#yeah so like the whole trauma of losing a cat so suddenly and quickly has certainly left its mark

[stardust-kitten]

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[rikalovesrice]

Trollhunters : Rise of The Titans [Rika’s Version!]

AIGHT SO THIS IS WHAT SHOULD’VE FREAKIN’ HAPPENED --

The movie starts a year after Wizards. We see Douxie, Archie, and Nari all settled in Metro City. Douxie managed to get a dinky little apartment and works two jobs. He comes home after a long day to Nari and Archie.

Maybe Nari’s running around chasing after Archie. Maybe the two of them are curled up on the couch and snoozing. Douxie smiles softly, petting Archie’s head and gently brushes Nari’s hair out of her face. Maybe Nari was singing to one of her plants and just beams when Douxie walks through the door. Just Magical Siblings and Their Therapy Cat fluff.

But that night, Douxie wakes up. Something feels very, very wrong. Nari feels it, too. 

Cut to the door to their apartment being busted right through, flames quickly consuming the threshold. To Douxie’s horror, it’s the Arcane Order and he immediately goes on the offensive. This is the first display in the movie of Douxie’s strength as a Master Wizard, his proficiency and skill with his magic as he holds his own against Bellroc and Skrael as he did in Wizards. He tells Archie to take Nari and run but neither of them want to leave him behind. Archie instead fights beside Douxie, urging for Nari to escape while she can. Nari’s reluctant because Douxie and Archie have become so precious to her.

When it looks like they’re about to be done in, Archie wills himself to transform into a huge dragon, taking Douxie and Nari into his claws and flying out of there, busting straight out of the apartment. But not before giving Bellroc and Skrael a thrashing with his tail. They manage to give the Order the slip. For now.

Archie quickly loses steam from holding such a form and crashes on the outskirts of the city, transforming back into a cat. Douxie cradles him in his arms. Nari tends to their wounds with her magic, looking forlorn. 

Douxie frantically dials a number on his phone. 

“Claire? Claire it’s me...” A column of fire erupts in the distance. A shot of Douxie, Archie, and Nari huddled close. “They found us.”

Trollhunters : Rise of the Titans Title Screen

The scene fades in on the new and improved Camelot, where the Lakes are staying. We see Jim spending time with his mother and Walter and it’s lovely. We see a hint of Jim’s trauma when he’s cooking and looks at his reflection in a spatula. He flinches away. He doesn’t want to look at himself. Barbara comforts him, a tender heartfelt moment between them.

Claire then emerges from a shadow portal with grim news : The Arcane Order have found Douxie and Nari.

Jim gathers his friends. Claire shadow portals them all to Douxie, who’s found shelter in a hut Nari made from tree roots. Douxie’s cast a barrier to hide their presence, though it won’t last long. 

It’s a really sweet and awesome reunion. Douxie gives Claire and Steve big hugs. Nari bounds up to Toby and holds his hand. Jim, Krel, and Douxie have a “good to see you again, bro” moment between them. Aaarrgh licks his lips at the sight of Archie.

It’s here that Douxie gives the deets on what’s happened. As they begin to figure out a way to keep Nari safe and away from the Order, Nari suddenly says, “No.”

After almost losing Douxie and Archie, her new family, Nari decides enough is enough. She wants to face her corrupted siblings head-on. To not only protect the world, but her newfound friends. 

Douxie understandably protests. But Nari, gentle but resolute, tells him she’s made up her mind. No more running.

And so, Douxie acquiesces. 

Cue the sequence/fight scene on the train!

Nari realizes what Douxie’s doing when it’s too late. They switch bodies and Douxie’s taken away by the Order. 

“Douxie, I’m so sorry...I couldn’t save her,” Claire laments.

Nari, in Douxie’s body, “N-no...No, I am fine. But Douxie...Douxie!”

Everyone’s like, “Oh no” but then oof, they all get arrested.

The police department scene! With Krel and the Blanks busting everyone out.

Now, we find ourselves back on Camelot where Jim’s being attended to by Walter and Barbara after waking up from a nightmare. Bellroc’s words torment him : “Without your Amulet, you are nothing but a frightened! Little!! BOY!!!”

Walter suggests Jim should lay low, let his friends handle things. Jim reaches a real low point here. Claire provides some comfort. Hand in hand, they make their way to the Round Table, where everyone’s licking their wounds. 

Blinky explains to them that the Order wants to awaken the Titans and need all three members of the Order to do so. While everyone’s relieved that Nari’s safe, Douxie’s now in the Order’s clutches and they want to figure out a way to save him.

Nari, sad and grim, says that Douxie’s spell will eventually wear off.

“He is, as humans say, buying us time...”

Cut to Douxie (in Nari’s body) with the Order. Douxie doesn’t make a sound, not wanting to give anything away. They try the ritual and when it fails, Bellroc and Skrael quickly suspect foul play. They realize that Nari isn’t Nari and proceed to forcefully, painfully, undo Douxie’s spell.

Douxie wakes up, back in his own body. He’s swarmed by his friends, all overcome with relief that he’s alright, but it’s short-lived. The Order has Nari. 

Douxie manages to recall where the Order took him. Before they head out, a downtrodden Jim says he should stay behind, going back to the bed chamber. Claire goes to talk to him, but Douxie stops her.

“Let’s give him some space,” Douxie says gently, though he looks just as concerned for Jim. “In the meantime,” he summons his staff, “we’ll hunt the Order down, put a stop to their schemes, and bring Nari home.”

Everyone heads to the warehouse-train track place (I forgot what it was called rip). Just then, Aja comes flying in, having been contacted by Krel. The Tarron siblings have a sweet, wholesome, long-awaited reunion. Also Staja and Creepslayerz reunited!

Aja cautions Steve about the whole seventh kiss-pregnancy thing and he quickly decides that, yeah no, he’s not quite ready for that. His Alien Queen Muffin (or whatever the heck he called her) is back and that’s all that matters to him. Also wtf Eli’s hot and taller than him now.

There’s a cute moment of Douxie and Aja really meeting for the first time. Aja recognizes him.

“Oh! You were the hand-reading waiter boy!”

Upon hearing she��s a Queen, Douxie’s Medieval chivalry kicks in and he bows at the waist.

“The name’s Hisirdoux, Your Majesty.” After Aja butchers his name, he says “Douxie” will do just fine. 

Nomura abruptly reminds them they don’t have time for pleasantries. They get to it. Douxie figures out the sigil and the illusion fades, revealing the Order performing their ritual with a brainwashed Nari. They’re unable to stop it and the Order members teleport away to join with their respective Titans. We see each of the Titans rising.

The Arcadia Gang regroups back on Camelot to form a plan. Jim, discouraged and deeply troubled, is leaning over a rail, head in his hands. Douxie comes up beside him, silent.

Jim eventually asks how things went. When Douxie tells him they failed and the Titans have risen, Jim feels even more powerless and guilt-ridden.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry, I couldn’t...I can’t do anything. Without the Amulet I’m not the Trollhunter anymore and I’m just...useless--”

Douxie cuts him off, putting a hand on Jim’s shoulder. 

“Jim. That’s not true. Do you remember what I told you? That our strength doesn’t come from special trinkets. Our strength...” Douxie finally gets Jim to look at him, “comes from our friends. From each other. All of us together. That includes you.”

“But...without my Amulet how can I do anything--”

Douxie smiles gently. “By being true to yourself, Jim. As we, your friends, are true to you.”

Just then, Claire joins them and asks if Jim’s okay. Jim smiles as Douxie ruffles his hair.

“I will be. Thanks.”

Jim, Claire, and Douxie find everyone arguing at the Round Table. Aja is wanting to evacuate everyone off of Earth, to which Blinky protests. Everyone just keeps going back and forth until Jim yells for them to stop.

Time to divide and conquer, cutting back and forth between each battle with the Titans.

Aja, Krel, Steve, and Eli tackle the Fire Titan.

Blinky, Toby, and Nomura handle the Ice Titan, with Walter and Barbara steering Camelot.

Jim, Claire, Douxie, and Aaarrgh go for the Earth Titan. Douxie’s hoping to get through to Nari and break her free from the Order’s control.

Aja and Krel fight the Fire Titan side by side on their hoverboard. Steve and Eli help civilians off the bridge and keep them safe. 

Varvatos Vex in his giant robo mech incoming, along with a handful of Akiridion warships.

The Fire Titan proves to be too powerful and defeats Varvatos’ robot, melting down the Akiridion troops in the process. Aja and Krel are knocked down from their hoverboard. They and Varvatos retreat as the Fire Titan continues to burn a path towards its destination.

Toby and Nomura attempt to zipline their way to the Ice Titan to take down Skrael with Akiridion bombs. When the rope fails, Walter extends his wings to save them, but his wings quickly freeze. 

Nomura grabs the bombs and sacrifices herself, bidding a heartwrenching farewell to Toby and her longtime friend, thanking them both. She asks Toby to tell Jim she said goodbye. Ever agile, Nomura scales the Ice Titan and detonates the bombs.

But to everyone’s horror, the Ice Titan only puts itself back together. Walter sinks to his knees. Toby throws down his helmet. Their friend sacrificed herself for nothing.

Aaarrgh is charging after the Earth Titan, Douxie, Jim, and Claire hanging onto his back. Claire shadow portals the three of them onto the Titan’s back. Douxie begins to plead with Nari, even as she constricts him with vines.

Douxie manages to grab her hand. He begins to break the mind-control with his magic, still calling out to Nari as he’s losing the ability to breathe. 

Douxie’s voice reaches her and she breaks free. Nari frantically asks where she is, if she hurt him or his friends. Douxie, overcome with relief, just embraces her.

“You’re here with us, Nari...You’re here with us.”

Nari assures them they have a Titan on their side now. They receive communication from the Tarrons, who warn them that the Ice Titan is getting close to Arcadia.

No time to wonder why Skrael’s headed there. Claire makes a massive shadow portal to Arcadia (the field trip scene!), taking Nari’s Titan with them. Nari tries to reason with Skrael, but he’s having none of it.

NARI VS SKRAEL COMMENCE!

The Tarrons and Creepslayerz arrive on scene. Douxie boards Aja’s hoverboard and together they fire lazers and magic at the Ice Titan. Varvatos dashes and slashes his way up the Titan. Claire, Jim, Krel, Steve, and Eli work to rescue the school bus from getting crushed.

Well, it does get crushed but thankfully everyone made it off. Then, Archie comes flying in with his father, Charlemagne. Charlie flies all the students and Coach to safety. Archie joins Douxie in the air, blasting Skrael with fire.

“C’mon and face the music, Skrael!!!” Douxie summons Spellcaster and starts shredding.

Enraged, Skrael releases a devastating burst of magic that knocks Douxie, Aja, and Varvatos away. Nari seizes the opportunity to impale Skrael’s Titan, but not before Nari’s fatally wounded by him in return. Both Titans collapse.

Douxie runs to Nari, desperately calling her name. She’s on the ground, dying. Everyone gathers around, devastated. Douxie holds Nari in his arms. Archie nuzzles Nari’s arm, tears forming in his eyes. Douxie’s already crying.

“No..No, no, Nari, please...” Douxie holds her hand. “Nari, don’t go, please...!”

“It is okay, Douxie...Do not be sad...”

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry, I said I would protect you...” Douxie leans down, almost touching his forehead to hers (it’s Harry and Dobby y’all). His tears fall onto her face. “I said I would protect you...!”

“You did something greater, Douxie...” Nari squeezes his hand. Tears of her own roll down her cheeks. “You gave me a home. And many, many friends....” Douxie sobs harder, holding her close. “You saved me, Douxie...” She’s beginning to fade. She smiles, her eyes closing. “Thank you...Thank...”

Nari fades, wisps of magic and flower petals slipping through Douxie’s fingers. Douxie wails, Archie pressing close. Jim and Claire lay their hands on his shoulders. Claire hugs him.

Krel is then alerted that the Fire Titan is also on the move towards Arcadia.

Everyone reconvenes on Camelot. They all mourn the deaths of Nomura and Nari. 

They learn that Bellroc is headed towards Arcadia, the center of the universe, because that’s where the last Heartstone is. If at least one Titan reaches the Heartstone, the world will be wiped clean.

Before they head out, Douxie and the Tarrons present Jim with a brand new Amulet, forged from magic and Akiridion technology. That, and the stone in which Excaliber lodged itself. Douxie encourages Jim to try once more. 

Jim steps up on the stone, gazing fondly at his friends around him. They all place their hands on the stone in support. Jim pulls Excaliber from the stone. Everyone cheers for him.

Douxie’s seen texting someone.

FINAL SHOWDOWN IN ARCADIA

Bellroc is seen making their way towards the Heartstone. But what stands between them and the prize is the Guardians of Arcadia. 

Charlemagne, Archie, and Walter soar above. Blinky and Aaarrgh lead an army of trolls. More Akiridion fleets arrive, Aja and Krel at the helm. Varvatos has a brand new robo, too.

Bellroc sneers at their defiance and summons an army of their own : hundreds of big rocky lava monsters.

BATTLE OF THE MOST EPIC OF PROPORTIONS IS A GO.

Trolls are punching, Akiridions are blasting, magicians are casting.

JIM SUITS UP WITH HIS NEW ARMOR AND EXCALIBER AND IS LIKE DON’T THINK BECOMIN’ FOR YA BELLROC FOR THE GOOD OF AAAAAAAALL

Douxie conjures up a spell to send that boy flying onto that Fire Titan.

Toby and Aaarrgh slam and hammer their way through fiery goons. Claire and Aja team up to take down the opposition, noting they should get lunch together sometime. Charlemagne tears through the enemies with his claws and wings. Krel and the Creepslayerz flail about and kick tail anyway. 

Our heroes all cover one another and play off of each other’s strengths and it’s beautiful.

When Douxie’s about to get smothered by lava fists, there’s a flash of lightening and the monsters vaporize. 

Douxie turns to see Zoe with a brigade of hedge wizards. Douxie’s immediately bowled over, smitten.

“About time you showed up...,” Douxie says, in a daze cause wow Zoe’s so pretty.

“Oh, you’ve got a lot of nerve --” Explosions. More lava monsters. Zoe sighs and pats Douxie’s cheek. “Ugh, focus, you big sap!”

The pair are unstoppable together, mowing down the lava monsters in powerful bursts of blue and pink.

DOUXIE’S EYES GO BLUE AND ZOE’S EYES GO PINK EPIC AVATAR STATE RINGS OF MAGIC AS THEY DECIMATE THEIR FOES WITH ROCK MUSIC BLARING YESSSS

And well, Douxie can’t help himself and gives Zoe a good long smooch after they’ve destroyed half of Bellroc’s army.

Toby in the distance : HOW LONG HAS THAT BEEN A THING?????

Archie just groans.

And meanwhile, Jim’s finally facing off with Bellroc. After having one of the most badass fights in the franchise, Jim comes out on top, skewering Bellroc in the stomach with Excaliber.

AND BOOM THEY DID IT GUYS EARTH IS SAVED.

....But not without great cost.

Toby’s been mortally wounded, crushed by the falling pieces of the Fire Titan. There’s the tearful, heartbreaking moment Jim has to say goodbye to his best friend, the one who was there with him through it all.

“We did it, Jimbo...We did it...”

Jim holds Toby in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Claire holds Jim and weeps beside him. Aaarrgh is in hysterics but is calmed to pained whimpers by Blinky. The Arcadia Gang grieves, feeling the painful weight of losing the friends they held so dear....Nomura, Nari, and now Toby.

Time Skip/Montage

Douxie found a proper apartment in Arcadia. He keeps a potted plant with those distinct pink flowers, the flowers Nari loved, on his windowsill. Smiles softly at them every time. 

Scenes of Mary with Darci as she mourns. Steve and Eli hanging out. Douxie and Krel jamming, Krel creating beats and Douxie riffing on his guitar. Aja and Claire going on that lunch date. Archie taking a nap on top of Aaarrgh. Walter playing classical music.

It’s taken a while, but Jim’s starting to feel a little bit better. Douxie, Krel, Steve, and Eli came over for some bro time. Seeing the pain in his eyes, Douxie gives Jim a hug.

The final scene is a picnic at everyone’s favorite spot in Arcadia with a single bench and an awesome view of the town.

Aja and Steve are cuddling. Krel and Eli play with a frisbee. Blinky, Aaarrgh, and Varvatos laugh around a table. Douxie and Zoe, holding hands, are having a lively chat with Claire. Jim serves up a huge plate of enchiladas.

Walter and Barbara announce their engagement. Everyone celebrates. 

EMOTIONAL SPEECH VOICEOVER TIME.

Aja, Varvatos, and Eli depart back to Akiridion-5. Steve honks into a tissue. Krel pats him on the back as he waves to his sister.

Barbara kisses Jim on the forehead before going home with Walter.

Zoe kisses Douxie on the cheek and heads off. 

Steve and Krel are the next to go.

Douxie, Archie around his shoulders, pulls both Jim and Claire into a hug before leaving.

Blinky gives Jim a hug. Aaarrgh nuzzle him, looking sad. 

Jim and Claire hold hands and sit on the bench, gazing out at the town.

EMOTIONAL SPEECH VOICEOVER ENDS T_T

The End.

[birdship]

(DISCO ELYSIUM SPOILERS)

Wrote this... thing? to sort of explore potentially writing an actual bit of fanfic for Disco Elysium. It's just a short scene set during the time Harry's drifting in and out of consciousness and Kim is taking care of him.

Anyway, here. Self-indulgent gay longing bullshit, but maybe someone else out there will enjoy it?

Very short teaser, since the whole thing is only like 1600 words:

PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand. YOU: Her hand…? PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: Well, well! Look what the cat dragged in. You keep slipping away, Harry-boy. Back into that beautiful, dark sea. Where you came from. Where you belong. Even now it presses around you, pale and cold. You’re struggling so hard to keep your head above the water for these precious few seconds of aching consciousness. It would be easier to just… relax.

YOU: Hold on, what was that about a cat?

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN: There is no cat, you stupid fuck. Pay attention when I’m waxing poetic about the sweet embrace of death.

It’s hard to pay attention. Then again, it’s hard to do anything. Your breathing is shallow and ragged and you’re so, so tired. God are you tired.

PERCEPTION: You become gradually aware that there is a light pressure on your hip. PAIN THRESHOLD: The first small jolt of pain ripples through you, branching like lightning. PERCEPTION: The pressure intensifies slightly, and you recognize it is in the shape of a human hand.

YOU: Her hand…?

PERCEPTION: No. Not hers. VOLITION: Never hers. LOGIC: His, genius. ESPRIT DE CORPS: It’s Kim. Of course it is. You knew it from the moment you saw him, somehow, that this man would take a bullet for you. He almost did. But right now, he’s kneeling beside you, tending to your wound. Gently, so gently reaching into the war zone of your body to peel back the old bandages, soaked in blood and pus, and press clean ones down in their place.

YOU: His hand…

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s warm, electric, somehow both familiar and new all at once. You ache to lean into it and ask for more, more. How long has it been since anyone touched you like this? INLAND EMPIRE: Has anyone ever touched you like this, really? Right down to the core of you? Feeling the wreckage of you, the sharp edges of your heart? Running their fingers so lightly along the cracks of your horrible little brain? ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I meant literally. His hand is on your thigh. PAIN THRESHOLD: Because there’s a fucking gunshot wound there. LOGIC: Come on, don’t make it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’m not making it weird. VOLITION: You’re definitely making it weird. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look, all I’m saying is it feels pretty nice, doesn’t it? Being close to him like this. His hands on your body.

YOU: Yeah. It does.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: In the haze of painkillers and recent trauma, your sight becomes clear. Ironic. You’re finally allowing yourself to see something that’s been quietly blossoming inside you over the years. It’s been so hard to ignore, but the alternative is so much worse. You couldn’t look right at it. Didn’t want to. Didn’t think you deserved to. But now, in this moment, lying on a lumpy mattress in the dark, trying not to lose consciousness yet again, with him pressing his hands to your rotting body, desperately staunching the bleeding that never seems to completely stop… Now the world has finally wrung everything out of you. Whatever it was that you had left. And you can do nothing but take the path of least resistance. HALF-LIGHT: You’re keenly aware that you will soon make an absolute goddamn fool of yourself, but are powerless to stop it. The forces are already in motion. PAIN THRESHOLD: Another lightning bolt of pain, worse this time. Agony. You cannot help but gurgle a quiet “fuck.”

The lieutenant glances up at your face with calm concern, thoroughly unsurprised by your outburst. “I know it hurts,” he breathes. “You’ll get through it.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, only half-processing his words.

PERCEPTION: His hand lingers ever so slightly, then suddenly it’s gone. The warm, comforting pressure of his company, gone. SUGGESTION: No! You’re going to be alone again! He needs to stay. You need him to be here. Next to you. For as long as possible.

You concentrate every ounce of willpower you have left on sending your right hand out to fish desperately for his before it’s gone.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION: Your hand slaps awkwardly against the sleeve of his jacket. You can’t quite get a grip on it, but your pathetic flailing is hard to ignore, and he stops to give you a quizzical look. VISUAL CALCULUS: That’s the best we could do. I don’t know what you expected from us. Your eyes are still closed.

“Detective?” he says to you. “Just relax. You’re going to be fine, but you need to get some rest.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “please stay.”

DRAMA: This is quite the sad display you’re putting on here, sire. It’s a crowded field, but this new late entry is a strong contender for the gold in the hotly contested “most uncomfortable moment” event at the Sad Old Sack of Shit Olympics.

VOLITION: Come on, you’re stronger than this. HALF-LIGHT: Don’t drag him down with you, you irrepressible fuck-up. What are you even trying to do? INLAND EMPIRE: He’s drowning. Desperate. Reaching for something, anything, to stay afloat. COMPOSURE: It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not anymore. There’s nothing to hold onto. SUGGESTION: Wrong. You have exactly one thing to hold onto right now, and that thing is Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi’s fucking hand.

Kim looks at you with a sort of detached concern for a moment, then gives you a small smile and sits back down next to you without another word. There’s nothing to say, and that’s fine.

EMPATHY: He looks exhausted. His eyes are ringed by dark circles and his shoulders have begun to sag with the weight of the case. The weight of death. The weight of you. He’s carrying so much. ESPRIT DE CORPS: He doesn’t want recognition or pity for it. He knows you’re bearing the same load. Don’t you dare apologize for any of it - this weight is shared. You’re in it together. SUGGESTION: Then why do you feel so guilty, watching him stare silently out the window into the impenetrable night, looking at nothing? You have to say something. Acknowledge his efforts to keep your sorry flesh sack shambling forward another day. VOLITION: No, stop. This is a bad idea. You don’t have to be the sorry cop anymore. In fact, please actively try to stop being that.

“Kim,” you say weakly.

“Yes?” he says, his gaze snapping back to you immediately.

“Thanks.”

“No need for that,” he says quickly.

VOLITION: Grateful cop, huh. Well, I guess that’s a step up. Very slightly less pitiful.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “alright. Sorry.”

VOLITION: Goddammit.

Kim doesn’t say anything. Just watches you with tired, searching eyes.

PERCEPTION: He’s sitting on the very edge of the bed, far away from you, his limbs tucked close to his body except for one hand, which rests lightly on the blanket. VISUAL CALCULUS: It’s still close enough that you could reach out and touch it without too much effort. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get that sweet dopamine hit, baby! Human contact, the most dangerous drug!

Your fingers brush his hand. He jerks it away immediately, but it seems like an unconscious, automatic reaction.

“Ah,” he says, scooting over a bit. “I’ll give you some space.”

VOLITION: If your goal was to feel like a complete idiot in front of the one person in this shithole that you respect, well, pat yourself on the back. DRAMA: Congratulations, sire, you’ve done it! And what hill might thou plan to die on next? VOLITION: A much steeper one, hopefully. SUGGESTION: Ignore them, try again! PERCEPTION: Finally, your fingers manage to close around his wrist. You can’t see his reaction. Your eyes are closed. You can’t stand to look at the situation you’ve created. VOLITION: Coward. PERCEPTION: His hand is moving, changing position, but not withdrawing. It simply contorts in such a way that your grip relaxes and now it’s his hand that’s resting on top of yours. He is silent, but he’s there. Not moving away. You smell stale cigarette smoke and dry blood lingering in the space between his body and yours. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s too much. This hit, it’s stronger than you expected. It’s fucking devastating, a cold knife twisting its way through your broken body. It hurts. Why does it hurt? EMPATHY: Your eyes are still closed, but you sense that he too is looking elsewhere, similarly unable to look directly at the source of the overwhelming awkward - and quite frankly rather homo-sexual - energy you have brought down upon the room. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Every other human interaction happening inside the Whirling-in-Rags must be going very smoothly right now, because you’ve created a fucking singularity of awkwardness. There’s no more awkwardness left within a 2km radius, you’ve gathered it all right here.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it’s over. He moves his hand and clears his throat. Probably cleans his glasses. It’s a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed this past week.

A few minutes pass in silence. Then: “Harry?” he whispers quietly.

You don’t answer. You have nothing to say.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Maybe you were wrong. Maybe this is the harder option. Maybe you’re not ready to look at it. Maybe you’re not ready to look at anything.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I need to get back to work.”

EMPATHY: He’s not going to mention this incident. Not now. Not later. Not ever. Not just out of concern for you, but himself. He has no idea how to begin to process it, so he won’t. He’ll tell himself it doesn’t matter, you were just lost in a cloud of drouamine and pain and grief. That you were so out of it that you thought you were reaching for someone else. That vulnerable moment of tenderness could not have been meant for him. But you know the truth. And maybe he does too, somewhere deep down. LOGIC: You are okay with this. You have to be. And so does he. CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’ve glimpsed it now, that radiant thing within you. That bright, unbearable light. It’s so beautiful, so heart-breaking that you can hardly stand it. Maybe a glimpse is enough.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver. 

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs. 

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity. 

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence. 

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching. 

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man. 

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily. 

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

 “Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher. 

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

[deniigi]

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

 --

  “So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.  

No one was stopping them.  

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

 ---

 This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

 ---

 Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

 ---

 Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

 ---

 Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

 ---

 Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

 ---

 Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

 ---

 Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

 ---

  “Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

 ---

 Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

 ---

 “So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

 ---

 Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

 ---

 Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

 ---

 Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

 ---

 About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

 ---

 Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

 ---

 He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,”  he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

 -----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

[swiss-cheeze]

Tick-Tock, Hook’s Afraid of an Ordinary Clock! || Spencer Reid

Requested: YES/NO: gender neutral please! So my request. Y/n has been working at the BAU for a while, and never ever had feelings for Spencer but more for Derek. One night is spent at a hotel and Spencer gets wasted as all hell which the team found unusual. That’s really all! Do with that what you will! Smut is fine too! You can add your own personal touches if you wish. Also would love some fighting between Spencer and y/n

Gender: none, they/them.

Warnings: insults, alcohol, normal CM case talk, verbal fight dialogue taken from Hook (1991), crap music talk.

----

“Eat your heart out, you crinkled, wrinkled fat bag,” you mumbled under your breath as Spencer finished his rambling of some unknown subject. Spencer stiffened at your insult, as did the rest of the team. You had just gotten back from a pretty bad case involving a team of family annihilators and where sitting in the nearest bar; throughout the whole case Spencer had almost made it his mission to speak over you, correct you, flick things at you, ‘forget’ you’re there, bump into you and more. God it was so annoying, and now? Now you've had enough.

“That was very ill-mannered-” Spencer started.

“And you're a slug-eating worm,” you said with a little more force matter-of-factly, cutting off whatever it was Spencer was going to say.

“You can do better than that pretty boy!” Derek said quickly with a grin as he nudged Spencer; you almost pounced on that man for taking Spencer's side rather than yours; Derek had always taken your side.

“You're encouraging this?” Spencer questioned quickly.

“Show me your fastball, dust brain!” you started again, “you paunchy, sag-bottomed puke pot!” Spencer's eyes widened three times the size they normally would be as the rest of your table sat quiet and watched.

“Damn!” Emily said under her breath with a grin as her eyes darted between the two of you; it was like watching tennis.

“You're a very poor role model for your team, you know that right?” Spencer shook his as he took a mouthful of his drink before a sly grin overtook his face, “I bet you don't even have a fourth-grade reading level,” a few of your teammates let out a little blow of air.

“Hemorrhoidal sucknavel” you said quickly.

“Maybe a fifth-grade reading level.” Spencer said even quicker.

“Oil-dripping, beef-fart-sniffing bubble butt” you started to really get into it, leaning over the table a little with a smirk.

“Aye there we go (Y/n)!” Derek said quickly, now he was on your side? You looked to Hotch who was smiling thinking that maybe you had another on your side.

“Someone has a severe caca mouth, you know that?” Spencer cut off your gaze with his words, as if he was bored.

“You’re a fart factory. A slug-slime sack of rat guts and cat vomit, a cheesy scab picked pimple-squeezing finger bandage!” snickering came over the table; but you weren't done yet oh no, “a week-old maggot burger with everything on it and flies on the side!” you grinned; many many words in that one insult. Spencer went to open his mouth but you cut him off, “you’re really just a substitute chemistry teacher” you winked.

“Come on Spence, hit (Y/n) back!” J.J. quickly intervened.

“Mung tongue” Spencer fired.

“Math tutor,”

“Pinhead,”

“Mother lover,” that one was a low blow on your end but you couldn't help yourself.

“Nearsighted gynecologist,” ouch Spence, Hotch snorted at that one.

“In your face, camelcake!” you shot back.

“In your rear, cow derrière!” of course Spencer came back even faster.

“Lying, crying, spying, prying ultra-pig!” Emily snickered at yours.

“Lewd, crude bag of pre-chewed food!” Derek snickered at Spencers.

“Guys maybe settle down…” Hotch said softly, this was starting to get a little out of hand.

“You man! Stupid, stupid man!” That was all you could give back as your mind turned blank, forgetting every word in the dictionary.

“If I'm a maggot burger, why don't you just eat me?” Spencer shot back, “you zebra-headed, slime-coated, pimple-farming, paramecium brain, munching on your own mucus, suffering from Spencer Reid envy!” laughter ensued as your face contorted to confusion.

“What the hell is a ‘paramecium’?” your voice held the question as Spencer pointed to you.

“I'll tell you what a paramecium is! You’re a paramecium!” everyone on your table stared at Spencer as he elaborated; “It's a one-celled critter with no brain that can't think!” and with that, your table cheered for Spencer as you sat sulking.

“Oh come on (Y/n), you should have known you would lose,” Derek said with a grin before following Spencer to the bar.

“He's drinking a lot tonight isn't he?” Emily questioned.

“Who, Derek?” J.J. guessed with a furrowed brow.

“No! Spencer!” Emily quickly concluded.

“He was a little harsh on (Y/n)” Hotch cut in quickly, “I’m just glad Dave and Garcia weren’t here to witness that,” you slammed your drink on the table and sent a glare to the three left at the table.

“I'm going home, i'll see everyone on monday,” you grumbled out before stalking off, your shoes made loud thunking sounds as they hit the wood flooring, your anger getting the best of you as you passed Spencer and Derek.

“Yo (Y/n) you getting a drink too?” Derek was about to order your normal drink until you slapped both Spencer and Derek on the back of the head.

“OW! What the hell-!” Spencer's back was to you but as he turned and saw you his anger melted into elation, “come back for round 2 (Y/n)?” Spencer questioned, the poor boy tried to act cool and lean against the bar but missed entirely and almost fell onto a rather burly looking gentleman. You huffed slightly as you turned to Derek.

“Make sure the substitute chem teacher gets home safe,” and with that you threw open the bar doors and walked your way home, it was only a block and you had gotten a ride with Emily anyway.

-

When you finally slumped home, chucked off your shoes and threw yourself onto your mattress you couldn't help but make yourself angrier with the new insults suddenly bubbling in your head.

“Who does that piss brain even think he is,” you mumbled into the air, “paramecium my ass…” you continued your grumbling into the atmosphere as you twisted and turned on the mattress before sleep finally engulfed you.

------

The work week started up again and before you knew it yourself and the team where needed in New Orleans because of a new range of sudden murders.

“Lets review please,” Hotch mumbled.

“The bodies cross gender and racial lines” Rossi started.

“The throat is slit with something very sharp but also clean, I get a funny feeling it isnt a kitchen knife though,” you mumbled as you looked at the photos closer trying to get a good angle on a printed piece of paper.

“Butcher?” Derek questioned, you shrugged.

“Could these be blitz attacks?” you heard Spencer scoff at your suggestion.

“If this was a blitz attack there would be remorse and blunt force trauma somewhere on the head,” Spencer said looking directly at you.

“Oh, i'm so sorry Doctor i didn't know my input was unwanted, let me just keep my thoughts to myself,”

“Guys,” J.J. sighed, “Garcia is going through the victims lives that we have already, I can talk to the family and see if there are any enemies?” Hotch nodded.

“Derek, I want you to join J.J. with the families. Rossi, Emily go to the M.E. together and have a look over the bodies and tox screens. (L/n), Reid and I will go to the police station and start on a geographical and victim board,” everyone nodded in agreement to what Hotch said. Except for Spencer. He just stared at you with dangerous eyes. You rolled yours in return before putting your headphones into your phone and playing music to drown out Spencer's overbearingly loud thoughts.

-

“Okay my lovelies, these first three victims all had the same job at the same court; they’re all a part of a Jury audience” Garcia explained as her fingers tapped on her keyboard through the phone.

“Maybe someone just got out of prison that was wrongly convicted and wanting revenge?” you questioned.

“Maybe, it would have to be something pretty big for them to come back,” Derek said, you nodded in agreement, “baby girl can you see if there are any people that may have been convicted by a jury with our victims in it?”

“Sure can sugar, PG out” the phone clicked off.

“Did you find anything from the M.E.?” Hotch turned to Rossi and Emily as he spoke.

“The pathologist said it was a clean cut without hesitation marks or remorse,” Rossi said.

“No drugs, no blunt force trauma,” Emily shrugged as she talked, “it wasn't a blitz.”

“Maybe planned?” you butted in.

“That’s what it seems like,” Hotch said, “Reid? Have you got anything? J.J.?” Hotch questioned as he looked to the respective people.

“The victims were killed in different areas but its places they frequented; house, bar, bar” Spencer started, “they’re all over the place is all, completely different areas,”

“Yeah, and the families weren’t much help either. One of the victims' families, uh, Emil Gosten? His family said they didn't want anything to do with the investigation because he's had previous death threats and calls and stuff,” J.J. shrugged as the room went quiet.

“Reid, (L/n) I know you two dont like each other but I need two of my sharpest minds to go back to the crime scenes,” Hotch sighed, you groaned but complied as you stalked off with Reid following shortly behind.

-

“Everything looks the exact same as it was left,” you sighed out as you placed a blanket back down on the couch. Spencer scanned the books on the shelf before pulling one out and starting to read it; completely ignoring you.

“Reid,” nothing.

“Reid.” again, nothing.

“Spencer,” nope.

“SPENCE”

“What!” he finally turned to you and answered.

“You couldn't give me some complacency and at least answer me when i talk to you?” you asked annoyed.

“Why would i?” Spencer asked with a bored tone as he placed the book back on the shelf, except he finally talked to you, “The victim is atheist, believes in the justice system…” he sighed and shrugged, “did Hotch just put us together to fuck with us?”

“Maybe,” you flopped onto the couch with a sigh as you rest your head on the backrest. That was until something caught your eye, “Oi genius!” you called out, Spencer came to your side as you pointed to the roof; there, above your heads was a piece of paper taped to the ceiling, “you’re taller than me,” you said quickly as you got up and started moving the couch.

“Woah what- what’re you doing?” Spencer jumped back slightly as you pushed the couch backwards.

“Well we’re going to push this back and then put a chair down for you to stand on so you can reach that note because it can possibly help us get to the unsub,”

“What why me?” Spencer questioned as he helped you push the couch back.

“You’re taller than me and have longer arms,” you walked over to the dining table and came back with a chair, Spencer was reluctant at first but eventually stood on the chair and plucked down the taped note; letting out a breath as he finally stood on the ground again. You plucked the note from Spencer's hand and opened it.

“A music note?” Spencer mumbled.

“Something like that,” you mumbled back, “see it's in the second to bottom gap,” you pointed to the gap to show where it was, as if Spencer couldn't see it already, “um, it would sound something like...um, dmm” you vibrate your voice a little to help Spencer understand, he nodded, “the only problem is there isn’t any clef; normally with music you have a treble clef, alto clef or bass clef. They basically determine what instrument can be played and how the notes are determined” Spencer looked genuinely interested while you explained your thinking, “this...its a singular note, maybe there’s more around?” you looked around the room and tried to desifre if there were any opened drawers or cupboards.

“Maybe there’s another one at the other location?” Spencer questioned, you grinned.

“It might be the unsubs calling card; ‘hey, this is my kill’ type thing!” and with that, you made a break in the case.

-

Spencer called the rest of the team about the break as Hotch allowed the two of you to go to the other victims houses and search for more music notes; low and behold you now had 3 music notes placed under the corresponding victim heads.

“You keep staring at that board as if it's going to give you answers,” Derek said with a grin as he walked into the room; the rest of the team had been called out to another dead body.

“Hmm? Oh I just…” you shrugged, “i just get this feeling about the notes; they have to sound something but we just don't know what yet” before Derek could answer you the shrill of the phone went off.

“(Y/n)?” it was Spencer on loudspeaker; he never called you by your first name.

“Yeah what's up Reid?” you called back.

“We found another note; the round part is under the last line with the stem going up to the second line at the top,” you nodded in response (not that Spencer could see you) as you drew the note on a piece of paper with a sharpener and placed it on the victim board.

“Anything else? A clef at all anywhere?” you asked.

“Um i'm not- i don't think so?” it sounded like Spencer was shuffling around a few things to get a better look, “we have another piece of paper!” Spencer called out, moments later you got a photo on your phone. Sure enough there was a treble clef.

“Spence get everyone back here; i know what the notes mean”

-

“Our unsub is using something called the Dies Irae,” you played the first few notes on your phone over youtube, “you've all heard this song over time just not exactly in an orchestra setting; Star Wars, The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Corpse Bride, Sweeney Todd, The Shining, The Exorcist and many many more,” you played a few other videos of the notes from a few of the movies as everyone nodded.

“I can hear it,” J.J. mumbled.

“Same,” that was Emily.

“Right, so...it was originally used with catholic’s; they used the music in their Requiem services-”

“Requiem services are basically putting the dead to rest,” Spencer cut in quickly so the team could understand.

“Yeah, it's basically a song for the dead to stay dead in a way? I think our unsub is using the Sweeney Todd method; killing his victims with a razor. One slice across the neck while in a private area except this dude isn't a cannibal” you grinned at the remembrance of the film.

“Cannibal?” Derek and Emily questioned.

“In the movie Sweeney Todd is a barber, he comes back for revenge on the man who stole his wife and child and kills people in his barber shop which is also above a pie shop owned by a woman named Mrs Lovett; when Sweeney starts killing they come together in order to bring customers back to Mrs Lovett's pie shop. Because it's set in 1785 meat was expensive so instead they used the dead people as meat to sell to customers” you realised how long winded that explanation was and apologized, “sorry that was..i think our unsub is a barber” was your final statement. Hotch nodded and moved to press a button on the phone in the middle of the table, but the phone started ringing instead.

“Garcia?”

“I think i found our unsub; Chris Gevette, he filed for divorce after he gave evidence of spousal abuse but it seems like his wife had every piece of evidence that would be able to put him in jail rather than her so everything was blamed on him for the abuse and the jury ruled him unable to keep any stable relationship”

“Garcia do you have a work and home address?”

“Sent to your phones now; barber shop and home” the phone clicked off.

“(Y/n) i want you to go to the barber shop with Reid and Derek. Emily, J.J. and I will go to the house; Rossi stays here in case anything else happens.” and with that you all ran to the SUV’s.

-----

“CHRIS GEVETTE FBI!” Derek shouted through the door, your guns were drawn and ready for action as Derek kicked the door in. You moved swiftly through the shop, finding nothing but dust.

“Guys!” you were now out the back as your partners came running, “it's exactly like Sweeney Todd,” you motioned to the stairs in front of you before looking behind you, “there's stars that lead down as well; there may be bodies in there like the movie too, you go down there and i'll go up.”

“(Y/n) let me come with you,” that was Spencer, he looked genuinely concerned.

“I've got this Spence. Go” you started your ascent up the wooden stairs while trying to stay as quiet as you possibly could, “CHRIS GEVETTE,” you called out to the door once you got to it, you could hear the bustle of footsteps and made the split decision. The door was kicked in by you as you pointed your gun to Chris who was now holding a razor to a woman's neck.

“Get away!” Chris screamed, he was frantic; trembling and crying.

“Chris! Chris it's okay, i'm a good guy, okay?” you slowly let go of your gun, “im holstering my gun, okay?” you said as you're-holstered your gun, “Chris i know about the divorce-”

“No you dont!” Chris called, the woman under the razor trembled as the razor cut into her neck slightly.

“I do! Chris, I know you were abused! I know it wasn't you that did the abusing! If you let her go we can help you get custody and instead send that bitch to jail,” Chris looked almost relieved to hear that, he contemplated that for a moment before slowly letting the woman go. She ran over to you as Derek and Spencer finally came up the stairs and started handcuffing Chris.

“We’ve got two other bodies in the basement,” Spencer said to you while you held the trembling woman, “there's medic on the way now,” you nodded in affirmation before starting to help the women calm down and walk down the stairs.

------

The jet finally landed back at the bureau as the rest of your team started packing their things from their desks.

“Um (Y/n)” a voice called, you smiled as you looked up to see the person you least expected.

“Spence?” you questioned; your eyes darted around and couldn't see any other team member in sight, “everyone left already. Sorry. I've been in my own little world,” you gave a tight smile as you continued packing some extra files into your bag.

“It-it’s just me, but um, I just wanted to congratulate you on your break in the case,” the comment from Spencer's timid and small voice caught you off guard so much that you froze for a moment as you stared at him. It all seemed to go quiet, and slow; the clock on the wall seemed to tick at an atrociously slow pace.

Tick…

“(Y/n)?”

Tock…

“Hmm?”

“I uh, i was-”

“Oh, yeah um-”

Pause.

Quiet.

“Thank you,” smile.

Tick…

“I was...was wondering, (Y/n)...”

Tock…

“Yeah Spence?”

“Would you...would you like to go...on a date...with...me?”

Pause.

Quiet.

“With you?”

“Well, I did...I did say ‘me’ I hope- just, just forget it” and the world went back to normal as Spence started walking away.

“No Spence, wait!” you grabbed your things and quickly darted off after him; plunging your arm between the elevator doors and stepping in quickly before they shut behind you.

“Just forget it (Y/n); forget i ever asked and we can just go back to-”

“I would love to go on a date with you”

Tick…

“Really?”

“So long as you don't call me a paramecium again”

Tock…

“I won't; as long as you don't call me a substitute chemistry teacher”

Pause.

Quiet.

“I won't”

“Then it's settled.

Tick…

“Message me?”

“Of course”

Tock…

Smile.

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη - Pt. II

Pairing(s): Cursed!Seokjin x Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy Au, Fluff, Soulmate Au

Summary: “There’s a story whispered around here. One surrounding the beautifully carved statue of a man at the center of the town. Legend says that when the hand of his true love graces his palm, he shall wake from his cursed marbled slumber. It’s always been a silly old wives tale, until you give in to a friend’s dare.” (prompt idea from writing-prompt-s)

Warning(s): mild language

Word Count: 2.8k

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, ...

taglist: @best-space-boy​ @maryelixabeth @mochimaw​ @yeontanismypresident​ @hannahantonette17​ @ign-is​ @fanfuckingfic​ @koala-wonderland​ @suchgayaesthetic​ @dulcaet​

~ if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, feel free to send me an ask! thank you💜

For the record, you’d never once been so thoroughly stupefied by anything the entirety of your existence. Not that much has ever happened before this...debacle, but still.

Lying on the ground, however, draped with a recently statue-turned-man as the faces of every person who’d openly mocked your beliefs sit painted with the same concoction of horrified wonder, it was safe to say, this was definitely a first.

It was like your mind was awake while your body lay paralyzed. Thought after thought, albeit incoherent, made rounds throughout your consciousness. Limbs splayed across the dirt, useless, like those of a rag doll.

Perhaps part of the initial stun could be blamed by the impact with which the body crashed into yours, as well as the force of hitting the ground.

Maybe, in your likely now-concussed state, you were not actually under a man who a mere moment ago was marble. It’s believable that this was all just some brain-trauma induced hallucination. You probably just tripped on your way to the statue and hit your head. Really, really hard.

That scenario could have very much been the one you decided to go with, that is, until the man started to lift himself up, just enough to look down at you.

Even if you didn’t want to lock eyes with the, admittedly, incredibly handsome man you found yourself in such a precarious situation with, it wasn’t like you had any other choice.

Space only big enough for a single breathe lay between you.

His eyes, a lovely dark, warm brown shade that gave you such an odd sense of security, studied your own.

This close, every detail of his face was on HD display for you, from the length of his lashes, the slope of his nose, to the curve and plushness of his lips. Horrifyingly enough for you, that meant every one of your flaws must be painfully on display for him as well. Look at you now, suddenly worried about how you looked to a once-inanimate object.

It was an oddly intimate moment, one that you weren’t quite sure you wanted to end before it had begun, or to continue forever, until the sun set and the stars shone and everything in-between. The way your head swam, thoughts torn between two opposing sides, a regular Capulet-Montague affair within, it was like losing sense of yourself.

There was no way this was really happening; that this man has come to life at your hand. However, you couldn’t deny the tangible evidence that is the vessel hovering over you now. Oh yeah, there’s a strange man on top of you...and everyone is watching.

Like a cadaver reanimated by a bolt of lightning, you shot away from the man, pushing yourself back on your butt and scooching like a child until you were satisfied with the distance between. Skin painfully alight with the burn of embarrassment, you didn’t dare look back into the eyes of your ‘soulmate’ just yet.

‘Soulmate,’ it’s like that very word incited an allergic reaction in which your body suddenly had the urge to convulse until whatever contents remained in your stomach were one with the earth.

Trying merely to catch your breathe, you almost didn’t register the warmth of a hand pressing firmly to your back.

“I, um, think we should take this somewhere more...private, perhaps?”

That voice, the slightly monotone, yet strangely comforting voice of the girl you both tolerated and treasured. The only one that treated you as an equal; an actual human being.

“Mira...” It sounded choked, weak, like saying her name was a laboring task you weren’t sure you could handle. Turning back to look at her, you could tell how horrified you must have looked based on her own expression.

If anyone knew what to do in this insane situation, it’d be her.

Rising to her feet, Mira took in the way your body curled in on itself, to shield you from the alarming situation of which you had no control over and no clue how to precede. It stung at a piece of her that had been buried deep down inside for a long time.

Strange, was all she could pen it as, but you are her companion here, and it was her duty to aid you in this, especially considering the circumstances.

———

The walk home was quiet. One on the outside might almost call it peaceful, tranquil, but it was none of the above.

After suggesting to take this to her home, Mira helped you and the stranger to your feet and broke up the little side-show that had gathered. The townspeople were a mixture of curious, horrified, and smug; seeing the girl they taunted get stuck in this situation was irony at its finest.

While there were plenty of broken hearts staggering their way back to their homes with heavy souls, no one could deny that this was fate, and whether they agreed with the outcome or not, it was not their place to question.

Many, however, did get a good laugh in when you had paced frantically around the circle created around you, practically begging people to take the man instead. It was pathetic, sad, pitiful, and it left all with a disturbing sense of pride.

‘Serves her right,’ they all thought, only speaking it aloud once they were sheltered within their own walls.

They weren’t wrong though, you did look and feel wholly pathetic. On the verge of tears, begging people you loathed to help you, and right in front of the poor, confused man who was at no more fault than you. It wasn’t your best moment.

Thus, the journey to Mira’s was awkward if anything. You strode a few paces ahead, mind foggy and emotions scattered like confetti. Mira made a comfortable wall between you and the man, who brought up the rear, taking in his surroundings with curiosity and a weird sense of familiarity.

Nobody dared say anything, not that there was much to talk about at the moment. Tensions were running high, and a calm, quiet, middle ground was needed before any successful conversations were to be had.

You couldn’t help the slight tears pricking at your lash line, threatening to spill over any second. It made you feel dumb, crying over something as if you were a child who didn’t get their way.

But the thought of spending the rest of your life otherworldly attached to a person you’ve never met before was terrifying. It has always been you on your own. You have enough struggles as it is. Oh, how mother will get a kick out of this.

Your mind wondered if she would even understand what was going on. She’d been in the home on the east side for a few years now, after the dementia got to be too much for you to deal with alone. She’s doing better there anyways, and it wasn’t like you weren’t unaccustomed to going it solo anyways.

Your head slowly swiveled back to catch a quick glimpse of the man behind you. He was swinging his head side to side, back and forth, taking in everything like a puppy. His clothes, now that you were looking, were very outdated, things you’d never seen before except in history books or century dramas on Netflix. He didn’t look real. Another irony, you guess.

Before you could turn back and focus on the road ahead of you, his eyes shot down to catch yours. He didn’t seem scared, upset, or even worried. In fact, he looked almost sympathetic. It probably had to do with the terrified expression you had a hard time fighting every time he caught your gaze. The heat crept up your neck quickly and you shot your head forward to get away from his stare.

Before you knew it, you were standing shoulder to shoulder with the man as Mira unlocked and swung her front door open. The porch creaked under your weight as you shifted to gain some space, the nervousness making you antsy and unable to stand still. He didn’t seem to notice you move away from him, but you weren’t about to look at him and check.

Once inside, you placed yourself in one of the large wicker dining chairs you occupied often during long debates with Mira over the years. Her house was quaint and quite charming. A decent size, especially for her living alone, and giving off a rustic, bohemian air that made it feel homey to even the most distant of strangers.

Speaking of strangers, it was an odd sight to say the least, watching the tall man cross the room stiffly, dropping down onto the velvet couch with a sigh. The humanness he possessed after being rock only a few hours ago was unsettling. You don’t know what you expected him to act like, but then again, any expectations were out the window and 100 miles downwind by now.

Considering how off-put you are by the whole thing, it both amazed and scared you how easy it was for your gaze to linger over him. What it was that pulled you to him, you couldn’t put your finger on- no, you didn’t want to put your finger on in fear of the implications. The longer you were in his presence, though, the more curious you became. And we all know how curiosity plays out, just ask the cat.

Again, as if you both really were connected in some fantastical way, his eyes instantly found yours. This time, however, the nervous heat that usually accompanied it vanished. Instead, locking eyes almost brought an innate sense of peace within you; comfort.

“So, would either of you like some tea?” Mira’s way of easing the awkward air quickly broke the two of you from...whatever that was, and it immediately threw you back on edge. Grabbing the edge of the chair till your knuckles paled, your voice took on a defensive tone.

“ I’d like to know what the hell is going on.” Laced with a sharp venom you weren’t even aware you were capable of, the statement immediately caught all attentions, air increasing in its thickness instead of dissipating like Mira had hoped.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at the man, so instead you focused all of your negative energy, unfairly, on Mira. Her face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as she thought of the best way to talk you down from your growing agitation, but before she could speak, a light chuckle wafted through the tiny room.

That snapped both of your heads towards Mr. post-statue.

Even with both of your uncomfortable gazes, he didn’t seem affected. It wasn’t like he couldn’t read the room, or understand the gravity of the situation. It was more like he had this innate sense of optimism; that everything was going to work out and he just didn’t see the point in getting so serious.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.” You wouldn’t say you were surprised by the soft, honey-tone of his voice, or that you were entranced by it, but if you were to deny, you’d be utterly lying to yourself.

Maybe there was more to this soulmate thing than just waking him up and living ‘happily ever after’. Was it possible there were physical and psychological changes that came along with it? It doesn’t seem too far fetched considering the events that have taken place today. At this point, anything could happen and you wouldn’t be any more surprised. Maybe it’s the shock talking.

“What?” Once you said it, you want to take it back. God, could you sound any dumber? The first thing you say directly to him, and it’s an idiotic reiteration that makes you sound like you can’t infer from context clues and common-freaking-sense what he means.

A quick urge to bury yourself somewhere far away from here shoots through your being, but it’s not a look of disdain that you are met with, but a sweet, soft, smile. It’s not that he seems to pity you in any way, but that somehow knows exactly what you’re feeling without you having to say it. Although, now that you’ve realized it, that small sense of fright wiggles in the back of your mind. A stranger should not be able to read you as easily as he is.

“If I’m awake, it means the spell is broken.”

You stare at him as his face lights up, as if remembering something wonderful; a long lost memory just now recalled.

Suddenly, he bolts up, coming straight for you. Despite your heart protesting, your body starts, pushing yourself as far against the chair and curling tight to protect yourself. As you flinch, your eyes shut and you suck a quick breath in. Like being charged by a fearsome beast, you react in such a way that you don’t even have to open your eyes to know the affect.

The footsteps stop instantly, and when you do open your eyes, you see the man frozen in place, face paled and arms limp at his sides. He was only a few feet away, but even when he shortened the distance between you, he suddenly felt further away now than before.

The guilt of reacting in such a way was a feeling you weren’t accustomed to, and you couldn’t lie that you felt worse after seeing the pained expression on his face.

He slowly backed his way back to the couch, lowering down onto it while avoiding your gaze. Strange how quickly it went from you avoiding his, to him avoiding yours.

“I’m sorry...I know...I know how scary this must be, and I shouldn’t have gotten so excited,” he started, voice low and cautious, like he was afraid to scare you again. Seeing the hurt in his eyes and hearing the strain in his voice affected you more than it should.

Carefully, your body returned to its original position, unfurling to show him that you weren’t afraid of him. You don’t know why it was suddenly so important for you to assure him but it was a natural reaction you didn’t think twice about.

Brown eyes once again catching your own, you tried your best to give him an apathetic smile, something to rid his beautiful features of that sorrow you inadvertently caused. When his eyes shone with a newly-gained light as the corner of his mouth upturned the slightest bit to return your gesture, you knew that no matter the insanity of this situation, you’d probably do just about anything to keep that smile on his face.

“I just never thought this would happen.” A slight pink hue rises to the apples of his cheeks and it takes a strong part of you to hold yourself together and not swoon at how adorable he looked.

“That what would happen?” Mira speaks up and reminds you that you are, in fact, not alone and you recompose yourself.

The man clears his throat and despite the increasing blush on his cheeks, he manages to look from Mira back to you, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“That my soulmate would find me.” This time it’s you whose blushing, the heat creeping up and spreading to every part of your body. The implications of being a soulmate, let alone to someone you don’t know, made the uneasiness resurface. Even though you felt a growing warmth for this random man, you weren’t about to throw your inhibitions out the window all for the sake of being ‘soulmates.’

As cliché-fairy-tale-garbage as this whole thing seems, you weren’t some dim-witted damsel who’d fall for a man she just met.

“Maybe you should start with introductions, stave off the soulmate thing for a moment.” Mira sends you an understanding smile, knowing that you’d lack the frame of mind to conduct this conversation without her assistance.

A breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding escapes your lips in a relieved sigh. Turning back to the man, you muster up enough courage to rise from your seat, cross the wooden floor, and stop before him. Shaking slightly, your right hand reaches out to rest midair in front of him, fingers open and waiting.

“I’m Y/N.”

He looks at your fingers, then up at you, then fingers again. Slowly, his hand approaches yours, gliding softly against the pads of your fingertips before lightly grasping your hand in his. Before you can signal your arm to start a shaking motion, he brings your hand towards him and delicately places a soft kiss to the skin of your knuckles. You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and suddenly it feels like the Sahara desert in the sweltering summer months.

“My name is Seokjin. It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

To Be Continued...

_________________________________________________________________

A.N., 

 This part is more-so an establishing piece. I know not much goes on plot-wise, but I needed to develop the dynamic before any of the juicy bits can happen. I hope you all understand and like this newest edition to the story. I originally planned this to be a 3 part series, but there will definitely be more than 3 parts, oops. I hope you all stick around for the ride, and thank you for all the love and support!💜

-Moonie🌙

[chatsanova]

Have Another Go At It and Hope For More Than Change: Ch 1

I’ve been sitting on this AU for a while and quarantine as left me more than enough time to write so here so trauma and angst ML fic. There’s some time fuckery, and swearing, as well as major character deaths (think Infinity War here)

AO3

“Cat Noir get back!” Chaos fills Paris as akuma victims attack from all sides.

“I’m not leaving you, my lady!” Bee, Rena, and Carapace have all fallen. It was just the two of them, with no options left.

“Noir, I’m not asking!” Hawkmoth and Paon, now a lot more powerful than the months before, attacked on both fronts, Le Paon causing large and terrifying creatures from the nightmares of people passed out on the streets. Ladybug lost her yo-yo to the reincarnated Jack-ady, Cat Noir’s staff broken in half by Dark Blade. They both had used through their Miraculous. Cataclysm barely effective, the Lucky Charm postponed the inevitable. They were surrounded by past villains, new and old. Some of them seemed to hold a grudge from the last time they were defeated. These were citizens of Paris that Ladybug had failed. She should have known it wasn’t enough to just capture akumas. She should have gone to the source. She should have been proactive. This was her fault.

“Fall back!” Cat screams but Ladybug’s thoughts drive her to hesitate and in a rumbling of the streets Stoneheart picks up Ladybug crushing her body down hard. She screams in pain and passes out in his hand.

“LADYBUG!” tears spill down his cheeks as he scrambles for some semblance of a plan. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Today was supposed to be normal.

The booming voice of Hawkmoth shakes the streets, “CAT NOIR, I’VE CAPTURED LADYBUG. I HAVE HER MIRACULOUS. GIVE UP YOURS AND I WILL GRANT YOU YOUR LIFE.”

Cat Noir collapses on the ground, holding back dry heaving sobs. Stoneheart releases Ladybug in front of Hawkmoth, her body drops like a sack of bricks. He can hear the thud. Hawkmoth reaches down. Cat Noir is stuck. Body heavy, tired. He can’t move, solidified to the ground as if he is part of it. He needs to save her. She’s hurt, she’s...about to be revealed. He has to… save her. He rises from the ground.

“I have to say, Cat Noir,” Hawkmoth drags out his words, as if he has all the time in the world, “You... are... loyal. Bring him to me.”

Someone, he doesn’t know who, lifts Cat Noir off the ground to drop him off at Hawkmoth’s feet. He buckles once more, pathetically. His knees are weak, and every muscle in his body shakes from exhaustion. Hawkmoth leans over and removes an earring from Ladybug’s ear. “No,” he attempts to scream, but his voice cracks instead. He wants to close his eyes, for her sake, but it’s too late. Her transformation slips off as Hawkmoth removes the second earring. Marinette. He thought about how he would react to this many nights before. What his reaction might be to seeing who his lady is. Would they see each other and have sudden epiphanies about how much they loved each other and celebrate with a dance atop the Eiffel Tower or the Notre Dame Cathedral? Together they could do anything. A joyful celebration of mutual love and respect seems so far away it might as well be a different universe. He sobs. He sees everything that she is. He loves her and didn’t save her. He didn’t stop this. He never ever wanted it to be this way. Quickly, pushing the hurt from his mind, he remembers where is his: on his knees in front of Hawkmoth. His sobs turn to anger.

“I can see it in you, Cat Noir. You’d do anything for her.” He’s tired and stiff, but can still retort with, “Including kill you.” If Ladybug and Cat Noir were balanced, and Ladybug was gone, what was he capable of?

“Bold words from someone who can barely stand. But you are missing the point. You and I, we are the same.” Ah yes, that thing villains love to do: pretend they are heroes after taking over the entire city of Paris.

“Don’t you ever compare me to you.” he spits at Hawkmoth’s feet.

“I would also do anything for the woman I love. That’s what this is all for. I lost my wife, and I intend to get her back.”

Then Le Paon walks out rolling a woman in a glass tube out onto the roof where they stand, then walks away again. Apparently she has better things to do. When he sees the encased woman, Cat Noir’s heart plummets. If it was possible to feel worse, kneeling next to Marinette’s limp body, he did. His mother. His mother is in that tube. My wife. Cat Noir retches.

“With the powers of the Ladybug’s and Cat Noir’s miraculous, I can bring her back to me. Nothing else matters. Nothing.”

“Not even your son?”

“What?”

“Tell me Hawkmoth, where is your son right now?”

Hawkmoth looks around, confused, “Who said anything about a son?”

“I did,” Cat Noir stands once more, leaning on the building if only to try to remove the sick, bitter feeling in his stomach. He replaces it with rages. Through gritted teeth, he says, “That’s Emelie Agreste. Which makes you Gabriel. Which makes me your son. Am I going too fast?”

“No, it’s not- it’s not possible!”

“Then where’s your son, Gabriel?” The blood drains from the villain’s face. The darkness in Adrien, the one the was almost required for someone to be Cat Noir, the miraculous of destruction, shows itself in the moments that he has lost everything, “Did you lose him in the chaos?” With the upper hand, he makes the choice to walk closer to Hawkmoth, “No, I think you lost him a long time ago. Yeah, around the same you lost her,” Adrien points finger roughly at his mother, “When we lost her. But no, there’s no we. There never was, was there, dad?” he spit the word so hard Gabriel looked stricken. Not a word, a bullet. “Now looks at this bitter irony, huh? Neither even realized it. HA! We never realized we were living under the same fucking roof as our sworn enemy!” he laughs in a scary, hysterical way that turns into a coughing fit, which causes a huge pang of pain throughout his body. Hawkmoth, stupid fucking Hawkmoth, stands there with a dumb look on his face.

“Adrien,” the word hurts him, “you can help me. You can help me bring your mother back. Just give me your miraculous!”

“Fuck you.”

“Adrien, I can fix everything! I can fix your mother! I can fix us! I can fix the whole world! Just give m--”

“Fuck. You. You’re delusional. You always have been! I thought it was some form of protection like you wanted to save me or something. But obviously it’s just so I wouldn’t stand in your way. Let’s send Adrien to this stupid charity event! Or this fucking photoshoot! Let’s keep him from the outside world completely and totally, that will keep him out of my hair! You are so stupid. You are so fucking dumb. And I WAS THE ONE STOPPING YOU! THE WHOLE TIME! HAHAHA. You wanted me out of your hair! HAHAHA” As his laughter crescendoed so did the pain. “Adrien, if you don’t give it to me, I will take it from you.”

The crazed smile on Cat Noir’s face drops suddenly, “Go for it. You ripped everything I love away, what’s one more, right? I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of giving it to you, you better kill me first. Rip it off my cold dead hand. Kill your son to bring back your wife. Go for it, asshole.” Le Paon appears again, “That can be arranged,” and Adrien hears a gunshot. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien woke up in a comfy bed in a large room.

The first thought that crossed his mind was “Am I dead?” No, wait. Of course not. Why did he think that? There was a dream. A weird dream.

“Adrien, mon cher, wake up you’re going to be late for school!” a woman’s voice comes from behind the door.

“Oui, oui, mère, Je suis réveillé.” For a moment the word “mère” feels weird on his tongue, but that quickly passes. He dresses in his normal clothes and goes downstairs to find his mother and father sitting at the table with a plate of tartine waiting for him. Once again, something feels off, only for a moment. Maybe it was that dream? There was a sudden surge of hate and bitterness toward his father before pushing it away. It would be strange to feel angry for something his father did in a dream.

“You’d better hurry, darling, Gorilla’s waiting outside.”

“Yeah, I’d better go. Love you!”

A chorus of nonchalant I love you’s follow him out the door.

“Good morning, Gorilla, how are you today.”

“Monsieur Adrien, are you okay?”

“Of course, I am, why would you think otherwise?”

“Well, monsieur, you’re crying.” Adrien reaches up to his cheek to find wet trails down his face. How could he be crying? “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s almost, well, happy?”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re in such a good mood!”

“Right…” Adrien looked at his hand, perplexed by the wetness from tears he didn’t even realize he had. _______________

The feeling of wrongness followed Adrien all day. He didn’t know where it came from, but his stomach was just a little wobbly. His friends were there, Alya, Nino, Chloe. They talked in the hallway. Chloe had had a very weird dream and started on a tangent, “And this butterfly just comes up and possesses me…” Nino looked oddly interested, odd only because he’s never had any interest in Chloe’s weird tangents before.

But before he could dwell too long on Chloe’s dream, Marinette walked in. She was just AURATING with wrong. Everything about her. There was nothing different that he could see, her dark, black hair fell down to lay on her shoulders, she wore a black v-neck t-shirt, black ripped jeans with a blue jean jacket. Her lips tinted red. Beautiful as always, but still, something felt off. He was sort of getting sick of this feeling, but then he noticed to look on Alya’s face, who was looking straight at Marinette.

“You feel it too.” He interrupted Chloe.

“What?” Alya snapped out of her daze to look at Adrien’s concerned face.

“The feeling. It’s been following me all day,” Adrien ignored Chloe’s offended face at being ignored, but Alya’s eyes widened, in confusion or fear, Adrien didn’t know.

“What feeling, dude?” Nino pulled himself away from his own thoughts.

“The feeling of complete and utter wrong.”

“Like reverse deja-vu.” Alya said suddenly, “Like something should feel familiar but doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you guys listen to me at all? That’s what I’m saying! This butterfly thing didn’t feel like a dream! It felt like a memory,” Chloe added, “That’s impossible, right?”

Nino looked down and said, “I think what’s more impossible is I had the same dream.”

They all turned to look at him.

“Ok, so what the hell is going on?” Adrien tried to reel himself in. It’s one thing to have a weird dream and a weird feeling, it’s an entirely different thing to have his friends experience the exact same thing.

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Nino said, “maybe we were watching the same YouTube video or some shit, the YouTube algorithms do that now.”

“Yeah, could be, or maybe that doesn’t make any sense at all.” Chloe thwacked his arm.

“Alya, did you have that dream?” Nino asked.

“I had one a little different. There was no purple butterfly but there was an arrow followed by a huge hateful feeling. It still felt weird though. What about you Adrien?”

“I did have a dream, I just… ugh, I don’t remember it as well. I just remember my father and the feeling of betrayal and a girl…I think she was dead, or unconscious or something,” He ran his fingers through his hair, “I just don’t remember it, but it sucked.”

“So we all had major crap dreams. What does that mean?” Chloe leaned against a locker, inspecting a fingernail.

“Well,” Alya considered, “Maybe let’s focus on the wrong feeling. We feel it more in different places, yeah? What feels wrong?”

“My entire house feels off,” Adrien thought about his big house, his mom, his father, the chorus of I love you’s. It felt nice. It felt happy. It felt wrong. As crappy as that was, his big happy house with the happy family felt so wrong it gave him vertigo.

“The news. Ladybug feels wrong.”

“Lady..bug?”

“Yeah, she was wreaking havoc all over again.” Yep, that definitely felt wrong.

“What feels the most wrong?”

“Marinette.” Alya’s eyes grew distant. The four of them collectively turned to Marinette, Who was talking to Kim as they entered the classroom. The pit in Adrien’s stomach got bigger and emptier.

“Adrien? Are you okay?” Nino glanced over at him. This wasn’t the first time he’s been asked that today, but it felt so much worse than earlier. This was heartbreak. Love and loss. It went away as suddenly as it came, but Nino had caught it, “You’re crying.”

So he was. The first time had been of joy, but this was a wave of brokenness. He needed to find out what the hell was going on.

“I hate this. I hate this guessing game. Why do we feel like this? WHAT. IS. GOING. ON.” he slung his backpack over his shoulder and marched inside the classroom and slammed his hand in front Marinette. She barely looked up at him. Wrong.

“Blondie.”

“Do you feel it?” Now she looked up.

“What?”

“Do you feel what we feel?”

“Are you crazy?” He felt a little crazy, but goddamn this day was the thing doing it. Marinette was the one doing it. She looked at him straight in the eye.

“The feeling that something...is wrong.”

“HA!” The laugh was bitter, “No, Adrien, I don’t feel what you’re feeling.” She rolled her eyes. Wrong.

“Um, Adrien, maybe not.” Alya pulled his arm away from the desk.

“Yeah, maybe cut her some slack.” Nino’s eyes looked sympathetic. Even Chloe looked like she just saw Adrien kick a puppy. They pulled him into the hallway.

“Maybe approaching Marinette like that after what happened to her parents isn't such a good idea, Adrien.”

“Her... parents?”

All three of them narrowed their eyes and furrowed their eyebrows in concern.

Alya started slowly, “Ladybug was involved with an attack on the Dupain-Cheng bakery.” Chloe pulled the news article up on her phone and showed him.

Oh right, Adrien didn’t remember until he did, if that made any sense, Marinette’s parents died 3 months ago.

Wrong. Wrong, so very wrong. The feeling made his tongue swell and his stomach into a pit. As Alya said it, her face twisted.

“Adrien, why do you seem more affected by it?” Nino mused, “You seem to “remember” less, you know? What else do you not remember?”

“How the hell am I supposed to answer th-” Adrien was cut off by a rumbling through the floor, “What was that?” The rumbling turned into straight-up shaking. Then the sound. It was deafening. Everyone in the class started screaming at once. There was screaming from outside. The rumbling lasted for what seemed like minutes and then trickled to a stop. Chloe frantically searched her phone but it didn’t take long to find out what had happened; she gasped at her phone, horrified. “Chlo?” The phone fell from her grasp and she buckled, “Chloe?” Alya and Nino rushed to her aide asking if she was okay, but she burst into tears. It wasn’t until Adrien picked up her now shattered phone that he saw what she was looking at: A live feed of the news played faintly from the speakers as the famous Parisian Hotel Chloe called home collapsed.“Oh my god.”

Chloe wailed from the floor as the rest of the class asked what happened, they must have seen the horror on Adrien’s face as everyone continued to panic.

“Adrien, what’s going on?”

“What happened?”

“Was it Ladybug?”

Adrien took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, “Le Grand Paris collapsed.” Alya’s face went slack.

“WHAT?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN COLLAPSED?”

“WHAT COULD HAVE DONE THAT?”

Everyone seemed to have questions that already had an answer, it was Ladybug, obviously, she had caused the building to collapse but it was Marinette who asked the question that really needed asking: “How many people were inside?”

She looked distantly on the floor, numb from the events that had already happened in her life. This world, the wrong world that it was, was a war zone. Ladybug vs Paris. And Ladybug was winning.

The class went quiet, the only sounds heard came from Chloe on the ground, fetal position, dry sobbing, her voice scratched all the ears in the room. Adrien looked at his phone for more headlines only to see the same thing:

“SUPERVILLAIN STRIKES AGAIN AT LE GRAND PARIS”

“INVESTIGATION ON THE COLLAPSE OF PARIS HOTEL, IS LADYBUG INVOLVED?”

“WILL LADYBUG’S REIGN OF TERROR EVER END???”

“THE MAYOR OF PARIS, ANDRE BOURGEOIS AND WIFE CONFIRMED DEAD ON THE SCENE”

Marinette stood, the only one to seem to have her wits about her, and moved to Chloe.

“Hey, Chloe, come here.” She wrapped her arms around the blonde, who reciprocated. She let her cry. They had hated each other for years and years, but now was not the time for past rivalries. It hadn’t been since Mari’s parents… Well, there were far more important things. Far worse things.

Alya stood too, “Adrien...does it say anything about the other survivors?”

“It’s all too new, they… they only started investigating.”

“There’s no investigating to be done. It’s Ladybug. It has to be.” Alya clenched her fists. Nino put his hand on her shoulder.

“Well, yeah, but unless you can capture a supervillain there doesn’t seem to be a lot we can do.”

“WHERE IS THE GODDAMN TEACHER?” Alya slammed her fist on a nearby desk, “Aren’t there supposed to be some fucking adults here? Why are we dealing with this by OURSELVES?” It was a good question. They were in a room a 16-17 year olds, this was a national tragedy. Where was everyone?

At that, the class seemed to come out of their stupor and went to work. Max started setting up a live feed of the news on the projector, Kim and Alix ran to other classrooms to check if they were alright. No teachers there either, turns out. The rest got on their phones to see if their loved ones were ok. Adrien finally called his dad.

“Dad? Are you and mom okay?”

“We’re fine, are you with Chloe? Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not, but we are helping her.”

“Okay. Adrien, your mom says to stay inside, it’s a war zone out there, alright?” Adrien glanced out the window, debris and ash flooded the sky.

“Yeah, we’ll stay here.”

“Good, love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad.” Adrien didn’t have time to dwell on the foreign feeling from the conversation. Suddenly the feeling in the pit of his stomach had virtually nothing to do with his dad and entirely to do with Ladybug. More students gathered in their classroom and Max’s live feed came onto the screen.

“Updates from Le Grand Paris, officials are pulling survivors from the wreckage, but so far only a few of the hundreds in the hotel seem to be alive. Among the dead, the mayor of Paris and his wife Andre and Andrey Bourgeois, rockstar Jagged Stone and many many more. Among the survivors are most of the kitchen staff, who had been in kitchens in the basement during the collapse.” Alya tried to hold in her relief, especially surrounded by so much tragedy, but hearing her mom is likely alive was the best news she received all day. “It is advised the people in Paris, especially within 4 miles of the hotel stay inside for the time being. The air is currently not safe to breathe due to ash and debris.”

After a few hours of painstaking waiting, Adrien decided to do something, it wasn’t the right time or place, but it seemed as though there was no other option, “Nino, Alya, Chloe, Marinette. Can I please talk to you in the hallway?”

Chloe had stopped sobbing a little while ago, too exhausted for more tears. Now she looked distant and numb, like Marinette had when the Le Grande Paris collapsed.

“Chloe, actually, if you don’t want to be a part of this--”

“Don’t, Agreste…” she threw her hand up to stop him from suggesting that she should be anywhere other than right here and stood, “Now more than ever, I know that something is very wrong. We need to fix it. And that starts with her,” Chloe pointed a thumb at Marinette.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Come on,” Adrien put his hand out to help Marinette off the floor. She’d been sitting with Chloe the whole time. She didn’t accept his hand, and stood herself.

“I don’t know what you guys think I’m responsible for but I’m not. Please just leave me out of it.” Marinette didn’t really look him in the eye, and futzed with her bangs.

“Mari, please.” The nickname made her squint at him, but his face was so pleading and panicked that she relented pretty quickly. He wasn’t alone in his resolve to look for a solution, a real solution that apparently no one else in Paris had, and all the people that did were crushed under Le Grand Paris.

Marinette followed Adrien out of the room to find Alya, Nino, and Chloe suddenly hush their conversation.

“Alright, what are you talking about?” Marinette crossed her arms.

“At most, solutions, at least, answers.” Nino shrugged.

“What makes you think I have them?”

“What all had weirdly eerie dreams last night, very similar to each other.” Adrien was talking softly, tiptoeing around her and possibly Chloe, like they were fragile. It pissed Mari off. Mari had come to realize Chloe as one of the strongest people she knew, bookended by these past few hours and right this second. She had lost her parents, and while surely still grieving, pushes for answers and solutions. She wasn’t fragile, not ever.

“Listen, Agreste, I didn’t have a dream last night, or the night before, or the night before that. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Honestly, Marinette, neither do I."

[podcastenthusiast]

Authors have been revealed for the gift exchange I took part in, so now I can post my fic here too! Just some post-160 angst and softness. (ao3 link)

New Year’s Eve after the apocalypse.

—-

New Year, New World

It would almost be an idyllic winter evening, were it not for the circumstances. A quaint cottage tucked away in the Scottish countryside. Snow blanketing the garden. A crackling fireplace to ward off the cold. Except the cottage is a safehouse that hasn’t felt truly safe in months. Boarded up windows obscure not just their view of gently falling snowflakes but, more importantly, the sky’s view of them. The fireplace became essential for light and heat once the generator died a few weeks ago.

Martin’s phone is largely useless these days, but his calendar app still works. He never expected they would still be in the Highlands at the year’s end. But he never expected any of this, really. Suddenly the world has been flooded with fourteen flavors of evil bullshit, and then Jon was in no state to travel anywhere for a while even if they did have a destination, and then Basira found them, and then they found Daisy.

And then and then and then…

Somehow, it is already New Year’s Eve. Not that the date or even the passage of linear time means as much as it used to anymore. The important thing is they are still alive and together which, selfish as it might be, is all Martin can bring himself to care about.

He glances down at Jon who is finally sleeping, as peacefully as he ever can, his head resting in Martin’s lap. At least the only nightmares he endures are completely his own. The Eye no longer appears to need its Archivist retreading others’ old traumas night after night.

There are more good days than bad ones now, on the whole. Today had been…decidedly not a good day. The Stranger, he assumes, or possibly the Spiral. Either way, for nearly an hour this morning Jon did not even know his own name, and he hadn’t recognized Martin at all.

“Dinner’s in ten minutes,” Basira tells him, entering the room. After a moment’s pause, she asks, “How’re you holding up?”

“We’re okay,” he replies almost automatically, like a mantra he’ll believe if he just repeats it enough. He threads his fingers through Jon’s hair.

“Not what I asked. How are you, Martin?”

“I’m, um… I’m scared, pretty much all the time. End of the world, y’know? And Jon—he’s right here with me, I know that, and he’s doing a lot better, I think. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. But I just…I can’t lose him again.”

“Yeah. I get it,” Basira says, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where Daisy is busy preparing something that…well, it looks almost like a chicken. “You’re his anchor, though, and he’s yours. I didn’t think that sort of thing really mattered. I mean, how could it? But it saved you from the Lonely. It brought Daisy back to me.”

“You think it can save him, too, if it comes to that?”

Basira shrugs. “It’s all we’ve got right now.”

—

Jon is distracted all through dinner, like he’s trying to catch the lyrics of a song playing quietly in the other room. It will be worse in London, Martin fears, but they can’t stay here forever. Jonah Magnus isn’t going to kill himself, after all.

Daisy pops the cork in a cheap bottle of champagne that she and Basira managed to scrounge up from a nearby village during their last supply run.

“So, think I might take up knitting,” she says. “Anyone else have an exciting resolution?”

Silence. It’s been quite a while since they let themselves contemplate anything beyond the immediate future.

“Fix the world, I guess?” Basira offers.

“Boring, but given the circumstances, I’ll allow it. Martin?”

“I suppose mine would be to start writing poetry again,” he says, sheepish.

“That’s more like it. What about you, Jon?”

There’s no answer. Jon is idly tracing impossible patterns—fractals, it looks like—on the surface of the wooden table.

Martin touches his hand. “Jon? Can you, um…see us?”

“Yes. Yes, I-I’m fine,” he says. “Sorry. What…”

“New Year’s resolutions. What’s yours?” Daisy asks. “Aside from finding a way to stop the eyepocalypse, obviously.”

“We are not calling it that.”

“Too late. You’re dodging the question, Sims.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. And uh—I think we should get a cat.” The last part he says to Martin specifically, who isn’t sure it counts as a resolution, strictly speaking, but he’s not about to mention that.

“Yeah,” Martin says, smiling. “I think we should, too.”

Daisy turns to Basira. “C’mon, let’s leave the lovebirds in peace.”

Jon chokes on his champagne. Martin feels his cheeks flush. They don’t usually…talk about it. There’s a lot of things they don’t talk about, in fact.

“I’ve missed her,” Jon says softly. And he had, Martin could tell, although Jon never said as much aloud during their three weeks of respite (“The eye of the storm,” he called it later. Martin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.) He’s just grateful that Jon has a friend, someone who was there for the man he loves when Martin couldn’t be.

—

It’s getting late. Basira takes first watch; Daisy is dozing on the couch before her own shift. They ought to be asleep as well. Jon is considerably more lucid than he has been all day, though, if the guilty expression is any indication, and now he’s just sort of…clinging to Martin. He never thought Jon would be such a tactile person, not that he minds at all. Things have changed between them since the Lonely in a number of ways. He is perfectly content to hold Jon close like this for as long as possible. Words are still a bit more difficult. They’re both trying, the best they can.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispers against Martin’s neck. “I keep ruining things. First Christmas and now…”

He is referring to another bad day; the Corruption, that time, or perhaps simply a normal illness intensified by Archivist powers. Jon had spent the entirety of Christmas in bed, delirious with fever, a blindfold tied tightly around his eyes. (It doesn’t actually stop the Seeing altogether, just helps take the edge off somewhat.) To be honest, it hardly even ranks in Martin’s personal top five worst Christmases.

“Can’t really blame you if the Eye’s a bit of a Grinch, right?”

Jon’s soft laugh, even muffled against Martin’s shoulder, has quickly become his favorite sound in the world.

“It’s just… I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

“You didn’t leave me, Jon. And besides, we agreed not to apologize for—”

“—being trapped, unconscious, or otherwise incapacitated. I know. But you deserve so much better than all this, Martin, especially after everything else I’ve put you through this year.”

“You were in a coma. That wasn’t your fault, either. None of this is,” Martin says firmly.

Jon sighs. “I suppose.”

He’s probably just too tired to argue the point, but Martin will take it. This is enough for now. It’s got to be.

“It’s midnight,” Martin says.

“Is it? I don’t think—”

“Do you want to know how I know?”

“Uh…yes?”

“Because I really want to kiss you.”

“Oh. Right. Well, it is traditional.”

Martin can hear the smile in Jon’s voice, which he adds to his mental list of favorite sounds in the world as Jon kisses him.

Whatever the next year holds, they’re going to face it together.

[crypticbeliever123]

Chapter 1 of my Superboy fanfic. 

Story synopsis:

Following the death of Superman a new hero has arrived, Superboy, a clone who claims to have been literally born yesterday. But is he really? Is this Boy of Steel nothing more than the showboating teen he seems to be or is there more to him than meets the eye? And what happens when a villain is revealed to be good and a hero is revealed to be a villain?

Lois Lane had been through a lot the past couple of weeks. Her husband, Clark Kent, Superman, was killed in an almost hopeless battle against a monster from outer space that has since become known as Doomsday. The creature had killed hundreds and left countless ruins in its wake as it came for him, for Superman. Why it had been searching for Clark and why it wanted him dead so badly no one knew, not even Bruce Wayne who was supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. The monster got what it wanted even at the cost of its own life. And her?

Lois lost the love of her life and father of her ten-year-old son Jon who still woke up screaming from nightmares of his father’s death. She’d have to stay with him every night and hold him as he cried himself to sleep just so that he would sleep. Needless to say, seeing your own father be brutally murdered by a mindless behemoth on television left quite a few traumas in the boy’s mind.

Following the funerals of Superman and Clark Kent, Lois threw herself into her work, desperate to try and move on from her grief. Jimmy was a sweetheart, even though he too had lost Clark, his best friend, he’d been nothing but a supportive shoulder for Lois to lean on in these difficult times, always bringing her fresh baked muffins and hot coffee from the local Jitters café. In return she did what she could to cheer him up now and again and gave him a big hug every time she saw him in the office. Though she knew Jimmy probably thought the hug was more for her own sake than his. In truth, it might have been a little of both.

Halfway through the day and Lois was busy revising a fluff piece she had written on the release of the latest Lexcorp product, a new virtual reality gaming system that had 4k graphics and stunning audio relay. It seemed trite in Lois’s opinion, creating a new VR game just like everyone else in the industry. Sure, it was a superior system, everything Lex made usually was, but it still just felt pointless after everything that had happened. Then her boss, Perry White, came up to her desk with something that wasn’t so pointless.

“Lane, robbery in progress on 38th and Siegel Avenue, hostages taken. I want you on the ground and reporting on it pronto. Take Olsen with you to work the camera. Go, go, go!”

“Yes, sir. Jimmy, we got work to do! Grab your camera!” Lois shouted out as she grabbed her gear and headed out.

“On it!”

They made it to the bank in record time and found a police barricade at the front of the bank. Lois and Jimmy quickly got to work reporting on the situation after asking a few basic questions to know what they would be reporting on.

“On the air in 3, 2,” Jimmy said, leaving off the one in place of a pointed finger as the camera got rolling.

“Good afternoon, this is Lois Lane reporting live from Shuster Bank on 38th and Siegel where a robbery is taking place. Officials say there are four perpetrators responsible for this crime and approximately twenty-three civilians being held hostage. Police have been unable to make contact with the hostage takers in order to begin negotiations but believe they can-”

A gust of air and a blur sped past them into the bank startling them out of focus.

“What was that?” Jimmy asked.

Suddenly gunshots started going off inside as two of the criminals got tossed through the doors and out of the building. More shots were fired as police moved in to try and control the situation.

“The situation has escalated. Police are moving in as we speak. It would seem from the perpetrators being thrown from the building that an as yet unidentified individual has sped into the bank in efforts to aid in the apprehension of these individuals. Hold on.”

Lois took a pause to turn around as the sound of bullets being fired ended and saw the criminals being walked away in handcuffs.

“Gunfire has ceased, and police are now filing everyone out of the building. The hostages appear to be shaken but unharmed. Excuse me, ma’am,” Lois said, approaching one of the officers, “can you tell me what just happened in there?”

“Hello Metropolis!” a voice shouted out to the crowd.

“Why don’t you ask him?” the officer replied, pointing a thumb behind her at the teenager hovering above the ground with a bright smile on his face as he waved to the onlookers and police officers.

The boy couldn’t have been older than 16. He was wearing a blue and red suit with Superman’s logo on the chest and a black jacket over top. His dark hair was cut into a fade and his face looked so much the spitting image of Clark’s high school yearbook photos that Lois was certain that his eyes would look blue behind those dark specs of his.

“Excuse me, young man, but might I ask who you are?” she questioned, approaching the teenager.

“Name’s Superboy, but don’t wear it out,” he replied, lowering his shades to wink at Lois with surprisingly green eyes.

“I see and would you care to explain these powers of yours?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a clone of Superman. Born yesterday. Literally.”

“Funny, I thought Superman had blue eyes, not green.”

“Yeah and he doesn’t have marble white skin and poor speech but as we’ve seen with Bizarro, cloning ain’t an exact science. Sometimes things go wrong. But enough about me. You came here to report on the bank robbery, right? Well here’s what happened. I flew in, punched the biggest guy in the face and bent his gun in half, the other three started shooting at me, bullets bounced right off; obviously. I used my heat vision and super strength to tear up a piece of the floor to use as a shield, so that when I grabbed the first guy and then a second one they wouldn’t get hit by bullets flying around when I tossed them out of the building. Then it was simply a matter of zipping up to the last two guys, crushing the gun barrels with my hands and punching them both in the face. Any questions?”

“Just one. If you’re a clone, who created you and more importantly, why?”

“That’s two questions actually but I’ll answer them anyway. I was created by an organization called Cadmus. Why they made me doesn’t matter. What matters is what I choose to do with my life and what I choose to do is to use my power to help people, protect people, just like Superman before me. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Lane, I hear a cat stuck in a tree over on Main Street, so I’ll have to catch you later. But ya know what? You being a reporter and all we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other so tell ya what,” he said, reaching down at his thigh holster to grab his phone from inside to hand to Lois. “You give me your number and if I ever feel like having a sit-down interview, you’ll get first dibs. Sound good?”

“Uh… okay,” Lois replied, not really sure how else to respond.

She tried taking advantage of having his phone in hand to look for his number so that she could call him for questions but found no sign of it on the device. After giving up and typing in her number she handed the phone back to the boy.

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch,” he said with a wink and a two-fingered salute as he flew off toward the East Side, leaving behind a bewildered Lois Lane who was trying to figure out what her opinions were on this kid.

He seemed nice enough, far from as humble as Clark ever was but a good kid for sure if his positive demeanor and heroic act were any indicator. But the fact he was a clone of Clark, and a clone he’d never gotten to meet was… well she was a bit uneasy about the whole concept. It was like finding out she had a long-lost stepson after losing the kid’s dad.

For a moment she wondered how Clark would’ve reacted in this situation. Would he have been happy to meet him and thought of him as a newfound son? Would he have been disturbed by the whole clone thing and brushed him off? Okay, probably not that one but still, for as well as she knew Clark, she didn’t have a freaking clue what he would’ve thought about meeting this Superboy.

She did know one thing though and quickly went to her phone’s contact list.

“Bruce, it’s Lois. I just met the most interesting person today and trust me when I say that you are definitely going to want to hear all about it.”

[nellie-elizabeth]

Outlander: All Debts Paid (3x03)

Yay!!!!! John Grey is amazing. I'm really happy that he's getting a good amount of screen time. This episode includes some of my favorite passages in Voyager, and I'm very pleased with how they were handled.

Cons:

I will admit that the pacing felt a tad off in the Ardsmuir scenes. In the books, this is stretched out over a long period of time. John Grey and Jamie Fraser go from vile hatred to respect, friendship, and even unrequited love on John's part over the course of countless meals and games of chess. Here, we only see key moments. They hate each other. Jamie escapes briefly. They have a confrontation. They're playing chess. John screws it up by coming on to Jamie. John leads Jamie away to his new life at Helwater. Not a ton of time for the friendship to breathe.

Okay, also: Murtagh is still alive. I mean on the one hand I'm thrilled because I love him dearly. But this feels like a rather strange deviation from the source material. One of the tragedies of Jamie's life is how isolated he is at this point in the story. In fact, that's one of the things that leads to his friendship with John, because he finds against all odds that he can talk to this man somewhat as an equal. All of that is a bit undercut if he still has Murtagh, a close personal friend and family member, to lean on emotionally during his time in prison. Maybe this is a nitpick, and in many ways I am thrilled that Murtagh is still around, but... I don't know. I wonder how his character is going to fit in moving forward.

Pros:

All of that being said, I really liked John Grey. He's a pompous Brit in many ways, but he has a heart. Note his horror at the thought of the prisoners eating rats, and his attempted benevolence at giving the cells cats to rid them of the rat problem. He also portrays no particular racism towards the Scots in dealing with them - in that, if he shows them disrespect or disdain it is because they are prisoners, not because they are Scottish. Jamie and John play off of each other with such interesting intensity. The scene where Jamie reveals he remembers John from their first meeting was one of the episode's highlights (although the weird flashbacks to last season's episode were a little distracting and certainly unnecessary).

Throughout all of these scenes in Ardsmuir, we also get to see Jamie rediscover a purpose in life. It takes a remarkable man to make the best out of such a situation, but Jamie quickly becomes the de facto leader and spokesperson for the prisoners, granting him a unique opportunity to keep company with the prison's governor. He comes alive in the act of caring for his sick kinsmen, in particular Murtagh who is in a really bad way. John helpfully sends a doctor to care for Murtagh, which is one of the things that begins a friendship between himself and Jamie Fraser.

And let's talk about that friendship. Like I said, there wasn't a ton of time for the relationship to develop, but what we did see promises good things for the future. They'll have time to get to know each other while Jamie is at Helwater, and I can see these two forming the special bond that is so important to all of us who have read the books. The fact that Jamie can speak to John about Claire, joke about the fact that when they first met, Claire was never in any real danger, and speak about her being a "White Witch" and a healer, shows how much Jamie has grown to respect John. He hasn't been able to talk openly about Claire since losing her, but now is a chance for a little bit of healing. Of course, this comes on the heels of John sharing his own loss with Jamie. He tells the story of how he lost a particular friend (aka: lover) at Culloden, and how he will grieve for him forever. Jamie doesn't seem repulsed by this not-so-subtle reveal of John's sexuality, but he certainly doesn't take kindly to it when John puts his hand on Jamie's, a gesture far too intimate for Jamie's comfort.

This moment is a big, big thing in the book, and it comes across with similar severity here. Sam Heughan does a phenomenal job. Here he is, in a prison, with a British officer, and that British officer is expressing sexual interest in him... Yeah. PTSD like nobody's business. Just moments before, these two men had been sharing intimate and personal details with each other, open and vulnerable emotionally in a way that neither of them can be very often. And then suddenly, Jamie is steel. He is immovable and angry and will definitely kill John Grey if he doesn't take his hand off of him right this second. You can see the anguish in John, as well. Somehow this actor manages to portray the agony of being forced to keep his true self hidden at all times - and then in a moment of closeness, trusting someone with that true self only to be rejected with anger and threats of violence. Of course, John has no idea the minefield he's just stepped into in regards to Jamie's past traumas. Oh, the drama. So delicious.

As the episode ends, John, and Jamie are on... uncertain footing with one another. John has saved Jamie from indentured servitude in the colonies, and has brought him to relative comfort as a groomsman at a large estate. This means their relationship will continue, as John will continue to visit him to check on his welfare. It's John's way of saying sorry for his indiscretion, as well as indicating that he cares for Jamie, and it's easy to tell that Jamie's not sure how to process that.

Oh boy. As you might be able to tell from my extensive ramblings, I'm really in to John Grey as a character. I can't wait for more of him. But now, on to the equally compelling plot thread with Claire and Frank and Bree.

See, this is an area where I think the changes from the book really work. Obviously they've decided to expand Claire's story so that she can keep pace with Jamie's story. So instead of learning about Claire's time in medical school, Brianna's childhood, and Frank's death through a few very brief moments of flashback, we play it out from beginning to end. Another change is that Frank is way more sympathetic here than in the book. In the book, he has a string of affairs and although Claire knows about it, she didn't give her express permission. Here, Claire allows Frank to live a separate life, and Frank falls in love with another woman. I like the fact that Claire doesn't seem like a saint here. She doesn't cheat on Frank, literally, but she's been emotionally unavailable to him since her return. Meanwhile, Frank would have loved nothing more than a happy marriage with Claire, but when he realized he couldn't have that, he tried to find happiness elsewhere - with Claire's knowledge and permission. Claire is distant to her daughter because of how busy she is with medical school, while Frank is a doting father to Brianna. The whole thing leaves an impression that Frank and Claire are both damaged people in a tough spot, but... Claire might be slightly more the villain in this case.

And that's interesting. It shows the uglier side of having a soul mate - the kind of love that Jamie and Claire have is the stuff of fairy-tales, but it causes a lot of collateral damage. In this case, Claire hurts Frank, a good man, and can't look at her own daughter without being reminded of what she's lost. This version of events also makes Frank's death a lot more tragic. We'd just finished hearing Frank talk about how he wants a divorce and wants to live out the rest of his life with a wife who loves him. And then - bam. That future is stolen from him. Claire's goodbye to Frank was really touching. She tells him - or rather, his body, that she did love him. He was her first love. Ouch.

We are creeping ever closer to the reunion of the century - or rather, centuries. It's smart to keep us in suspense about it. The books did the same thing, making the moment all the more intense when it happens. I'm excited about so many of the things that are coming down the pipe this season, and I'm thrilled that everything thus far has kept me captivated.

8.5/10

[donnerpartyofone]

Well your description of these "charismatic people with big personalities" is very astute, as is your reflection on the way you plunge into these relationships, so that's promising. It might seem simple to you, but a lot of people are much more blind about it, muddily summarizing the whole event as something that "just happens" to them every time they fall in love (even platonically), as if they're cursed. I would bet that with a little focus, you could train yourself to pofile these people and see them coming, since you've had plenty of study of them already. The harder part is rearranging your own behavior; like if you're reserved about yourself and you naturally send out more attention than you invite, it wouldn't be easy to just flip the script to ward off vampires. I would suggest that you could monitor how much energy you're sinking into new relationships from the start, as if you were watching your gas tank. This is a weird metaphor to use because I hate money, but you really can think of relationships in terms of economics. How much am I investing in X? What kind of return am I seeing on it? Do I have a legitimate reason to believe that that it will pay off later, or am I just hoping it will? If I'm probably not going to break even, is there a reason I feel comfortable being so "altruistic" and can I clearly articulate what that is? Just to elaborate on what I was originally talking about, I'm lucky in that I don't get very lonely, so I don't readily start new friendships or anything, making it easy for me prevent the kinds of situations you're describing. I've had LOTS of them though, from the time I was old enough to start making my own friends to the time I was somewhere in my teens, with a few nasty blips on the other side of that. At some point I realized I just didn't like the way it made me feel, so now I'm naturally repulsed by big personalities--which has its own problems, if I just reflexively reject literally anyone charismatic even if the case is that they're really cool and interesting. I certainly have some real friendships with people with difficult personality tics that are hard to manage, but I know I'm resigned to them. So yeah, when this type of thing DOES happen to me now, its rarity makes me extra confused about how to handle it. I was definitely complaining, originally, about someone (or generally, people) who snuck up on me circumstantially, quickly declared that they love me and I'm their true friend, and now I have this pal who regularly surprises me with their ability to make a simple, straightforward interaction into an exhausting trial over which I have no control. I'm in too deep to just casually stop returning their messages, like I normally would, but not in deep enough that I feel like this difficulty is totally balanced out by how much I love this person. Otherwise I probably wouldn't be so frustrated. (plus I need her to cut my hair...) As I said, this doesn't happen to me a lot these days since I've developed a healthy resentment about it, and I've become extremely selfish with my time in general. But man, another example is, I met this girl a little while ago who seemed really cool, and had done some legit horror movie makeup, so I thought obviously we should hang out. I should have remembered why it is that I rarely make new buddies, and I also should have heeded my insecure prejudice that all hot people just want attention and you can't trust them. True to the pattern we're both describing, she also has some serious trauma under her belt, which she is frank about online, and which clearly fuels her behavior. Since we met, the only thing that happens is this: She sends me these needy texts about how much she would LOVE to see me or how she NEEDS some "girl time" because of some personal problem, and as soon as I consent, she suddenly goes "Aw sorry babe I'm SUPER BUSY, maybe next week but we'll have to see...", as if I were the one begging for HER attention. Sometimes I think it's triggered by the fact that I don't hop-to, like I'm never prepared to spontaneously hang out with anyone, so I think maybe when I say "can we try next week?" instead of immediately getting in a cab, she automatically says she's too busy to see me as a form of protecting herself from perceived rejection. Part of the reason I think this is, sometimes these text interactions are even briefer: HER: Hey stranger! ME: ("Oh god, I really don't want to deal with this person...but I don't want to be rude...*waits 20minutes*) Hey, how are you? HER: *doesn't respond until it's too late to hang out anyway, OR goes complete silent for MONTHS* In any case it's become really obvious that she's just using me to feel desirable because she senses I'm a good attention-giver, and now every time she tries to get me into this cat and mouse game I feel like saying YOU KNOW I'M NOT TRYING TO FUCK YOU, RIGHT? COULD YOU PLEASE JUST LOSE MY NUMBER ALREADY? Digital age problems.