#we can go back to arguing about who has the objectively correct approach to goodness

[traumatizedbymay2016]

I think the real thing that upsets me, as someone who fell in love with the Avengers and the X-Men before I even realized it was an option for them to exist in the same place at the same time, is that "Two superhero groups that hate each other because of a history of writers contriving conflicts between them in the hope of Being Deep and/or creating drama" is way less fun that "Two superhero groups that do nearly the same thing but actually have two very specific specializations and have to balance working with each other in something between 'professional esteem' and 'disdainful rivalry'," which is one of the funniest ideas on the freaking planet.

Like, yes, it's frustrating that it creates a fandom space where liking one group implies disliking the other group. It's frustrating that it results in my favorite characters being mischaracterized over and over again to force a conflict. But it's even worse that we could still be having dorky super hero banter between two teams instead of just one and we keep getting robbed of that in favor of threatening the X-Men's existence.

What I'm trying to say is that Wolverine being an Avenger should be a scandal because Scott is offended and shocked that the Avengers think Logan would be more useful in a world-ending conflict than he is, not because one of the Avengers said that mutants don't deserve rights and another one of the Avengers is heading up a government initiative that forcibly discloses the identities of people with superpowers to the world.

[r-tawen]

Tacking on my experience coming from a science highschool:

Our teacher told us that the math itself wasn't exactly the point. Sure, a lot of us were going into STEM courses in college and were likely to use the more complex topics, but more than that- this teacher explained- Math is a workout for your brain.

When we are given a problem in other subjects- languages, history, social sciences- our personal knowledge and experiences could come into play with regards to how we answer. In (non-math) science, we often had to rely on particular facts or concepts to draw an answer out. Sometimes there is no "right" answer.

Math (at that level) doesn't care about your opinion. It's one of the few places at that stage of education where A Problem:

has its own distinct and objectively Correct Answer;

can be easily reproduced by anyone else; and

can be answered in A Whole Lot of different ways that are all still bound by the same rules.

Any teacher can show you the prescribed method for how to solve a particular type of problem. A bad teacher is the kind who would mark you wrong for getting the right answer but "not the way I taught it".

A good math teacher forces you to strategize: Here is a problem, here are your tools, how are you going to solve it? Are you that whiz kid who knows some sort of esoteric shortcut to solve it in tournament-record time? Would you prefer to carefully lay out all the given values and write down your formulae before wrapping it up neat and tidy? Do you want to just throw everything you've got at it until you see a number that makes sense then move on to the next question? Did you not study for this at all, but you think you might be able to get somewhere with something else that you've learned prior?

It's those problems (again, at this level, math majors don't come at me) where not every student's work will look the same where I think the point of learning math actually shines. You compare your solution to someone else and you might get confused as to what the fuck is going on on their paper, even if you got the same final answer. Doesn't mean either of you are wrong for solving it differently to get to the same place; besides, if you fuck up in math, You Will Know you fucked up. Math will flat out tell you when you get something wrong, but it's not going to be vague about why: in fact, a good math teacher can point out in your solution the precise moment where you fucked up, and how it might have worked out otherwise. Then from there, you can refine your approach, maybe adopt someone else's strategy and see how that works for you.

It teaches you numbers, sure, yea, but it also reflects the way you solve problems directly back at you, in a way that's so tangible, so solid, so non-abstract that you can't make vague excuses for yourself, nor have room to justify your answers if the numbers themselves (not just your shitty teacher) say you got it wrong. You can argue that the blue curtains meant "freedom" and not "melancholy", but you can't argue that 3 + 2 is 4.

You are forced to confront your mistakes in a manner that tells you exactly where you need to improve, no ifs or buts, and with each problem you tackle, your brain gets a little better at analyzing things in a systematic way and launching a plan of attack.

I'm a mechanical engineer now, I've seen math my highschool self wouldn't believe- but for some reason, it's that lesson about why learning math isn't about the math that really stuck.

Match teachers gotta stop telling lies like "you won't always have a calculator on hand" and start telling truths like "someday you're going to use A=PB in a restaurant to calculate a tip and people are going to look at you like youre the goddamn Mentalist" cause I fucking hated math as a kid but now it's a superpower

[artsyhobi]

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."

[vidavalor]

I can't help but notice that back in the first episode, Walker referred to Sam and Bucky as "Cap's wingmen" to Sam, implying that he doesn't really view the relationship between them as anything but this. He sees the Captain as the show and his backup as sidekicks. As much as Walker did genuinely care for Lemar, he also treated him like this in the group settings the whole show. He does all the talking, doesn't introduce Lemar to Sam and Bucky, who have to ask him who he is. Lemar could temper Walker a bit but Walker still sees himself as the show and Lemar a tool to help with his success more than anything else. Why does this matter in the context of Sam and Bucky?

Because John uses the word 'partner' to Bucky twice in reference to Sam and this implies that he can tell that Sam and Bucky roll differently than he does and treat one another differently. But Walker thinks this is dumb because Sam doesn't have the serum and Bucky is stronger physically. He doesn't get why Bucky doesn't act like Walker himself does-- in the leadership role, with Sam following as his wingman.

Bucky replies that Sam has dealt with worse than Karli (and clearly, ironically, means The Winter Soldier in part here, plus Thanos, etc.) He is making it clear that he doesn't see Sam as lesser than him because he's not a supersoldier-- that it isn't all about brute force. In saying this, he's saying that Sam has strengths to bring to the table that are not super physical strength and Bucky respects them. (By contrast, try to imagine Walker recognizing that Lemar had similar strengths. Imagine him saying it aloud, in front of other soldiers, including ones who were objectively physically stronger than him. Impossible, right?) Just by saying this, Bucky is showing another kind of strength that he possesses that John does not-- he's man enough to be a good, respectful partner. Which brings us to that word...

Bucky adds that Sam isn't his partner. This can be read a lot of different ways and has several overlapping meanings that are all probably a bit correct. On one level, he is saying they aren't working together as partners. (Even if the show has proved they are.) They still haven't really defined what it is they're doing together to one another and like hell is Bucky going to let John Walker be the one to label it, right? On another level, saying Sam isn't his partner is saying he doesn't view it that way because he is actually there to back up Sam. He's following Sam. Sam might see Bucky as a partner (even if they haven't discussed this) but Bucky might see it more as his role to back Sam up, similar to how he backed up Steve during the war. Sam, likely, wants to be more partners and has been allowing Bucky that space-- it is what they have evolved into-- but it isn't as clearly defined between them yet. But there's also the other use of it...

Walker, the physical embodiment of toxic masculinity, is attempting to bully Bucky a little, using words because he can't possibly best him physically at this point. The use of 'partner' from Walker comes off as aggressively sexual so here is a case of Walker being that asshole on the football team that we all know he was, trying to look bigger and tougher and more macho through thinly-veiled harassment of guys around him who dared to be comfortable with backing each other up and showing any caring openly. It is worth noting here that we have seen Sam and Bucky's whole evolution in the works here but Walker was just shown two guys he had no idea were arguing with one another because they put up a completely unified front in front of him. To Walker, this all is a little much for him and he tries to slander it by implying that it is gay, which he sees as not masculine.

Bucky denies being Sam's partner here for the already mentioned reasons regarding how they work together and that kind of partnership but make no mistake, he knew exactly what Walker was saying. So, another way of interpreting it is that Bucky was answering not in terms of the field work (where they do act as partners, really, even if Bucky might still be viewing it as something a little different... and, if he is, I hope Sam sets him straight on this being equal footing)... but I think Bucky was answering it regarding the sexual/romantic partners that Walker was trying to call them. But he did so in a way that is protective of Sam and makes him, ironically, a good partner.

Bucky is the character, remember, whose experience in the modern world included testing out and not minding casually outing himself as interested in men in the first episode, to a woman he was on a date with, no less. This isn't to say he's torn off the closet door from the era he grew up in in which he would have had to have been into men in secret. One thing he does get though is this kind of asshole like Walker that has sadly not evolved since the 30s. He responds in a way that he means to be protective of Sam, which is to say with his tone essentially "no, John, actually we are just like this because we aren't assholes like you and even if we were, we would still be better than you." But even if you think Bucky and Sam are already a thing by this episode or are aware of each other's potential feelings, Bucky isn't denying it to Walker as if it's something that makes then vulnerable or lesser as men. He doesn't have the same definition of it as Walker does.

Bucky is responding in a way where his tone says he gets what Walker was implying, thinks Walker is shit for not having a clue when it comes to what being a man is, and then casually answers the question as if Walker had meant field partners because, of course, that's what he meant, right? He makes Walker look stupid (which he is) by answering with word choice that says he didn't get the insinuation, even if his tone says he totally did. So, why not just be like "and so what if we were fucking, Walker! We still could kick your dumb ass anyday!"? Because Sam.

Because Bucky, who knows what it is like to be a soldier forced to sometimes be around guys like Walker, likely does not yet know how Sam approaches it. He likely doesn't know if Sam is out. The canon plays it as if literally everyone just assumes Bucky is bi or gay or basically anything that isn't straight but Sam is a different story. Bucky is not about to out Sam in front of everybody. He likely doesn't know yet how out Sam even is with others or how he feels about it. Out of respect for Sam, he's not about to let Walker's attempt at deriding them get anywhere. They literally could have been sleeping together for awhile now and Bucky is still not going to do anything about others knowing, least of all John Walker, unless or until that is what Sam wants and based on the canon, I would doubt very much if that had been a conversation they've already had by Ep 4.

But Walker, the terrifying awful dumb fuck, tries it again later-- this time, not in front of Sam. He saw what Bucky was doing, understood it, was embarrassed by Bucky making him look like a fool so what does he do? He bullies again. He goes at the core of Bucky in the way only the worst bullies can. He does it when Sam had to be in there alone, with a supersoldier, and Bucky is confident in Sam and giving him the space to do his thing, and then Walker lashes out at this less macho and violent plan to Bucky, calling Sam Bucky's partner again, trying to twist a knife by saying how could Bucky leave Sam in there and does he want his blood on his hands?

It's unspeakably cruel. But you might me mistaken if you think Bucky gave in here, even if it was a worry he had as he always worries for Sam because he cares and he has lost so many people and hurt so many that thinking about it happening again hurts him deeply. Bucky didn't verbally respond to Walker's taunts-- he did something much stronger than words could convey.

He didn't deny any definition of partner for Sam to Walker and he let Walker see how cruel he was by tearing up a bit, the pain in his eyes. Walker had no idea what to do with this. He had been trying to make Bucky angry. Instead, Bucky is silently strong enough to show how he feels *without* masking it all behind a macho, angry cover like Walker. Bucky's face says it all: yeah, you asshole, I love him. Yeah, I'm worried I could hurt him and have his blood on my hands. But also yeah, I survived being the Winter Soldier-- in general and just recently-- and I go to therapy now and I'm making amends and I'm free. Freer than you will ever be because which one of us will tear up and be a little afraid for another man and show him open care in this episode and which one will respond to pain with violence that begets nothing but more trauma and pain? Which one of us, Walker, is a brainwashed soldier and which one of us is a strong, decent man trying to be a good friend and partner? Which one of us, by the end of the episode, will make his partner feel like he'd take the serum in a heartbeat and which one of us will respond to his partner's fear at being vulnerable with "I'm going with you"?

He didn't speak a word in that scene but man. Whew. When it comes to toxic bullies?

Bucky Barnes can do this all day.

[tinyboxxtink]

"Weird Secret Friends" *Chapter 12*

Chapter 11

(i fucked this up by editing on my phone and now I have to post the next chapter link like this. )

Whoooo buddy! The angst is REAL, y'all.

I apologize for this, but also I really don't. And I made it normal length to make up for that short shitty one earlier.

Enjoy!!!! Mwahahahahha

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---------

It seemed like forever for the ambulance to get there, Rafael just sat there trembling and crying while you started to convulse in his arms. Finally the door busted open and EMT’s threw you on a gurney and took you downstairs. Rafael sprinted behind them and jumped in the back of the ambulance as it sped away.

“Y/N….Carino please, please don’t die on me…” Rafael stroked your hair as you were hooked up to oxygen and anti drug meds. It was like literal hell having to watch this all over again, even worse that it was someone he actually...loved.

“Please, please don’t die…” He looked up to the sky.

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

Rafael paced the hospital waiting area furiously, they wouldn’t let him go back with you once the ambulance got you both there. When he saw Sonny running up the hallway towards him, he grabbed him by the neck and shoved him up against the wall.

“I TOLD YOU!!!!” He screamed violently, while several nurses ran over and pulled them apart.

“Rafael! Jesus Christ--” Sonny was breathing heavily while he tried to recover from Rafael’s ambush.

“I told you something was wrong, I told you I knew her better than you did!” He tried to wrestle away from the nurses.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m sorry alright?!” Sonny yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes. “I should have listened to you--”

“You’re god damn right you should have!!!” Rafael continued to scream.“ She could die right now, do you realize that?”

“Of course I realize that!” Sonny screamed back while looking around them, trying not to make a scene.

“God dammit Carisi, she knew better than you. Why didn't you listen to her?!” Rafael was beginning to cry; he was so upset.

“Barba I--” Sonny started to apologize.

“Excuse me, is Miss Y/L/N’s family here?” An orderly came out from the back.

“I am!” Sonny forgot about Rafael and ran over to the man, Rafael did the same.

“I’m sorry sir but this is really just a family conversation--” He started to dismiss Rafael, but Sonny put his hand up.

“He’s fine,” He assured the doctor.

“Right, well--” He cleared his throat as he led them to a more quiet area. “The damage to Y/N’s body is pretty bad,”

“....God,” Sonny muttered, putting a hand over his forehead.

“The mouthwash has several chemicals that aren’t in traditional grain alcohols, mostly lethal. And her pancreas, liver and gallbladder were already severely damaged from the years of alcohol abuse,” He explained as he looked gravely between the two men.

“No…” Rafael put his hands over his face.

Flashbacks of a very similar conversation happening between a doctor and his mother filled his mind. The way his mother fell against the wall when she heard the doctor say there was a good chance his father was never waking up.

“How bad is it, doc?” Sonny’s voice quivered, and Rafael instinctively took his hand.

“Well, we had to completely remove the gallbladder, and parts of her pancreas so she’s most likely going to develop diabetes,” He further explained. “...And she most likely will need a liver transplant, depending on how the next 24 hours go,”

“Christ…” Sonny whipped his hand from Rafael’s touch and put both of his hands over his head while he paced.

“Can we see her?” Rafael asked.

“Yes, you know your daughter is very lucky to be alive,” The doctor informed them.

“...Excuse me?” Sonny asked while he and Rafael exchanged confused looks.

“...Are you two not her dads?” The doctor waved his pen between the two men.

“Oh my god,” Rafael muttered in horror, wanting to vomit right there.

“Uh, no sir-- no we’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “I’m her uncle and this is my partner,”

“Excuse me?!” Rafael practically screamed in disgust.

“...Do you want them to let you back there to see her or not, honey?” Sonny said through his teeth.

“Right,” Rafael nodded uncomfortably, taking Sonny’s hand once more. “We’re her...Uncles,” He tried not to grimace.

“Oh, right. So sorry sirs,” The doctor apologized once more as he led your “Uncles” to the room you were in. You were unconscious, but breathing on your own.

“She might be out a while from the meds, if you’d like to come back tomorrow,” The doctor informed them once more.

“Uh, I think we’ll wait at least for a little while, if you don’t mind doc,” Sonny replied while Rafael walked up to your sleeping body and just stroked your hair lovingly.

“Whatever you two want to do is fine with me,” He nodded. “I have other patients to see, if you’ll excuse me,”

Sonny nodded to him and he walked out of the room leaving the three of you alone. Sonny ran his hands through his hair while Rafael pulled a chair up next to your bed, still stroking your hair.

“...Barba I think you should leave,” Sonny said softly.

“...What?” He laughed. “Are you...are you fucking joking me, Carisi?”

“No look,” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I didn’t hear her. And I’m sorry that I just...gave up, protecting her,”

“Yeah well--”

“But I hear you now, and-- and she’s going to need to go away,” He looked at your sleeping body sadly.

“She’s in no shape to go anywhere, Carisi,” Rafael clutched your hand as if he was protecting you.

“Not now, no,” Sonny agreed. “But when she’s better--”

“We don’t know if she’s going to get better!” Rafael suddenly stood up and walked towards him; Sonny backed up as he approached, afraid Rafael was going to grab him again.

“Even more reason you shouldn’t be here!” Sonny argued.

“What?”

“Barba look,” He cautiously put a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “I...I get that you two have some kind of-- I don’t know, connection,” He glanced at you.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that you barely know her, and she barely knows you. You have a job and a life waiting for you tomorrow, you can’t be sitting here sitting vigil for some girl you slept with once,”

“How dare you fucking say that to me, Carisi,” Rafael’s eyes narrowed as he snapped his shoulder from Sonny’s grasp.

“How fucking dare you. First you don’t want me anywhere near her, then you tell her she’s nothing to me, then suddenly you think that I’m in love with her, and-- and now that I’m finally...attached to her-- you want me to just leave her alone again?”

“No, I never wanted you near her because of this exact situation!” Sonny hissed, trying not to wake you. “I told you straight up that she was complicated, and that you weren’t about that life,”

“I am about that life-- I’m serious, about her,” Rafael corrected himself, rolling his eyes at the terms Sonny used.

“Well I don’t think you should be,” Sonny crossed his arms.

“This is the jealousy thing again, isn’t it?” Rafael licked his lips angrily. “You and your stupid ego can’t stand the fact that we--”

“That is NOT it Rafael and you fucking know it,” Sonny narrowed his eyes.

“Then what is it?” Rafael crossed his arms. “It’s clearly not because it’s too much for me, because I’m flat out telling you it’s not,”

“Rafael--” Sonny placed his hands over his face. “I have spent my life protecting this girl, okay? And I may have dropped the ball here, but that just means that I will sure as hell not do it again. And that means that I have to have her best interest at heart,”

“What does that even mean?” Rafael looked at him quizzically.

“Her whole world is different now, Barba!” Sonny gestured to you. “You heard the doc. She has no gallbladder, whatever the fuck that means, she will probably get diabetes, god knows what will happen even if she needs a liver transplant, but my guess is it ain’t good!”

“...Well she won’t be able to drink alcohol,” Rafael said softly.

“Which will make her sobriety that much more urgent and permanent, Barba,” Sonny stepped towards your bed.

“She’s gonna have a long hard road ahead of herself no matter which way this goes right now, and keeping her on track is the only way she is gonna get through it. You think she’s gonna be able to focus on anything but you if you stay here?”

“I can help her--” Rafael insisted, glancing down at your innocent sleeping face. It broke his heart you were hurting, now all he wanted to do was take care of you and make sure you never hurt again.

“You don’t have the time or the freedom to do that, Rafael,” Sonny said sternly. “And you know it,” Sonny’s statement brought him back to reality.

“And you do?” He looked back up at Sonny.

“I’m a detective, Barba. It’s not like I do that much,” Sonny shrugged. “And I have enough PTO for a bit to take care of her. And she’s my responsibility! She’s MY family, Liv will understand that. What she won’t understand is you sitting Shiva at some young girl’s bedside who you barely know,”

“....And what are you going to do when she gets better?” Rafael ran a finger down your bare arm, wishing you would wake up and stop this nonsense your cousin was spewing.

“I’ll ask around,” Sonny now sat next to your bed. “I’ll find her a good place, somewhere she can be taken care of the right way, not some creepy mental hospital,”

“...Alright fine,” He sighed, looking at his watch. It was getting late, and he had an early court date.

“I’m coming back--”

“No, you’re not,” Sonny shook his head. “Look I promise you if she gets worse and needs your emergency liver or kidney or somethin’, I’ll let you know. Other than that, just-- leave her be,”

Rafael flashed back to the last time Sonny had used those words, and how as soon as he agreed, you heard him and it destroyed you. He couldn’t do that again, what if you could still hear him?

“No, I’m coming back--”

“Barba if you come back here I’m gonna tell the nurses that we broke up and you are no family member of hers,”

“You,” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that--”

“If it keeps you away from her, I’ll do anything right now Barba, I’m sorry,” Sonny gave him a sympathetic look.

“...She’ll never forgive you for this, Carisi,” He warned Sonny. “When she finds out you kept us apart she will never forgive you,”

“What are you Romeo and Juliet all of a sudden, counselor?” Sonny scoffed. “Give me a friggin break. I’m sure she’ll get over it, when she’s clean and sober and thinking straight,”

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” he growled with a death glare.

“...Yeah, well--” Sonny stood up and started escorting Rafael out the door. “I guess that’s something I’ll just have to live with,”

Rafael glared at him once more before turning on his heels and stomping down the hall, just as you stirred from your med nap.

“Sunshine?” Sonny quickly ran to your bedside.

“Rafa..?” You sleepily asked, you swore you heard his voice just moments ago.

“It’s Sonny,” He nervously looked back at the door, making sure Rafael hadn’t heard you wake up and came running in again.

“Oh,” You blinked several times, trying to get your vision back. When the blur in your pupils resolved, you saw Sonny’s smiling face beaming at you.

“Hey there,” He kissed your forehead. “You scared the shit outta me there, Sunshine,”

“...I’m so sorry, Sonny,” You began to cry in remorse.

“Hey hey hey,” Sonny took you in his arms and shushed you while he rocked you. “Shh shh shh, you’re alright. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you when you were asking for help, I just--I just let you go,”

“...But Rafael didn’t,” You sniffled as you looked around the room for him. “Where is he?”

“He uh--” Sonny stammered. “He left, Sunshine. Early court meeting tomorrow, y’know. Lawyer stuff,”

“Right,” You nodded.

“...He said he wouldn’t be coming back,” Sonny added with a sympathetic look.

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Had he really just taken off? Without even saying goodbye?

“Well it’s just,” Sonny took your hands. “Honey you’re-- you’re gonna have a lot to go through these next few weeks, maybe months. And Rafael--”

“He doesn’t have time for that,” You finished for him, accepting the truth.

“Yeah,” Sonny nodded slowly.

“Right,” You picked at your blanket as you stared down at it morosely. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything more than him dropping me here. He tried telling me that he was--”

“He was what?” Sonny quirked an eyebrow. You thought about telling him that Rafael had said he was in love with you, but you weren’t entirely sure that happened anymore, given how out of it you were at the apartment.

“...He was ready for a relationship,” You lied. “But I guess he wasn’t ready for a dumpster fire of a girlfriend,”

“You’re not a dumpster fire, Sunshine,” Sonny assured you.

“...Yeah clearly this doesn’t scream ‘damaged goods’,” You gestured to all the wires you were hooked up to.

“You’re not--” Sonny sighed and shook his head as he wrapped his arms back around you. “You’ll find someone,”

“...Not someone like him,” You whispered sadly, tears dripping down onto your IV tube.

“Well hey,” Sonny coughed as he tried to change the subject. “I better get goin’ make sure you get some good sleep,”

“...But I was just--” You tried to say you had been sleeping this whole time.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow, kay?” Sonny kissed your head and started heading towards the door. He hated to do this, but he had to keep you safe. He turned around and gave you a sad smile.

“Hey, Sunshine?”

“Yeah, Son?”

“I uh, I don’t wanna rub it in or nothin’, I just--” Sonny cleared his throat. “Barba wanted me to tell you not to contact him anymore,”

“...Oh,” You looked over at your phone, which was charging on the table next to your bed.

“He just thought it would be easier, y’know? Clean break and all,” Sonny lied with a sad smile.

“Yeah, sure no of course,” You nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Alright well, I’ll see ya,” He nodded one more time before shutting the door, leaving you alone.

You immediately grabbed your phone and began typing a message to Rafael, telling him how you were sorry and that you never should have tried to kick him out, and that he saved your life and that you knew you were a huge mess, but that you would clean yourself and do everything in your power to be good enough for him if he just let you--and you just stared at it.

You re-read it a thousand times, tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn’t send this, it was pathetic. He already made his choice, he tried to tell you he loved you and you had blown him off by almost dying in his arms. And he ran. You couldn’t blame him either, you’d run away faster than a Kenyan track star if you were him.

After going through all that bullshit with his dad, he’d never want to relive that with you, some girl he barely knew. There was no way. And begging him to come back to you after all the shit you said to him at your apartment was just pitiful.

You deleted the message and then started to delete his contact info, but you knew you needed to be drastic. If it was a clean break he wanted, you’d have to give it to him. You’d already put him through way too much stress and punishment than he deserved, you had to be stopped. You highlighted his number and hit “BLOCK NUMBER”, before deleting it from your phone.

There. Now there was no way you could find him, or vice versa. Clean break. You put the phone down next to you and laid down, realizing what you had just done. You had just deleted the potential love of your life from your existence, forever. You cried yourself to sleep, only dreaming of Rafael.

=============

Rafael laid down in his bed after getting home and showering the bad day off of him. He opened the text thread of your messages, and saw the ellipsis light up, signaling that you were typing. It was there for a long time, he became more and more anxious as they just flashed in the darkness, taunting him. He was so happy you were okay, he had to tell you what Sonny said but that he would never be able to keep him from you. He waited and waited, and then the dots were gone. He waited a moment for you to send it, but soon got impatient and just texted you

“Y/N I’m so glad you’re okay, you had me so worried. I miss you,”

He hit SEND, but was met with the most horrifying response:

“The number you have texted has blocked you from contacting them.”

“No…” He muttered alone in the dark. “No, this can’t be happening,”

Did Sonny have your phone? Did he do this? Did he tell you something to make you do this? Did you do this on your own when you realized he had left. Sonny had to have told you something bad, something diabolical. He had no way of contacting you now, and he would never get into the hospital to see you.

What was going on?

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

The next morning after his court session, Rafael headed over to the precinct to talk to Sonny. He practically sprinted through the door into the bullpen, to find it empty.

“...Where’s the SVU squad?” Rafael asked a cop at the front desk.

“Do I look like a concierge, Barba?” The cop rolled his eyes. “Does my badge say ‘doorman’? I don’t keep tabs on you people!”

“Thanks Louie,” Rafael rolled his eyes as he walked out of the station, dialing Sonny’s number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“What did you do?”

“Barba?”

“What did you do, Carisi?!”

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N blocked my number,”

“Well good--”

“NO, not good. Carisi. What did you say to her?”

“Y’know Barba, maybe you should take the hint and move on,”

“Oh fuck you, Carisi,” He growled into the phone. “I’m going to the hospital,”

“Yeah well, good luck getting in here counselor,” Sonny shook his head with a small laugh, glancing over at you in your room, while he stood outside. “I’ve told the nurses you were a deadbeat dad who wanted to kidnap our niece for yourself, so they’re on alert not to let you anywhere near her,”

“You’re evil,” His voice was low and horrified.

“I’m doing what’s best for my baby cousin, Barba. If that makes me the bad guy, so be it,” Sonny spoke like a mob boss, tracing the glass on the window to your room.

“I’ll see her when she gets out,” Rafael sneered.

“Well that might be difficult, seeing as I’ve found her a very nice place to go as soon as she gets outta here. Somewhere far away from here, and you,” Sonny couldn’t help but smirk.

“No, Carisi don’t do this,” Rafael became desperate, his angry threats turned to pathetic pleas. “Please don’t send her away-- I love her,”

“If you love her you’ll let her go, Rafael,” Sonny simply said, ending the call before Rafael could say anything else.

“GOD DAMMIT!!!!” Rafael screamed in the middle of the foot traffic, making people turn and stare at him.

He had to fix this. He couldn’t let you leave thinking he didn’t want you. He couldn’t lose you, not now. Not after everything.

Was he going to lose you forever?

[camilliar]

recs for someone new to omgcp

[February 2021.]

Reading, or not reading, OMGCP fics has come up in a couple of conversations I’ve had recently with artists newish to the fandom (ie. @jovishark; @decafffff), who are making OMGCP art (!!!) but haven’t started exploring fic -- but maybe want to? Which of course reminded me that I’ve never bothered to make an actual, concrete recs list for this fandom. So, I mean. Here is one.

The approach is, what do I think about when I think about OMGCP fanfic? What comes to mind, what stands out to me? I have excluded some very popular fics. Some of these I just don’t think are very good, and others I do think are good, and/or I enjoy them, but I don’t see why you’d need me, specifically, to recommend them. I am thinking of a story like maybe i’m waking up, which I discuss below because I link to a podfic of it. It has a lot of merits, to be sure, but it’s the second-most-read fic in this fandom by hits, and it’s got thousands of comments, and it’s by an author whose work is relatively widely praised and circulated. I am not sure what telling you more about this fic will add to the conversation; if you want to find and read it, you inevitably will. I’m happy to, say, answer asks about these kinds of fics, or talk more generally about them via DM or whatever. Feel free.

Also, I don’t think there’s a point to pretending to be objective about fanfic; this list has a perspective and that perspective is mine. In this fandom I largely read stories that navigate the tension around Jack, Bitty, and Parse, in various permutations. This is not to say that I’ve never read fic about the frogs, or that I have no interest at all in other pairings, but I am by no means an expert on Dex/Nursey and can really only speak to the one fic about them that sticks out to me because it goes beyond being merely Dex/Nursey and does something else. This is just to say that I am sure there are great and interesting fics about other things and ideas--but I’m not the person to hear about those from.

Likewise, I’m not super interested in stories that really reproduce that which is already in OMGCP. I like Zimbits--albeit maybe not in the ways or for the reasons most fans would--but I do not really need to see endless iterations of the same story about them falling in love and being cute together. I don’t think these stories are bad or they shouldn’t exist or that they have no merit by default. Still, I don’t need fanfic to give me more OMGCP. I need fanfic to complicate, to comment on, and to transform OMGCP. Many people don’t work like this! Totally okay! But I can’t rec you fics that do that.

What I have noticed, however, is that over time there appears to have been a shift in how people do write fic for this fandom. (Other than, you know, increases and decreases in activity pending the status of the comic, pairings going in and out of vogue, and so on.) Early on, say during Y1 and Y2, the comic was about the group of friends having a cool time at college together; about whether the burgeoning attraction between Jack and Bitty would manifest and, if so, how; and, especially, Jack’s past coming into fuller view for Bitty and how it would have to be dealt with in order for a relationship between them to work. YMMV on how great the comic executed there, but as Y3 went on these themes increasingly disappeared from the story. I think this means a lot of fic written over 2015-2016 or 2017 has one kind of tone, and was written mostly around these questions; after that, it feels like a new crop of writers and a new crop of ideas started circulating, that is, either embracing Jack and Bitty’s canon relationship and accepting its relative straightforwardness in text--or deconstructing it, imagining what readers aren’t seeing, or how problems not dealt with in the comic would manifest later. People who have read my fic know which of these I’m mainly interested in exploring.

All of which is to say, looking at what I’m reccing here, when the fics were posted or when I first read them probably has a lot to do with why they stick out to me so much. Because there’s no real culture of fanfic criticism--and I mean that in the positivist sense of broad evaluation not explicitly for fault and merit but rather, for context--I think it’s really hard to keep this in mind. But I’m obnoxious and I can’t just be easy about things.

Fic recs

In alphabetical order, somewhat unsorted; if a stand-alone fic has a summary I’ve included it, but in other cases I’ve recced a couple of conceptually related fics or series, which I’ve tried to just describe or explain as opposed to copying the summary off AO3.

There are so many more fanfics I think are great and worth reading! In an ideal world I’d come back and add more later, or create a secondary list that’s more along the lines of “if you like this, read these,” or whatever. But, being realistic, this is a starter kit. I’m open to talking about fanfic.

- - - - - - - - - - -

7-0-2 by Idday; Friends in Low Places and Sorry for the Blood in Your Mouth; I Wish it was Mine by blue_rocket_frost | I’m not sure it would be correct to say that I don’t like Parse/Tater, or that I’m not interested in Parse/Tater. I’m not interested in Patater a priori; I think it could be interesting, with teeth. These fics stick out to me when I think about this pairing, because they feel different. Accusations of a preference for just linking any two white men who happen to be hanging around have validity, but because of what hockey is and how it works and who’s hanging around it, it’s not exactly a leap to imagine what kind of gritty spark the friction between two closeted NHL players would create. A little violence in your sex? A little sex in your violence.

A Sight Worth Seeing by sadtomato | A four-fic Jack/Bitty/Shitty/Lardo explicit BDSM series. Either you want that or you don’t. It’s nothing hardcore, and not properly a four-way, really; more properly a kind of voyeuristic round-robin. There’s a more open and egalitarian view of sex here than I really get from the characters in the back end of the comic. It’s an expansive, propulsive view of sex and relationships that’s really nice to see. I love Lardo's detached coolness, and Bitty as a smooth operator; if you’re looking for some kind of Dom/sub dynamics world, this really isn’t it, but it’s a lively exploration into the sexual dynamics in a group of friends that’s super close to the good-times vibe you get from Haus scenes in the first couple years of extras.

call me son (one more time) by Summerfrost, Verbyna, and blithelybonny | This is a series, incomplete, and you will love it or be massively put off by it. I mean that as a compliment. I love it. The premise is, Bob Zimmermann and Kent Parson have been having sex since Kent was, like, 19. Everyone in this story has been chewed up: by themselves, by each other, by hockey. Plainly, this is a pretty bleak view of what OMGCP, as a story, is supposedly offering. If you want fic that is dark and glamorous, treading the toxic melange of substance abuse, sex-as-sublimation, and so much money you can’t possibly throw all of it away without trying, this series has that sick-inducing shimmer to it. But, again, its strength is its examination of Kent Parson, textually and meta-textually, as someone to be projected onto. Bob, Alicia, Jack, and Bitty all impute certain feelings of their own onto him, displacing their own issues to a character who’s centralized in every fic but defies neat or total comprehension. Some critiques I’ve read of this series feel it’s too dark, and I’ve also seen it argued on FFA that an overwhelming amount of praise heaped onto these stories has made it tough for other writers to make headway in writing Bob/Kent fic. But I’m also not sure you could engage with Bob/Kent fic without going down this road at some point? I’m sure there are ways to scale it back, but ultimately it’s a story about how hockey’s violent, homophobic, old-guard gatekeeping has continued to set the terms for a younger and ostensibly less toxic culture. I fully embrace PWP fics that tread on the power dynamic without fully excavating it, but buried within any PWP is the fact that a 53-year-old man is ensnaring a 19-year-old, no matter how much the latter is, realistically, into it, and legally empowered to consent. Not to mention the dynamics of it being a 53-year-old man who is the father of the 19-year-old’s ex-boyfriend, and a 53-year-old man who is an eminence grise in the field the 19-year-old is trying to make a career in  The sexual element--the vaguely incestuous nature of it--is making textual the subtext of how hockey works, actually: objectification of teenage bodies as older men’s capital.

Coach Z by thistidalwave | Just before the 2009 NHL Entry Draft, tp prospect Jack Zimmermann overdoses on his anxiety medication and is admitted to rehab. His future turns from a clear-cut road to the top into an uncertain path filled with therapy appointments, ignored text messages, a group of boys who aren't there to teach him a lesson about himself, and, of course, hockey. | I keep reccing this fic because it has 360 comments on AO3 but nobody, as far as I can tell, has ever read it; it never appears on rec lists. This isn’t the kind of fanfic I usually go in for, but I can’t help being charmed by it. This is a character study in the truest sense, a kind of Mighty Ducks-but-better view on what Jack’s time coaching peewee hockey might have been like. I have no interest in kids and my own aesthetic is maybe a little darker than this, but I admire this story because it injects vibrancy into a period of Jack’s life that OMGCP has left largely unexplored, and so has the fandom. We know nothing about what made Jack want to go to college, nothing about how he spent his days in between juniors and Samwell. It posits a very sympathetic and patient Jack/Parse dynamic, showcasing the exact kind of ragged teenage push-and-pull that would have led to the circumstances we see in Parse I-III. The outside perspective Jack needs is largely present in an OFC who’s not a love interest. Super unique, somehow both engrossing and low-key.

#dirtbags by angularmomentum | A series that is a Kent Parson/Claude Giroux fuckfest with feelings. I’ve long suspected that Parse is popular in part because he is the character who most easily elides OMGCP with the actual NHL, or rather, NHL fandom; I think he made it appealing to write OMGCP fics where the NHL is a factor. Case in point, this series, which is basically “what if Kent Parson was a real hockey player and therefore part of NHL RPS”? I have only read some NHL RPS, so I’m not the person to assess accuracy, but what I do know is superstar IRL hockey players take turns here as the caricature fanfic versions of themselves, and since Kent Parson is already that, it’s great how seamlessly he integrates into their social fabric. Rambunctious energy peppered with regret and loss, but ultimately this series is farcical, and it doesn’t take its sentimental ending too seriously--which, good.

fated to pretend by nighimpossible | 5 Jack/Kent fics that Ransom and Holster dramatically reenact for the Haus + the truth. | As a fic format, 5+1 doesn’t usually work for me, but this one isn’t just front-loaded with five too-knowing vignettes; it then wraps up by using its +1 better than you might expect. Sometimes I talk about economy of fic, and this one exemplifies it. A zero-waste fic.

go ahead and move along by originally | "Leave, Parse," Jack says. Again. Or: Kent finds himself stuck in a time loop. | Kent Parson is trapped in a Groundhog Day scenario on the day of Epikegster. I’m sure you can imagine, just from that, what happens. And yet I think this fic is super entertaining, reserving some key surprises. What this story is doing is something a lot, and perhaps even the majority, of great Jack/Parse fic wants to do: digging into the question of just why this can’t work in comic canon. Most often this is approached from the past, by writing teenage Jack/Parse deep-dives that examine their lives mid-juniors, or by writing AUs where enough circumstances are shifted that it does work, or via future fics that posit enough growth has happened, and enough things have changed. But this fic makes Parse live the same bad day again and again, testing multiple theories about just how dependent on circumstance and incident real life actually is. Another day, another tone, 10 minutes sooner, not at all--you just can’t know why it didn’t work until you exhaust every possible variable. I worry that this rec has sucked the life out of the story, though--it’s so fun!

I Saw a Life and Strange Lovers by @bluegrasshole | Most AUs in this fandom seem to retell the story in a new setting or with some big detail change, following OMGCP’s rhythm beat-for-beat. I think of this as, “It’s the plot of Check, Please, but” -- they’re doing high school football? They’re acrobats? They’re a/b/o? They’re in a DIY punk band? And so on. These two stories are not that! They’re both 1950s AUs, each deeply felt, and yet hugely different from each other. I Saw a Life is about displacement and fragmentation, two sides of a similar but incongruent social critique; Strange Lovers is a finely wrought social drama about coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s, centered around historical events. I suppose a theme on this rec list is something like, “I don’t even like this, but” -- yes, okay, I don’t even like Dex/Nursey, but--! This fic is so overwhelmingly complete, the AU laid out so carefully that the story breathes with all the background details informing the writing that aren’t actually, in the story; you just know they’re below the surface. (With the exception of one investigation of Jack’s character in a short, separate fic.) I Saw a Life, meanwhile, really tests the limits of the notion that Jack and Bitty are soulmates--not by calling it into question but by asking, rather innovatively, how the setting and place of the comic itself activates that.

Les Hivers de mon enfance by staranise | What do you do when hockey is the language of prayer for your soul, and also the toxic thing that almost killed you? 2009: Jack Zimmermann takes a mental health year. God knows he needs it. | Here’s a fic by someone who’s no longer around so much, but she felt ubiquitous in 2016-2019 OMGCP fandom. Before any of that, though, she wrote this one lovely fic about Jack’s pre-Samwell recovery. The author is Canadian and really irritated by hockey culture, and I think this fic benefits greatly because she is clear-eyed about Jack’s being caught in an exploitative system; it’s hockey he’s in recovery for, in a way. There’s an epistolary element that works for me, too. I read this early on in my time in OMGCP fandom and it really stuck with me.

Lysistrata? I Hardly Know Her! (by which I mean everything) by @tomatowrites | It feels somehow like cheating to recommend OMGCP fanfics by my OMGCP BFF with whom I make an OMGCP podcast where we talk about OMGCP. You know the fics I really want to rec, like truly the ones that speak to some kind of shared depravity, are the ones where Jack is miserably mpreg for the second time and accidentally lets his kid see Kent Parson’s Long John Silver’s shrimp scampi promo spot, which obviously would get twisted into a self-hating three-way. How many times do I have to rec this fic? As many as I need to, is my feeling. If you don’t know, Long John Silver’s is an American fast-food chain that sells, like, fried pollock sandwiches; it is nautical-themed; I have never eaten there; I don’t know where there is one; I don’t eat fried fish. (Shrimp, on the other hand?) All of which is to say that it takes a real genius to investigate a premise that far out. And while a lot of people almost certainly will start reading this humanity’s depths-themed sex scene and back the fuck out, readers with refined taste will note that Kent, the point-of-view character, is right there with you, despairing that he can’t help himself. And so long as you’re in that story collection, honestly, you’ll love petite gems like Jack is transmasc, Jack and Shitty play hockey in 18th-century England, and oh, right, he’s from Georgia. Tomato holds the distinction of being probably the gamest author I know in this fandom, just really like fearless in her pursuit of any range of concept she’s pushed to. (I can push her to?) See, for example, a sublime bandom AU; Bitty is cancelled for buying a maybe-unethically exported Roman fragment of a youth’s torso; or, god, the masterwork that is this future fic series where Jack keeps relapsing and Bitty exiles him to their guesthouse. Do I think you need to read a fic where Bitty is snide about the teen prostitute whose baby they’re adopting? Yes, I mean, he would be snide, don’t tell me he wouldn’t. I could go on, but my main thing here is, if I have to pick just one, I’m going to pick this Lysistrata fic. The premise, literally, is that Bitty reads the Lysistrata and it gives him ideas. Like most of Tomato’s OMGCP fic, it’s a stripping away of the comic’s polite fiction that Jack and Bitty could possibly attain the ideal it reaches in the comic without some kind of messy, efflusive breakdown. Life is like that, you see! Tricky. Like a lot of people, although it’s tough to say precisely how many, I have always intuited that maybe Bitty is kind of a natural top? But obviously when you meet him, as a literal virgin, it’s hard to see how he’d go from zero to self-actualization so neatly. This fic floats a theory, and it has a fun little side plot for Whiskey, something I never thought about or needed before Tomato built it out herein. In conclusion, BONUS: Dex’s gay lobster novel.

only fools rush in and the light of all lights by decinq | This person wrote of the nature of the wound, one of the early, formative Jack/Bitty fics that was oft-recced when I was getting into the fandom in 2016. It forms part of a larger series that deals deeply with how Jack has been shaped by his struggles (? I hate this word) with homophobia and his own mental health. It’s a picture of the character as you might have imagined him much earlier in the comic’s run. The formatting is atrocious and he author’s flair is what Tomato would call “AO3 house style.” It’s a voice that works great for her writing. I think it’s at its best in these shorter fics; the former is about Parse and Shitty stumbling into a relationship almost accidentally; the latter, an eerie PBJ vampire fic. I had begun writing a fic where Parse is a vampire early on in this fandom, only to read this and immediately quit, because you only need one, and this one’s all I need. The Parse/Shitty rare pair fic shares its exuberance with hockey RPS when it’s good: here’s how fun it can be when you’re young, rich, and jocular. And I don’t even like accidental marriage AUs, they’re usually boring, so that says a lot. By all means, read the wound fic; read the entire series. But these are highly unusual.

OVERDOSE and Oomph and a little spin-o-rama by jedusaur | None of these are long, or plotty, and they’re all a little experimental. OVERDOSE is an AU set in a world where you know how you’ll die, but no details; Oomph, a little fic where Jack hears hockey pucks talking to him. This is the kind of stuff I used to think I’d find in fandom forever, coming out of Lotrips lurking in the 2000s: short, zany bursts of energy that surprise and delight. a little spin-o-rama peers at Kent’s character through the grim reality of being the hypertalented superstar stuck on a dead-last team. All three are sparse and stylish in a way that’s really smart, practically economical.

Sowing Season by @agrossunderstatement | Parse and Zimms, Zimms and Parse. Kent Parson's life, from the Q, through his early years with the Aces, to Jack's senior year. Canon divergent. A story of love, loss, moving on, regressing, hockey, and found families of all kinds. | Effectively a novel, digging into Kent’s personal history, mostly concerning his life in juniors but expanding into his present, overlapping with the plot of OMGCP. I think there is room enough for endless speculations on what went down pre-canon; this one offers a fuller life for Kent than nearly any others, digging into him as a whole person rather than as a satellite to Jack or the plot of the comic. Which isn’t to say that the Kent/Jack stuff isn’t dealt with here; it explicitly is. But the fact of Kent Parson’s life, if we can begin to imagine it beyond mere text, would exist before, after, and alongside Jack; he gets to juniors without Jack, presumably, and he is the captain of a hockey team without Jack, and Pinkerton lays the foundation of Parse’s character within a junior hockey that Jack also inhabits, more so that Parse existing for Jack, so to speak. And I’m not implying this latter tactic is wrong; I have certainly employed it, and others have employed it to great impact and effect. But, still, the title of this series tells you what you ought to know: Kent and his story are the potentiality of OMGCP, up to a point; seeds being planted. Young hockey players, similarly. The question implied there is, what will be reaped? And the answer to the latter, in a sense, that reaping is a sort of violence. Which makes this series sound pretty heavy, but it’s not -- more like, realistic.

(tell everyone) you were a good wife by @queerofcups | The biggest problem with pretending that he doesn’t know that Kent Parson is fucking his husband is that Jack can’t tell Kent how grateful he is. | The ne plus ultra of PBJ triangulation; I’ve been squealing to the writer about how good it is since August, begging for behind-the-scenes insights, and I’d only do that if I really meant it. The precarious social fabric stretched across these three chapters is fraying before the reader’s eyes. The details are delicious, and I don’t want to spoil them, but they sing in chorus with the plot. My favorite OMGCP fics, honestly, remove the romance narrative guardrails that keep things in the comic itself humming along. I think Dann’s take is to ask who in this comic has power and what they would end up doing with it. (Or not doing, from another angle.) At one point, early on in its telling, OMGCP looked like it was going to be a story dealing with the compounded traumas of hockey’s discontents. Then, of course, it wasn’t. This is a fic that steps back and asks what the fallout of that oversight would be. But that’s just the moldering core of this fanfic; it’s actually embroidered, like I said, with glittering detail. The color of the suit Bitty wears to his wedding is burned into my brain. The gray manicure of a woman Jack knows. The ingredients in a cake. This is one of those fics I still haven’t reviewed because the thought of stacking everything I could say about it into mere AO3 comments is inadequate.

when you’re ready by megancrtr | The Aces’ director of communications gets the call at 3:13 a.m. Jack Zimmermann has withdrawn from the draft. | “What happened at the draft” is so mythological it gets asked in the comic proper, and I’ve never counted how many fics attempt to answer this question--from Kent’s point of view, even--but it’s gotta be, oh, hundreds. This story replays the situation from the perspective of an Aces staffer who just wants to do her job, and gets at the jarring discordance between the plot of OMGCP in its quest for social justice and the business of actual hockey. Important context is that this story was written around the time the comic was playing out the end of Y3 and start of Y4, and Bitty pointedly asked Jack the question, “why can’t we?” This story reframes the question as literal, rather than rhetorical. A sterling example of fanfic being a gloss on its source.

BONUS, podfics

hockeyed up | There are many things on Jack's mind. Namely: hockey, hockey, Bitty, hockey, anxiety, hockey, hockey, anxiety, Bitty, hockey, hockey, anxiety, and hockey. | A fic read aloud by its French-Canadian author. Also a relatively early OMGCP fanfic; composed while the first semester of Y2 was posting, the story suggests a version of OMGCP that was in some ways more and in other ways less complex than what it would turn into not long after. The real power of this podfic, however, is that it’s read by the writer, so you can hear the intended emphasis in every line. Also, because she’s French-Canadian, Sophie’s intonation is what I picture when I read or write dialogue for Jack.

maybe i’m waking up | It’s almost funny. All he ever wanted was to play hockey, to play in the NHL, to win the Cup. This—Samwell, the team, the Haus—was supposed to be just a detour, but now it feels more like a destination he failed to realize he’s already reached.(Or: Jack signs with the Falconers, graduates, and leaves. It's the hardest thing he's ever done. What comes after is even harder.) | Don’t get too excited; this isn’t finished. A podfic of probably the best-known, most-recced fic in OMGCP fandom. Striking for its use of metatext woven into the story, this is one of several early longform Jack/Bitty fics that posits that maybe Jack has a lot more development to undergo before he can really, truly, be okay--or be okay enough to be with Bitty? To be honest, this story strikes me now as too long, but the parts in it that work are effective beyond that which fanfic demands. Meanwhile, this audio version only covers six chapters, but it’s so slick, so well-realized, so true to the story. Podfic as art.

my own dear friends | Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) | There’s previous little Jack/Shitty in this fandom and a lot less quality BDSM,

the city’s ours until the fall | Kent has been, historically, good at this—forgetting about things until suddenly he doesn’t, and then it’s like the scar has never been there in the first place, just the wound. (Or: Kent Parson lets himself be happy, after all this time.) | I’ve never read this fic and I never will. I cannot imagine how, no matter how good it is, it could compare to the version that lives in my head, with Kent’s voice so totally realized. Vocal fry and pathos, a languid energy that I still think about when I think about Parse.

the model home | It’s going to be better, and that’s great, but sometimes Jack thinks, why can’t it be good right now? | j/k j/k, this is a self-reminder to finally one day review this.

[eleanore-delphinium]

The Gift: Chapter 2 (Childhood Arc)

Chapter One

Chapter Two: (you are here)

Jean & Diluc

Diluc and Jean became acquainted with one another at the age of ten and eight respectively. Diluc was a rather bright and happy child growing up and Jean was quiet and reserved. It came to a surprise to a lot of people how the pair got along so well.

In fact, Diluc could be considered rather rambunctious and reckless and Jean was cautious and critical. And because of that, the others who didn’t question how they got along, understood why they did. They were what they considered opposites attract, Yin and Yang.

“Diluc! Wait up for me!” A ten-year old Jean complained as she climbed up a rock with difficulty. She looked up from climbing and a hand was outstretched in front of her. It came from a boy with red hair and red eyes—Diluc Ragnvindr, heir to the Dawn Winery. Her silver eyes glittered under the sun with a hint of blue as she felt blinded and surprised by the presence of the boy in front of her as the sun right behind him.

She took his hand and he pulled her up. The wind blew her blonde hair around.

“Look, I told you that there were knights fighting some hilichurls!” The twelve-year-old Diluc said proudly. He had dragged Jean out so that they could look at some knights in action.

“I’m going to be one of them, Jean. And I will defend Mondstadt with everything I got!” His claymore faded behind him in gold dust, in her eyes it made him look like he was shining as he said those words. Her grey-blue eyes silently look at the claymore floating behind his back as it reappeared in gold dust again.

“You have been training hard.” She couldn’t help but remark, as it was after all the truth. He had been training very hard at swordsmanship at the age of eight, despite it being a skill he didn’t necessarily need. And when he got his vision at the age of ten, it was like the world was fully his, at least that was what he told Jean. But it was different for her, she had trained her posture and strikes with wooden swords since she was five and slowly changed into different kinds of swords as she grew and improved. Recently she had started using an actual sharp metal sword fitted for her. In her case, learning swordsmanship was a necessity. 

Jean is known to be the more responsible one between the two, it was a fact that Diluc had set his heart out to being a Knight of Favonius. And Jean wasn’t quite sure about her future, but it was already decided for her, as a Gunnhildr it is natural to be a Knight of Favonius.

She had just recently decided to take up the sword and try to follow her mother’s desires with a passion that should compete with Diluc, but she didn’t even know what her objective was after mastering the short sword. If it was something she even wanted to do.

“Don’t worry Jean, you’re going to be a great swordsman. I know it.” Diluc said, feeling that Jean was slightly upset. She looked at him with pressed lips, he has always known what he wanted to become.

“Says the heir to the Dawn Winery.” She mumbled, and he bumped onto her shoulder playfully.

“That is my Father’s legacy. Of course, I will keep that alive, but I also need to chase my own dreams.” He replied smoothly, she felt as though it must have been something he had known for a long time. 

She was envious of that certainty.

Diluc pulled her to hide behind a small bump on the ground. She quietly observed the Knights of Favonius by Diluc’s side and she was rather impressed with their fighting skills. She could only hope to be at that level soon. Jean looked at Diluc and she knew that the boy beside her would surpass the knights fighting right now.

“We should probably go.” Jean urged gently and Diluc looked at her with a slightly stern gaze.

“We just got here, Jean.” He responded quietly.

“But—” Jean said but was cut off.

“Don’t worry, if anything happens, I can protect you!” Diluc said confidently and in all honesty, Jean knew he could, he was rather capable for a twelve-year-old, but her innate nature wouldn’t allow it or perhaps it was her training.

“Diluc—” She tried again.

“They are over here!” A man called out pointing to the kids, and Diluc automatically grabbed Jean’s hand and ran away from the man.

“I can’t believe they found us.” Diluc said as he ran holding her hand firmly, Jean who was forced to follow him wanted to pull her hand away.

“Diluc, I think we should go back.” Jean tried to urge Diluc again.

“No, we just got out! Aren’t you tired of always studying?” He grabbed her and hid behind a tree as he silently observed if they were followed, and they saw no one behind them.

“C’mon, I think we can go to the Winery.” Diluc took a step forward but Jean remained planted on where she stood.

“That’s pretty far, Diluc.” Jean mumbled faintly.

“We’ve gone there many times before.” Diluc replied, keeping an eye for any movement around them.

“With permission.” She quietly added. “This time I ran away from training, you do realize that I will have to make-up for what happened today, some other day.”

“You’re just ten—they are overworking you.” He said sternly and she avoided his red eyes. Diluc was virtually perfect, he could be very good at something new and master it just as easily. And since he has a fiery passion for his claymore and combat, it was natural that he would more than just excel at it. He was at a level no one should be at—at the age of twelve, especially since he started late in training compared to her.

But the same thing could be said about Jean, she knew more than what a ten-year-old should know. But that was a result of the kind of upbringing she had. The sheer effort that she had to always display and give to please her mother, as the next heir of the Gunnhildr clan. And yet, she knew very clearly how Diluc had tried his very best to offer her a glimpse of a normal childhood.

Jean in a sense, aspired to be him in so many ways.

She was very much inspired by his capability. And his passion for justice. And his freedom.

“Alright.” She agreed quietly, even though in her head she disagreed completely. She will have to pay the price of what they are doing today, she knew it well. But looking at Diluc’s clear eyes, she couldn’t help but sigh in hushed tranquility. Diluc was always admirable.

And they carefully made their way to the Dawn Winery while Diluc kept an eye out for anyone following them. They arrived unfollowed, but they realized someone was at his villa’s front yard, Diluc’s father—Crepus was arguing with a blonde-haired woman, the same shade as Jean’s hair. Jean recognized the back of the woman before the woman’s voice could even register in Jean’s head.

Crepus' eyes glanced behind the woman, who had seen his eyes shift and turned around to see Jean and Diluc. The moment she finished her turn, Diluc automatically stood in front of Jean with a glare directed at the older woman.

“Diluc, you have been causing trouble.” Crepus said with crossed arms, but his eyes held the smallest hint of delight at his son’s antics.

“They are overworking Jean!” Diluc argued back with a stronger glare directed at the older woman.

“That is none of your business, kid.” The woman replied.

“She is just a kid; she should be playing around!” Diluc yelled and received a cold glare from the woman. It was cold enough to make him flinch.

“She is not just a kid; she will be the future leader of the Gunnhildr clan.” She said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Frederica,” Crepus called out to the woman in front of him and she tilted her head a bit to the right acknowledging him. “She should still be able to play around like a normal child.” There was a silence that passed by them.

“Jean, what do you think?” Her cold blue eyes landed on the girl behind Diluc who remained quiet in the presence of her mother.

“I do not dare to question my mother's upbringing. I am raised to be well equipped as the future leader of our clan.” Hearing Jean’s reply, Diluc could not help but clench his fists.

It is true that when Diluc was ten he had received his vision, and worked hard to do justice to it. He chose to not play around with children his age because he wanted to master his craft and join the Knights of Favonius even more now that he had a vision. But that was not the case for Jean and he was so aware of his privilege.

“Jean.” Diluc turned to look at her but her expression was steely as she stared back at him.

“When I went out with you today, I knew this would happen. It is inevitable. I thank you for the company Diluc, but sadly I will have to go now.” Jean gently touched Diluc’s shoulder whose face showed his guilt. “Do not feel bad, I wanted to join you.” She gave a faint smile. It was the truth that she wanted to go with him when he arrived under her windowsill earlier that day, even though she knew that there would be consequences that would follow.

“Mother, I apologize for my actions.” Jean stepped out from behind Diluc and approached her mother. “I will take responsibility for my actions.”

“Good, as it should be as the future head of the family.” Frederica said the cold stare from her blue eyes made Jean think her mother’s gaze was certainly made of ice.

“Jean, I—” Jean turned to look at Diluc and the sadness in her face made him pause.

“Till next time then.” Jean feigned a smile and did not wait for a reply from Diluc as she turned to look at her mother. “I am ready, mother.”

“Crepus.” Frederica said with a pointed look towards Crepus and a raised brow. “I would advise you to correct your son’s behavior, but I doubt you would.”

Crepus did not take Frederica’s words as offensive, instead he smiled and nodded to her pretending to take it into consideration. Frederica knew that he was just nodding out of politeness.

Jean followed behind her mother as the two went their way. Diluc’s gaze followed Jean until she was out of his sight and he thought that she looked so forlorn. But she never glanced back at him before she completely disappeared from his sight.

“I hope you had fun.” Crepus couldn’t help but say and Diluc finally turned his head to look at his father who appeared sad.

“I did… but-“ He looked back at the general direction of where he had last seen the mother and daughter pair. “Will she be in big trouble?” He added quietly.

“Frederica wouldn’t give her daughter a hard time, I’m sure of it.” Crepus replied but Diluc looked at his father with pressed lips. He knew his father was lying to comfort him, but Diluc nodded and slowly walked into the mansion with unhurried steps.

“Brother!” A blue haired boy called out to Diluc from atop the staircase, Diluc smiled when his eyes met the other boy’s periwinkle eyes.

“Kaeya.” Diluc said and his distress from what happened outside was completely forgotten after seeing his brother. He quickly walked up the stairs and Kaeya’s eyes widened with delight.

“Father, I will accept any punishment you decide to give me due to my actions!” Diluc said as he ran to his younger brother halfway through the stairs.

Kaeya was a year younger than Diluc and he was adopted over a year ago due to certain circumstances.  Kaeya used to be such a cold child, but with great effort, Diluc and Kaeya became close and Kaeya came to look up to his older brother Diluc with much love and respect.

When Diluc reached the top of the stairs Kaeya pulled his brother towards the library door. Diluc chuckled as he watched this playful child attempt to drag him away. He wasn’t always like this, it brought Diluc happiness seeing how joyful and playful Kaeya has become.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you two were up to!” Crepus replied as he watched his two sons with much love in his eyes.

“Kaeya, you seem way too excited.” Crepus laughed looking at his two sons, even though he is pleased in knowing how cheerful the blue haired boy has become after what has happened to him. Although he has to admit that he was very surprised to see that Kaeya developed a great respect for Diluc.

“This is for us boys only!” Kaeya yelled back to his father as he pushed Diluc into the library and shut the door behind him with a bang.

Crepus did not think that the slamming of the door was disrespectful, he knew that Kaeya was merely too excited and Crepus laughed wondering what the two boys could possibly be talking about.

“So, did you see her?” Kaeya asked instantly as he held his brother’s shoulder and Diluc laughed at his reaction.

“Yes, I did.” Diluc replied and his younger brother looked at him as he waited for more to be said. The joy in Diluc’s face slowly faded as he sighed and turned around.

“Based on your reaction, something bad happened?” Kaeya said as he followed behind Diluc who sat on a chair with another sigh.

“Her mother came here to pick her up.” Diluc said in an exasperated tone.

“Ah, that was what that was.” Kaeya mumbled as a frown formed on his lips. “So, you weren’t able to show her?” Kaeya sounded quite upset.

“Why do you sound more upset than me?” Diluc playfully retorted as he crossed his arms over his stomach.

“I went through all that trouble to distract our father.” Kaeya glared at his brother as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You weren’t even able to show her what this was all for. Jean’s mother is too much!”

Diluc stared at his brother who was obviously fuming in anger and laughed.

“It is alright, there are still more chances to see her.” Diluc looked at Kaeya, whose anger was slowly dissipating.

“Have you done your training for today?” Diluc inquired and Kaeya shook his head.

“Then, get your sword and let’s go out and train.” Diluc then stood up. “I will go and inform father.”

“Alright.” Kaeya replied as Diluc walked out. “I will follow in a bit.” Kaeya took a peek from the window and noticed the pair of blondes climbing onto a carriage with the Gunnhildr crest.

But on that day Diluc was gravely mistaken, he had thought he would see Jean again, unfortunately it would take three months to be able to see each other again. He had attempted to see her, but the security and Frederica would not let him through. He did not expect that she would go this far because he had forced Jean to ditch her lessons for a few hours.

Diluc’s mood had soured when he realized in the third week that Jean’s mother would drag this out. She might even use this opportunity to cut off ties. He was quite angry.

“Diluc,” Kaeya got no response. “Brother?” Kaeya called out a little louder in worry as he saw his brother’s expression turn dark.

“Brother!” Kaeya shook Diluc and the latter stared at his brother and sighed.

“I’m sorry I’m making you worry.” Diluc said, resting a hand on Kaeya’s shoulder.

“The Winery hasn’t hosted a party in a while. Your birthday is coming up.” Kaeya said matter-of-factly and Diluc raised a brow at Kaeya, catching on to what he was implying. “And a festival in Monstadt will soon follow, I’m sure something could be arranged.” A warm smile appeared on the red boy’s face.

“Yes. You are right.” Diluc agreed, recalling a memory from two years ago.

“A Party.” Diluc said and Kaeya couldn’t help but be charmed by his brother’s smile. One day, he too would have such charisma.

CHAPTER THREE

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 136

This chapter was a chance to explore some more science-based tropes that I absolutely love in stories.  The truth is, when I’m working at my day job, I love listening to documentaries on Curiosity and YouTube channels like Answers with Joe or Kurzgesagt. My love of science fiction actually comes from my love of space and astronomy, not the other way around.

In no way, shape, or form, does this chapter cover any of the concepts in question in full. It’s just a quick convo between Sophia and a good friend ;)

My thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @charlylimph-blog, and @anotherusrname. Plus all of YOU!

Even as my mind wandered, I couldn’t help but grin a bit as I took my weekly stroll through the corridors of the Ark with Miys in tow.  For several years now, we had a standing appointment on my calendar that both Alistair and Tyche treated as sacrosanct - just some time for me to spend with our host, my friend, and learn more about each other.  When I had originally arrived on the Ark, any time I was seen walking with them, other humans would give me odd looks, but never approach.  Now, people would recognize me, smile, and wave, but still never interrupted the strolls.

It was nice. Like my weekly family dinners, it was a routine, pleasant part of my life. Especially days like today, when we were entering the dawn-cycle and each day became a little brighter. It made me wonder about other civilizations, ones that would have evolved in conditions like the ones we were adapting ourselves for. How did it affect them? How would it affect us as generations passed? Future generations were certainly going to be shorter, due to the high gravity. Would it change our technological advances as well - 

“Wisdom, why are you thinking so hard about Gestrcht Clusters?” Miys interrupted my thoughts.

“Hm?” I asked absently. “What’s a Jestrick Cluster?”

“Gestrcht,” they corrected mildly. “Gestrcht clusters are a type of civilization that has adapted to live in artificial platforms surrounding their sun, in order to better harness the solar energy, radiation, or heat needed.”

“You mean a Dyson swarm?” I tried to clarify, confused.

“All of the galaxy calls them Gestrcht clusters, therefore I think that is what you mean.”

“Alright, alright,” I laughed, holding my hands up in defeat. “The reason I was thinking about Gestruck clusters - “

“Gestrcht”

“I will work on it. The reason I was thinking about those is… I was wondering how living on Von will change our priorities. In our history, those constructions were something that fascinated both imagination and science - something several people thought was our launching pad to a Kardashev Type II civilization, or the singularity point. Maybe both.”

“Kardashev…” they hummed for a moment, thinking. “Only humanity would create goals of technological advancement that required destruction on a multi-planetary scale.”

I desperately wanted to object, but strongly suspected they were right. “So we were wrong, again? There are no civilizations out there that would fit what we imagined for a Kardashev I or II race?”

“I will concede to the existence of species that you would consider both. However, it is not how you believe it to be - humanity would never have been able to accomplish it without greater sacrifice than they have ever known.”

Oh boy. “Tell me? I want to understand why other species could do it, but we could not.” My curiosity needed to know.

They held up one of their liw, rocking it back and forth in imitation of a human head tilt. “Species that have managed to harness all of the energy produced by their planet, and not destroy their environments, have historically been those who had very little power to harness to begin with. These civilizations come from either very harsh, or very gentle worlds - never anything in between. Abundant wind energy scouring a planetary desert can greatly benefit a species who can harness that wind to temper it and create a paradise. A planet with no atmosphere, but incredible amounts of geothermal energy runs little risk in being able to direct all of that volcanic activity to its benefit. But Earth?”

“Is a deathworld,” I pointed out. “You said so yourself.”

“This is true, but it is not a deathworld in the way So’Kn is, for example. Preeyar and So’kn are planets that are lethal for very singular reasons: So’Kn is a frozen waste of permanent night and eternal wind. It is so harsh that only So’Knor can truly survive there with without significant technological assistance. Preeyar only has atmosphere in its valleys, and that is thinner than most species can survive, much less the fact that there are no liquids on Preeyar. None. The air pressure is too low to allow it for any chemicals that are naturally occurring, and the atmosphere violently reacts with any elements that could exist in liquid form. It is, in fact, believed that the rift valleys were caused by simply an icy meteor impacting the planet.”

“Ho-lee shit,” I whispered.

“I doubt many cultures would find it holy at all,” they joked drily. “Whereas Earth… There is no one singular quality about Earth that classifies it as a deathworld. Instead, there are several, each stemming from the abundant forms of energy offered by your home world.”

“Seriously!?”

“Indeed. And the combinations thereof. The length of natural disasters that are possible, alone, is unique to Earth. Tornadoes and earthquakes. Flooding and wildfires. Volcanoes and hurricanes. Methane just rising from your lakes to kill large swathes of people. Lakes below your oceans, Wisdom! Volcanoes below your oceans! It is insanity to the entirety of the Galaxy, and yet humans consider that just a normal aspect of existence.”

“And… what exactly does that have to do with being able to harness all the energy of our planet, exactly?” To say I was confused was an understatement.

To their credit, Miys only reached with one vomu to make a ‘nose pinching’ gesture against its head. “Earth, somehow, is only habitable and so abundant in life because everything exists in a precarious balance. Surely, the last two centuries of your own history demonstrated that. Attempting to harness all of the admittedly prodigious energy of your planet would have ended up destroying that balance beyond compare.”

I tried to comprehend it. I really did. Focusing on what little I knew, I thought about dams. Those were familiar to me - I had grown up in an area that dammed every river and creek possible for everything from grain mills and fruit presses, to artificial fish ponds, to electricity. “Starting there…” it was faster not to explain out loud when I knew Miys was following along with the home game, “Damming a river creates a lake. That floods an area that already has a habitat, and dries out another area that already has an aquatic habitat.”

“And prevents floods that fertilize fields and redistribute minerals from erosion, yes.”

“Right. Times every river, creek, and faint trickle on Earth…” I stopped myself. Every river. The Amazon. The Nile. “And we just washed out what’s left of the largest rainforest on Earth.”

“Leaving more carbon in the air…” they encouraged.

“And increasing the greenhouse effect, increasing heat on the surface, melting more ice, which - hey, more wind, amirite? - but changing planetary albedo, more water, wetter Sahara, no dust to fertilize… South America? Dammit, are we back to killing the Amazon again?”

“That is just one form of energy, Wisdom. But I feel you are understanding the issue.”

“Yeahhhh…” I trailed off. “Okay, so. Kardashev I is no bueno tacos for Earth. What if we skipped straight to Kardashev II slash singularity?” I made a point to focus on the concept of technological singularity very hard, so there would be less need for research on their part. You know, spare myself half a minute or so. “The Gestrkt clusters.”

“Closer,” they admitted, although I was suspicious they meant my pronunciation and not the idea that humanity would ever get there. “Humanity is not… suited, for Gestrcht clusters.”

“Wait, what?”

“Humanity is too curious, too social, and too exploratory. Your fiction abounds with every variation of different worlds and strange universes you could possibly conceive of. And it constantly expanded - your oldest texts involve travelling to your moon, and when you actually reached it, you looked further out - other systems, other galaxies, other dimensions. Gestrcht clusters require such substantial resources and maintenance, there is little left over for exploration.”

“There are humans who would be perfectly content living in such a structure,” I argued, although my heart wasn’t in it. I wouldn’t have been, knowing that other worlds were out there.

“Not enough to sustain it, unfortunately. Not even in what you call the Before.” Lightly resting one vomu on my shoulder, they squeezed gently. “Wisdom, humanity has always wanted to see other worlds. Gestrcht clusters are all or nothing.”

“And singularity?” I asked, barely managing a hoarse whisper.

“It is true that there have been some singleton species that have achieved what you term singularity with technology. Fewer have been successful.” When I glanced at them, all six upper appendages were held up in defense. “Hive minds are uniquely suited to it, and even some of us,” they waved those same six appendages at their torso, “would never accept it. I could never imagine not having the chance to travel the galaxy, to be with other races as they experience it. Add to that, humanity is somehow both individual and social. Removing that line, that choice? I doubt your kind would thrive. Postulate this: Derek, in a hive mind.”

“Absolutely not,” came my unhesitating response, disgust and violence trembling in every limb before I calmed myself. “And I see your point. Integrating technology in our lives, into how we function…” I tapped my head for emphasis, “that’s one thing. It makes our lives better, by making sure that Derek, and others, can have their personal space protected.” The more I thought about it… I never considered the idea in reference to ‘now’, only ‘eventually’. What if we did it now, and I was one of the people - suddenly never alone, always connected to every thought of strangers via technology. What if Tyche was? Or Maverick? Hell, Charly? “I think I need a shower, now,” I admitted, skin crawling.

“Humanity could achieve both,” Miys confirmed, although it didn’t feel as reassuring as I had hoped it would at the beginning of our conversation. “But I don’t think humanity would truly want to live in Gestrcht clusters or singularity, given any other choice but extinction.”

Laughing, I wiped a tear from one eye.  It was a bitter truth, but still true. “I think you’re right.”

“I may be wrong,” they countered. “As I said, there are singleton species who have made those transitions and the entire galaxy is better for it.”

“Some hope that we weren’t entirely wrong would be nice right about now,” I mumbled as I scuffed my shoe at the floor. There wasn’t anything to kick except Else-puffs, and that was just mean as fuck.

“Most species that made a transition to Gestrcht clusters early in their development are belligerent, insular species. The fact that they must focus all their efforts and resources on maintaining their platforms prevents them from becoming actively warlike. As far as ‘singularity’... singleton species who thrive in that transition are often species who cannot thrive on a galactic scale otherwise.”

Huh? I craned my neck to try to look up at them in the perpetual-dawn light. “What do you mean?”

Miys flicked a datapad open - one I know they only wore for our sakes, seeing as they could not actually see anything on the purely-optical screen, I had learned. They could only navigate it if interacting with a human, so they could ‘see’ what they needed to tap out.

Needless to say, Charly and Grey had been working for years on one that responded to sonic commands.

Eventually, a seven-fingered flick caused my own databand to chirp. I flicked it open to see the file. “They… Noah, this looks like sentient pollen… or feathers…” Realistically, any description I tried to create fell devastatingly short. The being on my datapad moved as though it was floating on wind, with tens of thousands of filament-fine tendrils swaying and navigating. The sound it created reminded me of the sound of snowfall, if snowflakes could sing opera. “They’re beautiful,” I sniffed, driving back tears at knowing something so breathtaking existed.

“They also cannot survive off their planet, unfortunately. Even the transition out of their atmosphere is lethal to them.”

My heart shattered into a million pieces. “What is their name?”

“No one knows for certain. But they have achieved a sort of singularity - once they have matured and reproduced, they upload themselves at the end of their very brief lifecycles. In the Galactic Community, they are known as Odvub.”

“Odvub…” I whispered, holding out my fingers like I could actually touch the screen.

“Outside of a Hujylsogox rescue ship, it is nearly impossible to avoid encountering Odvub. Most believe they are some sort of galactic artificial intelligence, and they prefer to allow that belief.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?”

“They have permitted it, when these sort of questions are asked. To show what desperation is required for a singleton species to thrive in singularity.”

I sniffed, desperately trying not to cry at their situation. “Do they know about humans?”

“They may be the only species who could not avoid knowing about it. But Odvub believes your people are hearty, and adaptable, and should never suffer their fate. They advised, in the event that your people ever ask about singularity, to do this…” Miys gently cupped my cheek in one liw and patted it, “and tell you that you will never need to resort to what they had to do, and that they look forward to meeting your people one day.”

“Obviously not face to face,” I admitted quietly. “I have allergens that are more substantial than they are.”

“It is considered a great honor in the Galactic Community for this icon to display when  you interact with Odvub.” Miys gestured at the vicinity of the image on my datapad. “Only those who know why, know why it is an honor.”

“We’ll take it,” I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. “All of humanity may never know why, but we’ll take it. If I may tell Arthur, we probably will know why.” He would see to it. Loudly, angrily, derisive of anyone who mocked it. “Regardless, we’ll take it, all the same.”

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[banrionceallach]

Reverse AU Crowley/Harry Omens Short

This will only make sense if you’ve read both my main fic and my scraps on AO3. Posting it anyway.

Raphael is still here.

He is still here and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale all the time.

Aziraphale keeps smiling back.

Crowley hates it.

He is not jealous, he tells himself, as he watches Raphael sit on a couch in the back of the bookshop. Raphael is currently pouring over an arcane text that Aziraphale thinks might solve the ‘angel from an alternate universe’ problem.

Crowley has known Aziraphale for six thousand years. He has argued and dined with and gotten drunk with the angel innumerable times. They’re best friends. Aziraphale walked into hell for him and sassed Michael into the bargain. He knows Aziraphale loves him. They are raising (another) child together, for Someone’s sake.  Some alternate universe angel is not going to change that.

Even if he is basically a better version of Crowley.

Stupid angelic tosser. With his stupid round pupils and his stupid white wings and his stupid long braided hair that Aziraphale spent a whole minute complimenting after lunch.

( It is just possible that Crowley is trying to grow his hair out as quickly and discreetly as possible.)

Currently Crowley is alone with the Archangel Bloody Raphael, because the aforementioned child that Crowley and his angel are raising together had a sleepover with the former antichrist and Aziraphale has gone to Tadfield to pick him up and also consult the local witch on their Alternate Universe Angel problem. Normally picking up Harry from a friend’s house is something Crowley does in the Bentley, but today the knowledge that that would have left Aziraphale alone with Raphael for over an hour had made him strongly suggest that Aziraphale should go, and use the opportunity to consult the witch.

Crowley really hopes Book Girl has something. He doesn’t know how much more of the archangel’s presence he can take without jumping across the room and trying to claw his stupid perfect eyes out.

He notices the other red-head has put down his book and is looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“What are you looking at?” he demands.

Raphael shrugs innocently. “I was just surprised you didn’t go to Tadfield instead of Aziraphale.” He waves a hand at the piles of esoteric text cluttered around the room. “It would have been more efficient for you to bring Anathema here while we continued to research, wouldn’t it?”

“Leaving Aziraphale alone with you?” Crowley snaps, with rather more honesty than he prefers. “Not likely!”

Raphael arches a fine auburn eyebrow. “Are you always this possessive?” he asks and damn him, there is actual genuine concern in his tone. Who is he to be concerned about Aziraphale? He has his own version, yes? That he should be wanting to get back to? A tiny part of Crowley still doubts that. He can’t imagine a demon Aziraphale, can’t imagine Aziraphale Falling.

It hurts to think about.

“Possessive?” Crowley sputters, wrenching his mind away from the possibility of a horrified spiral into guilt. “I am not!”

And the thing is, he isn’t. Not usually. But of course, it occurs to him, it’s been rather easy to not be possessive when he can be safe in the knowledge that no one else on the planet has a hope of competing for Aziraphale’s affection. Not humans, not other demons, definitely not other angels.

Except now, there is another angel. An angel who never fell, still bathing in Her favour. With Crowley’s face. And, key point, without the more demonic attributes caused by the Fall.

He is polite and gentle and exudes a puppy-like bouncy enthusiasm and he keeps smiling at Aziraphale and Crowley hates everything about him.

“Really?”

“Really,” Crowley snaps back, baring his fangs. “I am concerned for his safety. For all I know, this could still be some trick by Above and Below to attack us. You could be in on it.”

“You really are very suspicious, aren’t you?” Raphael says, grinning like Crowley has just said something amusing.

“Demon,” Crowley snaps. “Goes with the job description. Suspicious, sly, evil demon.” He notes with satisfaction that his blunt reference to his status makes Raphael go pale and twitch slightly. Good.

“You’re not that demonic,” Raphael says softly after a moment, giving him a considering look. “I think Azirafell is worse. Better, I mean. At demoning.”

This is too much.

Crowley snarls and surges to his feet. “I,” he hisses, “am the Serpent in the Garden. The Fall of Man? Humanity exiled from Eden never to return? That was me. For six-thousand years I was Hell’s favourite demon. Don’t go thinking I am soft!”

Of course, it’s at this moment that Harry runs into the room, having just got back from Tadfield. “Dad! Dad! Is it true?”

Crowley draws his fangs back in so fast there’s an almost audible click. “Is what true?”

Harry is about to reply when he spots Raphael. Raphael stares at him, wide-eyed. Harry stares back, fascinated.

“Wow,” the nearly-thirteen-year-old breathes. “You really do look just like Dad! Weird!” Then Harry frowns. “Why don’t you have the cool eyes, though?”

Crowley flips from cursing Harry’s sense of timing to grinning widely. He and his angel have the Best Son. Objectively. It is fact.

Raphael makes a strangled noise. “Dad?” he manages to wheeze, still staring at Harry.

They had not mentioned Harry up until now as a precaution. Just in case Raphael was part of a plot against them. Watching Raphael almost choke in shock, Crowley is extra glad they’d not mentioned the young wizard.

He still has to squash the urge to snap ‘yes, this is our son’ in his most smug tone of voice. Crowley loves Harry and is not under any circumstances going to use him to score against the annoying stupid archangel who will be punted back to his own universe as soon as possible.

So instead he just waves, wiggling his fingers insouciantly at the Archangel. “That’s me.”

(It’s also Aziraphale, as well as James Potter, sadly deceased. People who start talking to Harry when he mentions his father soon learn to be alert for context clues.)

Raphael coughs, clearing his throat. “You’ve . . . adopted a child?” he says weakly.

“That’s right,” beams Aziraphale, who has just walked into the room behind Harry.

“Stole,” Crowley corrects. “We stole him. Evil, remember.”

“More like rescued,” says Harry, the little traitor. Raphael gives him a watery smile.

It turns out that (to Crowley’s great relief) Aziraphale has brought back a way to get Raphael home. Unfortunately, the ritual to do it takes hours to set up.

Raphael spends most of that time trying not to stare at Harry. He doesn’t really succeed.

Eventually, since they are now guaranteed to be archangel-free very soon, Crowley grudgingly explains how Harry came to be living with them.

Raphael is appalled.

“What do you mean, this headmaster knew and just left him with those people for ten years?” he hisses, his golden eyes narrow with outrage.

“He’d convinced himself that the blood ward was the only resort,” Aziraphale explains.

“Bullshit,” snaps Raphael and for a second Crowley almost likes him.

“Quite,” Aziraphale says. “We were less than happy with the state of affairs ourselves.”

“No kidding,” the archangel mutters.  Right,” he says decisively. “Is that circle ready to get me home? I need to take a quick trip to Surrey. Just to check on something.”

It is possible, Crowley thinks, as Raphael steps into the circle and disappears in a flash, that the archangel will find that there is no alternate Harry. Or perhaps there’s no alternate Voldemort. Or Dumbledore. Who knows?

***

Harry Potter, aged almost thirteen, ran from Number 4 Privet Drive, his suitcase and his owl’s travelling cage thumping beside him. His could feel his heart jumping in his chest. He had never been so angry in his life. Why had he listened to Aunt Marge? Why hadn’t he done the smart thing and excused himself to the loo when she’d started to talk?

What was he going to do now?

A noise and sudden light, caught his attention. It was a car, approaching fast. When it reached Harry, it skidded to a stop. He backed away, fumbling for his wand.

Then the passenger’s window rolled down, and a man’s head emerged. “Hello,” the man said in a cheerful voice. “Harry, isn’t it?”

Harry gasped and backed away further.

“Look,” said the man, “I don’t normally get involved in these things, but my friend here” – he waved vaguely towards the driver, a man with long waves of red hair- “seems to think you need help.” The man squinted at Harry. “And from the looks of it, he’s right.”

An enraged roar, familiar to Harry, echoed out of the night.

Uncle Vernon, furious and getting closer.

“Alright,” said the driver, speaking for the first time, “that’s enough of that.”

Harry heard the sound of clicking fingers and suddenly found himself in the car’s back seat with Hedwig’s cage next to him. His seatbelt had already fastened itself. The big black dog, which he’d almost tripped over earlier, was sitting on the car floor and looking extremely puzzled.

“Really dear,” said the man in the passenger seat to the driver as the car sped off, Vernon Dursley’s furious shouts receding into the distance “Did you have to bring the dog too?”

“Yep. He’s a good dog.”

Harry swallowed and finally managed to speak. “People will come looking for me,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The man in the passenger seat smiled at him. “Well I do hope so, my boy.” He nodded towards his friend. “Raf here is quite keen to give Albus Dumbledore a piece of his mind.”

[artxyra]

Ok so I don't know if your still taking requests but if you are it's daminette and marinette is over so the whole wayne family and her are chilling and they think they hear someone so they do a heartbeat scan and they count an extra one so they're searching they manor and they're on guard they alfred ask all the girls if they're pregnant and the guys are nervous because one of them could be a father so they scan all the girls and they find out mari's preggo and it's a whole chaotic ordeal

Note: Sorry this took so long, I was trying to figure out the best way to tell this story and I finally got the idea after watching TT episode Fear Itself. 

Whoever’s idea was it for the family to watch a horror movie during a fucking thunderstorm, Marinette just wants to end their lives. She was having a good day despite feeling sick in the morning, so being informed that tonight’s movie was horror-based was interesting. The majority of the time, a horror movie wasn’t a bad idea, but the moment the film ended, and the lights randomly shut off, the screaming begins.

For a house filled with heroes vigilantes, they sure do know how to scream and act like they’re in a horror movie real quick. Marinette could feel the need to throw up grow as the sense of someone watching her suddenly grows. At first, she thought that it was Damian or any of his brothers, but how could that be when everyone disperses the second, they heard movements that were not from either of them. Damian was reluctant to leave Marinette to her own device, but since the manor was so large splitting up was the best option.

“Come on, Mari, you’re Ladybird, stuff like this is nothing.” Marinette murmurs to herself in an attempt to keep her nerves at bay. That doesn’t go well, as the creaking noise suddenly fills the hallway. She sure hopes that it’s the air conditioner making those sounds. Marinette was slowly regretting not taking Alfred’s lead and follow him to the kitchen, at least she knows the kitchen area better than the damn halls. The amount of time she still gets lost in the halls just to find the gym is an outlandish number.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Clenching her teeth, she fumbles to unlock her phone. Despite using it as a flashlight, she also didn’t want to accidentally turn the only source of light off. The second her phone unlock, thunder and lightning decided to join forces making her jump at the sudden flash of light and a loud boom.

“I am so killing Jason…” She mutters. Finally, she is able to see the notification. It was a series of messages stating clear and the location. There were at least five out of the nine that were currently in the manor. They had invited Duke, but he opted out the second he realizes who was picking out the movies. Apparently, any movie chosen by Jason could only mean bad things and Duke, surprisingly, wanted nothing apart of it.

The creaking noises remain active, something that made walking down the hall and looking for a potential intruder much more difficult. Had the creaking stops, this would have been much easier to delegate which room needs searching.

Back downstairs, the Bat-family all decided to meet up in the living room. Marinette had yet to make an appearance. Damian was growing impatiently worried for his beloved, so much that he was practically stabbing the ground with one of many katanas.

“Master Damian,” Alfred chastised seeing the new marking on the floor. Great another reason to keep buffering the floors at least twice a month. Alfred knows that everyone’s worries were running high. They still had yet located the cause of the sound—a potential intruder—and it’s not like they would go into the Batcave without a problem, but they didn’t want to take that chance.

“She should have been here by now,” Damian grumbles placing the sword back into its sheath.

“Demon, we’re talking about Pixie, the girl literally has problems getting to the gym every once in a while, and that’s with light.” Jason’s words slowly dawned on the family. He’s right. Marinette may be officially apart of the family now, but the designer literally stays in like five places within the manor: hers and Damian’s room, the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom nearest to her, and the Batcave. Beyond those options, it’s better for Marinette to have a guide, which is usually Titus, and sometimes Alfred when he doesn’t have anything to do.

“I got the tracker ready, sir. Should I place it on heartbeat mode?” Alfred shows them the tracking device with a knowing look on his face.

The Batbros race to the device only for Tim to grab it and put it in the right settings.

“Hold on, wouldn’t it better to search for heat signatures?” Dick asks—well he was thinking aloud for the most part.

“Ideally yes, but the readings can become messy if we’re all in the same room or if what we are dealing with doesn’t radiate heat. It’s best to go with a pulse or in other words a heartbeat. Got any more questions, Dick.” Tim states glaring at his oldest brother. They were all worried about Marinette, but it was upped times ten. “Now are we going to try and find ‘spresso and whoever even dared to enter the manor?” Tim was a man on a mission. In fact, they all were.

No one dared to object to Tim’s claims. Damian was impatiently tapping his feet against the ground, and soon there were thirteen pulsing dots going off the tracker. Tim mentally did a headcount, with him included there were nine people in the room with him which means four of the dots are in unknown locations.

“So, which one do we follow?” That was the question on everybody’s mind.

“We go to the one that is alone, with a faint pulse.” On the device, several feet away is a flickering dot as if there was some interference in picking up the heartbeat. It wasn’t stable.

“Damian, where are your animals?” Barbara asks typing away on her phone. She may not be at the bat-computer, but she can still manage with Wi-Fi and a portable device.  

Damian wasn’t sure where his animals are. He knows for a fact that Alfred the cat was in his room, Titus disappears to hang out with Ace every now and then. The rest of the animals are most likely outside in their miniature houses that he keeps at the manor for nights like these.  

“No time to argue, we got to move.” Tim was already ahead of the family following the path guided to him by the tracker.

The bat-family follow the strange signal until they reach a dead end. All the doors were shut, and the thunder was booming with no means to stop. They haven’t seen or heard from Marinette since they disbanded earlier that night. Soon, the faint pulsing signal grows stronger as they approach the final door. No one, aside from Alfred, could remember what was behind that door. It was a bedroom.

“Whoa” Tim yelps, looking down at the tracker. There are now twelve pulsating dots on the device. They all filter into the room. It was practically empty which put them all on edge. Marinette was somewhere in the manor and now there were in an empty room with no clues on where to start.

Using their flashlights, they scan every inch of the place and still found nothing. Alfred takes the device away from Tim who protested but when he realized that it was Alfred he calms down.

“I don’t think there is another person in the manor,” Cass states looking around the room. She was eyeing the large wardrobe. If her hunch is correct, then she knows where the newest pulsing signal is coming from and that makes her giddy.

“I concur with Miss Cain.” Alfred walks over to the second door that is in the room and opens it revealing a certain black Great Dane wagging his tail happily yet protectively. He barks but upon seeing his owner, he calms down. “It appears that one of the signals is Titus and with him being her it only means that Miss Marinette is in this room. Perhaps in the wardrobe.”

The second the word “wardrobe” escapes the butler’s lips, all the bat-bros rush over to the item. Damian was quick to open it and there she is. Marinette’s small enough to fit comfortably on the base and stay hidden had there been any clothes on the rack. In her arms is a small pup, probably the intruder that has been haunting them. The pup’s nails are long and need to be cut. Marinette was sleeping which made it easier for Damian to scoop her into his arms.

The pup wakes up and begins barking yelping up a storm causing Marinette to stir in Damian's arms. Her eyes flutter open and a yawn escapes her lips.

“Is it morning already?” She yawns once more rubbing her eyes. Damian shakes his head causing Marinette to pout and try to find comfort in Damian’s arms to fall back to sleep to, but the pup in her arms wasn’t having it. “Oh quiet, you.” Marinette laughs and tightens her hold on the pup.

“That doesn’t explain the strange pulsing signal?” Steph states looking over Alfred’s shoulder and once more a signal was faltering without a constant beat.

“That’s because I believe, Miss Marinette is currently with child.” Alfred places the device down for everyone to see. “We have the heartbeat tracker on pulsing signals that can be easily translated to a heartbeat. If Miss Marinette, is indeed with child, the interference to this signal is the pulsing from the fetus.”

Alfred pause for a second giving everyone to process the news. Damian’s exe. was broken as he stares at his wife with love and shock. The rest of the family, aside from Cass, was blinking away the shock. Five, four, three, two…one. Then they all break out in shouts of excitement.

“Oh my god, we’re going to be uncles!” Dick exclaims bouncing in place. He even wraps his arms around Damian, who was still frozen and gives him a side hug knowing full well that he can’t protest.

Jason looks like he was about to kill someone—more or less Damian for a matter of fact. Marinette was his sister in everything but blood. Yes, he’s excited for the incoming member of the family, but he doesn’t know what to do.

 Tim was trying to wrap the news around his head. He hadn’t had any coffee since before the movie night started and with the power being off, there’s no way for him to make his usual late-night cup of coffee.

“Will you shut up; I’m trying to sleep here,” Marinette growls bring the attention back to her. Damian did the only thing that came to mind, he places a kiss upon her lips. Marinette moans and she would have playfully hit him had her arms weren’t holding the pup.

“So, no one is going to question how a puppy got into the manor?” Steph asks pointing to the pup still in Marinette’s arms. She was tempted to coddle the pup and leave the room to return to her own and news come back to life in the morning.

“Titus’s doggy door, most like. I won’t know until I check all the cameras.” Barbara says wheeling herself over to the couple, “Congratulations Damian…I’m going to bed.”

“We are so talking about this in the morning,” Dick claims as he walks out the room pushing Jason and Tim along with him.

Soon it was just Marinette, Damian, and the dogs alone in the room. Damian had a few options to consider, stay the night in this room or walk through a series of halls to return to their own bedroom. It’s late, so he chooses the former. Placing Marinette on the bed was easy once the newly introduced pup jumps out of her arms and onto the bed.

He makes sure she’s comfortable before joining her. Titus curls at the foot of the bed barking at the pup to come to him to which the pup did. Damian pulls Marinette into his chest and whispers, “Thank you, Angel,” into her ear.

“You’re welcome, Demon.” Marinette murmurs back before going off to sleep.

Who would have thought that this is how his family would find out that Damian and Marinette were expecting? This would go down as the best accidental reveal in their family history.     

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[becuzitisbitter]

All Cops Are Bad

The last of the essays i will be posting that I wrote for school, this one is an attempt at an approachable ACAB argument (my professor said that she was persuaded, at least)

    There is an old slogan with roots at least as far back as the 1920’s and is yet becoming more and more popular across the globe today: “All coppers are bastards.” Of course, most people just say “cops” these days.  The extensive history of the slogan might even make one stop to wonder why the police have been the object of such long-standing antagonism, if one isn’t the sort to grasp the slogan’s truth intuitively.  The reality is that all cops really are bastards, not in a literal sense, of course, but in the derogatory usage which communicates despicability.  The goal of this essay is to convince the reader that the police are bad and that policing should be done away with entirely.  After all, the police present themselves as the vanguard of the state’s repressive urges and as the guarantors of an order defined by deprivation and violence.

    Olivia B. Waxman, writing for Time Magazine, points to economic forces as dictating the development of the means and aims utilized by policing institutions in the U.S.  She writes that businesses had already been hiring private security to protect the transport and storage of their property, and that, “These merchants came up with a way to save money by transferring to the cost of maintaining a police force to citizens by arguing that it was for the “collective good.” (Waxman) In other words, America’s first publicly funded police force was simply picking up after the work of private businesses to protect their own property, but with the cost foisted upon those who were being kept out. She continues this economic argument as she traces the lineage of the modern police force back to its forerunners in the Southern runaway slave patrols. She writes, “the economics that drove the creation of police forces were centered not on the protection of shipping interests but on the preservation of the slavery system”. Thus, the primary policing institutions in the South were the slave patrols, the first of which was formally established in 1704. (Waxman)

    The police developed historically to enforce property rights rather than to ensure the wellbeing of the populace.  If it is understood that white supremacy encodes human skin with either privilege or dispossession, it should be understood that, as Mariame Kaba writes in an opinion piece published by the New York Times, “when you see a police officer pressing his knee into a black man’s neck until he dies, that’s the logical result of policing in America. When a police officer brutalizes a black person, he is doing what he sees as his job.” (Kaba) Kaba is an organizer against criminalization and a self-described police abolitionist because she believes that “a ‘safe’ world is not one in which the police keep black and other marginalized people in check through threats of arrest, incarceration, violence and death.” The police, then, are not focused on creating a safe world. They are interested in preserving the world as it is, which demands a tacit defense of misogynistic and white supremacist institutions.

    Regardless of personal attitudes or goals, the undeniable outcome of two hundred years of policing in America has been an uninterrupted avalanche of mostly arbitrary violence aimed at preserving the rule of law, that is, the sanctity of private property. In just the last year, the discourse about the role and place of police in our society has exploded with new questions and new ideas. What makes this conversation so powerful is that the police are considered so essential to the functioning of the modern world that the abolitionist movement must necessarily carry indictments on many other institutions and ways of relating that are bound-up with policing.

    Of course, many readers will be quick to react defensively.  Most disagreements with the argument presented here will take one of two forms: the claim that the argument over-generalizes police, and the claim that the police fill such an essential role that society couldn’t hope to provide an acceptable standard of life in their absence.  Both will be addressed below.

    The former argument comes in many varieties.  One might even say, “It is unfair to judge such a large group by the actions of a few bad apples,” without being aware that they were reversing the meaning of the idiom they are attempting to make use of, which actually originated as “A rotten apple quickly infects its neighbor,” according to Ben Zimmer, who is a linguist and language columnist for The Wall Street Journal. (Cunningham) Regardless of the backwardness of this idiom, many would maintain that it is wrong to generalize police or stereotype their actions based on our perceptions of a few bad actors.  Some police may abuse their power, or harbor prejudice, many readers would contend, but most police officers are decent people doing their best under difficult conditions.  The truth, however, is that literally all cops bring about harm simply by doing the jobs that they signed up for.  To go a step further, even if every police officer were to act in good faith, the task of maintaining a status quo defined by inequality would still force officers into the position of beating the cold, poor, and hungry back from the resources they need to live comfortably. This world of deprivation is not worth defending, and yet every cop has signed up to defend it.  Some readers might still say that to pain the police with such a broad brush, is to commit an act of prejudice on par with the attitudes the police are criticized for, but they are grasping at straws. No one becomes a police officer by accident.  By switching careers, they could avoid such judgement entirely.  One wonders if they would feel the same about criticizing other groups which are entirely opt-in, such as MS-13 or the Taliban.

    Could there ever be such a thing as a good cop? No.  Here is one example that I think demonstrates a larger principle: even if a given police officer is a dedicated and educated anti-racist, the logistical deployment of police departments across the US places more officers in poor neighborhoods and communities of color than in wealthy or majority-white areas. This means that even the most kind-hearted police would be more likely to detain or arrest poor people and people of color than affluent whites.  This is only one facet of a fundamentally unjust system.  The development of police departments as racist and anti-working-class institutions across History means that they are structurally and institutionally racist and anti-working-class in the here and now.  Police departments continue to defy reform because the problem is intentionally encoded into their purpose. They must be done away with entirely.

    When a protestor or graffiti artist echoes the old slogan that, “All cops are bastards,” it is an expression of a tautology.  Like the phrase “All triangles have three sides,” the slogan contains its own truth.  All triangles have three sides because it is part of the definition of triangles to have three sides.  We can’t even conceive of a triangle with four sides because by having four sides, it would cease to be a triangle.  Despicability is written into the definition of policing because the aims of policing are themselves despicable.  Any cop that ceased to work toward the aims of policing would cease to be deplorable, maybe, but he would also cease to be a cop as surely as a triangle with four sides would cease to be a triangle.

    The second primary counter argument to criticism of the police is that the police are a necessary evil, essential to protecting us from a rousseauian war of all against all.  This assumption that humanity could not get by without police seems silly, after all, the police are only a modern institution, hardly a blip in humanity’s story.  It has already been shown that the police were not created to protect the average person from harm, but to protect private property rights.  In any case, a counter argument from consequences is not the same as a refutation.  One need not know the correct answer to a problem to recognize a wrong one.  When asked, “What would you do with the psycho serial killers?” one should be unabashedly honest about not knowing the answer because there is no one answer.  The answer to each problem can only be located in the context in which the problem occurs.  This reflex to reach for a one-size-fits-all answer for all of life’s problems, along with its concomitant desire to preserve the tedious “peace” of the status quo, do a lot to explain the psychology of pro-police arguments.

    Neither the means nor ends of policing are acceptable.  The forces that shape and control our world, be they corporate or political, tower over us such that we only ever meet with their basest appendages.  The police are their piggy-toes, pun-intended.  Admittedly, the arguments presented here will be significantly weaker in the mind of anyone who really feels good about the state of the world which police maintain, however little is likely to be gained in dialogue with someone who could maintain a positive view of concentration camps, needless and ceaseless killings, the continuation of slave labor in the prison system, mass food-insecurity, etc.      

    It is incumbent upon each of us to improve the world around us.  The police are an impediment to a better, safer, freer world.  They are antithetical to equity, autonomy, and community; that is why all who fight too hard for a better life eventually find themselves faced with the police, one way or another. Nevertheless, while so much hangs in the balance, we can’t let the bastards get us down.

    Works Cited

Olivia B. Waxman. “How the U.S. Got Its Police Force” Time Magazine, https://time.com/4779112/police-history-origins/ Published: 5/18/2017, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

Mariame Kaba. “Yes, We Mean Literally Abolish the Police” The New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/12/opinion/sunday/floyd-abolish-defund-police.html Published: 6/12/2020, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

Malorie Cunningham. “'A few bad apples': Phrase describing rotten police officers used to have different meaning”

https://abcnews.go.com/US/bad-apples-phrase-describing-rotten-police-officers-meaning/story?id=71201096 Published: 6/14/2020, Date of Access: 12/2/2020

[46ten]

curious as to your take on the current debate going on in hamiltonia re: hamilton a slaver vs hamilton not a slaver?

Whew, this is going to be a long answer. Since Jessie Serfilippi’s “As Odious and Immoral A Thing” was first published (I posted a few brief quotes here), likely as part of an ongoing interest in the Schuyler Mansion State Historic Site with the subject of the Schuyler and Hamilton families and slavery (see here for blogposts labeled ‘slavery’ including a couple about AH specifically), there have been three versions of a rebuttal by Michael E. Newton and some people calling themselves Philo (”Love”) Hamilton, one of whom is Doug Hamilton*. The ongoing engagement on this topic also brings up issues of historiography and hagiography.

In this whole discussion there is only one new piece of evidence that Serfilippi has referenced on Twitter but is not part of her article - I’ll get into that below. Everything else is a re-analysis of known and fairly popular sources, so I don’t think going through it point by point would be helpful.

But let’s be clear about something. This discussion around AH is in large part because of this Chernow falsehood: “[f]ew, if any, other founding fathers opposed slavery more consistently or toiled harder to eradicate it than Hamilton.” Chernow also calls AH a “fierce abolitionist” and a “staunch abolitionist” because Chernow doesn’t know what abolitionism is. This lie got tons of mileage with Lin-Manuel Miranda, whose musical character AH may have personal moral defects, but not blind spots as huge and disastrous to a modern audience as a lackadaisical approach to the owning of other human beings. (That Miranda’s approach totally riled some Black artists and scholars is well-known, and I wrote briefly about it here.) Serfilippi’s article doesn’t get the media play it does without the popularity of the abolitionist Founding Father myth that Miranda put on stage. So this conflict and news-cycle interest arose from Chernow’s need to give AH the moral high ground by claiming that he was the best best best abolitionist because Chernow is interested in hagiography, not biography. Unfortunately, Newton-Hamilton seem interested in the same thing.

A brief note on word usage: an enslaver, in most current usage, is defined as someone who participated in any aspect of the slavery enterprise. Considering AH’s undisputed role as money-handler (or the more laughable ‘he was a banker’ assertion in the Newton-Hamilton essay) for members of the Schuyler family acquiring enslaved persons, AH was an enslaver.

In my opinion, on the issue of slavery, AH is damned by his extensive ties from 1780 onwards to the Schuyler family. There’s nothing that can explain away the fact that AH at times lived with, visited, and sent his wife and children for extended stays and to be educated by his slave-owning in-laws. AH did not somehow become innocently involved in slave trading and ownership. Rather, he knew what he was doing when he married into the heavy slave-trading and owning Schuyler family and when he engaged in business acts for that family, including helping them to acquire/sell enslaved persons. These were morally weighty - and abominable acts, argued even in his day - and he did them anyway. There is not any record that remains that he had a problem having his children reared within an abhorrent system/household where people were enslaved and served them; in fact, given the number of times he sent his children to his father- and mother-in-law’s home for extended periods, it could be suggested he found nothing morally objectionable going on there. Philip Hamilton even thanked his enslaver grandfather for his advice on how to “be a good man.” P. Schuyler’s wealth and trading was through the slavery economy. Moreover, AH’s economic concerns were also inextricably tied to slavery - keep in mind that every mention of tariffs on sugar is connected to the slave trade. Almost everything led back to that evil institution.

During AH’s lifetime, a number of white AND Black persons articulated that all enslaved Black and Indigenous persons should be freed, that the practice of enslavement was a grave moral failing. AH was well-informed enough to know that Black Americans were articulating how freedom should be applied to them - indeed, many of the manumission policies of the original states arose from these efforts. So AH was fully aware of the arguments. (His son was involved!) Maybe this helped inspire him and his slave-owning friends and political colleagues to form the NY Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves, although none of this group agreed to give up their own enslaved persons as part of the organization of this group.

Or, as Newton-Hamilton audaciously state, “[AH] was more involved in building a nation” sotto voce based on enslavement and racial distinction than he could be bothered to care about the lives of enslaved people. This shouldn’t be a surprise when it comes to AH’s major moral failings/blind spots - he didn’t care about the lives of the people affected by his whiskey tax either. If one wants to nevertheless call this a “good man,” we’re probably looking at each other from across a void.

But this is well-trod territory. Several articles post-Chernow have evaluated and summarized positions on AH and slavery that I share:

“Hamilton's position on slavery is more complex than his biographers' suggest. Hamilton was not an advocate of slavery, but when the issue of slavery came into conflict with his personal ambitions, his belief in property rights, or his belief of what would promote America's interests, Hamilton chose those goals over opposing slavery. In the instances where Hamilton supported granting freedom to blacks, his primary motive was based more on practical concerns rather than an ideological view of slavery as immoral. Hamilton's decisions show that his desire for the abolition of slavery was not his priority.” Michelle DuRoss, “Somewhere in Between: Alexander Hamilton and Slavery,” Early American Review, 2011 [part 1, part 2]

“But it does illustrate something that his primary modern biographers have been reluctant to concede: Hamilton routinely subordinated his antislavery inclinations to other family and political concerns, and he did not ever approach even a modest level of engagement on the issue in his otherwise voluminous published works.” Phil Magness, “Alexander Hamilton’s Exaggerated Abolitionism,” 2015

“He was not an abolitionist...[h]e bought and sold slaves for his in-laws, and opposing slavery was never at the forefront of his agenda.” Annette Gordon-Reed, “Correcting ‘Hamilton’,” Harvard Gazette, 2016.

Serfilippi extends this:

When those sources are fully considered, a rarely acknowledged truth becomes inescapably apparent: not only did Alexander Hamilton enslave people, but his involvement in the institution of slavery was essential to his identity, both personally and professionally.

I have no objection to her statement. We simply have no record of AH strongly challenging the institution of slavery, while several of his colleagues and friends most certainly did. Instead, we have the financial transactions, the possible use of enslaved labor, and the possible ownership of enslaved persons, alongside his strong personal, professional, and political ties to owners of enslaved persons. And the new evidence: the inclusion of the following in a list of persons dead of Yellow Fever in NYC 1798, “Hamilton Alexander, major-general, the black man of, 26 Broadway” An Account of the Malignant Fever, Lately Prevalent in the City of New-York, 1799. We cannot know if this was an enslaved man or a free Black man who lived and labored for the Hamiltons, but it should eliminate anyone confidently stating that the Hamiltons did not own enslaved persons.

Thus, Serfilippi has successfully accomplished at least one important goal: bringing to the forefront the names (as we have them) of persons, servant or enslaved, connected to the Hamiltons.

I wrote above that part of the problem here is hagiography. If his concern is with the truth, I certainly look forward to Newton’s chapter-by-chapter repudiations of books written by Chernow, Brookhiser, and Knott on AH and the AH/GW relationship.This leads to the second issue that has arisen: the unprofessional, and frankly gross, glee in trying to punch down on a young female scholar. In my own field (an ex-partner is a military historian so I’ll speak for their field too), the approach when one believes a colleague is publishing in error and one has additional information that could illuminate the issues is to contact them and seek to work together to analyze and draw conclusions. Newton and the anonymous Love Hamilton clan didn’t treat Serfilippi as if she were deserving of this respect. Moreover, Newton has never, to my knowledge - and I purchased his books! - gone this hard after Chernow, who certainly deserves it even more.

But Newton-Hamilton betray their own concerns here: “Considering the era in which Hamilton lived, the challenges he faced, and his accomplishments, it is not difficult to understand why Hamilton did not make opposition to slavery his primary focus. His attention was on building a nation.” And what kind of nation was that? At the Constitutional Convention, AH’s lengthy speeches on the formation of the government have been recorded. There is no record of him offering any statements about the slavery issue, unlike his friend Gouverneur Morris.

Newton-Hamilton continue: “Unfortunately, that meant neglecting other important matters, not just slavery but also his own financial well-being.” Wow, a comparison is made between AH’s personal finances and the ownership of human beings. Could these authors be any clearer that the slavery issue is an inconvenience that they are ultimately unconcerned about? I’m unsure if Newton-Hamilton realize just how gross their attempt at addressing this issue has been, and that it’s hard to take their interpretation and analysis of the evidence seriously when these are the kinds of statements making their way into the rebuttal essays.

Now there is an interesting discussion about how even later abolitionists did not see a conflict in the employment of enslaved labor, but that too isn’t something that Newton-Hamilton show interest in. Instead, their approach seems to be that AH needs to be celebrated at all costs, and thankfully, those days are passing into history.

*It’s ridiculous that a group of people have given themselves a stupid pseudonym to avoid attaching their actual names to a so-called scholarly article. And I’m aware that I’m writing this anonymously, but on tumblr where maybe 5 people have made it to the end of this (I’m not publishing it on my real blog).

**I will not link it, but it can be found on Newton’s blog discoveringhamilton.

[a-simple-imagine]

Day 1 - The Great Candy Cane Disaster

synopsis: Malfoy gets you in trouble so you decide to get back at him but things go a little too far

pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (if you squint)

Words: 2.6k+

A/n -  We’re kicking off the first day of my advent calendar with something centered around Draco Malfoy.

Warnings - Swearing

"They look ridiculous," Malfoy muses as you add the final ingredient to your forgetfulness potion.

"They look fine," You roll your eyes, utterly fed up with the boy. Sometimes you wished he'd simply keep his comments to himself. "I wanted to look festive but I have to wear my uniform so antlers were the next best thing."

"They look stupid," He repeats. You adjust the reindeer antlers that sit upon your head like a silent protest.

"Will you just try the potion please?"

"No, why don't you do it?" He bites back, you swear he's being difficult on purpose just to get under your skin. When it came to potions class, you often found yourself paired with Malfoy. On the odd occasions, he was relatively helpful but sometimes he was the exact opposite.

"I did most of the work so you have to try it." You risk pushing the potion cauldron a little, watching the liquid inside almost swish over the edge; that would be the last thing you need in Snape's class.

"I do hope that amongst all this arguing, you managed to finish your potion." Snape's dull voice ringed in your ear."

"Of course Professor," Malfoy recites as professor Snape approaches your table. "she was just about to test it out."

You want to protest but you know better. It's probably just land you in trouble, so you reluctantly pick up a glass vile "fine," and plunge it into the orange potion. You take the smallest of sips. "So, Uh... what were we talking about again?"

"Next time, you two should refrain from shouting across my classroom"

"Yes Professor," you both reply.

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"Wait why?" You question quickly, brows furrowed.

"Careful now, or I'll make it ten." You can hear Malfoy's little snicker beside you as you watch Snape walk away to inspect somebody else's work.

By the time lunch came around, you were utterly fed up with the day. Slumping down at the Gryffindor table, you let out a dramatic sigh suggesting you wanted someone to ask what was wrong. Nobody did. So you sigh again.

"I can't believe you lost us house points," Hermione scolds as if she hasn't done it before. It wasn't a big deal. "why can't you be more responsible."

"You try being partners with Malfoy," you grumble, as you take a couple of sandwiches and place them on your plate. "And besides, Snape was totally unfair."

"Honestly, everyone knows Snape favours Slytherin so you have to be more careful." Hermione was right about that. It was clear Snape favoured his own house and was especially harsh when it came to Gryffindors. Why he hated you so much was unclear but it was something you had come to terms with.

"Gosh it was only ten points, it's not the end of the world Hermione." You take a bite of your sandwich. "Enough about that- I need your help."

"With what?" She asks, bringing her goblet of juice to her lips.

"Learning the duplication spell? It never seems to work for me."

"Why?"

You simply shrug. "If I knew why, I wouldn't ask for help,"

"No- I mean why do you want help with it? You never normally want to study outside of class."

You'd laugh if it wasn't true. Studying, for the most part, wasn't your favourite thing to do and much like Ron, you tended to avoid it as much as possible. You were by no means a bad student, just not as good as Hermione for example. "You're always telling me I should get ahead of my studies and not leave everything to the last minute, Hermione, I'm just trying to be a good student."

For a moment, you think she's seen through your lie but she just smiles a little before pushing her plate to the middle of the table. "Fine. I have to head to the library and get a few books but I'll meet you in the common room later and we can go over it."

"Great," and with that Hermione leaves you with the boys to finish up lunch.

"So tell the truth then," Ron perks up, his mouth full of food.

"Huh?"

"We all know you're not suddenly a model student," he continues. "so why do you suddenly want help with a spell?"

"People can change, Ronald." Hermione always called him that.

"I don't believe that for a minute,"

"Ron's right," Harry agreed. "You once said you wouldn't be caught dead in the library. That doesn't sound like model student behaviour."

"Blasphemy," You state dramatically slapping your hand against the table.

Ron chuckles a little. "Tell us. We won't tell Hermione."

"Fine," You could trust them enough not to keep your secret; they'd proven that value before. "I want to enchant an object and give it to Malfoy."

"Hermione isn't going to like that you're using a spell to get back at Malfoy-" Ron warns with the most playful of smiles. "I can't wait to tell her."

"You just said you wouldn't," you huff, tossing a piece of bread in Ron's direction. "It's just a harmless prank."

"He's messing with you," Harry adds.

"Malfoy's leaving- I'll be right back," you jump up sharply. "Don't head back without me."

Charging over to the Slytherin table, you find Pansy just as she's finishing up. "Great, what do you want?"

"So volatile," you tease. "I need a favour."

"Ha! that's likely," Pansy Parkinson was not your friend. Everyone knew that. In fact, she actively chose to hate on you every moment she got. You liked to think it was just a complicated relationship with one of the biggest bullies in school.

"Can we... talk in private,"

Taking her arm, you drag her out of the great hall as she struggles in your grip. "What do you want?"

"A favour." You repeat. You need Pansy on board or your plan wouldn't work. You weren't close enough to Malfoy, nor did you have access to the Slytherin common room. Pansy did and she was not against breaking the rules.

"Tough luck," she spits, turning sharply on her heel but you reach out to grab her before she can leave.

"Please Pansy,"

"What's in it for me?"

Uh... you hadn't planned that far ahead. "My love and friendship?"

She chokes out a laugh. "Pass."

"Fine, I'll do whatever you want,"

"Whatever I want?" The was a degree of intrigue in her voice as she turned back around that made you worry about her upcoming demand.

"I mean... I'm not gonna like murder someone but you get the idea."

"Do all my Christmas break homework?"

"You can't be serious?" You got enough homework on an average day never mind during the holidays. It was like the professors deliberately didn't want you to have fun. "We've already been set like two essays and-"

"Take it or leave it," she interrupts, a malicious grin graced her beautiful features.

You groan loudly. You didn't really have much choice and she was holding all the cards here. "Fine- okay, I'll do al your homework."

"So, what do you want me to do then?" She wonders, pulling out of your grip.

"I need you to sneak me into the Slytherin common room."

"Is that all?" She raises a brow. "That's easy enough- When?"

"Couple days. I have to prepare first."

"Kay-" Without another word, Pansy turns on her heel and enters the great hall. Guess the conversation was over then. You may now be lumbered with way more homework than you cared to think about but at least she agreed. Heading back to the table, Ron is somehow still eating.

"What was that about?" Harry questions before you can even sit back down.

"Since when you and Parkinson friends?" Ron adds.

"We're not. I'm pretty sure she hates me." You shrug, finishing off your drink. "I needed her help but I had to wait until Malfoy wasn't around"

"Sounds like more effort than it's worth." Ron was more right then he would ever know.

"We should go. We have charms soon."

Classes were relatively easier towards the end of the year excluding any tests but the days still felt way too long. That evening you're sat on the floor beside the roaring reds and oranges of the fire. Hermione is sat across from you with a neat stack of papers and an array of books. Ron and Harry are chatting on the couch just within earshot.

"No offence, Hermione but why do I have to know the entire history of the spell to use it?"

"You wanted my help, didn't you?"

You sigh softly listening to her entire lecture with forged interest. When she's finally stopped telling you about the twins who created the spell, she placed a small leather-bound book on the floor between you; pulling out her wand. "Before you begin, you want to be sure of exactly how many copies you wish to make otherwise it can become uncontrollable," Hermione explains. "Only the caster can stop the uncontrollable duplication." Waving her wand she gently tapped the book. "Geminio." The book shook a little before splitting into two identical books side by side.

"And this spell works on anything?"

"To a degree. Keep in mind while they are identical, the other copy is considered worthless as after a while it'll start to degrade. So you give it a try,"

You pull out your wand and with a flick. "Geminio." Nothing happened. So you try again.

"juh-MIN-ee-oh," Hermione corrects your pronunciation slowly. "And don't flourish your wand so much. Just a smooth and simple flick," she readies her wand and flicks. "Geminio."

The book splits into another. Show off.

You flick your wand "Geminio." Again nothing happens.

"You're not very good at this," Ron teases from the side.

Hermione takes your wand hand in hers. "Let's try together, okay, ready?" You nod a little. Hermione guides your hand. "Geminio." You both say together and this time the book splits. You smile brightly.

"It worked!"

"Good job."

"Now I can put my plan in motion."

"What plan? I thought you just wanted help with your studies?"

"Oh- yes, that's what I meant." Her eyes narrow in and you offer an innocent smile. "Well, I'm off to bed- Good night."

It's a couple of days before you decide to finally get back at Malfoy. That time was mostly spent in classes and practising the spell. While everyone else is distracted having dinner, you follow Pansy through the halls of Hogwarts and down to the dungeons.

"So why are you doing this?" She asks but she doesn't sound too interested in an actual answer.

"Malfoy got me in trouble and I wish to share the Christmas spirit."

"By giving him... a candy cane?"

"Yeah," Your smile brightens. "Candy canes are the perfect Christmas treat. He has to be the one to touch it okay? No one else or it'll ruin it."

"Weird." She seems suspicious. "But fine. You're still doing all my homework."

"Yes. I know." You roll your eyes. Every time you've spoken to her in the past few days she's mentioned her homework. Stepping into the Slytherin common room felt weird; you don't know what you were expecting it to look like. You guess you just imagined them all to look the same but in different colours however, that was certainly not the case. It was... darker in here somewhat creepier.

"Then I'll make sure he's the one to get it."

"Promise?"

"Just leave before I call Snape."

"Alright, alright, Thanks for this."

Sneaking out the Slytherin common room, you head back to the great hall as if nothing had happened. Joining Harry, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

"Where have you been?" Hermione quickly asks and your mind draws a blank.

"Huh- oh! I wasn't hungry but now I am- So what did I miss?"

"Nothing really," Harry shrugs.

"Hermione was lecturing us," Ron follows up.

"Sounds about right," you chuckle.

It's hard to pay attention as you wait for Malfoy to finish his dinner. Staring intensely at the Slytherin table; only catching bits and pieces of the conversation happening around you. When you notice Malfoy leaving, you sit up a little straighter.

"What are you looking at?" Hermione clicks before your eyes, drawing your attention back.

"...nothing,"

"Do you fancy Malfoy or something?"

"What?" You turn to her, completely shocked and sort of offended. You and Malfoy would be a... weird combination to say the least. "No. Don't be silly."

"You have been staring at him since sitting down," Ron adds, a smirk on his lips. He knew exactly why you were distracted so his comment was just to rile you up.

"I don't fancy him- shut up." You growl back. "I'm heading back to the common room."

"I think I'll come too," Hermione stated, clearing up the almost none existent mess she had made. LI wanna do a little reading before bed."

You offer a small smile. If you say no, she'll be suspicious so you kind of just have to go along with it. Harry and Ron end up joining you. The halls are pretty empty as the four of you head back, it was still pretty early to be fair. You're idly chatting away to Hermione when you hear your name echo through the hallway. While taking note of it, you choose to ignore it and continue walking but then it happens again. Louder this time. You grab Hermione and Ron, by the wrists and pull them a little faster. "Hurry up,"

"What why?" Hermione protests pulling out of your grip.

"Because."

"Stop!" You know the voice belongs to Malfoy; it's hard to miss. When you finally turn around to look, you see him charging towards you looking very angry. "What can I do for you Malfoy?" You ask innocently, putting on your best smile but he doesn't stop. You back up until you're against a wall and he is standing before you. It doesn't seem like the time but still, you reach up and pull a candy cane that seems to be stuck to his best. "Didn't know you liked candy canes so much. Saving this one for later were we?"

He doesn't see the funny side. "I know it was you,"

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Leave her alone, Malfoy." Hermione defends, walking up behind him.

"Yeah shove off," Ron growls.

"You're not funny," the Slytherin snaps, taking a step back and taking your wrist. "You either come with me or I tell Snape that you filled the room with candy canes."

"How could I do that? I can't even get in the Slytherin common room."

"Your name was on the card."

"Is that why you wanted to learn the Geminio charm?" Busted.

"I used the Geminio spell on a candy cane so when Malfoy picked it up, they would start multiplying." You admit.

"We can't get it to stop."

"How is that my problem," you protest as he tries to drag you along with him.

"Did you remember to set an amount?"

"Uh... I knew I forgot something."

As much as you struggle you do end up going with Draco. He doesn’t say anything the entire way but his grip suggests that he's still very angry and as the door opens and some candy canes spill out, you realise you may have gone a little too far. You had originally expected a hundred copies or so but this was way more and they didn't seem to be stopping as they spilt out onto the corridor.

"Well... Shit. Probably should have brought Hermione with us."

[unproduciblesmackdown]

after i posted that reblog & was washing dishes it was like, oh no, there was what now feels like an obvious neon point to make that i sure did not, so here i go also just giving it its own post

basically just that, in the context of this “do other people think winston is Smart, do they think he is ‘smart’ in a way that is considered an intinsic positive quality attributed to that person rather than like, well this external result i guess indicates the mechanics of your brain are good enough to produce this but it’s hardly a positive for you as a person, b/c you’re probably worse at being a person for the fact all your stats go into running endless arithmatic in there, on that note do they think he is definitively Not smart outside the [external results] of math aptitude, has winston internalized anything from this assessment & according treatment by others” that point of winston so often being right about things outside of stuff to do with math / otherwise directly quant related matters sure seems to indicate he’s not Just Good / Smart At Math, but having to compile a post about instances he’s had these valuable / accurate contributions to make was sure motivated in part by these instances not necessarily being obvious, b/c in the show when he says “off topic” things / isn’t just sticking to the quant stuff people are mostly just trying to get him to shut up / even as he’s saying this Correct, Useful stuff people are just like, revving up the disdain b/c he’s talking / acting wrong & annoying. the Extrinsic quality of his social approach making the inferred Intrinsic quality that winston’s clueless/useless or whatever & thus so’s whatever he’s actually saying, it’s wrong & it would’ve been better if he hadn’t said anything at all

plus it only kind of backs things up that i don’t think like, for viewers it’s meant to be completely obvious that winston is out here like, being insightful & perceptive & generally paying attention to everything on his own & keeping up with all of it & being attentive to / right about social elements of goings on, w/his ideas about what other people are like & what their feelings & motivations might be & how that might be playing into / relevant to various situations....a particularly clear & relevant example being his 4x11 admonishlogue, which was naturally a subjective spontaneous spiel while he’s worked up & irritated rather than like, yes this is the objective 1000% accurate rundown of the situation, but it was right enough for taylor to have listened & then we get their 4x12 conscious course correction / them acknowledging They Were Wrong & Are Sorry, & if you’re not a billions viewer failing to realize axe & taylor have these parallel plot threads in 4x11 & that taylor’s speech in 4x12 wasn’t out of nowhere, about & inspired by nothing, with no context, the implication is that taylor recognized winston made some points / was influenced thusly......but also, [all the billions viewers who didn’t get that at all] is kind of relevant here b/c you Can just suppose that automatically everything winston says is wrong & useless, & furthermore the 4x11 scene “resolves” with mafee jumping in & saying as much & just taking the Pwning A Nerd route to shout someone down into dropping the point, as always mafee doesn’t really argue with any of the actual things winston was saying, but if you’re operating with the understanding that the Axe Cap Approach of bullying less epic winner guys into shutting up is the extrinsic behavior that indicates any & all intrinsic positive qualities, aka they’re just Always Right b/c they’re the cool guys, & annoying insecure math nerds like winston are always wrong, well then

which is then also relevant to how winston of course wouldn’t / couldn’t fit in at axe cap but Can work for taylor.......thinking of how, you know, there’s these characters who are regarded as Extra Smart who also have to be perceived by other characters & viewers as having these extrinsic qualities that Intuitively indicate / prove their intrinsic smartness, i.e. / e.g. how, say, taylor has to “seem” smart pretty much immediately, to a character like axe (who can also have these moments of, without external successful results that would “prove” anything, will just be “evidently” smart in what he does/says in an exchange & how he does it), because their other extrinsic qualities would seem “wrong,” & thus what people might infer about their intrinsic qualities based on that would be negative, but axe can recognize their smartness & prioritize it over them being The Tough Guy / having successfully bullied their coworkers (or co interns) until they had some superior position because of that or the other stuff that’s supposedly the Right way to do things that proves you’re a Winner in any / every way....but, while at axe cap / dealing with now coworkers (or now subordinates) or other people in the business, taylor still had to navigate those situations even with axe’s conferred protection / approval / blessing, requiring having to consciously adopt certain extrinsic / external approaches b/c they know it’s the only way to get people to listen or take them seriously (on top of how already the approach they had re: interpersonal / social exchanges & presenting themself was titrated in the hopes of people taking them seriously / inferring helpful/positive things about them)

and then when it comes to tmc / taylor for real having the final word / ultimate authority on everything, they don’t want their employees to Have to put on the same kinds of performances they sometimes did, and they sure don’t want their employees to have to act like what was the norm at axe cap re: cool tough guy winners being terrible to everyone as a way to prove your worth, and they sure are not going to Make or even encourage anyone to do any of that. and even if any intrinsic smartness(tm) of winston’s doesn’t extrinsically manifest in the way axe cappers, or even mase cappers, think that it could/would/should, taylor’s more concerned with his intrinsic talent than extrinsic demeanor, and even if they’re suggesting these are at odds, they aren’t quite 100% directly connecting them, i.e. they’re not saying “well, your demeanor means you’re a dumbass but you’re still smart somehow,” the issue is just that he was too grating & rude to them in 3x03 (& beyond that is still Not sweet / “being a dick”) which is now, in some notable contrast with what they said in 3x03, being considered as this separate matter rather than “of course you can’t work for me b/c you hate yourself too much to Really be effective,” now it’s like, well yeah you were annoying but also you’re still skilled enough to consider....and by kompenso they obviously think he’s actually worth hiring, b/c there he is, hired, & kept on, & brought to tmc at axe cap, & still here (with him only Apparently being on thin ice when taylor has given enough control of mase carb to wendy that they no longer exactly have the final word / ultimate authority (and even if they kinda do, they don’t just wanna immediately / completely take advantage of that))

but naturally what really counts even beyond this is that, besides being the person who of course hired winston in the first place / wants him around b/c he’s good at math, taylor also just actually also always listens to & genuinely considers what winston says and, as seen in 4x11 to 4x12 for one, can actually change their mind / reevaluate a situation / decide they might’ve been wrong because of what he’s said, on top of instances like 5x03 where they’re also listening to him like, yeah he’s talking about math, but he’s Also contributing some personal, qualitative leaning insight, thanks to admitting that, you know, This’ll Be The First Live Test, he’s not saying “well yeah the numbers totally back us up” but he’s still saying that he himself thinks they can do it, and they do it.......so yeah the point is taylor must of course think he’s Smart At Math but they must also consider / (realize) that he’s also smart at other shit / just in general and, even if other characters / viewers might think that the way winston behaves / seems he must Not be smart, taylor is always listening to him & is definitely not instantly writing it off / interpreting it as outright Wrong / simply experiencing radio static ft. “ugh hate that this guy has to be so annoying” as soon as he speaks....so shoutout to taylor for that, and maybe there’s a parallel in how, their first time around at axe cap, taylor could sort of avoid axe cappers giving them as much shit as they might’ve b/c they had some protection from axe, the top shit giver, and here’s winston able to be treated as smart & valuable despite the fact other people wouldn’t see him that way b/c taylor, the smart value detector,  wants him here

but you know, Not shoutout to the fact that taylor’s kind of the exception in reliably listening to Everything winston might have to say / taking him seriously & realizing that he has good contributions besides Just strictly in the quant realm, and that for the most part characters (and viewers) are kind of just automatically like boooo everything winston says is dumb and wrong and we hate him.....while, you know, the whole time he’s so often “secretly” Right about plenty of things, as long as there’s anyone actually listening and not just automatically writing him off as The Guy Who’s Wrong About Everything But Numbers

(feels relevant enough to put in the text as a postscript here: Of Note the way that axe cappers react to winston in s5, the weird contradictory 5x01 quantphobia like “they’re smarter than us and better at us. at math ig, but i guess also in general. and this is an own i guess” and “also they’re not better than us at math even or whatever,” and then dollar bill’s apparently assuming some quant would just guaranteed be able to make him money, but he’s also stomping in with no real leverage and so you’ve just got him pitting his usual bluster and bravado “this means i’m intrinsically a winner” approach against winston, whose social approach means he’s a dumb wrong nerd, but also please do your good math for me, and you know, it doesn’t really work out for bill and was just a waste of everyone’s time, kind of a failure of bill’s not only to convert his Winner Axe Cap Behavior directly into making money / succeeding but trying to do so by actually getting the math guy to do the valuable shit for him....and then they kind of all forget he exists which is very fine by me b/c you know, winston can’t really just exist in the general axe cap scape and ideally taylor should always be in the group he’s in, although it also helps if rian’s someone who just listens to him normally / hadn’t immediately judged his extrinsic / intrinsic qualities negatively (she is))

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Taming of the Shrew

Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 3035

Summary: Peter has been in love with you from the day he set eyes on you. The only problem is, is that you’re not exactly the most approachable girl in school. Your fear of your own feelings starts to break down as Peter charms his way into your life. 

Notes: Since 10 Things I Hate About You is my favorite movie, I wanted to draw some inspiration from that. Hope you enjoy! (I’m actually really proud of the ending guys. If you’ve seen the movie, hopefully, it’ll sound familiar)

Marvel Masterlist

-

He didn’t know what to make of you. In class, you voiced your opinions without a second thought, no matter how unpopular they were. You were unapologetically you, but you kept to yourself. You barely spoke to anyone unless you were arguing with them. It seemed that your only friend was Michelle. And he was completely head over heels for you. 

But, alas, you barely acknowledged his existence. Every time he’d pop up out of nowhere next to your locker, you put in your headphones and walked away. You sat alone at lunch, often reading or just listening to music. Peter found you absolutely fascinating, but Flash never missed an opportunity to make fun of you. 

“If it isn't the resident freak of Midtown Tech.” He mocked as you walked into biology. You ignored him, per usual and took your seat… next to Peter. 

“Just ignore him,” Peter whispered. “I do.”

“I can fight my own battles, Parker.” You snapped. 

“Hey, Y/N, did you take any creepy pictures lately? I heard the police are cracking down on that kind of thing.” Flash taunted. 

“I work on the yearbook, dickwad.” You retorted. 

“Miss Y/L/N, language.” Your teacher shook her head with disappointment as she walked in the room, conveniently missing all of Flash’s comments as usual. She began the lesson, which you hardly paid any attention to. You’d done all the homework the night before since this teacher tended to rant about her personal life instead of actually teaching. When class was over, you rushed out into the hall, but Peter was fast. 

“Hey, Y/N, this is going to sound stupid, but I was wondering-”

“If you don’t want a sarcastic answer, don’t ask a stupid question.” You said bluntly, but he just shrugged it off like usual and maintained his sunny expression.

“A group of us were planning to get together to study for the Biology final this weekend, and I was wondering if you would want to come along? It’ll be at the park, everyone is bringing snacks.” The nervous stutter in his voice was actually pretty adorable and your lips betrayed you by giving him a slight smile. 

“By everyone, do you mean you and Ned?” 

“No, actually.” He had a little skip in his step as he walked with you to your next class. “MJ said she’ll be there.” And if MJ was going, you’d be going. You did almost everything together since she was really your only friend, besides your cat Baymax of course. You blew out a breath. 

“Then count me in, Parker.” You were sure that if he smiled any bigger that his face would split in half. You jutted a finger at his chest and narrowed your eyes. “You better bring those cookies that your aunt makes.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got her making, like, four dozen.” He laughed. Great. Now he needed to ask Aunt May to make four dozen cookies by tomorrow. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the park then.” 

“Wait,” You groaned. “My dad will probably make me bring Becca. Is that okay?” He shrugged. 

“Yeah, sure.” Peter had never actually spoken to your younger sister. Becca was a super popular freshman who he had heard was really good at physics. He had also heard that she’d been hanging out with a kid named Joey. He made Flash look like Mr. Rogers. “She, uh, she won’t bring Joey with her will she?” 

“Uh, no.” You snorted. “You definitely don’t have to worry about that douche being anywhere near me.” 

“Great because he used to steal Ned’s lunch money, so there would be that drama and-”

“Parker.” 

“Yeah?”

“Run along.” 

“Okay.” 

-

Becca had gotten a ride home with one of her friends so you took the subway alone. You didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to listen to your music rather than listen to her blab about all of her popular friends. Especially Joey. You still shuddered at the thought of that creep trying to date your little sister. You wanted to tell her to stay away from him, but you knew that it would just make her do it even more. The two of you had been at odds for as long as you could remember. She was Miss Perky and you were the self-proclaimed shrew of the school. 

The station exit was a few blocks down from your apartment, allowing you to take in the sites of the city while the afternoon sun hung high overhead. It reminded you of when your mother would take you and Becca on little adventures, walking around New York like it was some new foreign world. That was before she left. You were too distracted by your music that you didn’t notice the hand reaching out of the ally to yank you in. 

There had been reports of a masked mugger in your neighborhood for a while now, but you never took it seriously. Maybe you should have. 

“Hel-” You started to scream, but he covered your mouth with his hand. 

“Let’s see what you’ve got, shall we?” He spoke in a tone that was clearly lower than his natural voice. Something about it sounded familiar, but you didn’t have time to process before a flash of red replaced the mugger. 

You took off running without a second thought. You sprinted towards your apartment building, but seven blocks seemed like miles. 

Spiderman webbed up the mugger before swinging down the street to catch up with you. He had seen a knife in the bad guy's hand so he was worried that you had been hurt. When the masked hero popped up in front of you, hanging upside down from a street light, he had to dodge the punch you almost landed to his face. 

“Woah, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He released the web and did a flip to land on his feet. “Your arm’s bleeding.” He reached out a hand to examine the cut, but you jerked away, the sudden sting shooting up your arm. You hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’m fine, Spider-boy.” You snapped. 

“It’s Spiderman,” He corrected under his breath. 

“Whatever. Can I go home now?” You pushed passed him, but he was persistent. 

“Here, let me help. Hey Karen, make a bandage web.” 

“Seriously, that isn’t-” He gently grabbed your arm before you could object. You should have shoved him away, but you didn’t. Why was your heart doing this weird fluttering thing? He pressed the webbing to the wound, making you wince slightly, but it actually felt really nice. 

Peter watched you watch him and he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He felt more confident in the mask. 

“Go ahead, Peter,” Karen said. 

“Can I walk you the rest of the way?” Spiderman asked. You raised your eyebrows and scoffed. 

“You’re kidding, right? Are you hitting on me?” 

“You know, most people would be a little more grateful after being saved by a superhero.” He argued, the playful tone in his voice sounding so familiar to you. He was right. He might have just saved your life. But you would never admit defeat, especially to some kid in glorified spandex. 

“Oh, you mean like this?” You smiled seductively and leaned in, reaching your fingers up to his mask. 

Peter’s breathing hitched. Was this really happening? Your hands suddenly moved from his mask and grasped his shoulders, giving you better momentum as you kneed him the crotch. He let out a groan and toppled back into a collection of trash cans. You walked into the apartment building before you could change your mind. 

“That went well.” Karen teased as Peter stood up, kind of waddling as he brushed off the dirt and trash. 

“I told you.” Even with his now sore groin, he was smiling. “She’s something.”

-

Central Park was crowded, but if you could find the right spot, it wasn’t so bad. You met up with MJ early to do just that, finding some benches away from all of the running children and obnoxious dog-walkers. 

“So he asked to walk you home?” MJ wondered. You had been telling her about the previous day's events and she was just very interested in the fact that you kneed Spiderman in the balls. 

“What a creep right?” You scoffed, trying to hide how you really felt. You’d be damned if you allowed yourself to have a crush on some egotistical masked vigilante. Michelle shrugged. 

“Doesn’t sound that bad.” 

“He could be some thirty-year-old pervert who lives in his mother’s basement!” You knew that much wasn’t true. His voice sounded too young and oh so familiar. 

“Sorry I’m late, but I didn’t want to be here.” Becca chimed with her sickly fake sweet tone. 

“You could just, I don’t know, get stuck in a tree or something.” You snapped back. She stuck out her tongue and changed her focus to her phone, taking a well-planned selfie while you and Michelle rolled your eyes in unison. 

“Here comes the dork squad,” MJ announced, watching Peter and Ned trek towards you with a large picnic basket between them. 

“Hey everyone.” Peter greeted, setting the basket down on the bench. His eyes darted towards you and quickly looked away. “I brought some drinks and some snacks, so take whatever you want.”

“I brought an extra book in case anyone forgot theirs,” Ned added, pulling the Biology books from his bag. Becca made a face. 

“You guys are actually studying?” 

“Uh, yeah?” Peter gave her a confused look. What else would they be doing? She scoffed. 

“I’m going to go find a magazine stand.” She sashayed away in her mini skirt, calling one of her clones probably to whine about you. You were about to say something, but Peter interrupted you, wanting to keep everyone’s moods up. 

“I was thinking we could do flashcards?” 

Studying actually went really well. You had been struggling with Biology and Peter’s charisma made learning a lot easier than your boring teacher’s lessons. Okay, it helped that you may have had the tiniest little crush on him. Not that you’d ever tell him that. Your ‘tough-bitch’ persona would be ruined. It had just been an hour or so when you saw him. Joey, leaning against a tree, leaning over your sister. 

“I’ll be back.” You told the group and stomped over to the pair. You shoved Joey away from Becca, steam practically coming out of your ears. 

“What the hell, Y/N!” Becca shrieked, but you ignored her. 

“Stay away from my sister, Joey.” You commanded. He just laughed. 

“You jealous, freak?” He took a step towards you, his disgusting gaze traveling up and down your body. “Because if you’ve changed your mind about us hooking up, I would be more than happy to oblige.” Your stomach twisted into a knot. 

“Y/N, what is he talking about?” 

“Nothing, Becca, he’s full of shit.” You hissed. The commotion had drawn the rest of the group over to you and you felt Peter’s hand gently touch your shoulder. 

“Everything okay?” His eyes and his voice were so sincere that you wanted to cry. You knew what Joey was doing and you didn’t want Peter anywhere near here. 

“Back off, Parker.” Joey snapped. His lips spread into a cruel smirk, looking back at you. “You weren’t saying that last month at Flash’s party. I believe it was something like,” he moved his hips back and forth, mockingly moaning in a higher voice, “Yes Joey. Like that Joey. You’re so good at this…” 

“Y/N?” Now it was MJ sounding confused. 

“Shut. Up.” You growled, pushing Joey again. He grabbed your wrists. 

“Just like old times, right?” He sneered. “Freshman year, you couldn’t get enough of me.” 

“Leave her alone.” Peter appeared beside you. You’d never seen him angry before, but he looked ready to tear Joey apart. 

“I can handle this, Peter.” You ripped your hands away, still feeling his revolting touch. He was relentless. 

“Wouldn’t you like to, you little bitch!” His smug smile was broken by Peter’s fist colliding with his face. Becca screamed and you jumped back, Michelle catching you before you could fall. 

“Peter!” You screamed, watching the two in a whirlwind of punches. “Peter, stop!” Joey was nearly six inches taller than him and he had muscle built up from his years of doing football. Yet somehow, it seemed like Peter was winning. When the two seemed to have an equal share of cuts and bruises, Peter shoved Joey away. 

“Now get out of here.” He commanded. Joey gave Becca one last wink before running off. 

“What the hell, Peter?” You snapped. Without another word, you and MJ walked away, Becca shuffling along after you. Peter just stood there, dumbfounded. 

“Your lip’s bleeding,” Ned said in awe. Peter shook his head, watching your retreating back, shoulders hunched forward with humiliation. 

“Not now Ned.” 

-

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Becca asked. Her usual brattiness was gone and her voice held the sincerity of a concerned sister. 

“Because I never wanted to remember it.” You sniffed. You’d been crying for the past hour. You felt so stupid. The worst part was that all of it was true. You and Joey had been an item freshman year and he was, unfortunately, your first time. “We were only together for about a month… when mom left.” Becca put a hand on top of yours. 

“And Flash’s party?” She grimaced. You nodded, an ashamed tear falling down your cheek. 

“That was the result of a surge of teenage rebellion and way too much tequila.” You held up your pinky. “Promise me you will never let alcohol make any decisions for you ever.” She laughed and hooked her pinky with yours. 

“I promise.”

A sudden knock on your window made you both jump. Outside, was none other than Spiderman. Becca could hardly contain her excitement as she leaped off of your bed and moved to unlatch the lock.

“Don’t let him in here!” You exclaimed. 

“It’s Spiderman, of course, I’m letting him in.” She undid the lock and pushed up the window, allowing him to slip inside. 

“Thanks.” He nodded, trying to lean casually against the wall. “Can I, uh, talk to Y/N?” She looked at you with wide eyes and a huge grin. 

“Don’t you-” You started, but she was already out the door. 

“I came to check up on that cut.” He lied. There was that voice again. 

“Don’t move.” You commanded, walking up to him. It was time to see if your suspicions were right. You lifted your fingers up to his mask, feeling for his lips. You hit a certain spot and he winced. Bingo. “Peter?” His heart pounded. 

“What? No. I’m not Peter. I-” You raised a brow and he knew that it was no use. Hesitantly, he took off the mask. His lip was split in the corner and a bruise had started to form on his right cheek. 

“Jesus, Peter.” You were more phased by his injuries than his secret identity. “Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” He just shrugged. 

“I couldn’t listen to him to talk to you like that.” 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying not to look him in the eye. Those big brown puppy dog eyes that held nothing but total admiration for you even after everything he heard. 

“You probably don’t think much of me anymore.” You wiped your face with your sleeve. “Everything that Joe said was true.” 

“Y/N.” Peter sighed. He took a step towards you and when you didn’t retreat, he put his hands on your arms. “I don’t care about what Joey said. I care about that spit-fire girl who wasn’t afraid to kick a superhero in the crotch.” You laughed. Despite everything, he could still make you laugh. His adorable smile turned sheepish. “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Y/N. Really really liked you. Got-my-aunt-t- make-four-dozen-cookies, liked you.” He held up a box in his hand. “Which I brought, by the way.” 

Just like that, your tough girl exterior faded. 

“I like you too.” Cautiously, you put a hand on his cheek and brought his lips to yours. Peter’s heart soared and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“You are not going to bel-” Becca burst into the room and gasped. Peter tried to hide his face behind you, but she’d already seen him. “Oh hey, Peter.” She only seemed slightly surprised. It was always the geeky ones. She closed the door behind her, a mix of excitement and mischief in her expression. “Good, I can show this to you too.” She pulled up an article on her phone. “The neighborhood masked-mugger… is Joey.” You snatched the phone from her hand. 

“No. Way.” Sure enough, the article listed the details of his arrest. Apparently, after his fight with Peter, Joey went on a spree and messed with the wrong woman. He got pepper-sprayed and was apprehended soon after. 

“That’s crazy.” Peter blew out a breath. Becca smirked and took back her phone. 

“I’ll let you two get back to it.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you and backed out of your room. 

“So I guess me kicking his ass helped get him caught,” Peter said with a hint of cockiness. 

“I’m still pissed at you.” You put your hands on your hips. He pouted, holding up the box of baked goods.

“But I brought you cookies.” You laughed, taking one out of the box, it’s gooey center melting in your mouth.  

“Okay, but you can’t just bring me cookies every time you piss me off.” You pointed out, moving to the other side of your room, taking the box for yourself. He shot a web out of his wrist and it latched onto your hand. 

“I know, but there’s always,” He tugged on the web, pulling you closer, “cakes,” closer, “pies,” closer, “and maybe, one day…” You were pressed against him now, grinning from his silly antics. “Muffins.” You shook your head, but your lips collided without hesitation for another perfect kiss.

I want you to want me….

[victoria-daydreams]

Lost in the Stars - Part V

Part IV

AN: With the being election over my anxiety has gone down considerably which means I can write freely without the feeling existential dread hovering over me. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: When Sarela Reyes accepted a bounty to find some  missing child it should have been a simple job. What she got instead was  a chance meeting with a certain Mandalorian, and her world was never  the same.

"I can't believe you extorted the Mayor to find his daughter," the Mandalorian commented.

Sarela looked over to her side, "I didn't extort Vullen," she replied, shaking her head. "I simply renegotiated our terms," she corrected, and the Mandalorian let out a scoff. "Hey! I didn't see you object to my renegotiation back there," she pointed out, and the Mandalorian remained silent. “That’s what I thought,” she retorted smugly.

Sarela looked around her surroundings, the market in this part of the city was filled with a lot more shadier characters than the markets she usually shops at. The farther you traveled from the city center, the deeper you went into the slums of this place. Not to mention the more unlawful things became. Even slave trafficking was starting to boom again. And with a Mandalorian who's covered in shiny beskar armor and armed to the teeth, standing next to her, Sarela realized they were attracting the stares of more than a few locals.

"Maker, you stand out like a sore thumb," Sarela remarked in exasperation. "Keep your coin purse close to you Mando, we're surrounded by scoundrels, thieves, and criminals," she warned, her eyes scanning over the locals.

"You should fit right in then,"

Sarela breathed out a laugh, "You know Mando, I think we're going to get along just fine," she said, bringing her attention back to the Mandalorian.

"Hey, you!" someone shouted from behind them.

Sarela turned around lazily, setting her eyes on a tall man. He looked malnourished due to the fact that his face held no baby fat on it at all, the baggy clothes also added to the theory. He had long black hair that stopped at his shoulders, it was tied back in a low ponytail, but a few pieces still fell out to frame his face. His eyes were narrow, snake-like in appearance, the dark brown of them only added to their sinister look as well. He had a medium-sized nose that was well defined, pale thin lips only set right below them, along with a low-set chin.

"Yes? We don't have all day," she answered impatiently.

It was annoying that she actually had to look up in order to talk to him, what a nuisance.

"You don't remember me? It's me, Tye!" he said with enthusiasm.

Sarela rolled her eyes, "I don't know you," she responded, clearly annoyed.

She knew of no one with that name, not to mention she had never seen the man in front of her before. And the man knew that as well.

"But-"

"Beat it!" Sarela interjected, waving her hand dismissively and turned back around. "Come on Mando," she called, starting to walk away, yawning in the process.

She didn't turn back around even when she heard the man mumble something.

"Like I said before, you gotta watch out for vagrants like him," Sarela stated, digging out her holoprojector and turning it on. "According to Vullen, the kids of interest live in this part of the city," she said, as the projector displayed an image of Jazen.

"Those kids could be anywhere," the Mandalorian remarked.

"Agreed," Sarela said, moving her eyes from the hologram in front of her. "That's why we're going to ask the shopkeepers around here, they see more than they let on," she informed, before making her way over to the closet stall that was selling trinkets.

For the twenty minutes, Sarela and the Mandalorian found themselves going from stall to stall, unsuccessfully uncovering any information on the mysterious street kids that Lora befriended. In fact, Sarela was convinced most of the vendors that they had spoken to probably didn't listen to a word that came from their mouths. She would barely finish her sentence about the children before the vendors instantly tried to convince them to purchase something from their stall.

Sarela sighed heavily, "This is the last stall I'm asking," she stated, running a hand over her hair. "Everyone here has proven to be useless," she commented, as they approached a butcher stall. "Good afternoon-" she began, instantly putting on a pleasant smile.

"Cut the pleasantries Imp," the red skinned Togruta cut in, slamming his cleaver down into the meat he was cutting. "What do you want?" he questioned, looking up from his work.

Sarela laughed lightly, "Straight to the point, I like it," she commented, before turning the projector back on. "Have you seen any of these faces before?" she asked, slowly scrolling the images.

The butcher's eyes flitted from the hologram to Sarela, "I might have," he answered vaguely. "What's it to you?' he questioned, sticking the cleaver into the table.

"We need their help finding someone,"

"Hmmm," the Togruta hummed, scratching his chin. "You know, my memory is suddenly fading about these urchins. If only there was a way to stimulate it," he hinted.

Sarela felt her temple throb in annoyance and impatience.

"What's your price?" the Mandalorian asked, finally speaking up.

"Thirty credits,"

"Twenty!" Sarela shot back. "And don't get greedier because I will make sure that you'll never be able to hold credits in your hands again," she threatened. "Or that cleaver," she added, flicking her chin out to where the blade rested in the table.

"Fine," he grunted, and Sarela threw the credits onto the table.

"Now talk," the Mandalorian demanded.

"Yeah I've seen the little rascals," he admitted, collecting his credits. "They like to hang around in the entrance next to Lev's Cantina," he informed, pointing down the down the street and moving his finger to the left.

"Thank you for not being completely useless," Sarela said, giving him an insincere smile before walking away.

"You sure have a way with people," the Mandalorian commented, not far behind her.

"It's my specialty,"

~~~x~~~

"There they are up ahead," the Mandalorian announced quietly, making their way to the group of huddled children who were playing, what Sarela assumed was a game of some sort.

Sarela arched her brow, "I see Jazen, but not Cassir, Darra, or Tobias," she noted, as they approached him.

"They can't be far," he reasoned, just as they stopped behind the boy.

The shadows of Sarela and the Mandalorian blocked out the sun that beamed down on the kids. A young Nautolan and Rodian slowly lifted their heads from the dice in their hands and to the two mercenaries staring down at them. Immediately, they dropped the cubes and stood up, backing away from them.

"Guys? What's wrong?" Jazen asked in confusion.

"Jazen Sekel," Sarela addressed, and the Nautolan and Rodian turned on their heels and ran away at the sound of her accent, while the human boy's body froze. "My acquaintance and I have some questions for you," she said, and Jazen sprung to his feet and attempted to run away, but Sarela was quicker and grabbed the back of his collar. "Whoa! Where's the fire, Jazen?" Sarela questioned, with a laugh as she tightened her grip on his shirt.

Jazen raised his hands in surrender, "I don't have the credits!" he shouted. "But I swear, I'll have them by tomorrow!" he pleaded, and a frown formed on Sarela's face.

"This isn't about credits," the Mandalorian stated, as Sarela let go of Jazen's collar and he turned around to face them.

"We're here about your friend Lora," Sarela said, and Jazen's eyes darted off to the side. "If you try to make a run for it again, I will shoot you with an electro-dart and I really don't want to do that," she stated, and the boy visibly gulped.

"She's not going to hurt you," the Mandalorian assured, looking over at her and what Sarela could only imagine was a pointed look. "Neither of us are," he reassured, staring back down at the boy.

"You promise?" the boy asked, his eyes bouncing between the two of them.

"Yes, we promise," Sarela promised, now studying the boy's frame, he was thinner than usual for a boy his age. It probably didn't help that he lived on the streets. "Tell you what," she began, squatting down to be at eye level with Jazen. "You tell us everything you know about Lora's whereabouts and the Mandalorian behind me will buy you a meal from the cantina behind you," she proposed, watching the boy's brown orbs light up.

"Okay!" Jazen agreed readily, nodding his head up down before jogging over to the cantina.

"I'm not paying for the kid's food, this was your idea Reyes," he argued quietly.

Sarela pushed herself up and turned around, "I already coughed up credits of my own to that butcher," she countered. "It's your turn now Mando," she said, not waiting for his reply and walked into the cantina, not before hearing the Mandalorian release an annoyed sigh.

The music reverberated in the small cantina, while the lights made it difficult to properly recognize anyone. Sarela maneuvered around the crowded cantina, knowing that the Mandalorian was not that far behind her. As she moved through the crowd she overheard two men arguing politics and brushed past them without a word.

"Why did he have to choose the most inconvenient spot," Sarela grumbled, spotting Jazen sitting in the back of the building.

Finally arriving to the table, she slid in the seat across from Jazen while the Mandalorian occupied next to him. Just as Sarela went to her open her mouth, a waitress came over to the table with a bowl of soup and placed it down in front of Jazen. The waitress stuck her hand out expectantly in the Mandalorian's direction and Sarela let out a snicker.

"Go ahead and pay the hardworking woman Mando," she ushered, her face cracking into a smirk. He huffed before digging his credits and placing them into the waitress' hand and she forced a typical smile on her face before turning away. "Now Jazen, tell us what you know about Lora and her whereabouts," Sarela encouraged, watching the boy shove a spoonful of broth into his mouth.

Her nose turned up slightly, the broth was a grayish color with mystery chunks of meat sprinkled through it.

"You two are working for the Mayor aren't you? Jazen asked back, raising his brow. "We already told him we don't know where she is," he added, scooping out more soup.

"Well aren't you a smart one," Sarela responded sarcastically. "And its clear he doesn't fully believe you," she added, removing her sniper rifle and laying it down on the chair next to her.

"Reyes," the Mandalorian called, and Sarela just raised her hands. "Answer her question," he instructed, staring down at the young boy.

"We met Lora a month ago, she stumbled upon us playing a game and wanted to join. We let her play with us until the city guards found her," Jazen explained, placing his spoon down. "The rest is history," he finished, shrugging his shoulders

"Speaking of 'we', where's the rest of your little friends?" Sarela asked, pointing her finger and rotating it around.

"Why?" Jazen asked, becoming guarded.

"Why are you getting so defensive?" the Mandalorian questioned back.

Jazen picked up his spoon and went to scoop more soup from his bowl, but Sarela was quicker and dragged the dish in her direction, broth spilling over the rim.

"Answer his question," she said, echoing the Mandalorian's words.

Jazen's eyes shifted from Sarela to the warrior next to him, sighing he put his spoon back on the table.

"Darra's sick, Cassir has been caring for her in an abandon apartment where live in," Jazen answered. "As for Tobias, I don't know where he's gone," he continued.

"Now was that so hard to say," Sarela said, pushing the bowl back in front of him. "And now tell us about Lora," she prompted.

"When the guards found her last month and took her back home, we didn't see her for about two weeks. She was grounded," Jazen recalled, swirling his soup around. "But after her punishment was over, she managed to sneak out to play with us from time to time," he went on, grinning slightly. "Lora said she felt freer playing with than being stuck in mansion," he informed, and Sarela had to force herself not to roll her eyes at the statement. "She wanted to explore the galaxy, it’s what she dreamed of," he finished, before lifting the bowl to his lips.

"And did you see her yesterday before she ran away?" the Mandalorian inquired.

"Um...about...that..." Jazen trailed off, now squirming in his seat.

A slight frown lined Sarela's forehead, "Yes?" she asked, leaning forward.

"We...might of...helped her,"

"You what!?" she questioned, anger clear in her voice.

"It wasn't my idea!" Jazen disputed, lifting his arms up again. "Tobias came up with it," he stated, looking between the two bounty hunters. "Tobias said he knew somebody that would be willing to take Lora off this planet and that we would get paid for helping," he explained naively, and Sarela's eyes snapped to the dark visor of the Mandalorian. "He said all we had to do was keep our stories straight and we all come out of this happy," he described, not understanding why Sarela was visibly frustrated.

"Everyone except Lora," the Mandalorian remarked, with a sigh.

"What?"

"You little shit, you didn't help Lora," Sarela stated, slamming her hand down onto the table, startling the boy. "You assisted in trafficking her to slavers," she corrected, running both of her hands over her hair. "We have to tell Vullen," she said, looking at the Mandalorian again. "He may never see his daughter again," she reasoned, and he nodded in agreement.

"No! Don't!" Jazen exclaimed, a fearful look in his eyes. "The Mayor, he'll have me hanged!" he fretted, his brown orbs widening.

"I'll tell him to be lenient on you and your friends, seeing how you were duped," Sarela suggested, digging for her holoprojector. "A full pardon is out of the question, not unless they find Tobias and have you all testify against him," she guessed.

Jazen abruptly stood up, the legs of his chair screeching loudly against the floor. Sarela's hand shot out, catching him by the wrist in a semi-tight grip.

"Listen to me Jazen and listen well," she began, her voice low. "You do not want to take your chances with Mayor Vullen by yourself, he already holds a low opinion of you and your friends," she informed. "You run, and I swear to the Maker I will call the city guards to capture you," she threatened, no sign of her usual playful demeanor.

Jazen's eyes narrowed, "You promised me that you two wouldn't hurt me," he reminded.

"Yes, I did," Sarela agreed, nodding her head. "But what I didn't promise is that the city guards wouldn't," she pointed out, a ghost of a smirk on her face.

"Is there a problem here?" a new, male voice asked.

"None that concerns you," Sarela replied, not bothering to look at the newcomer.

"Ah, so you must be the Imp everyone's been murmuring about," he remarked, appraising her.

Craning her neck slowly, Sarela looked towards the stranger, meeting the eyes of a dark haired man. She noticed he was surrounded by what looked like his crew and that he had a blaster hoisted on his belt.

"Is this woman here harassing you son?" he asked casually, focusing his attention towards Jazen.

Jazen glanced at her, "No," he answered, and Sarela relinquished her grip on his wrist.

"Can I help you?" Sarela inquired, attempting to sound polite, but she could tell by the man's amused reaction, he knew she wasn't interested in speaking with him.

"Perhaps you don't know who I am," he began, chuckling at her.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Mandalorian discreetly lower his hand to his hip where she knew his blaster rested. Sarela lightly kicked his shin under the table as sign to stop. The man hadn't done anything besides interrupt their "conversation".

"Can't say that I do," Sarela replied snidely, crossing her arms

"Then you haven't been on the planet long, have you?" he inquired.

"I've been on this planet long enough to know the people who are worth knowing," Sarela said, titling her head up slightly. "And you weren't one of them," she added.

Sarela watched as his jaw clenched, "Let me introduce myself," he began, keeping his eyes trained on her, and she couldn't tell if he was toying with her in hopes she would flirt back, or if he was sizing her up.

She was still a "wanted woman" after all.

"I'm Crix, the man in charge of Dargus Bain's protection. You do know who Dargus Bain is, don't you?" His condescending tone was beginning to annoy her. She raised her eyebrows at Crix in reply.

"Is there a point to this conversation?" the Mandalorian finally asked, his voice crackling through his vocoder. He was clearly irked by this man as well. Crix finally looked at him, as if noticing his presence for the first time.

"What are you, her lap dog?" he asked, and the two aliens next to him laughed. "You two are quite the pair aren't ya? An Imp and a Mando," he commented. "Aren't you two supposed to hate each other?" he questioned, motioning his finger between the two of them.

"You know what," Sarela began, rubbing her chin. "Your name does ring a bell after all," she said, pointing at him. "If you hadn't mentioned lapdog, I almost wouldn't have recognized you," she explained, and the smug expression on Crix's face vanished. "That's what you're known for right? Dargus says 'jump' and you'll say, 'how high'," Sarela remarked, her lips slightly curving into a grin.

"I don't like your attitude, girl," Crix spat.

"And I don't like the way you smell," Sarela retorted, rising from her seat, Crix towered over her but she wasn't the least bit intimidated. "Scum," she added, causing Crix to growl. "So it looks like we're at an impasse," she continued, tilting her head. "Now, I don't want to fight you, so why don't you be a good boy and scurry back to your master. While we carry on with the conversation we were having," she suggested, managing to to get in the last verbal punch.

Crix let out a snarl, barring his yellow teeth and his lackeys flanked him. By now, the entire cantina was watching the confrontation

Sarela noticed that Crix's fist near his side had slowly balled itself into a fist and was winding up for a punch. But before he could connect, Sarela jabbed her fist out into his throat.

And all hell broke loose.

"Jazen run!"

Crix was temporarily stunned, placing his had his hand to his throat, coughing hard and rubbing it at the same time. While his henchmen sprung into action, Sarela ducked under a punch that was flying towards her by one of Crix's men. She grinned as she reached behind her and grabbed the bowl of soup behind her and tossed the hot broth onto the man's face. Screams of agony escaped the man's mouth as he lifted his hands up to his face, taking advantage of his blindness, Sarela gave the henchmen a hard kick to the gut before slamming the bowl down onto his skull and he crumpled to the ground.

Two arms suddenly wrapped around Sarela's arms, trapping her against her attacker chest while Crix approached her with a vibroblade out. She writhed around in the man's grip trying to escape and just as Crix got close enough her, she shot her legs out and connected with Crix's chest, sending him stumbling back and onto the ground. Instantly, Sarela threw her head back, hearing a cracking sound in her ears before landing back on her feet. She picked up a glass bottle from a nearby table and smashed it across the man's face, knocking him out cold.

A loud yelp of pain came from Sarela as she felt a sharp, stinging pain on her bicep before feeling a warm liquid trickle down her arm. A whizzing sound passed her ear and she spun around to see a throwing knife traveling back into Crix's hand. He angled his knife again to launch it at her again, but never got the chance as a blue glowing arc struck his body and sent him to the floor in a heap.

Sarela's head snapped in the direction of where the stun bolt was fired from.

Lo and behold, it was from the one and only Mandalorian with his blaster aimed at the unconscious form of Crix.

He turned and looked in her direction, "Are you going to attract this much attention where ever we go?" he asked.

Breathing heavily, Sarela let a smirk grow on her face.

“The day is still young Mando,” she panted, grasping her arm. “Anything’s possible,”

Part VI