#still fairly new to this fandom and slowly making my way through all the content

[biobe]

so the story goes that this body-swap fic by @otooga is actually the reason for my elite trine obsession! love love love the chaos vibes these three give at all times <3

if anyone has elite trine fic recs, i'd love to hear them!

[awesomesaucem]

My Tallest

Dib Membrane X Invader Zim

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,432

Warnings: Sexual content and mildly dubious consent.

Other Tags: Blow Jobs, Power Dynamics, Dom/sub, Master/Servant, Angst

Summary:  It’s Summer. Normally this meant Zim wasn’t quite as angry at the world, but this summer’s heat was particularly unforgiving. Sticky and miserable, he contemplates his place in the world since his long abandoned mission leaves him feeling empty. What else is there to do but look for a sense of purpose?

Read it on AO3!

A/n: Here’s my shameful idea I’ve had for a while now since I’m still rusty with writing and a total newbie when it comes to writing smut. I have a bunch of one shots planned for a bunch of fandoms that I think would be great practice for my slow burn. I tried to keep things close to the canon with my own little creative liberties. Takes place way after the show so both boys are adults and Zim has not-quite-defected from the Tallests. More like was abandoned and doesn’t know what to do other than assimilate into human culture. Enjoy!

Usually summer was Zim’s favorite out of all of the stupid earth seasons. Spring was always so wet and disgusting with new pollen coating everything and a thin layer of yellow grime that made him sneeze for days. Winter just made the whole planet sleepy. Humans somehow didn’t inherit the ability to hibernate alongside their mammalian counterparts – actually it seemed almost all animals in earth's nature slept for the winter months, except for humans. Unfortunately for him, that meant he was forced to spend the same insufferable months indoors. Any task outside would leave him half-frozen and trapped with a dozen humans in whatever errand demanded his attention. GIR and his circuits loved the snow. The powdery flourish that rained down from the clouds always got a more illicit reaction than their warmer counterparts. It was always a struggle to drag him back inside but at least the cold did him some good. Fall was tolerable. Summer heat paved the way for hayrides and Halloween when they would run around hoping to scare each other intentionally either from works of fiction or simply screaming in each other's faces. It was nice for Zim to take a break from it for a change. These were all acceptable. The bitter winds that would cut through with no warning and chilling him to the bone only to vanish suddenly as it appeared, were not.

Most of earth's weather came and left without any sort of reason. Location mattered most of the time-down to even states and provinces deferring in climate, but it rarely obeyed the rules humans made themselves. The heat was biting long before the calendar said it was ever time, and Zim learned from all his years spent on the pathetic rock that it would stay long after the next season was falsely announced. Even summer, Zim’s favorite among the seasons, had its faults. The insects he once hoped to relate to became most insufferable. Wasps, ants, and mosquitoes seemed to target him especially no matter the crowd or repellent almost as if they saw him as a threat. Maybe they did. Zim could be very threatening.

Today, however, he did not care very much for summer. Usually content in taking GIR for a walk or sightseeing, he was rewarded with suffocating humidity that left him sticky and sweating with no hope of relief. With the air conditioning as high as it would go and every fan in the house turned directly to him, he dozed on the sofa fanning himself. The heat almost stole his energy as even the lazy flicking of his wrist tired him out. Maybe his brain was slowly cooking. He’ll accept anything to get out of this heat. GIR somehow didn’t seem to notice the misery and was fairly content making noises into the box fan sending mushy chips and cheese breath directly into Zim’s face.

“GIR, can you find literally anything else to do right now?” He begged, not even able to turn his head to the side and speak to him directly.

The only response he received was GIR chanting “wawawa“ in various pitches and giggling at the distortion caused by the spinning blades.

He opened his mouth to spout yet another pathetic plea to his servant, but was interrupted by his phone buzzing from where it was wedged in between the cushions. Cursing, he scrambled to retrieve it from the prison followed by crumbs of every kind. God, how long has that stuff been here? He really needed to clean this thing more often. Not even bothering to look at the screen, he answered-only one human had this number after all.

“Greetings, Dib – stink,” he groaned.

“Get dressed, I’m at the pool!” Was loudly heard over the joyous laughter and splashing of the town’s children enjoying their summer. Disgusting.

“Why would I do that, pig?” With shut eyes, he questioned. A bead of sweat reached his temple.

“Because it’s hot as balls out today?” Correct. “And the heat index is 107.”  Ugh. It was 102 this morning. “Plus you’re bored so hurry up!”

“You don’t know that. I could be busy, you know!” Flecks of mechanical fluids fluttered out from the fan. Looking at him just made him spit harder. “Very, very busy.” A particularly shrill scream followed by a splash sent Zim’s phone away from his antenna, which was admittedly difficult. All this sweating made the perfect substance to plaster the screen to the side of his face. He grimaced and wiped it on his shirt before holding it just above his cheek. 

“– here already!” Dib shouted over the line.

“What?”

“I said hurry up and get here already!”

The line clicked and the call ended. The smeet hung up! Elongating his spine and reaching out with all limbs to cat stretch he let out a frustrated groan, then swung his legs over the side of the sofa to free himself to stand.

“GIR, put on your disguise. I guess we’re going swimming.”

“Oh wahawa,” sang GIR.

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The city pool was somehow even more crowded than it sounded over the phone. So many humans packed into one place with damp children everywhere you go with Dorito fingers and juice-stained faces. If this was anyone’s idea of fun, they should babysit GIR who loved the pool for that exact reason. Unfortunately, the chlorine messed with his sensors and he kept getting stuck in the jets. Then the city started enforcing their “no dogs” policy-not that they actually followed their stupid rules. Management didn’t understand GIR was much safer here than home alone. Unsupervised. He suppressed a shudder. Zim hated swimming now even more than he did as a smeet back when he was forced to learn as part of his intense military training. Of course water wasn’t used, but something about flailing in a glorified bath with a bunch of strangers just didn’t sound appealing to him. He still managed to pass that portion, just barely, during training. His awkward bobbing-turned-breast stroke only served to keep him from drowning in emergencies and his commander was feeling particularly forgiving that day. Human school wasn’t that much different if he thought about it. At least as a smeet, his arrogance blinded him to the ridicule of his classmates. High school was kinder in the sense he could blend in more. It was more forgiving to his pride than it was to stand out. No longer an awkward teen, he blossomed into an even more awkward adult. At least he was quieter now. 

Dib, however, flourished. His hyperactivity in his boyhood afforded him the energy to seek out a physical outlet. Since Zim’s mission was dismissed, he was no longer a threat to Earth; no longer something to waste time on. Now by day he was a personal trainer and even started his own paranormal investigative podcast. It actually was decently popular – he even had merch with his smug little logo on it. It was pathetic really, but Dib would never know of the T-shirt hiding in the back of Zim’s closet. 

“Zim!” Called a voice somewhere in the sea of people. Squinting, he could just barely make out Dib standing and flailing his arms around. His continued annoyance started to attract attention as everyone here wondered just who this psychopath was. Zim raced over quickly, stepping over pool goers and trying not to slip on the wet concrete until eventually he reached the offender to clamp a hand tightly around his mouth.

“Cease and desist, you cretin!” He hissed. “I did what you asked. Why must you humiliate me in the process?”

Dib laughed as if Zim told a joke which is odd, because he did not. “Lighten up, Zim. It’s summer vacation!” He exclaimed, prying the hand away. Reaching behind him, Dib pulled a can of some beverage and handed it to him. While he didn’t care much for carbonated drinks, alcohol or otherwise, ice clung to the aluminum, providing him some relief from the bitter heat.

“Why is it called summer vacation if the only thing different is the weather?” He asked no one in particular. “I mean you aren’t in school right? What vacation is there to be had? And why not acknowledge the vacations taken in other seasons for that matter?” Dib’s friends all stared at him. Someone might have coughed. For a moment, Zim was the new kid again weaving through much taller crowds trying to pretend to be human. Pretending to be likable; to blend in unsuccessfully. But Dib smiled.

“You’re right, it’s just a day at the pool. But that can be a kind of vacation too, right?”

Grumbling in response, he cracked open the mystery can and tossed back a swig without so much as a glance to the label. Expecting some shitty light beer or seltzer, he was surprised to be drinking some kind of fruity canned cocktail. It was definitely alcoholic, but pleasantly sweet. There was no complaint to be had. In no time at all, he had crushed several of the provided beverages favoring the ‘strawberry-a-rita’ flavor. Whatever that was. He wouldn’t even have registered the time if not for an alarm on his phone reminding him to reapply his skin paste. It took some time to develop it, but he was proud of himself for once. Something that protected him against the sun's harsh rays as well as creating a thin, yet sturdy, hydrophobic layer. To others, it appeared he was just using regular human sunblock. He honestly didn’t even need to reup since he was still firmly seated outside of the water, but he would rather be greasy than literally melting away if he did eventually decide to get in. 

“Zim’s got the right idea,” Dib observed rather loudly from the water, directing everyone’s attention his way once again. “No melanoma for him.” Dib wasn’t one to think too much about his own skin care, but his clients had children who frequented the neighborhood pool and he had to set a good example. 

Wiping the residue on his trunks, he sneered and dipped back into the cooler to retrieve another can ignoring the hoots and whistles clamoring from the pool. They all seemed to be loudly reacting to Dib who must have emerged from the surface. Peeking up, he saw the water and sweat alike that shimmered like fractured light on his dusky skin revealing sinewy muscles that peered through the streams. Zim’s can hissed at the claw sliding to pop its tab.  Further splashing and laughter faded to the back of his mind as the plat plat of Dib’s sodden feet drew nearer. 

“That’s your third one,” he whispered, nodding at the collection of empties on the table.

“You’re counting my drinks? I thought this was ‘Summer Vacation’, was it not?”

“No, nothing like that, I’m just glad you like them. It was between those or Ranch Waters, but I know you don’t like tequila.” 

Zim scrunched his nose. He did not. “It is an adequate poolside beverage,” he muttered into his can.

“Membrane!” Shrieked the lifeguard, pulling them out of their bubble.  “How many times do I have to tell you!” 

The boys followed her pointed gaze as well as that of almost everyone on the South end of the pool. It seemed GIR had found the jets again. 

Dib huffed an annoyed sigh. “And how many times do I have to tell you he’s not my dog?” He shouted across the water, looking expectantly toward Zim who was deflating as the moments went on. 

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The walk to Dibs house was surprisingly comfortable given the circumstances. GIR was rebooting just as he did every other time he’d gotten into too many chemicals and eventually kicked out for the day. That dumb robot never learned. Between the two of them, they reached Dib’s house without a thought, simply walking and talking about nothing in particular and halfway there they took turns carrying (aka dragging) the unconscious bot. Dib was the one to plop him down on the living room couch before heading upstairs to change with Zim following close behind. All things considered, they were each other’s oldest friends which made any amount of self consciousness shrivel up years ago. Even if they didn’t have all six years of gym class together, Zim still spent most Summers on the Membrane couch. Sleeping alone in an empty house got old a lot quicker than he thought. He took his usual perch on his flaking leather desk chair while Dib changed out of his trunks and into a pair of faded blue jeans; both pairs of shoes and socks lay forgotten at the door along with Zim’s wig. Somehow the topic of conversation escalated to whatever diminutive little projects they each had going on. Dib was more than eager to ramble on and on about the latest pre-workout flavor his gym had stocked up on recently. Something or other with berries. Zim wasn’t really paying attention. But then it was his turn in conversation. 

“What about you, Zim?” Dib questioned. “Anything crazy planned for this year?”

“Not really,” Zim answered, occupying himself with the various posters on the wall. Some things really do not change. “Not anymore.” 

He cringed and wished he could retract the words as soon as they left his mouth. Irk was an unspoken off-limits topic between the two of them. Don’t ask, don’t tell as they say. It was just one of those things. Dib knew it was a sore subject, but other than the childish fights they had as kids, he didn’t know much about it as a whole other than his juvenile energy was wasted on it. Years spent chasing and planning used up on a mission that would never come to fruition. After Zim had finally (finally) given up on taking over Earth, he was lost. Without Zim, Dib could redirect his efforts to something more productive. Without Irk, Zim was nothing.

“So what was it like?” Dib pondered aloud, ignoring the inarticulate rule.  They both knew exactly what he meant. 

Zim fiddled with his hoodie strings. “Which part?”

“Oh, all of it I guess. How did it feel to be a part of something bigger than yourself?” Wow. What a question. The Irken Armada was something he thought about every waking moment. He was programmed to. His very reason for being was thanks to his Tallests. Every breath was a gift for the Armada. Every day a reward and a privilege. Existing for the Tallests transcended human emotion; it transcended words. It was unlike anything he could’ve experienced or hoped to experience again. Zim told him this much.

“After a while, you learn you never really were meant to be an individual. Your wants and needs were irrelevant as an Irken. You just become part of the collective,” he stated.

Dib coughed uncomfortably.

“That’s, er, disturbing,” he offered, laughing; sobering up quickly in the silence that followed. “So your whole life has been for someone else?”

“Yes.”

“That's just so horrible! You basically worshiped these people!”

“Yes.” He echoed, looking up with solemn eyes. “The Tallests gave us life, a purpose. Every Irken was sworn to them.” 

“So like,” Dib struggled to understand. “They have omniscience? They literally create life?”

 Zim’s synthetic eyebrows furrowed.

“No, they would put in a request at the smeetery for a number of soldiers,” he thought. “Actually they would put in an order for the request.”

“So someone else did it?” He squished the last drops of water from his hair as he listened. 

“After they were ordered by a Tallest, yes.”

“But then they train the armies then? Or supervised the plans?”

“No, that’s what the generals and war technicians were for.” He huffed with the same air of condescension he would have if he were explaining how a block fits in a square-shaped hole.

“Did they do anything directly?”

“Oh, yes!” His eyes lit up with a distant admiration. “We were allowed to worship them freely and bring them gifts from our missions. Uhm, I was allowed to stand next to them once. It was truly one of the greatest moments of my life.” 

Dib snorted. “Wait, just standing next to your leader, who doesn’t even do anything, was the greatest moment of your life?” He laughed.

“No, I said it was one of the greatest.” He brought up a knee to hug to his chest. “And my Almighty Tallests did plenty. I owe them everything I am.”

Dib couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He always thought of the Irkens as some intense dictatorship but this was more like religion. A cult really. He stood to look at Zim directly.

“You do realize how crazy that sounds right? You’re totally brainwashed.” Zim stood to meet him.

“I am not! The Tallests are the smartest and greatest Irkens which is why they are more than fit to rule!“

“And what makes them so great huh? How did they end up in charge?“

“Well t-they,“ he stammered.

“You really can’t say? Don’t tell me it’s because they’re literally the tallest Irkens.”

He was met with silence.

“Oh my God, you leave leadership up to a height lottery.”

Zim spoke flatly and sternly, almost dangerously offended. “Height among Irken elites is a sign of status. Something akin to your human intelligence quotient points.”

“Well, how tall are these Irken elites? Maybe I could be your ruler, Zim.” Dib puffed his chest and straightened his back. Stepping closer, he towered over him.

“You could never!” Zim spat as he struggled to take in the epic size of the human in front of him. As kids, only Dib's hair gave him a slight height advantage, but now he had a good foot on Zim who’s mouth suddenly had gone dry. “There is more to Irken leadership than height,” he grumbled, standing down and diverting his gaze. Dib, of course, was loving this.

“No really!” He laughed. “How much taller do I have to be to allow you to worship me?” It was meant as a joke. Yet the thoughts being forced into his head were anything but funny. After a beat, Zim genuinely humored him. 

“Since I am no longer a member of the Armada, as horrible as it is, I no longer answer to the Tallests.” He slowly circled Dib, considering his stature among other things. “That being said, you are currently the tallest being I know, so,” he thought, shifting on his toes. “Your current height is sufficient.” 

“Oh my god, really? That’s all it takes?” Dib’s hands went to his hair in disbelief. “Oh man, think of the stupid little rivalry we had before. I just needed to be taller than you!”

“Not taller,” Zim corrected. “Tallest.” Still reeling, giddy, Dib wasn’t paying attention.

“Sorry Zim. I can’t hear you from all the way up here. You’re going to have to speak up,” he snarked, bristling past Zim. 

“Tallest!” He whimpered loudly, casting the room in a blanket of stunned silence. Both boys stared, a flush of muted pink dusting their cheeks.

“I was just kidding, man,” Dib sat down on the bed, taking his turn to look up at the Irken. “I don’t want to rule you, we’re friends.”

“You joke about my reason for life, Dib-filth . You asked a question and I answered. That’s how your stupid human conversations work, right?” His embarrassment quickly turned to anger as he shot his eyes up in defiance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know–didn’t mean.” He couldn’t find the words, but Zim wouldn’t let him escape so easily. He strode forward to crowd Dib’s space, throwing his hands to the comforter with Dib right in between.

“You didn’t know what, pig? You’ve had 25 stinking, inferior Earth cycles to know exactly what you mean.” Wide-eyed, Dib watched as Zim sunk to the floor at his feet with an impassioned sort of glint in his eyes that was terrifying yet incredibly alluring. This was a look Zim only wore in Dib’s wildest fantasies. One he wasn’t sure was even physically possible for him to wear.

“Then what are you-”

“Silence, you pathetically tall worm. You wanted to know what it takes to rule over Zim and now that you’ve found it, you aren’t satisfied?” He rubbed his cheek on Dib’s knee like a cat marking its scent. “As you stupid humans like to say,” He leaned just enough to eliminate the remaining existing space, forcing Dib to spread his knees further. “You've opened this can of worms, human. Now it’s your turn to lie in it.”

“That’s not – Zim seriously, I was just playing,” Dib stammered, turning a satisfying shade of red as Zim dipped down between his thighs and feigned a gasp of understanding.

“You were playing? Then let’s play, oh Tallest Dib.” His antennae explored to taste the air between them causing him to scoff. “Lie to me if you must. But I promise your pheromones don’t have that luxury.” He pressed further. The liquor-loosened tongue came out of hiding to trace just the hint of outline of Dib’s stiffening cock; a trail of saliva dampening the denim there. Dib flinched. 

“Zim-ah! We don’t have to do this, you don’t actually…” he trails off, mesmerized by the absolute filthy show Zim was putting on nuzzling his half-hard cock in his jeans like it was the only thing he’d ever want. Dib gripped the sheets half terrified and the most turned on he's ever been in his life. 

“Dib,” he groaned, peering up at the human with utter fire. “Soldiers have either succumbed to war or ended their own miserable lives from their Tallests’ absence. Service and loyalty is what I was bred to do and if nothing else,” Dib shivered at the hot breath between his thighs. “I was damn good at it.” 

“What are you trying to say?” He panted. “For now, you are my Tallest.” Dib watched his tongue dart out once again to wet his lips. “That means you tell me what to do. Please.” The waver in his voice affected Dib more than he was comfortable with. Childhood nemesis turned friend and now whatever this was? How would this even work? Alien biology aside, this was horribly wrong and he needs to stop this now before it gets even further out of hand. If it wasn’t too late already. If Zim wanted this half as bad as he was implying, Dib had zero control over the situation, service programming be damned. Dib might be the “Tallest” or whatever, but he knew Zim held all the cards. They both knew. It all came down to who would crack first and Dib had an idea that it would be himself. Trying to formulate a plan became increasingly difficult with the insisting presence at his groin. He can’t say he didn’t try. 

“Z-Zim are you- fuck.” A particularly languid lick with the flat of his tongue broke his concentration. Against his will, Dib was now fully hard and far too gone to stop it. 

“You know, for a Tallest you're not very smart.” He replaced his tongue with his much firmer hands that gripped and squeezed overtop the fabric pulling a shaking whine from his throat. “You act like you don’t want this.” Dib’s hips bucked and stuttered at Zim’s meager ministrations. “You’re already falling apart, look at you!” He laughed. “On Irk you would be the superior mind. Strong willed enough to lead armies who would never give your word a second thought. Mindless obedience at your command, Dib. What will you do with it?”

Dib felt like he was losing his mind. Never in his life did he think he’d ever see Zim on his knees speaking such filthy things. He was barely touching him but here he was; hardly able to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence.

“What will you do?” He repeated. Zims own cheeks were dusted a pink almost as pretty as his words. Together they sat in a sort of silence just considering each other. Zims gaze was unfaltering and Dib finally realized he was expecting an actual answer. He could end this if he wanted. Just a few strong words would put this whole obscure moment behind them. Zim would listen to whatever he said, do whatever he wanted. So what did he want? His confidence found him when he spoke. 

“If you're going to do this, you’re going to do it right.” He releases his white knuckled grip on the sheets and with mindful hands, undoes the fly of his jeans. Zim’s own hands are heedlessly shoved to the side as Dib carefully pulls his cock, angry and blushing, from his boxers to settle directly in his face. Wide eyed, Zim stared up in disbelief but acceptance at both boys seemingly calling each other’s bluffs. “This is what you wanted, right?” He gave himself a few strokes. “To serve? To please?” 

Zim could only nod and stare. 

“Then get on with it. Open up, soldier.”

Obeying, Zim showed off his glistening tongue, sticking out on display along with his blunted teeth. The tint to his cheeks deepened as he opened his mouth wide. He peered up with a look that would appear to anyone else as obedience, but Dib knew better. He was quite familiar with this look. Hiding behind obedience, Dib could make out the barest hint of defiance. Of a challenge. Even in this moment of vulnerability, between the two of them there was a shred of uncertainty. Pushing past his reservations, he fit his fully hard cock against his tongue, giving it a few taps for good measure. 

“You want to serve? You want to be good?”

Zims only response was a hot, breathy moan through his open mouth. 

“Then prove it.”

The last of his resolve crumbled as Zim surged forward enveloping Dib in his mouth; tongue gliding against the hardened flesh. Dib couldn’t help but reach out and shove his head down even further earning him a satisfying choke. Not to be outdone, Zim buried his nose in the dark tuft of hair in front of him and swallowed. 

Bottoming out in Zim’s tight throat, Dib was reduced to a stuttering mess. His canting hips lurched up into the pleasure consuming him as Zim licked and sucked in earnest. The soft keening moans and wet slurping were the only sounds to be heard before Dib had enough. Zim was enjoying this far too much. Roughly, he tore him off with an obscene pop! while they both struggled to catch their breath and his thumb reached out to mop up the string of dribble that clung to his lip. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” he said, stroking himself much easier with the copious amount of slobber Zim insisted on tossing around. 

“‘M sorry,” Zim panted beneath him, following each movement with rapid fascination and splaying his palms flat to his thighs.

“No you aren’t,” he nudged his hips forward into the silken heat before him. Zim had the courtesy to take his time, to savor his instruction. Gently, he urged the head past his swollen lips with a far too generous tongue.  Kitten-licking  proved faultless as he lapped at it, earning a breathless noise from above. Sucking and benevolent, he resumed. With no hands and more intention he hollowed his cheeks and sank down further engulfing him in incandescence. Zim focused on his breathing more than anything. As long as he could keep his throat from spasming, things should be enjoyable for the both of them. The shameless moans and huffs did little to remind him of his task at hand, however. As much as he’d hate to admit, each and every sound ricocheting off the walls made him more and more eager to please. Weary of his teeth, he licked and sucked and sopped up each bead of precum he was awarded as he continued his assignment. If Gaz’s TV wasn’t as loud as it was, the whole house would’ve heard her brother’s undoing in the next room. Mantras of “fuck” and “god, yes” echoed off each surface to chant for their endurance.

Before long, the fire pooling in his gut reached its peak as he came with a roaring groan, holding Zim’s head tightly in place so as to not spill a single precious drop. Ropes upon ropes sputtered down Zim’s throat one after another which he greedily swallowed down like the good little soldier he was. He hummed at the taste which sent vibrating shockwaves up the pulsating shaft causing Dib to flinch away with a hiss. But Zim wasn’t quite done yet; he wasn’t about to let his prey go. With a much softer tongue, he laved at the slit delving inside to retrieve any missed spend- it was his prize to claim and it would not escape him. 

Once satisfied, he released the belt loops he hadn't realized he was holding from his demanding grasp and carefully pulled away from the tender, softening flesh. Flushed, yet level headed, he peered upward at Dib who was nowhere near as coherent. Overheated and overstimulated, he had no choice but to lay back in rapture; encompassed in post-orgasm haze. Never did he think a simple blow job could be that incredible or that Zim would be the creature to give it. That such a being of destruction could also be one of depravity. 

“Was that to your liking, My Tallest?” His voice was gruff with both use and lust as his shoulders heaved, panting. Dib propped himself up on his elbows to at least try to have some semblance of sanity. His hair stuck up in all directions giving him a mockery of a dark halo and his voice came almost as dark. 

“To my liking?” He parroted, dazed. 

Zim stared. 

“You nearly sucked out my soul through my dick and you want to know if you did a good job?” 

Finally sitting all the way up, Dib tucked himself back away, chuckling to himself in disbelief. 

“Yes, Zim. You did a very good job. Your, heh, Tallest is quite impressed.”

Of all the time exchanged, it was this moment that caused Zim to be well and truly bashful. Shoving himself away from the spread knees in front of him, Zim leapt to his feet and tried to compose himself; cheeks cherry reddening at the praise. 

“Of course I did well, pathetic worm-smeet. My superior Irken flesh had to demonstrate a pleasure you would not have found elsewhere.” He tried his best to adjust himself discreetly, but remained just as successful as Dib was at hiding his amusement. “You jest, but I’ve seen the vile ‘pornography’ you watch in your free time, human. I will never understand the appeal of a group of “backdoor sluts” or how there are somehow nine installments.”

 Dib flushed abashedly. “When did you snoop around on my laptop?” He shrieked. 

“Know thy enemy, beast,” he shrugged, unperturbed, moving toward the door. 

“You’re leaving already?” Dib cautiously asked, disappointment evident in his voice. 

“Well, yeah,” he shifted on his toes. “The ritual is over, yes? Am I forgetting something?” He narrows his eyes. “Are you being untruthful about your satisfaction?” 

“No! Nothing like that, I just,” he combs his damp hair out of his face. He really was getting more disgusting by the minute. “You didn’t, you know. Er…” he flounders. 

“Achieve orgasm? No. I didn't. But I don’t understand how that’s relevant.” He toes on his shoes and stuffs his socks into his pocket to deal with later. 

“Would you like to? Usually this sort of thing is mutual.” This time he managed to hide the nervousness in his voice. “Traditionally,” he added. 

It was such a bold question. One Zim was ready to dismiss if it weren’t for the steady ache he felt. He contemplated giving himself over to a Tallest entirely-the pleasure that would hold. The emotional gratification. Was he really about to grant himself such pleasure? 

“No. I’ll be fine.” The air shifted through the open door giving them both the grace to breathe. “Bye, Dib.

Much later in the night, two friends sat alone in their beds biting back urgent moans and painting their sheets and bellies; replaying the events of the evening in their minds until there was nothing left for their bodies to give. Spent and exhausted, they would each stare at their ceilings and think independently together the same refrain they’ve uttered for years:

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, I’ll tell him. 

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

[5uptic]

crewfu: fanfic spotlight!

We work together by Anonymous (5up & DK, unrated, gen | 248 words)

Summary: One likes plants and baking, the other loves to create and design video games. They stay up and create monstrosities together, it's their fun, it's their favourite game. Aka a 5up and Dk roommate au!

No matter how life tangles, I’m still here with you. by hungryandsleepy (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 279 words)

Summary: 5up has been working so hard on his new map, and of course, he needs someone to give him a motivation to go to sleep.

objectively pretty by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 462 words)

Summary: steve is drunk. he's pretty sure 5up is too. that doesn't mean being called pretty is any less momentuous.

you plus me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 489 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve meet.

he said to me by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 656 words)

Summary: 5up and Steve share a moment.

by the snowmen by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 670 words)

Summary: Steve has a moment when it's all over.

today you got to know me (a little bit too slowly) by runninohhoney (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 675 words)

Summary: Steve lights up a cigarette. 5up doesn't smoke.

what would it take by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 787 words)

Summary: It's Steve's first mission. He hecks up. Or does he?

sorta cute by floweruru (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 822 words)

Summary: ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘That’s just disrespectful,’ he said. Yet there was 5up, crushed like a can in Steve’s embrace, feebly kicking at nothing as his feet leave the pavement.

i was gonna kill u, but ur kinda cute?? by Cthulhuer (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve is a mess and 5up is worse.

I hear a Symphony by AwkwardAce (5up/Fundy, unrated, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: He exhaled until his lungs ached for air, fingers twitching as he opted to remove the sleek white gloves he wore in a feeble effort to soothe himself. It didn’t work. He wrung his trembling hands together as his eyes raked down the worn leather case taking in the doodles- some etched some drawn- across the faded surface. He snapped the buckles open and his breath hitched, catching in his already tight throat. For a moment the world span, his head throbbed and he wanted nothing more than to run and hide. 5up breathed out slowly, shakily.

staring by lytriis (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: steve asks 5up out. 5up doesn’t know how to respond.

and it's four am, and yet, you're here by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: in which steve shows up at 5up's house, in the middle of the night, completely spontaneously

more than this by mangoedges (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve catches 5up venting.

3:15 by vesque (5up/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1.2k words)

Summary: Steve tries to guess Five's name. It's much more difficult than he anticipated.

things were different by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: His eyes circled around to his friends, Kimi and Janet engaging in pleasant comversation, sleepy and becoming increasingly more sober. He looked, finally, across him, and caught Dumbdog staring at him. What now bro, what did this guy want. small talk, turns into not small talk, then there's no talk

Once Upon A Dream by SmearedWords (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.5k words)

Summary: 5up looks ethereal, while Steve is struggling to breathe. "You're not real either." Or: Steve has a crush and a nightmare in three parts, 5up is tired, the crew life is hard and Polus sucks.

the ones you love will call you back by homeward_bound (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.8k words)

Summary: stevesuptic: dude, is it weird that i miss vegas   DumbDog: No? I do too.   stevesuptic: okay [steve misses vegas and apollo. they talk about it]

cough it out by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2k words)

Summary: Apollo thinks that Steve must be well and truly gone, at this point, because he giggles, like Apollo’s just told a particularly funny joke. He looks Apollo right in the eye and asks, “Do you trust me?” “Absolutely not.”

ivy by Secular_Czar (5up/Steve, teen rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: It might be a sad day, in general, but Steve isn't about to let it get to him. His friends won't ever let him wallow either.

The Colosseum by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 2.1k words)

Summary: Five squinted, looking at the colosseum intensely. He thinks Apollo was latched onto the sphinx’s shoulder, fur matted with blood. Janet was slumped against a column, probably out, with Kimi whose bow was snapped in two, her leg twisted at an odd angle. DK was in the corner trying to cast various supporting hexes and charms with a broken arm, whilst Hafu was dragging a heavily bandaged Steve away. or 5up slaughters a cat

Oneshots :) by woofles1990 (5up/Fundy, 5up/Steve, teen rating, multi | 2.5k words, oneshot collection)

Summary: Just a bunch of MCYT/Among Us oneshots, mainly featuring 5up's crew because yes :)

the adventures of 5up and steve staying up late because they're under 30 by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.5k words)

Summary: “The night is young!” Steve yells at the ceiling, throwing his hands up in the air. “Take advantage of it! Commit crimes! Fuck hoes!” Five catches his hands in the air and laughs. “You wish you had hoes.”

unreasonably in love by cj__writes (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.6k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "It was like pieces of a puzzle, everything coming together. And now, here they are, standing in their apartment, which looks more like a hollow shell than a home, filled solely with scattered boxes and the minuscule amount of furniture that they brought with them to Vegas." Or: what happens after Apollo and Steve move in together.

cant be love by fourpebbles (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 3.5 words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: He had chuckled to himself, he felt so stupid. Who in their fucking minds names a playlist 'sugr?', he thought, internally cringing. A story where a Steve meets an Apollo, and some things happen.

Somewhere in the darkness, us together for a while by tumtummeke (Apollo & Kimi & Steve, teen rating, gen | 3.6k words)

Summary: Apollo worries about Steve. Steve breaks his vape pen. Kimi plays power washer. Self-indulgent angst, with a generous helping of friendship and cuddles.

odyssey by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 23k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: "First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens...they warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. Therefore pass these Sirens by and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear." -Homer, The Odyssey

Also: SilverSprinklez10‘s yupwaves collection.

Summary: This is a Harry Potter AU based on the characters/personas of the youtubers/streamers.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s), if there is one/multiple], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k] ([added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not)])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji... you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed (but this is the first one! lol).

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

[theyarebothgunshot]

ROSE I AM FREAKING OUT HAVE YOU SEEN THE PREQUEL STUFF???? WHAT IS GOING ON, my god... I was literally about to go to sleep, decided to check Tumblr one last time and see this.... what WHAT!! WHATTTT!!!!!! I don't even know if this is good bad or what but just JENSEN IS PRODUCING A SUPERNATURAL PREQUEL AND DEAN'S GONNA BE THE NARRATOR OR Sth LIKE???? -🐸

YEAH i am normal about this <3 (jk i am also freaking out) welcome to: people screaming to me in my inbox about prequelgate ft. j/2 fallout theory. let's goooo!

Another copypasta and suddenly chaos machine is full on gay I love this prophecy

you know whats funny i just checked the j/2 tag and i feel like for the first time in a long time they are starting to realise that maybe THEY should be the ones who are "gutted" *sips tea*

ROSE HOLY SHIT ROOOOOOOOSE ITS HAPPENING HOLY SHIIIIIT

YEAH

Nevermind just read prequel and well good luck I guess but just you know kind of bleh who wants to watch John Winchester well let’s have hope anyways

i know a lot of people are bummed out but i am kind of very excited actually?? i trust robbie and even though yeah j*hn winchester turned into a nasty abusive bastard, it can be interesting to explore how it all started (imo). it's just the first of many stories they can tell.

I can only accept this circus if it’s Dean telling the stories to his and Cas’ kids and then we have a revival to show that the whole finale was in fact the end Chuck wanted there Jensen I fixed it

i would not say no to this

heyloo bee anon here

um- wtf is happening?

jackles prequel series?? why? i want to be excited about this but sheesh im scared

because supernatural is never dead <3

okay, but, jensen... john winchester ≠ jdm, you don’t have to go /that/ hard for him 🙃

true true... though i am waiting for jdm to comment on this, please i need it

WAIT A SECOND J2 FALLOUT THEORY TRUE??

LMAO HELL YEAH BESTIE

Rose you really picked the worst time to sleep for real

bestie it was literally 4 in the morning, what do you expect from me sdfjsfhsf

I can’t literally can’t we were all right LMAO j2 fallout theory is real and cockles (Misha supporting Jensen) is [gunshots] I’m just laughing cause what the hell is this timeline we’re living LMAOOOOOOOOOO

we would always end up here <3

Do we have the copypaste anons to thank for JP basically confirming the J2 fallout? lol 🦚

yes, everybody say 'thanks annoying idiots!'

ROSE, WAKE UP, COME HERE,

THERE'S A LOT GOING ON FFS

YEAH I KNOW BUT I NEEDED SLEEP

Anticipating that there's going to be a lot of yelling about the prequel on here: I am cackling, but also, I mean, the first time Dean got a look into his parent's past, Cas was the catalyst: literally entered Dean's mind and catapulted him to the 70s. So idk, it's not completely unreasonable to expect some Cas cameos, maybe setting up a parallel timeline since Dean is narrating. What I'm saying is, this is Jackles, he's getting JDM and Misha in on this lmao -Honeymoon Anon

you were right lmfaooo also i fully agree. misha's tweet further cemented that thought for me. he knew about this prequel and i dont think he is cas-baiting us, i think he'll be involved. i'd also be obsessed to see jensen and jdm act together again (though idk who jdm could play seeing as it's a prequel and he is way too old to play young j*hn)

longlivethetribbles heeft gevraagd:

Heyyyyyy bestie, are you SEEING the absolute madness going on right now holy shit

well a little late but I SURE AM BESTIE

bestie wake up pls s16 finale just dropped.

- 🍯

and WHAT a great one it was

I love coming home from work to see all of the chaos unfolding on Tumblr and Twitter. I'm absolutely buzzing right now. I'll probably still be here by the time you wake up and check tumblr 😂 - 🐢

lmaooo and were you still awake?? did you see my freak out??

Oooh bestie wake the fuck up, I know you’re gonna be excited for this one jsnsjsj

god i had SUCH a morning like. it's 12:00 now and all i did since i woke up is check tumblr rip

short summary: jen and dee gain the rights, they post on ig/twitter about a prequel ft john and mary that no one asked for, the fandom loses its everloving shit as usual, they trend on twitter thanks to the beloved twt intern who missed us, misha qt’s jen about cas possibly benefiting from being in the prequel, then j*red qt’s jensen abt how his feelings got hurt by him not being told about a prequel his character as no involvement in & he initially throws a tantrum, and the rest is history - 🦋 anon (ps: i hope this helps a little, i’ve been scattered brained trying to keep up with it all night lmao so pls let me know if i missed anything, bug crew !!)

thank you so much darling i figured it out eventually but this is a helpful summary!!!

I hope you enjoyed waking up to all of this XD -🐢

i sure did!!! also that answers my question about you being awake lmao

I WILL NEVER EVER EVER FORGIVE MYSELF FOR SLEEPING THROUGH ALL OF THIS DRAMA AND NOT EXPERIENCING IT IN PERSON I DIDN'T NEED THIS SLEEP - tea anon

well the party was still going strong this morning so im not TOO "gutted" see what i did there lmaooo

Now that you are caught up with the news... So idk if you remember this but...didn't jarpad tell jackles he was up for a reboot in an online panel? And jackles answered that this was news to him??

-🍯

yeah i think you are right but he was clearly joking and didnt expect jackles to actually be working on something already

J2 anon spare more of those anons let's finish this - tea anon

please, we're having a ball in this bitch

I saw a post on tumblr where someone said now that Kripke gave J&D the rights, maybe they’re starting with a prequel just to end on a reboot in years time and honestly ? I wanna believe that so badly. This is tinhatty but what if this is all calculated in a way that makes it so that Jensen is slowly starting to fix everything that was wrong with spn - now that he has the rights and he’s slowly making spn his own story ?! I mean he did say in his ig post he wants to ‘fill in the rest’ - and maybe Mary and John’s story is only the beginning of spn related content from J&D to come ??? Maybe he wants to give spn the justice it deserves ?? Thoughts ??

i dont think this is tinhatty at all i think this is very possible and not that much of a reach. i could see this happening yeah for sure

want to hear something funny. I found out I had a ruptured blood vessel in my eye because I was sending my friend a video freaking out when the prequel news dropped and I noticed the corner of my eye was red af. and when I got back online jared had tweeted.

DJFHSJD ANON THE CHAOS OF IT ALL, HELP, are you okay? <3

rose.. bestie... how are you feeling about The News? nsfshsf being european is a curse </3 🐞

i feel GREAT im living for it i feel on top of the world tbh (and yeah it really is dsjfhs)

What am I waking up to I can't WHAT I rested my eyes for like 5 minutes help *hits reblog button* - anon anon

yep yep essentially djfhs

“Jensen and Misha are Co workers who barley talk”

I can’t be sure of course but I’m fairly certain that this is the copypasta that brought the j/2 fallout theory back to life. Who’s apparently ‘barely talking’ now? skansjsjsj. It’s almost prophetic, these j/2 anons have superpowers I’m telling ya.

-poker face anon

next time we get one of them we should be thanking them lmaooo

ok, but are we gonna talk about the "When Daneel and I formed Chaos Machine Productions, we knew that the first story we wanted to tell was the story of John and Mary Winchester [...]"-quote because the way this is phrased implies they formed CHAOS MACHINE Productions with the intent of telling this story (first), i haven't been in this dumpster long enough but the name just tickles me in that Misha way, isn't it so sus??? am i missing something???? i mean with this announcement they SURE lived up to that name... 🧩-anon

you are absolutely right, chaos machine SCREAMS misha and we are all here for it!!

hey hey hey. joining the clownverse, there's no way THEE cas girl danneel doesn't know just how much the fandom loves misha and cas. so 2 + 2 = misha in the spn prequel!

AGREED

So I think I finally managed to catch up on wtf happened while I was asleep and my brain melted. What a shit show to wake up to.

Anyway thoughts.

I don't hate the idea of a Mary&John sequel. I think it has the potential to be good (It has the potential to be really bad too, so I'm kind scared).

���️🕯️🕯️ manifesting Mary being badass and John being kinda useless🕯️🕯️🕯️

As for the Jensen and J*red thing.

I can see Jensen not telling J*red even if they are still friends, because J*red is kinda good at accidentally telling Secrets. He could have told him right before he announced it so, so that J*red didn't have to find out from twitter. He was on the show for 15 years, he is bound to get asked about it. The public twitter meltdown was really unprofessional so. Like you have Jensen's number J*red. You could have sorted that out in private like a normal person, but instead you choose to act like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Is it weird that I'm actually going to be kinda that for them if the actually had a falling out, even tho I don't like J*red all that much. They seemed to be really important to each other and while I thought before that the might have triefted apart a bit, I didn't think that the where actively fighting.

- 🐌 anon

the thing is, the polite/normal thing for jensen to do was text him before announcing it on twitter. it's weird he didn't, and that makes me believe that maybe yeah they did have a falling out. especially with the way j*red responded to it on twitter. if he had no other reason to be this upset (no prior beef or falling out) you'd think that he wouldn't be responding like this. on the other hand, the man is a mysterie to me so who the hell knows. i'm not gonna mourn about it if they did/do grow apart because j*red is just.... awful imo.

[cozy-neko]

The Cherry On Top • 02 • 03 | Charity stream disaster • 04

Kenma checked his stream overlay one last time to make sure everything was set up correctly. The streamer was only ten minutes away from his scheduled 24-hour charity stream that Akaashi had set up for him in partnership with the energy drink company, Black Sheep. For every donation Kenma receives during his live stream, all proceeds will be 100% donated to help animal shelters in need of supplies.

For once, Kenma was actually excited about a partnership. As a lover of cats and raising three rescues himself, it wasn’t particularly a hard decision for Kenma to make when Black Sheep had approached him and brought up the idea of a partnership and a charity stream campaign in conjunction with the animal shelter Black Sheep was associated with.

That was why when his sponsorship with Black Sheep had been threatened by a rumor, Kenma ultimately made a public announcement to deny the rumor and personally reached out to the PR/Influencer team at Black Sheep to talk it out with them.

Now, three minutes prior to going live, Kenma’s phone buzzed multiple times. He glanced at the lit up screen and rolled his eyes. It was Kuroo who was blowing up his phone, and Kenma had a fairly decent idea of what the texts were about.

Last week, Kuroo and Kenma had met up with Akaashi and Bokuto for their monthly dinner meet up when Akaashi had mentioned Kenma’s upcoming charity stream.

“A 24-hour stream is too easy for Kenma; the gremlin routinely stays up at least 36-hours once a week anyways.” Kuroo let out a barking laugh as he flipped the meat that was grilling in front of the four friends.

“That’s besides the point, Kuroo.” Kenma rolled his eyes and leaned back in the vinyl booth. “I’m doing a charity stream. All donations I get during the stream goes towards the animal shelter that Black Sheep partners with.” Kenma made sure to slowly emphasize the word “charity” when he explained his upcoming project.

“You know, I’ve never seen Kenma so excited about a project,” Bokuto quipped as he eagerly tucked into his meal.

“It’s for a good cause and Kozume was quick to say yes,” Akaashi added as he flashed a small smile towards the flushed streamer. Kenma still wasn’t used to hearing people praise him, no matter how often he was always featured in esports commentary and articles.

“I have three cat rescues myself, so it was a no brainer,” he mumbled, averting eye contact. He opted to push around the burnt pieces of meat with his chopsticks around his plate instead.

“Aw, you’re embarrassed that you got caught being openly excited for your next project!” Kuroo smirked and nudged his friend. It was all friendly-banter, and Kenma knew that Kuroo meant well and was extremely happy for him, but he flushed harder as Bokuto and Akaashi chimed in to cheer on their friend.

“I’m just being a nice person. Maybe you should try it some day,” Kenma shot back.

“What do you mean?” Kuroo scoffed. “I’m always a nice person.”

Akaashi and Kenma rolled their eyes at Kuroo while Bokuto let out a good-natured laugh at Kuroo’s response.

“Hey, wait! You know what you should do to make your 24-hour stream more spicy?” There was a mischievous glint in Bokuto’s eyes as he waited for his friends to respond. 

“Bokuto-san, whatever you’re thinking probably isn’t a go--” 

“Drunk 24-hour stream!” 

“Oh, nice!” Kuroo snapped his fingers and grinned his infamous Cheshire Cat smirk. Akaashi sighed and Kenma grimaced. 

"I’m not going to take ideas from two drunks. And we barely sat down to eat, how are you two this drunk already?” Kenma wrinkled his nose.

Kenma unlocked his phone and quickly scanned through his group chat. Yup. There it was: a barrage of texts from Kuroo asking Kenma if he had his booze ready followed by a spam of suggestive eye emojis by Bokuto. Kenma was quick to notice that Akaashi had purposely chosen to ignore the group texts and offered no help in diverting the suggestions.

Kenma snorted quietly at Bokuto's message as he locked his phone. He looked up at the monitor to his right and read some comments that were starting to flood in his stream chat. He gave his camera a small smile and leaned back in his chair, answering some questions that caught his attention and saying "hi" to others.

Kenma usually liked to start his stream off rather chill by interacting with his viewers. After playing his music playlist and adjusting the volume, he finally announced his agenda for the day after a few minutes.

"Today I'm partnering with Black Sheep for a charity stream. It's going to be a 24-hour stream and we're gonna spend most of the time playing some League. All donations I get will go towards helping an animal shelter which you guys know I'm all for." Kenma paused as his donation notification sounded and his text-to-speech setting began to read the donation to him and his viewers.

"meowriachi donated $25: 24-hour stream? too ezpz kodzuken"

Kenma laughed and ran a hand through his messy half-up styled hair.

"I was telling my friends about today's stream and Kuroo said the same thing. Maybe in our next collaboration we'll do a longer stream if you guys want that. We'll also be able to have more fun and do more things, too."

Kenma was smart and sneaky. He always was. Kuroo did always say he was the brains of the team back in high school when they played volleyball together. Kenma was good at analyzing situations, and because of this strength, Kenma knew when to use certain words and situations to create benefits for him and his career. This was no exception. The streamer knew Black Sheep would be moderating his stream, so now the company had slight pressure to partner with him again if there was an in demand from his fans. And this was Kodzuken we were talking about. There was no doubt Kenma knew there would already be a second sponsorship in the works.

Kenma smirked. Easy peasy stream indeed.

Kenma loved his job. He truly did. It wasn't every day someone could wake up every day and actually look forward to going to work, and for that, Kenma was thankful. He was thankful that he had the skillsets to do well in competitive gaming and that he had a knack of being able to pick up mechanics of new games so easily. He was thankful that he had a fanbase that enjoyed his commentary and sarcastic humor, and a fanbase that supported and helped him build his brand from ground up.

Kenma knew he owed one-third of his success to his fans and another one-third to his own hard work and passion. But Kenma also knew he owed the last one-third of his success to his friends.

Not once did Kenma regret making Akaashi his manager; Akaashi had gotten him way more sponsorships than Kenma himself could've if he was still balancing streaming, content creation, and managing his own projects.

Kenma was thankful for Kuroo for always challenging him to step outside his comfort zone. Even when Kenma was irritated and didn't want to hear Kuroo's words of advice and encouragement, Kenma was still grateful for it all.

And Bokuto. Kenma guesses he can be thankful for Bokuto for always hyping him up when he needed it the most. Especially when he was extremely hung over from a night out of (forced) drinking and had barely ten minutes to wake up and set up his stream on time.

Yes, Kenma was truly thankful for his friends. But right now, Kenma wanted to kill them. He wanted to kill Kuroo and Bokuto for coming over to his house uninvited even after he warned them not to and for raiding his stream in real life.

Right now, Kenma was seething. One, he was in the middle of a very important sponsorship deal. Two, he was in the middle of a ranked game in League of Legends and he didn't want to lose his winning streak. And three, his two goofball friends had showed up to his house with alcohol and announced out loud to his viewers that Kenma would now be participating in a drunk 24-hour stream.

Kenma doesn't remember the last time he got this mad. What's worse was that Kenma's fans were all for it. His stream chat was getting spammed with poggers emotes, and it was difficult for Kenma to admit that he had been getting more and more donations ever since Kuroo and Bokuto had shown up and the alcohol was brought out. And because of that, Kenma had begrudgingly surrendered and cracked open a White Claw.

Except he didn't stop only at one; not if Kuroo and Bokuto could help it. And at only about 5'8" with a smaller build, Kenma unfortunately fell victim to being a lightweight. And with Kuroo and Bokuto, kings of being instigators, were there to egg him on along with his stream chat, Kenma downed can after can.

Just a little something to take the edge off a work week, right?

end notes:

→ kenma’s twitch stream took me 30 minutes to piece together 😪

→ if you see the same comments on kenma’s twitch chat twice... no you didn’t 😀🔪

→ also peep the stream title change 👀

→ kenma’s the type to use scuffed candids of his friends as their contact photos, but it didn’t work out too well. he actually respects akaashi enough to use a decent photo, and bokuto never takes a bad photo. ever. i guess kuroo’s the only one he can easily clown.

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[baticorngirl]

Title: In Mother’s Arms

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Damian Wayne, Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Ra’s Al Ghul (Hallucinated), Tim Drake,

Relationships: Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Batfamily Members & Damian Wayne, (Minor) Talia al Ghul/ Bruce Wayne, Titus & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Original Dog Character

Summary: Damian Wayne had went through so much effort to finally go on patrol by himself. But once he achieves this, it almost immediately backfires. With Scarecrow standing in front of him in victory, and all his fears coming to life, how will he get out of this mess? Who could manage to save the scared little boy now?

A/N: So... a while back, I was looking for Damian Wayne Fear Toxin fics, but unfortunately, none of them had any Good Parent Talia. So yeah, this is my self-indulgent fic to make up for it. And fittingly enough, it's also Mother's Day!

Fair Warning that there's panic attacks and hallucinations in this fic, so if you're sensitive to that stuff, please don't read it.

Also, I'd like to thank @mac-attack5 for helping me flesh out the details of the plot.

Click HERE to read it on Ao3

Click HERE to read it on FF.Net

___________________________________________________

Damian felt a drop of sweat roll down his face. He tugged his cloak around himself, the night suddenly feeling so much colder. The boy's breath was stuttery and shaky. His heartbeat loudly thumped in his ears. Dropping on to his knees, the poor child watched as his vision became blurry with tears.

He wasn't sure why he felt the undying need to never listen to his family when they told him these things were too dangerous. All he knew was that he certainly wouldn't be out here, fearful and cold, if it weren't for it.

Just earlier that day, he had been so very happy. Rain had been pouring outside, and clouds had swarmed the sky, but the gloom had not ruined Damian's mood. In his arms, lay a soft, playful, little puppy with golden fur named Warrior. Damian had adopted the puppy fairly recently, and he had already fallen in love with him. Everyday since his adoption, Damian always found something new about the puppy that was just absolutely amazing in his eyes. That specific day, it had been his speed.

"I timed him, Grayson. He could run 25 miles per hour!" Damian had informed his elder brother, with a proud smile on his face. Dick reached down and ruffled his hair, smiling back. Nighwing turned his attention towards the puppy that sat next to Damian.

"Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?" He sat down near the puppy and petted it. The dog woofed and jumped closer to Dick. Damian joined the two of them on the ground, getting out treats for the puppy.

"He is!" Damian tossed the treats next to the puppy. "And no matter what happens, he always will be." He wrapped his arm around the dog, pouting stubbornly to prove that nothing would take him away from his new pet.

Even that pout, though, had been a happy, loving, one. And in addition, his joy seemed to only continue. Damian had felt incredibly confident that afternoon. He carried himself with his head up even higher than usually, and he had a stern, strong look on his face. So just like any other time the boy felt incredibly confident, he would argue with his father over everything.

"I am undoubtedly strong enough to go on my own." Damian insisted, looking up at Bruce adamantly. His arms were tightly crossed over his chest. "You are just being paranoid, Father."

"You're ten years old. If you want, you can partner up with Dick, but you're too young to be without a partner." Bruce responded, his mouth resting in an apathetic frown. He glared down at the boy to make it clear that debating wasn't going to change his mind. "Come on, Damian. Are you coming, or not?"

Damian picked up his mask and adjusted it on his face, "I'm ready, but I refuse to go if you're going to treat me like an infant." He pivoted around to face a wall. Bruce sighed, putting a hand on Damian's shoulder.

"Fine, Damian, fine… Stay home, then." He began to turn around, walking over to the batmobile. He jumped, springing himself into the driver's seat. Turning back towards Damian for one more moment, Bruce sighed again. "Just... be good for Alfred while your siblings and I are gone."

Whoosh! The batmobile and the other batkid's motorcycles began to speed off, leaving Damian and Alfred alone together. They turned to look at each other for a moment, but looked away again just as quickly.

"Very well then, Master Damian. I'll go upstairs, and you may join me if you please." Alfred spun around and began to march into the elevator. Damian watched silently, not daring to move until Alfred was completely gone.

The minute Alfred had fully exited, he raced towards the exit. He jumped on to his motorcycle, and immediately turned it on. It sputtered out a loud, attention-grabbing vroom, but fortunately, Damian was able to turn up the speed before Alfred came back down.

Whoosh! Alfred came down just quick enough to see a blur zooming out. "Master Damian…?" He called, a worried tone in his voice. He ran over to the batcomputer, quickly turning on the communicator. "Master Bruce, it seems Master Damian has… left."

"Left?" Bruce repeated. The communicator went silent as he processed this information. For the third time that night, he sighed. As thoughts spun in his head, Bruce quickly made a realization. "Damian, do you have your communicator with you?"

Meanwhile, Damian had just jumped off his bike. His boots aimlessly kicked the pebbles in front of him. Suddenly, though, Damian felt a buzz near his waist. His eyes widened abruptly. Sound… or more, his father's voice... was crackling out of it. Panic ran through his head, but he picked up the communicator anyway.

"Damian? Hello? If you respond, I might allow you to continue." Bruce persisted with fishing for Damian's response. Tempted by the thought of being permitted to continue, Damian slowly pressed to unmute himself.

He pulled the communicator up to his mouth. "Father…?" He muttered into it. On a rooftop somewhere else in the city, Bruce snapped back to attention. "I have responded. May I now proceed?" Damian continued.

For the fourth time that day, Bruce sighed. "Fine... but tell the rest of us if you need anything." Him and Damian both muted themselves. Damian smirked, making a small cheering gesture with his arms. Pulling out his grappling hook, he latched it on to a nearby roof. His eyes widened as he stared down at the sparkling lights of the city in awe.

But not everything could go his way. Nearby, Damian heard a soft cackle. It was soft like a whisper, yet clear and coherent. Turning around, he felt his boots clacking underneath him as he ran towards the sound, sword in hand. The maniacal laugh happened again, followed by talking, which unfortunately was too far away to be audible.

"Freeze, criminal peasants!" Damian burst into the door to the building he'd heard the suspicious sounds from, kicking it down with as much force as a 10-year-old could manage. Inside, a criminal and his henchmen were working together to rob the building. The criminal had an eerie mask over his face that looked almost like a light green sack, except with holes for his eyes and mouth. Ropes held the odd fabrics to the villain's face, crossing over his mouth as if they were teeth. On top of his head lay an old, stitch-covered hat, similar to one a witch might wear. Scarecrow, Damian thought.

He ran over to the criminal, swinging his sword nearby. But just as Damian was about to hit Scarecrow, gas swarmed the air. The boy clenched at his throat and nose, instinctively dropping his sword as he did so. The muscles in his limbs tightened, the gas seeping into his body. Damian reached for his gas mask, only to have a wave of nausea stop him before it was too late.

Damian unmuted his communicator "I may… need… just a little bit… of backup." The world flickered in front of his eyes, forcing him to drop his communicator out of confusion. In the distance, he saw the dark, shadowy, figure of a man coming towards him.

"Good luck with that..." He heard Scarecrow whisper, the last bits of reality starting to fade out. In front of him, the only thing he could seem to see (or at least focus on) was the man. As the figure came closer, Damian could see he was wearing an iconic green cape with golden trimmings. Once his face began to show itself, it became obvious who it was. His hair stuck up a bit, the top of it being black, and the side being more of a white or light grey color. Thin beard hair creeped out from the sides of his chin.

"Grandfather?" Damian mumbled. The man nodded, an aggressive frown on his face. Damian reached for his sword again. "What are you doing here? What are you planning?" Ra's seemed content with the idea of just standing there silently, but after a moment, he finally opened his mouth to answer.

"I'm not planning anything, my grandson… my traitorous grandson." Ra's responded, his voice varying in volume as he spoke. Some words were spoken eerily softly, while others boomed into Damian's ears, sounding as startling as hearing a toilet flush in an otherwise silent night. "Plans are for the future. My past, even just my immediate past, holds much more value event-wise."

"What do…. What do you mean?" The boy stuttered, slowly pulling his sword a little higher in front of himself. The sword's smooth yet pointy blade perfectly covered Ra's, hiding him from Damian's vision. But just as he felt a small ting of relief from the illusion of security it gave him, it seemed to become translucent. Damian's eyebrow rose, puzzled at why he could still see Ra's despite the sword seemingly blocking his vision.

Ra's took a step closer. The sudden movement made Damian look up from the sword in surprise. He stared up at Ra's, glaring in anger. Ra's simply smiled menacingly and began to explain. "I have hundreds of assassins, Damian… You know that. It's about time I used my abundance of them to do something productive. So with the family of detectives split into groups out for patrol, I could easily assign a few assassins to deal with each. You don't think I, The Head of the Demon, would've missed such an extraordinary opportunity, do you?"

Damian stumbled backwards fearfully. He looked down at the ground, attempting to deny what he knew Ra's was saying. "You k-" He swallowed back tears. "They're d-"

"Yes, Damian," Ra's made a small motion to Ubu, who ran back to get something. Ubu came back with other assassins, all carrying corpses… corpses of Damian's family. "See for yourself."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the still-unmuted communicator, Bruce was yelling out questions. "Damian? I thought I heard the scarecrow in the background. Is everything alright? Did he intoxicate you? Damian! I can't hear you. Can you hear me?" He kicked a crook's head to the ground before quickly looking at Damian's location. It was way across the city from him. Quickly, Bruce jumped into the batmobile and began his long drive over.

"He got gassed, didn't he?" Tim questioned over the communicators.

"That's what I'm worried about… and from what we could hear, it seems likely." Bruce confirmed, looking down only for a moment before focusing back on driving. He pressed his foot firmly on the pedals, but no matter how fast he went, he knew it would take far too long to get to Damian.

Back on the other side of Gotham, Damian stared at the dead bodies in front of him. Every single one looked pale, not a single bit of life on their faces. He wanted to be with someone, hear a loved one's voice, but every single one of his loved one's in front of him. It was obvious he would never hear their voices again.

Just to be sure, he began to count under his breath, "Father, Grayson…" Everyone in the batfamily was certainly there. But it wasn't just them. "Goliath? Warrior… Mother?" He gritted his teeth even harder. That monster had really gone out of his way to kill every single person Damian cared a smidge about.

Damian turned back towards Ra's, about to make him pay for this, but his eyes glanced back towards his family just won more time. Suddenly, his teeth felt too weak to grit. Everything he loved about every single member of his family seemed to flash through his mind, making him dizzy. They were gone.

Cold sweat rolled down Damian's forehead. His legs felt like sticks as he stumbled on to the ground. The boy attempted to breath, but he stuttered and coughed instead. His head leaned down as he curled up in his cloak, tears streaming down his face. The only noise coming out was soft, miserable, sobs.

"I've taught you better than to be this weak." Ra's stated, frowning at the ball-shaped boy that was in front of him. "Didn't you know this was going to happen? What else did you expect after such a betrayal as your own? I couldn't just allow you to get away with it. Making your life miserable was just what you deserved."

Damian covered his ears, thinking back to the impossibly translucent sword. "This is all just an illusion…" He mumbled. "Just an illusion… Just an illusion…" He attempted to console himself, but felt his breath become even more shaky every time he spoke.

Slowly, though, he got up the courage to uncurl a little. Still moving at a slow speed, he began to turn his head back towards Ra's and the corpse.

"Noooo!" At the sight of his family's dead bodies, he immediately curled back up. Ra's sighed, turning away from Damian in disappointment.

Not far away, Talia had been jumping from rooftop to rooftop, looking for Wayne Manor. After getting a break from her assassins duties, she had immediately decided she wanted to visit Gotham to see her son. Damian's screams startled her, making her immediately head in his direction.

"Damian?" She asked, a worried tone in her voice. After only a moment, she burst into the building. Inside, her eyes darted right towards Scarecrow, who was smiling wickedly at a terrified Damian. She ran over to Scarecrow, throwing him on to the ground with all her might. "STAY. AWAY. FROM. MY. SON!" She shoved her foot up against his face, squishing him on to the floor.

With his head still crammed downwards, she took out her sword and put it up to his neck. "Forget what I just said… I don't think I should even let you have the choice." She carefully moved it even closer to his neck than before, hearing muffled yelps from him in response.

"Pleeeease… don't… hurt… me." Scarecrow managed to gasp out from the awkward position. Now even closer to the neck, she began to put it through. But just as she was doing this, she turned towards Damian. He was still curled up near a corner, sobbing. Knowing Scarecrow was already too scared to harm Damian any more, she ran over to her child.

"Grand… father… I'm sorry." Damian mumbled in between sobs. "I'm.. sorry." His head was curled downwards, not daring to even look up to see whoever had come over to him. Even from a couple feet away, Talia could hear his shaky breath. Even his loud heartbeat was slightly audible. Her mouth partially dropped, her heart breaking at the poor, small, child in front of her.

"Damian…" Slowly, as if to not startle him, she wrapped her arms around him. She carefully weaved them through his cape until they were all the way around. Feeling the warmth of her, Damian leaned closer to her. He hiccuped as he did, tears still rolling down his face.

She gently nudged him to lean on her shoulder, "It's going to be okay… no one can hurt you." Talia moved her hand on to his cheek, gently turning his head to face her. A soft, solemn, smile was now on her face. "I won't let them." Damian looked up to her, still visibly miserable, but at least happy for her comfort.

As soon as she let go, he wilted back down onto her shoulder, cuddling into her arms. She squeezed him tight, the soft smile fading to just a look of concern. Talia bent an elbow to massage and ruffle his hair relaxingly.

"But- but I'm not the one he's going to hurt." Damian whispered fearfully. He attempted to get out from her hugs, not wanting to be seen as weak. "Grandfather's going to hurt Father… and you. And everyone. There's nothing you can do."

"I'm… I'm really sorry, Damian." She whispered back, looking down at him sorrowfully. "Your grandfather is in the past, though. Or at least your time with him. Now that he's away from him, I'll make sure he stays away from you… and the rest of your family. But if it's me you're worried about, just know that he wouldn't dare actually kill me.. And I'd like to believe he wouldn't kill you, either." She turned around slightly and kissed Damian on the forehead.

Damian hiccuped again. Tears rolled down his face even faster than before. Still shaking, he buried his face into her shoulder. Talia rubbed his back, slowly trying to calm the boy down. After a few moments, he began to calm down and sob a little less.

Sighing, Talia wrapped her arms back around Damian firmly. She scooped him up off the ground like you might hold a toddler. His head continued to lean on her shoulder, but now, his body was farther in front of her than before, with her arms carrying it.

Talia continued to rub his back as well as she could, while carrying him outside the building. She pushed his cape around him tighter as a breeze trickled through. Beginning to close his eyes, Damia felt his consciousness drift away. His mother carefully dropped him down onto the ground again once they were outside.

Damian shook himself back to consciousness, "Mother, I'm too old to be carried." He complained, but there was a hint of exhaustion in his voice. It was obvious that after the emotionally-draining hallucinations he just experienced, he wasn't really going to get into a full-on argument.

Talia ignored his complaints, "Are you still seeing the hallucinations?" She asked him worriedly. Damian then realized that his eyes were still partly squinting, so he opened them farther. In front of him, he could still see a blurry vision of Ra's.. and some of the corpses, too. And faintly, he was still sure he could hear his grandfather whisper something menacing.

"A little.. But I… I can handle them." He shook his head again to try to get them to get away. Unfortunately, they only seemed to grow more vivid. Damian's heartbeat thumped, and he momentarily forgot to breath as Ra's started taunting him again.

"Now it's only a matter of time before you make new allies... certainly not ones my army can't defeat, though." Ra's stated matter-of-factorily. Damian made a small yelp, making Talia instinctively wrap her arms back around him.

"I don't think you can…" Talia mumbled, "I'll call up a-" Just as she was about to speak, a car zoomed by. It was mostly black, but with small yellow tints in some places. From inside, a dark figure popped out. She moved herself in front of Damian, but immediately smiled when she was the person's face. "Beloved!"

"Talia?" Bruce's eyes widened at the sight of her.

"You don't happen to have the fear toxin antidote on you, do you?" She asked, getting straight to the point. Talia scouched her son closer to Batman so he could see him better. "Damian got gassed, and he's not doing very well." She laid Damian onto her lap.

"Considering Scarecrow's such a common villain, I always do." Bruce slid down to a kneeling stance. Talia shifted Damian and herself to face Bruce, positioning Damian's arm higher so it was easy to inject into. He pulled out the antidote as quick as he could, and pushed it straight into Damian's arm.

Talia and Bruce both held each of Damian's hands, leading the sleepy boy over to the batmobile. She strapped him in just before Bruce began to drive off. As they rode, Damian's head gently bounced with the car's movements, rocking him to sleep.

When Damian woke up, he was back at the manor, curled up in bed. His mother, father, and siblings (plus Alfred) were all huddled around his bed. He yawned, suddenly turning to see the dogs beside him. Titus and Warrior both reached in to nuzzle Damian. Warrior, being the younger one, playfully bounced on to Damian's lap, meanwhile Titus simply stood at his side, and gave him a soft lick on the cheek.

"You're awake," Everyone responded, not at all in unison. Some said it fast and excitedly, while others said it slow and disappointedly. Either way, Damian was sure that every single person there said it, even if it was in their own odd way. He watched as Alfred set down some cookies and milk in front of him as a comforting treat.

Overwhelmed by the sound, Damian pulled the blankets up over his face. But as the dogs continued to lick at their owner, the blanket didn't stay up for long. Damian sighed, wrapping his arms around the dogs to nudge them under the covers with him. They quickly went under, making Damian hold back smiling from all the warmth it gave him.

"Let's just let him rest…" Talia suggested, standing up. She quickly motioned for the rest to leave the room. They slowly began to do what they were told. Bruce stayed to ruffle Damian's hair, but followed the rest immediately after.

Looking to his side, Damian sighed. Even as they left, he could still hear their rustling. As annoying as they were, they weren't going anywhere any time soon. Yes, his humongous family would stay by his side for a long while… and there was nothing even Ra's could do about it.

[corpsentry]

ao3 link

fandom: botw pairing: zelda/link rating: g notes: established relationship, post-canon, (pensive) holidays

Zelda stares at him. “What are you, a poet?”

“No,” Link leans against the table like a portrait of god splattered against an average household surface. “I’m Link.”

Hope runs a sharp course in a village like this.            

He tries to eat the icing before they’ve started decorating the cookies like a dog jumping into a pile of leaves before there are leaves to jump into.

“It looked sweet,” he explains when Zelda asks him what in the name of Hylia he’s doing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a blue streak the size of a scar on his face. Zelda frowns.

“Sorry.” He looks up at her from under his lashes, blinking innocently.

She contemplates pouring the entire bowl of icing on his head, then decides that it’s too much effort and returns to her berries. “It’s not my hand that’s dirty.”

The clock on the wall says it’s fifteen minutes past four. There’s a poisonous spider attached to the ceiling lamp. The berries she purchased from a passing merchant (one of the donkey variety, not the horse; the donkey merchants offer better prices and funnier jokes) are not the freshest, which says less about the merchant and more about the distance between Hebra and Hateno, but they’re sweet. Sour-ish, tangy, with bite. Zelda is very big on the culinary arts. Restoration is a holistic effort, after all.

Link seems to have finished having a long and very serious conversation with himself in his head. He emerges from his wintry stupor with a stupid look on his face while she continues to grind the berries into a pulp.

“But my hands are your hands?” he says, honest as the day he was born. The second time.

“What are you, a poet?”

He takes offense at this. “No,” Link leans against the table like a portrait of god splattered against an average household surface. “I’m Link.”

Zelda stops grinding the berries for long enough to realize she has outdone herself. The berries are not a pulp. They are not a paste. They are not the perfect texture for combining with three times the amount of white icing so that one can make a perfect batch of cookies dripping in blood-red sugar. They are a liquid.

She licks the mortar thoughtfully. Link makes an expression at the oven that suggests he wants to climb inside of it and see what it does. Zelda walks him into the table until he’s leaning back over the bowls and the berries and she’s staring at the underside of his chin.

“Yes,” she confirms, more for herself than the vaguely human-shaped disaster trapped in front of her. “You’re Link.”

::

Christmas in Hyrule is not a celebration of anything in particular. It probably was, at the beginning, but in the years since their ancestors’ civilizations rose and fell and rose and fell and then gave up on the rising and decided to stay in the earth until they sprouted into new trees with new names, the meaning has been lost. This seems like a fair thing to give up in exchange for the festivities themselves, which are silly and full of minor contrivances like turkeys filled with smaller turkeys and children running in blood-red clothing to the highest point in their village.

Christmas in Hyrule is not a celebration of anything in particular, but when Link wanders over to the table with a kitchen knife in one hand and asks her what she’s going to do to all these cookies, Zelda feels abruptly and inexplicably like it should be. It’ll be the harvest season again soon, but that’s not for a few months. No one’s birthday happens to be on the twenty-fifth, though her father’s is close. She stares at the table and tries to come up with a prophecy on the fly, something that will impress the boy with the sky stuck under his eyelids, but draws a blank.

“I’m going to eat them,” she says stupidly, feeling stupid, feeling suddenly like she might cry.

He puts down the knife and picks up a rolling pin. She loves him more than all the horses in the world combined.

“Sounds good. Can I help?”

::

Here’s what Link remembers. First of all, he remembers waking up in a blue box as the blue slowly drained out of the box and the ceiling wilted into view. He remembers meeting her dead father and thinking he was a hoot and stealing all of his shit regardless of whether it was useful shit or not-useful shit. He remembers having his own death narrated to him, atop the ruins of a temple that someone erected to time, while the land whose name he had forgotten reached towards the heavens (him) (he was heaven, at least for a while).

“Wasn’t that traumatizing?” Zelda asked him when he described it to her the first time.

Link thought about this. As he did so his hands in her hair stilled, her braids still half-done, his fingers clasped loosely around a few strands of gold. “It was,” he finally said. “But so was everything else.”

Second of all, he remembers the events of the calamity in thirteen fucked-up pieces. Twelve of these were given to him by Zelda, who had gone out of her way to document their demise in the hopes that one day someone might take notice and pull the shivering ghost out of the water. The last one was a gift from Impa, who had gone out of her way to make sure that he would be suitably guilted into wanting to save the world, and therefore, at the end of the times and in spite of all of his personal wants and needs, do so.

“That one was traumatizing.” She didn’t have to ask this time. He had figured out by this point that she cared very much about his mental health despite him not knowing the first thing about self care (he had a tendency to launch himself from high places, which was perfectly fine until he realized he had left the paraglider at home) and was going to unpack all the dirty dishes in his head even if he was fairly content with letting them pile up.

This made her sad. Both Link’s response and the fact that his survival mechanism for the first three months had been to pretend he was not, in fact, sleeping in a burning building.

“I’m sorry,” she said, touching the side of his face. He turned into the palm of her hand, his eyes closed.

Conversely, here’s what Link doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember the first time he swam in the lake near Hateno (not the one with the frogs, the one with long reeds growing at the bottom that tickle your feet when you swim past), though he swears it must have happened. He doesn’t remember what his worst childhood fear is (his list of things to be constantly terrified of was overwritten when he woke up in the blue box; they’re still working on overwriting that new list now). He doesn’t remember how Hyrule celebrates Christmas, how they stuff the turkeys full of smaller turkeys and the children go diving from high places, and he doesn’t remember that they do all this for no reason other than that their ancestors did it, and their ancestors’ ancestors did it, and that their ancestors’ ancestors worshiped a legend, not a god.

“I’d like to deliver a batch to Kakariko,” Zelda sighs, looking out the window at the long shadow of the sun on the fields.

Link shuts off the water in the sink. “And I’d like to kiss you,” he says simply. “Is gift-giving part of tradition too?”

Zelda blinks at him. “Yes, but, how do you know that?”

He shrugs. “Magic.” He gestures at the poisonous spider in the ceiling who they’ve named Bartholomew. “A mistake.” She walks over to the kitchen sink and wipes her dirty hands on his shirt and then pulls him closer, smelling the cinnamon in his hair. “A miracle.”

::

They hold the annual Christmas dinner under Uma’s tree, between the bridge above the stream cutting perpendicularly through the village and the house that used to stand occupied, but now houses a respectable flower arrangement and several candles. It’s an intensely traditional affair, with the turkey emerging from the butcher’s at eight o’clock sharp to enormous fanfare and the children running up the hill a little after that to harass Purah and ask her for spare machine parts that they can use to build water guns. There’s dancing, because Hyrule has not and likely never will shake off the habit of celebrating anything it is given the chance to celebrate (mourning is a habit they will not let themselves sink into), but it’s slow and syrupy, the apple cider warm, the lights shimmering.

Zelda talks to everyone she can talk to. She never got the chance to do so a hundred years ago between the empty cycles of prayer and the long-standing never-quite-resolved feud she had with her father, and now the war is over and the Hateno of a hundred years ago is gone. It’s a name on a long list of regrets she can do nothing about, except this.

“I love your hair,” she says.

“Thanks.” Nebb sucks audaciously on a leg. “I hate it.”

Pruce, who runs the general store, is sitting in the grass with his guitar the way he was the last time Zelda distracted a trio of musicians and disrupted the flow of the universe. He’s playing a song which he says, when asked, was passed down to him from his great-great-grandparents, who in turn received it from their parents, who lived before the calamity. The notes are soft and melancholy, but it’s the kind of song you can dance to if you try hard enough. The residents of Hateno have been trying all their lives. Through the aftermath of the calamity, when the boy fell but the fort stayed standing and soldiers came limping up through the hills to ask for water; through the winter years, when the harvests were bad and they had to bury happiness in an unmarked grave; through an era of hope, when the boy woke up on the plateau, and wandered back to them with a sword in his hand and a legend on his tongue. The residents of Hateno know resilience like most people know to wash their face when they wake up. Give us this day our daily bread. Give us strength, and water, and miracles. Give us what it takes to keep going.

Merry Christmas, says Sophie from the clothing boutique, and Zelda is trying very hard to remember who is who and mostly succeeding but she wants to ask Sophie if she celebrates Christmas for a reason. Has she had a slice of turkey yet, does she like turkey? Has she ever been in love? The questions prick her skin like needles. Her grip on the stem of her wine glass tightens.

She says Merry Christmas back. The average Hylian does not live long enough to see a hundred. It is a blessing, then, that someone was willing to wait that long for her.

“I haven’t seen, uh, Link around,” Sophie continues, her hands knotted behind her back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh no, I mean, yes, I mean probably—”

Which is when it dawns on Zelda like a horse emerging from the brown earth that most of her anxieties have a name: his.

::

She checks the roof of the house in Hateno first because it seems like the obvious answer. When it turns out the obvious answer is wrong she checks the pond in the backyard, and then the pond slightly further away, outside of the village but close enough to be a scenic spot for sad people who need a place to go on Sundays. After walking around in circles for a while it occurs to her that she hasn’t looked inside the house, only around and above it, as if Link were a bird that can only be found in high, fast, free places. Strange. That doesn’t seem right.

She finds him on the second floor, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden. He might appear to be sleeping if not for the fact that his shoulders are too close to his ears and the interior of the house is shining. Someone went on a cleaning spree. Someone had something they wanted to hide.

Zelda feels her stomach turn sharply.

“Link.”

He looks up.

“Is it over already?” He turns to peer out the window above his head. “That was fast.” He looks back towards her, arranging his limbs so he looks less tense, so the tension bleeds into the floor and stays there. “I thought it’d take longer.”

“Link.”

Link blinks at her in the warm syrupy darkness like a stray cat in a town full of ghosts, tail upright, poised to run. Good, Zelda thinks. Be on edge. Think about things. She sets the wine glass she hadn’t realized she had brought with her on the bedside table. She sits down in front of him.

“You didn’t want to be there, did you?”

Silence unfurls between them. There’s not much space for it to move around. He’s close enough that she can track the precise trajectory guilt takes across his face. It starts in his eyes and slides down his cheeks and ends in the way he brings his hands together and begins to fiddle absently with his gauntlets. He bites his lip.

“I wanted you to be happy.”

Zelda groans and hides her face in her hands and then curls up on the floor and dies. Just kidding! She doesn’t do any of these things. She’s too busy staring at heaven’s imprint on his face.

There are a lot of things Link remembers. He has told her about a large number of them, in part because she always asks and in part because he seems to have a lot more to say now that everyone who placed the sky on his shoulders is dead. He remembers the important things, like how to swing a sword and how to defeat evil. He remembers the awful things, like dying.

Link’s head is a balloon with an infinite number of hallways. The inside is reliable and steady and whatever lives in there stays in there, but the exterior is frightening in the way that watching a child heave a snowman over the edge of a cliff is. What happens when the inside of the balloon and the outside of the balloon meet? What strange chemical reactions; what magic?

There are a lot of things Link remembers. To the detriment of Zelda and the world that she represents, he remembers how to die for people. Since the calamity ended he has had less cause to do this, which is a good thing, which is the only reason she can sleep at night, but the habit is a ghost on his left shoulder. He turns down things people give him in exchange for a higher purpose.

She sighs.

“Look.”

You wake up in a room full of strange blue light. Someone is speaking to you for the first time in your life. In that singular emerging moment in this new world, they have defined beauty for you.

She reaches for his hands. “You see, right, Link.”

You wake up and there is a voice in your head. She calls you Link. That must be your name. You must be real.

He doesn’t want her to touch him, not in this moment, not with Christmas hanging over their heads like a big bad moon which is going to crash into the earth, killing everyone instantly. He’s on edge and he doesn’t know why. He’s walked back into the burning building and he doesn’t know why. Maybe solitude contains fewer reminders of happiness. Maybe he’ll never get used to waking up beside the sun.

You wake up and you are afraid of everything. You wake up and you are everything. You wake up and everything is yours to save, or abandon, or leave to ruin.

Zelda holds his hands with gently herculean force. She leans into him, her eyes shining with bitterness and frustration and anger. “You can’t just decide what’ll make me happy, Link.” Glitter, stars, the voices of angels in his ears. “Your hands are my hands. Get it?”

He clears his throat. “That doesn’t seem like a very healthy relationship.”

Zelda doesn’t flinch. “I waited a hundred years for you to come back from the dead.”

“That’s true.”

When do they get to the part where the war is over and it starts to feel like it? When does the transition end and the aftermath become its own story, separate from the hundred-year-corpse of conflict, from the misery it birthed in its absence? She’s said all that there is to say. The rest has to be done, has to be acted out with blood and bone, rebuilt like the castle they rode away from on that second first day of her life as Hyrule stepped shakily off of the cold balcony of twilight. Zelda doesn’t know what it’s like to cry anymore, but she can tell you a thousand stories about sadness. She’s lived in it for so much of her life. For so much of the time since, she’s kept it pinned up on the kitchen wall.

“You’re a mess,” she says miserably. “Merry Christmas. There is no Christ. We made him up a long time ago to feel better about ourselves.”

He laughs.

“I figured.”

Figured what? Figured I couldn’t make up a prophecy about Santa? Figured the kids were all joking about the cliff? Figured I wanted you to like this country despite everything it’s taken from you, despite everything it made you give up?

Zelda exhales.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Have I ever said no?”

She frames his face with her hands. Idiot sandwich. Idiot boy. Idiot miracle. “Have you ever said yes?”

“Yes?” He looks confused for a moment and she has never wanted happiness for him more. “I think so?” He frowns nicely and she considers carving his heart out and hanging it on the wall. “Yes.”

She kisses him. Merry Christmas. Dress up in red and climb a cliff near the house you grew up in. Take a boy home and build him an altar. Go to a party and leave early and spend the rest of the night talking about how you’ll never get over the body in the attic, and then point at it and laugh. There will always be a body in the attic. There will always be wisdom, courage, and grief. But the first time he sees a pile of leaves and jumps headfirst into it with his eyes squeezed shut and his knees tucked to his chest, you will forget for a moment that you watched the world end from a tower in the sky, you will forget that hurt is the least dignified part of history, and you will think, instead, of the weightlessness of angels.

[pokemon-ninjago-world]

Headcanon/Pokéninjago version of Lloyd’s identity crisis during season 5 of Ninjago

Got ab 12 likes on the announcement post so here we are: This is an essay-sorta-thing about something I thought and wrote some six years ago. It’s been so long since I wrote this I feel cringy reading it, but it’s tenable in Pokéninjago lore. It’s kind of a mix between my headcanon for the show, and canon of my AU, which is why there is mentions of “evolving” and Pokémon types.

Things to take into account:

Idk if there should be content warnings, but depression mention at least. Otherwise, this is pretty much as intense as season 5 went, just a little more angsty I suppose.

I must say that my version of Lloyd and his identity crisis were inspired by a certain artist’s version of him and by a comic they made about the Child’s Play episode’s aftermath. I don’t dare name the artist, since they don’t wish to be linked with the Ninjago fandom anymore, but some of you might know who I’m referring to. 

I do not know how psychology stuff actually works, all of this was made on grounds of a couple of high school psychology courses and a lot of imagination `:D

I wrote this originally in Finnish and let Word translate it, so this might be v clumsy at points.

Most of the text is under the cut!

                                                  ~***~

When Lloyd was just a small cub, closer to three years, his mother had left him in his father's care. Misako knew the boy would become the Green Ninja and Garmadon would become the Dark Lord. That is why she went looking for any ancient knowledge to avoid the final confrontation. Although her heart was torn since she had to leave her loved ones, she knew that she couldn’t just sit on her hands, and that perhaps she was the only one that could prevent the decisive battle between good and evil. It was also her wish that the father and the son could spend as much time together as possible. Thus, Lloyd's earliest childhood memories are about his father, and his recollections of his mother are blurry, obscure, and fading away as he grows up, or mixing with other memories.

            Dad meant everything to little Lloyd. Although they lived in the same monastery with Lloyd’s uncle as well, whom he also liked, his own father was still the greatest. Garmadon also loved his child deeply and wanted him to have a happy life. Although the poison in his veins was starting to get a hold of him and he was increasingly drawn to the Golden Weapons, his love for Lloyd and the desire to be with him in anticipation of Misako's return kept him away from them for much longer than if the boy had never existed.

                    When Lloyd "evolved," he lost some important years of his life, during which a youngster usually developes a picture of himself and his changing body. Lloyd's body changed in a single moment and even though his mind also changed to some degree, it was still mostly on the same level as before, since artificial aging did not bring him the years of experience that growing up normally would. From that moment on, he had to form himself a new image of himself. Frankly, he was facing a fierce identity crisis.

                     After the episode Child's Play, Lloyd adopted an identity whose foundation was flimsy and unstable. It consisted of a few simple pillars that supported his image of himself. Some emotions, thoughts, and memories that he could not, wasn’t able to or didn’t dare to deal with, secretly and slowly gnawed at those pillars like erosion. They grew into doubt that settled into the cracks like rockfoil.

                     That flimsy foundation for his self-image, consisted of these elements: I am the Green Ninja. I'm the strongest ninja of all. I’m the son of  sensei Garmadon. I’m the grandson of The First Spinjitzu Master. I'm one of the Elemental Masters. I'm a student of Sensei Wu. I'm one of the five elemental ninjas. It's my destiny to protect the world from evil.

                     This made it easy for Morro to destabilize and crush Lloyd’s self-esteem. Morro proved himself to be stronger and more independent than Lloyd, and that he could win him over and over again, no matter how hard Lloyd tried to fight back. Lloyd felt weak and desperate. Two pillars of his self-image collapsed to the ground and the masked emotions and doubts that chipped away at the other columns began to grow and intensify: He was not the strongest ninja and was therefore unable to protect the world from this evil.

                     This also affected his view of him as the Green Ninja. Although logically he still was just that – the Golden Weapons and his powers had proven it – he could not help but think that maybe Morro really was supposed to be the Chosen One. His identity was cracking, which ate away at his strength and self-esteem. Being a Psychic Type, his greatest strength resided in his psyche, and whenever his mind was in an unstable and vulnerable state, he couldn’t do his best, even if he had used everything he had learned. Losing his father fairly recently had already struck a dangerous notch in his mental stability.

                     Even though Lloyd was still his father's son, it didn't feel the same when he was no longer with him. Finally, he was only driven forward by his relationship with his other loved ones. He had to do everything he could to stop Morro from harming his friends. By protecting them he was also protecting the last intact remnants of his Self.

                     Lloyd did everything he could to resist Morro's possession. From time to time a memory of his friends and the will to keep them safe increased his "self-control," weakening the ghost's hold on him. However, a long, grueling time in constant motion, without water and nourishment, poisoned by a cold, vindictive spirit, steadily filled his mind with anguish and despair. Doubts penetrated deep into the tears of his self-image, breaking everything old until he no longer knew who he was. Only with the last bits of his mental strength could he interfere with Morro's possession so that he failed to clear the other ninjas out of his way.

                     Then, when Morro broke away from Lloyd's body, the Espeon felt like nothing more than an empty, broken shell floating aimlessly in the dark, beachless sea. He was unable to live up to any of the expectations and goals that had been set for him. Now, he was used as a trade-in item in the market of the world’s destiny. He longer had the strength or power to save even his best friends. He was as helpless as a newborn pup and all he could do was to stand by and apologize when he was traded for Realm Crystal.

                      Somewhere from his past, he dug up one last spark of strength. Already as a child, he had been left alone with unfriendly people, who then had ignited that stubborn flame in him: the desire to fight the cruel, unjust and repressive world. His body still had more strength than his mind, and this momentary burst of grit made him kick the Crystal out of Morro's hand. This, however, caused him to end up in the freezing stream, all his energy used up. There was not much left but a primitive desire to survive and a little strength to keep his head afloat before the cold numbed his muscles.

                     Lloyd's mind was in shambles. Images, memories, shattered fragments of his adopted identity… they all churned in his tired, blurred consciousness. Unintentionally, he began to go through the feelings of uncertainty, fear and inadequacy that he had denied from himself for years. The present seemed more surreal than the memories. He relived moments that had had a revolutionary impact on his life: When the golden weapons pointed him out as a Green Ninja; when he grew up under the influence of Tomorrow's Tea; when he met his mother and became to know her; when he unleashed the Golden Dragon in the Temple of Light; how he fought the Overlord who was possessing his father; how he harnessed his True Potential; got his father back; lost Zane; reunited his friends again and felt great togetherness with the other Elemental Masters. When he lost his father again. And when Morro possessed him.

                     Lloyd was lost. If it wasn’t for his friends and their care, he would have sunk deep into depression (and, on the other hand, drowned or, at the very least, died of hypothermia). When Kai carried him out of the FSM’s tomb, it triggered a very clear memory of the day when the Master of Fire had fulfilled his potential and Lloyd had been identified as the Chosen One. That day, Kai had come to save him from an erupting volcano and carried him to safety. Now, Lloyd felt like he was that little scared cub again, who had for a moment thought he was going to burn to the ground in the boiling lava of the volcano. He remembered how Kai's closeness had brought a feeling of immediate security around him. Even though the mountain had raged and wanted to kill them both, Lloyd had known he didn’t have to be afraid. Kai was there. He'd protect Lloyd. There was no reason to fight the fear anymore, he didn't have to pretend like he was tough. He was carried by someone older and stronger, whom to rely on.

                     The feeling was so intense, the memory so vivid that Lloyd was overwhelmed by an inexplicable, immense grief. The sadness of being forced to give up a carefree childhood so early on, to take on an enormous responsibility and assume a role that seemed too demanding for such a small boy to perform. He had had to grow up way too soon. He started shaking from holding back the tears. He didn’t mind since he thought Kai was probably assuming that he was shivering from the cold. But when Kai said quietly and understandingly: "Shh... It's okay... Don't worry about it," the last wall of pride and fear fell, and Lloyd could no longer repress his weeping.

                     At this point, he slowly began to build a new identity on the ruins of the wrecked one. He understood that even though he was the Green Ninja, it didn’t make him greater or more important than the others. He had more magical power than anyone else, but he was still only a person just like them. He could hesitate, too, and fail. There was no way for him to do anything more than what he was capable of, mentally, physically, and skill-wise. That’s all there was to offer, and if it wasn't enough, there were others whom he could rely on. Others, who would catch him when he ran out of strength. He wasn't the last link to hold the whole structure together.

                     These ideas developed slowly in Lloyd's exhausted mind. Slowly, he got stitched back up from the fragments of his previous self-image. This time, however, his new identity was not something that was given to him from the outside, in which he would have had to fit himself, but it was a solid, authentic self-image created as a result of self-reflection. It was still obscure, uncertain and seeking its form, and its growth was overshadowed by fear. But the conversation with his father drove away that last fear. The fear that Morro was supposed to be the Green Ninja instead of Lloyd. His father assured that Lloyd’s qi had no influence on how he should live and act. He should live the way his heart told him to.

                     In the end, although Morro managed to beat Lloyd one last time, this time he did not break down. He was more intact now, he had more inner strength, and he knew for sure he wouldn't be abandoned. That the fate of the world wasn't really up to him. He may have been part of the story, but after all, he wasn't the protagonist, at least not the only one of them.

[t-lostinworlds]

Blurb #1 (T.H.)

Requested by @nerdy-collector-festival: U basically broke me with 'the choices we make' and u are one of the best writers, I don't know if Ur taking requests or not but could u do something fluffy where during quarantine Tom and the others play the readers songs out loud and they know the lyrics to all of her songs (she is also staying with them)... I guess it could part of the 'extra' universe because I loved that some much, LOVE YOU 💞

~~~

A/N: Omg alsksk I’m sorrrry but gosh, thank you so much love! 🥺 you’re too sweet ❤️ and ily too 🥰 So, I wrote this fairly quick like magic it from thin air, my apologies if it’s not great ahah. Hope you like it! 💕

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Singer!Reader

Warnings: Is ‘Tom sorta twerking’ a warning?

Word Count: 1.1k+

Masterlist in Bio

SONG: Selfish by Talia Mar (give it a listen you guys, it’s such a good song.)

-:-:-:-:-

You're always the last one to wake up in the house.

In your defense, your label was based in LA and you were in London, time difference and such. And this week, you were preparing to release a new single so your nights mostly consist of video calls for promos, interviews and meetings.

Last night—midnight to be specific—said single dropped so you interacted with fans, thanked the people for their support and all that lovely jazz.

You're a busy woman basically and you had every right to sleep in.

None of the boys minded though. They always respected your sleep, even prepares you breakfa—brunch to start your day with a smile, though you didn't expect today to be slightly different.

Groggily, you reached for your phone on the bedside table to see that it was already 11:15 AM. With a proper stretch, you got out of bed, hair a mess as you sported Tom's hoodie and some sleep shorts. You've live with these boys for a while, you could care less about your appearance around them.

The moment you opened the door however, your ears immediately perked up at the strikingly familiar sound. It was when you reached the middle of the staircase when you could put a pin on what it was, given that all you heard was your own voice.

You arrived in the kitchen in the nick of time, eyes landing on four boys dancing to their hearts content, one boy in particular with more energy than the rest.

"What kind of fever dream is this," you mumbled to yourself, amused smile on your face as you watched them jam it out to none other than your latest released single.

"I know I'm hard but that's part of it, you could leave but you are still here," Harry started, dance moves whatever as he passed the wooden spoon to Harrison. "Nowhere to go but you could've gone, should have known I'm the one you really want," Haz continued, chucking the spoon back to Harry once he was done with his line.

"I'm selfish, I'm selfish, I'm selfish, when it comes to you," Tuwaine answered next as he gave Harry a bowl. What they were cooking? You had no idea, but the kitchen does smell great so you take that as a good sign.

You were purely surprised at the fact that they know the words so well already. They haven't heard this before. Well, Tom heard a snippet but that's about it. How long have they had this on repeat?

Speaking of said boy, your eyes then landed on him next, his grin all wide as he shuts his eyes to sell his emotions. "I can't help it, can't help it, crazy things that I do," Tom sang his heart out, arms up in the air as he sways his hips like the dork that he is.

That's when you couldn't hold it in, throwing your head back as you laughed with pure delight, the sound making Tom snap his eyes towards you but he didn't stop singing. He just danced his way towards you, holding the notes of the song pretty well as he does his go-to lasso move with a shit eating grin.

You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief, covering your face with both hands in feign embarrassment. When you peeked between your fingers, all you see is your boyfriend dancing around you in the goofiest—slightly seductive—way that he can, hips doing number 8's, ass right up at your view as your song came out of his lips like second nature.

"What is going on?" you asked with a laugh as you felt the heat rush to your cheeks due to Tom's little dance. You lowered your hands to look around at the boys for answers, who only shrugged with laughs of their own, Harrison recording the whole thing.

"Thomas!" you shrieked in surprise when he suddenly pulled you to him, spinning you around to the beat of the song.

Tom was absolutely proud because one, his girlfriend had just released a new banger and is just doing so well with her career. And second, well, the song is about him, it does boost his ego a tiny bit. And by tiny, he means through the roof.

"Like the song?" you asked with a giggle, arms now resting over his shoulder while his took home on your hips, both of you swaying side to side.

"Love it," Tom gushed, grin wider and brighter as he guides you to do a twirl before pulling you back close to him, arms now securely wrapped around your waist.

"Hmm, cause it's about you?" you teased, eyes narrowed as you looked at your man suspiciously.

"Of course, duh?" Tom scoffed playfully, earning a pointed eye-roll from you. He chuckled. "Kidding, it's such an amazing song darling, and you sound so fucking incredible oh my God, your voice. So proud of my superstar," he groaned, leaning closer to press his forehead against yours.

"I can't help it, can't help it; crazy things that I do. When I need you, I come back to you; I'm selfish, I'm selfish when it comes to you," you sing the last chorus to him. Tom face's glowed like the sun with a grin, heart melting at the seams as he lets out a low growl, almost like a purr at the sweet sound of your voice.

You bit your bottom lip with a giggle at his reaction, a clear indication that he loves this song way too much.

"Now, don't do that when you're here singing to me like an angel, sweetheart," he warned with a raise of a brow, tip of his nose nudging teasingly with yours, a certain gloss now covering his brown orbs.

"I do want thank you," you sassed, Tom shaking his head at you with a low chuckle. He was about to lean even closer as he wants nothing more than to give you a kiss, to take your bottom lip in his own teeth, but before any of you could even move a muscle you got interrupted.

"Oi! Not in front of my salad!" Harrison exclaimed. Tom jumped in his skin at the loud voice as he slowly turned his head to glare at his best friend, everyone erupting in pure laughter right after.

"I'll deal with you later," Tom whispered in your ear, sending you a suggestive wink and a squeeze on the waist before he lets you go to set the table for lunch.

You could only shake your head with a smile, Tom replaying the song again as the boys sang to it without problem.

It was a guarantee the there's chaos when living with these lads, but despite it, the fun and laughter always transcends it all. And you wouldn't spend your quarantine anywhere else.

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog, and Leave a Comment if you enjoyed and lemme know what you think! x

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @unbelievableholland @vinylmendes @kittenruby​

send me a message/ask if you want to be added/removed to the tom h. taglist loves!

[orionsangel86]

Hey Everyone,

As you have probably noticed, I have neglected this blog for a long time now. I haven’t been on any fandom related social media at all actually. But I figured since I am currently in a good mindset, I want to write a post just outlining some things which basically boils down to a goodbye letter to Supernatural fandom.

Long rambling post below the cut...

This year (and the last) has just taken it out of me in terms of general negativity online both in fandom and in the real world. At first I got tired of fandom (mostly because Twitter is a cesspool of policing and bullying) and then I got tired of everything else (the world sucks right now, and my mental health basically stopped me from being able to participate in any form of online activism – just because I’m not blogging about something, doesn’t mean I don’t support the cause ya know?). Earlier this year, right around the time of the UK lockdowns, I had surgery and a recovery period in which I spent a lot of time with family, and just reacquainted myself with the real world. I think perhaps the coronavirus pandemic made me realise that long before lockdown began I had already been isolating myself from my real life and diving further and further into an online black hole.

It was years in the making. Supernatural fandom preoccupied my thoughts for such a long period of time it got to the point where every moment of my non working time seemed to be spent either online scrolling my tumblr dash or twitter feed, or reading fanfic or doing something fandom related. I invested so much of myself into this show and fandom that I think I forgot who I was before I was a Supernatural fan completely.

After my wake up call in late 2019, which lead me to break free from an extremely nasty clique, I have tried to re-enter fandom on my own terms, as well as attempt to enjoy the source material and the fandom creations to ignite some new spark of love and interest in the show. Yet as much as I have tried, I have failed to do so.

I was thinking recently about someone I used to follow years ago before I ever created a blog. When I was still just lurking in the tumblr shadows and followed the likes of Mittens, Lizbob, and other meta writers of the period, there was a blogger whose name I can’t remember but she was the funniest blogger I had come across. But when the show killed off Charlie Bradbury, she quit. I had never even interacted with her, as I was barely getting my blog started at the time, but I’ll never forget a post she wrote about her feelings on the show. She had recently started watching something else (I think it was Sense8 but can’t recall entirely), and that this new show had given her everything she had never thought she could have from her fave before. She wrote about how her relationship with Supernatural had become abusive. That for years the writers of Supernatural continued to throw punches at fans like her – women, LGBTQ+ people, people of colour, and yet she continued to give it all her time and attention, brushing off the punches because she was so damn devoted to the characters. Then this new show had come along, and it was like she had seen the light. The killing of Charlie Bradbury was the last straw, and she dumped Supernatural’s ass and fled into the arms of her new love.

I hope she is doing fantastically today.

What she wrote has resonated with me for years. I was a fairly new Supernatural fan at the time, and therefore didn’t really understand what she meant. A TV show can’t be abusive. Can it?

Of course, we are speaking in metaphor here, and in no way are these metaphors meant to reduce or limit the truly serious situation of actual abusive relationships, but every now and then, when a new episode of Supernatural has left me feeling upset, disappointed, frustrated and grossly let down, in some cases affecting my mood for days at a time, and therefore my mental health. I have thought back to those words she wrote and quietly agreed with them in my head. Yes. This is a metaphorically abusive relationship.

When I discovered earlier this year that Castiel was most likely going to be killed off in some sort of bullshit self sacrifice before the end of the show, I was extremely distressed. When I found out that my favourite person of all time Misha Collins, supported this ending for Castiel, and may have even been the one who pushed for it, I was more than distressed, I felt betrayed by the person I cared about most. I’ll admit to you all now that in my weakest moments I have fantasized about standing in front of Misha and screaming at him exactly just what kind of affect his “ideal ending” for Castiel will have on his fanbase, on their mental health, and potentially their own safety. This fantasy has me guilt tripping him and doing everything in my power to make him feel utterly shit about the decision. I know what you are thinking – don’t blame Misha, the guy has his own problems and we all know he projects his own self esteem issues onto Cas – and yes, I know this, like I said its only a fantasy to get me through my darkest moments. I don’t hate Misha at all. But perhaps I do love him a little less nowadays than I did back at the height of my fandom life. That’s at least still a little bit more than my feelings for Jensen and Jared which now I can only describe as complete indifference.

I am admitting all of this now knowing full well it will ignite shock and anger among the more die hard fans of J2M, to explain why I need to just leave this fandom completely, or more accurately, why I have already left fandom.

Over the past 10 months of 2020, I have watched a lot of TV (there isn’t much else to do during a lockdown when you are on crutches with your foot in a cast!) and the one thought that occurred to me over and over again was “this show is so much better than Supernatural”.

I kept comparing everything I watched, from the quality of the scripts, the actors, the special effects, to the inclusiveness of the shows. Just so many beautiful and interesting stories that seem to understand their audience, and understand how to entertain and impress without resorting to cringe humour, outdated jokes, and prejudice, not to mention misogyny and queerbaiting – yup, I said it.

The thing is, I think these thoughts have been creeping over me slowly for longer than just this year, but I have been desperately batting them away the way Dean Winchester bats away his own gay thoughts. Unlike Dean though, eventually I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I cannot continue to carve out space in my own soul for this show, which incessantly beats me down regardless of my devotion. The creators, the network, the writers, and sometimes even the cast, have all shown that they don’t care about me as a fan. I’m not some gun toting dudebro living in middle America, so why should they give a damn about me? I’m clearly not their target audience, nor have I ever been.

I know many of you will vehemently deny my personal opinion of Supernatural now. That is absolutely fine. I am sorry to be admitting it, but I had to. I feel like once I finally write out these words, I have got it off my chest and can close and lock the door on Supernatural for good.

Without Supernatural, I am able to focus on my real life, I am able to find pleasure in other things, new things, interesting things, that bring me joy and joy alone – not disappointment and frustration. I found a new job this year, which has been a huge accomplishment as I was stagnating in my old one, and several new hobbies under my belt. I moved to a new flat, I have a lovely flatmate who has been a godsend throughout lockdown, and I have rekindled friendships that I was neglecting due to my Supernatural obsession.

All in all, I am finding post-Supernatural life far more rewarding and content than my life in fandom. It has taken me a while, but I am over the show. And whilst I will always hold a special place in my heart for Castiel, it will be as I know him in my own mind; as the wonderful, strong, powerful and determined angel with a soul, who loves so strongly, and who is worth so much more than his own creators give him credit for. He is up there with Aziraphale and Crowley, with The Doctor, and Buffy, as one of the greatest characters of all time.  

So the Supernatural writers and creators can take whatever ending they have decided upon, and shove it up their asses. I am sorry to say that Sam and Dean Winchester are also lost to me. Any love I had for them was destroyed by their later season depictions. Castiel alone is the only character worthy of that space in my heart now. If in time he longs for a companion, I will find one for him, but it won’t be the Dean Winchester of the canon show. Canon Dean hasn’t been deserving of Cas for a long time now.

Perhaps I am still a little bitter about the ending. Perhaps the finale won’t be the disaster I expect it to be, perhaps Dabb will somehow turn it all around last minute following whatever travesty Bucklemming have given us in 15x19. Either way, I won’t be watching.

So this is me saying goodbye to this blog, at least until I have decided what else to do with it. It certainly won’t be a Supernatural fandom blog anymore. It wasn’t all wasted though. I did get a wonderful friendship group out of this fandom, and I have certainly expanded my knowledge of film and television analysis, as well as having enjoyed a great many memes.

I guess in the end, my internal war with my inner bitter Cas girl finished with her winning, and writing this post. Once it is posted however, I will put her to sleep with thoughts of a happy Castiel, who has swapped his wings for a beating human heart, and is living on a beach somewhere beautiful, refurbishing an old Victorian house, and greeting his kindly elderly neighbours. There’s a gay bar on the main strip, and the bartender is quite a dish. Green eyes and light brown hair with a killer smile. Castiel thinks he looks familiar, like a memory from a past life, but they’ve definitely never met, because this man is kind.

Now that she is asleep, there is nothing left for me here. Goodbye everyone. Whether you manage to enjoy the finale or not, I truly hope you too, find your peace.

[interstellarflare]

Broken || Javier Pena

-PART TWO-

Warnings: Swearing, mature content, violence, gore.

Summary: Fairly new to Colombia, you are partnered with Steve Murphy and Javier Pena, some of the best DEA Agents in the country. You and Javier don’t get along, that is until you save his life.

Author’s Note: This is my first series from the NARCOS fandom. It might not be amazing, but this idea came to me when I was watching the series.

You had been stationed in Colombia for over a month, and so far it had not been the change you had hoped for. While the cases were more enjoyable and full of adrenaline, Javier was the most frustrating, self absorbed, undermining, incompetent, son of a bitch you had ever worked with in your career as a DEA Agent.

He was impulsive, downright rude, and was an absolute pain in the arse. And now, you sat in the passenger seat of Javier’s car, bored to death as the late night stakeout reached the three hour mark. Leaning against your arm as it rested against the window, you sighed loudly. “This is a dead end...” you mused tiredly, turning your gaze to the man beside you “no one has walked out that door for three hours”. “I’m not blind L/n, but thank you for stating the obvious” Javier snarled, his hands clenching around the steering wheel in annoyance. You groaned, slumping further into your seat, your eyes remaining glued to the pastel yellow door.

The paint was flaking at various spots, both shaded and illuminated by the light hanging overhead. Silence fell over the car, a slight tension filling the air. An uneasy feeling settled within your chest, a nervous feeling. “Something isn’t right” you spoke lowly, moving your gaze to survey the streetscape. It was quiet, too quiet. It was unnerving. “Pena-” “I know...” Javier quickly interrupted, his eyes moving to your form with a knowing expression. Without another word, Javier cautiously started the car’s engine and drove away. Whatever was meant to happen tonight, whoever you were meant to tail, they knew you were there.

“Fuck...” Javier mumbled, “fuck fuck fuck-” “Hey!” You interrupted, suddenly turning to glare at the man beside you “We’ll get them, some other time, we just-” “We just nothing...” he spat angrily, suddenly pulling over in an abandoned street “next time, it will be me and Steve doing this. There is no we in any situation. Not one”.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes narrowing on Javier as he glowered at your form. Out of everything this piece of shit had said to you, this was by far the most hurtful. You had had enough. Instead of getting mad, instead of crying in front of Javier, you bit your lip with a long winded sigh and stepped out of the car, making sure to slam the door extra hard. So hard in fact, the entire car wobbled.

Even at night, Colombia was still fucking hot. But you weren’t bothered, all you wanted to do at this moment in time was to get away from Javier. You had put up with his hurtful words long enough, tonight was the last straw. Another car door closed, followed by rushed footsteps. “Y/n, get back in the car!” Javier called out, jogging to catch up with your brisk pace. You kept walking, ignoring his annoyed tone as he suddenly stopped in front of you. He breathed heavily, giving you a bewildered expression “C’mon, just get back in the car, it’s too dangerous to be out here alone-”

“Fuck you, Pena...” you growled “I’d rather take my chances than spend another second with you in that car”. You moved to step around him, your aim was to keep walking until you reached your apartment which was an hour away by foot. But when Javier suddenly caught your arm with his hand, you snapped. You swung your arm, clenching your hand into a tight fist as you aimed for Javier’s face. Faster than you thought possible, Javier caught your fist mid-swing, letting go of your arm to spin you around in a dizzying motion. With your right arm strung across your chest, and your left effectively pinned by Javier’s strong and more muscular arms, the DEA Agent pulled you flush against his body, your back pressed against his chest as he held you in place.

You struggled against his grip, your cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment. “Let me go you son of a-” “I’ll let you go when you calm the fuck down!” he shouted angrily, oblivious to the fact that you had somehow managed to free your left arm. With all the force you could muster, you elbowed Javier in the ribs. With a loud groan, his grip on your form loosened, allowing you to step out of his arms as he collapsed to the road beneath him. Panting heavily, you turned to face Javier, unable to stop the frustrated tears that fell freely down your cheeks.

“I’ve taken a lot of shit from you Pena, in the month that I’ve been here...” you croaked, hating the way your voice broke “but what you said in the car just now, that was taking it too far. You’ve hated me ever since I got here, why? What is your problem with me?” When no response came from Javier, and he instead maintained a pained expression, you shook your head sadly. There was no particular reason as to why he hated you, he just did. You turned on your heel and began to walk away, beginning the hour long trek back to your apartment.

After reaching your apartment, you spent a good long twenty minutes in the shower, enjoying the warmth, and the feeling of the water cascading over your skin. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for hurting Javier, but at the same time he deserved it.

After drying off, you changed into a pair of navy blue pyjama shorts and a black singlet top to combat the Colombian heat. It was 11pm, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch, watch a little TV, and fall asleep. You were half way there. You were starting to drift off into a dreamless slumber when there was a sudden pounding noise at your apartment door.

You jolted awake, your heart racing at the sudden loud noise. Who could possibly be at your apartment at this time of night? You cautiously approached the door, looking through the peephole as your hand hovered over the door knob. You muttered a string of curses under your breath, opening the door whilst glaring at the person on the other side. Javier looked even worse than he did through the peephole. His hair was disheveled, his clothes in disarray, his nose was covered in dry blood, there was a small cut underneath his left eye, and he smelt like alcohol.

“What the fuck happened to you?” You asked loudly, looking him up and down with a bewildered expression. Javier smiled lazily, you had never seen him smile before. He leaned against the doorframe, more like slumped, as his glazed eyes met yours “I...might have gotten into a bar fight, and very, very drunk-”

“I can see that...” you mused, completely confused as to what to do. Your first thought was to call Steve, and inform him of the situation. But a small part of you felt...what was the word? You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose with a small shake of your head. “Come on, get in here” you grumbled hesitantly, stepping aside to allow Javier to stumble through. He turned to face you with a small chuckle “I uh...I need to talk to you...” Javier slurred, giving your form a once over, taking in your pyjama shorts and tank top greedily.

With an awkward clear of your throat, you folded your arms over your chest, averting your eyes away from Javier’s stare. Javier continued, ‘tsking’ quietly to himself as he racked his brain for the right words to say. If he was going to be honest with himself, he had no idea what he was doing here. Seeing you cry did something to him. What that something was? He had drowned in in alcohol two hours ago. Yet his subconscious brought him here. Maybe this was all some really, bad drunken mistake. He shouldn’t be here, Javier knew that he was the last person you wanted to see.

But when his eyes locked with yours, a strange sense of guilt overcame him. He felt horrible, he felt sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was the alcohol. You stood in complete silence, waiting for his answer, and it was only then did Javier realise that he was staring. He shook his head, sighing heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He winced, but continued “I cam here to apologise, because if I was sober, then I would have most likely made it worse”. “And you thought that showing up to my apartment in the middle of the night, completely wasted, would make it better?” You asked, raising your eyebrow in emphasis.

Javier flinched, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly “Yes?”. You hissed, shaking your head slowly. You were beyond tired, you just wanted to go to sleep. Why was he still here? “Come on, Pena. I’ll get you set up on the couch, then we can-”

“No! I’m not done” Javier suddenly shouted, throwing his arms out wildly “I have been such a fucking arsehole to you, and you didn’t deserve it” he blurted, stumbling backward far enough to collapse onto the couch. He looked so defeated, so upset. You sighed, watching as your partner rambled on. “You are probably one of the most amazing Agents I’ve ever worked with, you know. You’re so smart, and caring, you always manage to make someone laugh...you’re more than amazing really. There’s a part of me that looks forward to seeing you every day, and then I just fuck it all up”.

Your eyes widened, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Javier was apologising in his own, weird Javier way. “I really am sorry, I’m a real arsehole” he groaned, slumping further into the couch. You laughed quietly to yourself. There was no way he would remember this tomorrow morning, but even in his drunken state, you found his apology sweet. You knew you shouldn’t have, but that small selfish part of you that found him attractive out-ruled your rational thinking.

And you hated yourself for it.

“Alright cowboy...” You spoke lowly, your mild annoyance changing to amusement as Javier stuck out his bottom lip in a pout “let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed”. Awkwardly and certainly ungracefully, Javier stood to his feet and trudged after you as you made your way to the bathroom. There, you carefully washed the blood from his nose, and dressed the small cut underneath his eye. Afterward, you sed him up on the couch with one of your pillows and a spare blanket.

“Now, go to sleep...” you ordered sternly “you’re such an inconvenience”. Javier giggled, something you didn’t think he was capable of doing, and smiled up at you dreamily. “You love me...” he drawled teasingly, before completely passing out. You froze, your heart suddenly beating a million miles an hour as you moved to turn off all the lights in your apartment. He couldn’t know, right? He was drunk, that’s all it was.

You sighed heavily, collapsing into bed with a tired groan. You were so going to mess with Javier tomorrow.

[ambersky0319]

Remus ducks out because of how everyone else makes him feel, and by the time they notice, it's because Deceit is panicking. Patton tries to say it's fine that he's gone, that he was only bad for Thomas, untill Roman grows sick and looses his color. Deceit tries to leave to find Remus but Patton tries to put it off thinking Roman will suddenly get better.while that happens Logan leaves and journeys into the falling apart imagination, to find a young Remus crying, yelling out for Roman -Rayne

Warnings: Unsympathetic Patton, Minor blood(it’s literally brought up once in very very little detail), lmk if there’s anything I should add!

Masterpost 

———————————–

It had been a happy day.

The sun was shining through their windows from Roman’s part of the Imagination, Patton was making lunch for everyone, Logan and Virgil were having a light debate about something that really didn’t matter while Roman doodled in his sketchbook.

Roman barely even noticed himself that he was starting to feel a bit off. It could have been the fact he didn’t eat breakfast, so he just pushed aside his inability to come up with anything interesting as just his brain saying he needed food. No one noticed Roman’s occasional shift and grimace or the way he looked slightly too pale.

They ate their lunch and continued with their activities, except Roman only felt worse after he had eaten. He doesn’t say anything as he moves on from drawing in his sketchbook to working on the script for their next video. But his hand trembles over the notebook and he feels chills roll down his back despite the house being fairly warm. Roman bites his lip, trying to force his hands to steady, though he only fails. The living room is fairly empty now though, Logan had escaped to his room to work on schedules, Patton was cleaning the kitchen, and Virgil was napping on the opposite side of the couch. So no one noticed Roman only growing worse and worse. And Roman just assumed it was one of his off days.

No one noticed, at least, until late afternoon.

Deceit had rushed into the light commons, looking behind every piece of furniture and swearing profusely when he didn’t find what he was looking for. Deceit didn’t acknowledge that he startled Virgil or that Patton had scolded him for cursing.

“Deceit, what’s got your snakes all tangled?” Roman asked when Deceit had checked behind their TV. Deceit’s eyes snapped to him and somehow grew even wider.

“Roman? What’s wrong with you?” Roman frowned when Deceit didn’t answer, so he turned his head a bit too quickly and huffed. The action, however, made Roman feel a bit nauseous, and he refrained from reaching up to cover his mouth. He was fine!

“Nothing, just an off-”

“Oh my God, Roman you’re turning gray-” Virgil was the first to point it out, scrambling over on the couch to get to the princely side. Patton was suddenly in the living room upon hearing this.

“What’s all the ruckus kiddos?”

Deceit just shook his head. “I need to find Remus- this isn’t- fuck this isn’t good,” Deceit made a beeline for the stairs, but Patton blocked his way.

“Deceit, what’s going on?” Patton kept getting in Deceit’s path any time Deceit attempted to pass him, and the dishonest side let out a frustrated growl.

“Patton there’s no time!”

“If you just told us-”

“Remus is fucking missing, and Roman is suffering because of it! What’s not clear to you?”

“So your solution is to go invade the Imagination? Roman’s fine! And I’m sure Remus is just planning to come and attack one of us again, there’s no need to worry.” Patton had rolled his eyes as he spoke, crossing his arms.

“Um, Pat?”

“Not now, Virge.”

“But-”

“I said not now!” Virgil flinched as Patton raised his voice, his grip on Roman accidentally tightening and Roman whimpered ever so softly. Patton took a deep breath. “Roman will get better, today’s just a bad day for him! He said so himself!”

Deceit looked past Patton, to the top of the stairs. He made brief eye contact with Logan before the logical side disappeared around the corner, and Deceit huffed loudly.

“Fine! But I’m not leaving until Remus comes back, alright?” Deceit’s voice was just slightly too loud, loud enough to cover the sound of a door closing upstairs. Deceit trudged over to the couch, settling on Roman’s other side.

Roman was looking far worse. He felt as though he could get sick at any moment, and Virgil had been right, he was turning gray. His sash was already a dark and unsaturated red, and his skin was growing paler by the minute. But Patton just waved it off with the explanation maybe Thomas was just losing some motivation, it wasn’t something new, and he went back to cleaning.

-

In the Imagination, things were falling apart just as quickly as Roman was getting sick. Logan hated the Imagination, it was no place for him. But Deceit would know if Remus was just pulling a prank on them, and Logan knew Remus wouldn’t go as far as to make Roman sick. Patton maybe, but not Roman.

The ground shakes softly under Logan’s feet as he walks briskly through what was once a forest. Roman’s forest. The trees are almost regressing, some turning into saplings while others disappear below the ground in front of his own eyes. He passes a lake that turns smaller and smaller, first going dry before refilling with dirt. And then the color. Everything was void of it, and Logan knew that wasn’t right. Roman’s land was vibrant and loud and alive. Nothing was supposed to be dying in his part of the Imagination.

It’s when Logan gets closer to the border, everything now looking like an empty field, that he hears it. A wail that could shatter glass in an instant, and Logan’s running towards it, calling out for Remus.

As he gets closer, he realizes the wails aren’t just cries for help. They’re cries for Roman.

Logan nearly trips over the curled figure, but he stops before he can hurt them. And the cries momentarily quiet into soft sobs as they look up at Logan.

“You’re not- you’re not Roman-” he hiccups and the young figure finally registers in Logan’s mind as Remus. Except… he wasn’t Remus anymore, not the one Logan had been expecting to find. Still, Logan crouches down so he’s at eye level with the child.

Logan tries to keep his voice as even as possible. “No, but I know where he is.”

Remus’s eyes darken slightly, and he looks down, sniffling as he tries and fails to wipe away his tears. “So he did leave me? The bright man made him leave?” He asked softly, looking back up to Logan with tears still streaming down his cheeks. Logan tilted his head.

“The bright man?”

“Yeah, in the- the light blue shirt! He wanted to take Roman- I haven’t- where is he? He left me, didn’t he?”

Logan had thought he had felt rage before, but that was nothing compared to this. “You mean Patton took Roman?” Remus seemed to think for a moment, and then he nodded, and it took all of Logan’s energy to not curse up a storm right then and there. He tried to keep a neutral expression. “I don’t think he wanted to leave you, Remus, in fact, I think Roman would be very happy to see you.”

“But what about the bright man?”

Logan reached out to brush away Remus’s tears and push his hair from his face. “Don’t worry about him.”

“But what if he hurts me- he took Roman away because he didn’t like me- I was bad! What if he does it again?!”

Logan offered a small smile, hoping it looked reassuring. “As I said, do not worry about him. I’ll deal with him if he tries, okay?” Remus bit his lip, a bit too hard as a small bit of blood seeped out from under his teeth. Logan sighed softly. “Remus, do you want to see Roman?”

Slowly, Remus nodded, and Logan scooped him up off the ground just as the area around them was turning white. “Hold on tight, okay?” Logan mumbled as Remus buried his face in Logan’s shoulder, nodding, and Logan sunk out, holding the child tightly in his arms.

It had been a happy day.

———————————–

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[supertransural]

supernatural made me realize a bunch of shit about myself, specifically identity and it’s part of the reasons why i think it’s an inherently queer story.

allow me to clarify. once upon a time, 6 years ago, i found supernatural. back then i was mostly in the closet, even to myself. i’d gotten to that point of “hah wouldn’t it be nice to be like guys on tv and kiss the pretty girls” but not much further than that, because in most of the movies i had watched with my parents, the personality of the guy wasn’t really explored in the way supernatural (mostly unintentionally ngl) does with its characters.

so picture a teen, finding my first tv show to watch alone, being able to think my very own comments about it and not fear any repercussions from those thoughts because hey, i’m alone in my room i can think what i like about what i’m seeing. and feeling.

and here enters dean. complicated, comes from a rough childhood, parental expectations weighing so heavy on him it’s bleeding through his smiles, has a brother he feels is his duty to protect, is stuck in a loop of denial repression depression sublimation denial repression depression sublimation den-

you get the gist. i related to that guy. and then here he goes getting bi-coded (didn’t know what that was at the time but looking back, i could sure as hell feel it) and then kissing girls on screen, despite his wavering self-confidence. little ol’ gay me was like “yoooo i relate to this character on most of his character points, do i also relate to like..... wanting to do what he does??? do i wanna kiss other girls????”. fast forward one season and i’ve already figured out i was maybe bi. literally thanks to season 1 dean.

so, having figured out this “minor” aspect of myself, i went on youtube to find some other people like me and try to see if i was right to be homophobic towards myself or not. figured out, hey uh, definitely not. so you can also add “it ended up making me try to put a stop to my internalized homophobia” on the list of things that shitpost of a show helped me with.

i went back to the show for another season, relating even more to dean, and “blah blah blah queer coded character blah blah blah gay me could feel it before i knew what it was blah blah blah happy gay stuff”. several seasons passed by before anything new came up on my “hm this show rly out here bringing out all the queer aspects of myself huh” journey, but anyways i was still slowly but surely thinking holy shit i wanna be this goddamn man i want to be dean.

then comes season 4, walzing into my questioning little heart. oof ok, this season hit ALL the right spots for me. because i could feel what was going on between cas and dean and even though everything was still blurry as fuck, the parallel between sam/ruby and dean/cas was clear as day. and i was like “oh so you’re saying there’s a love here and it’s like that tarnished love between sam and ruby and it’s forbidden so that’s why we’re not seeing it and it’s like... gay”. so it made me realize “holy shit, i wanna see more gay content, and it’s ok to want that.”

then cas became another extremely relatable character, because i just kept thinking “he doesn’t really have a gender the same way other humans do” and i shit you not, he started me questioning my own gender. because again, a relatable character that you somewhat identify with that makes you ask questions about their identity INEVITABLY makes you ask questions about yourself. queue me going on youtube yet again to understand this shit a little better. i went through a few months of thinking “maybe i’m nb”, joined a few more gay communities on the internet, started learning about lgbtq+ things, watched a few more gay shows, and basically just grew a little more into my queerness.

fasforward several seasons, a couple gap years where i stopped watching it, and you’ll get to me a year ago. i thought i was a gay woman, fairly happy in that mental space and identity. but then. the whole “i wanna be dean” thing came up a lot again. because he just kept on being more and more visibly queer coded as i kept on learning more about this shit.

lo and behold, i jumped straight into the idea i was trans. and wouldya look at dat, i was right. quarantine happened, so i had to get even more of my interactions through online platforms, and quite obviously hovered around the gayer ones, or at least the lgbtq+ sides of them. and as i kept watching the show on and off, binging the first seasons for the 4th time, i kept learning more and more about myself. and those acts of gay frenzy were always started by seeing something relatable or strange in that show and looking it up. like, legitimately every time.

i found this community on tumblr a few weeks ago because i was tired of having my own little hypotheticals in my head and not knowing if anyone agreed, and the more i’ve been here the more i’ve learned about myself. the more i’ve let go of a lot of internalized hatred. the more i’ve been really ok with myself, as a trans guy. BUT ITS NOT FINISHED YET.

because, as we all know, it is common understanding here that dean is bi. WELL, i’ve been re-binging the show with that mindset finally clear in my head, and the “haha dean relatable lol” thing came up again, except it was really a “haha dean (who is bi) super relatable lol” thing now. so i paused, yet again, to think about that a little more. AND FIGURED OUT I WASNT STRAIGHT, IM BI AS FUCK.

that happened 1 month ago. i thought i’d grown fully into my queer self, that i’d gone through enough realizations and coming outs (to friends only, god forbid i come out to my parents (unfortunately quite literally god forbid lmao) before i’m out of here) for a lifetime. but apparently not. AND IT WAS STILL BECAUSE OF SUPERNATURAL. destiel and trans!dean fics helped with my internalized transphobia and homophobia, they helped with acceptance of those parts of myself. something that helped was also seeing the fact that shipping two guys in a tv show wasn’t just “being greedy with my grubby little gay hands” and wanting to think of a character as trans wasn’t just “being delusional and ridiculous”. and reading fics wasn’t cringy, it was nice and comforting.

so to try and sum up this unhinged gay rant, what i meant by my initial statement is this.

looking back on this entire self-discovery journey that i went on, it really felt like i was in the impala with the boys, except i was on a different kind of route (just picture this giant road painted in rainbow colors with baby driving at 80mph on it, that’s what it felt like). i grew with those characters, but most importantly i grew THANKS to those characters. their story was queer enough to make me, a fairly homophobic, traditional, conservative kid into a lib trans bi dude. and not in a “i got converted by the fandoms” way. i found the fandom waaaaayyyyyyyy later. i stumbled upon the fandoms looking for answers about this gayass goddamn show that i could FEEL was like me but couldn’t verbalize yet.

their story felt like a queer self discovery story and i could already see that before i went on it myself. no other shows have ever done that for me, and i’ve watched shows that had lgbtq+ characters in them, scripted gay scenes, not just subtext but text. and they still didn’t do that for me.

so this is why this show is so meaningful to be, and incidentally so very gay. like genuinely.

[freebooter4ever]

Hello I just finished the Pacific and I'm dying. So it's time for me to delve into the fandom and try and fulfil my poor sledgefu heart. Have any recommendations on who's blog to look at or tags? Other than yourself because I most certainly will spend a solid 5 hours going through your tags. I've already seen a lot of your art and I think it's beautiful, just an FYI.

Oh boy do I ever have recs! It was only about a year ago that I was new to the fandom myself and slowly going through @aboutthatmelancholystorm and @persipneiwrites tumblr sledgefu tags every night, reading all of it, and being totally sucked in! ^_^ (I especially suggest Persipnei’s 3:16 AU where Sledge and Snafu are rock stars!) As for art, I think the biggest collection I know of is the blog @marines-r-gay. Some of my favorite sledgefu artist blogs include @skelesocks (Ace Eugene will hold a special place in my heart forever!) @badgerms and my old favorite the-heebiejeebies who sadly disappeared and deleted their blog :( but you can still find their old art in my ‘sledgefu’ tag on my blog like here. There’s no really ‘exculsively’ sledgefu artists out there right now, but there is a LOT of amazing older stuff to be found mixed into people’s blogs! My own art/writing sledgefu masterlist can be found here.

More specific fanfic recs under the cut! I’m focusing on oldies, because I think it’s fairly easy to find the newer ones on AO3 that are still being updated ^_^

Not Quite Home by Seabright - A fix it fic that really fixes things. Post war set in New Orleans with Eugene showing up on Snafu’s doorstep. Snafu is cantankerous and very in character and he /claims/ he can’t ‘fix’ Sledge, but let’s face it that’s why they need to fix each other. Snafu has a lot of walls up and Eugene breaks all of them down in his steadfast way. This fic captures Snafu perfectly - even in little things like in the way he fidgets and moves. Also the last kiss is just...SO good.

Canon Compliant

Roadverse by Seabright - There are a few authors exclusively on AO3 that like...if you haven’t read their entire sledgefu collection yet, you gotta! Seabright is one of them. Roadverse is set after the war and Snafu takes Eugene on a roadtrip to Florida, there’s a lot of introspection, they fall in love, definitely a happy ending! The writing here is what really shines.

After The Happy Ending by Handdaddyhoosier - Another author it’s worth reading their entire sledgefu collection. This one is also set after the war and is more domestic. A lot of fluff, a lot of slice of life, a lot of Sledge and Snafu dealing with homophobia and overcoming it (!!). Through it all Snafu and Eugene remain sooooo much in love that they’re stronger together and...yeah...it’s good. 

Christmas Even Will Find Me by SOMETHINREAL - My favorite canon compliant Sledgefu Christmas fic! It’s just perfect! Everybody is all together again after the war for Christmas and Eugene and Snafu are playing their own little dance between each other in the corner...they’re adorable. Plus there’s a happy ending!

Maybe You’ll Think Of Me When You’re All Alone by SOMETHINREAL - A very very good fix it fic for after the war. They’re both broken but they’re together and falling in love all over again, yay! I live for first pining and emotional kiss scenes and this is one of the best!

These Foolish Things Remind Me of You by Spoondragon - Merriell is quirky and weird and collects things and his last line in the fic is gOLD. Basically them being cute, with a first kiss. I highly rec ALL of spoondragon’s sledgefu fics!

To Make Much of Time by Hueligan - FIX THE TRAIN SCENE. I will read almost any variation of that train scene where Snafu makes it right, and this one does! AND THEN RUINS IT. So fair warning, you will fall in love with this fic but then it will break your heart. Kinda like Snafu. But it’s ok cause then you can go read one of the OTHER many fix it fics and mend it again.

Tilled Earth by Killerqueenie - Okay, this is one of my absolute FAVORITES. Snafu finds Eugene playing farmer boy in a small town outside of Mobile ten years after the war and Snafu signs himself on as a ranch hand. This one ACTUALLY fixes the train scene. Eugene is prickly and untrusting and Snafu has to earn his right to waltz back into his life. And oh gosh the love each other so so much!

The Magic Helmet by jspringsteen - Cute adorable and totally in character, canon compliant and not actually sledgefu except for some delightful hints that they are into each other more than they let on. It’s just such a great moment for Snafu’s character that I’ve reread this on multiple occasions.

All You Got by ssstrychnine - Another fix it fic (I know, I love these). This follows canon so well it’s seamless and only adds subtle touches of love between Gene and Snafu - so very believable as a part of the actual show. This author has four fics on AO3 for sledgefu and I suggest reading them all!

The Jazz Lights of New Orleans by Gracefully - Yet ANOTHER fix it fic! Give me them all!!! 

AU

Like It’s Only You And Me by SJTrinity - Snafu is an artist in this so of course I’m going to biased, but this is one of my absolute favorite college AU’s. All our favorite characters are there, including Bill, Burgie, Andy, and Eddie (and even Pops! as a fatherly figure to Snafu though he’s only referenced). Snafu is as chaotic as ever. The romance is hot! There are parts where I almost bust a gut laughing. Also anytime Eugene gets all haughty and bossy with his little furrowed brow over Snafu that’s like A+ for me.

Learning Curve by Seabright - ok THIS fic defines ultimate pining over Gene for me. I have never related to Snafu more. There’s a description of Eugene swimming in a pool that just..yeah...I have feelings. Anyway, it’s a college AU that is tragically UNFINISHED and will rip your heart out, BUT the same author also has a whole bunch of more canon related fic where the two of them do get together, so that eases the sting a little. 

F.M.L by @badgerms - I maybe have a thing for swimmers, but I love this swimming college AU especially because it’s in Gene’s POV but done so well that it feels real. This fic also delves into mental illness and mental self flagellation (there are some moments that hit REAL hard if you’ve ever had eating disorders). But on top of all that, I feel like lollki really captured what is so magnetic about Snafu, and by having Gene put him on this impossible pedestal it kinda reflects what a lot of us in the fandom do with his character. Snafu makes his existence look effortless and thoughtless, Gene is incredibly jealous of how Snafu just lives, their competition is ENTHRALLING.

The Kind Of Stuff That Only Prince Would Sing About  by @stolperzunge A coffee shop AU that has Sledge and Snafu just slowly and sweetly falling in love. This one is from Snaf’s pov and since I identify with him more you know I’m gonna love it lol! There are some GREAT funny lines, Snafu has personality in spades. Eugene is a grandad hipster type who also writes erotica....I dunno it’s all amazing go read it.

There Will Be Better Days by SydneyCarton - High school AU. As someone who had a fairly shitty high school experience and many bad holidays, this is...cathartic. Gene is definitely more the caretaker here, he saves Snafu in a way that’s just as strong as when he picked him up on the battlefield. But it’s all emotional, and Snafu is this scared prickly kid. And Gene is the honor roll kid who has to play the role of best friend secretly in love with the one person who matters most to them. This author never wrote anything else for Sledgefu and I wish they had!

Okay, that’s a whole bunch! There’s even more in my aO3 bookmarks! This list is just me going through my bookmarks and selecting the ones that I especially remembered and is by no means exhaustive of all my favorites in this fandom. Joining the Pacific train late means there’s a whole lot to choose from and explore...but it also means the list of active blogs is short and not a lot of new content gets posted every day :( I think the Sledgefu community is still going pretty strong, though! Welcome!

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt50

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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The rest of the week was fairly uneventful until Friday. Adrien had grown sullen and quiet for the most part around the time that Discorde had shown up. Right after Damian had helped Ladybug break into the mansion the boy had been in a panic for days. Accusing everyone of stealing something from his room. He refused to say what but Damian had his suspicions. Giving that he’d stopped accusing Damian specifically as soon as the new black cat showed up was a rather obvious tell. Marinette refused to confirm his hunch.

Friday during lunch Damian actually stayed at the school for once. He’d been trying to avoid Luka and Marinette made sure he was always at her house when it was likely Damian would be there. When he brought it up she just gave him an innocent look and said she just wanted to have her friends around as much as possible because she had so few of them now. She wouldn’t admit to forcing them together, but he knew that was her goal.

That was how he ended up listening to a debate between his classmates, Adrien included, about which holder was better and why Ladybug had a new partner to begin with. The fact that any of them questioned the why made him once again want to stab people for their stupidity.

“That’s ridiculous! Of course Ladybug replaced him. All he was doing near the end was making her job harder. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was working with Hawkmoth to try and defeat her.” It was a good theory actually especially given who they were, but if the hurt and anger on Adrien’s face was any indication it wasn’t a correct one.

“That’s insane, Chat never would have sided with Hawkmoth. So what if he decided to have a little fun during attacks? It’s not like there’s any real damage once Ladybug casts her cure. Maybe if she’d just paid more attention to his feelings they’d have been more productive.” Just about everyone was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, and that included the ones her were defending the former hero.

“Being a hero is serious business and the last thing anyone needs is someone screwing around when they should be protecting people. What if one day Ladybug’s cure doesn’t work? What if the damage stays for some reason?” Damian really hadn’t meant to get into this debate but hearing this from someone that had fancied themselves and hero pissed him off to no end. “What if his playing at being a hero got one or both of them killed? Oh wait that’s right, he did get himself killed on a regular basis didn’t he? Or mind controlled, or trapped, the list goes on. Chat Noir was good at one thing and one thing only, and that was harassing girls that wanted nothing to do with him.”

“You take that back!” While not unexpected Adrien’s outburst sank Damian’s opinion of him even lower. He honestly hadn’t thought that was possible. “If Ladybug would have just admitted her feelings for him none of this would have happened. She’s the selfish one, turning him down over and over again instead of just giving him a chance and admitting she was wrong!”

Everyone in the room was either edging away from the boy or glaring at him. For his part Damian sent a text to Marinette and Chloe for good measure to let them know there was likely to be an Akuma very shortly, unless of course Gabriel had some reason not to Akumatize his son. It certainly wouldn’t be because he cared about him but perhaps it wouldn’t look good for his brand if the sunshine boy became a villain. Being targeted by them would gain sympathy but even knowing that Hawkmoths victims weren’t given a choice it wouldn’t play well with international buyers and there were a lot of them in town for the fashion show this weekend. It might also hurt his chances to recruit the Functional Fashion designer.

As they made it through lunch with out any purple butterflies showing up Damian took it as more proof that Hawkmoth and Gabriel Agreste were in fact the same person. Sure Hawkmoth didn’t Akumatize every person who got upset but this school was known as his favorite target and there were more students with bad feelings right now than just Adrien. For his part the boy just sat there and pouted for the rest of the break, but at least he wasn’t still spouting nonsense.

Talk in the cafeteria slowly came back to life with a different subject which was of course, the fashion show. Even people who generally had no opinion on the subject felt the need to chime in about one subject and that was the big reveal. Functional Fashion had been a huge hit with people who hated the fashion industry for making clothes that weren’t in any way practical not to mention cost more than most people made in a year. So naturally there was a running debate about which fashion house they would go to, if any.

“There’s no way they’ll end up working for one of the major brands. They’ve said multiple times they’re happy working on commission without a big name to bloat their prices.”

“Then why do a major reveal at all? They could just announce their identity on their website and be done with it. This seems like a ploy to get attention from the fashion community.”

“Well it is a show for amateur and up and coming designers so it is a bit of a shitty move to put that much attention on yourself rather than the people who need it.”

“What if they were going to put their pieces in the show but were afraid they’d be figured out anyway? Maybe this is just so they can do things on their own terms.”

It kept going on and on. Damian didn’t add to the conversation and neither did Adrien though he did look rather interested in it. Damian did wonder how Marinette had convinced someone so set on secrecy to show up in public like this. He remembered a specific post on their site that said they were worried some people in their life would try to steal her ideas or claim she stole them herself. They were dealing with a lot of people lying about them and… and he was such an idiot.

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