesn’t. “Jakey, Jakey, Jakey. Sharing food with your animal is a beautiful and natural part of the soulmate process! When Jason and I split his dog treats, it led to an entirely new level of understanding and devotion! It was almost as meaningful as the humping! If you won’t share goose food with Vendetta--”

“Quackers--” Jake interrupts.

“--then maybe you should try sharing human food! You need to find your soulmate, Jake. We’re all waiting for her - Genevieve needs a best friend!”

Jake shakes his head at his friend, mumbling thanks and vague words about goose-friendly pizza. Charles looks appeased - even more so when Jake throws in the word Vendetta - and leaves Jake to bond with Vendet--Quackers over the “intimate joy of shared vertebrate sustenance”.

When Charles leaves on a case thirty minutes later, a very-relieved Jake dumps the entire casserole dish on the floor, leaving Quackers to spend the afternoon licking it up (with a razor-edge tongue that makes Jake withdraw a few inches at the sight of it) while Jake successfully busts two cases of identity theft. He doesn’t, however, successfully find his soulmate, meaning he is still stuck with his vicious modern dinosaur.

He actually likes Quackers marginally better when he thinks of him like this. He may or may not spend an hour training Quackers - who is surprisingly smart, when he wants to be - to stomp around the apartment, wings extended, honk-roaring loud enough to wake Fred across the hall. It only looks marginally like a T-Rex, but Jake will take it.

Quackers never stops doing the walk. When Jake wakes up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, as his third day with the goose wears into his fourth, he trips over a goose silently marching up and down the hall. He does it across Jake and Charles’ shared table at the morning briefing (Charles tears up at the knowledge that the animal responsible for finding his best friend’s soulmate is here and wrinkling his case files), and he does it through the break room during lunch, stopping to “roar” so loudly in Jake’s ear that he falls out of his chair, much to Gina’s delight.

Quackers continues his march across the bar at Shaw’s that night, when the squad decides to take some of the edge of the week off together. Gina and about a billion of her friends are playing darts across the room, and Charles and Genevieve are sitting in the booth that Jake just vacated, slowly and painstakingly feeding each other fries to analyze the regional origin of the artificial cheese melted on top. Jake’s just looking for another beer (and to maybe collect Quackers, who just broke his fourth wine glass, which is a habit that Jake really can’t afford) when he sees Terry and Sharon sitting at the bar. With Quackers under one arm and a new beer in the other, Jake pauses to watch.

Terry’s got one arm around his wife, and she’s whispering something to him, close to his ear so that he can hear her over the comfortable hum of the regular patrons. He throws back his head, roaring in laughter, and she has to elbow him in the side to remind him to loosen his strong grip. They look so comfortable together that it makes Jake’s heart ache just a tiny bit.

And then Quackers, all but forgotten under his arm, nudges his cheek. It’s light, almost gentle, as though he’s trying to be nice. And Jake remembers, for the first time since a goose started attacking him during a morning briefing four days ago, why the goose is here. His chest fills with warmth at the thought, and there’s a tingling inside him that has nothing to do with what must be his fourth or fifth beer. This is why he’s been losing sleep to a malicious goose.

So he calls Captain McGintley (who is slurring far more than Jake is) and gets Friday off.

The next morning, he finds himself in the middle of Prospect Park, with Quackers on a leash in front of him. He gave the goose a solid breakfast (or, rather, Charles did) and sat down and tried to explain what would be happening today. It felt weird - trying to talk to a goose like an adult, and Quackers’ beady eyes were boring into his very essence, but he’s hoping that mutual respect and increased caloric intake will aid his search.

The plan, as Jake explained it, is that Quackers will be allowed to walk on his own - on a leash - and will lead Jake wherever he needs to go to find his mystery woman. Jake’s pretty sure Quackers gets it, and he’s been far more cooperative in the past twelve hours than he had been in the past four days combined. And yet, things go wrong almost immediately.

Quackers struts through the park, and at first, Jake is encouraged. He knows he must look insane to passers-by, with a leash suspended on an invisible animal, but then he sees at least three other morning walkers doing the same, and he decides he must be okay.

And then they come to a small pond, teeming with geese. Jake continues to walk, but Quackers jerks right and dives straight in. The leash is yanked out of Jake’s hand, leaving a nasty rope burn that will definitely require some hot chocolate from Charles (or maybe from the owner of the matching goose) later. In frustration, as he watches Quackers fraternize with the other normal geese, he kicks the boulder next to his leg.

And immediately lets out a shout of pain because he’s at least 99% sure he just broke all of his toes. He hops on one foot, nearly falling into the pond, and manages to steady himself. His foot is throbbing, and he lets out a string of curses so loud that a mother nearby claps her hands over her toddler’s ears. He removes his shoe - gingerly, carefully - to examine his toe - it might be bruised.

His sneaker - his favorite one (even better than its match, which has a scuff across the toe) - is sitting forgotten on the boulder while he peels off his sock when things go really, truly wrong. All of a sudden, a white blur trailing a blue leash with rainbow pawprints flies by, snatching up the laces of his sneaker in his beak before turning on a dime and flying back out over the small pond, feet skimming the water.

Jake shouts, caught off balance, and spins on the spot, trying to spot Quackers against the too-bright sun while hopping on one foot, his right foot still throbbing as he holds it up. Almost immediately, he lands face-first in the pond, scattering geese and taking several full gulps of algae before he manages to sit up, sputtering.

Quackers is sitting on the boulder Jake just vacated, the most self-satisfied Jake’s ever seen another living thing. He puts down the sneaker, honks loudly at Jake, and struts off, wings out in his best T-Rex strut.

Jake lets out a roar worthy of the best prehistoric reptiles and leaps out of the water, clothes streaming as he sprints after Quackers, who is hopping and flying in between waddles to stay just out of reach. Jake bowls over some teenagers playing hackey sack (the sack itself hits him in the face) and splatters mud on some small girls playing hopscotch as he tries to wipe the pond grime off his face. He rips around corners and through flower bushes (he emerges from one with purple flower petals stuck to the grime on his shirt) and runs headlong into a tree trunk when Quackers stops to take a break on a branch.

Eight minutes later, Jake’s run a decent chunk of the park, all just to retrieve the sneaker. His sprint has slowed to a jog, and he lost the breath to scream insults at his animal several minutes ago. He’s considering giving up on the sneaker - but something about this feels different, and he can’t quite shake the image of Terry and Sharon from last night, so he keeps going.

And then, in the distance, the blue lights of police cars. Jake mutters one final shit under his breath because for some reason, just for the sake of maximum embarrassment, he knows exactly where Quackers will take him.

Instead of seeing Charles or Terry or one of the beat cops from the Nine-Nine, like he’s expecting, though, he bowls over a beat cop from the Seven-Eight, a man he’s met a few times before on various joint stakeouts and tactical village events. Before he can stop to apologize, though, Quackers has sped up, heading right towards a white blob Jake can see in the distance.

As he draws closer, he can see that there’s another goose - this one wearing a police badge around its neck and proudly sniffing the perimeter of the crime scene. Next to it is a pantsuit-clad woman with the shiniest hair Jake has ever seen - the severe bun that contains it is blinding in the bright sunlight.

Jake’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice Quackers stop, doesn’t notice the goose standing in his way, until he’s tripped over it and skidded facefirst through the fresh, soft grass at the feet of Amy Santiago, the legendary detective from the Seven-Eight who kicked the Nine-Nine’s butts at Tactical Village two years ago.

“Are you okay?” she asks, looking more than a little concerned. Only then does Jake remember that he’s covered in mud and flower petals and missing a shoe and lying on his stomach in front of her, jaw hanging open.

“Your…Detective Santiago...goose…” is all he can manage.

“What? You mean Quackson Pollock?” She indicates her goose, but when she turns to see the direction of her pointed finger, she finds her bird not dutifully solving crime but instead nuzzling into the long neck of Quackers.

“Oh.” A blush starts at the tip of her ears and creeps onto her cheeks, darkening her bronze skin. “Oh.”

“Jake Peralta. Detective Jake Peralta. I work in the Nine-Nine.”

Reflexively, she reaches out to shake his hand. Her grip is firm, and he’s tempted to tease her about it, but there’ll be time - there’ll be years for that. So instead, he lets his hand linger, noticing the calluses that line her palm before looking up to see laughter in her eyes at his appearance. “I...I know you,” she says slowly, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “Coolest kill last year, right?”

“Yeah, sorry...Quackers took me on a bit of a wild goose chase.” He tries the pun, and is relieved to hear her small chuckle in response. He wonders what it would take to make her really laugh.

“You know geese are really smart, right? I’ve had Quackson Pollock working as a scent hound all week. Most cases I’ve ever solved.”

She sounds so seriously proud that Jake has to smile in response as he replies. “Bet you can’t beat my record.”

A competitive gleam lights up in her eyes. “Loser buys the coffee?”

“Good thing it’s gonna be you because I definitely lost my wallet in some flower bushes back on the south end of the park.”

She picks at one of the petals decorating his sleeves. “It’s a good look.” All of a sudden, she’s a little bit shy, and Jake gets it. His heart’s been threatening to jump through his throat and land at his feet at the sight of her warm, brown eyes.

“So, coffee?” she asks, breaking the silence. On Jake’s left, a white blur passes by, dropping a sneaker on top of his shoulder and affectionately batting his head with one wing before flying off.

“Coffee sounds great,” he replies, with a small pang of affection for Quackers and a great deal of nervous excitement as he watches Amy pass off the case to her secondary with more authority and poise than he could muster even in his John-McClane-daydreams.

“Time for a shower, though?” she asks, appraising his still-dripping clothes as they walk away.

“Title of your sex tape!” he shouts on impulse. And then, as he blushes, she laughs for realz and he decides immediately that this is a sound he never wants to stop hearing.

[pigeoncheeks-archive]

sooooo i’ve been holding this p close to the chest for a while just because it’s kind of mmmm nonsensical?? i’ve just been kinda hyperfixated on @thearcanagame lately and just wanted more interactions with Muriel and to write some stuff with my apprentice, Trill, and @gooddoctorjules encouraged me to post this. i imagine this takes place sometime between the hunt scene and the most recent romance scenes!

One of Trill’s many, many faults is his inability to think things through when put under pressure. He has a tendency to panic, and lose most, if not all, of his critical thinking and reasoning skills. He goes into a frantic animal haze of fright and becomes incapable of thinking of anything beyond how to escape the situation as quickly as possible.

And that’s what has him half-dragging a heavily bleeding mammoth of a man through the palace gardens well past midnight, trying to keep one hand clamped over the gash laying open the stranger’s ribcage.

He should have taken him to the shop, he thinks frantically. But he panicked and headed towards the palace instead-- the heavily-guarded palace.

No, no, the shop would have been worse. Trill wouldn't be able to help him there, not for long, when he’s expected to stay at the palace. No, he reasons, breathing heavily under the weight of the stranger, this is better.

He guides the massive man through the seldom-used hallways he’s come to frequent, if only to avoid servants who either try to bully him into being pampered, or who pointedly ignore him or sneer at his simple clothes. By the time they reach his rooms, the man is leaning upon him so heavily his legs are trembling, and it takes all the meager strength he has left just to haul the stranger to his bed and roll him onto his back.

He’s nearly unconscious, eyes rolling frantically, deliriously in their sockets, before fixing upon Trill’s face. He reaches out and cups his cheek, and Trill’s breath hitches, before the man finally succumbs to his wounds and slumps in a heap upon the ruinously lush sheets-- which are rapidly turning red beneath him. For just a moment, Trill allows himself to really panic, complete with mild hyperventilation and the vague and ominous threat of vomiting that he forces down.

Then he gets to work.

He doesn’t have access to his shop or garden and their stock of herbs and remedies, but he rarely leaves home without the basics tucked away in his satchel. A styptic powder first, to stop the bleeding. He draws out a small jar and dumps a handful into his palm, slapping it over the bleeding wound as gently as possible. Then, while the blood begins to clot, he has a bit more time to think. Comfrey, to promote the healing and prevent infection, and then… bandages, bandages….

Trill sighs heartily and hauls the sheet out from underneath the strange giant’s bulk as gently as he can, and starts the busy work of cutting the unbloodied parts of it into strips with his tiny sewing scissors for makeshift bandages. The bedding has assuredly been changed since he left early in the morning, so it should be clean enough. He sets to making the poultices before he finds a basin and water and begins to daub delicately at the wound.

It’s not nearly so bad as he thought at first, but it’s definitely going to need stitches, and he’s very, very glad his, well, patient is unconscious, because he’s not sure he has any sort of topical anesthetic.

He gets to work with a heated needle and some twine, and frowns deeply as the stranger offers nothing more than a reflexive twitch when he first punctures his skin.

And then he eyes the numerous scars scattered across the man’s torso and grits his teeth. He has work to do.

It takes what feels like hours, and when Trill is done he is sweaty and his hands are covered in a mixture of blood and a slew of strong-smelling tinctures and ointments, but the wound is closed, heavily slathered in a thick paste to prevent infection and promote fast healing, and wrapped summarily, and after that all Trill needs to do is clean up the mess he’s made in his frantic work.

That goes quickly, because Trill is an incredibly efficient cleaner in a crisis, and his patient is resting soundly in his massive bed with the curtains drawn. Once he’s washed up himself, he scurries to the door, pokes his head out, and peers around for a servant.

“Excuse me!” he calls gently when he sees one, a slim young man in bright livery, who stops and turns to him with that familiar expression of vague, plastered-on patience.

“How may I help you, sir?” he asks, smiling thinly.

“I, um, I just wanted to let you know, I prefer to clean my own chambers, if you don’t mind?” Trill wrings his hands, returning the smile as convincingly as he can considering his rattled nerves. “I’m, well,  I’m a simpler sort, you know, and cleaning is, ah… is somewhat therapeutic for me? Especially in times of high stress, much like, well, much like now?”

His words come in a near-frantic rush, and though he’s not lying, per se, he still feels a hot guilty flush working its way down his neck. Luckily for him, he can see the feigned interest in the servant’s eyes slowly start to fade. Trill seizes the opportunity and keeps right on chattering, “And, you know, I know it’s your job and all, but I’m sure you all have so much more to do, that not having to bother with even one of these rooms will be something of a relief, at least for someone, so if you would just like to leave some linens outside my door every few days, that would be just lovely and--” The servant holds up a polite hand and offers that same bland smile. “Say no more, sir. I’ll let the others know posthaste.” “Oh, thank you so much!” Trill exclaims, beaming. He tries to dial it back a bit so it doesn’t seem suspicious, “Really, I’m a simple person, I don’t like all this fuss.”

He fusses and frets just a bit more just to nail it home, until the servant’s eyes are nearly glazed over with sheer boredom, but he certainly won’t forget the fledgeling magician’s request. When Trill finally releases the young man, he looks so fiercely relieved to simply be done with the conversation, Trill would almost feel hurt were that not exactly what he wanted. He returns to his room quickly, closes and bolts the door, and leans against it with a hearty, relieved sigh.

The stranger sleeps soundly upon the bed, and in place of the deathly silence of before, there now come low, deep snores of a man who seems to be getting the first good rest of a long, long while. Trill wonders with no small amount of worry what sort of life he’s led that it took a near-mortal injury for him to rest so deeply.

~*~

Trill sends Adagio to his shop that evening to pick up a few more things. Asra’s been teaching him to strengthen his relationship with the pigeon, to slowly ease her from simple pet to familiar, but with Asra gone, well… He’s not sure if the training has begun to take. She obeys simple commands now, but little more than that, and doesn’t feel quite as… cognizant as Faust just yet. He wonders if she’ll ever get there, and if he should have perhaps chosen one of his grandmother’s crows as a familiar instead.

He immediately feels guilty, and banishes the thought. It wasn’t he that chose Adagio, but Adagio that chose him, and he is lucky to have such a relationship with the flighty little creature.

He kisses the top of her head and sends her off, urging her with his heart and mind to find the things he needs in his garden, and he will reward her with the pocket full of fancy birdseed he’s pilfered from the garden feeders. He stresses, too, that she not eat any of it, and hopes she heeds the warning this time. Regurgitated lavender doesn’t smell nearly so nice as the fresh variety.

He sits by the window and awaits her return, and hopes the Countess doesn’t have need of him at least until his patient is awake. He worries, too, if Portia is wondering at his absence, but he figures he has earned some time to himself after his days of tireless poring over Julian’s notes for some clue, some hint of his innocence.

Innocence, hm? He wonders how he can be so sure, with no new evidence to speak of, but having met the man, he can’t recall feeling any sort of malice from him, beyond the weak facade he affects when he needs to.

Perhaps Trill’s too much of a romantic, and the thought alone is enough to make his cheeks flush hot. And from there, his mind strays to his errant master, and the flush spreads down his neck.

He slaps his palms down on the windowsill and shakes his head until he’s dizzy and his hair is a wild cloud around his face, pursing his lips and puffing down his cheeks and forcing the silly, childish thoughts of romance from his mind. He has a man to prove innocent, a mystery, if not several, to solve, and in the more immediate future, a towering stranger in his bed to ensure doesn’t die. He has far too much to worry about at the moment, can’t spare a thought to his foolish little lonely heart when there’s so much to be done.

~*~

His patient stirs in the early morning hours, and were it not for Adagio, Trill’s not sure he would have woken from his place slumped over the windowsill, staring out into the gardens. There’s a warm weight on the back of his neck, the familiar prick of warm little claws, and when he sits up, he’s rewarded with an offended squawk and the beating of wings against the back of his head.

“Adagio!” he exclaims, catching her out of the air and soothing her ire. “What have I told you about nesting in my hair, you silly thing?” She calms her ruffled feathers and settles onto his shoulder instead, looking quite pleased. Piled upon the windowsill is a small, messy stack of various herbs and leaves and flowers, each one only mildly squashed and/or nibbled. “Oh! Good girl!” He roots around in his pocket and comes up with a handful of birdseed, and Adagio croons happily. He dumps it on the sill in place of his herbs, and the pigeon flutters over and begins pecking away happily. He takes the time to sort through his new supplies, and as he does so, there is a sound behind him like a mountain shifting, a groan so deep he feels it rumble in his bones.

“Oh!” he cries, standing up and whirling around. The strange man is shifting upright in the bed, bleary eyes blinking in confusion and brow creasing with pain. Trill rushes over. “Oh, no, no, no, don’t sit up, careful of your stitches!” He puts his hand on the man’s chest, warm and faintly sweaty, but not in the way that would indicate any sort of fever. In a tizzy, Trill brushes his hands along his shoulder, his face, making absolutely sure. “How are you feeling? Sore, I’d imagine!” He laughs nervously, and makes himself busy fluffing pillows and pushing the man’s chest to get him to lie down.

It’s like trying to move a stone wall.

“I-if you could just lie back…” he mumbles timidly, peering cautiously upwards.

The man blinks at him, still groggy and probably quite confused, and Trill is finally stricken with the realization that he has hauled a gigantic, scarred, injured stranger into his chambers in secret, and pointedly told the servants that he does not want to be bothered. He swallows hard, and only hopes that this stranger's “warning” before he’d nearly collapsed from blood loss means he does not want Trill to come to harm.

He pushes gently on the man’s chest once again, and this time, he goes, with all the speed of tectonic plates shifting until he is reclining against the mounds of absurdly lush pillows. His hair is tangled around his eyes, which are suddenly much more bright and alert, watching Trill warily, with all the caution of a cornered animal.

Trill has dealt with his fair share of cornered animals (mostly rabbits and the like, or cats with their heads stuck in flowerpots) so he keeps his movements slow, methodical, as he gently probes around the makeshift bandages. There’s a bit of blood seeping through, they’ll have to be changed, and he only wishes he had something more than torn-up sheets (however fine they are) to work with.

“I’m going to need to change these,” he murmurs, peeking up into the stranger’s ever-watchful eyes for a breathless second. He sees the barest hint of a nod, and sets to work unraveling the miles of cloth it took him to bind the wound the night before.

He pours a bowl of clean water from the pitcher left by the bedside the night before, and cleans the wound as gently as he can, though he’s certain he could rip the stitches out with his bare hands and the strange man wouldn’t flinch. It’s both an impressive thought and a terribly sad one, so he keeps it to himself.

He has questions, of course, but he can’t seem to find the words, or the courage, to ask them. The only one he thinks it may be safe to ask is the stranger’s name, so he does.

“What, um… Pardon my asking, but what should I call you?”

There’s a flicker of something across the stranger’s face, something almost sad, and Trill wishes he knew what caused it.

When the man speaks, it feels like distant thunder echoing in Trill’s ribs. “Muriel.”

Trill swallows whatever silly words were going to burble up out of him, and smiles thinly. “That’s good to know. Thank you. I’m Trill, if you were wondering. Suppose I should have introduced myself earlier, but, well, things were a bit touch and go last night…” He laughs, sharp and nervous, and ducks his head, pinching his lips into a thin line and leaning into his work, checking that the stitches aren’t pulling, that his salves are evenly applied, and then working to wind the bandages carefully around his patient’s tree trunk of a torso. Once or twice, he finds his face pressed against a broad chest, and he flushes and his heart thuds furiously against his ribcage, but he staunchly ignores it.

“You… helped me.”

At first, Trill is not quite sure Muriel has said anything at all, his voice is so soft. But the rumble is there, and he turns his eyes instinctively towards him and takes a moment to parse what he’s said. “I… yes? Yes, I did,” he admits, and he’s not sure why he feels so strange admitting it. “Is there a reason I wouldn’t?”

“You don’t know me,” he says it starkly, matter-of-factly, but Trill feels like it’s not quite a “people don’t usually help suspicious injured strangers” implication, but something else. Something far more.. Forlorn?

“I know you needed help,” is all Trill can think to say. “So I helped.”

“Hmmm,” is all the stranger-- Muriel-- offers in return, and remains quiet while Trill finishes up his work, knots of the bandages and hums.

“I’ll have to see about going to my shop tonight,” he says, mostly to himself, “see if I can’t get a little more than field materials. I’ve got some tinctures that help prevent scarring. Old recipe. My grandmother’s. A very jealously guarded secret-- she left it in a journal and said only I’d be allowed to know it. Locked the journal full of recipes-- not just medical ones, mind you-- and hid the key in a magical box that would only open for me.” He knows he’s rambling, but with all the nerves jangling around in his chest it’s all he can do to keep himself calm while he smoothes the blankets around Muriel’s hips.

He pokes his head out the door to call for a serving tray with a kettle and plenty to eat, offering the weak excuse that he’s feeling a bit peaky and would like to take supper in his rooms. The servant tells him the Countess is having quite a headache this evening anyway, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he won’t be missed.

He doesn’t believe the Countess to be cruel or callous, just… intimidating. Focused. Intense. Trill is far too soft and timid to be anything but cowed by her very presence. Sitting at the lavish dining table while she stares him down does little for his appetite, and he often leaves hungrier than when he arrived simply because his nerves don’t allow him to do much more than nibble.

While they fetch the cart, he prepares his tea sachets from the herbs Adagio brought him, carefully portioning out the herbs and bits of dried fruit into neat little bundles for steeping.

He chatters as he works, and when he looks up, he expects to see the glazed-over look of false interest plastered on Muriel’s face, but he sees only moss-green eyes, focused on him with such intensity that he feels stripped bare. His breath catches and he stumbles over his words, something about finding Adagio with her head stuck in a discarded ale bottle, and swallows hard.

“I-I’m sorry, but I… That is to say, you… You do seem terribly familiar,” he murmurs, feeling a frown pull at his lips, and a vague foggy memory pull at his chest. “I… I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Before… all of this?”

Muriel goes strangely still, and he’s so massive, it’s painfully obvious. He’s tense from top to tail, and even his mouth has stopped moving, though just a few seconds ago he was eating like he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. It makes Trill’s skin prickle with hot nervous tension.

“Yes,” is all he says, and he looks as if he is very carefully considering what to say next. “Many… many times.” And then he resumes eating, and Trill doesn’t bother trying to get anymore information out of him.

He settles in for a long night of quiet contemplation and periodically tending to his patient’s injury, and hopes that the Countess doesn’t summon him for at least another day or so. He has so much to consider, and only wishes Asra were there to help him. What have I gotten myself into?