#separation anxiety was MUCH worse as a kid. but like… i want o do it and sometimes i need to but i repress it so hard. lawl

[pepprs]

i know i need to shut up abt it esp bc i don’t know for sure if i actually got exposed to covid but like. it’s just so fucking frustrating and terrifying. not just in the case of covid but with other things too like driving. you can take every precaution to keep yourself and the people around you safe but all it takes is one selfish careless asshole who can negate that in a heartbeat and ruin your life or maybe even end it in some circumstances. lol

[imsosleepyofyourbull]

I’m miserable at the knowledge that Gotoge contrasted everything about Zenitsu and Tengen on the surface — the loser crybaby demon slayer with seven ex girlfriends vs. the flashy Hashira with three loving wives — before connecting them with their breathing and their music and their hearing, only to do basically nothing with it. Are you kidding me? Could you imagine a world where Zenitsu and Tengen actually get to talk?

Because Tengen loves his wives and his friends, but they physically cannot understand what it’s like for him to step into a quiet room and still be able to hear every secret around him. To be seen as a sneak or a spy even more than he already is for his shinobi heritage, for a biological factor he can’t control no matter how hard he tries. Or to find music in the sound of the crowd’s blood, heartbeats, and very souls while being unable to share it with anyone unless he transcribes it.

Zenitsu embodies it.

He is absolutely terrified of it, hearing danger that nobody else can sense until minutes after he’s already become aware and forced to contend with the knowledge that he will also be the first to know when someone has died. How many times did he hear a heart stop beating when he was out on the streets as a child? How many times did he hear his allies’ bones and organs break or rupture in their bodies on a mission? How many times has he heard his own? It’s futile to count, but both he and Tengen know what it’s like to be that person.

And I can’t help but think that Tengen would be excited about their connection in a way that Zenitsu can’t be — he’s older, more experienced, and more confident in himself. There’s no doubt that he stopped thinking of his hearing as just a curse a long time ago, and he probably found a way to have fun with it in his music. But that also means that he’s been searching for someone who would know what he was talking about for even longer than Zenitsu. He’d jump at the opportunity the second it arose, because Zenitsu might want to run and Zenitsu might not be willing to hear what connects them… but Tengen can. And he’s not about to let that go over some petty whining.

So he decides to make the boy his student (maybe even his Tsugoku) and begins training him on everything he’s learned about his own hearing over the years. It’s like every step they take forward in building a proper teacher-student relationship is immediately offset by another five steps back. Zenitsu rejects the connection entirely because, at his core, he can’t imagine himself being comparing to Tengen — to the physical embodiment of everything he wants to be and doesn’t think that he can’t. So he shoves more broken chords into their shared symphony than actually fit and his anxiety becomes a constant shadow on the harmony of their song.

It grows distorted from both his intentional and unintentional self-destruction just as much as it does from Tengen’s own frustration. It gets worse and worse and worse, until there’s nowhere for it go anymore; until Tengen unintentionally insults Jigoro for being irresponsible and letting Zenitsu go to Final Selection with only one technique.

It will be the first and one of the only times that he gets to see become Zenitsu genuinely furious.

Because Zenitsu’s relationship with Tengen here is in the same vein as his relationship to Kaigaku in canon — he hates and respects and fears the sound hashira in equal measure. And it’s that last thing that really matters, because Zenitsu’s rage blinds him to the feeling of fear where it becomes all that Tengen can hear in his sound. The image of himself as a child reflected in a little blond boy who didn’t want to train with him (with his father) but did it anyway. Tengen’s wives have to separate them soon enough, and everyone decides that trying again isn’t a good idea.

So they take a break. A long one. Long enough that Zenitsu assumes that his apprenticeship is finally over and he can go back to whoever he was before this mess. He’s wrong, of course, because Tengen knocks on his door the very next day and they go all the way back to the Uzui Estate to try something new. They go to Tengen’s music room, filled to the brim with instruments more expensive than Zenitsu has ever seen, let alone gotten to touch, and they spend the night playing whatever they feel like. Because they’d always known each other by their sounds better than they had their words, and trying to force the latter was their first mistake. They knew better, now.

Music night becomes their ritual. After training, they air out their frustrations with song after song in a conversation only they’ll ever understand. Not a thing spoken. And, eventually, they won’t have to speak at all. Zenitsu once explained that when he tried hard enough, he could hear people’s thoughts instead of just their feelings.

What would it be like for him to not have to try at all with Tengen?

(What would it be like for him to have a mentor in the only other person who would understand?)

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 reactions; *nobby nobbs voice* ‘s all gone a bit percychological, sir

 - so from both chapter 6 and now this: rick famuyiwa is incredible at portraying prolonged discomfort and tension (and also at getting din’s endless love for that baby across through the stress of being separated from him. this is the very first episode with no baby in it at all, isn’t it? wow that’s a heartbreaking milestone to reach im crying)

I liked this episode SO MUCH but I had to pause it pretty often and take a breather because it all made me so viscerally uncomfortable on din’s behalf -- not just the armour and having to take the helmet off and be seen for the (almost, ilu IG-11) first time in decades, people keep touching him in this episode when he clearly doesn’t want them to but can’t stop it and it makes me want to claw my own skin off in sympathy, it’s so awful. that’s really neat film making to manage to keep that tension steady almost all the way through!!! 

honestly this episode felt a little bit like psychological horror, with the cheering storm troopers and din in the wrong armour and clearly not digging it and there’s the palpable absence of baby and that ever present dread of being Perceived when you’re not ready for it; everything’s turned upside down from how it should be. and it’s playing with that discomfort both in the main character and in us, the audience, in having the familiar be made unfamiliar and also introducing these questions that shake up everything (that feeling you get of ‘but... if it’s not the helmet, and not the armour, but there’s his face, but we’ve only seen that face once before so it’s still basically new to us, is this... is this still him. is this still Dad’ (oooh I wonder if we’re... sort of getting some of the ??? the baby would be feeling about it too?) we’ve all imprinted on that t-shaped visor like little baby birds, and this was a very clever episode to break us out of that and start to really get used to the thought of him having several faces that are real simultaneously, in a way, and not just a voice. it’s all very smart and interesting and I’m sure I’ll have a lot of incoherent thoughts about this in the weeks to come lol)    

- the actual reason din can’t take off the helmet is that if people were able to see his wide confused puppy eyes they would no longer find it in themselves to send him on long arduous side missions and would help him immediately just so he’d feel better, and that would rob us of like 80% of the content for this show 

mayfeld in this episode: clearly a casualty of this. he literally sees one glimpse of the vulnerability there and then within five seconds goes on to materialize a few redeeming character traits after being a complete jackass for an episode and a half. (I mean. he was 100% still an imperial so I’m a bit ‘hm.’ about how easily especially cara let him off the hook, but with the way it was set up I guess it would have been quite shitty of them to just throw him back in prison so I mean I GUESS. I would be endlessly grateful someone got my awkward bff out of there alive and well too I suppose)

- I actually think din’s sense/integrity of self has gotten so much stronger and more resilient (though probably still quite fragile pls handle with care precious cargo within); if this had happened in the first season I think it might honestly just have killed him (and if it weren’t for IG-11 it probably would have lol)

- can you beLIEVE din is so bad at lying that they literally should plan for contingencies over it fjkasdlhfskajdhfsdj     

- very grateful for the scene with the spear throw that’s basically there to reassure us ‘uh-huh, he absolutely knows how to use it, don’t worry about that part at least’

I want to make a whole post about that fight scene, though, it’s just so GOOD! there’s so much storytelling and characterization in it! even out of the armour din has some real hand to hand MOVES!! he clearly came out of that aching all over, he can barely get back in his seat!!!

- so what I’m mainly taking away from this is that din absolutely cuts his own hair and you know what? he does a good job considering the conditions he has to work under, I love him  

I still find it so goddamn darling that he meticulously maintains that little mustache/stubble combo under there even when there’s every reason to believe no one will ever see it 

I suppose we can also gather that he did not ask cobb about whatever insane feat of magic he’s come up with to avoid helmet hair, but I don’t care looking a bit frazzled and tousled is exactly right for him (he’s so put together when he’s in the armour and a MESS when he’s out of it and I  l o v e  it) 

- boba fett is honestly so fucking hot in this I don’t know what to do with myself haha. he’s so CALM and CALCULATED and COLLECTED in his newly painted armour and he’s GOT THIS and he made that ‘I’ve got one of those faces. one of jango’s many, many, many faces’ joke and he’s so thicc now, he looks like he could easily lift me over his head with one hand and he’s just quietly steady and undramatically supportive and sdalfhsdjhfsa 

- ...din does know who the clone troopers were, right. I mean of course he does. he has to. but does he though. I’m sure he does and just wasn’t thinking. 

- no matter how stressful it was I’m still really grateful that in the end taking the helmet off was something din got to do himself -- it’s under some duress, but it’s still his choice and for the sake of the baby, and almost in two more manageable steps between putting on the storm trooper gear for a different helmet before taking it off altogether. it’s not something done to him by gideon, for example, that would be. so much yuckier and worse. he still has that control and agency intact, even if it’s been tested really hard, and now gideon doing that doesn’t hold the exact same nightmarish power anymore because there’s already a little space opened in din’s mind for different things it can mean, if you see what I mean. I’m not sure I see what I mean actually I just have a lot of feelings haha. so I guess thank you mayfeld for being decent about it and helping him towards that realization that he can still be himself outside these really really inflexible structures he’s set up around himself for like. stability and keeping himself upright for a really long time, and that even someone halfway decent won’t disrespect the boundaries he still has about it at any given moment. man there’s a lot in this episode isn’t there

- the sigh din gave when he saw even more pirates coming and knew he had to get back up... never has a single moment in cinema better captured how I feel about being alive. most relatable man in the world din djarin

- it was really cruel of them to make me listen to din’s dead bleak voice say ‘the child is gone’ again, it wrecks my heart every goddamn time 

- again... I wish carano wasn’t Like That in real life because the cara & fennec scenes should have been everything I could ever dream. ah well fennec was still wonderful and if I just allow myself to think in-universe for a few seconds it was really touching that din would entrust cara with his entire armour, that’s some prime BrOTP energy right there

I love that we got two female characters who were just allies and working together, no competition or nothin’. listen the bar is low but it’s nice to see something actually leap gracefully over it as well lol

- this was one of those with some pretty big open plot holes (why, exactly, would a scan of a completely unknown face be helpful to get into this classified system lol), but a) I don’t care, the emotional storyline was so sound it doesn’t really matter and b) eh handwave handwave let’s say mayfeld programmed that little stick with the good shit and overrode the code saying there needed to be an identity match within the system, it’s all fine 

- I know I joke a lot about this but din really is one of the most relatable characters I’ve ever had. just watching him struggle with eye contact and going pretty much nonverbal under enough stress is like. wow a bit close to home there could we, perhaps, nOT?? (honestly though these are trauma/anxiety things I really don’t see portrayed a lot, especially in protagonists, it’s so odd but healing to see it in a character I love and who’s EXTREMELY competent in many other settings)

- din repeating gideon’s speech back to him word for word (except for the crucial detail that he calls grogu ‘him’ instead of ‘it’ 😭😭😭) and saying nothing else is truly Everything. I’ve said some stuff about din’s deliberate and thoughtful relationship to language in the past and this is such an amazing example of it; he’s remembered that pitch perfect all this time, he’s kept it around in his head and mulled it over and then redeployed it to change the meaning of it completely from dehumanization to love. can you. can you even imagine. and it’s yet another example of his hilarious wonderful petty streak and I can never get enough of it fasjhdfkjalhs    

- din always noticing the children first and foremost Y_______Y (the kids running by is the only thing you see him sort of acknowledge when he’s walking into the covert in season 1 too)  

- please... please I just need him to be able to hold that baby against his chest all safe and sound and okay again I can’t it’s........ hh

NO SEASON END CLIFF HANGER ON THIS I AM  B E G G I N G  YOU 

- I would be having some thoughts about how much space there actually is on slave 1 and what that might mean (do not kill boba again please don’t kill him again), but honestly there’s only ‘GET BABY’ hours in here now, I can’t speculate about anything

[suituuup]

unspoken 4/4

On the second day of her fourth and last year at Barden, Chloe meets an oddly quiet girl and finds herself drawn to her despite her silence. Asperger’s Beca.

rating: T

word count: 3,600

ao3 link

*

Cries crackle through the babyphone, cutting through Beca’s dream. Her eyes blink open and she feels her wife shift beside her, a soft sigh carrying above the cries. 

“I’ll get her,” Beca murmurs, dropping a kiss to Chloe’s shoulder before slipping out of bed. 

“Thanks, babe,” Chloe calls after her as Beca sleep-laden limbs drag her across the hall. 

Despite the ungodly hour and how exhausted Beca feels, a soft smile pulls at her lips as she bends over the railing and gently plucks her daughter from the crib. 

“It’s okay Peanut,” she whispers, brushing a kiss behind her ear. She carries her to the bedroom just as Chloe sits up, transferring her into Chloe’s arms. Spencer latches onto Chloe’s boob right away, her cries quieting down to soft, content coos. 

The baby wraps her tiny hand around Beca’s pointer finger as she feeds, and Beca isn’t sure how much more cuteness her heart can take before it bursts. 

It had never crossed Beca’s mind before she and Chloe’s relationship got serious that she would ever become a mom. Beca had lived in her own bubble until then, spending most of her life alone. Not being able to really speak from age 5 to 18 prevented her from bonding with anyone, and she’d never imagined she would fall in love, let alone make someone fall in love with her.

But Chloe… she wasn’t just someone. She managed to see past Beca’s social challenges and accepted Beca’s unconventional comfort zone instead of coaxing her out of it like people had tried to in the past, starting with her dad, who never attempted to understand her. 

Beca trusts her wife with everything she has, so when Chloe told her she was convinced Beca would be an amazing mom despite her autism, Beca believed her. 

Over the course of Chloe’s pregnancy, Beca became hyper-focused on everything she could learn about babies and motherhood. Some things could naturally only be learned through practice, but knowledge has always been her way to keep her fears to a minimum. 

And when Spencer came into the world, Beca learned another way to love that is beyond what she’d ever felt before. For someone who had spent most of her life being told she didn’t feel like others typically do, Beca was terrified she wouldn’t be able to love her own child the way she was supposed to. 

But as soon as she held her daughter in her arms that day, it was instant and overwhelming, and to this day the best thing Beca’s ever experienced. 

/

As they’re taking interview after interview to find a nanny for Spencer before Chloe’s maternity leave is over, Beca brings up her desire to start working from home, and take care of Spencer while Chloe’s at work. 

Chloe’s favorite part of the day is whenever she gets to come home to her family. Beca is usually cooking dinner while Spencer does what fifteen-month-olds usually get up to, like playing with her cubes, crawling at full speed to stuff she’s not supposed to get into (ie: Chloe’s make-up bag) and making cooking anything a challenging affair, or chatting to herself. 

Tonight, Fleetwood Mac’s Everywhere is playing throughout the house from their expensive wireless speaker (Beca doesn’t kid about music-related stuff so the sound is incredible) and Chloe toes off her shoes before padding to the kitchen. She stops around the corner, a wide grin breaking across her face when she sees Spencer dancing in the middle of the room in nothing but her diaper, while her wife sings along to the lyrics with a spatula as her pretend-microphone. 

Chloe’s caught filming half a minute later, flush rushing to meet Beca’s cheeks when she sees they have an audience. Chloe laughs and pockets her phone (that video is definitely going up on social media later) just as Spencer whirls around when she realizes her mama’s attention shifted to something else. 

“Mamamamama,” Spencer babbles, toddling over and extending her arms up towards Chloe. They’re both mama for now, and are not pushing Spencer to call one of them mommy, figuring she’ll decide on her own later on. 

“Hello my sweet girl,” Chloe gushes, blowing a raspberry into Spencer’s neck and drawing a giggle from her daughter. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Mama dance,” Spencer requests, and Chloe can’t say no to those sparkling blue eyes. Not that she’ll ever say no to dancing, anyway. 

She takes Spencer’s left hand and starts to sway to the music, her daughter’s delighted laughter filling the kitchen. Chloe stops once she’s standing near her wife, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. “Hello.” 

“Hey you,” Beca greets with a grin. “Good day?” 

“Mhm. Glad to be home.” 

As Chloe suspected, Beca is an amazing mom, if not a little bit overbearing sometimes. She shields Spencer a bit too much, while Chloe is the type of parent who lets her kid fall down or take a tumble whilst discovering new things. 

So when Spencer trips at the park under Beca’s supervision a few months later, resulting in a trip to the ER, Beca is a mess. Upon getting to the hospital with Aubrey, Chloe is told they had to restrain and tranquilize her wife as she had started hitting herself and spiraling. 

“Restrained?” Chloe echoes in shock.

“The psychiatrist on call has been paged, ma’am.” 

Anger bubbles up Chloe’s frame. “She doesn’t need a freakin’ psychiatrist, she has autism!” She pinches the bridge of her nose, blowing out a breath. “Can you just… take me to her?”

While Aubrey stays with Spencer, Chloe is taken to the room her wife’s kept in. She strides over to the bed, laying a hand over Beca’s. “Oh my god, baby…” 

It hasn’t happened often in the decade Chloe’s known Beca, but she knows from Beca’s blank look that she has shut down. 

“Can you please untie her?” She asks the nurse, tears rising to her eyes. “It’s only making it worse. I promise she won’t hit herself while I’m here.” 

“Ma’am…” 

“I’m--I’m not a f-freak,” Beca’s voice trembles, barely audible. 

The words break Chloe’s heart into a hundred little pieces. She hastily sits down on the edge of the bed before her legs give out on her, sliding her hand into Beca’s. “Of course not, my love. Nobody thinks that, I promise.” 

“Chlo,” she croaks out, panicky eyes fleeting from Chloe to her hands. “I want out.” 

Ignoring the nurse’s protests about calling security, Chloe quickly unfastens the soft restraints and climbs onto the bed, pulling Beca into her arms and brushing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re okay, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s a long while before Beca is able to talk. “Is Spence okay?” 

“She’s fine, Aubrey’s with her.” 

“I-I looked away for a s-second.”

“I know, babe. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” 

“O-okay. Can we go home?” She croaks out. “I just wanna go h-home.” 

“Yeah, we can go home.” 

Spencer conks out on the ride home. After putting her to bed for a pre-dinner nap, Chloe heads to the master bedroom to find Beca lying on her side with her back to the door. She crawls across the mattress and spoons her from behind, pressing a kiss to her covered shoulder. 

“She’ll fall and hurt herself many more times, without it necessarily being our fault, babe,” she murmurs. “It’s what kids do, and you have nothing to blame yourself for.” 

Beca sucks in a sharp breath. “When it happened-- I completely lost my footing. I panicked. Another mom had to call a cab for me b-because I-I couldn’t. Everyone was looking-- judging.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispers, squeezing Beca’s waist. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re an amazing mom and you do so much for Spencer, even things that are extremely difficult for you, like going to sensory overload places like the playground. I’m in awe of you every single day, Bec.” 

The door creaks open before Beca can reply, and Chloe glances over her shoulder to see Spencer toddling in. 

“Hey munchkin,” she greets softly, rolling onto her back as Spencer climbs onto the bed with some difficulty. 

She’s sporting a large band aid across her forehead. “Mama okay?” 

Beca smiles. “Mama’s fine, Peanut. C’mere.” 

Spencer snuggles into her side, unknowingly stitching the cracks in Beca’s heart back up through her affection and unspoken love. 

/

“We’ll be back at three, alright?” Beca says, smoothing her palms over the lapels of Spencer’s coat. 

“Yes, Mama.” 

Beca musters a smile, even though her heart feels extremely heavy this morning. It’s Spencer’s first day of school, which means she won’t be spending the day at home, and Beca is already experiencing separation anxiety. 

She’s also scared Spencer might have a hard time at school, just like she did. The fear is most likely triggered by her own PTSD because there’s no reason her bright and socially able daughter doesn’t make friends. 

“I gotta go,” the four-year-old announces, glancing over her shoulder as her classmates enter the building. 

“I know, I know.” Beca swallows the lump in her throat and hugs Spencer tight. “I love you.” 

“Love you, too.” She hugs Chloe next, whispering the same before happily bouncing to the entrance. 

“She’ll be fine,” Chloe murmurs, her hand sliding inside Beca’s as soon as she pushes to her feet.

“I know. I just--” Beca sighs. “I’m gonna miss her.” 

“I know.” Chloe presses a kiss to her cheek. “Let’s go home. I’m sure I can come up with a few ways to distract you until three.” 

Beca flushes hard at the innuendo, breaking eye-contact while Chloe simply cackles. 

/

“What do you say, Spence?” 

Sheepish blue eyes flick up to meet Chloe’s, before they move back to Andrew. “Thank you!” She pads to her pile of gifts and sets the newest wrapped present on the table, standing on the tip of her toes to reach. 

“Wow, you and Beca sure know how to throw an awesome party,” Andrew’s mom comments with an impressed sort of nod as Spencer and her son hurry to meet the other kids inside the blow-up T-Rex taking a third of their backyard. 

Spencer has been obsessed with dinosaurs for the past year, so it was only natural she’d want that theme for her birthday party. It became Beca’s near sole-focus for the last four months, as she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. To her credit, it really was. 

“Yeah, my wife really outdid herself,” Chloe says with a smile, her eyes doing a quick sweep of the small crowd to track down Beca even though she knows Beca is probably in the backstage section of the event. “I’m going to see if she needs a hand. Help yourself to drinks and food, Caroline.” 

Chloe heads back inside the house and rounds the corner to the kitchen to find Beca staring at the cake with a frown on her face. 

“Everything okay, babe?” 

“I forgot to buy candles,” Beca mutters. 

“Oh, well I think we have some over here,” Chloe says, stepping further inside the kitchen and standing on the tip of her toes to reach the top cupboard. “Ah-ha, here you go.” 

Beca wrinkles her nose as she takes them, then shakes her head faintly, and it’s like Chloe can read her thoughts. There’s something that doesn’t sit right with those specific ones, but Beca will use them anyway because she feels ridiculous about being so picky. 

After eleven years together, Chloe knows what can trigger Beca’s Aspie side, and one look at the cake tells her what’s wrong. 

“Aubrey isn’t here yet, I’ll tell her to stop on the way to buy green candles, ‘K?” 

Green so they can match the dinosaur on the cake and not pink like the only ones they have. 

“N-no, it’s not--it’s not--” Beca lets out a frustrated sigh, her nails digging into her palms. It seems to take a lot of internal debating until she can finally utter out, “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Neither is Aubrey stopping on the way to buy candles, I promise,” Chloe assures Beca, stepping closer to rest a hand on her lower back. Chloe’s touch has always been one of the things that ground Beca, and her shoulders slump as she puffs out a breath. 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Chloe smiles. “Spence is having so much fun. You really threw an amazing party.” She leans in to kiss Beca’s cheek, rubbing her back. “Wanna join us outside?” 

She feels Beca’s muscles tense under her palm as Beca purses her lips, eyes flicking towards the window. No matter how much social progress she’s made since Chloe walked into her life, she’s still shy around near-strangers and sensory sensitive. A bunch of loud and hyperactive children can be a meltdown trigger. “Um, maybe in a little bit.” 

“Okay. No pressure.” 

Beca only comes outside when it’s time for the cake, retreating inside after Spencer blows her candles. Chloe didn’t think until now that Spencer really notices Beca doesn’t act like her friends’ parents, but she’s proven wrong later that day as she helps her daughter carry her presents to her bedroom. 

“Mommy, why is Mama different?” 

Chloe pauses, setting the pile of boxes on the floor and joining Spencer at the foot of the bed. 

“Mama has something called autism, baby. It means that her brain interprets things differently than you and it can make it hard for her to talk, listen, understand, play, and learn. That’s why she’s sometimes in her own world, or why she doesn’t like to interact with people.”

“Oh,” Spencer lets out, clearly mulling it over. She eventually looks to Chloe and asks, “Is it dangerous? Like cancer?” 

“No, absolutely not. Mama is very healthy.”

Spencer’s shoulders slump, and she musters a smile, nodding. “Okay.”

Smiling as well, Chloe pushes Spencer’s hair back from her forehead. “She loves you so much, sweetheart.” 

“I know. I don’t care that she’s different, I was just wondering why.” 

After tucking her daughter in, Chloe pads downstairs and into the living-room, where Beca is reading on the couch. She hums when Chloe curls up into her side, freeing her arm to wrap it around Chloe’s back. “All good?” 

“Mhm, yeah. She had fun today. You threw an amazing party.” Chloe lifts her head from Beca’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

Beca nods. “Sorry I didn’t socialize much, I-- It was a lot.” 

“That’s okay. There’s nothing to apologize for.” She nuzzles Beca’s cheek. “You know I don’t mind entertaining people.” 

Beca chuckles. “Oh, I know. Sometimes I wonder how someone as talkative as you fell for a girl who could barely put a sentence together.” 

“Opposites attract, I guess?” 

Beca simply hums, feathering the tips of her fingers up and down Chloe’s arm. Chloe decides to keep Spencer’s question for herself, knowing Beca might feel self-conscious about their daughter noticing her unusual personality. 

Beca is the one to break the silence. “Do you ever think about having another kid?” 

Her question makes Chloe’s thud harder, and she lifts her head from Beca’s shoulder to look at her. “Do you?” 

Beca snickers. “I asked first.” 

“Yeah, I do,” Chloe replies with a smile. “I’ve actually been experiencing quite the baby fever ever since Samuel was born.” Her godson, Aubrey’s four months old baby boy. “We still have three vials from Spencer’s sperm donor.” 

Beca looks at her with sparkling eyes. “Are you okay with carrying again?” 

“I am, but are you sure you don’t want to?” She knows Beca is sceptical, concerned about giving their baby autism even though Chloe has assured her many times it wouldn’t be a problem if that were the case. 

“Yes. I’ve given it some thought and-- I just don’t see myself being pregnant.” 

“Okay,” Chloe agrees quietly, reaching up to cradle Beca’s cheek. She kisses her softly, grinning. “I’m really excited.” 

“Me, too.” 

/ 

Chloe’s been acting weird ever since they left Beca’s work Christmas party. 

She doesn’t say anything on the cab ride back, and heads directly to their bedroom when they reach home. Beca pays the sitter and goes to check on Spencer to make sure she’s still asleep. 

“Chlo?” She calls out softly as she lingers in the bedroom doorway, watching for a moment as Chloe takes off her earrings and her watch. Her confusion only enhances when Chloe doesn’t answer, triggering a wave of anxiety. She’s never been good at picking up on other people’s emotions, but after living over a decade with Chloe, she can tell when something is off. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Chloe mutters. She reaches behind her to undo her zipper, but can’t quite reach. “Can you give me a hand?” 

Beca crosses the room to step behind her, dragging the zipper down. She searches Chloe’s eyes in the mirror, bracing her hands over Chloe’s upper arms. “Talk to me? Please?” 

“She likes you,” Chloe eventually provides, turning around and sitting on the edge of her vanity. “It’s pretty obvious to anyone watching.” 

“W-who does?” 

“Amanda,” Chloe says. Beca’s new assistant at the label. “She was flirting with you all night.” 

“I…” Beca’s eyebrows knit together as she thinks back to the party. “Are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure, yeah.” She sighs, her eyes softening as she slides her hands into Beca’s. “And I don’t want to be jealous, because I know you’re just oblivious when it comes to that sort of stuff, but it’s not… exactly easy to watch someone so attractive flirt so openly with your wife.” 

Guilt coils in Beca’s belly. “I’m sorry, I-I had no idea.” 

“I know that, and I don’t want you to beat yourself up for it, alright? I’m sorry I gave you the cold shoulder instead of telling you right away. I think my pregnancy hormones are just making me more possessive than usual.” She scrunches up her nose. “I was ready to pounce on the woman.” 

Beca giggles at the imagery, leaning forward and burying her face into Chloe’s neck. Her arms wrap loosely around her wife’s waist as she remains close for a few beats, basking in her proximity. 

“I’ll talk to her,” she murmurs. “Let her know I’m definitely not interested.” 

“Are you sure you’re comfortable to do that?” 

Beca lifts her head, grimacing. “Can’t I write her a card?” 

Chloe’s laughter chases away that guilt and Beca finally relaxes. “Sure.” 

Beca’s hand curves around the gentle swell of Chloe’s belly. “You said Amanda was attractive but I frankly have no clue what she was even wearing because I was too obsessed with how beautiful you looked tonight. I honestly don’t even remember what she and I talked about.” She kisses Chloe gently, resting her forehead against hers. “I love you. Every time I think about you throughout the day, which happens a lot by the way, I feel like I need to pinch myself. Sometimes I think about seventeen-year-old me watching people date in high-school and feeling sad that she’d never get to know that. I wish I could go back to tell her that it’s all going to be okay, that somewhere down the line, she’ll meet this incredible human being who won’t make fun of her for not being able to talk, someone who will be amazingly patient and understanding with her aspie side and who will love her with her whole heart.” 

Beca sometimes has trouble finding the right words, but not tonight. They just pour out of her heart, like they often do when it comes to Chloe. 

“Bec,” Chloe croaks out, reaching up to cradle her jaw. Her eyes are misty with unshed tears and she puffs out a breath. “You suck for making me cry.” 

Beca laughs, pressing a few kisses to Chloe’s exposed collarbone as she hugs her. “Let’s go to bed, wife.” 

/

Chloe is completely and utterly exhausted, but the happiness radiating through her whole body makes it totally worth it. 

She glances down to Elliot, rubbing her palm over his stomach. “Are you ready to meet your big sister?” 

The door opens a couple minutes later, Beca walking in with Spencer. The six-year-old gasps softly, her eyes alight with wonder as Beca picks her up so she can take her first look at her baby brother. 

“He’s got the same hair as me,” she observes with a smile. Chocolate hair, like Beca. Spencer had Chloe’s eyes, and Chloe was looking forward to finding out which shade their little boy would end up sporting. “He’s so little, Mommy.” 

“He is,” Chloe murmurs. “Do you wanna hold him?” Spencer’s head bobs up and down in an excited nod. “Alright, go sit in the chair over there.” 

Beca sets her down and grabs the nursing pillow off the foot of Chloe’s bed, setting it on Spencer’s lap once she’s all settled. She carefully plucks the newborn from Chloe’s arms and sets him down on the pillow, crouching in front of the chair as she keeps her hand under his head to support it. “What do you think, Spence?” 

“He’s so cute,” Spencer gushes, her reaction bringing fresh tears to Chloe’s eyes. She grabs her phone off the table and snaps a few pictures of her family, smiling widely. “When’s he coming home?” 

“In a couple days,” Beca says. “We might need your help to read him stories or sing him to sleep.” 

Spencer nods dutifully. “K.” 

Compared to Spencer, Elliot is a heavy sleeper so far, which is pretty great because Chloe feels like she could sleep for days. She wakes up bleary eyed one afternoon after a nap, her son or wife nowhere in sight. 

Following the soft voices and coos carrying from the living room, Chloe ventures down the hall, stopping in the doorway as a soft smile slips on her lips. 

Elliot is chilling on his playmat while Beca and Spencer color on the floor next to him, oblivious to Chloe’s presence. 

Chloe observes them for a moment, her heart fit to burst as she realizes how perfect her little family is, and how far Beca has come. 

[ryik-the-writer]

THE AUDACIOUS STORYBROOKE MIRROR ADVICE COLUMNIST (WEDNESDAY PAPER EDITION) In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 4: Lacey has a conversation with one of her biggest opposers, followed by an interlude with Gold

A03

Wednesday morning came too soon, but Lacey had met the deadline for her column, and she still had a job when she walked into her office.

“Racy Lacey,” Cruella had responded when she sent in the final edit. “When did you become so angelic?”

“Stuff it,” she said to her secondary editor.

Glass’s feedback was mutual.

“Well kid, I admit I had some doubts,” he said just as Lacey was about to scream. “But you pulled it off. We’re getting decent comments on the new column, especially from the higher up.”

“You mean from her majesty,” Lacey spat, despising the woman who got her into this who mess.

“The mayor is pleased, yes,” Glass relayed with a slight warning to his voice.

Lacey ignored it of course, but she didn’t want to talk about that horrid woman any longer.

“What did you think?” she asked, running a finger over a book on his desk.

Glass had the audacity to laugh. “You haven’t asked me that since you were an intern.”

She turned a harsh glare at him and Glass finally put her out of her misery.

“I thought you put a lot of heart into it, and I know it wasn’t easy stepping into something so different from what you’re used to.”

“You’re fucking telling me,” Lacey muttered undetected.

“It’s a heavy subject, I mean good God Lace, did you pick this one to get back at me?”

“Maybe.” Lacey teased.

He let it slide and stood, cueing that there conversation was coming to an end.

“Well you did good, and, well, I’m proud of you kid.”

That was indeed something she hadn’t heard since she was a bright-eyed intern back in high school, and something she hadn’t heard from anyone but him.

Not even from her own father.

“Don’t get mushy on me, Delicate-as-Glass,” she snarked, enjoying the way he bristled from the use of her nickname from him.

“Easy,” he warned, but he more important things to do than lecture his most wild employee on respect.

“Anyway, I think we can start adding one of those with your usual debauchings, and that should keep you in the clear.

It was just as she suspected, but she complained simply to put on a show and then let the matter rest. She’d have to work with Gold some more, which she had no problem with at all.

Though it would seem their attempt at a romantic relationship was going to need some time.

Sunday came around and Lacey hadn’t seen nor heard hide or hair of him since their drink.

As Lacey walked the streets of Storybrooke, an attempt to get her thoughts in order, she but decided she’d visit him that night for more help on her “fluff” article, and maybe some feedback on her smutty one.

Bells rung cleanly through the air as church services let out and Lacey scrunched her nose. The religious zealots in Storybrooke were her biggest haters. It wasn’t uncommon that she’d get some sort of email warning of the damnation of her soul or the obstruction of the town’s youth.

Lacey laughed aloud as she thought of the latter, certain Storybrooke’s youth found their first form of porn in a much more modern way – a fact she often wrote as reply in her emails on the subject.

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits, Miss French.”

Lacey’s grin melted into an annoyed frown at the familiar, very unwelcomed voice.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as her most vocal opposer approached: Mother Superior.

The head nun of Storybrooke’s covenant had her finger in the grand pie that was Storybrooke and was quick to take down anything she could pinpoint as “sinful.” Such measures included removing a majority of “inappropriate” books from the town’s school libraries (the public one had been closed for years), mandating separate PE classes at said schools, and worse, writing a religious reminder about the wages sin in Storybrooke’s Sunday paper—Lacey’s fucking territory!

“Morning,” Lacey greeted vilely, glancing over her shoulder. “And…goodbye.” She began to walk away, but was halted by more of the pious nun’s words.

“I was interested to see your choice of column’s this week,” she spoke. “Much more effective than the sinful trash you usually post.”

Lacey swung around on her heal, letting out a fake gasp.

“And here I thought you hated my work,” she gave the nun a plastic smile. “Good to hear you read my columns regularly.”

Mother Superior bristled, already losing her battle with the spicy Lacey French.

“You—you obviously can stop your sinful ways if you give yourself the chance. You could really help people instead of leading them down the path of—”

“I do help people,” Lacey hissed. “Sex, intimacy, closeness, all of those things are important to people, and they come to me for help because unlike you I’m not going to shame them.”

The head nun went quiet and Lacey thought for a moment she’d won this fight and could go about her day in peace, but then a wicked grin spread over Mother Superior’s face and Lacey knew her day was about to get much worse.

“People seek your insight because you’re an easy slut who has whored herself out expertly.”

She said it. The W-word Lacey hated with a passion. The word that was always aimed at her.

She tried to hide the impact it had on her. No one, not even a pillar of the fucking community, was going to get under her skin.

“At least people read my expert advice. From what I seen they shred your little letter of conviction up and donate it to the animal shelter for bedding.”

Mother Superior’s face turned green and her mouth opened again to comment when another familiar figure added their appeal.

“Mother Superior,” Gold greeted darkly. “I do hope since you’ve found time to invade Miss French’s business then you’ve found time to gather the rent for tomorrow.”

The head nun’s expression turned pale. Her mouth failed to work and Lacey found some secret pleasure in her downfall.

“O-of course, Mr. Gold,” she finally replied, giving Lacey one last dirty look before she dashed away to the convent.

Lacey snorted, spinning around to face Gold.

“Thanks cutie pie, but I was handling myself just fine.”

Gold shrugged. “I never miss a moment to remind that gnat of a woman of her place.”

She chuckled at that, though the sting of the nun’s words were still wearing off.

Gold noticed her shift in mood and searched for an out.

“I was…going to call you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Well neither did you.”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned. “We wrote a column, not slept together, let’s drop it.”

Gold’s face heated and he went quiet.

Lacey sighed, knowing she’d already made the situation between them more awkward than it already was.

“Look,” she said, “I have a few fluff columns I need to go through. How about I come by your place later and you see what you can do.”

Still flustered, Gold could only nod.

“Great,” Lacey said. “I’ll see you then.”

Gold watched her leave, the clanking of her high heels matching the thumping of his heart.

So far there relationship was a sort of business casual agreement, but there was the “what if” factor floating cleanly over them.

His attraction for her was clear between them, but exactly how she felt was still unknown.

For all he knew she was simply using him, but at least it was for his mind and not for his heart.

He was becoming content with their relationship, but he was a lonely soul who would one day want more. What would happen when he tried to take that step? Would it be the end of them?

Unbeknownst to him, the same thought was on Lacey’s mind.

No one had ever stood up for her like that before, and there was a certain tastefulness watching him snarl at that gnat of a nun.

She’d admit that Gold was attractive in his own way. Lean, a decent stature, nicely grayed out, and those eyes. Damn his eyes. The color of whiskey and just as addictive.

She found herself grinning like a freaking teenager as she thought of her unofficial business partner and her growing attraction for him.

It only occurred to her as she got halfway to her apartment that she had spoken to him completely in the open and felt absolutely no remorse or concern.

 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Okay, how about this one: Racy Lacey, I’m at my wits in with my new boyfriend—oh never mind, this one’s smut-worthy too.”

Gold scoffed. They’d been looking through emails for the past hour. They were almost though a whole bottle of wine, most of which was drunk by Lacey. Gold avoided the alcohol as much as possible less he embarrass himself.

Lacey seemed to be holding her own though, mostly. She was walking barefoot through his living room, pacing back and forth as she read emails off her phone.

It was a lovely site and very distracting.

“Your mind goes straight to the gutter, doesn’t it?” Gold said, his stomach immediately twisting with anxiety.  

It was the first time he’d attempted to joke with her and, judging by the snort that followed, she took it fairly well.

“Well, people write me for one thing,” Lacey shrugged, falling back beside him on the couch. “So the gutter is a good place to go.”

He chortled, grateful her sense of humor ran deep.

Lacey stared at him over the rim of her glass, curious.

“What about you?” she inquired. “Where does yours goes?”

Gold choked a bit on the sip of wine he’d taken. Not embarrassing himself was starting to go out the window, it would seem.

“S-somewhere more innocent than where yours is,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Shouldn’t we get back to the column?”

Lacey crawled closer until she was mere inches from him. She crossed her legs, leaning one hand on her knee as she watched him grow increasingly nervous.

“Come on, converse with me,”

Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lacey French was guiltily tipsy in his living room, and getting increasingly bold at that.

“Miss French…”

“For Christ’s sake it’s Lacey,” she slurred. “We’re defiantly on a first-name basis, I mean come on.”

Gold chuckled nervously. Where they really at that stage already?

“I suppose we are. Now the column…”

“Ugh,” Lacey groaned, setting her glass on the floor beside the couch. “All work, no play. What’s the matter, afraid you’ll fall even more in love with me?”

Gold froze. Honestly, he could faint. Lacey was certainly having a field day with the knowledge of his affections from his drunken email earlier last week.  

She wasn’t mocking him, that much he could tell, but he did increasingly wonder the authenticity of her affections towards him, if there were any at all. She’d probably regret her words tomorrow, but he wouldn’t remind her of them if didn’t bring them up.

“It’d certainly be a challenge not to,” he admitted.

Lacey’s smile stretched further, her chest fluttering.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Lacey simply wanted to explore this oddity she had developed with Gold. Either way, she was about to make a very drastic decision.

“Hey,” she whispered, chuckling. “How about …”

Gold tilted his head, charmed at the rosiness on her cheeks. “Yes?”

She stared into those eyes, their color so tantalizing and bright.

“…kiss me.”

Gold’s smirk slowly disappeared, his chest seizing.

“I…I beg your pardon?”

“K-I-S-S,” Lacey repeated with a smack of her lips. “me.”

Gold could only stared at the scarlet-faced goddess in front of him, the color of her face making the blue of her eyes stand out all the more.

He did want to kiss her—Gods knows he did—but was this the right time?

Lacey seemed to think so as she leaned forward, expecting his lips. In retaliation, he leaned back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

Lacey caught on quickly, pausing when she saw the uncertainty on Gold’s face.

“Yikes, sorry,” she muttered. “You’re not going to catch anything, damn.”

Gold was taken aback by the sudden malice in her tone and, he saw, the flicker of shame in her icy blues.

“What? Lacey what are you talking about?”

Lacey stared glassily at her bare feet, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You said ‘who knows what I have’ during our fight, remember?”

With flaming discomfort, he recalled exactly what she was talking about.

It had been a flare up, a way to push her out as he recovered from his embarrassment, to keep her at arms-length, he previously convinced himself.

The reason was pointless. He’d insulted Lacey, humiliated her really.

It didn’t take a vivid imagination to know that her early conversation with Mother Superior was only a sample what she went through daily. And he’d was no different than the fools in town who jumped to conclusions about virtue.

Her head was still bent, one of her fingers circling a patch of leather on the couch. Gold felt sick that he had made her feel any level of guilt when she shouldn’t at all.

“Lacey,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry. I was foolish. I didn’t mean what I said. I shouldn’t have said it.”  

Lacey shrugged, uncrossing her legs and made her way to the window.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replied, the phrase her constant companion whenever she was compared to someone with such loose morals.

Lacey was as sex positive as they came and encouraged many of her readers to be comfortable and experimental  with their sexuality, but her own experience came from a vivid imagination. Her own standards were extremely high, and her partners very few.

Of course, that didn’t stop the many she turned down from spreading callous rumors about her when she refused their beds, and of course being a sex columnist didn’t lend an the most positive opinion.

She’d learned to deal with the snarls and the crude comments whispered behind her back. She’d eye her opposers down just as damningly as they did her and came out triumph.

Still, the isolation didn’t stop the wave of loneliness that hit her from time to time.

“It does too matter,” Gold fought. “You don’t deserve what I said to you Lacey, what anyone says to you at that!”

“I’m used to it—”

“You shouldn’t be,” Gold cut her off. “You are a beautiful, intelligent person Lacey. And you do something every day that not many people have the ability to.”

Lacey snorted but smiled none the less.

“You’re so brave to do it,” Gold said, his eyes lowering. “Braver than I am.”

Lacey eyed him, cocking her head mischievously.

“I think you’re pretty brave,” she said. “Not too many people have the gall to have Racy Lacey in their house, especially with such nosy neighbors.”

“Damn the neighbors,” he said.

She scooted closer, her breath warm and acidic on his lips.

“I think you’re pretty handsome too,” she smirked.

Gold scoffed. His looks were the last thing he’d credit himself over.

“I’m serious,” Lacey said, her painted nails trailing up his neck. “Especially your hair…”

Gold accepted her touch with earnest, his predatory eyes fluttering shut as he pressed into her hand.

She watched him, a man starved for human affection. Just like her.

She carefully leaned forward, letting her lips brush against his, testing his consent. When he didn’t pull away, she strengthened the kiss, pressing her lip solidly into his as her hands tangled in his locks.

Gold returned it, lost in her taste and desperate for her touch.

They separated for air, Lacey’s hand have gripped the collar of his shirt.

“Hey,” she husked. “What if we…”

He was no fool to not know what she wanted.

He had wanted to protect, but found out she didn’t need protection, not from the town at least.

His own heart was damaged, and Lacey had begun to fix the chips and dents.

He was still hesitant, still ashamed by his behavior toward her earlier, but Lacey was pawing at his shirt and he could think of nothing else but her.

He kissed her again, his hand feeling down her hip.

Lacey was quite receptive. She uncrossed her legs and crawled into his lap, pushing him against the arm of the couch.

He captured her face with one hand while he explored her body with the other. His hands came up to her top, stopping for her permission. Her hands met his and she all but ripped off her shirt, her nipple standing at full attention through her silk bra.

Gold’s hands ran up her back, grazing her breasts and gliding over her stomach, her side, down her thigh and under the fabric of her jeans.

She clung to his shoulders as she let her tongue dance with his. Wetness was already pooling between her legs. This was escalating quickly and yet she had no intention of holding back.

He swallowed when his erection pressed against her thigh. She desired him and she needed him. Now.

With more skill than he could have imagined she managed to get her jeans off in a messy tangle, laughing as he helped her.

His fingers graced against the fabric of her panties, applying just the right kind of pressure to her clit.

“Gold,” she keened, attacking his belt and leaning off of him just enough to help pull his boxers down.

She felt his hard erection twitch, pressing against her flesh, his warmth radiating.

She kissed him again. He groaned and bucked his hips against her. She moved her hands between their bodies to free his throbbing erection from his pants. He groaned when she wrapped her hands around his cock. She wanted to taste him. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to bring him pleasure and see it written all over his face.

He trembled a little, grateful she had no qualms with being in charge.

“You are so sexy,” he groaned as she grabbed his cock with one hand and fighting between moving her panties aside and steadying herself with the other. Feeling how good he felt when he finally slipped inside her made all annoyance she felt slip away.

They both sighed and she captured both his hands, pulling them up and behind his head. She entwined her fingers with his and pressed his hands against the couch as she bend forward to kiss him.

She rode him hard, licking, nibbling, sucking at this mouth while she did so. He was hers and she wouldn’t allow him to run off again. He came before she could reach her climax, but feeling his hot seed spilling inside of her brought her over the edge again.

She collapsed on top of him, releasing his hands to play with his hair. And they just breathed together.

Then she started laughing, a throaty ring that made his heart pound.

“Well, Goldie Locks,” murmured as she played with his curls. “I think I have my inspiration for my next column.”

He chuckled and held her ease down so that she was lying on top of him.

“Such a shame you still have to write the tame one, you’re deadline is tomorrow morning, yes?”

Lacey groaned and buried her head in his chest. He kissed her curls in reply.

He was indeed going to enjoy this new relationship with Lacey French.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I’ve been trying to get these two to bang for over a month now, so boom, they banged. I can’t write a smut scene to save my life.

[adamdriverwrites]

Carpe Noctem || Part 4

Plot summary: Mob boss’s daughter & bodyguard au ft. Kylo Ren. Based off this plot bunny (x)

Warnings: none today, kids

Word count: 5329 (prepare yourself)

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader

A/N: Here is part 4 finally! NZ is in quarantine, so i’ve been trying to write and gif a lot more! expect another update soon! let me know what you guys think!

Taglist: @helloimindelaware, @dandydragonz, musicalcoffeebean, @driverficarchive, hazydespair, @mp938368, @maybell88, @bikinibrattoms, @fanfic-fangirl, @stillreadingfantasy, @um-well, @OnevergrowoldnevergrowoldO, @jay-ta-blog, @wildwood-trails, @stephhaniee14, @flowerniche, @sanfranciscroc, @little-miss-mischief1, @pami-yui, @lex-bb13, @deepblueswift13, @allknowingnerd, @shawnme-boy, @whymalu, @simonsbluee, @jons-angel, @whymalu, @mixtapes-books, @amazing1rl, @ambrosia-v-black, @souriemickey, @toads4days, @xsar-bearx, @lunarlung, @bubble-t-r-o-u-b-l-e, @cutiepiepotatoes, @bangtan-savage

Masterlist here

Just family.

If you weren't so opposed to the idea of making a scene, then you would have confronted your father about why he was such a deceiver.

It was clearly not strictly family. After you had gone to your room to change, you met your siblings down in the formal dining room, where they had been drinking and waiting for you to arrive. You all moved to the dining room. Roman, Ares and Lyon  sitting on either side, your father taking his legendary seat at the head of the table. However, with Kylo sitting next to your Dad, the only space available was opposite, also next to your father.

Phasma was also seated at the table, thankfully separating Ares and yourself, which you did not mind one bit. In fact, a part of you was almost excited to catch up with Gwen after all this time.

As you stared at your food in front you, silence permeated the room. Save for the lone conversation between your siblings, few words exchanged, otherwise it was a tense, quiet affair. The dining room was huge, with a table fit for easily 20 people and with the 7 of you spread around one half of it, you still had a sizeable space between each other.

You gathered it was your fathers disposition that put everyone on edge. Sitting at the head of the table, nursing a glass of amber liquid. His food completely untouched as he watched everyone. The only one who seemed completely unperturbed by it was Kylo, eating the rack of lamb with a citrus and blue cheese salad without a care in the world it seemed. He was his usual stoic form, though unperturbed by the lack of conversation or apparent awkwardness that lingered, he ate dinner and kept to himself.

Your mind wandered to what Hux had told you about him earlier. About how he was your fathers sword and shield, apparently unflinching in his ability to spill blood. You had been gone for a number of years, and before you left for good you were still rather young - however you were perceptive. Due to your perceptiveness however, you knew he hadn't been around for a long time, not since you were a kid. So where the fuck did he come from?

"Is it always like this?" As conversation ensued at the other end of the table,  you leaned over to Gwen to whisper quietly.

She chewed through a piece of meat, swallowing before answering, "We don't usually have dinner like this. Ever, really."

You nodded, not really receiving an answer to your question - you wanted to know if everything was usually this tense. Or if the day of Mallory's funeral was such a reason.  "Good to know that we won't have to be subjected to this too often then."

"Don't worry," Phasma smiled down at you, "This isn't awkward because of you."

Your eyes drifted down the table, Roman and Ares laughing about something quietly to themselves - Lyon's eyes however - were locked on you. A hard stare as he pushed his food around his plate, haphazardly shoving some into his mouth before looking over at your Dad.

"Sure." you offered, though not completely convinced of her assurance; however kind of a gesture it was intended to be. You knew it was because of Mallory's funeral, that was the predominant proverbial wound, though your presence was pouring salt into said wound.

It made it so much worse, this you were sure.

Roman's voice quietened your internal monologue, speaking your name to gather your attention. You looked over to see him looking at you. "I'm going to Starkiller later on. You wanna come with?"

Starkiller was one of the only legitimate businesses your family had. One that wasn't used to launder money like the Supremacy, it was purely for profit. Though as you grew up you guessed it was your father's way of keeping your brother out of trouble. He had something to do, something to look after, and it was away from the dangerous dealings that could prove fatal. It was a club on the outskirt of your father's turf, under Roman's management though you didn't think he did much 'work' while there.

"What time were you thinking?" You spoke quietly, as not to disturb other conversation happening at the table and not to alert anyone eavesdropping. Your eyes flickered over to your new bodyguard, eating quietly, not even looking at you.

Roman shrugged, "After dinner sometime."

You nodded, "I'm a little jet lagged still. I might have a nap and come later?" You didn't want to go particularly, and you were definitely not jet lagged. To the contrary, you felt quite awake, you just had other ideas and perhaps it could prove a useful alibi.

"Sounds good." He smiled, then went back to eating food off his plate.

"How's school?" It was now your father's voice that pulled your attention. He looked at you while he asked, still not having touched his food. Only nursing a glass and looking over his family.

"It's going okay, thanks."

Phasma piped in next to you. "What do you study exactly? I don't think I've ever actually asked."

"I have a double major; law and psychology." You nodded, it sounded like a brag though you didn't intend for it to be. Although other members of your family looked down on education, others did not.

"Wow, interesting choice. Impressive." Phasma shot you a little smirk.

"You going to be ready to be my lawyer soon?" Roman joked from down the table.

"Or mine." Your father spoke up.

You gave them a half smile in return. Unable to tell the truth- that you had no intention of being a lawyer, it was just something you were studying because you wanted to possess the knowledge of the judicial law system and all the rules in place. You didn't particularly have intentions of breaking the law but if you did... then it would prove extremely fruitful. Psychology was another interest, you found it imperative to understanding your enemies - not that you had many of those either. Yet.

But you were the daughter of Andrew Snoke, and being made to feel so powerless in your youth gave you a complex as you grew up. You needed to acquire knowledge like no one had in your family before, and maybe then you would feel worthy. Powerful.

Dinner passed by quickly. As soon as everyone had finished, your father offered to move it to the office in the west wing of the manor for more drinks. You were going to decline, playing the excuse of jet lag almost immediately, however, you decided to acquiesce and have one drink. For Mallory.

Lyon and Ares started racking up the polished balls on the pool table, setting up for a game. Roman talked lightly with your father, pouring drinks from a crystal decanter for everyone who wanted one. Kylo was back to a dark corner of the room; finding a seat to watch over everyone and smoke a cigarette. He didn't fraternize with the others, or try to relax with a friendly game of pool. Always stoic and always working evidently.

You followed Gwen, finding a seat near the tall open windows facing the backyard. Curtains parted slightly, cool breeze blowing in faintly. Too dark to see out but the fresh air helped ease your mind, if only for a moment.

"Here." Gwen offered you a cigarette from her pack and you kindly accepted. A horrible habit, you knew, but to you it was a small price to pay for stress relief. A hit of nicotine helped your thoughts calm down, and deprived any ill feelings purchase in the forefront of your mind. You could have a few moments not totally at the behest of your anxiety or depression.

"Thank you." You accepted, along with the flame she held up so you could light it. Inhaling deeply, you gave yourself a second to appreciate the reprieve before you exhaled. And then braved to ask Gwen a question. "So come on, be honest with me."

Her pale eyes met yours, and quirked a brow. "I almost always am."

A short laugh escaped your lips. "Thanks for the honesty." Your eyes drifted around everyone, to see if anyone was paying particular attention. "But I mean... how serious is my Dad about all this bodyguard shit?"

"I'd say pretty serious. He assigned me to Roman after all."

This made you sit forward. "Really?" That was particularly serious. "I thought it was a sexist thing, that he didn't think I could take care of myself but, huh..." You sat back in the chair, thrown for a loop. You didn't think it was really that serious. Sure, there were aspects of Mallory's death suspicious but he was on high alert. Enough to warrant some of his most ruthless and trusted men - and women - to become glorified sitters for his children.

"You've all been assigned someone."

"Why didn't I get you? Why did I get him?" Your eyes shot over her shoulder, the furthermost corner of the sprawling room. Kylo sat with your father, drinking. His dark eyes trained on you; already watching.

Always fucking watching. You pulled your eyes away immediately, though you were positive he would not have been able to hear a word from the distance, or over your siblings shouts and taunts. His eyes were on you regardless and it made you uneasy.

Any hint of a smile covering Phasma's lips instantly dropped. The furrow in her brow set in again. "Well... you're you." She took a drag of her cigarette. "And as much as I hate to admit this, he's the best. Snoke is just being cautious."

"The best at what exactly?" You took a drag of your own cigarette, ashing in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table between you. Something flared in Gwen's eyes, what, you were not sure. Worry? Anger? Jealousy? Or was it fear? You had no idea.

"You're smart. I think you already know." She looked like she didn't want to talk about the subject anymore. You weren't sure if it was your father's presence, or Kylo's that deterred her from spouting any more honest truths.

Your mind went to Hux, and the words he had so freely spoken before dinner had you wondering. Calling Ren your father's right hand man, the problem solver.... a rabid animal.  You knew your family was bad. By conventional terms with a modern sense of morality, they were evil.

Criminals, murderers, extortioners, torturers, tax-evading, wealth-hording, gun-shipping, drug-running psychopaths to be exact.

And as bad as you all were, everyone in the Snoke manor was scared of only one person; your father. He was a much older man now, and though he still held a significant amount of power over everyone in the house - it appeared he now had passed the torch on. All physical bouts and messy jobs were now Kylo's to execute, and it seemed he did them perfectly.

You had never seen or heard of him before. You wondered how new he was exactly, and how quick he had risen in the ranks to become your fathers most trusted man. He would have had to prove himself immensely, and the concept of what that possibly entailed both scared and intrigued you. You wondered what types of violence your father found to be grounds for proof of trust.

You made a mental note to ask Armitage how long he had been around, along with a few others things flying around your brain. Weirdly, they were all questions about Kylo Ren.

You decided to cool your thoughts, and continue small talk with Gwen. You asked about your brother, and what her new schedule was like since it hadn't appeared he had changed much. She confirmed that she spent most of her nights at Starkiller, watching your brother party with his friends.

You shared a few jokes at the expense of your family, especially when Lyon lost a game of pool and almost snapped the pool cue over his knee in anger. A glare from your father and his anger simmered down almost immediately. You finished your cigarette, though enjoying talking with Gwen you were thoroughly over this fucking situation. A drunk sausage fest with your family in which none of them even wanted to talk to you, to spend time with you. Your father could hardly stand the sight of you.  

You gave him the benefit of the doubt - he had buried his daughter today, and looking at the face of your other estranged one was certainly not a priority he had to have. You expected nothing on arrival, and had already had a few days of drama free bliss. Really, your sisters death had the opposite reaction on your Dad than you thought it would.

You supposed you would enjoy it while you could. You thought it was going to be utter chaos here, loud arguments between you and your father, leading to a crescendo in which you would be forced to leave once more.

You decided to bid Gwen goodnight, finishing your drink in two big gulps you braved the walk to your father. Zig zagging around your brothers and the Snoke enforcers, you found your way to your Dad and Kylo. His eyes were focused on the drink in his hand, amber liquid swirling in a glass slowly. Kylo noticed you before he did.

"Dad?" You pulled him out of his reverie and he looked up. "I think I'm going to head to bed, I’m not use to New York time yet."

"Oh." He nodded, "Okay. Sleep well, kid."    

You gave the faintest smile, eyes shooting to Kylo who stared you up and down. A curious look behind his eyes - like he knew you were lying. Though your father seemed completely fooled. You left immediately, trying to ignore the awkward goodbye with your father, you snuck out the doors and headed to your bedroom.

Checking your phone, it was only about 10 p.m. You figured jetlag would set in eventually, but after today’s days events you felt wide awake. You didn't want to go to sleep yet. Maybe you couldn't.

You shed out of your funeral clothes, getting changed into something far more comfortable. A white cropped t-shirt, dark jeans, and your trusted leather jacket. Slipping on some fresh socks and swapping you shoes for your black doc martins. You checked your appearance in the mirror before sighing. You looked good considering everything you had been through today. 

Usually you looked like shit.

Grabbing keys, money, phone and smokes you locked your bedroom door, turned off the light and left out the window. It may have been almost ten years since you had done this, but it was a tried and true trick for sneaking out when you had more than 10 people staying at your house at any given time. Especially when some of those people's job were specifically to make sure people didn't get in or out without the family's knowledge. There was no way in hell you were going to make it out the front door without anyone finding out.

Or worse, Kylo.

You were hellbent on deterring his body-guarding for as long as you could; hopeful it would serve as eventual proof to your father that you did not need to be looked after. You didn't even want to think about how uncomfortable he made you feel.

Not in a bad way, you weren't scared of him like everyone seemed to be. But being in such close proximity was jarring in a certain way, despite his stoic, murderous presence, you couldn't stop staring at his face. At that scar, at those deep, brown eyes.

And at those lips.

He was hot, in an unconventional way, and you almost never found men sexy. For this reason alone you wanted to stay as far away as possible. You didn't even want to broach the reason of whatever the fuck had you thinking about Kylo Ren's lips.

There was a large trellis that covered almost the whole wall underneath your window. Covered by thick ivy vines that sprawled up most of the 3 story Snoke manor, you used this to sneak in and out of your room up until you were sent off to boarding school. And even when you came back for a Christmas once. It was a trick you had learned from watching Mallory sneak out when you were younger.  

You poked your head out first, making sure you couldn't see anyone on a perimeter watch, another thing your father's lackeys did sometimes. Seeing the coast was clear, you positioned your feet and then moved out, leaving your window open for entry later. Making sure your footing was placed carefully and with a strong grip, you made your way down the side of the house. Your bedroom was on the second floor, though your house was notorious for high ceilings and you were pretty high up off the ground. Adrenaline kicked in and cooler heads prevailed as you made the climb down to the ground. Once your feet touched the grass underneath your window, you breathed a sigh of relief.

The garage was big enough to house all the vehicles of the multiple people who lived at your house. The entrance was under the south wing of the house, which was an easy, quick walk from your room. You made it there in a minute or two, careful to stay away from windows in case you were seen by anyone randomly gazing out. Opening the last garage door, the one that housed your precious car, you hopped in and started it up. Leaving the lights off, you shifted gears and made it out onto the driveway. Careful that anyone looking out a window or wandering around the property wouldn't be alerted by bright car lights. You were trying very hard not to be seen and you were hoping your hard work was going to pay off.

You had spent years perfecting this technique of Mallory’s.

You drove down the long, winding driveway guided by moonlight alone, until you reached the end. You flicked your lights on and took the exit onto the road. You exhaled a deep breath, one you didn't know you were holding. Paranoia relieved a little bit as you made your way down the street, your eyes still glanced at the rear view mirror looking for car lights that might follow.

You were half worried that Kylo would be trailing you, someone seeing you slinking around the property in the dark and sneaking out would definitely pique interest. You didn't want a bodyguard, especially one who's presence made you uneasy. In which way in particular, you weren't sure. But you wanted to be alone right now. 

You had been alone for years and years on end before this moment - what had changed now that you needed a bodyguard? Mallory's death? Most likely. Being back in the country could've proved you to be an easier target too, you guessed.

However, you had been gone for so many years, and being the black sheep of the family did provide one comfort - no one outside the family really knew who you were.  You were a taboo subject, rarely talked about and never seen. You weren't involved in the family business like your brother's were, and didn't go to classy fundraisers and socialite parties like Mallory did.  

Not to mention you took Brazilian jiu jitsu for years when you were a kid - and you remembered some shit. You weren't lying when you tried to convince your father that you would be fine on your own.

It didn't take long to enter the city, and then find the towering skyscraper that was the Finalizer. It was a tall, dark building with gothic architecture encompassing the facade, contrasted beautifully with its elaborate but minimalist, neutral toned interior. A 5 star safe haven for the rich, famous and criminally inclined. Your father had made sure whatever secrets were experienced within, never had a chance of escape.

You pulled your vehicle into the valet area, shifting into park you hardly had enough time to grab your stuff before a young man opened your door for you.

“Welcome to the Finalizer, ma'am.”

You gave a half smile in thanks, walking forward to the grandiose gold double doors that served as the entrance. Another young man opened them with a smile, welcoming you to the hotel.

Gold light from over hanging chandeliers illuminated the room. Bright mosaic patterns intertwined with white marble made up the floor. An expansive room with nothing but elevators behind a desk with two more people behind it. You were glad you remembered the pass code, unwanting to make conversation with people you didn't know. Not today.

You made a beeline straight for the elevator, stepping into the mirrored room, throwing a smile at the girl behind the desk as you passed. The numbers for all the floors were illuminated by a dim light, the top 3 floors reserved penthouses for permanent residences given out by your father. The very top floor was for family, a sort of unusual halfway house. For when his children couldn’t stand being near him but lacked the funds to move into their own abode. It was Roman's home once upon a time, then it was empty save for the odd weekend or two when your brothers were too drunk to leave the city, and then eventually Mallory’s home. You didn't know what your father was going to do with it now. If your sisters body hadn't been found in it then you would have been tempted to move in.

Although, depending on how bad it got at home - maybe you could be easily convinced.

A small keypad was situated next to the floor buttons, and you entered the pass code for your sisters floor, something that wasn't required of irregular hotel stayers who had simple key cards for their rooms.

The elevator rode all the way to the top, and you were lucky to be alone. The surge of the lift paired with the g-force, you felt your heartbeat rapidly fasten. You tried to peg its inception down to the anxiety that now clouded your mind. You were about to enter your sister's apartment after all.

The last place she was when she was alive.

You remembered your father telling you the place had been cleaned after the forensic evidence had been collected. You hadn't been here in so long that you hardly remembered it. You were shipped off to boarding school long before you were old enough to spend drunken weekends here.  

The doors to the elevator opened right up into the apartment. Separating with a 'ding' it revealed the almost pitch black penthouse. A little stream of light from the lift exposed a golden beam down the otherwise dark hallway. You turned the torch on your phone to it's brightest setting, walking out into the penthouse. The doors shut behind you as you found the light switch, and the penthouse was suddenly bathed in light.  

Tall, white walls of the hallway gave way to an open planned penthouse. Floor to ceiling glass revealed the neon New York skyline below. The spacious living room gave way to a kitchen on the far left and bedrooms on the far right. A garden laden outside area showed numerous seating with a table, a hot tub, and an infinity pool that disappeared off the edge.

It was clad in dark fabrics and white paint. A shiny, new, modern penthouse that was starkly different than the Snoke manor. It was sparse with furniture, minimalist in its decor; simple but effectively pretty. Mallory had kept the place nice and tidy, artwork and pictures littered the penthouse walls, giving it a burst of colour that was proof of her bubbly personality living here.

You shed your jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch, your items discarded along with it. Your eyes darted around the apartment, eager to find something out of place, unusual enough that you would notice. Though, your lack of experience with the space provided some trouble.

Mallory had taught you a lot growing up - how to escape down a trellis on the side of the house to avoid being detected was one of them. One of the others was having a good hiding spot.

Andrew Snoke was a controlling father growing up, especially with his daughters. And even more so with his favorite, Mallory. You didn't blame her for turning to drugs in her turbulent youth, not with the pressure she was under. Your brothers had done all that and worse and they hadn't been crucified for it.

And because of all of that, Mallory had taught you that hallowed out books, sun-glass cases in underwear drawers, and envelopes behind hung pictures were all great hiding spots.

You made your way to the bedrooms, finding the master that Mallory called hers. Everything was clean, put away, though a glance at the walk-in closet and the mass of designer dresses it was easy to deduce her presence. There was a large bed in the middle, side tables either side. Various artwork hung on the walls and the long, wooden shelf in the room was littered with pictures of her and her friends.

You noticed a few of them by face, probably knew all of them by name the amount she talked about them - though you couldn't tell who was who. Mallory's smiling face was what caught your eyes and cause you to still. Shining, bright eyes and a wide smile that you were familiar with. One that you would never see again. Your throat tightened at the thought.

You darted over to the side tables with purpose, to forget the overwhelming sadness creeping into your mind and replace it with something productive instead. You rifled through its contents, opening drawers and quickly sifting through objects. Pushing things to the side you safely checked for a false bottom of each shelf, but found nothing in particular. Moisturizers, sleep masks, and a pack of cigarettes - though nothing special.

You continued your rampage through her room, looking behind artwork hung on the walls, looking under the bed, under the pillows, in between the mattress and the bed frame, then moving to the closet. You checked in her boots, making sure nothing was concealed in there, before becoming desperate and looking in her shoe boxes and the pockets of her coats. Heaving a sigh of contempt, and resigning to the notion that there was nothing in this room you decided to move on.

You made your way to the kitchen - checking cereal boxes, and the freezer, large tins that she kept nestled in the pantry. You checked anything and everything you thought could be a possibility, but nothing seemed suspicious. Nothing was awkwardly placed, nothing moved every so often that dirt patterns formed; everything was normal.

You ventured over to the living room. You checked behind the artwork first, and behind one you find a safe built into the wall. Your interest was piqued momentarily before realizing these were in all your fathers properties - and housed usually large amounts of cash, jewels, important legal documents and the like. You were looking for something in particula, and figured it would not be inside a safe your father had access to. 

You knew Mallory kept a journal, she had as a teenager, and once she grew up and tried to stay sober she had one documenting her thoughts. Something her sponsor told her might be able to help with her sobriety. You hoped if anything her diary would hold some impertinent information. Anything.

However, you were not inclined to think a diary she wrote in everyday was kept in a safe in the living room. Too many processes for something so ridiculous as a journal. You figured she was still like she was growing up - in that she preferred to hide things from the prying men in our family - but she wouldn't go to those lengths. Not if our father had the code to said safe.

You would ask him about it later, but resigned to not give up. It had to be somewhere. You were confident it was not in the safe.

A large flat screen was set against the wall, a wide fireplace underneath. Built into the wall either side were some bookcases, not housing anything but photos, some CDs, and ornaments that Mallory had collected over the years that obviously meant something to her. And a card from you, from her last birthday. Nothing pretty or pink, or particularly special but simply declaring your love for your sister.

You placed it back on the shelf, eyes moving over to a trophy from Mallory's high school days, a cheer-leading trophy, sitting next to it a picture of her winning prom queen, next to her tiara that she blatantly kept. You smiled, if only at the ridiculous nature and stark reality of how different you two were. Things she cared about weren't even on your radar - you two didn't have anything in common. Lived on different continents in fact, and still the two of you got together and it was some of the only moments you felt you were truly happy. You would drink, or maybe smoke a little pot together and would end up in stitches of laughter, faces and sides burning in pain. You were definitely going to miss her humor.

A smile curved your lips and you glanced over, eyes catching a gold trophy that caused you to still. You had seen it before, you remembered it briefly, and as your eyes shot down to the engraved tag, it read your name.

Your hands gripped the trophy, a gold metal showing a girl doing a roundhouse kick in a martial arts stance. "Holy shit." The words flew from your mouth without thought.

Mallory had kept it.

~~~~

You and competed in over 6 different competitions, fought in over 22 different matches, becoming the champion for Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in the tri-state area for girls under 18. And you were only 13 years old at the time.

Years and years of rigorous training had led to this point, years of your youth spent on grueling grappling techniques and perfecting your punches. To this referee now announcing your name, a round of applause from all the parents in the stands stung your ears. He shook your hand, handing you the trophy. A flash from a camera blinded you momentarily, and you searched for familiar faces in the crowd.

Your eyes locked with Mallory's. She was standing up, clapping as hard as she could, a proud smile on her face. You looked at the seat next to her - reserved for your father.

It was empty.

Your heart dropped. You mustered a smile, praying for it to be over so you could go back to the changing rooms and release the tears that pooled in the corner of your eyes.

You locked your gaze with Mallory once more, and noticing the look on your face, and you glancing at the empty seat next to her, her mouth uttered an apology, providing a sincere look.

You bit your lip, squeezing the trophy as hard as you could in your hands until it was over. Once you were clapped off the stage with the girl who came 2nd and 3rd place, you ran to the changing rooms to find a lonely corner you could get out of your fighting robes.

You prayed for the tears to go away, to any God who was out there that could show one ounce of mercy to you. But no one answered. You were alone, and once one tear fell it was hard to stop the rest. Your father couldn't even come to your championship fight? He never devoted any time to you ever, and you were doing this because it made him vaguely proud in some way. Even still, he couldn't give you one second of his fucking time?

He had given you nothing, and you had done this all for him.

You sniffled, throwing your bag over your shoulder and haphazardly slipping your shoes on, you exited the changing room to meet Mallory outside the stadium.

"Oh my god! Congratulations!" She swept you up in a hug, perfume wafting through your nostrils, your face was buried in her blonde hair. "First place? Hell yes!"

You scoffed. "Yeah..."

She dampened at the sight of you, facade falling slightly. "Oh, come on, kid. Let's go get some ice cream, my shout."

"I don't know," you hitched the bag up your shoulder, "I don't really feel like ice cream."

She sighed, stepping forward to grab your hand that clutch the trophy. "I'm so sorry he didn't come, okay, but-"

"Did he say why?"

"Well, he just said he was busy and he had to-"

"He's always too busy." You interrupted her again. "He doesn't give a shit about me. I haven't seen him in weeks, and he's the one that put me into this martial arts bullshit!"

Mallory's weakening facade was demolished, and she burst into tears. "I'm so sorry."

You sighed deeply, though it had been evident you had been crying you chastised her regardless. "Why are you crying?"

"Because," she wiped her tears away, shifting her large handbag further up her shoulder, "Because I'm sorry. I'm sorry for Dad, for how he is and how he treats you." You weren't sure how but it seemed like she got even more upset. "And I'm sorry that I was fortunate enough to be nourished by her growing up and you were too young to experience-"

"Whatever." You cut her off again, before she could finish, she was crying with sympathy, empathy, whatever the fuck it was that caused her tears. If she finished her sentence you knew you would be reduced to the same fate. "Can you please take me home? I'm done."

You glanced over to the side, a stadium bin free standing. You walked over, taking one last look at the trophy before you threw it into the trash can. You glanced at Mallory, and then walked to the car park where she had her vehicle.You didn’t look back.

~~~

The two of you had made your way home, driving in silence. You remembered that day vividly now. Mallory was 8 years older than you were, so she had her license, and her own car. A whole life of her own. She was in college, eager to drink and socialize with her friends.

And then something changed.

You had never been close when you were younger, but after that day she had made a gratuitous effort of being in your life. Of supporting you emotionally and providing wisdom and comfort when you needed it. Of being a constant in your life, even when you left for boarding school. She was the only lifeline you had in this family. She had taken the role of father, and mother, and adopted those qualities to try give you a better life.

And she had kept it.

You clutched the trophy in your hands, even tighter. She must have picked it out of the trash, put it in her handbag and then followed you to the car.

And she kept it all this time. Never telling you about it, never trying to offer it back to you. She kept it as a proud memento on a shelf in her living room for herself. Your throat tightened, your lip trembling as you felt tears gather in your eyes. You couldn't hold it back, irrevocable sadness you had been keeping at a simmer turned into full on misery. You wept for times passed, over memories you shared with Mallory and the reality that you would never create any more. You cried over the possibility of the suspicious circumstances that surrounded her death, that someone could have taken her away from you before her time.

And you cried because you were alone, once again.

[severeblizzardlady]

Music in My Ears

Soulmate AU - You hear your soulmate’s music. But what are you supposed to do if they happen to be in another universe entirely? 

Pairing: Jin Bubaigawara x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Sexual themes (some non-con/dubious consent), Jin’s shenanigans (also, language barriers? Sometimes they’re a thing, sometimes they’re not), and a weeeeee bit of yandere

Disclaimer: I don’t own the music

“Baby shark, do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark--”

“[Name], I swear to God, you need to stop singing that fucking song.” Your cousin said, glaring at you from the corner of her eye. After visiting your cousin and her family for the week, it was time for you to fly back home. She’d offered to drive you to the airport, even though you were fine with getting a taxi. 

Obviously, she was starting to regret it.

“It’s not my fault that’s the only thing your kids wanna listen to!” You snapped. And it was true. The entire time you’d been there, those sweet, angelic children begged to hear that song at least once or twice a day. 

She muttered something then, something about “empty heads,” but Mom had taught you not to hit someone when they were driving. Louder, she said, “Just listen to the song all the way through. That should get it out.”

“Okay,” You reached for the stereo’s power button only to get your hand smacked. “Hey!”

“I’m not listening to it, use your player!”

Dammit. “Hmph, this better work,” You stuffed your earbuds into your ears, finding the song. “I don’t wanna get thrown off the plane mid-flight.” 

---

“No good, no good, no good.” Jin Bubaigawara, AKA the villain Twice, couldn’t breathe. The walls were constricting all around him, and not just from that yakuza Mimic. He’d been slow in making the wall that separated Twice from that Salaryman hero. It was on purpose, he’d wanted Jin to get caught.

No way, that couldn’t be right!

Gin grit his teeth. The pull was getting worse, the one deep inside, threatening to rip him into pieces--of course it wasn’t, he was fine. Just dandy even!

“Gonna split apart. Hooray! I’m...splitting!! I won’t!”

Hurting, it hurt so bad. No, actually, it felt just fine, like a warm bubble bath! Where was Toga? Why couldn’t he have just ignored those beaked bastards that day?

“Gonna split...if I don’t cover up!!” He, he was--

“Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark do-do-do-do-do-do. Baby shark!”

The splitting stopped. Something in Jin’s chest shifted, no it didn’t! It was deeper, in his soul. Like a piece that he hadn’t realized was missing had just snapped into place as music filled his ears. A song about sharks that just kept going in his ears. Even as Toga wrapped her handkerchief around his head to prevent him from splitting further (Unfortunately!~). 

Did this mean he had a soulmate? For all of his life, Jin had never had a soulmark. No red strings, no mysterious bruises (but the ones he made were plenty mysterious on their own!), no music...until now. The song sounded like it was for kids, a real banger! Was his soulmate a kid? They could just call him grandpa!

“If this cooperation thing doesn’t work out,” Toga said suddenly, dragging Jin out of his thoughts (She didn’t have to be jealous!). “We’ll never get our revenge.”

“It’s the end do-do-do-do-do-o. It’s the end!”

---

You didn’t get thrown off the plane. And you no longer had the Baby Shark song in your head. Both were a plus. 

Once you were home safe and sound, you had a little time to rest and relax before you were back to work again. Honestly, you hadn’t planned to spend your entire time off visiting family, but your parents blackmailed you. Really, you serenade a cat in public one time, and suddenly you’re marked for life. 

Whatever, you would do it again in a heartbeat. All cats deserve to know they’re loved!

You worked. And worked. And worked. And worked. And every day after work, you’d collapse on your couch with something quick to eat, like food from the freezer section at the store or takeout. Sometimes your neighbors, the couple in the next place over, would start yelling or start having sex. Both were loud and messed with your stomach--whether in anxiety or just...not wanting to hear them have sex because, holy shit, who had sex that often (where they leads in a smutty romance?). So you’d listen to music. 

You flinched at a dull thump that came from the wall on the other side of your apartment. You knew, from the one time they’d invited you over, that your neighbors had a bookshelf there. It sounded an awful lot like something had been slammed into it. 

“O-oh fuck!” The woman moaned.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.” You nearly threw your takeout to the floor with how quickly you grabbed your ear buds. Trying to shove them into your ears as a repetitive thud started, you turned up the volume as high as you could before pressing play. Then, as Freaks by Timmy Trumpet started playing, you collected your food and hustled to the bedroom.

“I need to move.” 

---

“The bass and the tweeters make the speakers go to war. Ah, the mighty trumpet brings the freaks out to the floor.”

“You’re doing it again.” 

“Huh?” Jin whipped around to see Dabi fixing him with a blank stare. Wait, nu-uh, the blank stare was his usual look. That was Dabi’s annoyed look. 

When Jin just kept staring back, Dabi sighed. “You hearing your soulmate again? Every time you do, you start wriggling like you’re gonna pee yourself.”

“That’s because I wanna dance! Nah, you caught me, this music’s bad on my bladder!” 

Weeks had passed after the League had gotten their revenge on the bird bastard yakuza. With vengeance for Big Sis Magne taken care of, it was back to business. Well, when they felt like it anyway! They mostly lazed around a lot. 

With the yakuza’s serum in their hands, it should’ve been smoother sailing, but Jin wasn’t able to copy it. Shigaraki’s disappointment had been palpable that day (well, maybe he was just constipated!). The guilt of it weighed on Jin. Again, he’d let his friends down again. 

And yet, every time he felt down, every time he felt like a failure, he heard it. Music. His soulmate (stalker!).

The second time he heard the music was when he was in the middle of a League meeting. One second it had been quiet, nothing but Shigaraki discussing their next steps, and then: 

What a splendid pie, pizza-pizza pie. Every minute, every second, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy! 

 He was pretty sure kids didn’t listen to metal. But maybe their parents were just really edgy!! 

But the songs kept coming, none like the first. Some had a whimsical element to them, though, like the music had been doused in glitter and summoned from a unicorn’s ass. 

The music always came when Jin needed it. Always when he felt useless, like he couldn’t provide for his friends or protect their happiness. Maybe his soulmate could sense his distress and that caused the music. Nah, it was aliens.

“I still think we should find ���em!” Toga cut in, chin resting on her hands. “Even if you don’t recognize the music, you. Being away from your soulmate for too long can’t be healthy!” 

“Yeah,” Spinner piped up, “but even so, how’re we supposed to find them? We can’t even find that music online.” 

Both were good points (eh, sorta). Soulmates had to unit at some point, particularly those with a hearing bond. Eventually, they’d begin hearing more than just each other’s music. They’d hear conversations and anything else their mate happened to hear. It drove people insane, the way the universe was desperate for destined lovers to be together. Or maybe it needed to be more aggressive, push a little harder! 

But....

“We’ll find them eventually,” Jin gave his friends a thumbs up. “For now, let’s focus on what’s ahead of us!” Of course a soulmate was nice, especially one that cared for him--so nosy!--the way his did. But his friends needed him. Unlike his soulmate, they were right there, and he could make sure they got everything they needed for their happiness. 

Toga watched him with curious eyes even when Shigaraki finally arrived for the meeting, but she didn’t say anything else. 

---

“You don’t look too good, [Name].” 

You smiled despite your upset stomach, trying to wave off your coworker’s concerned stare. “Had a little bit of food poisoning this morning.” Just the mention of food made your stomach want to wring itself out until you vomited again. 

It’d been a mistake, drinking as much as you had the night before, but you’d finally managed to snag a new place and had celebrated with a drink. Or three. Man, that had not been smart. 

“Hey, if you’re not feeling well, head on home, all right?” Your coworker said, stepping back a little. Like you were going to puke on her pumps. You would’ve bristled at that if your head didn’t hurt so much. A little bit of vomit would’ve been an improvement. Her shoes looked like they’d seen better days. “We’ve got that meeting this morning too.”

Yeah, that was the only reason you’d shown up. Your boss had reminded everyone about how important the meeting was. There was no way you could miss, especially not because you were hung over. 

As you ambled into the meeting room, there was a buzzing in your ear. You frowned, rubbing the back of your neck. Instead of dying down, especially once the meeting started, it got worse, to the point the buzzing sounded like, like music. A slow song, one full of longing and love. God, were you so messed up from just three drinks that you were suddenly hearing music? 

Which was what you thought. At first. But then it kept happening when you hadn’t had any alcohol. It was never at the same time of day, sometimes it happened when you were eating lunch or talking to someone. It was good, almost always rock after that first romantic-ish sounding song, but you had no idea why it was happening. 

You could still hear, but there was music. Music no one else could hear, and you’d asked plenty of your coworkers, nearly making an ass of yourself in the process. 

The only time it stopped was when you got home. The time you really needed it to and had to resort to your own music (until you could move out at least). 

You wondered if you were going crazy.

---

Jin was going crazy. And he didn’t want to say it was Shigaraki’s fault, because it honestly wasn’t! It really fucking was though. 

“We’re finding your soulmate,” Shigaraki said one day after they’d taken down a wannabe villain group that was trying to stake a claim on the League’s territory. The group had some valuables among them, some money and a nice stereo system.

Shigaraki had taken one look at it all and demanded it get carried back to the base. Mr. Compress, the swell guy, did all the heavy lifting, and he’d broken a sweat by the end of it! 

 “I thought we had more important things to do,” Dabi groused. He’d stepped out earlier, something about calling a potential recruit.

“We’re not doing anything without Jin,” Shigaraki stated, turning on the system. Music filled the air. “And if that means we have to take the time to find his soulmate, we’ll do it.”

If only Shigaraki wasn’t looking out for them all. If only Shigaraki didn’t believe in him. Because even with the music on his side, nothing had changed. Jin was letting everyone down because nothing seemed to be working. Not that first song, the one that was literally saying, “I’m here, darling, come find me. May this song be the only one that fills your ears so you know I’m thinking of you.” It was made for auditory soulmates by a singer with an auditory soulmate. 

It was because you were a child, wasn’t it? Because you didn’t understand, were too young, couldn’t tell your parents. You were avoiding him, wanted nothing to do with him, thought he was a waste of your time. 

The music could only do so much to fill the void your presence would fill. He couldn’t think about anything for too long without you somehow being involved. People watching turned into wondering what you were like. Fighting turned into imagining you being amazed by his abilities. Smoking out his window at night turned into dreams of you calling for him from his bed, saying you missed him. Needed him. 

But the searches still turned out nothing. The music did nothing. It was like you weren’t even real to begin with. 

Where were you?

---

“It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong. To be honest, your hearing seems to be even better than most at your age!”

That had been the oto--ear doctor’s diagnosis after he’d tested you. After a quick Google search, you’d been sure you had tinnitus, which would’ve made sense with how much music you played to drown out your surroundings, but apparently you were wrong.

You hadn’t told the doctor you were hearing full songs that you’d never heard before. But maybe you should’ve? Even as you’d gotten in your car after the appointment, you could hear it again, that slow, yearning song that you’d first heard. God, if only Google had a melody search bar!

The music had stopped as you pulled into the apartment parking lot. You sighed. “Just like clockwork, huh?” 

It was your last night at the apartment. Tomorrow, you were moving everything into a new place. One that  was closer to your work so you’d be able to walk more. Maybe get some fresh air. And maybe the change would make the weird music go away. 

Not wasting a second, you pulled out your headphones and stuck them in your ears. Who knew what would be waiting for you tonight? At least it would be the last time though! With that happy thought, you stepped out of your car....

and felt the world give way underneath your feet.

---

“I know that we’re just perfect strangers, and perfect strangers, that just won’t do, no.”

God, were you trying to kill him? 

Another day fighting nobodies and taking everything they had. Jin felt like his skin was too tight on his bones, like everything was too loud and too bright and not bright enough. Jin had gone back to the base early. It was a bad idea, too dangerous (how fun!) on his own. But he needed to play the song again. 

He’d been playing  music all the time to tell you he was there listening, waiting, needing. Except you weren’t coming (Sure you were!), always just teasing him with your stupid music--nope, you were definitely calling to him right back!

“Why not make today the day that a perfect stranger falls for you, oh!”

You didn’t want anything to do with him, that was why you were hiding! The fabric of his costume crinkled as Jin clenched his fists, body shaking with rage. You were just mocking him, tormenting him, he wasn’t worth your time at all!

“Then I don’t need you either!” He roared, lunging at the sound system--

There was a rumble. The building shook, throwing Jin off balance. He yelped, tumbling and shielded his head at the last second. The shaking stopped as soon as it started.

“What the hell?”

Yeah--wait. He didn’t say that. Slowly lowering his arms, Jin found himself staring at a complete stranger in the middle of the League’s base. 

---

You were sitting in some sort of warehouse. You blinked. Then you blinked again, just to see if that would help. It didn’t. “What the hell?”

Your ear buds were still in, “Herp de Derp” still playing in your ears. And you would’ve taken them out right away if it weren’t for the costumed guy on the floor staring at you. 

Was he some sort of cosplayer? The costume, black with silverish gray lines on the body suit and red wrist...things and a mask that was half gray and half black, looked sort of familiar. Like you’d seen it on Adult Swim at some point while channel surfing late at night. 

You hoped that all the muscle accentuated by the suit was padding. Wait, no, you needed to leave. 

“S-Sorry, I...where am I exactly?” He said something then, but you couldn’t quite hear because, duh, your music was still on. “Um, sorry,” you tapped your ears and tried to smile (it was all getting creepier by the second), “just lemme....” 

Tapping a finger on the screen, you paused the music, pulling out your ear buds.

The guy jolted to his feet then, making you flinch (you were starting to think the muscles were his, if the way they flexed was any indication). You had no idea what kind of expression he had under that mask but the eye holes were wider than they’d been before. Like he was bugging out. “You.”

“Y-yeah?” He had a really nice voice. It was a shame things were getting more surreal and even creepier by the second. You were still on the ground, your legs felt numb.

He was on you before you even realized it, solid, warm body pushing into you, making you feel that, no, there was no padding. The shock of it startled you, making your nerves zing in a way they never had before, like something about this was right, even as your stomach flopped at the fact that you were in a strange place with a strange man who was touching you. 

His body slotted against yours perfectly, making you feel every inch of him. Your mouth was dry, no words could come out, only a slight squeak. “You’re not a kid, I was worried. I was looking forward to being called ‘grandpa’!” His hands trembled as they went to your face, tracing your lips, cupping your cheeks. “I knew the universe would make sure we came together. Except this was all me!” 

You had no idea how to respond, not to his babbling or his contradictory way of speaking. You didn’t get a chance to either. His mouth was on yours, lower half of his mask pushed up out of the way. There was a vague feeling of stubble, but all you could focus on was the tongue in your mouth, inviting yours to meet it. 

All you could focus on was the thick hands sliding down to your ass to drag you forward until you were sitting in this man’s lap. 

All you could focus on was the heat of it all. Of how good it felt. Of wanting more. Of wanting to go home, wherever that was. 

He moaned when you clutched at his back, mouth leaving yours to plant kisses down your neck. “My soulmate, all mine. Finally.” He panted the words between each kiss, as though being away from your skin for even a second was too long.

Soulmate?

You shivered when he began to shift, hands moving to your hips. When he finally spoke again, his voice was raspy, thick with desire and something too dark to be considered love:

“I’ll never let you go.”

[anonil88]

“This isn't prison break.”parts 1 & 2

Rue runs away for a night from rehab with a bunch of people she doesn't know. They go to a club, do some stupid stuff and adopt a cat.

wrote this and put it on AO3- lnk here- but also updating on here:

PART 1

Rue laughs absently at the other group of "degenerates" as Ali would call them. They are walking along the side of the road towards wherever a kid named Malcolm was leading them. She technically was supposed to be in her small dorm bed asleep and awaiting 4 am check in. But instead here she was being a fellow degenerate who had technically escaped the rehab facility. They all intended on going back to the treatment facility eventually. She hopes Sol would even though it meant they probably would be separated. They all just needed a night of more because everyone was on edge and needed a break. Everyone was aware that the consequences would be getting kicked out or all restrictions taken away. But, fuck it.

Her group of acquaintances, because they were not her friends, was made up of a random assortment of folks. One of which was some guy named Graham who was apparently the older "brother" of Angel. Angel was the only one out of the group besides her roommate who actually knew more than whatever she half assed in group therapy. Which was very little but it was enough to keep them.... interested. Rue shoves her hands in the pockets of a pair of baggy shorts that Angel threw at her in a parking lot after everyone met back up. Their escape plan was a plan but they all booked it through a hole in the fence and through a patch of woods at first. Some person named Bones, who had to at least be a sophomore in college, picked them all up in a hatchback and the Graham who opened a backpack filled with vices.

Rue steered clear of the opiates and went straight for the bottle of Coconut Rum. Even though she could practically hear the pills singing her fucking name. Most of them actually opted to be clean of whatever landed them in rehab but not sober. Not everyone though because Angel was definitely rolling a tiny bit and so were two other people out of the 5 fence jumpers. Including her roommate Sol. Rue just figured the slap on the wrist once they got back would be less harsh without a positive test. The rum was more than enough to stay kind of alert amongst everyone here. All these faces that might leave her dying face down in a ditch if she OD’ed....again.

She wasn't even in here because of an overdose. Just a basic relapse that made her mom's mind up for her and now she was forced into a stupid facility with strangers. They forced her to talk, made sure she ate, but she honestly felt worse being inside than out. It was probably working the 12 steps and quiet therapy sessions but in places she didn't see yet. This right here though the warmth of the air touching her skin as the packed car they'd all tumbled into hurtled through empty streets. Leaning her head back she mumbles along the lyrics while Sol pulls at the worn shirt collar. 

 "Beep beep go swerving in my, Beep been you want me riding in your...."

Rue sighs feeling sticky lips press against her clavicle and up her neck.

 "Beep beep ghost busting in my,

 Beep beep you want me riding in your....driving super fast."

Sol was cool people but Rue knew it couldn't be anything more than fooling around. Kissing when no one was watching or either of them came back from a therapy session sobbing.  Sometimes Sol sneaking into her bed at night so they could have quickie sex sessions. This wasn't how Rue expected to explore her sexuality that was pretty dormant but it was what she had. It also wasn't with who she had in mind either. Lingering feelings aside the two of them were stuck in a juvenile inpatient program. With the same beds as the ones in college pamphlets, a no shoelace rule, and  fuzzy socks ( that Rue secretly loves). This girl was like 3 inches shorter than Rue, dark skinned, neck tattoos and a short cut. Sol had been through so much more shit than Rue and it made her feel ungrateful. Ungrateful because at least she had a hard working mom who still loved her and hadn't abandoned all hope. Other people in the program who took it seriously though told her not to because her life sucked too.

Feeling Sol's lips on hers she kissed her back. She didn't feel anything but it must have felt amazing to Sol who deepened the kiss. The car swerved past what in Rue's mind had to be a pothole. Sol falls away further into her body clutching the fabric of her shirt and accidentally her chest. Rue hears Sol sigh and snaps her eyes open while Sol still kisses her. Rue grabs hold of the handle above the door and sits back up mumbling, what was that. She watches Sol roll her eyes and sit back into the tan seats.

"Oh FUCK," Bones yelled slowing the car down and pulling over. Bones had their black hair slicked all the way back and a cigarette falling out of their mouth. They were odd enough sober and everyone's dd, just a ball of chaotic a.d.d they'd laughed at her earlier as they walked her from the gas station bathroom back to the car. It was a nice gesture because apparently she seemed "kind of uncomfortable," which was true. The urge to escape herself dulled the fear of her mother's true unbridled anger. Or Fez's.

He was really upset when he found out she got a new plug after actually being clean for so long. She turns to look out the back window and sees two green eyes attached to a small grey mound in the road. 

"What the....omg a cat omg," Angel is practically bouncing out of the car after pulling out a half eaten filet o fish. Rue watches him in an outfit she felt fit him so much more than the basic t-shirt and sweatpants he wore everyday. His platform sneakers lit up across the black asphalt as he inches  closer to the obviously terrified animal. A glitter covered arm wove in front of him with food and Rue leans into the window in anticipation. The only thing that could make Angel seem even more angelic was wings or a halo above his half platinum half silver hair. He honestly seemed like the type to fit right into Jules's friend group. But instead he was the kind creative rave kid who drew her pictures of kandy he'd give her one day. 

"Hey um...you ," she feels her shoulder being tapped. "Put this in your lap."

PART 2

"Yes! I love this song," Bones yells back rolling down the windows. The cool autumn air filling the car and the smell of weed being blown out the window. 

Her heel is bouncing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. With one more she could become triple A instead of alcoholics anonymous. She can feel a comfortable softness against her sole. It's from a piece of fabric she keeps stuffed in her sock. Her knee keeps bouncing in place with the sleeping kitten being stroked by Sol in her lap. Her current reality is so much more serene than the one she relives in her head.

Arrival nurses took her hoodie at this new place only letting it stay with her the first night. She was so fucking high on check in that she screamed please don't take my dad please as they explained it to her mom. Her mom who she clung to like they were about to skin her alive. Chest rising and falling quick enough someone said something about a shot. Too high to be cold and distant but not enough for her heart to stop. Just enough to be a paranoid fuck up. Leslie tried to calm her down but it only worked after her mom bargained with them, one night.

One night and then her mom visited the next day to say goodbye. Slipping a gray square in her pocket. It was worn in from a t-shirt that her dad wore in her baby pictures. Leslie hugged her so tight before leaving whispering we love you so much. That was the last time she'd seen her mom and every time she called Leslie said oh rue like her heart was breaking again. So those phone calls were short because her mom crying always fucks her up mentally for a few days. The silent pauses remind her of the little sister who always has faith in her but is turning into someone who doesn't even look at her. 

"You okay," Sol whispers and rue nods because when was she ever. Her arm that sol is resting on is cramping but she lets it, not much arm space in this back row anyway. She should have just chosen the trunk with some 16 year old named Zach. 

"On the left yesss we made it and on time too," Graham jeers next to Sol.

 Rue looks at the dash clock crinoline her brow. "How is almost 1 am on time," she whispers. 

Sol chuckles, "It is a club not a house party you knew that right ?" Rue bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head no. Sol puckers a bottom lip and kisses her cheek. Great pity Rue thinks. Sol leans in to whisper to Rue, "Don't worry Graham knows the bouncer. No fakes required."

Rue opens back up the glass bottle in the seat net and lets the clear liquid burn her throat a bit. Out of her realm was an understatement, house parties were something she was used to but never clubs. She didn't even know what kind of club this was but judging from the giant rainbow flag out front, angry repressed frat bros wouldn't be an issue. Which helped the nerves in her stomach unwind. The fur ball on her lap made a noise and she rubbed it through the sweater it's been laid on. Sol said the kitten was probably dumped because there was a tag scar and the kitten was super clean. But was she risking it....no.

Sol takes the bottle from her hand and screws the cap back on. "You gonna dance with me tonight Benny." Sol says as she nudges her shoulder.

"Maybe," Rue shrugs.

" Okay well how about anyone else," Sol grins coyly.

Rue looks away from her and out the window. She's more interested in the brick building as they get closer than someone's hot sweaty body. There's a line to the door with several guards standing with gloved hands and flashlights. " Idk maybe," Rue looks back at Sol who is rolling her eyes. 

" Yes she is," Angel yells from the passenger seat. He's checking his makeup in the mirror and winks at rue. Which makes her tuck her hair behind her ear and cough to cover the blush. Angel turns around happily and says, "meee.'

Leaning forward Sol pecks Angel and says, " Bennett your goal tonight is to have fun, dance with someone. He, she, they, who cares, maybe you'll get a lil prison pen pal."

Rue rolls her eyes, that probably wasn't happening but it was about trying new experiences. Treatment was also not prison; it just was not freedom either. Bones pulls past the entrance and swings into the parking lot. Graham is behind them pointing as they follow directions. He's even saying fun facts like this is Knott's which Angel keeps mimicking. Bones slowly moves the car  until  one guard leans his hand in the window. The guard daps Graham up and they laugh for a second. His name is apparently DJ and he's their in. The only rules are no weapons. 

In the parking lot they all get put and Rue notices other cars with clusters of people around them. She shakes her lap free of cigarette ash and cat hair. The cat now named sparkle is being in the trunk with a makeshift bed, a small can of tuna Bones just had and an old bottle lid filled with water. Rue leans down and ties the mismatched dollar store laces on her chucks. They had hot dogs on them which was kind of cute. A tire squeals close by of a car obviously moving way too fast and drunk singing out a window speeds past them. Idiots. Everyone else was finishing a shared bottle or blunt. Leaning against the side of the trunk she feels Sol rest against her arm warming it up.

Rue can hear a steady thump and beat coming from the brick building. It makes her head move which means the music might not be her thing but it'll be tolerable. Graham even said there's another section with actual seats that has a more contained dance floor with pop and hip-hop. Just in case she got overwhelmed by the rave scene and the lights. She doubles over as she laughs at Angel's jokes. 

Kid was fucking hilarious, she stands up wiping her eyes and freezes looking in front of her.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 4,059 Warnings: Death Mention, Doctor Mention, Suicidal Ideation, Foster Care Issues, Anxiety Attack, Bad Self-Image, Bad Self-Talk, Self-Hatred, Stealing/Theft, Desire to be Punished, Food Issues Characters: Roman, Patton, Thomas, Virgil Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 16 

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   “Are you doing okay, kiddo?” Patton asked, sitting across the couch and looking at him with those damned kind eyes. Roman didn’t respond. He didn’t feel like he could even form the words without breaking apart. He didn’t even want to think about how not all right he was at the moment, much less articulate it. Patton seemed to get the picture after a lengthy pause, because he changed the subject. “So what were you looking to buy that you wanted a job for?” Patton asked politely. “If you need to sign it, just hold up the letters long enough that I can read it,” Patton added after a prolonged moment of silence. Roman held up his hand to sign the letters, but kept a hold of the glass of water between his legs with the other hand and didn’t look away from focusing on the melting ice cubes in the water.

   “D…S…? Is that right?” Patton said, sounding very confused. After a moment it seemed to click with him. “Like the Nintendo? Kiddo, I think Tomathy had one in his office he doesn’t use,” Patton said plainly, sounding like he shifted on the couch. “I don’t think he’d care if you wanted to borrow it. What game did you want to play on it?” Roman looked up and scrunched up his face, trying to remember that one what had dragons and farming one of his old friends really liked. It took a minute, but he eventually raised his hand to sign the letters. “R-u-n-e-f-a-c-t-o-r-y? What’s that? F-a-r-m? Oh, one of those farming games? Did you want to play something relaxing?” Roman nodded and signed yes. Patton smiled lightly, but his eyes were still laced with concern. As long as he didn’t vocally acknowledge it right now. Roman signed why he wanted to play it. “B-e-d? Not in bed, I hope. B-4? Oh, before. I don’t think Thomas has that one,” Roman shrugged. He was intending to save up for a DS in the first place, buying the game was assumed.

   “Thomas doesn’t have what?” Thomas asked, coming back down the stairs. He didn’t look too distressed, so hopefully that meant Virgil was okay. Part of him wanted to ask, but that meant that meant he had to acknowledge it as his fault and that he also wasn’t okay and Roman wasn’t capable of doing that at the moment.

   “Run-e… factory, I think? Roman wanted to play it to calm down before bed,” Patton explained and nodded to Roman.

   “Runny Factory?” Thomas asked, making a baffled expression and looked to Roman. Roman spelled rune again for him. “Oh! Rune Factory! No, I don’t have that. That’s a fantasy game, right? I’ve heard good things about it, the storyline and music are supposed to be superb,” Thomas said and Roman nodded silently. He just liked the fantasy element and thought breaking up the farming with monster murder would be more interesting than just farming. Breaking up the monster murder with something laid back also seemed cool. He took a deep breath and sipped his water again. His throat was still so tight it hurt a little going down, but he was feeling like maybe he could continue to be okay as long as nobody made him think about himself. “Hey, uh, Roman, did you know?” Thomas asked a little awkwardly and Roman looked up at him in confusion. “About… Virgil?” Thomas finished. Roman put the glass of water between his legs to free up his hand.

   ‘What about him?’ Roman signed.

   “Are you having trouble talking? I’m not any further than learning the alphabet yet, I’m sorry,” Thomas said, sitting next to Thomas. Roman motioned for him to come closer and Thomas complied and leaned in.

   “Know what?” Roman whispered. He could mange whispering right now. He was just trying his damnedest not to break down again. He was not stuck in the shitty boat Virgil was. He picked back up his water cup and held it with both hands.

   “That maybe he also has PTSD from… other homes?” Thomas asked softly, looking disconcerted.

   “What do you mean also?” Roman whispered.

   “The ER doctor thinks you have it. Do you remember being in the ER?” Thomas asked, sounding concerned.

   “Not much,” Roman said under his breath. This was going into territory Roman wasn’t so comfortable in.

   “There’s stuff about PTSD I guess we didn’t realize until now, I guess. Like that it wasn’t just about certain triggers,” Thomas clarified. “Did he say anything to you?” Thomas asked with concern.

   “He might have mentioned it,” Roman whispered. “He noticed I was… worried about you guys hitting me and he told me I was safe. Then explained that it’s why he noticed. He implied he didn’t like talking about it. I kind of agree with him,” He admitted. He didn’t want to talk about it right now, for sure, but talking about it any time wasn’t ideal.

   “I wish one of you would have told us, but I can’t fault you for not wanting to think about it,” Thomas looked frustrated for a moment, but his face softened again when he saw Roman back up slightly. “Have you heard of age regression?” Thomas asked. That seemed out of the blue. It baffled Roman enough that he no longer was shying away from Thomas.

   “That’s that thing perverts do, isn’t it?” Roman asked quietly and raised an eyebrow at Thomas, a little confused on why he would bring it up.

   “What?” Thomas looked just as bewildered as Roman felt. “Oh, I hate having to google these things,” He muttered. “Not that. This is medical,” Thomas said more clearly and sighed, shaking his head. Oh, well, that’s good, maybe? “Sometimes certain triggers can cause age regression in PTSD patients. Do you know how I know how I know you had a gun pulled on you?” Thomas asked, looking like he was examining Roman now. It unnerved him a bit.

   “No,” Roman muttered, watching Thomas nervously in return and gripping the cold glass firmly.

   “Because you told me. You were a very mouthy 13-year-old. You also thought I was Satan for a bit,” Thomas said, sounding kind of amused. Roman stared at him for a moment while he processed what Thomas said. When he realized he that he might have cussed out Thomas, his eyes widened and he shut them tight, trying to to freak out. Thomas didn’t deserve his defensive bullshit. He had to put up an aggressive front or people wouldn’t take him seriously. It didn’t pay off for him in the end, though, and he regretted ever doing it.

   “Sorry,” Roman choked out and tensed up.

   “No, no, it was kind of cute,” Thomas chuckled weakly and looked to Roman reassuringly. Roman took a deep breath and tried to settle down. Cute wasn’t exactly what Roman was going for, but at least he didn’t hurt Thomas’s feelings or anything. “Well, Other than the fact that you were disappointed you didn’t die. You don’t still feel like that, do you?” Thomas asked softly, sounding sad. Roman’s shoulders flinched, and he swallowed hard.

   “Doesn’t everybody?” Roman whispered, joking weakly. The small broken laugh that accompanied it wasn’t the most convincing thing he’d ever done.

   “No, Roman, that’s not normal,” Thomas said, putting his arm on the couch over Roman’s shoulder’s without touching him. Roman could feel the heat from his arm but appreciated not being touched. He was even closer to breaking down now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. “You got a referral for a psychiatrist at the ER and I’ll be making you an appointment, okay?”

   “No, Thomas, please! I’ll be good, I’ll try not to-” Roman started babbling loudly, shooting a desperate look up to him.

   “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay!” Patton held his hands up and cut Roman off. Roman held his lips closed tight in a thin line.

   “Why are you scared of the psychiatrist?” Thomas looked pointedly at Roman.

   “My… They’ll know- The foster people. That I’m a bad kid. And then they won’t be able to place me, and then I’ll be stuck in one of those holding centers, they’re worse than the group homes, they’re really awful and that’s… I just can’t,” Roman rambled choked on a sob. He sniffled and dropped back against his cup, a tear breaking loose despite how hard he fought against it.

   “Why are you worried about going to a holding center?” Patton asked, sounding concerned.

   “’Cuz having mental health record is bad and harder to place since I’d be special needs,” Roman mumbled between his legs, starting to cry.

   “Do you still think we’re sending you back on Friday, Roman?” Thomas sounded sad.

   “Maybe,” Roman breathed.

   “I missed that,” Thomas said. Roman looked up and glanced at Thomas.

   “You should! I don’t belong here! I belong somewhere crappy where I’m too busy trying to survive to have to think about things. I never… I never struggled like this. At least not until I got used to not having Remus around,” Roman sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He and Remus had a shitty time when the memories were fresh, but losing Remus was worse.

   “Actually, sometimes people who have been in a hard situation for a long time usually struggle in more positive environments because they’re not sure how to process love and support. Did getting separated from your brother really hurt?” Patton piped up, sounding very compassionate when he suggested an explanation. Roman barely understood what he meant, but he could follow the question easily.

   “It was like they took half of me away when they tore us apart,” Roman grumbled.

   “Maybe because it was the last bit of stability and support you had, you closed off and just tried to deal with the situation, and you’ve been doing that ever since,” Patton offered, continuing his explanation. Roman couldn’t completely follow, though.

   “What?” Roman asked. His head hurt and he didn’t comprehend a lick of that. Some more tears broke free, and he sniffled again.

   “I think you belong here,” Patton said resolutely. Roman could follow that much easier. Wait, what the fuck? No, he couldn’t!

   “What?” Roman asked more incredulously, wiping his eyes.

   “You love Disney and The Princess Bride and books and you’re kind and considerate and quick and Lita loves you. And Virgil’s opened up more since you got here, so I think he likes you, too,” Patton said, holding up a finger. “You fit in just fine! All the other stuff isn’t you. It’s what you’ve been through,” He smiled brightly, looking confident. That didn’t make sense, though. He was a fuck up for a castle keep full of reasons.

   “I wasn’t able to sleep or keep track of time or sit still or do well in school before everything else. There’s plenty of stuff that I’m bad at, that’s all me,” Roman grumbled in objection.

   “And there're ways you can learn to cope with all of that when you’re somewhere safe,” Patton provided.

   “I can’t stay here,” Roman rested his chin on his legs and stared forward, feeling despondent. He couldn’t stop the stray tears, but he was too empty to freak out anymore. Thomas looked bewildered and sad out of the corner of his eyes, but he said nothing.

   “And why is that?” Patton asked evenly, though his eyes looked sad.

   “I’ll…” Roman dropped his head into his legs again. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

   “You’ll what?” Patton urged him to continue.

   “It’s selfish, and it’s unrealistic,” Roman grumbled, shifting to sip his water. A timer in the kitchen dinged and Thomas got up. Roman flinched from the motion and sighed. He was so on edge it physically hurt. He was buzzing with restlessness but too tired and sad to even start figuring out how he could fix it.

   “How about I decide that?” Patton asked softly.

   “I have to get to go to a home that’s willing to take two kids when Remus also needs placement. I’ll never see him again until we turn 18 if I don’t. If he doesn’t hate me by then, anyway,” Roman sighed again and looked up to the ceiling.

   “I promise we’ll take you to see him when we can, Roman,” Patton said, and he sounded like he meant it, unlike most other times he’s heard it. Though he could never really trust adults meant it when they offered, though. He’d been burned too many times before. Patton probably only meant it at the moment, but it would be too much when the time came, just like always.

   “But I won’t get to be his brother again,” Roman said despondently. “Whisper nonsense words and have him completely understand me. Play fight like the fate of the world depends on the outcome. Write stories with him that turn into whole universes. All the stuff we used to have. The brother stuff you can only have when you’re a kid and you live together,” Patton looked somber but didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t anything to say.

   “I hope you’re hungry, Roman,” Thomas called from the kitchen.

   “You know I’m not,” Roman groaned loudly.

   “Too bad!” Thomas called back. Roman sighed and sipped his water again.

   “I would miss you guys… I’m not trying to say I don’t… appreciate you being nice and stuff. As much as it drives me up the wall,” Roman chuckled weakly and Patton pouted at that. “I just… I’ve been going this long on the hope I’d get him back. I got through everything I did because I never let go of the hope of being reunited, you know? I just can’t let go of that. And I don’t want to make it harder to be placed and then lessen my chances even further of getting to be with him again. I’ll be good, I promise, okay? I just can’t have that go on my records,” Roman begged him.

   “How about I talk to your caseworker about it when we see him Friday? See what we can do without it going on your state records?” Patton offered gently, looking strangely conciliatory for someone who did nothing wrong.

   “I’m a ward of the state who is just staying at your house. They own my ass,” Roman bit, though there was very little energy or aggression behind it, mostly just tired frustration with his situation.

   “Roman, I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to be mean,” Patton chided, frowning slightly.

   “Sorry,” Roman sighed heavily. “Right after I said I’d be good and everything,” Roman muttered to himself sourly. Roman wished he knew how to stop being a bastard already.

   “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Patton said. “And I’m going to either way as your guardian, but I’d much rather you be on board with it,” Patton said gesturing with his hand.

   “Thanks for your honesty, I guess,” Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m on board as long as it doesn’t hurt my chances,” It was just asking, not acting in it. Roman leaned back again and put his cup down on the side table. He was so fucking itchy still. Thomas couldn’t see him, though, it was just Patton in the room. He probably wouldn’t freak out at a little itch. Roman scratched at the edges of the bandages and exhaled in relief as he itched at the adhesive, which stung slightly.

   “No scratching!” Thomas called from the kitchen and Roman froze in complete and utter bafflement.

   “What the actual fuck, Thomas?” Roman groaned loudly enough to project into the kitchen.

   “Dad powers,” Thomas said seriously. “Apologize for cursing,”

   “Sorry for saying fuck,” Roman huffed and dropped his arms in defeat to the couch with a light thud.

   “Roman,” Patton said firmly, furrowing his eyebrows at him.

   “Sorry for saying it again,” Roman rolled his eyes and saw Virgil come back down the stairs. He looked pretty okay other than kind of tired, which was relieving.

   ‘Saying fuck in front of Pat twice?’ Virgil signed. ‘Props,’ He fingerspelled.

   ‘Nice to see your dumb face again,’ Roman signed back.

   ‘Can’t say the same to you,’ Virgil signed and smirked at him before sitting back down at his controller and starting to play again. He glanced over to Patton, who mostly just seemed to be considering something. Roman was just glad the conversation was over. He turned his eyes back to the TV screen to watch the game again. He slowly loosened back up as he watched Virgil play. The long scarf physics were really eye-catching, and he just let himself drift to that.

   “Dinner’s ready!” Thomas called after an interminable period of silently watching the cloaked guy running through the level. Patton smiled at them and got up and headed to the kitchen. Virgil looked Roman up and down after he paused the game.

   ‘You don’t look capable of crime,’ Virgil signed and looked at him disbelievingly. Wow, Virgil didn’t beat around the bush.

   ‘Thanks?’ Roman signed, raising an eyebrow. Maybe that was a good thing?

   ‘Can you do anything other than sell drugs?’ Virgil signed.

   ‘You cut right to the point,’ Roman made a face at him. He wasn’t sure what Virgil was getting at, but it was weird to straight-up ask.

   ‘Can you?’ Virgil signed again.

   ‘I can pick pockets and pick locks,’ Roman fingerspelled. He could do other things, too, but he wasn’t as ashamed of those things as the others.

   ‘No shit?’ Virgil signed and some excitement in his eyes leaked into the disbelieving expression.

   ‘Seriously,’ Roman signed back and nodded.

   ‘You’re lying,’ Virgil frowned. Fucker. Roman wasn’t lying.

   ‘I’ll prove it,’ Roman signed, getting up from the couch. He had to talk carefully and tenderly to the kitchen on his fucked up feet, but found a stride.

   Thomas was still at the stove getting things on to serving dishes and Patton was putting water cups at the table. This was too freaking easy. Roman picked Thomas’s wallet as he passed and nonchalantly slid it in his pocket. He sat down and smiled at Patton, who smiled back and sat down. Virgil joined them at the table and stared at Roman, clearly waiting for him to do something. Roman smirked and pulled Thomas’s wallet out, throwing it at Virgil. He caught it and looked between the wallet and Roman. Patton looked up from serving himself food and saw them.

   “Virgil, why do you have your wallet at the table?” Patton asked, peering closer. “Actually, isn’t that Thomas’s? Did you find it somewhere?” Patton asked, taking it from Virgil’s hands. “Virgil found your wallet, Thomas,” Patton said as Thomas walked over with the last of the food and placed it down on the table, looking confused.

   “What? I don’t remember taking it out. Thank you, Virgil,” Thomas said, taking the wallet back from Patton and sliding it back in his back pocket before sitting down. Roman leaned on the table and smirked, raising his eyebrow at Virgil in anticipation.

   ‘You absolute bastard,’ Virgil signed, looking extremely impressed. Roman took a bow.

   ‘Careful, it’s not all I can do,’ Roman sat back in his chair, looking concernedly at all the food now.

   ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time,’ Virgil signed back before reaching over to serve himself a giant pile of tater tots. He served a single tater tot to Roman with a smirk before reaching out to grab a piece of chicken.

   “I’m not beyond serving you food and sitting here until you eat it,” Thomas eyed Roman. Roman sighed and grabbed a small piece of chicken and a single scoop of vegetables. “That’s half as much as Virgil is eating, Roman,” Thomas said critically.

   “I’m 100% positive he’s powered by a black hole,” Roman objected sourly, motioning to Virgil.

   ‘Thanks,’ Virgil smirked and started eating.

   “Teenagers are biologically hungry, and you are not exempt,” Thomas corrected him.

   “It’s fine,” Roman huffed.

   “I think we’ve successfully established you don’t have the best impression of what fine is, Roman,” Thomas said critically and leaned back in his chair.

   “Thomas, sassing Roman isn’t nice,” Patton chided him. “Just take a tiny bit more, okay, kiddo?” Patton looked at him pleadingly. Virgil served Roman another single tater tot.

   ‘There. More,’ Virgil signed and Roman laughed. This fucking guy.

   “Thank you,” Roman smiled and signed as he spoke.

   “Virgil, don’t encourage him,” Thomas frowned and chided Virgil.

   ‘Sure. You suck, Roman,’ Virgil signed with a lopsided grin.

   “Oh, I’m wounded,” Roman put his palm to his forehead and leaned back dramatically. It did actually start to smell good, at least. Roman began eating slowly, trying to get it over with, but the more he ate the easier it finally felt and the more his stomach woke up. It stopped hurting when he ate, and he ate more comfortably. “Thanks for dinner, Mr. Sanders,” He said absentmindedly as he reached out for another serving of vegetables.

   “Um, you’re welcome, Roman,” Thomas sounded a little confused, but the food was good and Roman didn’t bother looking up from eating. He grabbed a second piece of chicken, as well, after finishing the first one. Virgil knocked on the table and Roman looked up at him.

   ‘Are you going to tell them you stole his wallet?’ Virgil asked. Roman put down his fork and swallowed.

   ‘Why?’ Roman signed back, confused. Tell them he stole from Thomas? That was dumb.

   ‘Because they won’t be mad and I want to see their faces,’ Virgil signed. Maybe they wouldn’t and everything would be chill. But if they did get mad, maybe he’d finally get punished and fell right in the freaking world again. It seemed like a win-win scenario with a bonus of amusing Virgil.

   ‘Fair,’ Roman shrugged. He finally felt awake and feeling impulsive. Virgil laughs, well, as much as he does, and Roman gets sent to his room without dessert or something assuredly way too tame for what he did.

   “You didn’t lose your wallet, Thomas. I picked your pocket,” Roman said flippantly, eating one of his two tater tots. They both stared at him dubiously and exchanged a look before looking back at Roman. Virgil leaned forward to watch, looking amused already.

   “…Why?” Patton asked after a quiet moment of confusion. Virgil did that silent laughing thing behind his hand.

   “He didn’t believe me,” Roman pointed to Virgil. “I didn’t take anything. I don’t think it’s right to steal money. I just wanted to prove I could,” Roman explained with a smug smile and a little shrug. Roman had enough money stolen from him that he genuinely couldn’t bear to do it to anyone else anymore.

   “Why can you…” Patton started to ask but trailed off. He probably answered his own question as Roman raised his eyebrow and leaned on his arm.

   “I learned how to do lots of things,” Roman passed his hand over the tater tot on his plate and it disappeared. Roman passed it quickly behind his back and popped it in his mouth while they were all looking at the plate. “Magic!” He announced. Stoners fucking loved sleight of hand. He once got a fifty dollar tip from a guy who was completely blasted.

   Lita weaved under his feet and he shivered from the dog fur through his sock. His feet were still feeling raw from his run this morning. Roman pulled them up and went back to eating his vegetables. Thomas looked shocked and Patton beamed in delight. Virgil looked unimpressed as usual and returned to going to town on the pile of tater tots.

   “Do you know any other magic tricks, Roman?” Patton asked with a sparkle in his eye.

   “I know sleight of hand and card tricks, not any magic-magic tricks,” Roman shrugged. “Nothing fancy,”

   “Well, will you show me one after dinner?” Patton smiled, returning to cutting up his chicken.

   “Do you know the four kings in the tower?” Roman asked, interested in getting to show off.

   “No,” Patton shook his head, looking invested already.

   “Then that it shall be,” Roman declared regally, twisting his fork in the air. He rolled his eyes at his own idiocy and returned to eating.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15

the taglist repository:

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst:  @k1ngtok1 

Hurt Comfort:  @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd 

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll 

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace @ollyollyoxinfree

[kittykatrattie]

Random Headcanon Dump

George

He goes thru an apocalypse story phase when he's a teenager

Also ends up getting into some poetry and script writing

Joins the drama club in high school

Baby George goes as a clown for Halloween one year bc of his afro. His mom definitely got hair spray paint

George's family has taco Tuesdays, which means Harold also has taco tuesdays

He never knew Harold developed separation anxiety until they were in middle school and it had chilled a lot. He just knew his best friend was a little clingy and got really scared if he was missing, so he did everything in his power to make sure Harold felt safe and knew that he was safe too

ADHD inattentive and SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder)

Harold

He has a big fascination with everything about the ocean. One of those kids who went thru a mermaid phase

Both him and George love rats and end up getting/sharing some as pets

Harold loves trying out different art mediums, but he always goes back to pencil and paper for the comics

Still has general anxiety and a little bit of separation anxiety. He gets scared if he doesn't know where George is

ADHD hyperactive. His RSD is also a lot worse than George's

Loves physical contact and tends to hold onto George when he gets nervous/anxious. It reminds him that he's ok and everything's gonna be fine because George is here

Harold sometimes has the most abysmal fashion sense. Glitter pants, holographic skirt and rainbow t shirt, lots of sequins and sparkles

George's dad pretty much instantly accepted the role of Harold's father figure. Everyone says Cap is Harold's dad but Moses is right there?? As if this man DOESN'T see Harold as his second son???

Melvin

A combination of being trans and autistic leads to Melvin often copying George and Harold to try and look more masculine

He's cross-eyed

Yes, even as a kid he's secretly a country music fan. He likes John Denver

His MSG allergy effects him 3 different ways: he either gets a rash (Dav's word) he gets a stomachache (season 1 finale cupcake shop) or he throws up (Hack-o-Ween). Throwing up is a lot less common/often than a rash or stomachache

His parents are divorced and that's why they were fighting so much during the parent day episode and why his mom was flirting w a fart

Actually becomes really good friends with Erica once she comes out to him, he likes to build and theorize with her. She really is smart and, crush or not, he admires that about her

He acts really confident but he's actually very anxious about talking to people. He doesn't know what to do and when he really wants to make friends he's terrified he'll mess up

Gooch

He's got dyscalculia babey!!

They become a therapist when they grow up. Very good at emotions

When he dressed like a bee in the Halloween special? That was his first Halloween in America! That's why he didn't know not to bother Krupp for candy

As an adult, they get a lot of people who think they're like 11. They're 4'9

His favorite color is pink

They don't really like when Meaner does boys vs girls games in gym class

He's the middle child. He has an older brother and a younger sister

They're non-dysphoric trans masc

Him and Erica are best friends and often have sleepovers together

Billy and Lisa

Billy tends to be the one who cooks between him and Harold. His grandfather sends him traditional Japanese recipes and he likes to try them out

They both have been friends since childhood and used to perform musicals together

Lisa has her dad and a twin brother named Frank, and Billy is an only child with two moms

Lisa writes songs for George sometimes :)

Harold totally watched the soap opera Billy was on, low-key crushed on his character, and only barely recognized Billy as "You look like this character I used to have a crush on"

Billy and Lisa work together. Lisa is part of the musicians that do the music for the theater Billy does plays at

Billy is very quiet and shy off-stage, but on-stage he's loud and confident and the first time Harold sees this he's in shock

Billy has anxiety and autism and that's part of why he joined an improv comedy class

Extra

Jessica would own a rose gold iPhone

Bo has a hard time understanding how hard he's doing something. He always slams the door a little too hard or stomps without meaning to. It's a combination of autism and being Lorge

This one is sad but Bo is an orphan :(

Erica actually has undiagnosed anxiety and feels pressured to be perfect and cool

Jessica also feels pressured to be perfect and better than everyone else. Think "pagent parents"

Other Sophie is nonverbal and knows ASL. Sophie One can talk (but isn't allowed) and knows Spanish and English

Erica is the lesbian mom of the cast

[aloneandunreal]

march 26, 21

wow, i really have not posted in a long time. i decided to post just because i feel like ranting i suppose, and this is what that account is for. i've been thinking about things a lot, but it doesn't feel right to push it onto a friend. most of it is meaningless anyway, or at least it would probably be meaningless and stupid to anybody else. but first of all, i cannot believe i created this account last may (i think?) and that's coming up on a year!

anyway, i've just been a bit sad and anxious about school/graduating and college. i think a lot of people feel this way, so it's not like my feelings are completely abnormal. still, i wanted to rant a bit about it. i don't really know where to begin. this year started off crazy, with school being online and all. i remember the night before school began i was so anxious knowing it was my senior year, but having slight hope that maybe, just maybe, things would go back to being somewhat normal and i could finish off high school feeling satisfied. i don't really think that's going to happen. even with all of the senior activities my school is trying to set up (graduation, prom, etc), it just won't be the same. they're talking about reopening for hybrid on april 17th or sometime around then, but even so, i don't think i'd go. it's a bit too late for that now, it would be kind of pointless, honestly. i've talked about this in (many) previous entries, but i just really, truly wish i could've had more of a senior year. or just more of a high school experience in general. there were some moments where i felt like a true, reckless teenager, but that was a small amount. a very small amount.

now, i don't particularly care about high school that much. i know if everything was "normal" i wouldn't be doing anything differently, but it would've been nice to be at my school, feeling accomplished because i was finally a senior. at the top. almost done. it doesn't feel like that now. because covid began in march of my junior year, and i haven't stepped foot in that school since then, i still feel like i'm sixteen. i feel as if i haven't learned anything or really changed at all. maybe if i could've had a normal end to my junior year and senior year things would've been different. last year i was terrified of turning seventeen, but now i cannot believe i'm going to be eighteen. it absolutely feels unreal. and i also cannot believe that little fourteen year old me romanticized this age so much -- it's really not that fun at all, sorry to break it to you 14 year old me.

it's even more odd how i kind of miss this time last year in a way. there were no video calls for school and, for the most part, it was kind of nice to be away from school and not having to worry about SATs and such. of course there were things to worry about, but at the same time, i don't know. i feel like i had more time. i was a junior, and that summer would be the summer before my senior year. in retrospect, it sounded fun. sometimes i wish i could have appreciated it more, but then i think to myself... i did? or at least i think i did. it was a pretty okay summer for covid. but now, now is really my last summer before college. i'm not going to be going back to the high school i've been at for the past few years. i'll be starting somewhere new. and that's terrifying to think about.

i regret a lot of things throughout my life, but especially my high school years. i really wish i could have enjoyed things more. my freshman year i was really depressed and doing horribly in school, sophomore year i did amazing academically but i had no fun and was too anxious to do... anything, really. and then my junior year of course got cut short. i just never got to experience being in a friend group, having my first kiss, getting a significant other, etc. thinking about it, it makes me feel like a total outcast. sometimes i'll be in class (well, on a video call), and we'll be having fun or laughing, and yes, technically the whole class is included, but i... just don't feel apart of my class. you know, class of 2021. i feel like an outsider. i'm there, but i'm not. i wish i could relate to kids my age more, understand their inside jokes, whatever. there are people i know of that i know for a FACT i'd be friends with... but i never got the chance to pursue anything because of anxiety and now... this. having no contact with anyone my age because we're no longer in school. overall, it's just hard to explain. i just want to feel included in something. i've always just been a loner. i mean, i sat by myself for two years in a row during lunch. junior year i sat with one friend, so that was an upgrade i suppose. i also always hated when we had parties or "fun days" in class, because that meant no learning. people would talk to their friends and i'd be sitting alone. they'd only talk to me if class was in session because they kind of... had to. i don't know. it's hard being a loner, especially when you don't want to be one. it's a bit too late to change anything now, whether that be making new friends, getting a s/o, etc. my school actually plans to have prom, and although anxious, i'm considering going with a friend. but, really, what am i going to do there? i have no friends besides her. i know she wouldn't ditch me, but at the same time, she'll probably gather with her friend group and i'll be standing there, silent, awkwardly listening. and it's fine if she wants to talk to her friends. but i wish i had a friend group like that. or at least a friend i'm close with. the girl i'm going to (potentially) go with isn't even great friends with me.

it's always been like that with my friends. i'm their one outsider friend. not included in their group, but still friends with them. and that's fine, i never felt the urge to try to squeeze and force myself into a friend group that wouldn't want me. but it just hurt sometimes when they'd treat me differently when i was with them alone vs. with them AND their friends. i'd never be included. sometimes one of my friends might completely ignore me when they're talking to their group or with a separate friend. and i'd just be there like a total, utter burden. i never understood why people treated me so differently when they were around other friends. sometimes i wouldn't even be with them, they'd just ignore me and go with their other friends. which is fine, it's fine, no sarcasm. but sometimes i just wish i could be that other friend, the friend who doesn't get ignored and treated differently. in so many different friendships, i have to go through those types of things. and it's confusing... why me? especially since it has become a trend. i just want to be A PART of something.

i guess this is a bit of a topic change now. but another thing i've been thinking about constantly, like any other teenager who has applied to college, is, well, college. yes, i've probably established that i'm terrified and don't exactly feel ready. yes, i've probably established that i don't know if i'll be good enough academically. what if college is just high school all over again? another wasted four years. but that's not my top worry about college right now. instead, it's the fear of not knowing what college to go to. i want to pick the right one; i don't want to be wrong. i've gotten accepted to most colleges i applied to, except one where i was waitlisted (a whole thing in itself), another where i was rejected, and two which have not given me a response yet. i've wanted to go to new york city for school for SO LONG, but i don't even know if that's where i'm going to end up, after so much talk about going there. i might not even end up in a city!

then of course is just the sadness that i'll feel when i get rejected from the one school i've been dreaming about for forever. you're going to laugh if you're reading this, but NYU. yeah. i don't know why i fixated on it, but i haven't gotten a response from them yet. i believe that comes on march 31st. and i have a strong feeling i'm going to get rejected -- i've had that feeling even before i applied to colleges, in the beginning of my junior year. and it's so stupid, because even if i was accepted, i likely wouldn't be able to pay for it. i guess i just want to get accepted so i'll actually feel worthy. so, if that doesn't happen, my self-worth is going down the drain, sadly. i'm not as fixated on NYU as i was, say, in the beginning of my junior year, but i will still be upset if i don't get in.

i feel so pretentious saying this, but i also want to go to a school with a low-acceptance rate. it will make me feel smart. which is DUMB, because there are some amazing high-acceptance schools. but i just feel like, if i go to a high-acceptance school (which i likely will), everyone will be like "of course she went to a high-acceptance school, she's not smart." which i KNOW is irrational and dumb, but it's something that won't leave my mind. i'm so insecure about my intelligence and all of this college stuff has really just made me feel worse. even when i do get accepted to colleges, i haven't felt happy. i haven't felt excitement or joy. and i wish i could. i wish there was some sort of excitement in me, but it doesn't feel like anything special. i just wish i had more of a direction on what college i want to go to or what i even want to do in life. it's so complicated and there's so many little things i'm worried about. if i could, i would explain, but it's hard for me to. some of these worries i can't even explain, they're that minuscule and dumb. overall, i just wish i could be happy with myself and feel accomplished. i don't feel that at all.

thirteen/fourteen year old me probably wouldn't be proud of the person i am now. she imagined someone completely different, i'm sure. i used to dream of graduation and the end of my senior year, now i'm dreading it. both because it's the END of high school and because i'm just nervous about all the attention that will be on me during that time. dumb, i know, i know. the end of high school, for me, will just be clicking the red "leave call" and that terrifies me, of how i'll feel when i leave that call, sitting back, realizing that that's it. it's over. and don't get me wrong, i do in fact want to graduate. i obviously do not want to stay in high school. i am excited for this to be over with. but, of course, at the same time, it's, quite honestly, terrifying.

but, i guess that's really it for now. i'm sure i could talk about this forever, unleashing all of my worries onto this tumblr account nobody will ever find or see or read. but i think now is a good time to stop. overall, i just wish things would be different. not just high school, but my whole life. i'd do anything to start over as someone new. but, alas, that will not be happening.

so, yes, that's it. i guess. i don't know when i will be updating this. maybe in a week, or maybe 3 days before graduation. who knows. (this is not edited, by the way, if anyone is reading this, so i'm sorry for any grammar or spelling errors or just overall cringe. none of my entries are edited).

[monkeymindscream]

I’m trying to center my emotions right now because they’re all over the place, and the way I’ve settled on doing this is typing up a bunch of Valina/Skelemandarin headcanons. So guess what you guys get subjected to today??

Okay so listen: They will snipe at each other all damn day about the pettiest shit imaginable, but the  s e c o n d  someone who isn’t them tries to take a jab at the other one there is immediate hell to pay. 

Also the one who was previously being jabbed at is off to the side watching the other go ham like ( •̀ ω •́ ) “get ‘em, bby”

While they can separate and do their own things, neither like doing it for very long. 

Valina was raised to revolve her entire life around one person, and Mandarin was literally created for that 

And then they both went through prolonged stretches of time where they were trapped all by themselves. 

Suffice to say they both have co-dependency issues and separation-anxiety.

There is no question of who is the cuddler in the relationship, because it’s both of them. They are both clingy, touch-starved little shits, and as long as no one else knows about it it doesn’t count, so there.

At one point Mandarin tries to give Valina flowers that he found around the Zone of Wasted Years. He thinks it’s a stupid and pointless custom, but he wanted to give her something he’ll accept commentary from nobody shut up don’t look at him go away. Problem was he didn’t know what she’d want. But she’s human, right? So she’d probably be interested in this, right? It’s kind of a hit and miss, because she thinks the custom’s stupid too, but she acknowledges the intent.

...unfortunately the “flowers” Mandarin ended up getting are the Zone’s equivalent to poison ivy/oak, which Valina points out when he sheepishly presents the bunch to her. She mocks him about it ruthlessly when he inevitably gets a horrible rash, but that’s mostly just to distract from the fact that she’s simultaneously trying to help him with it.

And then as a “joke” later on she gets him flowers (non-rash inducing ones this time, but the taunt is there). He’s vocally offended by the gesture (but still keeps the flowers until long after they’ve wilted).

(It becomes a weird tradition between them.)

Neither of them cuss because they’re from a kids show, but if they did, and I had to say which one cussed more, it’d be Valina. Because as much as I enjoy the notion of Mandarin swearing, I love the mental image of Valina shrieking “FUCK” for whatever reason and Mandarin just looking at her like #shook.

Valina can magic Mandarin into a human-form if the situation calls for it, and because formless’s shapes are more pliable than other creatures, he can hold the form for as long as needed with no physical detriments. 

Humans, animals, and anything else with a finite form will start getting uncomfortable when forced into a shape that isn’t theirs for too long - sometimes even feeling pain from it - and will eventually slip back into their default if left unsupervised. 

Mandarin doesn’t suffer any of those setbacks, but he still grumbles at length whenever she does it to him. Mostly just because he doesn’t like human proportions - far too gangly for his liking.

If Mandarin’s nervous, agitated, or just otherwise displeased with something, he’ll reach over and take hold of Valina’s hand without realizing. Probably the nicest thing she regularly does for him is that she doesn’t point it out. She just holds back.

THEY GOSSIP SO BAD, OH MY GOD. 

(Or, I mean, they would, if they had any kind of social-circle outside the two of them, but yeah just imagine with me for a second.)

Literally the second one of them learns anything about anybody else, they’re off scurrying to the other one like “HAVE YOU HEARD WHAT [BLANK] DID?!” and then they sit there and shit-talk with each other for hours on end.

Let’s say something wonderful happens and they’re both allowed to just live their lives together (AU? Miraculous recovery on Valina’s part? You decide!). They would both be exactly the kind of people to go poking around spooky abandoned buildings or supposedly haunted places.

Valina because she’s genuinely interested in occult/paranormal things.

Mandarin because “if I don’t get to enjoy a peaceful undeath then I’m going to make sure that none of you do either!!”

And so they go harass ghosts and demonic entities in their free time as a little hobby and it’s great.

They both quietly acknowledge the strangeness of their relationship, but don’t talk about it.

So. Their general history with each other ain’t great. They both know this. Healthy, functional couples don’t have “how we met” -stories that start with “I held her against her will and forced her to do my bidding” and end with “I tortured him for information and turned him into my slave.” 

But here’s the thing: they don’t view themselves as healthy, functional people. Like if anyone asks they are the picture of stability, but internally they know better. They’ve collectively decided that what matters is their actions towards each other moving forward, and the past is of little to no consequence.

The fact that they’re different species, um. So- Shuggazoom has the capability for intergalactic travel, and is contact with far more intelligent species than other humans of the galaxy are. Interspecies relationships stopped being a taboo for them some time in their equivalent of the 70s. So in that regard it isn’t that weird.

Plus Mandarin is a pretty even genetic ratio of monkey and formless (though he does admittedly lean towards the former). With the addition of formless DNA in his makeup, he retains his intelligence without the help of a computer inside his brain, so he’s technically more... sentient than the rest of the monkeys. So it’s really no worse than if one of the Kathurians dated a different species. Even though they look like animals, they think like people. It’s the same with Mandarin.

Or at least that’s what they tell themselves. Speaking honestly there’s a marginally uncomfortable overlap between Mandarin being Valina’s SO and him being her pet. Kinda going back to the “they don’t view themselves as healthy or functional” -thing; they know aspects of the relationship are a little fucked up, but they don’t know how to address or fix them any more than they want to give each other up. So fucked up or not that’s apparently the way things are.

(And being able to reshape Mandarin to look human helps, if only slightly.)

This isn’t actually a headcanon but frankly I kind of enjoy how fucked up this ship is. I’m a total sucker for fluff, don’t get me wrong, but if a ship doesn’t have a bit of bite to it I get bored and can’t bring myself to care. These two fulfill all my needs!!

There’s more (which is terrifying considering how much I’ve written) but I’ll stop now.

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXReader part 41 (O)

Y/n climbed the stairs slowly up to her apartment. However she stopped. Was she afraid of the stairs from recent events or was something wrong? Not wrong with her even though there were tons of things wrong in the moment. She invited Overhaul up to bed with her, but he still declined. He should have stayed. He made a big deal about tonight, the food, the wine, the flowers, everything was perfect. But now he couldn’t sleep by her side? Was it the touch thing? No, they've slept together so many times. Y/n looked at the reflection in the window. He wasn’t down there waiting for her to change her mind and beg him again. He has to know she was shaking, terrified, and she needs him! But the date, something was off, everything was off. It’s not that Overhaul didn’t try to take his beloved on dates, it’s just there was never that much effort, someone else would cook or entertain them. Overhaul wasn’t a performer or a cook. He’d bring her to nice places. Never a garden, never a charcutierie he made, never his own hand picked wine unless it was at his place. 

 Y/n’s stomach twisted and turned as she was overthinking the whole night that had unfolded only hours ago. She couldn’t leave the step. There was nothing waiting at her apartment, no Overhaul. She looked at her hands, and realized what tonight could have been about. She pinched her finger and realized he could have proposed tonight. He already has asked to move in with him, they finally got on the same page about children, and his project must be coming to an end soon. Maybe he wasn’t going to propose, but maybe he has a ring. She’s never told him her preferences! Does she have any? Overhaul knows her, he’s saved her, there’s no way he could mess up. It had to be the external forces keeping it apart, maybe he had bad karma coming at him. 

 Y/n did manage to drag herself to bed, but she didn’t sleep. He was going to propose wasn't he! She should have gone after him instead of going inside. She was breaking the rule of being by him when he needs her most. Her body was like a cement block at the bottom of the ocean in her bed. He needs her doesn’t he. The whole day or maybe even ever since he planned that night, or even before he was building the confidence to propose only to have the night to be crushed by MT Lady’s big feet. 

 The alarms went off and a groans filled the bedroom. Y/n’s eyes didn’t shut enough during the whole night. Though she didn’t get enough sleep she was still suffering from an anxiety attack. So many times Y/n had nearly kept her lift by the skin of her teeth, but her heart told her last night was the biggest night of her life. With the permission of her alarm she got ready. She didn’t relax, she just went with her routine, not even scrolling through news. 

At the porch of her building she looked at two routes, she looked at her way to work and then looked towards the way to go to Overhaul’s place. Then she looked at the bike rack. It was someone’s unlucky day, they probably deserved it, she was giving out their bad karma. Y/n road a stolen bike towards her lover’s home. She wanted to make time to get to work only an hour late. What to say? That last night was the most thoughtful date they’ve ever had, and that she regrets leaving him last night. It was weird to ride a bike at full speed, but she once saw a video where someone outran a subway, she could beat all the subways if she was on two wheels. 

 Overhaul’s neighborhood seemed to be empty and yet, there was noise. It didn’t matter, the sky could be falling, but Y/n was determined to see her love to tell him everything, her feelings, and to build him back up. There was no way he deserved all that bad karma from last night. Her phone started ringing, she whipped it out to see her boss was calling. However her eyes trailed up to see some sort of monster fighting a green flash. Her hand squeezed the brake of the front wheel launching her off the bike. However her eyes couldn’t leave the monster. It had a lot of arms and roared. Her body slammed into the cement.

 But she wasn’t done for. 

Y/n’s body on sheer determination pushed itself back up, out of the puddle out of her own blood. Knees, elbows, face, and hands were scrapped and bleeding. It didn’t freak out the body. It wandered towards its destination. It had to find him, no matter the condition the body was in. 

 Fatgum helped Kirishima get into the back of the ambulance. After the fight everyone was in, peace would be known soon enough. Kirishima really had earned his name from the red riot. There was a mix of emotions he felt, but he was mostly glad that his intern learned a lesson about being a hero he’d never forget and would never learn in the classroom, but his current state was shattered. Police swarmed the area, taking as many witness accounts that they could, reporting everything, hauling the thugs. 

 The pro hero’s eyes widened as he saw a figure carry themselves like a zombie. They used a wall to keep their body up, and muttered on their breath. Blood dripped down their skin leaving a trail. It was the biggest confirmation he had that the two were connected. A bloody Y/n with empty (color) eyes was walking towards the compound. They weren’t focused on any person, the body was just trying to make it towards the compound.

“Where...where is he?” she asked slowly. She wasn’t really there, it was like a ghost searching for a cursed mirror. “Where…”

Fatgum was quirk to grab her she tried climbing him, even though they both weren’t in a state to struggle. Blood smeared on what was left of his jacket.

“I found an injured civilian, can she ride with someone to the hospital? She's covered in blood!” Fatgum yelled.

“Where is he!” The woman cried out. 

 “She must have gotten hurt when he busted out of the ground.” One of the cops said. 

 She tried to crawl over Fatgum’s shoulder, begging to find a certain man. Her knee brushed against his chest, and he realized his injuries were more severe than he anticipated . He was hoping she wouldn’t say “overhaul” or “Kai”. If she keeps her mouth shut then only she would know the two were connected. Tai began to focus on the questions she’d be asked and possible charges. There had to be no way she was connected with the child Eri. Tai had to save Y/n, surely she would save a child if she knew they were in danger. Overhaul also harvested her blood for those drugs, she can’t be on his side. He was using her, and now she’s here, looking for him, injured, probably his fault. Her file never came up during any briefing, she would have been here fighting them if she was truly with the yakuza. Overhaul must have thrown her away because her quirk wasn’t useful, or maybe he did this to her because she saw too much.

 “Get in with her, your injuries look painful.” The paramedic said as they were strapping her down on the stretcher. 

Fatgum nodded as he climbed in. Y/n quieted down, but she was a mess. Her face was caked in blood and dirt. Fatgum reached for her hand to give the poor lonely woman some comfort, but noticed her palms were bloody and scrapped. What did he do to her? Pushed her down and beat her? Did she find out something she shouldn’t have? Was he trying to dispose of her now that her blood wasn’t as useful as Eri’s? Was she trying to fight him? Did they break up? Her eyes didn’t register anything that was going on. As they made it to the hospital the two went their separate ways. 

 Fatgum mostly suffered face injuries, and a cracked ribbed, but nothing that was going to keep him from working for too long. The hospital wasn’t providing him enough food, he was starving. He looked at his intern Amajima, and couldn't have been more proud of him. It was one of the most dangerous missions he or the kid have ever been on, and they both survived. From what he heard so far, no one had died yet. He looked over at his other intern, the bright red mummy. In such a short time the even younger kid proved himself. 

 “I’m gonna step out, you two need anything?” Fatgum asked. 

“Are you asking out that civilian?” Kirishima asked.

“What no! I have a couple questions for her though.” Fatgum told him. “She’s the lady who manages the wicked sparrow’s bakery.”

“Ask her if she can please make me some of those fancy cream puffs.”

“I will.”

 He asked the officer which room the woman was in. The officer explained she hadn’t been talking much, but was somewhat awake. Her injuries looked worse than they actually where, but it looks like this was her second or third concussion, so the hospital was going to keep her there, and they had sedated her before they understood the nature of her injuries. She was struggling against them, bleeding on her legs, hands, arms and face. Her phone had been broken, but she had ID on her. The hospital had called her parents, but found no luck with getting into contact with them after they mentioned their daughter. Y/n was alone in a hospital room, injured, and confused. Fatgum opened the door and went in there. She was watching the monitor. Her face and arms were patched up, but she was still a little swollen.

“How you feeling?” He tried to ask as cheery as he could be. 

“That voice….but.” Her voice trailed. “Who are you?” She asked turning her gaze towards him.

“It’s me Fatgum! C’mon your favorite customer?” 

“You’re not wearing your mask.”

 Here he thought she was gonna bring up his weight.

“I came to check on you.” He told her. 

“I have a habit of getting in trouble, don’t I.” She said lowly. “I didn’t think your face looked like that”

“I don’t normally look like this.” He told her. “I came here as a friend.”

“So you want me to call you Tai?” She interrupted him. 

“I want you to answer these questions here before you talk to the police.” He told her. “I know you’re connected to Overhaul.”

She concealed her reaction. Y/n had not yet known what had happened. When the first round of police came, they asked her mostly about her injuries and if there was anyone to call. Not wanting to get her boyfriend stuck with police and the feeling of overwhelm ness over took her to ramble gibberish. It was again she felt alone, in pain, and couldn’t reach out. How many times would she be stuck in hospitals. How bad was her past life to beat her down with this much bad karma? What problems will she have with all these concessions? Will she die like an retired NFL player? 

“You two went to the same elementary school. Your grandfather was close to the older head of the Shie Hassakai. I have pictures of those two here somewhere. And what reason would you have to be going to that neighborhood other than to see Chisaki Kai? It’s the opposite direction from your work. Were you helping him escape?”

“Escape...from that monster?” She asked.

“Monster?”

Fatgum was stunned she didn’t recognize her own boyfriend. She must had been hurt by him before the fight, and she doesn’t even know. How bad did Overhaul manipulate this woman? Of course she wouldn’t know him to be in such a powerful, destructive form, but she couldn’t fathom his quirk could turn him into that thing? Wasn’t she mad at him?

“Do you know what Overhaul was doing.”

“You’re my friend right?”

“For now.”

“We both agreed the less I knew would be better.” her voice was hoarse, but it was honest.

“But you were attacked due to your connection to him, remember that?”

“That wasn’t when the agreement was made. He was selling drugs, something his father was against. I was mad because...he was hurting weak people. I know those people struggle with addiction.”

She doesn’t even know what type of drugs they are?!

“You didn’t try to stop him.”

“He doesn’t tell me how to do my job...but I knew I didn't know enough to help redirect him. He was going to do it anyway.”

“He used your blood.”

“What?” Y/n thought Fatgum was lying to get more out of her. “What do you mean? What good would my blood-“

“There were a couple cases of criminals who were injured, but their injuries healed even though their quirks were entirely something else. We found human blood in it. The elimination process wasn’t that hard when the drugs were traced back to Overhaul, and I had already known your connection to him. Your quirk was recorded when you were very young and not often used, but it was a regeneration quirk.” He told her.

“That’s not-“ she couldn’t believe it. The quirk she had so disparately hidden was so easy for the world to find? How many people believed her when she told them she was quirk less and then later looked it up and knew she was a liar? How many people laughed at her and wondered how they figured out her quirk so late? Overhaul used her? Her own blood? He wouldn’t? How would he? He turned her into a drug? Endangering her life more? What if the demand grew? How much of her blood was out there. “Thats not-“

It felt like she was suffocating. He loved her, he had to of loved her! Why would he do this? He hated quirks! So he exploited hers for money when he could have just been selling cocaine? He used her! Was he going to tell her? Was that what last night was about? Hey I stole your blood, but now I’m gonna be rich so let’s just be happy about it? Here she thought he was going to propose, but how can you propose to someone with such a secret! When did he do it? How did he do it? Was he annoyed with her drinking that much he took advantage of her drunken state to take her blood?

“That’s not the worse thing he’s done.”

“Where is he?” Y/n asked. “I have to see him!”

“He’s going to jail. I don’t know if you’ll be able to get visitor rights.” Fatgum told her. “You might become a suspected accomplish.”

 Y/n thought she could marry that man just minutes ago, and now she found out he was selling her blood on the market. She couldn’t breathe! How long was he hiding this? Wait there’s more? This was the worse commercial deal of a life time.

“What did he do? What did he do that got him arrested. It wasn’t my blood...wasn’t it?”

“Y/n take a deep breath-“

“What did he do?” She sobbed.

“There’s a child. Her quirk is the finished project. He’s used her blood, so much of her blood, he was abusing her and putting her back together for…”

 The words started to fade. She heard what the child’s quirk could be. Did Overhaul secretly have an affair and a child? Did he fall for someone else? Did he have that child just so he could make those pills? He knew Y/n might have wanted kids, but he went and did it with someone else? That poor kid! That’s why he was so uneasy when she wanted to visit him! His kid was there and how can he explain that child when everyone knows not to bring a kid near the yakuza! He had a child just to have his quirk reproduced and use their blood instead of using his own!

 “He had a kid-“

“Eri is not his child. He’s stated so. We thought he did too, but it’s not the case.”

Y/n began to sob. He didn’t cheat but was one of the worst people and she had loved him. Like an idiot! How long was he using her and then switching to a child! How did he get Eri? Who were Eri’s parents? Did he do some black market children buying? Her boyfriend didn’t do anything noble, he was just awful. Using people to get what he wants. Did he even love her? He had to! He had to! She was allowed to touch him! Or maybe he only allowed it to keep her around. When Pops fell under, she wasn’t allowed to touch him. Could he not keep up the act anymore? 

“Y/n, Eri is safe now, here, and so are you.” Tai tubbed tissue in her eye. 

“Who was that monster?”

“It was Overhaul.”

 Fatgum stayed with Y/n as she cried. He had gotten the information he needed. Y/n was the manipulated girlfriend who did not consent to the drugs, and didn't even know that Overhaul was that huge meat monster. Was it just pure bad luck she got caught up in this? He didn’t tell her to go with him to escape the city? He would have been able to tell her to meet him someone here else wouldn’t he. He knew she wasn’t lying, no one could fake a reaction like this. It was like more of her world was just shattering. She was questioning everything about the relationship, from the time she found him at the wedding all the way to last night. Did he ever love her? Did his feelings fade, and that’s why he thought it was okay to use her like she was a blood factory? Was it when Pops fell ill, or before that?

“Why were you going there?”

“Last night I thought he was going to propose, but he didn’t….I just thought I should talk to him about it, like it’s okay to be scared, but...but oh my god…” she sobbed. “Now I don’t know what last night was about.”

 He had gotten it all recorded. Fatgum tried doing his best to comfort Y/n sitting next to her. He pulled her upper body into his chest and lightly rubbed her back with his not injured arm. She wasn’t expecting such kindness from the enemy of her boyfriend, but she was so lonely and was a little touch starved. Yeah the two knew each other before this, but the stakes were never this clear.

“I promise I’ll help you get through this.” He told her. 

“I need to be alone for a minute, this is all a lot to take in.”

Fatgum went back to his interns and the news got worse. The league of villains attacked the ambulance Overhaul was in and he had lost his arms, the drivers and Sandman were known to be injured. It seemed the final product had went missing. 

“How do know that woman?” An officer asked Fatgum.

“She manages a restaurant in my patrol area.”

“Her family doesn’t seem to be stopping by. The hospital can’t let her go home alone. Her injuries are too severe for her to be off on her own.” The officer said.

 “You can contact her boss at the Wicked Sparrow, but I don’t know who else to contact.” 

“But aren’t you two friends?” A nurse asked coming in. “You two knew each other previously.”

 So there was someone watching. Were they listening too?

“Yeah, but I can’t take care of someone, I’ll be busy.”

“You’ll need time to rest.” The nurse said. “She needs someone around to make sure she doesn't faint.” 

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest if a hero takes care of a civilian?”

“A friend taking care of a friend. We can send her someone to check on her, or maybe hospice, but we really can’t send her home without having someone with her to watch her these next couple weeks.” The nurse corrected. 

 The real conflict was the complicated feelings Tai had for Y/n since the day he saved her from getting choked to death. She was grateful to be saved, but then she gave him a free meal. She wasn’t embarrassed or put off by him ever and even invited him to the restaurant and bakery after hours to talk. Yeah he did that to spy on her for a criminal case, he had his own suspicions she was connected to Overhaul one way or another. She hardly talked about her boyfriend. It would be hard to even know he existed. Of course she wouldn’t want to talk about Overhaul with a pro hero she wasn’t dumb. So many times they would talk late at night. She would ask him what would help make her recipes better. He wasn’t the best chef, but she valued his opinions. Maybe she did that to distract his true cause for being there and to make herself look as innocent as possible if she was guilty, but she was the most genuinely interesting, fun person he’d ever talk to. She never tried to be someone she wasn’t was how he saw her. She didn’t pretend to ever have heroic dreams, but was honest to be scatterbrained with her life goals. She was well traveled, had so many hobbies, and always an adventure to tell. She went to cooking because her teachers thought she was really good, it was one of her better known talents, so she went with it. She dissolved being Overhaul’s possible secret mistress to a friend.

“I don’t know. We’re not totally close.” Fatgum said. 

“How’d you two meet?” The nurse asked being extra nosy. 

“I had to save her a couple years ago.”

“And you two aren’t close?”

“It’s a weird coincidence that you were at the scene and she was too. Is this the second time you saved her?” The cop asked. 

“Maybe it’s fate?” The nurse suggested “Wouldn’t that be funny. It’s like the universe is giving you a sign, and you keep ignoring it.”

“She wanted to look if any houses were for sale in that neighborhood to see if she could move there. You know checking out the corner store, where to go for a late night snack.” Fatgum lied. 

“Really?”

“Nice little stroll before work. She’s been in an apartment, ready to expand.”

Fatgum was lying but he was gonna keep Y/n’s secret safe. Sometimes you fall for the wrong people. She was truly shocked to find out her blood was part of the drugs he sold. How did he get her blood? How did she not notice? Was there someone with a memory quirk? Did he kill her like Rappa and then out her back together? Did the Chrono guy slow her down and they drew her blood. For now he would tell himself he wouldn’t let their friendship blind them, but was going to get his information instead of sending it to the police. Right now Fatgum was going to protect her, because she had been innocent so far. Her innocence to the situation only made it worse for her though. The last few years of her life now all seemed like a lie.

[tyranttortoise]

I’m not the anon who asked but can i please get that soulmate with sans’ brother’s s/o thing but with the papyrus personalities?

*I wanted to get an imagine out quick because I’ve got friends flying out tomorrow for my birthday (which is the 17th!), so I won’t have much time to write anything for a couple of weeks.  We’re going to New Orleans, and you guys remember how much I love that, so I’m super excited.  I need a vacation so bad, and I can’t wait to see them.  

I think this meant with Papyruses in general, so here’s the other half of an imagine I did a while back where you’re dating Papyrus, but soulmates with Sans.  

In this one, you’re dating Sans, but soulmates with Papyrus.  I’mma stick most of it under a cut.

UT!bros*You’re dating Sans.

Papyrus doesn’t understand the resonance – not at first, at least.  It comes as a tightness in his SOUL, an elation whenever he’s near you, and a feeling of uneasiness whenever you’re away.  At first, he considers it a feeling brought about by genuinely wanting to be your friend.  After all, you’re dating his brother, so he knows you’re a great person.  You exchange numbers almost immediately, and Papyrus even surprises himself with how eager he is to text you and call you.  

The three of you become mostly inseparable.  If Sans doesn’t invite you over to their house, Papyrus calls you up with a spaghetti invitation.  The two of you spend a lot of time in the kitchen, re-creating the cooking show Chopped that Papyrus was blown away by, while Sans acts as a rather biased judge.  Papyrus sends you pictures and texts every day when you’re away, and it’s beginning to seem like you talk to Papyrus more than your actual bonefriend.

Papyrus is satisfied with being your ULTIMATE BEST FRIEND EVER until you start staying the night at the skelebros’ house.  At first, he was excited at the idea of a sleepover, and he got into his best pajamas (the ones with MTT in robot form all over them) and popped a huge bowl of popcorn, preparing for a movie marathon.  You end up sandwiched between the brothers, covered in a big blanket, but after three movies, you’re exhausted and start to nod off.  Sans wakes up at some point and nudges you awake so the two of you can go upstairs to rest in his bed, and Papyrus… attempts to stall you.  You brush it off as him being eager to finish the last movie, but Sans’s smile seems different when he cracks a joke toward his brother.

Papyrus doesn’t even berate him for using a cheap pun.  

That night, while you’re sleeping in the next room on Sans’s mattress, Papyrus can’t stop rubbing his palm against his sternum and wondering why he feels so… anxious.  

You didn’t sleep well, but you felt like you had the worst case of heartburn ever and internally admonish yourself for having late-night pizza before bed.  Something seems off with Sans, however, and he’s not in the bed when you wake up.  Over the next few days, he seems to become more and more distant, picking up extra shifts and only giving you one-word replies when he texts back.  

It comes to as no surprise when he breaks up with you a week later.  “just not compatible.  sorry, kid.  but hey, no hard feelings, right?  paps would be really upset if you stopped coming by the house, so if you still wanna be friends…”

UF!bros*You’re dating Red.

The moment Edge meets you, he realizes that the universe has an even worse sense of humor than his brother.  

The pull in his SOUL is unmistakable; he’s no fool, and he knows that it’s clearly resonating with yours.  However, his brother’s arm is around you, and you’re laughing at something Red’s said – some stupid joke, he’s sure – which only serves to deepen his scowl.  

How could you – you of all the people out there, the one that’s dating his brother – be the soulmate of the Great and Terrible Papyrus?  He’s outright rude to you from the start, refusing to use your name (“HUMAN, DO NOT LEAVE YOUR DIRTY DISHES IN THE SINK LIKE MY LAZYBONES BROTHER!”) and jumping on you over every small slight in an effort to drive you out of his house.  He even surprises Red by snapping at him when Red tells him to chill out, and then sequesters himself in his room.  

His SOUL is vibrating so hard that he feels like he’s going to break apart, but he pushes it down.

Wait… it isn’t vibrating at all.  It’s clenching tight, yes, but the vibration he felt was his rattling ribcage.

HAVE I REALLY FALLEN THIS FAR?  OVER A SIMPLE, SLOVENLY HUMAN?

He tries to avoid you, but one day, you confront him and straight-up get in his face, demanding to know what you did wrong and why he hates you so much.  Edge attempts to flee the conversation (he can’t think over the pounding in his skull, or the way his SOUL feels as if it’s writhing within his body), but you block his path and jab a finger bravely into his chest, lecturing him over his behavior.  Red isn’t around, and you’re determined to make peace with his brother so you can feel comfortable hanging out at your bonefriend’s house.  

Edge can only stare, his expression stricken, as you muster up every bit of your courage to demand to know why he hates you.  

However, you weren’t expecting to choke on the words…

Tears cloud your vision as the word hate catches in your throat.  You’re not even sure why you’re crying – or why your chest feels so tight.  Are you on the verge of an anxiety attack?  Was this a mistake?  Or –

– or is it just that the idea of him hating you hurts?

That’s absurd.  You barely know each other.  Still, as soon as the first tear rolls down your cheek, Edge shocks the hell out of you by gathering you against his chest.  His hold is borderline tender, and for a long time, he doesn’t say anything; he simply holds you while you calm down.  

… Is he shaking?

“I DON’T…”

He hesitates, and you attempt to lift your head, but he holds you tighter, refusing to allow you to look at him.  

“… HATE YOU.”

The two of you don’t speak of what transpired in the hallway that day, but Edge is noticeably nicer to you.  He never mentions the resonance to Red, so his brother remains oblivious.  Of course, you and Red eventually go your separate ways, and you don’t see Edge for several weeks.  

And then, you run into him at a grocery store… and your heart feels like it’s fluttering.  

US!bros*You’re dating Blueberry.

Stretch knows what’s happening the moment he meets you.

The resonance is strong enough that he can feel it in his entire body, however, he’s had enough experience with concealing his true feelings that it doesn’t show.  He had been eager to meet you – his brother has been going on and on about you for weeks, so he knew you had to be a great person – but he never expected his brother’s datemate to be his soulmate.  

He plays it off spectacularly.  He’s friendly toward you, makes plenty of puns (you always laugh at his jokes, and whenever you both end up firing off puns together, Blueberry pretends to be so exasperated), and spends plenty of time hanging out with you and his brother.  He’s always there to offer advice, his sends you memes late at night, and he can kick your ass in every version of Mario Party there is, and yet… he also always gives you and Blue your alone time.  He gives you space, or naps on the couch, and you end up considering him your best friend.

He never tells Blueberry that you’re his soulmate.  He would never do that to his brother, who’s obviously head-over-heels for you – and you love Blueberry, too; Stretch can tell.  Blue’s the kind of person that would break up with you if he knew, and Stretch can never allow that.  

After all, he just wants his two favorite people to be happy, and he’s content with you as his best friend.  Just having you around is enough to make his soul sing.

Who says soulmates can’t be platonic?

SF!bros*You’re dating Blackberry

*heh.  guess i’ve just got that shit of luck, huh?

Mutt should have known that he wouldn’t be worthy of a soulmate.  After all, he’s spent a good portion of his life feeling guilt-ridden and worthless, constantly trying to make up for his previous bout of selfishness.  

So, it comes as no surprise that he would get tested here.  

It also comes as no surprise that he doesn’t react to the resonance.  He could never do that to his brother.  Blackberry’s been a touch-starved mess, yearning for love and affection, and he finally has it from you.  And you’re good for him!  You temper him, keeping him grounded and from having his anger make him impulsive.  You give him a kindness that no one besides Mutt has, which only makes Mutt’s soul swell even more with admiration.  

The three of you spend a fair amount of time together, since it appears that Blackberry feels the most at ease when he’s around his brother.  Mutt, however, avoids being alone with you, and aside from the occasional joke and wink thrown your way, you never become great friends with him.  Although he acts normally around Blackberry, he keeps his guard up, and always seems to twist any efforts you make to get to know him back onto his brother and how magnificent he is.  

Whenever you’re sleeping in Blackberry’s room, however, Mutt spends the night outside with his hood pulled up, chain-smoking dog treats and clutching his chest.  It’s hard to ignore the throb of his SOUL, but he does his damnedest.

Though, he resolves never to drink around you for fear that he’ll get too drunk and blurt something out – or even worse, try to hold you.  He knows that all it would take is one hug, and all his years of repentance would be out the window.    

(*Imagine Masterlist)

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 13 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, whom I have now kidnapped and am holding hostage in my bedroom so they can be my full-time cheerleaders

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

Walking into Loki’s cell the next day is… difficult. The screams you threw at him are still echoing in your ears, the alcohol (or sudden lack of) is still making your brain sluggish, and your head hurts from all the crying you did late in the night. You’re dreading his glare; the icy tone of his voice. Did you just undo months of friendship in one day? You very well might’ve. He trusted you with his fears and struggles about Thor and you threw it back in his face for what? Some sort of twisted reassurance that your life was worse than his at that moment? Horrible.

There are so many apologies lingering on your tongue you feel choked with them, and there’s a terrible tightness in your limbs. The feeling intensifies when you walk in and he’s got that awful blank look in his eyes just like he did when you first met him. It scares you to no end; thinking you might’ve lost him.

“Hey.”

His gaze does shift your way as you approach, thank god. You open your mouth to pour out your apologies, but nothing comes out. Useless. In a fit of anxiety, your fingertips end up brushing the wall of glass in front of you. There’s still a smudge on it from where you smacked it the day before. Ugh. Rather than try and put what you’re feeling into words, you let your forehead bang against the glass, eyes on your feet. “I’m a terrible person.” Your face scrunches in effort to hold back an unexpected wave of emotion. “I-”

“Tell me about him.”

“Huh?” His tone is still cool- a little more reserved- but you know an olive branch when you see one.

“Your brother. Tell me about him.”

“O-okay.” Where to start? Your indecisiveness wiggles its way out through your fingers, and they flex against the glass. “Well. He was super smart, first of all. The type of person who could walk into a room and instantly see all the connections: who was with who, who would stab the other in the back before the month was up, who was nervous or who was too cocky for their own good. He read people… flawlessly.”

You tilt your head a little, letting memories bubble up in your mind. “I idolized him as a kid. He was everything I wanted to be. He got all my parents’ attention, and I knew that, but I basically didn’t mind because he deserved to be the favorite, that’s how awesome he was. Does that make any sense?”

“What changed?”

You sigh, and the sadness in it almost cracks your chest open. “Kids… see what they want to see. They want to believe their brothers are their own personal knights in shining armor. That they can do no wrong. I lived in that denial for… well. Way too long.”

“My parents played a part in that, I think. They tried to hide the worst of it from me. If he was gone for three days and I asked where he was, they’d say he was just staying with a friend. When he came home high or drunk he had the flu or food poisoning, and I had to stay away from him because he might be contagious. I think deep down I knew something was wrong, but I just ignored it. I loved him, I loved them. I walked on eggshells because I didn’t want anything to shatter this illusion we had built.”

You’re suddenly exhausted. Opening up these boxes, ones that are usually duct taped tightly shut and squeezed into some deep dark crevice if your brain, always weighs on your shoulders. Rather than going back to your chair you just sit down on the floor, letting yourself lean against the glass.

“One night, when I was- fifteen, maybe? I’d just started high school, I think. A bunch of his friends had come over to hang out and he invited me to join them.” You pause, swallowing a bit of nausea. “I was so excited to be hanging out with all his cool friends. They gave me drinks, told me I was pretty, made me feel so grown up and important. But I started feeling… weird, after a few hours, so I wanted to go to bed, but they made me stay. I remember sitting on the couch and just… spacing. Staring at the wall while everyone talked around me. It took me forever to notice the hand on my leg.”

You can physically feel the intensity of Loki’s gaze ratchet up to twenty. When you look at him, his green eyes are sparkling dangerously. He knows where this is going. You wish he didn’t.

“It turns out one of his friends had a bit of a crush on me. He started, you know. Rubbing my leg, tucking my hair behind my ear. I was zoned out but enough of me was there to realize something was… not good. Zach-” saying his name makes your heart sink a little- “Zach was on the other side of the room, but when I finally got his attention, he-” you close your eyes, like the scene is playing out right in front of you and you can’t bear to watch. “He just looked at me with this total… indifference, and he said, oh, he already paid, so. He can do whatever he wants. And he went right back to his beer.”

It’s been ten years since that night and you can still remember how the adrenaline set in, how it pushed through your body like lightning when you smacked the guy’s hand away from your bra and he looked at you with murderous eyes. “I was lucky that I’d only had one cup of- whatever they gave me. I was still mostly in my right mind. I said no, and the guy got mad and started screaming about how many grams of ketamine he traded for this, then went to confront Zach about it. This huge fight started- I don’t remember most of it. I’m pretty sure I was comatose by the time punches were thrown, but luckily everyone was too occupied to notice. One of the neighbors called the police, they broke the door down and arrested everyone, and they found fifteen year old me drugged up on the couch, talking in circles like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

Waking up in a hospital bed, remembering nothing, was terrifying. Having the memories come back one by one, at the police’s gentle prompting, was even more so. “I’m still not sure what they roofied me with. The nurses never told me. But I was in the hospital for a day or so.”

Some sort of self-deprecating, bitter laugh escapes you. “So yeah. My brother sold me for drugs, I guess. That was a fun one to handle at fifteen.”

“And he is dead?”

“What, planning on reviving him so you can kill him again? I’ll help.” That does soften Loki’s expression just a fraction. “Yeah, he was high and drunk on god knows what and decided to go out to some party. Ran a red light, took out a couple of cars with his own. The storm didn’t help much I’m sure.” Your fingernails dig into your palms, leaving crescent moons on your skin. “He dragged so many people down with him that day. Good people. People who didn’t deserve it. If he had just taken himself out I don’t think anybody would have cried, but- I guess he had a penchant for ruining lives up until the very end.”

“He deserves far worse than he received.” There is unrestrained rage in Loki’s voice, a fiery sort of protectiveness that would be scary if it wasn’t protectiveness over you.

“Easy, Trickster. He’s long gone. Though I’m inclined to agree.” You knot your fingers together. “I know it doesn’t excuse anything about what happened yesterday. I was- terrible. But I was just so jealous. You have a brother who would do anything for you, who loves you and cares about you, and- that’s something I’ve wanted for so long. I know your relationship with Thor is far from perfect, and you have absolutely every right to feel the way you do. I just think you’re blind to what you have, sometimes.”

Loki doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither do you. Your words hang in the air between the pair of you, tugging on the rough edges of both your minds, wanting resolution. To your surprise, he gets up off his cot and comes to sit in front of you, mirroring your cross-legged pose so that you’re face to face. It’s nice, if you try to forget there’s layers of reinforced barrier separating you. Absentmindedly, your subconscious paints a scene where you and he are sitting, talking, laughing- somewhere comfortable, somewhere there’s no pressure, where you could take his hand and let his thumb smooth over the scars on your palm.

“Gods are not impervious to mortal plights. We love, we war, we hate, we hold petty feuds and retaliate against the ones we love. We are not always things to be worshipped or revered- quite the opposite; I believe many of your myths regarding us are what you mortals call cautionary tales.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I in the midst of hearing the one and only Loki Laufeyson admit that he’s not perfect? Should I be recording this?”

“Hush, Witling, I am trying to help. My point is, if even the gods are not perfect, you cannot expect yourself to be.” Loki taps on the glass right where your heart is. “There are no apologies necessary. I have endured far worse by the hands of people who would never think to be remorseful for their actions.”

You frown. “That doesn’t make it okay. You still deserve common decency.”

“You were hurting, badly. My only complaint is that I was not able to be of more use.”

“I don’t know, you made a pretty good verbal punching bag.”

You’re treated to an exquisite eye roll, but it’s balanced by the fond smile on his face. “Yes, well, do try to not make it a large habit, darling. I am quite fragile, you know.”

“Fragile my ass. According to field reports you got ground-pounded by the Hulk multiple times and walked away with a bruise.”

“A very unpleasant bruise! Have you no sympathy?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Shoulda thought about that before you angered the jolly green giant.”

“I beg your pardon, absolutely nothing about him was jolly.”

You have to giggle at the miffed expression on his face. “It’s an expression, Trickster. And it’s not my fault you have no self preservation skills.”

“And here I thought you were on my side.”

He says it jokingly, but something about his words tugs at you the wrong way. “I am on your side.”

Loki stops and looks you in the eyes, startled by your sudden sincerity. “There is no need to throw your lot in with the enemy. Mine is not the team you wish to be on.”

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

He looks at you for a long moment, gaze digging into your head to seek out all the little things you aren’t saying. But eventually he just nods, conceding. “I suppose we shall.”

A/N: Happy Thursday! Apparently I missed national fanfic/fanfic author’s day, so here’s a belated celebration :D

[mayonakazkrazy]

um... movie rant?...film th-....thought?...idk

Too Long, Won’t Read description is I have Anxiety and I’ve decided to keep it entertained with the random thoughts about movies and other things I like to give my head something to do besides just ruminate in the Executive Dysfunction Cycle.

To Skip to the actual Movie Talk portion just scroll past the stuff in Italics.

Sooo i’m trying a new thing out for tricking my anxiety into chilling out. My anxiety that manifests as Racing/Intrusive thoughts. Usually when i feel overwhelmed the thoughts are just my anxiety entertaining tons of hypotheticals from potential conversations/fights with people (friends, family AND randos) to just list after list about how ways i’ve fucked up in the past will come back to haunt me or how i’ll fuck things up worse in the future. It’s fucking exhausting and Executive Dysfunction is rampant and makes the cycles in my head all the worse. My brain basically becomes the Conspiracy Theory meme from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

I am in therapy and was on a medication that helped but I can’t get a refill on the meds for a while due to reasons and soooo i’m having to opt into more behavioral aspects to help my brain chill out from my own personal business and the dumpster fire that is 2020 America in general. When i’m at a very overwhelmed state, i find myself wanting to actually rant but the anxious introvert in me doesn’t really want to continually vent about my own issues which are, by nature, cyclical sooo they don’t really change just... pop back into my head to freak me out.

TO THAT END

I’ve decided to make my brain’s need to Rant and Hypothesize go to work on something more fun. Movies. Basically these are random thoughts about films and other things that my brain is willing focus on and will also trick it into thinking I’ve ranted about my real world problems because my fingers will be tired.

If you have decided to continue reading to the actual film thought part of this, then kudos for putting up with my already heafty ramble... i’m not done. Please keep in mind these are just the thoughts of my overactive imagination, i’m not any kind of professional in... pretty much anything to do with film analysis. and i HIGHLY doubt that i’m breaking any ground with the theories i’ll talk about. BUT the overall idea is that this is just fun for me.

FINALLY, spoilers for all movies and books involved (this time it’s Nightmare before Christmas and Coraline) This is also HIGHLY unedited sooo forgive my repeated words and mistakes in grammar, etc.

SO. Oogie boogie is the antagonist of NBC and wants Jack's Pumpkin King title if not to just be allowed to wantonly gorge himself on any random people he so decides to, right? yes. NOW, he's made entirely of bugs (and a few random snakes for extra shudder factor), all of which somehow make up this single minded Gluttonous mass that is the Boogieman.

At the end of the movie, Oogie's pillow case wrapping gets unraveled and he falls apart, the creepy crawlies that make him so THICC no longer stick together as a whole and so he dissolves/falls apart ALA the Wicked Witch’s "What A World" moment til there's not but ONE siiiingle Oogie bug that allows Santa to exact vengeance by way of his tiny human boot.

Now, my brain has decided to make a leap. IF the critters being contained IN Boogie's "skin" were ONLY kept together by the pillow case, then we're lead to believe that this casing is what lets Boogie control all these bugs to make him any kind of substantial or have any cohesive rang of motion. SO what is it?

Some kind of magic cloth either controlled by an OG Oogie bug or infused with the "spirit" of the Boogieman to allow him a physical presence in Halloweentown and/or to cast his creepy shadow everywhere. Jack pulling a loose thread on Oogie that causes him to fall apart, meaning it was stitched or sewn. And iiiiiisn't there sort of someone ELSE in the Clay-mation universe we know that has not only a thing for crafting amalgamations via craft supplies BUT ALSO has no problem with bugs?... even... enjoys them, and rats, and other not too kid friendly creatures...

Alll this build up to this single thought: What if... The Other Mother/Belle Dame from Coraline created Oogie Boogie. or at least gave him the magic pillow case to ensnare and use crawling creature to become a walking Boogieman?

I've got a couple scenarios for how this coulda played out, EITHER:

Oogie Boogie may have been one of the Other Mother's original creations for filling out her Other World to lure children for the Soul Eating. Meaning at one point maybe he was meant to be some kind of cute giant walking plush toy or something to be some poor kid's friend or imaginary friend made Real. But something happens, like the child also waiting too long to get the button eyes sewn and so Oogie starts to fall apart/have trouble upholding the act as time goes on. However, instead of waiting around for the kid to make their decision or for the Other Mother to get rid of him completely to save energy - believing that he would more likely become more selfish rather than remorseful like the Other Father - Oogie uses one of the "holes" in the Other Mother's world (as he may have noticed a cat using) to escape. OR he makes a deal with whatever eldritch horror (sortof described in the book) that controls the "tunnel" the children have to use to go back and forth and is granted his freedom but is send to Halloweentown instead of the Real World. Also, now forever his demented Boogieman self instead of whatever nice plush or pillow he was supposed to be.

OR

Oogie was originally more of a spirit or at least non physical being that grew out of the collective fears and phobias of humans (think Pitch Black from Rise of the Guardians but VERY FEW beings can see him and he has less control of the world around him). Another option would be that he still was originally just One lone insect from the Other Mother's world that managed to become too independent from Mother's influence. Either way, he decides he wants to be more physically imposing so goes to everyone's ever moody Other Mother for help. They either strike some deal, or he manages to impress her enough with his creepy wit to get her to agree and so she makes the magical sack that uses bugs, snakes, etc. as filler that he's able to control so long as they're IN the sack (she would ABSOLUTELY know that Oogie likely wouldn't know the upkeep he'd need to do on his little burlap sack to PREVENT the loss of bugs via loose/separating seems).

I like both ideas at this point and they’d both allow for some tangential crossover without either REALLY affecting the respective worlds of either film. Obviously there’s problems with the idea but it’s basically a filler idea for me to consider what may have happened IF a Boogie Bug maybe made it back to the Belle Dame’s world to try and get her help again and how that... may not end in his favor.

But tis a ramble for another day. Many thanks to the likely one or two people that ACTUALLY put up with my random Train-O-Thought this far, hope you enjoyed the ride, watch ur step on the way out. I must punt myself to bed.

Goodnight. Stay Nerdy.