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tobesobri · 5 years ago

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𝓦elcome to a brand new story from me that I never thought I would be posting but here we are! This chapter is very much introductory, which is like obvious being the first chapter but tbh I don’t really do a lot of introducing characters right off the bat in a descriptive way often so this was new for me! Also, I have an old taglist from a while ago when I was originally going to post this, but I don’t want to randomly tag people who may no longer be interested SO if you’d like to be included on a taglist for upcoming chapters please let me know! Thank you!

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

Chapter One: Where Happiness Begins (5.4k)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

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There was something very different when she woke that Saturday morning. Maybe her breath smelled a little worse than normal. Maybe the sun shined a little brighter through her curtains than it was supposed to...

Maybe there was someone in her bed who didn’t belong there.

“Oh my god.”

Friday night was not unlike every other night that week. There was an endless bag of chips she dug her Hot Cheeto dust covered fingers into and an over-watched series on Netflix open on her laptop in front of her. And when she wasn’t distracted by Sam and Dean Winchester, she was bawling her eyes out under the comfort of her thrifted quilt, staining her poor mismatched pillowcases.

Just like any given night.

And this Friday was no different. At least not until there was a knock on her door.

By the time she dried her face, it was almost completely unnoticeable she’d just been buried in hysterics only seconds ago.

“Harry’s coming over. You want anything from the store?” Will asked, the same Will who stuck them all together in the very beginning of splitting rent on an apartment four different ways.

He was the roommate who paid the most in rent and got the biggest room with his own private bathroom. One of the two roommates who constantly had his significant other over every night to make Y/N’s miserable time even worse. Between Will and Violet’s incessant need to take over the entire living room every weekend, Y/N was bound to end up in her own room alone crying her eyes out for no apparent reason.

Then there was her third roommate, James, who never bothered her because she was lucky to catch a fleeting glimpse of him every other week.

Y/N glanced at the phone he had pressed to his cheek, assuming Harry was on the other end of the line, on hold. Just the mention of his name sucked every sad little tear back into her skull. She didn’t know why, but having Harry around always seemed to do the trick.

Even though she barely spoke a word to him over the course of the last eighteen months she’d known him.

She buried her excitement about Harry coming over and frowned, answering as if she was she couldn’t care less even though... she cared way more than she should. “No.”

And before Will could protest, she shut the door in his face and retreated back to her bed.

Not every night was spent in agonizing spirals of self-pity and dread, but it came and went. Some days were fine. She was happy by the time she went to bed at night and didn’t have nightmares or anxiety that kept her up past her self-proclaimed bedtime. Most days, she ate regularly and went about her nightly routine with a genuine smile on her face. But recently, it had all gone to shit.

And there was no explanation. There never was. She didn’t just break up with a long-term boyfriend. No one called her an ugly bitch on the train home. Her boss didn’t yell at her for the umpteenth time about her inadequacies at work.

She was just... alone. Painfully and tragically alone.

She hated how black and white it was. That she was either happy to be alive or praying for a very large rock to fall on her and end it all. There was never an in-between and it made her feel like all her emotions were made up, like she wasn’t ever truly happy or she was sad over really stupid things.

It was a fucking nightmare.

Another agonizing thirty minutes went by before she heard from Will again. Before she heard more than just her roommate's voice through the thin walls. Before she could literally feel her

brain swell with more serotonin than she’d had in a long time when it was Harry’s voice she heard.

He was like an unusual ray of sunshine. Every time he was over at their apartment, it was like he was some kind of ancient sun god warding off all the evil spirits sitting on her shoulders. Which...she knew was quite strange, but she really couldn’t--nor did she want to--fight off how he made her feel.

Even if he wasn’t an internationally famous pop-sensation, she still couldn’t put her finger on why he made her feel like sunshine and butterflies whenever he was around. Which had been quite often recently on account of his upcoming album needing desperate help from Will.

Okay. She hadn’t heard a damn thing from the album, but the conversations they had about it weren’t always good. It was delayed, apparently, and Harry was in the middle of a massive writing block that led him to an impromptu trip to Barcelona the previous week.

And so now he was back. To work on the album, and, upon Y/N’s quiet arrival into the kitchen of her shared apartment, to pig out on junk food. Will hovered over the kitchen island while they figured out which movie, among a small stack of romantic comedies, to watch first.

Once Harry noticed her, he instantly stood up straight, shoving the last bit of a Kit-Kat bar into his mouth quickly to hide it from her; as if she cared about the Harry Styles munching on chocolate and sweets.

“What’re you doing?” Y/N asked Will, even though Harry was the only one paying her any attention. She didn’t often make eye contact with him, or even speak to him at all for that matter. But Harry was used to it. He was used to her mumbling and her short phrases. The way whenever he looked at her, she always looked away.

“Pretty Woman or Notting Hill?” Will turned to her finally, holding up both DVD boxes in his hands for Y/N to choose from, completely ignoring her previous question.

“Um... I’ve never seen them.”

Will rolled his eyes and placed the Blu-Ray boxes back down on the granite countertop, “Should’ve known that. You only watch scary shit.”

It was quiet after that for a moment. A long moment of Harry awkwardly glancing between Will and Y/N. Though his glances towards her did not come easily. Just the thought of looking at her was like his body went into fight or flight mode. Fight through the nerves and the butterflies in his stomach or fly the hell out of there.

She was like an unfriendly cat who didn’t seem to like him one bit, and it drove him insane. All his attempts to have a normal conversation with her had been fruitless. She never said more than one word to him at a time. Maybe two, if she was feeling generous. He didn’t get it at all, but he got used to it. Maybe she just didn’t have any room in her life for another person and certainly not for a person like him.

“Well, I vote for Pretty Woman,” Will said, making up everyone’s minds for them, and when he glanced at the other two, they didn’t seem to care. “Pretty Woman it is then. Y/N,” Will glanced at her exclusively while he began gathering snacks and the movie, “are you watching it too?”

“Uh.. no.” She continued into the kitchen, walking behind Harry toward the fridge and making every single nerve in his body light up. He had no idea why she, of all people on the planet he’d come into contact with, made him as nervous as she did. But, here he was. Stepping out of her way and swallowing the pit in his throat when he got a whiff of her all-too-familiar coconut scented shampoo.

And that scent just about made his head spin. It took him right back to the night he’d gotten drunk off his ass after a long day of work. She’d offered her bed to him since he was too tall for their couches, and she had been up late working herself anyways. Most of the night had been forgotten, but he very distinctly remembered stuffing his face into her pillowcases and letting the scent of her shampoo completely engulf his nostrils as he fell asleep. And it took him back to the following morning where he wobbled his hungover ass to the shower and accidentally (on purpose) used her coconut scented shampoo.

And then the entire rest of the day he smelled exactly like her and hadn’t gone a single minute without thinking of her. Thinking of her soft voice and what it would feel like to hear her saying his name just once. Thinking about the way she sometimes smiled at him like maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought. Thinking about her hair spread over her pillowcase and tucking loose strands behind her ear while she slept peacefully beside him...

Harry was also, very, very alone.

So alone that he spent more nights at other people’s homes, particularly Will’s, than his own. Even though he had an insanely expensive house all to himself up in the gated hills of Los Angeles, it was nothing compared to being surrounded by people he cared about instead of lifeless appliances.

He blamed it on the city. It always had a way of making him feel alienated. Even if it was the city that recognized him most often, it almost made him feel even more alone than he already was. Because none of the people he met along the way really knew him. They weren’t with him at the end of the day when he broke down on the floor in his bathroom. They didn’t see the dark parts of his life where he often wished he could take it all back just to be normal again. To have normal conversations and normal relationships with people he wasn’t constantly paranoid were trying to get something out of him.

So, in a way, he understood Y/N’s unwillingness to let him in, because he did it all the time. The thing he didn’t understand was why she had any reason to worry about the people in her life. No one was out to get her money or make themselves famous off of her. But there was a reason for it anyways, and it just about killed the curious cat in his mind every time he was at her apartment and she continued to not peep a single unnecessary word to him.

By the time he and Will had settled onto their respective spots in the living room, Harry tucked back into the cushions of their armchair and Will spread out on the loveseat opposite him, Y/N had already retreated back into her bedroom with her glass of ice water.

“Think that’s the most I’ve ever heard her talk.” Harry said, while Will skipped through the outdated commercials on the DVD.

Will’s lips turned up into a very knowing grin and he nodded, “She’s always been quiet, man. I told you not to take it personally.”

“How did you get her to talk?”

That was a question Harry had never asked before out of the countless stupid ones he had in the past. The stupidest was probably when he’d first met her and then proceeded to ask Will shortly after if Y/N was mute.

Will shrugged, “I’ve known her for a long time. It’s not like she goes on and on around me either though. That’s just how she is. And she probably just doesn’t like you that much.”

Harry huffed and sat back into his chair, giving up on it. He couldn’t force her to be his friend, as much as he wanted her to be.

The movie went on without Harry because he was completely lost in his own mind, however, Will seemed to be completely enthralled with Julia Roberts. Harry just couldn’t bring himself to focus on the television screen for more than a minute at a time.

It wasn’t until he heard a door down the hall click open that he brought himself back to reality and let his eyes wander to the sound behind him as Y/N stepped quietly out from her bedroom again. He knew she was the only other roommate home tonight and, yet, he still made the mistake of looking in her direction and, fucking finally, locking eyes with her. It was brief, but it was enough to stir up the enormous pot of butterflies in his stomach again.

Without a single word, she sat on the last unoccupied piece of furniture between the both of them, Harry still in a bit of shock and Will grinning with his eyes glued to the screen.

“Changed your mind, did you?” Will asked cheekily.

“Shut up,” she mumbled back at him before reaching toward the opened bag of untouched Hershey kisses. “Can I have one of these?”

Will finally peered over at her from his spot and then glanced at Harry across the coffee table, “You’ll have to ask Harry. He brought them.”

Her hand froze and she reluctantly turned her attention toward Harry, which had been the first time since he arrived that she voluntarily looked at him. She had no fucking clue how she was going to sit there and ask Harry for one of his Hershey kisses. Or if she even wanted them desperately enough.

The question went unasked, but the look on her face said more than enough. She was already waiting for his answer. And upon seeing the look on her face, Harry couldn’t possibly find it in himself to force her to say a damn thing. So he just cleared his throat instead, “Uh, it’s alright. You can have as many as you want.”

He watched as she grabbed a couple foil sealed chocolates and settled back into the corner of her own loveseat again, never willing to admit that he’d bought them especially for her. Because it had somehow managed to become common knowledge that they were her favorite candy and while wandering the local corner market, he spotted them and thought of her. His brain at the time thought there might be some minuscule possibility that if he brought one of her favorite foods over she might eventually start to like him.

Even if that didn’t happen though, he was still reeling from that one brief moment of interaction for the entire rest of the night. Splurging on an overpriced package of cavities had been well worth it.

It wasn’t until the movie ended that both Harry and Y/N realized Will was dead asleep. That he was no longer conscious enough to use the remote resting on his chest and turn the movie off. So, after a little while of staring at the credits, Y/N stood and grabbed it, flipping the controls until she brought up regular TV channels and then eventually settled for a horror movie Harry had never seen and had no intentions to. But, if it meant he got more time with Y/N, he’d sit through just about anything she wanted to watch.

And then finally, the sugar he’d consumed got to his head.

“Do you always watch scary movies before bed?” He asked, completely lost in his daydreams and not fully realizing he’d asked her a full-blown question until it was out of his mouth. Once he came to his senses, he wanted to shove every last word back into his mouth and pretend he never said anything.

That was, until a couple silent moments went by and she finally said something. “Makes the nightmares more interesting.”

He didn’t expect her to say anything at all, and so for her to say that, he had no idea how to respond to her. Was she being... sarcastic? He didn’t even know she was capable of being funny.

So he laughed, not too loudly in case she wasn’t joking. But all his worries were relieved when she glanced at him and giggled too.

He didn’t dare bring up any of the questions floating around in his mind in fear that she’d never speak another word to him ever again once he’d finally managed to break through the walls somehow. Now that he’d made groundbreaking progress with her, there was no way he was asking her why she never talked to him or why she was so quiet. So he kept a fine-tuned filter over what words came out of his mouth.

“Does that mean you have uninteresting nightmares then?” Harry really did try his damndest to think of anything to say that would get her to keep talking, because he wasn’t done listening to her voice or hearing bits of her brain spill out. He wanted to know everything about her, from her mouth only, but he also didn’t want to get too ahead of himself.

“Only on Sundays.”

“Why Sundays?” He asked through a muffled laugh, curious as to what she was on about.

“Because then the nightmares are about showing up at work naked on Monday morning... and that’s not very interesting.”

He couldn’t help the widespread grin on his face, or the way his eyebrows furrowed at how fucking weird she actually was. And she wasn’t even that weird. She was kind of normal, but this entire time he thought she wasn’t like him at all, so seeing her say things like a normal person was... weird.

“So what kind of nightmares does watching Annabelle at...” Harry checked his watch, and went into momentary shock at the time, but also couldn’t care less because he wasn’t leaving now, “two in the morning get you?”

She smiled, and refusing to look at him, settled for planting her eyes on the television instead. “Walking into work naked on Monday morning but,” she held up a finger in anticipation and Harry smiled wider, “all my coworkers are creepy dolls.”

“Guess at that point it doesn't matter if you’re naked then.”

She thought about for a moment before giggling at what he said, “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

There was silence between them again, but it was different this time. It was peaceful. It wasn’t full of awkward tension and things Harry wished she would say. It felt like two friends hanging out and enjoying each other’s company.

“Are you sleeping here or...” She finally asked him and he wasn’t sure if that was her way of asking him to leave or not. But something about it made him feel like she was building her walls back up again.

“Oh, uh... if that’s okay. Think I’m too tired to drive.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I just wanted to know because I can sleep in Violet’s room and you can have my bed like before. If you want.”

“Oh, um, are you sure?” Under any other circumstances, he would have said no, that the short, uncomfortable couch would be fine. That he would get over the pain in his legs and back in the morning because he didn’t want to invade her space, again. Unfortunately for him, he already had the knowledge of what her pillows smelled like and how soft her sheets were and he desperately wanted to invade her space again.

She nodded. “It’s no problem. I’ll go clean up a little. Just let yourself in.”

She was gone before he could get another word out. And while he listened to her footsteps as she walked away from him, he stared blankly up at the ceiling, resting his neck back on the chair. It felt like he’d just been through a fever dream, like none of it was real. Not only did he have a normal conversation with her, but now she was offering her bed to him again as well.

He needed a moment to process things.

When she got done tidying up her room and replacing her blanket with a clean one for Harry, he appeared cautiously in the doorway, yawning as he watched her gather some of her things to take to Violet’s room directly across the hall.

“I turned the TV off and the lights. Will’s still quite dead out there.”

She smiled to herself and gave him a very fleeting glance before picking the last item she needed up off her side table and then finally facing him. “It’s all yours.”

Ushering him in, he stepped into her room like he wasn’t actually allowed to. Like he had never been there before. Like he hadn’t nearly puked all over her poor white bed sheets that one night.

She replaced his spot in the doorway as he sat down on the edge of her bed. He stared at her back as she walked away, not getting his hopes up about her saying anything else to him. So, when she did turn to face him again, it just about knocked the air out of him.

“Oh and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you try to not drool on my pillows this time?”

He glanced at the top of her bed where all her pillows were neatly stacked and cringed at the horrible memories he had and at the fact that he’d actually drooled on her pillows. Like a fucking animal. Like a dog who couldn’t control himself.

“Sorry ‘bout that...” He looked at her again, genuinely apologetic and completely embarrassed by his past, drunken self.

“It’s okay.” She smiled reassuringly, “Night.”

“G’night.” Harry mumbled just before she left and closed the door behind her.

And in all the talk about drool, it wasn’t until he was cuddled under her blanket and up against her mound of pillows that he realized something. She’d said his name, out loud, to his face, where he could hear it and obsess over it and never get sick of it. He repeated it over and over in his head and kept himself awake just thinking about the way it had sounded and if he’d ever get to hear her say his name again.

The faint hum of voices right outside the door woke him slightly. His entire body was still asleep except for about half of his brain and one eye that peeked open to investigate the noise. He could tell it was early, though, his eyes stung and his body ached to go fully back to sleep.

He could make out Violet’s voice, which confused his foggy brain because he swore Will had mentioned she’d be gone all weekend, and yet here she was yelling in the hallway and interrupting his sleep.

“Please just sleep on the couch then, I need to be alone right now.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows at how distressed she sounded and flinched when the door across the hall just about slammed shut.

He heard an exasperated sigh and then squeezed his eyes shut when he saw movement under the door to Y/N’s bedroom just moments before it opened. He pretended to be asleep for as long as he could, listening to the footsteps as they carefully wandered into the room.

And then a hushed, but very exclamatory, “Ow!” got him to roll onto his back and knuckle his eyes open.

She looked at him apologetically while grasping the big toe of her right foot. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” His voice was a lot groggier and a lot more raspy than she expected it to be. And she kind of hated herself for enjoying the view, a little too much, of Harry waking up in her bed. While she got her thoughts under control, he continued. “Did Violet just kick you out?”

She simply nodded and went back to digging into her cabinets for spare pillows.

“What time is it?” He asked.

“Four-thirty.”

Then he slowly pulled her blanket off, still dressed in his shirt and joggers from last night but without his socks and rings he’d removed before bed.

She immediately turned to him, however. “You don’t have to get up. I’m fine on the couch.” “No, I would feel bad.”

“It’s okay, really. Don’t worry about it.” She got him to stop what he was doing and lay back into the bed again while she opened up more cabinet doors to find her extra bed sets.

He cleared his throat after a little while of watching her, and gathered up the largest bundle of courage he ever had, to say what he was about to say next. With nervous, shaking fingers and a cold sweat on the back of his neck, he voiced the stupidest idea he’d ever had in his life.

“We can just both sleep here... if that’s fine.”

She froze and he knew he’d made a mistake. Why in the actual fuck did he just suggest that? Maybe he was sleep deprived. Maybe he was still reeling from last night. Maybe he had some false sense of security with her and completely forgot about the fact that last night had been the first time she’d said that many words to him. Of course she wasn’t about to climb in bed with him.

“Oh, um...” She finally found a couple pillows and pulled them from the cabinet while turning her attention back to Harry. She could not deny how desperately she wanted to crawl back into her own bed. And have a warm body next to her, which she had literally never had. No one had ever slept in her bed besides Harry, and definitely not with her. Sure, she’d slept in friends’ beds before on occasion, but this was different. It was her own bed and this was Harry, not her college friends.

So maybe it was the sleep-deprivation talking.

“Okay.”

In all forms but physical, his jaw had just hit the floor. Never in a million years or in any other infinite alternate realities would he have thought they’d end up here, with Harry sliding over to one side of the bed to make room for her while she crawled in beside him. Her queen size gave lots of room in between them, so it wasn’t as weird as it sounded. It was just two, very tired loose-knit friends sharing a bed for a few hours.

“Goodnight, again.” Harry mumbled, realizing too late that it was technically morning now.

“Mhm,” was the only response he got out of her when she curled up under the blanket they shared and went straight back to sleep with her back to him.

And once his nerves settled, he did the same.

It was a lot easier than either of them thought possible. And for a long while, they stayed on their respective sides of the bed. But once she was lost in dreamland and he was already letting out soft snores, there was no control over what happened next. She turned and cuddled right up to his side as if her unconscious mind thought he was some kind of pillow to cradle. She wasn’t all to blame, though, as his arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her even closer. Closer than either of them had been to another living being in a long time. As close as her forearm spread across his chest and her head nestled into his neck. Close enough to smell his cologne but not realize why or stop any of it from happening. Not that she would have wanted to if she had any clue what she was doing. Not that he would have wanted to either.

With his hand digging into her waist, they both were mildly aware of what was going on, but both were also still too lost in their exhaustion. So, it just happened. And they held each other tighter as the minutes passed and the dreams took over once again. Because they both needed it. To hold and to be held. To feel the pressure of another person and the heartbeat on their skin. And all the loneliness in their bones melting away with each other’s touch as if they’d never been alone in the first place.

The only thing that could ever separate them was the knock on her door at nine a.m. Everything was a little fuzzy at first before she blinked a few times and realized that what she’d been using as a pillow wasn’t exactly stuffed with cotton and lined in silk. With a gasp, she pulled away from him abruptly. Ceasing all contact. Not because she wanted to necessarily, but because she would rather Harry not find out she was all over him like she had just been.

“Oh my god,” she whispered quietly in disbelief, mentally punching herself in the face for what she’d just woken up to.

But her embarrassment only skyrocketed when she dragged her eyes up his neck to his chin, then his nose and finally saw him staring right back at her with furrowed brows like he was just as confused as she was. When he glanced at the door is when she moved to do something about it.

Quickly, she pulled the covers off of herself and opened her door only the smallest amount possible. Just enough to peak her head out, but not enough for Will to see Harry in her bed. Where she’d just been sleeping right next to him. Or... right on top of him, as it seemed.

“Did Harry go home last night?”

With absolutely no plan to go along with her lie, she still figured it was the better option than to admit to Will she’d been in the same bed as Harry. That she’d been all fucking over him for who knows how long.

“Um, yeah. After you fell asleep.”

From behind her, Harry quietly smacked his hands over his face and fell back dramatically into her fluffy pillows.

“Oh, ok. Vi won’t come out of her room, but I’m going to go get breakfast from Jade’s. You want anything?”

“No, I’m alright, thanks.” Her words fused together in a flash, just trying to get the least amount of information out as quickly as possible so she didn't accidentally say something suspicious.

She shut the door on him with a smile before Will could even offer her a pastry from their most loved local cafe. Once that was dealt with, and she had a moment to gather her thoughts as she stared at her door, she slowly turned around to face Harry.

Her cheeks were probably bright red and full of embarrassment seeing him there amongst her sheets; as if once she had turned around he wouldn’t actually be there, like maybe she’d dreamt the whole thing.

But no.

He was there. And he was very real. And very much looking at her like they were both insane.

“I’m sorry,” they said it at the exact same time, cutting each other off from saying anything else.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, um...” Harry started once he found an opportunity to speak again, but he didn’t exactly know what he was apologizing for. He wasn’t sorry for how they’d ended up. He had the best four and a half hours of sleep he’d ever had.

“I shouldn’t have been like... all on you like that.” She averted her eyes when she spoke, not able to look him straight on and admit it. And she knew she was only apologizing because she felt embarrassed and like she had to. She felt like she’d invaded Harry’s space and took advantage of him.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

She just shrugged. Nothing he said at this point could make her feel any less horrible about it. And even so, some part deep down inside of her, when she finally looked at him again, wanted to get right back into that spot with him for another few hours.

It just felt... right. And even though she couldn’t remember what she dreamed about, she knew it wasn’t her usual nightmare. She had felt safe and secure, and not so alone anymore, sleeping beside him like that and she felt stupid knowing it would never happen again.

“I should get going then. Before Will comes back and realizes I didn’t actually leave.” Harry let out an exasperated laugh as he began getting up, sitting himself on the edge of her bed with his back facing her as he stretched. The fabric of his shirt tugged along his muscles as he flexed them awake, and she grew far too overwhelmed thinking about the fact that those fucking arms of his had been around her for the better half of the morning. She could still feel him holding onto her and his grip at her side.

She needed a very cold shower and some fresh air.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #onlyhuman

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #423

“i won’t think about you when i’m older / ‘cuz we never really had our closure”

Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets? Neither. Have you ever cut someone else’s hair? No. Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for? My late grandmother's husband stayed overnight when he was driving from New York to Florida or the other way around, idr. How many long term relationships have you been in? Two. Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on? My snake's heat lamp stays on. Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done? My dad. Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey? I don't think I've even heard one of her songs. Do you know your blood type? A-. Do you know your mother’s birthday? Yes. Have you got your period at the moment? I haven't had my period since I started TMS. It's honestly so fucking frustrating that it obviously had an effect on my body, but not my depression. I've officially finished TMS as of a few days ago and now I just feel so void of hope. Have you ever been pregnant? No. How old were you when you first went on a plane? Idr, I was a little kid. Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything? Not me personally, but my parents have for my education that I threw away. Are both of your blood parents still in your life? Yes. I don't see my dad a lot, but he's still in my life regardless. When was the last time you went apple picking? I’ve never been. Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say? Happiness. Have you ever been drunk at school or work? I have not. How many bedrooms are in your house? Three. Are you smart about computers? Not really, no. Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii? Yes. My sister loved them, so we have a few. Do you own a Xbox 360? No. I'm a PlayStation girl. Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars? No. I'd be mortified. So, do you need a nap? I really should take one. I slept like... maybe three hours last night. I was up most of the night having a fucking life crisis. What would you rather be doing? Something fun. What sport are you the best at? I haven't touched any sort of sport since I was a teenager. Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Yeah, Nicole. Do you complain a lot? Kind of, but I generally try to keep it in surveys nowadays. I'm just tired of shit. Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple? Ohhh, tough pick, but I've gotta say the ancient temple. Do you like fruity or minty gum? Both, really. Are you looking forward to any day of this month? Well July is practically over, so I'll answer for August. I'm looking forward to my nephew's birthday. Have you ever gotten detention? A few times for getting too many morning tardies in high school. Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life? Definitely. Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? The latter. Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently? Powerwolf did recently. Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? I could write a college-length essay on why meerkats do not make good pets whatsoever. Do fucking not get one. I can barely fathom how it's legal in some countries. Ever cried so much you threw up? No, but I've gagged. Who is your best guy friend? Girt. What do you two do when you hang out? Mostly just watch TV and play board games. What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving? I dunno, really. Do you even like horror movies? I love horror movies. Do you live in the country? I wish I still did. :/ Me and Mom hate hate hate living in these suburbs. What is your favorite accent? British. Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No. Do you drink Pepsi or Coke? Coke. Pepsi is gross. What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday? I was literally in the psych hospital for my 21st birthday lmao. It's kind of a painful memory, but I also won't forget the love and kindness people showed me. I especially remember the friend I made there getting the lunch lady to literally go and buy me a slice of cake. Everyone also sang happy birthday to me and gaaaah I'm getting emotional. Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? That was my dad's drink of choice when he drank. Do you take a lot of pictures? Unless I have my camera and am somewhere pretty, no. What kind of face wash do you use? Water, lol. Does drama always seem to follow you? Nah. Does anybody in your family race? No. Are you closer to your mom or dad? My mom. How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?” Uhhh... I want to say $2 or something? I might be way off, idr. How long do you want to live with your parents? I WISH I could have moved out with an s/o already, but that's just not how life's worked out. Do you have a laptop or desktop? I have a laptop. Do you like your parents? I love them. Do you secretly like someone? It's not a secret, no. Would you ever date your best male friend? Tried that once and it didn't work out. I liked him more as like a brother. What are you currently listening to? "Better Than Me" by Hinder. I really need to turn it off, but I can't make myself. Do you want to be single? I really wish I had a partner to love and motivate me to strive to do better, but I know it's better I'm single right now. I'd just relive the Jason situation, I'm sure. I'd just drag the person down and lose them. Did you go out or stay in last night? I'm almost always at my fucking house not doing shit, so. Have you pretended to like someone? No, that sounds pretty stupid... How is your heart lately? Hurting. A lot. Are you wearing socks? I hate wearing socks and I'm in bed anyway, so no. What do people call you? Britt, mostly. Do you get stressed out easily? VERY. Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? No. What is wrong with you right now? Where the hell to begin. Do you own something from Hot Topic? A lot. Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? With someone, so long as the bed is big enough to comfortably fit two of us. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No. I'm certain he wants nothing to do with me. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Sadly. Did you get any compliments today? Definitely not. I look and feel like a wreck right about now. There's nothing to praise me about. Have you ever gone to a beach? Many times. What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now? Unless it was an edible, no. I'd do almost anything to try and make me feel better right now, even if just for a little while, but I'm unwilling to smoke anything. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? HELL no. Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to? Honestly, no. Do you have long nails? No; I never do because I have an awful habit of picking at them. Do you like the gender you are? I don't like or dislike it, honestly. I'm just neutral. Do you generally look nice in photos? HA. Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet? No. What colour are your father’s eyes? They're dark brown. If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? Ozzy, duh. Name three facts about your family? We're very, very spread out geographically, some of us (in other words, me) are emotionally distant, and uh... idk. Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? Only if it was a certain person, our lives were more on track, and we were making plans for either of us to move soon. What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received? Probably this really long letter my mom wrote for me on my bday a couple years ago. What’s your favorite hot beverage? Hot chocolate. Did you ever play an instrument? If so what? I played the flute for many years, all through middle school and through much of high school. Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents? Carve pumpkins, for sure. Do you think you’re important? I don't fucking know. Probably not. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Idk. Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? *hands over thick book* Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new? No. Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? No. My hands are way, way too shaky to ever accomplish that. Are you more of a leader or a follower? Definitely a follower, but I can step up in certain situations. What was the first thing you ate today? Well, I was seriously depression-eating last night, way past midnight, and had a peanut butter sandwich. If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like? LET'S NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT RIGHT NOW. If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out? "Falling apart." I've lost direction, motivation, strength, hope, just everything. What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do? I need a fucking shower so bad that it's embarrassing. I just can't move. I have no energy, emotionally or physically. I just can't make myself do it. Is there anything that you wish you could take back? So, so badly. What, in your mind, could make you truly happy? Actually reaching goals. Losing weight. Healing my legs. Knowing with certainty that I wasn't emotionally abusive to Jason. Moving out of this town and back into the country. Financial stability. A job I thoroughly enjoy. I could go on, but let's not. If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference? God, let me take back shit I said in that fucking letter to you-know-who. It's so hard to believe I once thought it perfectly justified and realistic. When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I don't have any plans of changing the style in the foreseeable future. I want to color it BADLY. To just SOMETHING. Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow? I'm like, a lightning-fast typist. Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’ No; my best friend in HS was, though. Her GPA was fucking insane. I was in the top percentile, though, so I was up there. What the hell happened to that girl. How many drugs are in your system? If we're including prescriptions, a whole hell of a lot. What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? Jack shit. Like usual. Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body? No. Do you call anyone baby? Excluding my pets, no. What’s your current mood? lol if you've gotten this far reading, you can make an educated guess. Do you think you are a good person? Bro I just don't know. What were you doing before filling out this survey? I was playing WoW. How late did you stay up last night? Like, 4:30 or so. When was the last time you cried really hard? I wanna say like a week ago? Is your hair longer than your shoulders? No. It still badly needs a trim, though.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''better than me'' by hinder

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foramomentonly · 4 years ago

Note

So... #75 for the meet ugly prompts? I’m thinking that maybe Alex occasionally calls Maria if he wakes up in the middle of the night given her late hours as a bar owner, but this time he accidentally dials a wrong number (Michael’s) instead.

Author’s Note: This is a heavier one, but hopeful.Thank you, @aewriting for giving me the chance to love on Maria and Alex!

CW: PTSD, nightmares

Prompt: I’m an insomniac who calls my best friend at 3am except I misdial on my landline and I tell you all about my nightmare before letting you talk and now I’m mortified but you don’t hang up Alex wakes with a shout, trembling so hard his teeth knock together, and he reaches instinctively for his cordless receiver. He doesn't keep his cell phone in the bedroom; he has enough trouble sleeping as it is. Barely glancing at the numbers as he dials, he concentrates instead on breathing in deep through his nose for a five count and exhaling loudly through his mouth for seven, an old breathing exercise courtesy of his very first counselor at the VA. It's going on 3:30 a.m., but he knows Maria will still be awake, probably just now getting home from closing The Pony. Even if she was in bed by 10p.m., though, Alex knows she'd want him to call.

Maria is home to Alex, always has been. He'd touched her body, kissed her soft lips when they were 15 years old, and even though it hadn't set fire to his fingertips the way everyone said it was meant to, holding her had felt a lot like love, like the only right thing to do. Her friendship had given him comfort when his house was his own personal hell, had fortified him while he learned to embrace his own desires, and had given him a safe space to return to when he followed his battle-ready heart into literal war.

Now he's home for good—back in Roswell and back to daily contact with someone who sustains him not out of obligation, but unwavering affection. And while war couldn’t possibly have damaged him more thoroughly than his childhood already had, it had offered an opportunity for detachment and disassociation. Now, safe in his warm bed, Alex is dreaming again. Dreams that drop him right back in the eyes of the worst hurricanes of his life, that force him to relive hurts and reopen wounds he thought he’d licked clean years ago. It feels like ancient scar tissue burst open, raw and bleeding again like new. And after every nightmare he reaches out, grips his phone like the lifeline it is and calls Maria, let’s her soothing voice and her slow, even breathing over the line ground him.

Alex hears the line connect and doesn’t wait for a greeting.

“I-it’s me,” he whispers. “I had another one. A bad one. I-I was in the shed and he was there, but he l-looked, he didn’t look like—” Alex pauses, takes a wet, ragged breath. “He was just a shadow, just air, but he was everywhere, in my lungs, I couldn’t breathe, I—fuck.”

He falls silent, listening to the deliberately slow, even breaths on the other end of the line and matching his to them, absently wondering why Maria’s breathing sounds deeper than usual. Was she climbing the stairs to her apartment? When he’s finally taking steady breaths on his own he sighs, and a deep, quiet voice asks, “That better?”

The voice is absolutely not Maria’s.

“Uh,” Alex stutters, “i-is Maria Deluca there?”

The voice on the other end of the line sounds amused, but kind as it answers, “Don’t think so, unless I’m much drunker than I think I am.”

Just the mention of a drink makes Alex’s skin tingle; he longs for the harsh burn of whiskey down the back of his throat, for the numb haze of a solid buzz to cloud his mind and chase away the clarity of his nightmare’s lasting visions. This is why he doesn’t keep alcohol in the house.

“Shit, sorry,” the voice says in a rush. “You’d probably kill for a drink right about now.”

“Who is this?” Alex asks.

“Michael,” the voice replies. “Michael Guerin. I work over at Sanders Auto?”

Alex knows the name and the man; he’s at The Pony often enough to be considered a regular, but behaves too well to be labeled a drunk. He’s a tall, rugged cowboy type with long legs in well-fitting denim, kind hazel eyes, tan skin, and golden curls. Distantly, Alex remembers Maria might have dated him for a few months a couple years back.

“Right,” he replies, slipping deeper into humiliation with every passing second. “And what number is this?”

Michael rattles off seven digits and, yup, that’s two switched digits away from Maria’s phone number.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay, Alex,” Michael says, and Alex stiffens. “I was up.”

“How—”

“Caller ID,” Michael explains, sounding pleasantly apologetic. “This is my cell.”

“Of course it is,” Alex breathes, shaking his head.

“And, uh, not for nothing, but I’d know your voice anywhere,” Michael admits. “It’s sexy as hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex spits, “I call you by mistake basically having a panic attack and you’re hitting on me?”

“Yeah?” Michael freely, shamelessly admits. “I mean, I’ve seen you at The Pony, but it’s not exactly safe to cruise there. You calling me in the middle of the night needing to be grounded kinda feels like the best shot I’m gonna get.”

“How did you know how to do that?” Alex asks, thinking of the research and guides Maria has bookmarked on her laptop for these very instances.

“Personal experience,” Michael says. “In the form of shitty foster placements and years of therapy.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex replies softly.

“I’m just glad you called my wrong number,�� Michael says, and his tone is tender, sincere.

“Me, too,” Alex breathes.

“So, next time I see you at The Pony,” Michael begins, a hesitant smile in his voice, “I should buy you a drink?”

Alex rolls his eyes, but he bites his lip and calls up a memory of Michael leaning against the bartop at The Pony, body long and lean, denim hugging his toned ass.

“Yeah,” he says before he can stop himself. “You should.”

“Okay,” Michael agrees, his tone satisfied, almost chipper despite the ungodly hour.

“And, hey,” he adds, voice sobering, “if Maria doesn’t pick up one night, you’ve got my number now.”

“I do.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it.”

Alex laughs a little self-consciously.

“I’d say I’m not afraid of anything, but you know that’s not true.”

“I do,” Michael replies, “and I think you’re brave.”

Alex sighs, but a small smile tugs at his lips.

And I think you’re a little crazy,” he says. “But thanks.”

“Anytime,” Michael replies. “Like, literally.”

“Night, Michael.”

“Good morning, Alex.”

#malex #malex fic #aewriting #alex manes #michael guerin #meet ugly prompts #rnm #rnm fic #maria deluca is a good friend #cw: ptsd #cw: nightmares

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hanadoesstuffbadly · 4 years ago

Text

‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness.

Had he asked for counselling? No.

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing.

Like sleeping.

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction. In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips.

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt.

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron, broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?”

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair.

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead.

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?”

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’.

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest.

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten.

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

“Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

“You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

“No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

“Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date.

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

“What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

“She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning.

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this?

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

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steve0discusses · 5 years ago

Text

Yugioh S4 Ep8: Magic Mai

So fun fact, I was out of town around this Thanksgiving and I grabbed a laptop from my Dad’s stack of machinery he’s sort of collected over the years and lo and behold--he put Linux on it.

Like I dunno if you all can relate to this problem, but everything he touches turns into Linux and he’s trying to live this Windows free/Mac free lifestyle, and I get it, I’m friends with so many vegetarians, but like I hate this laptop. I'm using Gimp to make these screenshots...So I can re-do them later in Photoshop because...it just doesn’t feel right to put Papyrus on this computer. It already has Linux. This poor machine has suffered enough. Long story short, this’ll be a small update because right clicking on linux is ass.

Also, because I was on a laptop and realized how small my blog is for the first time--I don’t have control over the size of pictures in text posts, tumblr does, and in this particular theme it’s not allowing me to change the size, and so do me a favor. Click ctrl and + at the same time a couple times (I’m assuming most of you are on firefox). There. the pictures are the right size now. If you hated that, you can click ctrl and - but like lets be real, my font is occasionally...tiny.

Anyway, we start discussing this episode on the confusing legs of the last one, where Mai is evil now, and it’s really not entirely clear if she’s possessed or if she’s just always been this way, or if she just FEELS like it.

And that’s all this episode is about, start to finish--is this Mai’s choice or was this not Mai’s choice? The answer is the same as it would be for a normal person: it’s complicated. Maybe it’s everybody’s choice. Maybe it was because no one did anything that Mai went completely haywire? Maybe it was because Mai hid how she was feeling so no one had any idea she needed help? Or, overall, maybe Mai is kind of a toxic person and wanted to be this way? Especially while she’s on children’s cartoon card drugs?

(read more under the cut)

So to start off, a weird thing happened at the beginning of this episode. After about 4 seasons, someone finally mentioned this:

How many seasons has Yugi been talking to himself? Like, out loud. In front of everyone and Kaiba? This whole time, right? Like Valon just dashed my headcanon where I figured Yugi was smart enough to think his thoughts instead of speak his thoughts. He’s just not that smart, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, Mai has managed to attract this other (teenager?) guy and like...to go worse than Joey so quickly is kind of shocking. Mai just seems embarrassed by the amount of very young boys in love with her. And she’s not even a cougar about it, she doesn’t really seem to want this to happen but it keeps on happening.

And although he is essentially the card form of a drug pusher, Valon has this soft spot for a girl I guess to give him some sort of redeemable flaw. However, she only wears tube tops and minis and spends like hundreds of dollars on her hair, so it doesn’t really make him seem any less shallow, tbh.

PS I’m surprised, that unlike all the other characters on Yugioh, I can’t just type in Valon’s name into Google and get his age and weight. No idea what his age is, and if you know, feel free to tell me but he just seems...exactly the same age as Joey. He seems very 17. Maybe it’s the obsession with motorcycles and children’s playing cards? Maybe it’s his big ol childlike eyes? He just seems young and niave like how a teenager who just fell in love with a very angry older woman would.

Joey tries to remind everyone, multiple times, that this game is the worst idea ever since it requires one of them to super die, but Mai is on card drugs so I don't know why they bothered. Also, why is Joey still surprised by this after 4 seasons of this?

Yo it’s S4 and Mai witnesses magic non-stop but still has basically no idea how it works. She really did say “I have no soul” and it was like...I’m 90% certain she literally thinks she has no soul right now. Which I guess, statistically speaking, is rare to actually have a still intact soul after hanging out with the main villain, with the way this show typically goes.

Meanwhile, last episode it really sounded like Duke Devlin was driving to Pegasus’ company building. It really sounded like he would have gone directly there, since Weevil and Rex told him that Yugi was going to Pegasus.

Remember that Duke Devlin works for Pegasus and probably has his own parking spot.

So where did he go instead?

You know how there’s only one gas station in the entirety of America?

I can’t believe it blew up.

Y’all what is the red splotch in the middle of the pile ps? That is legitimately a pile of blood, right? I didn’t shop that in. There’s just a red puddle in this kid’s show.

Y’all what is that? Like was there a scene with a red handkerchief that I missed? Is that a red handkerchief?

But to move past the mysterious pool of blood that confirms those bikers are so hella dead, I have no idea why Duke was here, I have no idea how he got the tip off that Yugi visited this place, but then he turned around and went back to SF so like...I guess he’ll arrive 3 days from now because again, they are in Arizona. They keep telling me this is right outside SF but like--Mesas. There’s Mesas.

And then this happened.

That one guy on the writing staff who just stans Seto Kaiba so hard got into the drawing room, I see.

PS someone had to pose for this shot for them to draw this shot from this angle.

Meanwhile, lets see why Mai turned evil. Ah, because it is Yugioh, the biggest reason is that she has no friends (probably because she’s got the most acidic personality known to man) and isn’t card popular enough and got super bitter and jealous.

Speaking as an artist who is online, I can understand the frustration here. Sometimes (99% of the time) you work really hard and no one cares and you get like 2 notes. And honestly, why should they? Like, why do you do it in the first place?

Mai echoes a lot of the issues of Seto last season, where she wants so badly to be the absolute best to prove herself to the ghosts of her past who really don’t care any more.

But, since Mai was in a coma when Seto got through all of that, I guess she never got the memo and still seems stuck on just wanting to be the best with no other reason than “to be the best” which again, sounds so much like art school problems. This is everyone who has ever had an interest in animation. We all go through that phase.

Generally we don’t take peoples souls as a reaction to that type of discouragement, but then Mai made sure to mention in almost a foot note that she did spend like an entire season and a half trapped in Marik's shadow realm. And that kind of effed her up in a really big way.

Thanks, Marik.

Really feels like Marik should be dealing with this problem--really feels like maybe Marik is the only person that we can actually point to and say “Oh yeah, that guy is to blame for Mai right now” And he is the only person that Mai does not actively go out and try to kill.

And I’ll have you know I just deleted like a 15 K word rant about the difference between character assassination and your character just--evolving into a jackass, and how it’s OK to have your character change into a jackass, especially after trauma. I felt this need to really have to defend this ancient writing technique that people have been using since about as long as stories have been around.

Then I remembered “Oh yeah, I’m just making this point because a few number of very loud idiots on the internet want to have very lukewarm hot-takes about popular characters solely because they enjoy baiting people on twitter into getting into week-long arguments that don’t go anywhere.” and I just...let it go. I let it just...go into the ether. Ah. The peace that comes when you already know you’re right.

But anyway, back to Yugioh, which thankfully doesn’t take a stance on this nuanced subject, and only presents this very serious problem without actually offering a solution (because there isn’t a one fit’s all solution to falling off the deep end and getting into drugs and murder), Mai decides to just go and blame this decision she made on anyone else. Because, why take responsibility for your actions, when you can pin it on people who were on the other side of the freakin planet when it happened?

Like, I just want to remind y’all that she was in ATLANTIS.

I wonder how good the cell reception is in ATLANTIS.

I just...Mai is like in her mid twenties maybe thirty’s. She’s so arbitrarily old that she plays Yugi’s Mom in the video game spinoff where they’re reincarnations of medieval times. That’s how old she is.

Imagine if you made some epically BAD decisions because you were jealous of some teenager’s success and didn’t want to be weak anymore, and then you confronted those teens, and said “This is all your fault.”

Imagine looking someone as dysfunctional as Joey Wheeler and telling him “You made me like this” because lollllllll

And I present this as a joke but like basically this happens all freakin time. We’ve all had a friend like Mai. Past tense of course, because it’s really hard to keep a friend like Mai for very long. (One of my friend’s who went Mai destroyed my apartment one summer and then literally blamed it on me for going to California for 2 months and leaving her unattended.) But like...don’t let Mai’s do it to you. They can get better, but only if it’s their choice, really. You can’t force them to save themselves.

But, as Mai was finally ready to give up cards and probably improve her quality of life by a huge degree, unfortunately, she got sucked right back into the trap.

Bro note: being a serial murderer cultist is basically working at McDonald's in this universe so maybe this wasn’t even that weird?

But that aside, this is alllllmost like a dark version of “Mai got into an abusive relationship to fill the void in her heart” except she’s not even really dating this guy? Like she hates this guy? He’s just kinda there?

Y’all I really can’t tell if Valon is in an abusive relationship with Mai who is using him for power or if she’s in an abusive relationship with him because he only wants her pretty face and wants to kill Joey because Joey liked her once--and maybe it’s both? Maybe both of these people are just...really bad for each other?

Overall Joey is kind of tossed into this not-a-love-triangle and I’m like

“Hey show? show? Am I supposed to....were any these people ever dating? Is there supposed to be an implied history? Am I supposed to get attached to this?” because I mean...the only character who was able to get some actual physical romance on this show was Pegasus when he macked the ghost of his dead wife because, again, Pegasus is the freakin king of this entire show. Of course HE can do it.

But have this show clarify what the hell is happening between Valon and Mai? I’m gonna take a bet that we will never get to see it beyond Valon being like “Ain’t she a beaut!” Like Steve Irwin talking to an alligator, and Mai just pretending he doesn’t exist. Yugioh romances are so completely one way every single time. If something more than that happens, I’ll be

shook.

Anyway, as all the children on the show keep repeating over and over again, they haven’t had any contact with Mai since she left the freakin country and they went back to High School.

And so someone threatens to kill himself, as is Yugioh tradition, and someone else barks at him to NOT kill himself, as is also tradition, and they decide to play real cards next episode.

This whole entire episode, PS, Joey went out of his way to just...not play cards. that was this whole episode. Way to draw out a card game over three episodes, I guess.

Anyway if you want to read these from the start you can do so by clicking the link here

#yugioh #ygo #episode recap #photo recap #Yugi muto #mai valentine #Valon #joey wheeler #Tristan Taylor #Tea Gardner #That moustache sideburns guy? I think his name is Raphael or something?#S4 #Ep 8 #PS I just noticed my episodes were numbered wrong #so that's nice #I may also decide to do some tagging shenanigans so you can have a link to read which season you would like to go to instead of just from S1 #but that will be when I get bored over christmas I have some client stuff to wrap up right now

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arabellaflynn · 4 years ago

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Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago.

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks".

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August.

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day.

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now.

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

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#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

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monsters-under-the-willowtree · 5 years ago

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My God, They Were Roommates

A Story about New Places, New Faces, and a New Roommate that wasn’t originally in the advertisement but a welcome surprise nonetheless

Ungendered Ghost + Ungendered Reader 3000 words

Holiday wasn’t exactly the kind of town that you expected to end up in after college but it was better than where you’d come from. That much was certain. For one it didn’t have all the drama from where you’d come from. And for two it was gorgeous.

There was so much greenery, old and new growth just bursting from every seam. Charming old homes that might as well be estates and new town houses, ancient taverns with plaques boasting their history and cute modern boutiques all mixing nicely together to create this inviting and unique atmosphere that had drawn you in the moment you’d stepped out of your car.

Plus it was actually affordable here, in spite of the drive it would take to get literally anywhere.

And now here you were, putting away the last of your things as autumn leaves danced past your window. The last cardboard moving box finally stashed under your bed with the others. Technically this was just a studio apartment above an old antique shop but the owner of the shop hadn’t had so much luck with the business and had closed the doors a couple of years back. It was quiet and private and since you didn’t even have keys to get into the shop itself the inanimate housemates on the first and second floors didn’t bother you one bit.

It did have the downside of being lonely though. But you were sure that wasn’t going to be a problem forever. You just needed to meet some people in town, that was all. And in the meantime you could call your family and talk to them when the loneliness got to be unbearable. That was the plan, anyways, but with a whole town’s worth of new places and unpacking and turning the bare attic-type space into a homey spot arranged just how you wanted it to be there hadn’t been a whole lot of time for it just yet.

That and... some little strange occurrences had been happening too. Nothing terribly odd but just inexplicable enough to make you just a bit uneasy. Like this morning, you think as you look down at your thumb. The pad of it had a little smiley face drawn on it. And you had absolutely no memory of putting it there. Boxes had tipped over by themselves while you were unpacking. Two mornings in a row now you had woken up with a shoe balanced on your forehead. And strangest of all, there was a little toy ghost that you hadn’t remembered packing along with you that kept moving itself around your room every time you would leave the house and then return later.

This was the kicker that got you really thinking. In fact you were currently sitting on the edge of your bed looking at it with your chin in your hands. Was it possible that there was a ghost in this building? It hadn’t done anything mean or malicious or creepy yet. But the idea was still a little disturbing. Would you need to get a curtain or something if you needed to change? Would it obey a set of house rules like “no messing with the water while I’m showering” and “no creepy stuff that will give me nightmares?”

After an afternoon of deliberating you finally decided that waiting for it to come to you wasn’t going to be the best way to go about this. So instead.... you went shopping. Nothing extravagant, you didn’t really have a whole lot of funds to put towards much of anything at the moment. But a few things. And then it was time to go to work.

The first thing you did when you got home was tie some fishing line to your shoes and attach that to a shoe box up high on a shelf that you filled with feathers. The first little ghost toy got a second little toy friend to sit next to. And finally a little cheap video camera that you balanced on your dresser on the opposite wall in an effort to capture your prankster in the act.

And then you went to bed. It was difficult, but eventually you managed to drop off to sleep.

In the morning you awoke gently. It was Sunday and you had no alarm, one of your two blessed sleeping-in days. But as soon as you shifted even an inch there was the sensation of things tumbling onto you, things thudding dully against your bed and body, and you shrieked in surprise. Flailing wildly against your attacker, there was a bit more din and ruckus. When all finally came to a stop you stared, wide eyed and breathless, at the shoes, feathers, and shoe box that were now haphazardly resting on you, your bed, and the floor beside you. It took a moment for your brain to catch up with what had happened.

And then you started laughing.

The laughter only grew louder as you dared a glance over at the video camera and noticed the two toy ghosts beside it, arranged like they were holding it up where it stood, now pointing at you instead of at the door where you kept your shoes usually. So your ghost had figured out the prank and had pranked you right back. Classic. The feathers were going to be a pain to clean up but right now that annoyance was nothing more than a fleeting thought as you scurried over to the camera and flipped it over. It was still recording.

Flopping back on your bed you stopped the recording and then played it back, quickly realizing that just watching it straight through was going to take forever. So the laptop was pulled out, memory card inserted, and then the fun really started. Dragging the pointer across the progress bar you started fishing through the data until bam! Feathers everywhere! You rewind by a minute or two and then watch, nose practically pressed to the screen, to see how it happened.

At 2:47 AM all seems quiet. Nothing unusual. Except that, wait... you pause, rewind by 10 seconds, and look harder when you push play. There’s a movement. By the door. Not something you can truly see but just barely detectable nonetheless. And your shoes lift slowly into the air. The box above tips over and a shower of neon pink feathers rains down from above. They don’t exactly land on anything in particular but they do seem to almost bump against and then slide off of something invisible. The shoes drop and some gust of indoor wind sends a bunch of them flying into the air. The feathers fall gracefully to the ground.

And then... nothing. For minutes. You skip ahead carefully, squinting, until you catch a frame of your shoe floating above your bed. Scooting back through time you watch as feathers start lifting themselves back into the box. The camera moves a minute later, changing angles so that it is now pointing at you instead. And then your shoe is lifted, floating silently across the room. It’s balanced on your shoulder and then there is nothing again for a moment. The other shoe is brought over and balanced carefully on the first. Then the box of feathers floats over and is balanced on the side of your head. The ghost toys dance through the air, growing larger in the frame until they are right in front of it. Maybe a little too close, they’re rather blurry. But definitely there on purpose.

You can’t help but notice, while they hang there in the air, that one is very slowly rotating in place towards the other, who is looking directly at the camera. Then moving closer. And then leaning in. The hands on the little toy ghosts can’t move but the one who moves closer to the one staring into the camera tilts, the little hand sliding behind the first until the two ghosts are touching in a juvenile form of embrace. They float there in that position for maybe ten minutes, most of which you click through rapidly. Apparently your ghost wanted to send a message and didn’t want you to miss it. And it was so sweet you can’t even be the smallest bit upset that now you have pink feathers all over your bed.

Your ghost wanted to be friends.

It was such a crazy concept that you didn’t really know what to say or do for a while. Ghosts were real? How was that possible? How could you be friends with someone who was invisible? Could they talk? Were they watching you? How would you communicate? How would you know if they were there? How did they die? Why were they here?

Mustering up a bit of gumption you track down some paper and some pens and leave them out on your dresser with a little note on it.

Hello Ghost! I hope you aren’t upset that I’m living here. I’d like to be friends. Can we talk soon? I want to meet you!

You signed your name, put the box of feathers by it, and then headed for the shower. It seemed like they hadn’t really been doing much around the apartment unless you were out or asleep so you thought that maybe they were shy or were trying to be nice and not spook you too badly. Which was awfully considerate of them, you probably would have screamed if they had just popped out of the woodwork and offered their hand to you. But now that you’d had a little time to think about it you were actually pretty excited to meet a friendly ghost.

It was hard to take your time, anticipation was bubbling in your stomach like soda pop fizz, but you really wanted to make sure that the ghost had enough time to find the note, read it, and reply back. If they were even around. Maybe they were hanging out in the antique shop downstairs? Did they only come up at certain times of the night? You hadn’t really had enough time to learn their patterns yet. But you hoped. And eventually when you were nice and pruned you could finally check.

There was... no reply. And it stung a little. You did try not to be too disappointed. But... wait. The pages had definitely been disturbed. Some feathers weren’t in their box anymore. And... now that you got looking, your favorite pen was missing too. Well, you mused, maybe they just wanted some more time to work on their answer. Maybe writing was hard to do as a ghost? In any case, it looked like they had seen your note and were going to maybe reply back to you on their own time.

With that in mind you went about the rest of your day, still a little bit anxious but trying to be patient. It took ages to fall asleep that night. So long that it was early morning before your eyes finally started to droop. And that was when you heard a little scratch at the door. Just once. And even if your eyes popped open you stayed still, not totally sure that you actually had heard anything. But your suspicions were confirmed moments later when a piece of paper floated across the room. You gasped and immediately the paper dropped to the floor, along with a rattling ting that told you the ghost had been holding your pen too.

“Wait!” You sat up and jumped out of bed, holding your hands out in some vain attempt to feel for them in the dark. “Wait, don’t go. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. Are you still here?”

Nothing moved, no matter how long you waited there in the dark. With a sigh you shuffled over to the paper and picked it up, turning on a light so you could actually read it. Although once you got there you decided that maybe “read” was a strong word. It was a hand-drawn comic page. No words. But you studied it carefully anyways.

The first panel was a dark room. It took up the width of the page. Big and empty and heavily shadowed and with a dramatic angle to showcase the small bedsheet-type ghost sitting in the middle of it with a frown. Below it were three panels. Side by side views of the little ghost with an “o” mouth and wide eyes peeking around corners at the sight of a person carrying boxes.

Then the bottom panel, again using the full width of the page, showed the same room as above now filled with boxes and music and light and a person (one you had to guess was yourself) with the little sheet ghost grinning enormously.

It was adorable and even at the late hour it warmed your whole heart. You immediately pulled apart an old picture frame and put the page inside of it, snatching up the two little ghosts and putting the two of them next to each other beside it. Maybe the ghost was illiterate and couldn’t read? Couldn’t write? Or maybe they spoke a different language? Had they been an immigrant from another country and couldn’t read the language you were writing?

Whatever the case was, they were a lovely artist and you wanted to make sure they knew you had understood the message. So you grabbed another piece of paper and with what little artistic skill you had tried your best to answer back. Yours was a very basic four panel comic with stick people, the first showing a person standing alone. Then in the second one it showed the first person with a big grin and their hands in the air at the appearance of a simplified sheet ghost. The third showed the ghost and the person with word bubbles and little squiggles inside. And then the fourth was your very best attempt at drawing the ghost and the person hugging. You didn’t really know if ghosts could hug but it was the best way you could draw the hope that you could be friends with your new roommate.

You left this drawing nearby the first, looking around the room for any sign of your ethereal roommate for a few moments before deciding that maybe they weren’t around anymore. It would have been nice to finally see them or sit and chat with them, learn their name or find out if the two of you even spoke the same language. If not then the sooner the better, you had learned a few words here and there in a few other languages but if you were going to need to learn a whole new one well enough to be conversational then you kindof wanted to get started.

Exhaustion pulled you under quickly after that, a small blessing considering that you had to be up for work the next day. It was impossible to concentrate, and sleep was only one small factor in that problem, and the end of your working day could not come soon enough. The comic had given you an idea and even if you were definitely planning on more little pranks in the future you were glad that you hadn’t gone too crazy just yet. That show of restraint had given you a couple dollars left in your wallet to head back to the store and pick up some art supplies. Nothing fancy. Just some cheap acrylics and a pack of plastic bristle brushes. Next paycheck you might be able to afford an array of the small canvases they had for sale but with your last $5 not claimed by groceries or gasoline you purchased two small ones that would at least give your ghost friend something to do with their time while you were away at work.

“Hello?” It felt a little strange to call out to an empty studio as you came bustling in with your plastic bags and keys jangling noisily. But now that you had a ghost to consider it felt rude not to greet them, wherever they might be. “Ghost? Hello? I bought something for you!”

Settling everything on the small folding table you eventually arranged the art supplies in such a way, an old sheet as a tablecloth and toy ghosts supporting the package of paint brushes over their heads, that hopefully the ghost would catch your meaning.

“Listen, I don’t know if you can hear me or if you’re here or not but these are for you! I figured maybe you might like to try painting, since the little comic picture you drew yesterday was so cool. It’s not much but it probably beats wandering around this old place all alone all day. I don’t know if ghosts can paint but it’s worth a shot, you know? Uh…. Anyways… I guess I’ll just leave these here. You can take them somewhere else if you don’t want to paint in, like, the middle of the room or something. Just take the sheet with you so you can keep the floor clean, I suck at trying to get stains out of stuff so I won’t be much help if it gets into anything.”

You looked around again, hoping to see some sign that they were around. Nothing really jumped out at you but you could have sworn the curtains shifted just slightly. Or maybe that was just the air vents. “I have to go out again for a bit, I’m all out of food for the week, but I hope you like this stuff. I’ll see you later? Maybe? I mean I’d like to see you later but it’s cool if you want to stay invisible a while longer. I get being shy and all that. Anyways… uhm… later!”

And though it was still maybe too early to tell but the air just to your left felt abruptly cool as you gathered up the plastic bags and keys, cracking open the paints and brushes for them as an afterthought. How strong were ghosts really? Were there things that you could do to make life (or rather death) easier for them? These thoughts and a cold breeze followed after you as you scuttled back out the door again, still unsure if you were really doing the right thing but pleased enough with your efforts that the consequences of befriending a ghost felt worth the risk that maybe this would be the best thing to ever happen to you in your whole life.

#exophilia #monster x reader #monster x human #monsters #gender neutral monster #gender neutral reader #ghost monster

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fantasyfandommaiden · 5 years ago

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ML Counsellor AU: Audrey Bourgeois session

Carmine was was just trying to enjoy her day off when Audrey decided to intrupted her lunch, trying to either one up Carmine or insult her, she isn’t sure. What Audrey doesn’t expect is to get chewed out for her terrible parenting style and her even worse personality by the usually calm and collective school Counsellor.

(Post Style Queen And Queen Wasp)

Carmine was having a spectacular day off. She had woken up early and finished some cleaning around the apartment, than had finished the prep work for a very nice dinner later that evening. She was now in one of her favourite cafe, sitting at her favourite table (outside near one of the trees for some shade, but close enough she could smell the baked goods inside).

She was currently waiting for her sandwich and soup to arrive as she typed away at her laptop, working on some writing. She paused for a moment to have a sip of tea (not as good as hers but it would due), letting out a soft sigh. Today was just plain blissful.

She heard a slight scoff and someone pull out the chair opposite of her from the table before said person sat down, causing Carmine to look up to see who was joining her only to see one Audrey Bourgeois. Suddenly, her prefect day was anything but.

Carmine looked at the blonde woman for a solid ten seconds with a neutral face before looking back at her laptop, typing away.

Audrey drummed her fingers against the table, starring straight at Carmine for another thirty seconds before breaking the silence.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Your the one who sat down at my table Madame.” Carmine replied in a bored, even tone, continuing to type and not bothering to look up from her screen.

Audrey continued to look at her, before bringing others her phone and beginning to read what was on it. “‘May your hair turn as grey and course as that of a goat and your eyes continue to look like that of a dead fish.’ ‘May you sag in all the weird places, and shirk to the size of a toddler’, ‘I hope you sleep with a fish.’” She looked at Carmine who continued to type “These, apparently, were just some of the things you said to me at Gabriel’s fashion show three days ago.”

“The literal translation loses some of its whimsy when translated to French, its much more insulting in Yueh.” Carmine stated simply as she continued to type, not looking at the woman at all.

Audrey let out a loud ‘huff’ “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to not look at someone when they are talking to you?”

Carmine stopped typing, looking up from her laptop screen so she stared Audrey straight in the eyes “... didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to insult your daughter in front of all of her classmates while it’s being televised on national television?” She asked back sharply, her voice dripping with venom.

Most would have missed the way Audrey’s lips tightened slightly in guilt, but not Carmine.

“If you want to talk about me being rude, I will gladly discuss your own behaviour as well.” Carmine stated simply to the blonde woman, saving the file she was working on before closing the laptop to look at Audrey.

Audrey looked straight at Carmine through her sunglasses, her fingers still drumming against the table as the two woman had a stare down. “... it has come to my attention that my daughter has been seeing you for ‘counselling’.”

Carmine did not say anything, continuing to look at Audrey, from her face to her hands, noticing and noting ever fidget, tick and micro expression the woman was showing. The more she observed the more she found that although Audrey was indeed annoyed and maybe even a bit angry, she was no where near as furious as she was attempting to portray.

“I understand she has been... attempting to became a ‘better person’.” Audrey continued. Carmine simply raised a brow with her deadpanned expression still on her face, not saying anything.

“... oh will you say SOMETHING!” Audrey groaned, looking at Carmine with a bored expression. “My daughter hasn’t spoken to and even attempted to speak to me since that event! I know she has spoken to you well she has been at school!”

“Think it has anything to do with being publicily humiliated on national televison?” Carmine asked sarcastically, picking up her tea cup and sipping it. “Or possibly you suddenly appearing in her life again after being away for so many years without so much as a word? Or that you keep getting your own daughters name wrong, repeatedly I might add.”

Audrey rolled her eyes, seeming not caring at all about Carmine’s insults at All, her lack of empathy annoying Carmine but she remained calm, looking at the blonde fashion critic with an almost bored expression as she spoke again “What do you want Madame Bourgeois, If you wanted an apology you would have started by demanding one and than threatening to fire me when I refused.”

Audrey looked at her “... your making her weak.”

Carmine blinked, confused “... excuse me?”

“Chloe, your making her weak. From what I was hearing from before the summer she was a queen bee, she had everyone in the school and hotel wrapped around her finger. She was able to control a situation with ease, and handle everything with an ironed, well manicured, fist.” Audrey stated, looking straight at Carmine, her tone conveying slight annoyance “Now she is taking a back seat, She is letting others tell her what to do, letting others walk all over her, her grades are falling behind, she isn’t even class president for heavens sake! So when I ask my idiot of a husband what happened, he said that after she was Akumatized she was required to see you, and she didn’t stop.” She looked at Carmine with a mild glare that held no heat to it “You’ve made my daughter a push over.”

Carmine looked at Audrey for a few moments with a very unamused expression on her face, before shaking her head “You And I both know that’s not true.” She said as Audrey fumed “Your not mad at me because of that, at least not in the way your saying.”

“Oh, a psychologist telling me how I feel, how rich. Tell me what your three psychology degrees say about me.” Audrey stated in a bored tone.

“They tell me quite a bit, as well as your body language.” Carmine said, placing her tea cup down “For starters, you keep tabs on your daughter, otherwise you wouldn’t have known about all the changes that have occurred since Hawkmoth’s first appearance. Your upset that your daughter isn’t a queen bee anymore, but I don’t think it’s because she isn’t in charge anymore.” Carmine looked at Audrey, her expression softening slightly “... I think your worried that your daughter may have lost some of her back bone in her attempts to become a nicer person, which is ridiculous. If anything it has made her stronger as a person.”

Audrey became eerily quiet, her fingers stopped drumming against the table as she looked at Carmine “No one ever made it in history by being ‘nice’. Chloe was taught at a young age you need to fight for what you want, and to get it by any means necessary. You need to fight by any means, to use any tactic to get what you want. You would know that what with your credentials.” She stated snapping her fingers. A butler came out of nowhere and handed on the blonde woman the file. Carmine noticed her name on the file and felt her body tense up, and she somehow managed to keep her face neutral.

“Carmine Regal, born in Canada but traveled a lot due to your families work, eventually stopping to live in New Orleans, where you lived until you were 19 years old and you came over to Paris to study aboard. After you graduated with three phd’s in psychology and one in ancient history you applied for a duel citizenship, to which you received, and had a private practice until Hawkmoth appeared, to which you agreed to become the school Counsellor. You’ve written a children’s book and are currently working on your next one, at least according to your publisher you are. Your most notable aqquantances are Gabriel’s assistant Nathalie Sancour, investigating reporter Blaine Bishop, as well as several other notable people who I don’t feel a need to mention.” She snapped the file closed, looking at Carmine. “There’s more, but it’s unimportant, I did however find out about your family history, or lack there of.”

Carmine looked at the file that was in the blonde woman’s hand, before looking back at Audrey. “... a quick google search can tell you most of that, as well as my Facebook. I’ll have to remember to put that to private after this.” She said not taking her eyes off Audrey “Was this suppose to prove a point, or scare me? I don’t really have anything that you can blackmail me with.” She stated in a nonchalant tone.

Audrey looked at Carmine with a neutral expression, a crack of a smile on her face forming, almost a complete change from the beginning of the conversation. “... you know what I appreciate more than fashion, Mlle Regal?” She asked simply as a waiter brought over a glass of water with a slice of lime in the water and a lemon wedge on the rim, than promptly ran away quickly. “People who are hard working, who don’t get scared or intimidated easily. Who forge their own accomplishments and say ‘fuck you’ to those who try to stand in their way. People like you.”

She took a sip of her water and let out a soft groan “Like my fool of a husband USE to be. I believe in hard work and that the world doesn’t give you handouts, and when I try to teach Chloe that? ‘Daddy’ goes behind my back and gives the girl what she wants anyways, making her spoiled. I became so fed up I ended up leaving for New York.” She stated “I admit that perhaps it was a bit of over kill to get back at my husband, but I thought it would help. I’m acting just like my mother did to me and I turned out fine. If only Chloe saw I was doing this for her own good, but like I said she won’t come to see me at all like she use to-“

“I’m going to stop you there.” Carmine said suddenly, looking at the woman dead in the eyes with a cold stare “Just because your mother treated you like shit and you somehow turned out ‘alright’ DOES NOT mean that it will work on another child. Children need equal amounts of encouragement and discipline in order for them to grow into functional members of society, not for their parent to up and leave them because they don’t like how their partner is handling the child rearing.”

“Secondly, continuing to insult, belittle, neglect, or humiliate children at any age has been PROVEN to cause long term, sometimes life long anxiety and social problems, even depression. I would know because I co-wrote a thesis on the matter for my final grade in university. If it weren’t for the fact that André completely dots on Chloe, albeit a bit too much, she would not be as stable as she is right now.” She said in a somewhat heated tone “And also, children will always try to play their parents against each other, it’s up to the parents to be a team in order for it not to happen.”

Audrey continued to look at Carmine, as she took another breath to speak “If YOU want to talk to Chloe, than YOU need to make the effort to see her, and speak to her. For some strange reason I can not comprehend, she values your option very highly, and what you said three days ago? About the only thing that was ‘extraordinary’ about her was having you as a mother? That nearly destroyed her.” She all but growled “If you want to talk to Chloe I can’t stop you, it you better make DAMN sure whatever you have to say to that girl is positive because I will be damned if I let all of her hard over the past several months to become a better person be thrown down the drain by someone who isn’t going to care about her!”

Carmine was nearly panting after her rant, glaring at Audrey with a look at could freeze hell over. The two woman had a stare down, the cafe around them quiet, as if everyone wanted to see who would look away first.

Audrey was the first, looking down at her drink, picking it up to sip from it again “Your a poor example of a psychologist, I thought you were suppose to remain ‘distant’ and ‘not get too attached’.” She said mockingly.

Carmine took another deep breath, slowly exhaling through her nose “I am a counsellor right now, it’s my job to care about what happens to these kids.” She stated back “Just like how it was your job to look after, care and nurture for Chloe. And since you have failed at that job, it will be Chloe’s decision on whether or not she wishes to speak to you, not mine, not your husbands, and not yours.”

Audrey glared at Carmine and pointed straight at her “You can’t talk, your not even a parent.”

Carmine looked back at her with a neutral expression “No, but I am one hell of an example of a decent human being.” Her expression than turned coy as she asked in a sweet, venomous voice “Can the same be said for you, Madame?”

Audrey let out a low growl before standing up “I would watch your tone, I have a lot of influence in this city.” Audrey said

“True, you do. But I have my fair share of influence as well.” She said sipping her team looking at Audrey before letting out a soft sigh, “... and if you decide to ever become a decent human being, my door is open.” Carmine said half heartedly. She may not like the woman, but she had a personal code that didn’t allow her to turn down someone if they needed it, and boy did she need help.

Audrey turned up her nose and walked away without giving her a second look, the butler however, Chloe’s butler from what Carmine could remember, looked at her. “... do you have a card, Mlle?” He asked her softly “For the Madame.”

Carmine wordlessly handed him one as the butler quickly caught up with Audrey. Finally, she could enjoy her lunch in piece.... than she heard screaming, great an Akuma attack and she still had yet to receive her lunch. Day ruined.

#ml au #ladybug au #counsellor au #carmine regal #audrey bourgeois #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #style queen salt #post style queen #carmine isnt afraid to point out your faults

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snarky-badger · 6 years ago

Note

Prompt: Reader has a shitty relationship with reality. Weird crap happens to them and things that shouldn’t happen do. Sometimes they will go missing out of the blue do it it and just show up a couple weeks later. They usually carry around a recorder with them so they can show people they aren’t insane but they forget it and go missing for a bit before coming back. Eddie/Venom FREAK the fuck out.

This is my second attempt at this, as tumblr deleted the first draft I wrote! Grr. Still, it was fun to write! Kinda more Eddie and less Venom.

Your life was weird. Which was to say, you and reality had apparently met and broken up with no chance at reconciliation.

It had started when you were eight. Now, keep in mind, you’d been born in the eighties, so it was high weirdness to suddenly be in possession of a computer the size of your hand.

You’d been playing when something had just popped out of nowhere, bouncing off your head before clattering to the ground. A little dazed, you’d picked it up and discovered that it was something called an iPhone 8. You’d played with it for hours before it had simply vanished out of your hands, leaving an odd chill and a very baffled you behind.

Things had only gotten more complicated from there.

More things appeared and vanished around you, sometimes little things, like keys or books, sometimes big things, like your parent’s minivan.

When you were twelve, you’d vanished from school. Literally. Your parents had gone insane. Search parties were sent out, Amber Alert’s announced, police canvased the entire neighbourhood. When you’d reappeared a week later, your parents had ignored your tale of meeting Robin Hood and grounded you for running away and making up stories.

Your childhood and adolescence was peppered with disappearances, your parents believing that you were a liar and a runaway, and you had suffered through numerous trips to various hospitals because of the ‘tales’ you told.

You’d started bringing a tape recorder with you to film your adventures when you were fourteen. Over time, you upgraded to camcorder, then your smartphone, and finally a hidden camera that you could bring wherever you ended up. You had images and videos saved that surpassed any CG movie out there.

It was odd, you realized, that when you ‘popped’ into new worlds, that no one there thought twice of your sudden appearance. You just blended in with whatever timeline or universe you’d slid into, as if you were supposed to be there in the first place. You’d seen dinosaurs, broke bread with dragon-slayers, saved dragons from dragon-slayers, visited far off worlds and even alternate universes just a smidgen different from your own.

It continued on until you were old enough to move out. Sure, you still vanished from time to time, visiting odd and strange places, but it was fun for you. New experiences and new adventures. The hell with your doubting parents. This was your life and you embraced it.

You’d been chased by a feathered T-Rex, nearly gotten run over by a horse drawn carriage that belonged to Sherlock Holmes - the older one not the hot one - shared mead with Hobbits, gunned down zombies, met aliens - not the probing kind - gotten bitten by a chupacabra, encountered a rather irritated Dalek that had also popped out of his universe, hell, you’d even met Captian Picard of the USS Enterprise!

Things became more complicated when you started dating.You’d originally sworn off dating because of the trouble presented when you slipped out of your universe, but Eddie Brock had been sweet and handsome and with a sparkling wit and down to earth charm that had made turning him down impossible.

You imagined he’d expected you to freak out when, a month into dating, he’d confided in you that he was bonded to an alien symbiote and that he moonlighted as Venom most nights.

You’d seen a lot of weird shit by then, so you’d merely shrugged, shaken Venom’s hand and asked him what he preferred white or dark chocolate cake.

When Eddie had moved in, things got decidedly complicated. You managed to explain your disappearances by saying it was work related, that you had to run off at any time to catch a plane or a train. Thanks to being a veteran of falling out of your dimension into another, you could usually ‘feel’ a slip before it happened.

He’d accepted it with grace - after all, he was Venom. He thought he knew strange.

You were waffling over whether to tell him what was really going on. Had practiced the conversation. Were even willing to let him see what was in the mystically locked chest at the foot of your bed.

It was filled with keepsakes from your journeys: A sword made of enchanted glass from Skyrim, a computer pad you’d stolen from the Enterprise, bits of shells from a dinosaur egg, the Hope Diamond, a Venom comic-book - that was going to take some explanation - an ‘Arum’ from the Elite home world from the Halo universe, a pile of gems and coins from Smaug himself - you’d popped out of that world before getting charbroiled - a feather as long as your arm from a Roc, a working phaser, three seashells, several sets of armor and ancient clothing, a Lightsaber you’d stolen from one baffled Anakin Skywalker before he’d gone batty, and an emerald the size of your fist - you hoped Sonic had made due without it.

You’d actually been trying to work up the nerve to talk to Eddie after a date, on the walk home, when you’d literally popped out of existence.

Shit.

You reappeared in the middle of a fight between a rag tag group of people and something called a ‘dracolich’. Which was a fancy word for ‘skeleton dragon’.

By then, you were rather used to appearing in the middle of a crisis, so you’d taken up a sword and joined the fight. By the time the undead dragon was properly dead - thanks to one of the group that had turned out to be a necromancer - you’d pretty much ingratiated yourself to the group, and no one questioned where you’d appeared from.

You spent a month with them, fulfilling quests, getting drunk at taverns, and being rewarded by kings and peasants both. You had enough gold coins to pay for your apartment for the next fifty years. Your new friends, the necromancer, a draconian, an archer and a sorceress made you the honorary ‘knight’ of the group, even chipping in to buy you a set of armor tailored to you.

It was while your friends were at a brothel - you may have been in a different universe but you did have a boyfriend back home, hence the ‘no brothel’ rule for you - that things went sideways again. You popped, appearing in the middle of a conference at the UN where there were lizards instead of people, waved, then popped again, reappearing in San Francisco.

This wouldn’t have been such a bad thing had you not been decked out in full armor, armed with numerous knives and a broadsword. The fact that you’d appeared in the middle of a wedding just made things more complicated.

You managed to weave a spiel about trying out your ‘costume’ for the next Comic Con before making a run for it.

Hoping that Eddie was still around somewhere, you trudged home, incurring various stunned looks as you went. Ignored them with long practice, even when you got on the elevator and had to ride to the top floor next to a women with two children.

Lacking a key, you merely kicked your front door in, freezing in the doorway when you spotted a very confused Eddie on your couch. He was obviously in the middle of working on a new article - papers and notebooks were scattered around him haphazardly.

“Um…. hi?” You even wiggled your fingers at him in a little wave, armor glinting in the light from the windows.

Everything went flying - laptop included, ouch - when he realized who you were. He crossed the apartment in a run before wrapping you up in a crushing embrace.

“You’re alive!”

The stark relief in his voice made you wither a little, and you lamely stayed silent, blinking up at him when he pushed you back and held you at arms length.

“Where have you been?! We searched the entire City for you! Twice! Thought you’d been kidnapped or worse–”

You rose a hand to place your fingers against his mouth when his voice cracked, the tears in his eyes making a pit open up in your stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have told you. This just…. happens, sometimes. Well, a lot of the time. I can’t control it. Usually I can feel it before it happens, but this time I didn’t have any warning and–”

“This has happened before?”

You winced a little and pulled away, walking past him and into the apartment. Waited until he’d closed the door before speaking again. “Weird things have been happening to me since I was eight. Things would pop in and out of existence around me, things that we’re from my time or our world. They’d always vanish again eventually…. When I was twelve I vanished for a week, met Robin Hood, he taught me how to shoot a bow–”

The look of disbelief on Eddie’s face made you growl. “See that? That right there. That’s why I don’t tell people. My parents had me admitted to psych wards because I trusted them. You know what electro-shock therapy is? It ain’t fun! But this shit happens to me, all the time. And you, Venom, are not the poster child for normality, so quit lookin’ at me like that!”

He winced at bit at that, then sighed and walked over to you. “Okay. Okay, we’re sorry, this just sounds….”

“Insane. I’m aware. I’m also aware that since aliens exist and that there are mutants running around and a guy in New York called ‘Spider-Man’, that this isn’t the weirdest thing in this reality.”

“Point.”

“Damn right ‘point’,” you muttered angrily, huffing as you headed for your bedroom. “There’s also the fact that I’m not stupid enough to say these things without some goddamn proof. So, c’mere.”

Grumbling a little, you stomped over to the locked chest at the foot of your bed, shoving clothes off of it before raising your thumb to your mouth and biting into the meat of it. Eddie made a noise of complaint at the sight, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Needs blood given without duress to open,” you explained as you pressed your thumb to the lock, grinning at his look of shock when the combination lock spun crazily, five numbers clicking into place before the three heavy latches popped open. “Got this thing from a wizard when I turned twenty. Best security I ever invested in.”

The flabbergasted look on Eddie’s face was almost worth it when you started pulling things out and laying them on the bed, explaining what each and every one of them were and where you’d gotten them from. His eyes got bigger and bigger with every keepsake you pulled out, right up until you pulled out the Venom comic and thrust it into his face.

“Bet you were wondering why I was so chill when you told me about the symbiote, huh? I already knew about it.”

“This can’t be real,” left him in a whisper as he took the comic and flipped through it. The symbiote that was masquerading as his shirt visibly undulated, a tendril extending to poke at the comic, as if to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

“Oh, it is real buster. There’s a reality where practically every weird ass thing in this world is just a bunch of stories. Spider-Man, Magneto, Wolverine, fuck, the entire X-Men School - comic-books. Every single one. There’s a universe where Batman is real, another where the galaxy nearly got it’s metaphorical balls handed to it by monstrosities called ‘Reapers’, another where crab-people try to overthrow governments. Trust me, I have seen some weird shit.“

“You never told anyone?”

“The people I did tell had me committed,” you reminded him. “I learned to keep this kinda shit to myself. I wanted to tell you. I did. But…. Well, the amount of people who have flipped out on me and left is kinda a hundred percent. I have videos, and they still didn’t believe me.”

Eddie shook his head a little, still looking stunned. “We believe you. It’s impossible not to. We’re holding the story of our own history in our hands.”

“Sorry about that. Kinda had to go for the shock value.” You paused, hesitant. “You really believe me?”

The wary hope in your voice made him walk over to you and wrap you up in a hug, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’re very convincing.”

“And the symbiote?”

“Glad to have our morsel back.” Eddie blinked a little, then cleared his throat as the symbiote released control of his voice. “We’re relieved you’re alright. We mourned you. We’ve spent the past month trying to find you.”

“This’ll happen again,” you warned him softly. “I can’t control it. I wish I could, but I can’t. And I don’t have control about how long I stay away. Could be a week, could be a month….”

“But you’ll come back? Eventually?”

“Always do.”

“Promise to come home to us?”

You smiled. “Hun, if you can put up with the insanity that is my life, you’re practically stuck with me.”

“Good,” he murmured before kissing you, and you shivered happily as you kissed him back. “Now, show us how that Lightsaber works.”

#snarky is writing #filled prompt #venom x reader #reader x venom #venom #eddie brock x reader #reader x eddie brock

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andavs · 7 years ago

Note

Any chance for a outside POV of Sterek? Maybe from the POV of Stiles new uni friends? I just really love your writing and outside POV stories

She wasn’t going to ask.

They had a silent understanding, she and Stiles, and years of her dad quoting old westerns had taught her that you do not break a silent understanding, nor do you address it before your deathbed. Or if her mom was anything to go by, after your death, in a handwritten letter, shoved in a drawer behind three earmarked romance novels and a sandwich bag of weed. Either way, death was the deciding factor.

She and Stiles were both still alive, so she wasn’t going to get involved.

It was kind of their thing, not getting involved. They both valued their privacy, which was why they worked so well as roommates, why they decided to move in together for sophomore year and junior year after that. It wasn’t that they’d become particularly close in their Intro to Psych class freshman year, it was that they had both been assigned horrendously nosy and obtrusive roommates and they both happened to end up in the library at odd hours to get away from them.

A month of not acknowledging each other avoiding their respective roommates in the same place had eventually become studying together for psychology, and then silent company while doing work for their other classes. They worked well together, studying their individual subjects across from each other in the library. Stiles would mutter to himself as he worked, tapping his pen or the keys of his laptop absently while he thought and fidgeted, and Emma couldn’t hear any of it over her headphones.

Perfect.

So, working from a friendship built on a shared appreciation for Battlestar Galactica and leaving each other alone, it was odd and also frustrating that Emma now found herself wanting to ask, because while Stiles had always been a little shifty, harmlessly so, he was taking it to a whole new level.

He researched for hours on end from ancient library books that looked mostly stolen on subjects that certainly weren’t for his criminal psychology classes, and then bolted from the apartment at three in the morning, unheard from until he fell back through the door three days later. He had vague and slightly threatening phone calls at all hours, he was sleeping even less than he usually did, and Emma had found a dagger of all things jammed under the couch cushion where he’d taken a “nap” (passed out from exhaustion).

Not that she really paid attention to all that, or anything.

The point was that Stiles had become seriously sketchy recently, and Emma wanted to know why. She wasn’t proud of it; she didn’t actually want to admit it to herself because silent understanding, but Kyle of all people had even noticed the difference and Kyle used TV Tropes to classify real people in real life. When Kyle picked up on odd human behavior, something was up, and it was getting impossible to ignore.

But again, silent understanding. She was conflicted, and the list of things she wasn’t asking about was getting longer and longer as the semester dragged on.

Like the bloodstained shirt she found wadded up in the bathroom.

Or the jars of herbs that didn’t do anything if they were hypothetically rolled up and smoked.

Or Tall, Dark, and Leather who sometimes appeared from Stiles’ room when he definitely hadn’t come in through the front door to begin with, but that was a whole different set of questions.

Whatever Stiles was doing, it was escalating, that much she knew. He slept less, ate less, came out of his room less, and if Emma remembered the symptoms correctly, he was abusing his Adderall like there was no tomorrow.

She was curious, okay, and that silent understanding was getting harder and harder to honor.

At least until she got something of an answer one very early Monday morning while writing a paper. Stiles had been gone over the weekend, leaving Thursday immediately after his last lecture without so much as a bye Emma, see in you three days if I’m not dead or in jail.

She’d been writing a paper due the next day (or just later that same day if she was being honest with herself) and not getting very far between listening to music and the internet in general. So, the usual writing process.

The song came to an end and in the moment of silence before the next, she heard the front door open. Her eyes flicked to the clock on her laptop instinctively; after 4am. Just as the next song was fading in, a set of metallic keys hit the wooden floor and hushed whispering floated in through her open bedroom door.

“Dude, be careful, Emma’s studying.”

“Would you rather I dropped you?”

Emma’s finger dragged along the touchpad of her computer, turning the volume in her headphones down to nothing, curiosity getting the better of her. She thought she’d met most of Stiles’ friends by now, but she didn’t recognize the other voice. There was shuffling and some swearing, and she just managed to keep herself from getting up to see what the hell was going on.

“Ow, fuck, fuck, not there—oh my god not there.”

“Stiles, there isn’t anywhere else to hold you, so deal with it or do this on your own.”

In the reflection on her laptop screen, Emma could just make out a mass of two silhouettes slowly moving through the dark room past her open door, illuminated from behind by the streetlamps outside. They hobbled together awkwardly out of view, pausing to swear again when something else fell. This time they left it on the floor.

“Could you maybe try to be little nicer? I did just save your ungrateful hide—literally.”

They finally made it to Stiles’ room and the whump of body falling onto bed, followed by Stiles’ drawn out groan of fuuuuuuuuck, made Emma wince.

“Don’t look at me like that, I told you to stay at the loft tonight,” the other person growled to what must have been one of Stiles’ loaded glares.

“I have class at 8:30.”

“You’re not going to class.”

“Uh, yeah actually, I am going to class. I have to, because thanks to you and Scott, I’ve missed the last two discussions and my GSI is getting pissy.”

This was news; it seemed like Stiles was always back in time for his classes and was, miraculously, staying on top of his schoolwork through a combination of Adderall and sheer determination. In fact, one of his favorite pastimes was kicking people out of the apartment while threatening that if he lost his scholarship because they wouldn’t let him study, his tuition would be coming out of their allowances.

“We told you to stay out of it.”

“And if I had you would be doing a fantastic impression of Lady Cassandra right now, you’re welcome.”

She got the reference, or she thought she did, but then Stiles always seemed to be speaking in double entendres. He had developed an entire foreign language in plain English solely to avoid telling anyone anything. Most of the time she just let it and let him have his secrets, but she was starting to regret that now that it seemed like his secrets had gotten him hurt.

“Stiles…” the other man started through a sigh, only to be interrupted by Stiles in that tone he used in class when he knew he’d just won an argument.

“Derek.”

“Just go to sleep.”

“Kind of hard to with your eyebrows looming over me, dude.”

Derek’s reply was instant, habit. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Seriously,” Stiles continued after a pause, “sit down or something, you’re freaking me out.”

There was a labored sigh and the door clicked shut, the continuing conversation muffled to murmurs. Emma sagged in disappointment and frustration and turned back to the glowing laptop screen staring back at her. There was no way she was going to be able to focus on her paper now.

It was creeping into 6am when Emma gave in and admitted to herself that she wasn’t going to get any more of her paper written in her current state. Stiles’ distracting entrance had completely derailed her train of thought and it wasn’t getting back on track any time soon; the last hour and a half of writing rambling sentences and then deleting them over and over had proven that far too many times. She looked at the clock, realized she had to leave for class in two hours, and let out a quiet dry sob as she accepted that she wasn’t going to be sleeping even a little bit tonight.

She gathered up her collection of dirty coffee mugs and bowls and made her way out to the kitchen, bowls stacked and mugs hanging precariously from her fingers. She paused at the dining table to flip the light switch with her knee, a skill she had been honing and was actually really proud of, and sucked in a terrified gasp (along with half a scream and probably her tongue) when the light revealed the most intimidating man she had ever seen sitting a foot away from her at the table, staring up at her from the book in his hands.

She didn’t realize she’d dropped a coffee mug until he was holding it up for her to take, the cold remaining coffee splashed up his forearm.

Emma staggered past Stiles’ now-open door into the kitchen, adrenaline rushing and her pounding heart leaping up into her lungs to meet her tongue that she must’ve swallowed because what just happened?

Still clutching three bowls to her chest, now-empty mug swinging from her pinky, she turned to see who she really hoped was Derek holding out the other mug and being far too calm about all this. A serial killer would probably be calm about this, some detached part of her brain threw out casually, and her chest clenched again.

“Please don’t freak out,” he stated quietly, and Emma let out a strangled whimper instead of the scream that it had started as.

Hopefully-Derek paused, eyes flicking to the side and head turning towards the wall the kitchen shared with Stiles’ room as if listening. Emma didn’t know what he was expecting to hear; she was pretty sure her heart was beating loud enough to drown out any noise Stiles might be making. The guy slept like the dead anyway, when he actually slept. The one time she’d forgotten her keys, he’d slept through her calling his phone, banging on the door, and throwing rocks at his window trying to get his attention.

She put the bowls and mugs on the counter while she organized the rush of thoughts she wanted to voice; everything from who are you to please don’t kill me. She settled on what she categorized as the most important as she turned back to face slightly worried eyebrows staring back at her. Her sock was soaking up cold coffee from the linoleum.

“What the—” she started to demand, cut off at Maybe-Derek’s pointed look, then started again in a violent whisper, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m a friend of Stiles.” The way he said it made it sound like it should be all the explanation necessary, and he was so sure of himself that it actually took Emma a moment to realize that no, that was not a sufficient answer at all.

“Okaaay, why are you sitting at our table, in the dark, at six in the morning?” He glanced away, then back again, like she was the one acting strange and he was looking for someone to back him up. “That’s not something that a friend of Stiles generally does,” she elaborated.

“I was reading.”

“In the dark?”

“It’s more than bright enough with the streetlights.”

“Why didn’t you just turn on a light?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

“Why are you here?”

Something metal hit the floor from Stiles’ room and they stilled; Derek instinctively took a step towards the kitchen door and paused while Emma just stared, wondering what the fuck was going on. Sheets rustled and Stiles groaned something like nngh, fuck before going quiet again.

Derek stepped out and closed the bedroom door softly, then returned to his seat at the dining table like their conversation had ended and everyone was satisfied with the outcome.

The whole thing was just ridiculous enough for Emma to push it aside and realize that even for a friend loitering in their apartment for two solid hours in the dark, Derek was acting weird; like he was standing guard outside of Stiles’ closed door.

“Seriously, why are you still here?” Emma pulled out the chair opposite and parked herself in it, wanting answers. “Is something wrong with Stiles?”

“He’s fine,” Derek answered shortly after an incredibly suspicious pause.

“What’s wrong with him.”

“He’s fine.”

“He didn’t sound fine when you guys came in.”

Derek huffed out a frustrated breath through his nose. “It’s nothing serious. You can go to bed, I’m taking care of him.”

Coming from a guy with his glare, that sounded more like a threat than a reassurance. Time to get serious.

“What happened to him?” she asked, and Derek immediately countered with,

“We got jumped.”

“By?”

“People.”

“Where?”

“Fourth.”

“And?”

“Ashley.”

“That intersection doesn’t exist.”

“Not in this city.”

Emma glared and sat back in her chair. She hoped her glare conveyed touché well enough that she wouldn’t have to actually say it.

“He’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“You’re qualified to decide that?”

“And I’ll take care of him if he’s not.”

Again, ominous coming from this guy.

“That sounds like you're going to kill him.” Derek frowned, looking genuinely hurt by that. “No offense, but you just have that vibe.”

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, and Emma could only think to awkwardly repeat,

“No offense.”

Instead of the expected, none taken, Derek just turned back towards Stiles’ bedroom door. Like a very stubbly and glare-y guard dog. Who was worried about making too much noise and waking Stiles up. And appeared to have driven the almost three hours to Berkeley from Beacon Hills because Stiles wanted to get to class in the morning.

Right. So looking at all the facts, probably more likely a boyfriend than a murderer.

“Okay, so,” she started sidestepping towards the bathroom, “I should shower. Because I’ve been up all night writing a paper. Listening.”

Derek nodded.

“If you hear me drowning myself, just let it happen.”

He nodded again.

“Keep an eye on Stiles.”

No nod that time, just a raised eyebrow, like she was an idiot for thinking he could possibly do otherwise.

“Alright, goodnight.” She was fully in the bathroom now, but weirdly reluctant to close the door completely yet.

Derek just went back to his book, because it really didn’t matter to him what she did, and then she felt weird for being so aggressive about it.

She shut the door and pressed her ear against the wood, listening. It was dead silent out there, not even the sound of the old wood floor creaking with someone walking. It seemed that Derek really was just going to sit there and read in silence.

Emma started the shower, waited another few minutes, and then wrenched the door open as fast as she could.

Derek slowly looked up with raised eyebrows, still in the exact same position he’d been in before, right down to his finger tucked between pages to mark a spot.

“Just checking,” Emma informed him, and closed the door again.

When she finished and came back out in her robe, Derek was gone, the room silent, the book was laying on the table. But his leather jacket was hanging on the back of the chair, and his shoes were kicked off neatly against the baseboards next to Stiles’ closed bedroom door.

#sterek #ficlet #i love some good outsider pov #and this was actually an old one that i never finished #so thank you for the push!#Anonymous #prompts

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bbatcats-blog · 8 years ago

Text

let me be your coffee pot

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

Title from ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ by Arctic Monkeys.

ff.net. - ao3.

Day one: AU/AH of KlarolineInfinity Week!

Caroline was beyond frustrated.

Sleep-deprived, coffee did nothing to calm her, full bent on getting a good grade. Apparently, Mr. Salvatore, her annoying and inappropriate Communication teacher, had taken a sudden like to technology —that wasn’t related at all to the fact that he showed up hungover at the last classes of the year, refusing to teach them anything, sending power points of the contents to them instead— and decided to take the exam through an online platform.

A message appeared on her laptop screen when she was reading a question about engaging people in the media, startling her.

You’re now running low on reserve battery power. You need to plug the power adapter into your computer and into a power outlet. If you don’t, your computer will go to sleep in a few minutes to preserve its memory contents.

Groaning, she looked around, noticing not even one plug in sight. It didn’t surprise her, considering the old vibe of the store, it was a miracle that it had wireless connection to begin with. Hell, she had actually contemplated turning around upon first looking inside “Original Coffee”. Ancient shelves containing jar of coffee grains instead of a machine, and a counter guy dressed in a Viking costume? Weird.

The shining screen reminded her that she had fifteen minutes and forty seconds left to finish the exam.

She cursed her bad luck. Had she walked under a ladder that day? She really hoped not.

Although it wasn’t completely her fault, on second thought, it was Katherine’s.

Though, while Enzo had been her only roommate everything seemed fine, she had gathered that living with people wasn’t easy from previous experiences.

They had become roommates in her first year of college. She was studying journalism and he public relations; however, they met in a Communication class, where he had been assigned as her partner for a project. Bonding over mutual hatred towards the new teacher, a creepy grinch-looking guy, and their love for both Nolan and Tarantino’s films, a friendship was slowly built on trust and support.

She had complained about how exhausting living with girls in the college campus was during one class and how she had been looking fruitlessly for a suitable apartment. He had offered her that, if she wanted, she could be his roommate. It was a tempting offer but she had to think it through. Could their relationship survive cohabitating?

When one of her then roommates started psychoanalyzing her, again, about her tendencies for order and referring to her single status as seeds of ’'the deep insecurities carved on her by her parents’ split“, while the other roommate looked at them disdainfully, perpetual pout on her lips, Caroline snapped and screamed at the girl that she was single because she wanted to, thank you very much, and it wasn’t her fault she was a lazy person who left her ugly clothes everywhere. Packing her possessions and leaving the room, she had called Enzo immediately to accept his offer.

Enzo was accommodating towards her and when she had told him order was needed, he complied, changing his ways and soon everything was organized in their apartment —well, expect his room but she couldn’t do miracles— and stayed that way through time. Friday nights watching movie marathons and eating junk food made them bond even more. To her surprise, she found herself caring for him as a brother and delighted upon seeing they managed to live together without major troubles.

She was happy with her single status. In the other hand, Enzo St. John wasn’t the serious relationship type, having new flings each week, he had enough class to not bring them to their apartment; it was either on their place or no activity at all. Their comfortable, beautiful and calm was destroyed when he became Rebekah Mikaelson’s boyfriend, a beautiful british girl who hated her guts.

With two occupied bedrooms and one to spare, they had always been looking for a new roommate. More than ever, Enzo had prompted her to do so, since she had been a bit lonely now that he spent a lot of time on Rebekah’s place (’'I know you’re an independant woman, gorgeous, but it would really put my mind at ease if you were with someone in here more. I’m feeling quite guilty for leaving you alone this much. What if I give you dog?”).

He suggested Kol, one of the the bajillion of Rebekah’s siblings, but she was no way in hell living with him after he spent the whole day they met —and every time they saw each other— throwing lame pick-up lines at her. No one seemed trustworthy enough, until she received a text message from Katerina Petrova, childhood best friend from Mystic Falls, the only one she had never lost contact with. Apparently, one of Kat’s parties had gotten out of control and the police came, for the tenth time in two months, and having been warned already, her parents kicked her out. With a too self-righteous sister and nobody else to rely on but Caroline, she was the only one she counted on. She needed a place to live in for a while and, after a talk with Enzo, she acquiesced. Using the money she still had from her trust fund on changing her name to Katherine Pierce, she had finally taken on the scholarship given to her a few months ago and went to live with them. Enzo and Katherine became friends quickly, which Rebekah hadn’t liked one bit.

Looking back at it, she damned the day she decided to help her friend.

Elijah, other of Rebekah’s brothers, had come to deliver some books to her on a normal Tuesday when Katherine had opened the door. She flirted with him, not an ounce of shame in her body, in front of a disgusted Rebekah, an amused Enzo and a frowning Caroline. He had coughed rather uncomfortably at the moment but Katherine was enchanted by him. Taking her coat, she threw Rebekah’s book in a table and dragged him out of there, God-knows-where. They had engaged in a relationship afterwards. Caroline shuddered every time she thought of it.

Present day, in the evening, she had been studying with her laptop, when Katherine entered the place, Elijah MIkaelson trailing behind. She slammed both hands on Caroline’s desk, mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Okay, Carebear, listen. This is our fifth month anniversary and after a delicious lunch, I would really like to fuck my boyfriend on every surface of this apartment.” Caroline’s nose scrunched up. “So, it’s better if you go to another place to finish your things.”

The girl scoffed and stood up. “No way! This is my apartment, I refuse to be kicked out again! Go do your stuff on this suit-wearing-monster’s house instead. No offense, by the way, Elijah.”

He nodded. “None taken, Miss Forbes.”’

Katherine smirked. “Then we’ll just have to get to business in front of you, don’t we, Elijah?”

Face red, he visibly cringed at his girlfriend’s manners, but Katherine threw herself on him, kissing him eagerly, and he forgot it.

Caroline angrily took her charger and laptop, putting it on a bag, leaving the room with loud steps.

Before closing the door, Elijah let out, “I’m sorry, Ms. Forbes,” trying his best to be polite through his heavy breathing.

She contemplated with disbelief the brown closed door. Hearing moans coming from inside, she yelled “I hope you both choke!”

In her current predicament, trying to come up with ways to make Katherine pay, a sigh elicited behind her caught her attention, making her turn around.

A guy sat at the table, looking down, frown marring his face, drawing something, very focused, on a paper. Another sigh escaped his lips and he looked up, scratching his neck with one hand, pencil previously used in the other. Stubble decorated his face along with full red lips, blue-ocean-deep eyes and a strong but tensed jaw. When his eyes connected with hers, he seemed to draw a breath and she forgot of the fifteen minutes and counting she had to finish. Their connection broke when, lost in the moment, without thinking, he opened his hand and the pencil dropped. He leaned down to pick it up, attracting Caroline’s eyes to his charcoal stained hands. Past them, she noticed a plug-in tampered to the wall… her salvation.

She contemplated going there and sitting quietly, finish her test and run away but dismissed the idea as too weird. However, when her eyes looked at the computer again and a red light indicated it was about to die, she damned Katherine again and, standing up quickly, charger and computer in hands, she moved to his table.

The guy looked at her, astounded at her sudden approach, but gave her a wicked smile. Damn, he had dimples too! “Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?”

“Is this seat taken?” He shook his head, confused. “Okay, so my computer’s about to turn off and I’m taking this big test and need to use this plug,” she explained while putting her computer and plugging the charger, “if you’re a loner who doesn’t like company I’m sorry dude, you’ll have to get over it for 13 minutes or go, i’m really sorry but blame whoever thought building this place as an ancient coffee shop was a good idea and put only one plug in the entire place. Like, what kind of person could even—?”

He chuckled, interrupting her speech, but her angry gaze made his laughter cease. He coughed. “I did, actually. This is my shop, love.” Showing his teeth, he was very amused at her widening eyes.

She damned Katherine again. Her cheeks couldn’t get redder at the moment.

“I probably should apologize for talking about you like this but i’m on the clock here, dude. Literally. I’ve got exactly,” she looked at the laptop screen, “twelve minutes and fifty-eight seconds so…”

Eyebrow raised, the guy smiled. “Then, I guess I’ll have to wait for it, love.”

A smile formed on her lips.

Twelve minutes and fifty seconds later, she let out a relieved sigh.

Her screen shined with a new message.

Time’s finished. Your test will be on the platform and the grade will be uploaded next Sunday.

After the rather chaotic day she had endured, excitement took over. The scholar year was over. No more essays, exams or projects for Caroline Forbes that year.

She forgot everything until Dimples talked again, pencil scratching paper, “Finished, I guess, sweetheart?”

Unimpressed, she bit out, “Too distracted to notice the pet names before but quit it already, okay?.”

He put the pencil down and smiled. “Yes, ma'am. How should I call you?”

“Caroline,” she answered, dryly.

“Caroline,” he repeated, slowly. Caroline felt herself blush. Living with Enzo, enduring Kol’s incessant talking and Rebekah’s biting words, she had thought herself immune to british accents but he had proved her wrong, it seemed. “Sweet Caroline,” he said, singing tone, drawing the 'e’ at the end.

“Please, don’t. I get called that enough in british accent to have you doing it too,” she frowned, thinking of Kol.

Nodding, he looked at her, eyebrow raised. “A lot of british friends, I presume?”

She snorted. “You have no idea.”

He seemed curious but decided not to question her further. Instead, he smiled at her. “If you don’t mind me intruding, what was the test about?”

“What?”

“You said something about an exam…”

“Oh, it’s my final one of the communication classes. I’m a journalism major,” she seemed thoughtful, looking around the place, “You run this shop? It’s beautiful, even if the old vibe bothers my technology needs,” she joked.

“Oh yes, I run this but it was my little brother’s, Henrik, idea to decorate like this. I would have make it more modern but I can’t bring myself to deny him things. I’m an art major too, but have to work here because my father removed my trusting funds the day I told him I wanted nothing to do with law.”

She frowned. “That’s awful of him. But I really admire your passion for art.”

“Oh, I really enjoy it. Plus, it pissed father off.” He looked down at his draw and she could notice, to her surprise, her face on it. Her breath quickened. It was… very detailed and she looked pretty on it, a light coming from the sketch that made her gasp. He noticed it and she could see him fighting down a blush. “You’re beautiful, Caroline. And I like your personality. No one has ever insulted my coffee shop in such a magnificent way,” he said, seriousness matching his features.

His eyes looked at hers again. When they moved down and focused on her lips, fidgeting, she decided to change the subject, raising her eyebrow to emphasize it. “Why would you want to bother your dad?”

His playful smiled told her he was about to confide her a secret and she leaned too, smiling gently. He leaned over, elbows placed on the table and softly whispered, “Because I’m not his real son and he’s an arsehole.”

Playful attitude or not, the sadness underneath was evident. Suddenly, a memory flashed through her mind. Kol smiling playfully at her, much like Dimples was doing now, telling her stories about his brothers, Henrik and Nik, a bored Rebekah next to him.

British, brother named Henrik, changed law major for an art major, coffee shop owner, not his father’s real son, dimples.

Shifting on her chair, she wondered, “Wait a minute, Dimples. What’s your name?”

He smirked. “Well, certainly it’s not Dimples. I’m Niklaus Mikaelson, though, everyone calls me Klaus except my siblings,” he said, rolling his eyes.

She gasped and started picking her things up. She had her fill of Mikaelsons, she didn’t need more. While doing so, she dropped her latte and it got all over the floor. She bit her lip, there goes her coffee.

He looked worried. “Did I do something wrong, sweetheart?”

She shook her head and tried to smile at him. “Not really. I should probably get going.”

He winced and stood up too. “Is my name too hideous? You can call me Dimples if you would like,” he told her, hopefully.

She let out a laugh but then she turned serious upon seeing his expression.“It’s not you. Just… I don’t want more Mikaelsons in my life.” He seemed taken by surprise. “No offense, but three’s good enough, since one of them is basically the reason my roommate kicked me out today and I almost failed my test. The girl’s the reason why I actually had to get a roommate in the first place and the other’s just a pest.”

His eyes widened, realization struck him. “You’re the Caroline Forbes? That’s why you told me not to call you Sweet Caroline.”

“What?”

He smiled. “My brothers are enchanted by you. One of them refers to you as a pretty little thing that can’t refuse a challenge and the other says you’re a very educated admirable person, I suppose you can figure out which is one,” his statement made her roll her eyes, “and my sister says she hates you but actually likes you a lot.”

Well, she didn’t know that. Her gaze softened considerably.

“I would like to know you as they do. I wasn’t lying when I told you how magnificent you are. You have a light on you that actually warms my heart.” Quirked brow, she still looked rather reluctant, not believing his words. “Come on. Take a chance, Caroline, I dare you.”

Kol had said one true thing: Caroline couldn’t reject a challenge. And his eyes were slowly tearing down her walls.

“I don’t know…”

“I will even buy you another coffee.”

She chuckled. “Okay, but know this, I’m just staying on the promise of more coffee. I haven’t actually slept a lot the last couple of days.”

Caroline got revenge on Katherine eventually in her fifth month anniversary with Klaus. She entered the apartment, Kat’s eyes looking at them from the couch where she was studying, question on the tip of her tongue, but Caroline only smirked at her and proceeded to pin Klaus to the wall, his lips colliding against hers forcefully, tongues intertwining immediately. He nibbled her bottom lip and she felt something electrifying coursing through her veins. Placing her hands around his neck to pull him closer, she couldn’t get enough of him.

The loud slam of the door closing, indicating Katherine was out, got her to finally break the kiss. She felt satisfied at both her revenge and Klaus’ heavy breathing against her shoulder.

“I know what you intended to do, sweetheart.”

No longer scolding him for the pet names, she brought her lips to his again. Unbuttoning his coat quickly, she really hoped none of her roommates would come back soon. Soon as in a day or a week —maybe a month.

#sorry for any mistakes #klarolineinfinity #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fic #klaroline drabble #day one: au/ah #my writing #mine;

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punishandenslavesuckers · 8 years ago

Photo

Alternate universe where Kal-El’s baby pod comes down behind Wayne Manor. (ao3)

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Wayne family problems always happen at 2AM.

Zatanna gets the call on her cell in Athens and it takes her a full minute to register the buzzing before she rolls over and paws her phone from the nightstand. Scraping her hair form her face, she squints at the name on the phone. Private line, proxy number. She checks the time and figures there’s still only one person who would call at 2AM her time.

“Bruce? Is that you?”

“He went public.”

She hangs up.

Thirty seconds later she drops onto Bruce Wayne’s kitchen island in Gotham, bare feet slapping the two-hundred grand black-marble countertop. Her hair crackles, a writhing nest of post-teleportation static and half-grounded etherium. Her eyes, she knows, have the fairy-light glow of a woman riding wild and uncontrollable forces dimension to dimension. Point of fact, that kind of chaos suits her and the static roar in her blood just now. Chaos suits her fine. She understands the appeal of it, standing there, lit up from the inside. Panic in her teeth.

Bruce looks at the tangled sorceress crouching half-dressed on his kitchen counter, he just says, calmly, “Do you need a bathrobe?”

She’s in shorts and a crop top. She hops off the counter, ignoring him. “Where’s Kal?”

“Metropolis.” He unmutes two mid-sized televisions mounted on the wall by the sink and another by the bar. One is Metropolis Daily, the other CNN. The scroll bar reads: super-human hero saves hundreds. “Suspension bridge collapse. He’s currently holding the bridge in place while everyone evacuates. He’s been there for three hours now. Every news network on the globe is re-casting the live coverage.”

“Metropolis. So he didn’t go far.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Bruce has his laptop open on the counter and pulls up a dozen news articles in various languages, no photos except of what appear to be blurry phone camera stills. “This is the first time he’s slowed down enough to be caught on film, but based on his speed and eye-witness accounts, they’re linking him to series of similar interventions all over the world. Disaster interventions mostly. I think he’s been operating internationally until now. He’s doing exactly what I told him not to do.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So far? His face is all over global news.”

“My god. He’s not a wearing a mask?”

“No. As far as I can tell, he’s wearing some kind of uniform based on his family colors and house crest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Bruce says nothing. So she looks at the footage.

“Holy shit, you’re not kidding. He’s wearing primary colors. Why does he have a cape? Why is it bright red? What the fuck?”

“Either habit or tactics. If the material is bulletproof like the material from his Robin uniform, then he might be using it to protect civilians.”

“How is he funding this? Did he access his trust?”

“No. He hasn’t accepted anything from me since…” He glances at her. “Since he left. I assume he’s found employment.”

“But not as Clark Wayne.”

“Not that I’ve found. But he knows how to forge documents as well as Alfred does. If he wants to, he can be anyone.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still under the Grandcross Bridge. Rescue and construction personnel are approaching now, but as far as I can tell he’s having no trouble holding position.”

“How is he holding the whole bridge? I don’t doubt he’s strong enough, but he’s too small to just –”

“The five of the suspension cables along the right side of the bridge seem to have snapped. The bridge was going lopsided, cars sliding into the river. He’s just leveling it out. You’re right though. It’s collapsing. He’s a single load-bearing point where there were five. The civil engineers are trying to get close enough to talk to him, I believe.”

“No lives are in danger?”

“No. But…”

“Breaking news,” says the television. “We’re cutting to a live feed from the crisis at the Metropolis Grandcross Bridge. Fire and rescue personnel have deployed a rescue drone to open communication with the meta-human currently holding up the remains of the now highly unstable Grandcross suspension bridge. Live momentarily.”

Alfred, from the kitchen door where he’s just arrived, says, “Bloody hell.”

On the television screen a slightly wobbling drone camera cuts a path toward the belly of the suspension bridge. In the feed, you can hear the whine of the little turbine motors as it zips through the dust toward a blue and red figure braced like Atlas beneath the bridge. The drone flits uncertainly for a moment, buffeted by wind and for a moment captures a turbulent image of Kal Wayne – changed remarkably in just two years, but also not, not at all changed, but different nonetheless – looking slightly to the left and blinking at the little drone.

He follows it with his eyes as the camera swings in a way to frame his face, zooming in. his eyes in the camera are… frighteningly blue, alien blue, almost colorless and iridescent. Zatana’s never seen him do that with his eyes and in that moment, staring into the camera, expression curious and faintly distracted, she thinks the world’s going to change. This is the face of things to come. Something shivers through her, an old primal kind of shudder, deeper than physical… archetypical and ancient. Like every ley line in the world just hummed.

On TV, a loud speaker crackles, barely loud enough to hear over the drone’s motor.

“This is Kathy Motomori of Metropolis Fire and Rescue.” Live captions scroll across the bottom of the screen. Kal shifts his shoulders slightly against the concrete above him, his palms spread flat against the stone. “Are you in danger, sir?”

He blinks. “Oh! No. I’m fine.” A pause. “Thanks!”

“Jesus,” says Zatana.

Bruce has one hand on the counter next to him and it becomes a fist instead. On screen Kal shakes dust from his hair and says, loudly, “Everyone is clear of the bridge now right? Do you need me to keep holding it up or should I let it go?”

There’s a momentary pause from the other side. “My engineers are saying the bridge won’t last even with your help. It’s going to come apart on top of you. We’re recommending you try to get clear. Can you do that without our aid? Do you need assistance? My people are willing to come in.”

“No, no! Don’t send anyone!” He shakes his head slightly and a single dark curl of hair gets free from his bangs, coiling against his brow. Zatana doesn’t know it right then, but that’s the image that’s going to go around the world. “I’m okay. I can get clear on my own.”

“Then good luck, son. Get out of there safe. Understood?”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The drone wobbles and withdraws, pulling back but continuing to zoom in on Kal as he glances up at the massive shelf of stone he’s bracing… then rolls up so he’s bracing his hands and feet against it, creating the optical illusion of being stuck to the bottom of the bridge, his cape flapping gently beneath him. Then, lightly, he pushes off and floats free beneath. The bridge holds, but in the feed the crack and groan of steel instantly fills the audio. The camera pulls back, zooming away as the bridge buckles and falls. Kal watches it for a moment. Then he notices the camera now watching him and looks, momentarily, flummoxed about the attention.

He decides on a kind of half-wave, half-salute kind of thing. Then he turns in midair and throws one arm forward as if into some kind of forward stoke and arcs with that familiar thoughtless momentum into the free air over the Metropolis River. Then the sound barrier breaks in the distance. The camera screen beholds nothing but empty sky.

“Welp,” says Zatana.

“Goodness,” says Alfred.

“…” says Bruce.

From the door, just behind Alfred, Dick Grayson – still in his pajamas, frazzled with bedhead, all of fifteen, dark-haired and thrilled – says, “Cool.”

“The President official gave Superman the Medal of Freedom today for his actions during Hurricane Roger.”

Bruce says nothing.

“He’s ducking my tracer spells by the way.” Zatana takes a seat on the desk, moving Bruce’s files aside to make room. “I’ve tapped a few sources in the magical communities and a handful of them say they’re passingly familiar with someone matching Kal’s description but no one linked him to any of the traceable Superman events. Lois Lane did a pretty bang up job with the international angle. They’re saying Superman’s saved the lives of about five-hundred people and counting just this last year and that’s the incidents people have come forward with.”

Bruce says nothing.

“Bruce, I’m sure he’ll come back at some point and not for nothing, he is bulletproof and mostly magic proof.”

Bruce says, “Kal is an adult now. He can do as he likes.”

Zatana says, “Obviously, but he’s still your little brother. You’re allowed to worry.”

“His approach is reckless and dangerous and literally everything I warned him not to do.”

“He’s insanely popular, well-loved by everyone, and he hasn’t told a soul that he’s an alien. He just keeps insisting he’s nice city boy who want to help. A nice American city boy by golly-gee raised right here wherever here is I won’t commit but hell I’m sure just like you, boss. He’s really good at that. His blandish is excellent. Lookit me, folks, I’m just so adorable blue-eyed relatable and cute. I saved a puppy today. I played baseball with a bunch of kids in Bangladesh. There’s a hundred blogs dedicated to how cute my butt is in my weird uniform that is definitely armor, but no one is talking about it.”

“Just because he’s good at getting people to like him, doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

“Obviously not, but he’s doing the absolute best that he can with the option that he’s taken. He’s popular Bruce. You can get away with murder if you’re popular and there’s precedent for it. You have that Flash guy in Star City. That Green Arrow person. You… kind of… you’re pretty popular in Gotham for a dude everyone thinks is demonic sewer monster.”

“It’s Gotham,” says Bruce, like that explains it.

Zatana picks up her tea and sips.

“Look, Gotham loves two things: Its football team and Batman. Therefore, Batman gets away with a lot. Keeping that mind, Metropolis loves two things –”

“Being owned by a libertarian asshole and over-priced sushi?”

“No, Bruce – is that thing? Stop distracting me! They love being progressive and they love Superman. Okay? If Metropolis likes Superman than a good portion of the country follows. Daily Planet says they like him, then most of the internet says they like him. Metropolis may be owned by a libertarian douchebag, but even Lex Luthor knows to pretend to be progressive and likeable. His blandish is right up there with Kal’s.”

“Yes, there’s a comfort. Lex fucking Luthor talking to Kal-El.”

“Right, because Superman totally didn’t graffiti his pent-house office window last week with vague implications that Lex is a capitalist monster.”

Bruce smiles. Like, not with his mouth, but it’s there. Zatana can see it.

“See, and the beauty of it is Lex can try to take legal action but he won’t because it’s political suicide. Kal know what he’s doing. He’s smart and capable and has an IQ over one-forty and an interest in communications. He’s Metropolis’ favorite son right now. He’s America’s favorite son. You know how I can tell he’s going to be the biggest thing since sliced bread? He’s just a little bit brown and he openly spoke fluent Cantonese in front of cameras and people aren’t trying to nuke him out of the sky. That’s how I know he’s reached the adoration nadir necessary to survive the public. Okay?”

“You can stop trying to comfort me, Zatana. I know you have better things to do.”

“Better things to do than hang out in your mansion and eat your fancy toast?”

“How can toast be fancy?”

“I dunno, man, but you do it.”

“I’ve accepted that Kal is going to do as he likes. I don’t have to like it, but it’s how it is.”

“It’s been nearly a year since he came out as Superman.” Zatana taps a nail meaningfully against the side of her mug. “You could try to get in contact with him you know.”

Bruce says, “I figure he’ll do that himself.”

Zatana says, “Ugh. You’re both children.”

And Dick, who’s been hiding in the rafters in the dining room says, “So am I gonna get to meet him finally or what?”

“Get down from there. What did I tell you about –!”

Six months later a giant albino mohawked dude on a space-faring motorcycle shows up in Metropolis.

Then he beats Superman within an inch of his new superheroing life.

Jimmy Olsen, armed with a smart phone camera and more balls than his resume would grant him, captures most of the carnage on a Facebook livesteam where the hulking alien tries to tear Metropolis’ golden boy limb from limb. In later interviews, Jimmy would admit that he and Superman have a rapport and most of why he stayed was simply because he couldn’t bring himself to leave while Big Blue was fighting for his life. Something, he was certain, Superman had never had to do before.

The world gets a first-hand look at intelligent non-terrestrial lifeforms as one tries to curb stop Superman’s skull open in the middle of Broadway Avenue. Then it gets to watch as said lifeform hurls him into the ground with enough force to break the sound barrier. They watch intelligent alien life rip Kal’s cape from his shoulders, watch it kick him in the ribs, try to strangle him, gouge his invincible blue eyes out and get their thumbs lasered off for their efforts. (Oh, yes, Superman has laser eyes. No one knew that. Now everyone knows that.)

Then the whole world gets to watch Superman do something like panic and beat this monster into a crater with the wreackage of its own motorcycle. Then they get to watch him grab and hurl this alien out of the stratosphere with enough power to splinter the ground beneath him like plaster and send the beast rocketing out of Earth’s atmo. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera captures the moment of aftermath where Superman stands there, uniform torn, blood running from his nose and mouth, staring anxiously into the sky and breathing hard, breathing like his ribs are fractured. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera transmits, live, the moment where Superman collapses to one knee, then collapses entirely and –

Jimmy Olsen, dropping his camera, crying, “Oh my god! Supes?! Superman, are you –?”

Before the feed cuts.

“Look, I’m just saying he’s not that mad at you.”

Dick Grayson, eighteen, wearing a pair of sunglasses with his boots up on the spare chair next to him – he’s got an ice cream cone in one hand and he thinks the whole thing is kind of dumb.

Across from him: Superman in a blue button-up and jeans, blinking at him from behind a pair of un-convincing thick-rimmed glasses. He’s got an untouched basket of fires and a burger in front of him. It pleases Dick just a little bit to note that at eighteen he’s already about Kal-El’s height if not quiet his build. Not, mind you, that Superman has many options in body building and it’s sort of ridiculous to compare physiques when one of them (not him) can pick up a bus and throw it across the country.

The point: Kal doesn’t look very intimidating sitting in a burger joint with an anxious look on his face.

“It’s been almost three years.”

The July sun curves a scorching path into the mid-day sky. It’s pretty hot.

Dick adjusts his sunglasses and says, “Look, Kal. I get that you guys had some big falling out or whatever, but at the end of the day you’re both being huge assholes and should just talk to one another. Zatana says so. Alfred says so. I say so and I’m the guy who’s doing your old job so I feel like I have special permission to tell you to suck it up and stop being weird about it. You weren’t weird about talking to me and I expected you to be a lot weirder in person. So you have no excuse.”

Kal looks genuinely curious. “Why would you think I’d be weird in person?”

“I dunno. You’re so good in front of a camera I thought you might be a little strange when you turn off the whole All American Alien shtick. Any particular reason you try to come off like a home-grown suburbanite when you’re a Gotham kid?”

“Technically, I was raised internationally for most of my childhood, I’m an alien, and mid-western accents are practically un-detectible to anyone not looking for it?”

“Solid call. Solid call. Anyway, you’re not weird.”

Kal looks wry. “Thanks, I try. Look, Dick, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I’m not sure if you understand… the history with Bruce and me.”

“Says who? I’m great at understanding. I’ve also been living with Bruce for the better part of three years so, like, try me.”

“Well, first of all, I’m an alien that landed in his backyard when he was sixteen and he decided to adopt me.”

“Yes, he has impulse control problems in that area. I’ve noticed.”

“My childhood was weird.”

“I grew up in the circus and then signed on to be Boy Wonder Two Point Oh. My childhood was also weird. What is it you’re worried I won’t understand?”

“I don’t know… so much of how I was raised was based around this… It’s weird. I am bulletproof. Literally, I’m one of the toughest living things on the planet, but my whole childhood was a lot of fear and hyper-vigilant measures to make sure I was safe. Now, I’m just… it’s like a threw all that away. I feel like a bastard sometimes. Ungrateful I guess? But I don’t regret it. Not… not at all. Not even a little bit and I feel like that’s the part that’s going to make it impossible to talk about.”

“You know how stupidly noble that sounds right? You’re like an afterschool special.”

“Grayson,” he says in this tone that has this low sub-tonal quality that literally makes the air shiver.

“Okay, so you’re afraid you’ll have to defend your decisions to him and he’s going to be judgmental and disapproving, basically? Because, that’s kind of what dads are there for.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Right.”

Kal looks uncomfortable. “He was always really clear on that point, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry. What I meant is you are family at the end of the day.”

“I know…”

“Jeez, this is really eating at you. What specifically do you think will happen? Worst scenario.”

“I tell him I regret nothing that I’ve done and by extension he takes that to mean everything he ever did for me was pointless and all the work he does is also pointless and he basically realizes he raised a totalitarian monster that rejects all his personal axioms?”

Dick lowers his sunglasses slightly to stare at him over the rims.

Kal looks, thankfully, embarrassed. “Worst case scenario! I literally did the exact thing he raised me not to do and I just don’t see how he’s going to forgive me for that.”

“Because you’re his little brother and he loves you. Wow. That was easy. Let’s go to Gotham right now.”

Kal jerks a little when Dick makes a mock-move to stand up and that tiny fear response makes Dick feel just a little bad. He sits back down.

“You honestly think he’s not going to forgive you for going out on your own?”

“He has strong opinions about things.”

“He’s also just a dude with a thing for Vantablack.”

“You wouldn’t be scared to disobey him?”

“Are you kidding? Petrified. But I’d still do it if I really believed it and, honestly, I think as long as you’re not drowning puppies in buckets or getting a mullet he’ll probably respect what you did.” Dick shrugs. “I mean, it’s hard to argue with the results.”

Kal looks skeptical.

“I’m not saying he won’t be a huge tool about it at first, maybe, but he’ll get over it. Seriously. Just… reach out. I don’t think he’s going to do it because he thinks you… want it this way or something. I can tell you don’t so just fix it. Or at least try. You’re Superman. You can’t possibly tell me it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Kal almost smiles. “I’m really glad you signed on to be Robin Two Point Oh.”

“Okay, well, don’t spread it around but I’ll probably upgrade from that pretty quick here.”

“You’re thinking about leaving?”

“I’m eighteen. I’ll have to leave eventually.”

“And… the rest of it?”

“You mean the cape and cowl?” He frowns. “I mean… I think I’ll always want to do that. Just not… not in Gotham forever. And I can’t be Robin somewhere else; I think that’s a really specific role. Look, it’s just something I’m tossing around. You left. I can leave. It’s just the normal progression of things.”

Kal thinks about it. “You picked out a name yet?”

Dick blinks behind his glasses. “No. Why?”

“I might have a suggestion.”

It was, perhaps, inevitable that it would happen this way.

Or that’s what he’s thinking while he’s falling from 10,000 feet up, every on-board system fried, auxiliary flight components shredded, the dark terrain racing up to meet him. He goes through possible scenarios. Anything and everything he could do to prevent slamming into the planet at terminal velocity and he’s got nothing. The sky above him: a rolling orange swath of flame, the steel monolith coming apart in continental shards of alien alloy. The mechanism of mass destruction slicing a fiery path toward the ocean.

Even if he could fly, he’s not sure he could get clear of the wreckage – likely to fall miles around.

His armor’s melted in places – fused to his ribs, his right thigh, his boots have melted at the sole. The pain is… intense actually. Intense enough he’s a little relieved it’s probably going to stop very soon. The wind in his ears roars. Through the roar, his comm still just barely crackles with Dick’s voice, frantic and far away, saying his name (is that really his name?) over and over again from too far away to help.

His primary regret: Dick is going to watch him die on fucking monitor.

“It’s fine,” he says, which is fucking stupid of course.

“No!”

“You’re going to be fine, Dick.”

These are the worst last words in the history of last words. He just doesn’t know what else to say, the earth rushing up as it is, so fast he’s not going to be able to speak. Bruce rolls into a para-trooper flat, belly down, arms and legs out, facing the growing ridge of the mountain that, it appears, will be his final destination. The comm’s damaged. Dick is saying something. He can’t make it out and he’s not sure why that – not the screaming air, not the pain, not the inevitable end – is getting to him. Seconds before his death and all he can think is he’d trade anything to hear what Dick is trying to say.

There’s static now.

There’s no one with him for this part.

That’s fine.

It’s fine.

Really.

It’s…

The mountain below him suddenly snaps. It vanishes. There’s a bright primary blur that baffles his eyes before snapping back into focus and, like a glitch in the universe, Kal-El is between him and the earth. His eyes: wide, colorless blue, inhuman in their hue and containing every human fear possible. He’s moving at terminal velocity, backwards, propelled by the mysterious gravitational forces that live in his Kryptonian physiology. He’s wearing his uniform. Superman – flying exactly fast enough to be exactly within arms’ reach, face to face with Batman as he falls.

He’s shouting something.

Bruce throws his arms out at the same moment Kal grabs for him, seizes his elbows and pulls him into his chest. Bruce feels three of his ribs crack when Kal miscalculates the speed, slams into him with enough force to stun. He doesn’t have the air to scream as Kal balls around him and pitches, hard, right. His arms cage him like a roll bar in a flipping car. The G-force briefly curdles his brain, dark edges closing. His teeth in his skull seem set to explode. Lungs crushed, surrounded by a splintering construct of calcium.

Then it stops. Planes out. Bruce opens his eyes and the sky is framed by trees, the hole in the canopy of evergreens. The ground underneath him smells of pine and shredded earth, a Superman shaped crater in the forest floor. He must have blacked out for the impact. Kal is looking down at him with a panic in his face that steals all his adult years and Bruce sees him – five years old, stuck on that goddamn bunker ceiling.

“Bruce! Bruce?! Are you okay?”

He grunts. Gets his breath.

“Sloppy catch.”

Kal stares.

Bruce grimaces and sits up. “We practiced that about a hundred times in the Philippines.”

Kal stares.

“If you don’t learn how to match velocity in mid-air, you can’t expect to save civilians from –.”

Kal moves forward and hooks both arms around Bruce’s shoulders and silently buries his face against his shoulder.

Bruce hesitates… then loops one arm around Superman’s back, palm flat against his shoulder blades.

“Nice of you to drop by,” Bruce says.

Kal laughs. “Dick said I should.”

“You couldn’t call me before alien warships are flying over Gotham?”

“You couldn't call me before you pick a fight with an alien warship?”

"I don't have your number."

"Dick has my number. You have my number if you wanted my number."

Bruce sighs, pressing a hand into his ribs. “Any chance of flying out of here that isn’t you carrying me bridal style?”

“Not really. You crashed the Bat Jet into the side of their ship.”

“It’s not called the ‘Bat Jet’. It’s just a jet.”

“Dick says it’s the Bat Jet and he also says, you still call the car ‘The Batmobile’. So…”

Bruce glares.

“Are you glaring? I can’t tell with the new cowl. Is that, like, a heavy combat version or…?”

“I’m glaring.”

“Okay. Thought so. You know you can admit I'm good at naming things.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You should have let me drop into the goddamn mountain.”

“Batmobile. Trademark: Superman.”

#dc #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #batman #batfam supes au #dcfic #in which i finally bothered to finish the chapter #because its just been siting in my docs forever #anyway #young superman is still kinda scared of batman #dick is just like #why tho?#rae writes #raewrites

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