#and then everything is all peachy keen and ya

[renoxvated]

they helped me track you down. from jamie c:

He was nursing a cigarettes in-between his lips, standing on a sidewalk in GOODNEIGHBOR when he hears footsteps approach him. Six tenses before a familiar voice rests itself in his ears. There's a moment where The Courier pauses, like his thoughts have to catch up with him, or maybe it was something else, he didn't know; he's quiet all the same. Roy moves golden digits to hold his cigarette that had suddenly hung very precariously in his lips, when he turns around to see none other than Colonel Lawson. He nearly drops the cigarette from his metal fingers as a shock of EXCITEMENT tinges down his spine. He hadn't expected to see Jamie here, but it would seem that every road in Boston leads it's way back to the man standing before him. "Must of had to take awhile," he pauses, he'd been fairly busy meandering through the world and getting caught up in it, but he had a home to go back to and a package to eventually deliver-- there was no outrunning or wandering that. "but I imagine there's no rock you can't upturn to find somebody out here." He finally offers a grin, one that eventually dips into more of a soft smile-- surprise still written on his face, but that was more on account that Jamie had even tracked him down to start with. "If we keep meetin' like this I'm gonna start thinkin' ya' like my company or somethin' Colonel." He snorts, putting an emphasis on the title. Roy takes a moment to cock his head to the side, raising his hand up to take a drag shortly after. Long exhale leaving him as brown eyes look to Jamie. "Though I gotta wonder if ya' searchin' for me is business or pleasure, is everything s'allright is what I'm sayin'?" The Courier couldn't lie, or maybe that's all he could do-- but every time their paths parted ways he always wondered if it was the last time he'd see the man. "If it's the former ya' know I've got ya' covered, just tell me where to punch er' shoot and if it's the latter? Well color me peachy fuckin' keen and happy to see ya' Sunshine."

[coocoobananaz]

WHY COULDNT CHRISSY BE APART OF THE GANG WTF WHY DID SHE HAVE TO DIE

[bristark616]

multiversal soulmates - part two

pairing: tasm!peter x stark!avenger!reader

word count: about 1.5k

warnings: mentions of blood. i think that’s it?

summary: Let’s cure some ass! Only problem? Electro’s gotten his hands on some Stark tech. In comes (Y/N) Stark, ready to take back the arc reactor. What she wasn’t ready for, however, was meeting that Peter Parker.

a/n: heeeeyyyy besties!!!! told ya i’d keep you updated if i strayed away from canon any more. basically, i wrote this so that doctor strange had to send everyone back to their universes individually, as opposed to just one spell that sends them all away. not too big of a change, right? oh, and the whole “who’s peter parker” thing is just nonexistent here LMAO. the multiverse gets closed and everything is peachy keen. happy reading!

“I’ve been dangling over the Grand Canyon for twelve. Hours.” Doctor Strange said angrily. “This ends now.”

“Strange, wait!” (Y/N) yelled, placing herself between him and Peter One.

“Oh great; he roped you into this too? This has to stop, Stark; can’t you see that?”

“His plan is working! He’s curing them!”

“I don’t care! It’s too – what the hell is this?”

Peter Two and Peter Three had just swung down to their level, standing on either side of (Y/N), helping her in her attempts to shield Peter One from Doctor Strange.

“Oh, Doctor Strange, these are my friends,” Peter One introduced, stepping out to the front. “Peter Parker, Peter Parker – Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They’re mes from other universes. Guys, this is the wizard I was telling you about.”

“You were in the Grand Canyon?” Peter Two asked angrily.

Peter Three nodded in support. “He could’ve used your help!”

“It’s fine,” Peter One said. “Strange, you can’t send them back yet.”

“And why not?”

“Can the Spider-Man come out to play?”

The sound of Green Goblin’s voice pulled everyone’s attention away from the spell box. Osborn threw a handful of bombs at the group. The three Peters, (Y/N), and Doc Ock moved quickly, shielding the spell box hovering between Strange’s hands. In the midst of the chaos, a pumpkin bomb landed right in the center of the box. Peter One noticed before anyone else.

“Strange, no!”

The box exploded, and the scaffolding beneath their feet began to shake. There was a scramble for security as the metal beams began to tip. Doctor Strange’s cloak was enough to save him. Peter One webbed MJ and Ned, holding them securely as he lowered them all down. Peter Two took to Electro and Doc Ock. Then there was (Y/N), who fell backwards off the platform.

“NO!”

Peter Three launched himself off of the highest point of the scaffolding mere milliseconds after seeing her fall. Tears were already blinding his vision as he expected the worst. He shot a stream of webs from his wrist that landed right at (Y/N)’s stomach. Using all of the strength he could muster with one hand, he pulled her up into his arms – all the while, slowing down their descent with another web. Peter landed safely and gently, with (Y/N) clinging to his chest as he held her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice trembling as he looked down at her.

She nodded, tears flooding her eyes as well. “A – are you?”

He nodded as well, shutting his eyes tightly as he rested his forehead against hers. Peter could hear (Y/N)’s heart pounding against her chest, thanks to his advanced senses. He bumped his nose against hers gently, his lips lightly brushing against hers as he spoke.

“I got you,” he whispered, lips hovering over hers. “I got you.”

She let out a soft whimper in approval as Peter’s mouth met hers with an urgence that could only come up after a brush with death. The kiss was passionate but tender, and their mouths worked in perfect sync – like a dance that they’ve practiced their entire lives. Peter swiped his tongue along her bottom lips, silently asking permission to enter her mouth. She parted her lips for him, bringing a hand up to hold his face down to hers as he slipped his tongue past her lips. They stayed together, lips locked and tongues ties, for as long as they could. It was Peter Two who eventually got them to pull apart.

“You two done down there?” He called down from where he was swinging by Lady Liberty’s head. “We’d love to have you back!”

“You good?” (Y/N) asked breathlessly, giggling as Peter chased her lips when she pulled apart.

“Mhmm,” he mumbled into her mouth. “Hold on.”

Still holding her tightly in his arms, Peter swung them out of the way of the rubble and over to where the fight against the Green Goblin ensued.

•••

“I gotcha! I gotcha.”

Peter Three caught (Y/N) from under her arms just as she lost her balance. A groan fell from her lips when he helped her onto her feet. Her vision was white from pain, so she shut her eyes tightly. She didn’t open them until she felt Peter’s forehead to fall gently against hers.

“I think some of your ribs are broken,” he observed quietly.

“Yup – they definitely feel broken,” she moaned. “How can you tell? I – is it your Peter tingle?”

“My Peter tingle?” He giggled. “Uh, yeah. If that’s what you wanna call it. You okay? Can you walk?”

She nodded against his forehead, their noses rubbing together at the movement. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Peter held her face in his hands, studying her with a frown. There was a cut at her temple that was barely bleeding, but the sight of any amount of blood was enough to worry him. He wiped a dab of the scarlet fluid away with the pad of his thumb, rubbing it into the fabric of his suit, right at his thigh.

“I’m fine, Peter,” she insisted, looking up at him sweetly. “Promise.”

“Stark.”

(Y/N) whipped around – a little too fast, but Peter was there to steady her. Doctor Strange was standing before them, barring a solemn expression. Orange ruins were glowing around his forearms. He had already sent everyone home – everyone but Peter Three. (Y/N)’s heart sunk and tears quickly flooded her eyes.

“No, no, no. Strange, please.”

Strange studied them carefully. (Y/N) was standing in front of Peter Three with her arms outstretched, attempting to shield his body with her own. The latter was holding her waist at a spot a little too low for strangers. Both her and Peter had tears in their eyes. They had gotten attached alarmingly quick. It was as though they physically could not stay away from one another. Strange felt it, too – that strong, cosmic energy that was pushing them together. How or why this happened, he didn’t know. But it was concerning, nonetheless. Strange had no idea what kind of repercussions a multiversal attachment like that could have. Peter needed to leave, and fast.

“Every second he spends here is dangerous,” Doctor Strange said. “The fabric of reality is too fragile for him to stay.”

“Just give us more time. Please,” she begged, tears now freely falling down her cheeks. “Please.”

He gave in to their tears. “Three minutes. But make it quick.”

Ignoring the fact that Strange, Peter One, MJ, and Ned were all watching them, Peter spun (Y/N) around and pulled her in for a kiss. She immediately wrapped her arms around his waist, gripping the spandex of his suit in her hands tightly. Her injuries went forgotten; their attention grasped by the fact that they only had minutes left together.

“Peter,” she mumbled, pulling apart to look up at him. She wanted to look at him as long as she possibly could – she wanted to commit every single detail of his face to memory before he left. “I – I’m – “

“I know, I know,” he whispered, running his spandex-covered thumbs along the height of her cheekbones. His heart was breaking more and more by the second. The thought of leaving her, the desperate look in her beautiful eyes, the way her voice cracked through her tears – it all made Peter feel like he was being stabbed in the chest. “I know.”

“I’ll bring you back,” she insisted. Her voice was determined, despite its trembling from her tears. “I don’t know how, but I will.”

“I know you will.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I don’t wanna get rid of you,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. He attempted to hide his pain with a smile, wanting to be strong for her, but he failed miserably. “I – I don’t wanna leave you. I don’t wanna go.”

(Y/N) brought a hand up to the back of his neck, running her fingers through his fluffy brown hair at the nape of his neck. He gave her another kiss, the saltiness of their tears coating their lips.

Peter pulled back with a groan when a burning sensation took over his body. He knew he was being sent home – it was the same feeling he experienced when he was brought here earlier. He looked down at (Y/N), who was sobbing in his arms, holding him tightly.

“No, no, no – Peter.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, smiling at her through his tears. He wanted to make sure that the last thing she saw of him was a smile. “Everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go.”

“You’re gonna bring me back. You said you would.”

“I will – “

“Then this isn’t gonna be the last time we see each other.” He was in a lot of pain now – he’d be gone in seconds; he could feel it. But he still put on a brave face. “I’ll see you soon, my love.”

She could feel him slipping from her grasp, despite him not making any efforts to step away from her. She held him tighter, but it was no use.

“No, no. Don’t – don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Peter – “

And just like that he was gone.

part three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ taglist! 

@taina-eny @ssophiebirkas @nickangel13 @sagestuffing @imadamselindistressicanhandelit @hellothereobi @aubreylovesthegames​ @todaywasafairytale07​ @milkiane

[ddarker-dreams]

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID THE TRUTH.

I admit that i enjoyed act 3 but it feels like really rushed i have so much complain with that.

The build up until act 2 was so good it give us so much premise but the final blow si meh. Sorry that i want to share thing long rant with you

1. Why the final talk is with yae, no offense to her but we need ei to explain not to mention she witness khaenriah downfall so she can give us more information, i feel like they do it for the plot armor so they can just keep dragging this

2. So many things that quite inconsistant, the shogun is show no mercy to anyone that even did a little thing outside what she think its right, how come she can still have a talk with signora, when sara is falling like that, and also there is no clarification about sara right now.

The traveler was so done at first they refuse to help thoma and ayaka at the beginning. But they seem so happy and forget everything how come they are not RAGE ( okay maybe this is to bias and personal) when this nation provide nothing about our siblings information and also why they are not mention anything about their problem in ei stroy quest. Its nonsense! She is right in front of youu, ask about your siblings, ask about khaenriah, ask about ukmown god!!. How come they can just forget like that. Also mihoyo really waste the potential about twin things i thing ei will give us so much help bcs of the sympathy that we both rn lost our twin but noooo.

3. Kokomi seem lost some brain cell, she make a very succesfull grand intro but she become meh in act 3, how come a great strategist like her let the sus sponsorship slip just bcs they are desperate, not to mention her screen time is really small and her role seem so unsignificant and it feels lile she is a plain npc.

4. The awesome world quest that we have done doesnt get any mention at all! Inazuma owe us so much with cleansing sakura, thunder sakura, tatarigami, obarashi quest. It has so much potential that yae or ei or anyone else aknowledge what traveler has been done but nooo.

cracks knuckles... i suppose it's time for my promised dissertation. interestingly enough, you touched on a lot of the main issues i had with chapter III.

i think that if i had to pin the main issue, it's a lack of overall cohesiveness? we were jumping all over the place without the chance to ever flesh things out. inazuma is a smaller cast, but i feel like we didn't get to see any of them shine. since i'm most interested in the genshin characters, i'll break down my problems by going over everyone and their (lack) of impact on the story.

was ayaka not questioned or placed under suspicion for being close to thoma before his escape? i wanted to see her broken up over her duties as they relate to the yashiro commission, paired with having someone she genuinely cares about in danger. it would've been an interesting struggle if she was forced to choose one or the other. instead she just kinda took a back seat.

speaking of thoma, i don't even have anything to say, because he just... was there? for .0001 seconds. said "lol this sucks ig" and that's about it. i know we're going to get a story for him in the future since he's a 5* but i'm not getting my hopes up 😭 then in the raiden shogun's character story, man is peachy keen! be upset with the raiden shogun! have some inner conflict! even if it's just using loaded language because he's under surveillance for going against the raiden shogun, that'd be so cool. saying something like,

"Traveler, what's with that expression? Oh please, there's nothing to worry about. We're under the Statue of the Omnipresent God's protection. Nothing bad has ever happened here." *wink*

i also don't know what to say about gorou. he was... there....... i think. what is he fighting for? what are the stakes for him? what makes him place so much trust into kokomi? i'm out of things to say about him because i don't remember anything he did or said.

kokomi... oh kokomi... i was so hyped. so excited. i thought that maybe we could see a foil to the raiden shogun. that she'd have a moment where she's forced to realize, just like her opponent, sacrifices must be made that will hurt people who will never understand why she made them. or maybe something to show her military prowess. but instead she just accepts a mysterious patron's help (?), sees her people aging like the grateful dead from JJBA, and goes oh well. that sucks. what can ya do. oh bye traveler i guess, good luck with that. ????????????? HUH... similar case to thoma where she's gonna get a character story but like. she won't be the leader of the resistance anymore. that was her whole shtick. they took her shtick away. also she forced me to interact with more NPCs whose names i've already forgotten so i'm tilted about that still.

KUJOU SARA... AN INJUSTICE. A DISGRACE. a slap to my woman loving face. the build up was there. yae miko's comments about sara probably knowing the tenryou commission is involved in shady dealings, but is choosing not to think about it. sara being forced to confront reality and challenge her adopted father with the truth. being able to blaze a new path for herself in the process. when she started running to the raiden shogun i was ultra hyped up. sara, a devotee to the shogun for so long, was about to see her god interacting with the same people who led inazuma to this awful state. how would she react? would she stay ignorant, like yae miko so coyly said, choosing to look away in favor of following her god's footsteps? or would she be forced to recognize the raiden shogun isn't as divine as she once thought, and challenge her belief system?

we open the door to see the raiden shogun. the loading screen ensues. the camera pans to the ominous room, clouded in darkness, hinting at the ominous confrontation that is to come. the music takes a serious timbre. and then...

well fuck that potential character arc i guess. (we still don't know what sara made of any of this since she poofed out of existence from the story at this point)

kazuha also was handed a similar treatment. we've been with him for a while longer now. he is our introduction into inazuma, the one who first gets us emotionally involved by regaling us with the bittersweet tale of friendship that led him to becoming a wanted criminal. a kind soul who loves nature yet was dealt a cruel hand by fate, forced to watch his home nation turn into a hostile place, where his dear friend ultimately perished as a result. we get the scene with his friend's vision lighting back up. he parries a block from the raiden shogun, in the same area where his friend was killed by her. the parallels. the drama. except this time, he wasn't too late. he protected the traveler where he "failed" to protect his friend in the past. did he feel redemption at this? or was it a bittersweet reminder of what could've been?

WELL i guess we'll never know because we didn't get to talk to him again 😭 idk who got a bait and switch worse, him or sara. jesus christ mihoyo.

then we have signora. why is the raiden shogun talking to her? does she know about the gnosis being taken, and if she doesn't, what was her plan to get it from the archon? what does she think about scaramouche? and oh, okay, we're fighting here now. good fight + god tier music. pog pog. okay, now we've beaten her up, and raiden shogun wyd— wait no not signora her lore is still on CUPS not YET raiden shogun and— ah she's dead. okay. non nerds who didn't read artifact lore are going to know nothing about her. signora has such an interesting story, and yet... well. ok.

then we get raiden shogun redemption (?) arc. i was hype for this as well, though at that point, idk why i bothered being hype. i knew they were gonna do a cute power of friendship something or another, and i'm good with that, so long as it's executed well. what i was envisioning was like seven different buffs to correspond with the seven different visions, the dreams of those whose ambitions were stolen serving as the spear to penetrate the raiden shogun's heart of stone. maybe a hydro vision giving us extra healing for a time, with the voice acting over it being like,

"Even if the rest of the world forgets us, let our will carry you through this one final time. Succeed where we couldn't, Traveler."

so on and so forth.

but instead we got— you get the idea at this point. why bother spelling it out anymore.

at that point i was surprised the raiden shogun didn't go "oopsie woopsie!! we made a fucky wucky!!!" because that was the vibe i was getting. i love ei, don't get me wrong, but i wanted to see her challenged with what she had done to inazuma in the past year. maybe meeting NPC #2345259 who lost her sister to the vision decree or something, reminding ei of the love she held for her sister... being forced to come to terms with the extent of what she's done in pursuit of eternity.

anyway. please for the love of god mihoyo hire better writers for the main story. that is all i ask. thank you.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Nineteen-Part Three)

Summary: (Y/N), Jack and their friends finally face off against Leviathan and the Secret Empire.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers:  None

A/N: Ya girl wrote this while dealing with sleep deprivation, cramps and the after effects of the vaccine, so I hope it’s good ‘cause at this point I can’t even tell lol Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen (Part III) Leviathan’s Weapons Facility, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic (Previous Chapter)

While the two of them were ushered down the staircase that led into the crate-filled warehouse by Michael and Dottie, (Y/N)’s mind raced as she struggled to think of a way out of their current conundrum. I’ve been in plenty of tough scrapes before but even I’ll admit that this one’s the toughest one yet, she thought to herself, her eyes rapidly scanning the large room; there were large, frost-covered windows towards the ceiling, several boarded-up skylights and the two metal doors she spotted were both guarded by Leviathan soldiers. By the time they reached the base of the stairs, (Y/N) had counted a total of twenty armed enemy operatives – seventeen Leviathan guards, Attwell, Underwood and Michael Carter – and from the brief glimpse she’d gotten of their friends hidden behind a stack of crates, it looked as though both Pinkerton and Sawyer were badly injured and the others were trying to bandage their blood-soaked wounds. So, we’re out-gunned and out-numbered, she concluded with a sinking feeling as she bit her lip in worry.

“So, Chief Thompson did survive his daring escape!” Attwell grinned, walking out into the empty space amidst the crates and standing before the two of them. “Truth be told, I was hoping that we’d meet again; I detest leaving loose ends, and killing the SSR’s golden boy once and for all would’ve been a genuine pleasure.”

Beside (Y/N), Jack’s shoulders tensed but he tilted his head to the side in mock contemplation. “What, you couldn’t do it without your Leviathan goons backing you up? What a real tough guy.”

Attwell’s fist quickly connected with Jack’s stomach and when he doubled over in pain, the man struck him across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground. “Stop it!” (Y/N) started towards her partner but the sudden feeling of a pistol barrel against the back of her neck stopped her cold; tearing her eyes away from Jack, she met Attwell’s gaze and struggled to keep her voice steady as she spoke, “He’s not the one who’s screwing up your deal with Leviathan, I am.”

“Of course, of course, the infamous codebreaker.” Attwell stepped closer but she held her ground, raising her chin in defiance and refusing to look away despite how uncomfortable his stare made her feel. After a tension-filled moment, his face broke out into a stomach-churning smirk. “It’s a shame that such promising talent’s being squandered by the SSR, by those who dismiss and condescend you at every turn. I was very much like you before joining Hydra; I was overshadowed at Cambridge by my perfect older brother and his two brilliant flatmates; while William, Michael and Adam flourished in their respective fields of study, I floundered and was subsequently expelled but as luck would have it, I was approached by Hydra and offered a chance to unlock my true potential; and here I stand before you, Agent (Y/L/N), to offer you that very-same chance. With the new Leviathan, your immeasurable skills would not only be recognized but they’d also be celebrated. You and Michael could work side-by-side in our efforts to break through as the world’s leading superpower and once we achieve our goal of fully weaponizing Zodiac, Agent (Y/L/N), you’ll have everything you’ve ever truly desired.”

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) noticed Jack’s hand resting on his waist and while Attwell talked, her partner’s index finger had tapped away. It only took her seconds to realize he was sending out a message in Morse Code on the walkie-talkie still clipped onto his belt and once she did, she knew exactly what she needed to do.

“You know, it’s a good thing you’re decent at codebreaking, Specs, ‘cause you’d make a pretty shit spy. You fidget too much.”

If Jack can think up an off-the-cuff plan to get us out of this mess then I can buy us all a little time by being a good spy, she thought with resolve just as Attwell finished up his speech. Taking a page out of her partner’s book, (Y/N) raised an incredulous brow at the man as the corner of her mouth curled into a humorless smile. “There was a time when I would’ve given just about anything for people to recognize me and my skills, to appreciate just how hard I’ve worked to get where I am today. But then I grew up and realized that the only person whose appreciation I needed was my own. Mr. Attwell, I don’t need to be celebrated or appreciated by anyone, but especially not by a pathetic imitation of the Red Skull.”

The man’s expression instantly grew cold at the comparison. “Then it would seem that you’re of no use to us.” His gaze shifted to look at whoever was holding her at gunpoint and he nodded. “Shoot her, Michael.”

“Stop!” All of them looked over just as Peggy jumped out from behind their makeshift barricade with her rifle pointed directly at Attwell. “I’ll give you the key.”

“Peggy, no!” The barrel of the pistol pressed harder into (Y/N)’s neck and she winced in pain. However, her horror was quickly replaced with dawning comprehension when Peggy flashed her a pointed look before briefly glancing in Jack’s direction. She knows about whatever Jack’s planning, she silently realized, playing along with her old friend’s ruse by rearranging her features into a look of righteous indignation.

Moving to stand beside Attwell, Dottie raised the hand that wasn’t holding her rifle and gave the younger woman a small wave. “Hiya, Peggy. You know, you really should’ve listened to me back in New York; I told you there were currencies in the world stronger than money. I practically spelled all of this out for you! But the great Peggy Carter couldn’t figure it all out on her own, so she needed the help of…” Dottie turned to (Y/N) with a frown. “What’re those revolting nicknames you call each-? Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Turning back to Peggy, the spy shrugged. “Well, I suppose not everyone’s perfect, are they?”

“No, they’re certainly not.” Attwell agreed, gesturing with his head for Peggy to lower her weapon and holding out his hand once she’d set it on the ground. “No tricks, Agent Carter. The key, and you and your friends are free to go; it appears that at least one of them is in need of medical attention, so I’d be quick about it if I were you.” When Peggy’s eyes flicked over to where Michael was standing behind (Y/N), Attwell chuckled darkly and shook his head. “No, I don’t think dear old Michael’s going anywhere but by all means, Agent, go ahead and ask him if you don’t believe me.”

For the first time since they were ushered into the warehouse, Peggy looked directly at her older brother. Her hardened expression slipped and for the briefest of moments, (Y/N) recognized the vulnerable young woman she’d known all those years ago at Bletchley Park who mourned her beloved brother’s death. While her lower lip trembled, Peggy finally addressed Michael. “Not too long ago, I had a dream about you and you told me that you’d be right alongside me if you could. I didn’t believe it was possible, even when (Y/N) and Jack told me it was, but now we have a second chance at being a family again. Michael, you can finally come home.” She blinked away her tears and gave him the ghost of an encouraging smile. “Please, Michael, come home with me.”

(Y/N) could feel the pressure on her neck ease up but just as she was beginning to think that Peggy had succeeded in getting through to him, Michael coolly replied, “This is my family, Agent, the only family I have in this world.”

Peggy’s face crumpled as Attwell laughed in amusement. “I told you so! Now, the key for your friends.”

God, I hope that whatever Jack’s planning happens sooner rather than later, (Y/N) silently prayed, sucking in a breath while the younger woman approached Attwell. Once Peggy reached into her pocket and withdrew the familiar Arena Club pin, the man looked over at Dottie and gave her a nod; the spy slung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and made her way over to one of the many wooden crates near them, kicking the lid off of it and lifting a small metal box out of the loose excelsior. The box looked innocent enough but as Dottie walked it over to Attwell, (Y/N)’s blood ran cold and she knew that the moment Peggy handed over that key, Leviathan would possess one of the world’s deadliest weapons and they’ll have lost.

“Get up, Chief Thompson,” Michael barked and while Jack got to his feet, (Y/N) was roughly pushed towards him. “And you, stand over there with him.”

(Y/N) did as he said, standing beside Jack and keeping her eyes on the scene unfolding before them as she murmured, “You okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Peachy-keen.” She watched Dottie hand the metal box over to Attwell, her anxiety steadily building within her while he examined the box’s intricate lock. “Are you going to fill me in on the plan or what?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth curled upwards and he quietly replied, “Patience is a virtue, Specs, just be ready for it.”

“Be ready for wha-?”

Just then as Peggy’s hand stretched out to give Attwell the Arena Club pin, the warehouse wall opposite them exploded. Rubble and splintered pieces of crates flew through the air but before (Y/N) could fully react, gunfire broke out all around them. Amidst the chaos, Jack latched onto (Y/N)’s hand and ran, yanking her behind the nearest tower of crates as bullets whizzed past their heads; both of them crouched on the ground and peeked around the wooden crates, and her eyes widened in amazement at what she saw. The explosion that had knocked down part of the warehouse wall hadn’t been an explosion at all but rather one of the Howlies’ trucks and as (Y/N) watched, Daniel and Henry used the truck’s doors as barriers while they exchanged fire with the Leviathan guards. Moments later, she spotted Peggy dart out from one of the aisles to join her boyfriend behind the open truck door.

“Wa-Hoo!”

Dugan’s deafening war cry from across the warehouse was punctuated by a fresh barrage of gunfire, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but revel at the familiarity of it all; her eyes were suddenly drawn to two men sprinting down the aisle towards her and Jack, and it took her a tense moment to recognize them through all the chaos.

“There you guys are!” Howard exclaimed before ducking down beside them, followed closely by an anxious-looking Edwin Jarvis. Reaching into the satchel that was slung over his shoulders, the inventor withdrew two handguns and offered the weapons to them. “You know, you two’ve got a real habit of gettin’ into trouble…”

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Says the man who was mind-controlled into almost gassing all of New York last year.” Springing up, he fired off several shots before ducking back down. “How’re we looking, Jarvis?”

“Well, Chief Sousa’s dramatic entrance provided enough of a distraction for Mr. Fieldman to escort Mr. Pinkerton and Mr. Sawyer out the front; their wounds aren’t life-threatening, but Mr. Fieldman promised he’d help treat them once they reach the clearing.” The butler set another satchel on the ground in front of them. “And we’ve brought more guns and ammunition, as per your request.”

“You know, Thompson, you said in your message that you needed a big diversion, but that whole entrance was my idea; I actually took it from one of my studio’s newest scripts, where a gangster steals-”

“Of course, Mr. Stark, your genius knows no bounds.” Edwin hurriedly interrupted the inventor’s rambling, glancing over at (Y/N) with his brow furrowed in worry. “And have you broken Mr. Carter out of his brainwashing? Where is he?”

Looking around the edge of the crate, (Y/N)’s heart dropped when noticed that several important people were missing from the gunfight. “Where the hell did they go, Jack?”

Jack craned his neck to see what she was looking at and swore loudly. “Shit, I-wait, they’re on the stairs!” By the time (Y/N) spotted them, Attwell, Dottie and Michael had reached the top of the stairs and had disappeared around the corner. “Jarvis, stay here with Stark and cover us, then go help the others.” Edwin nodded and her partner turned towards her, his blue eyes scanning her face for any signs of trepidation as he asked, “Are you ready, Specs?”

“As I’ll ever be,” (Y/N) pulled an extra ammunition magazine out of the satchel and tucked it into her pocket before giving Jack a determined nod. “Let’s finish this once and for all, Flyboy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Compared to the chaotic warehouse they’d come from, the rest of the facility was eerily silent and it wasn’t at-all difficult to follow the footsteps of the fleeing trio through the deserted hallways.

“You know that this is probably a trap, right?”

“Naturally.”

“Good. Just wanted to make sure that we’re both on the same page.”

Before (Y/N) could get another word in, a figure she soon recognized as Dottie dropped down from above them and began attacking; the spy kicked the guns out of their hands, ramming her knee into (Y/N)’s stomach and knocking the wind out of her before spinning and using her leg to slam Jack into the wall beside them. (Y/N) took advantage of Dottie’s momentary distraction and aimed a side-kick at her thigh, but the spy merely turned her sharp fall into a somersault; she stood and threw a punch that (Y/N) was quick to duck, and then she grabbed the spy’s extended arm with the intent of wrenching it behind her back. Dottie predicted the move, yanking her arm free only to wrap her hand around her throat and roughly shove her back against the wall.

The back of (Y/N)’s head erupted into a sharp pain while Dottie flashed her a condescending smile. “I already told you, you’re too easy! It’s almost pathetic to see you try so hard to be as good as Peggy.”

“Don’t need to be as good as Peggy,” (Y/N) choked out as the fingers around her throat tightened. “Just…just good enough to keep you distracted.”

Dottie frowned in confusion and that’s when Jack slammed the butt of his gun against the back of her head. The spy tumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap and (Y/N) doubled over, her hands firmly clutching her knees as she coughed and gasped for air. “(Y/N), you okay?” She nodded and allowed Jack to take hold of her shoulders, his soothing encouragements helping her finally regain her breath; once he was sure that she was fine, her partner handed over her dropped gun and rested his hand against the small of her back to urge her forward. “C’mon, let’s go…”

They left the motionless spy behind and continued down the hallway, turning the corner and finding themselves at the entrance of a dimly-lit boiler room. Beside (Y/N), Jack shuddered and she recalled the story he’d told her of the mission he and Peggy had conducted to investigate one of Leviathan’s training facilities; she nudged him with her elbow and gave him a brief smile, wishing that she could offer him more comfort but not wanting to distract them both from their mission. Jack nodded as if to say he was fine, but his shoulders remained tense while he silently gestured for her to go left into the room while he went right.

(Y/N) crept behind the various boilers and pipes, careful not to slip on the slick ground as she did. If I end up surviving all this, I think I’m going to sleep for a week straight, she thought to herself, her heart rate steadily increasing with each step she took. While she edged herself around another heavy piece of industrial furnacing, she found herself trying to think of how to break Michael out of his mind-control long enough to save him; Jack insisted that cognitive re-calibration was the only way but after being present for Peggy and Michael’s reunion, she wondered if reminding him of his past or even recent actions would also do the trick. But a sharp skid noise right behind her made her forget her train of thought and turn, dodging the knife just in time.

“You really should’ve taken my offer, Agent (Y/L/N),” Attwell spat out, slashing at her with the knife again and forcing her to stumble back into the center aisle of the boiler room; the blade sliced against her forearm and she stifled her cry of pain, dropping her gun and leaping out of the way as he aimed for her again. “Soon, you and your foolish friends will be dead and Leviathan will have more power than you could possibly imagine!”

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own damn voice?” (Y/N) retorted, her hand shooting out and twisting the red-colored knob beside them; a pipe next to Attwell spewed out pressurized steam and he let out a shriek of pain as the steam enveloped the right side of his face. Not wanting to stick around, she turned and sprinted further into the vast room, a part of her hoping that she’d bought herself enough time to save Michael. Skidding around a corner, she was immediately met with the sight of Jack and Michael engaged in a vicious fight on the floor; her partner was trying to wrestle something out of the other man’s closed fist, but he was so preoccupied with his task that he didn’t see Michael’s other hand brush the handle of a nearby gun. (Y/N) kicked the gun away from him, pinning his shoulder to the ground with her knee and spoke the first thing that came to mind. “Visions, light, cheered, night, dream!”

As she finished reciting the five words he’d used to encode his final message to Peggy, something shifted in Michael’s dark eyes and his clenched fist relaxed, allowing Jack to snatch the Arena Club pin from him. Before any of them could say or do anything more, a fiery ache erupted along her shoulder blade and she cried out in pain as she pitched forward. “(Y/N)!” Jack looped his arms underneath hers and dragged her over to half-lean against a pipe; her vision was partially clouded by the pain, but she could still make out the bloody knife he’d just pulled out of her upper back and tossed onto the ground beside them. “No, no, don’t look at that, just keep your eyes on me!” He pressed his trembling hand tight against the wound and when she nearly whimpered, he held the side of her face with the other and frantically nodded, his blue eyes steadily filling with panic that he struggled to control. “I-I know it hurts, baby, but I have to keep pressure on it; it’s not very deep, but I can’t have you fainting right now so keep your eyes on me, c’mon-”

“How touching,” Both of them looked up to see Attwell and Michael standing before them, the former with a self-satisfied smirk on his half-seared face and the latter staring stonily down at them. “Let’s make a new deal, Chief Thompson: Give me the key, and I won’t let Agent (Y/L/N) slowly bleed out on the floor of this boiler room.”

“Bastard.” Jack spat back, but his hand left (Y/N)’s face long enough to retrieve the Arena Club pin from his pocket and throw it into Attwell’s waiting hand. “You better start lookin’ over your shoulder now, Attwell, ‘cause I won’t rest until I kill you myself.”

Attwell shrugged and ran his fingers over the pin, twisting it sharply to convert it into a key. “Such fiery attitude in the face of doom was precisely why I was looking forward to killing you. But then I realized, forcing a man like you to live with your mistakes is a far worse punishment than death; and to make this victory sweeter, I plan on unlocking Zodiac in front of you both, so you can see just how spectacularly you failed yourselves, your agency and your country.” He turned to Michael with his brow raised in expectation. “Are you ready to make history, old chap?”

Michael nodded. “Of course…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the metal box containing Zodiac; (Y/N) tried getting up, unwilling to sit back and let Leviathan win, but Jack’s strong arms held her in place against him. When she met his gaze, he gave her a barely-discernible head shake and with her jaw clenched tight, she watched Attwell push the key into the lock and turn it clockwise; the lid popped open and the man breathed a sigh of relief, reaching into the slightly-smoking box and holding an electric-blue colored vial with strange etchings carved into the glass.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? So much potential for war and destruction, and it fits within the palm of my hand.” Attwell looked up at Michael and continued, “My brother never appreciated such things, you know. He never truly appreciated you, either; once you were found out to be a deep-cover spy for the SOE, I saw an opportunity to mold you into the person you were always meant to be. Do you remember the first thing I told you after you came out of Hydra’s operating room?”

Michael’s hardened expression faltered, almost as if he was struggling to control his actions, and in an instant, he drew his gun and shot Attwell directly in the chest. There were tears in his eyes as he finally replied, “‘Michael, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

The box and the vial slipped out of the dying man’s hands and as he began to sway dangerously on his feet, (Y/N) lunged forward and caught both in her hands before they could hit the ground. While Attwell’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground in a heap, she and Jack hurriedly placed the deadly Zodiac back into the box and slammed the lid closed; she let out a shaky breath, unable to grasp everything that had just happened. Michael dropped to his knees, tossing his gun to the side and rubbing his head with one hand; still mindful of her now-oozing wound, Jack held her a little closer as they both warily watched the unsteady man turn away from Attwell’s body to look at them. “I-It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Agent (Y/L/N). I’m Michael Carter, SOE.”

A smile slowly stretched across (Y/N)’s face and a sense of relief was beginning to wash over her as a familiar voice called throughout the boiler room. “(Y/N)? Jack?”

“We’re back here, (Y/N) needs some medical attention but we’re okay!” Jack called back, meeting (Y/N)’s gaze and flashing her a lopsided grin. “You’re gonna be fine, Specs, you hear me?” With a relieved chuckle, Jack leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her sweat-covered brow before resting his cheek on the top of her head. “We’re all gonna be fine.”

“Hey!” The first person who rounded the corner was Daniel, whose gun was already at the ready when he pointed it at Michael. “Hey, get the hell away from them!”

Jack held out a placating hand to the chief. “Easy, Danny Boy, he’s good right now; he’s the one who killed Attwell.”

Lowering his gun, Daniel limped over to where they sat against the pipe and knelt down as best he could to examine her knife wound. “Looks like the knife missed everything important, thank goodness. What the hell happened down here?”

Jack detailed everything they’d dealt with after hurrying out of the warehouse as their friends joined them; Edwin began treating her various wounds with Henry’s assistance, Howard carefully stowed the box containing Zodiac and its key into a satchel and Dugan worked on locating a weak point in the wall to blow a quick exit for them. There was a flurry of voices and activity surrounding (Y/N), but all her attention was on Peggy and Michael; they were talking to each other in low tones, Michael looking heartbreakingly unsure and Peggy trying her hardest not to cry, until they both surged forward and hugged one another. For the second time that day, (Y/N) was reminded of Freddie but while she watched the Carter siblings finally reunite, she didn’t feel sadness or envy, but rather pride. She was proud of herself, for having helped stop Leviathan’s plans and for having made-do on her promise to reunite her oldest and dearest friend with her beloved brother. If anyone deserves a second chance at happiness it’s those two, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath and resting her head against Jack’s strong shoulder.

They did it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Only one more chapter left!! Like I said, idk how I feel about this chapter as a whole so I’m sorry if there’s mistakes/it’s bad, but next week’s is gonna be great! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and it’s linked down below!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Twenty

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent​ @momc95​ @brooke0297​ @kinda-c0nfused​ @outoftheregular

[tuney-and-looney]

Hey! Me again. So...valentines day is coming up. Dp you have any BugsxElmer headcanons about them celebrating it? [Just not to explicit, please.] 😀

absolutely tootly rootly, my mutual.

- bugs’s favorite type of flower during this time is pink roses, but more on the pastel side. he thinks they’re traditional enough to be found in lots of places but not too common that everyone will have them and he won’t feel too special (he’s petty like that sometimes, ya know)

- elmer loves white roses. he sees the meaning behind them as beginning a new chapter. even after years of dating bugs, elmer still feels that sort of “honeymoon phase” whenever he’s with him. plus, it could also stand for the loyalty of their relationship as well, sticking through and being there for each other no matter what!

- bugs will probably do the cooking in the morning (a very rare occurrence). he would whip up some nice pancakes with strawberries cooked into, eggs, and some toast with jam. he’ll try his best to make it look as good in presentation. he’ll let elmer sleep in as late as he wanted/definitely needed.

- elmer would wake up, spooked a little at first that bugs isn’t sleeping in the bed with him. after he hears the sizzling in the kitchen (comically large smell steam included), he’ll start to calm down. he mentally prepares for everything to go perfect and peachy keen. he goes into the bathroom, showers (he’s normally a night shower person), and makes sure he doesn’t look like a wreck.

- both of them are feeling lovey-dovey, and nervous. they want everything to be absolutely wonderful and unforgettable. it doesn’t feel like a lot on the outside, but their guts are full of butterflies doing somersaults.

- they eat breakfast, mostly in silence, constant stares and blushes all around. bugs got some really good and expensive coffee grounds and brewed some, but forgot to give some to elmer when it was hot. they eventually drank it cold with ice and sweet oat milk.

- they mostly spend the morning lounging, cuddling on the couch and watching their skits. just being close towards each other felt amazing enough to have. nothing too fancy. bugs kept complimenting elmer, with the common response being a blush, smile and denial, and bugs kissing him after, confirming that what he said is true, now and forever.

- they almost ran late for their spa appointment, got too distracted with the feels. going into the seperate rooms made elmer feel a bit stressed; being by himself causes him to overthink a lot. elmer got a lot of tissue massages on his back (stress knots, mostly) and a facial, while bugs got a full body fur treatment. they both come out without a care in the world. bugs couldn’t stop staring after, little hearts floating around once in a while.

- for dinner, they decided on Bosko’s. They always go there for really special occurrences. plus, it’s private enough so that paparazzi can’t get in and invade the mood (they were following them a bit towards the place, though). Bosko and Honey made sure that they got the “Honeymoon Special” (red silk tablecloth, candelabra in the middle, silverware with gold flourishes, etc.). everything felt so extra, but that’s exactly what bugs and elmer wanted.

- when they eventually got home (around 9:00 pm or so), both of them had surprise gifts for the other.

- bugs got elmer a white rose bouquet, comically large chocolate box, really cheesy sleeping mask (like think mom joke cheesy), some chamomile tea with melatonin, and some energizing face masks.

- elmer got bugs a few pink roses, a carrot cookbook, some really nice shampoo and conditioner for his fur (funny given the earlier spa), some exquisite carrot tea, and a 24k gold necklace with small hearts.

- however, bugs saved the best for last. he pulls out a medium sized box (not small enough for a ring). it’s a nice gold bracelet (yay, matching jewelry!) with the inscription:

“l’amour est plus fort que tout - bugs” love is stronger than anything.

elmer starts crying, tears of overwhelmed happiness streaming down. he’s never felt more safe, more cared for, than he is with bugs. and bugs wants him to know that whenever elmer feels any doubt towards bugs loving his imperfect self (he DOES ask a lot about that), this bracelet shows just a fraction of how much bugs loves him.

- they kiss passionately this time, both crying ugly tears, but happy ones at that. they never want this day, this one moment, to end.

[jawllines]

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

or

Y/N gets everything she’s ever wanted (Harry does too) 

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

vii.

“Holy fuck.” 

Y/N had been equal parts nervous and excited when Harry invited her to his flat, a mere four days after they returned from Sweden. In all their time together, and in what they had gone through in the past few months, Y/N had not even so much as been extended the offer to go to his flat, let alone actually be privy to it. To no fault of his own -- Y/N reckons that the last thing on his mind was a tour of his home when someone was threatening to rob their company blind and murder his boss -- but that never meant she wasn’t curious. 

She was excited because she thrived off visiting people’s places for the first time and learning what their decorating techniques consisted of. Ever since they’d started chatting past the nurse/family relationship, Y/N had been intrigued to know what his place looked like, and would even theorize about it sometimes if she had a moment to spare. Harry had very offhandedly mentioned that he had a Tanuki statue stationed to the right of his door as soon as you walked in, and Y/N (who also had a Tanuki statue) had her interest piqued immediately. Did she and Harry have similar decorating styles or just equivalent odd taste in staple items? Was that his only piece of decoration? 

Some boys she considered complete psychopaths and had barren walls besides maybe a flag or a singular sports poster -- that’s why she’s nervous. Hell, she’d love him all the same if he was repping a Manchester football poster but visiting his flat would be a bit of a struggle.  

So when he rolled up to the nurse’s station at 6PM just before she gave report to night shift, a stolen pudding cup in hand and cheeks rosy from the cold chill of Gibby’s hospital room. Harry grins at her, “Let me drive you to my place, yeah? I’m making dinner tonight.” 

Her brows raise, a smile teases her mouth as she finishes writing down a cheat sheet for each room that she can give to the nurse coming in (she’s a bit new, and doesn’t know the flow of the floor very well yet, so Y/N tries to help when she can) “Yeah? Didn’t know you could cook.”

A gasp leaves him, “Oi, of course I can cook! I could make a Sunday roast that would put any Nan on the block to shame.” 

“Better watch your mouth, Miss. Gregory has a keen sense of hearing and would beg to differ.” She clicks her pen shut, looking up to where he was leaning against the counter, “I’ll let you drive me, yeah, but can we stop by my place so I can grab Ubbe and a change of clothes? Reckon you don’t want the scent of hospital clouding your flat.” 

‘Yes we can stop to grab Ubbe, no you may not grab any clothes. Want you in mine.” 

Y/N pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, fixing a response for him in her head but Johnathan just about trips over himself with a convenience store cappuccino and a reusable grocery bag with his lunch, “I’m so sorry m’late, my bloody dog decided he was going to wee on my scrubs.” 

“Well, I hope you changed out of them.” Harry notes and Y/N snorts, rolling her eyes before she rolls her chair over to him and starts her shift report. 

Things had been calm since they returned from Sweden. Or as calm as they can be post-kidnapping, attempted murder, gang fiasco they had encountered there. When Y/N saw Gibson after it had happened, he pulled her into his body closely and squeezed her tight enough that she had a bit of trouble breathing. Y/N couldn’t lie, she was immensely happy to see him, and despite what she had learned about his relationship between him and his son, she let herself enjoy the cuddle.  Even the kiss that he pushed to her temple, before holding tight on her shoulders, “I am not a man who fears many things,” he had started slowly, “Nor am I a man who cares about many things, but you -- I care about you,” he cradles her cheeks in his palms, patting it gently, “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

Gibson -- just as Harry -- had a knack for making her feel like a very important addition to their lives. He was relieved to know that she would be his main nurse for the day, and Y/N it’s so he could keep an eye on her. She couldn’t fault him for it though because she beckons Harry around so that she can keep an eye on him. Niall doesn’t think anything is out of the ordinary regarding it, since they usually traveled in something short of a pack. The only reference to the night before that he made (other than asking about her hand, which she had promptly explained that she drunkenly broke a vase and tried to clean it up with her hands) was squeezing her shoulders and uttering, “Champagne turns you into a lightweight, ey? Harry treat you right?” Harry smiled a bit to himself and Y/N cleared her throat, tucking the hair behind her ear. 

“Tucked me in, got me water, nursed my hangover, the whole nine.” 

Niall patted Harry on the shoulder, “Nice then, mate. Hear one thing about you hurtin’ her and I’ll have to do ya in.”

Harry pouted, “What’s with all the threats my way?”

The night before had felt surreal; a bad, hyper-realistic dream that stuck with her like syrup to a plate. There wasn’t much on the agenda for them since the wedding had passed so they all kind of lingered in Niall and Gibson’s room. They ordered room service, rented a horror film (Gibson was something short of a horror buff, it turned out), and relaxed for the first time in a very long time. It felt like everyone had collectively let out a sigh (apart from Niall, who remained blissfully unaware and fast asleep most of the day). 

Harry allowed the others to love upon her for a majority of the time they spent in Gibson’s room. She alternated from being close to where Gibson sat, to leaning against Mickey, and hell she even hung out with Niall a bit when he bothered to wake up. The only bits alone they had together were when she would take Ubbe out for a wee, which normally Mickey might want to accompany her during, but Harry was insistent that he be the one. Had practically pushed her over attempting to get up before Mickey could even think to say that he wanted to go, which he later apologized for. 

“I just. . .it won’t be like this for long, but I just -- I wanna be near you, y’know?” 

She did know -- because she didn’t want him out of her sight. The few moments that she had to spend, leaving him behind with someone who would ( did) harm him given the chance -- she couldn’t stand it. Could have crawled out of her skin even -- and she knows he must have felt the same, if not worse. Y/N was even more thankful now than ever that they were sharing a hotel room. 

Because by the end of the night, when Y/N gave Gibson his nighttime meds, tucked Niall in, and pecked a kiss to Mickey’s scruffy cheek -- they got to flee together. Popped open the door to their room, Ubbe ran in first and beat them to the bed, and Harry suggested a cheeky shower together which -- well, Y/N said if he didn’t mind her in a shower cap (she couldn’t be arsed to wash her hair) then they could go right ahead and do it. 

So they did, and Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever been this close with someone before. She helps him tie a plastic baggy over his thigh so that the bandage didn’t get wet before she changed it, and in turn, he helped her tie her own around her hand, “It’s good that I’m here, hm? How else would you clean this arm if you didn’t have me?” 

“Niall is dexterous enough.” She teased him. 

“I can assure you that I’m far more adept with my fingers than Niall.” 

Nothing but bare, smooth skin that their hungry eyes drink each other in. Harry had a lot of tattoos and she can’t help but outline them with her gaze, though she does attempt not to let them wander too far downward -- she would feel bad to stare at his bits, even if he was getting a good look at hers. She did take a whack at his peachy bottom when he leaned over to turn the shower on, and he squeaked, putting his hand over it palm outward, “Aish, that hurt!” Y/N went for him again, a little harder on the other cheek until he straightened out and pivoted, looking at her with furrowed brows, “I’ll spank your bum, see how you like it.” 

(Y/N reckons she would like it.) 

The shower had been good; it was hot, steamy, and they hadn’t even done anything sexual. They just enjoyed one another, soaked in the hot pelts of water against their skin as they both took turns with who was in the direct line of the water. Harry cleaned her, sudsed her up with strawberry-scented soap, and made her all bubbly before nudging her back into the water. He sang obnoxiously loud, ticked her when he could, and he did get her back with a few swats on her wet bum, leaving a resounding smack that bounced off the walls in an echo. She had fun, and when he bent down to slide their lips together for an innocent little peck, she was over the moon. 

It was just good to be with him, and she was happy that her feelings were finally able to be expressed. And he had almost immediately quelled her worries when she thought that maybe this was just a Sweden thing -- maybe they would go home, Harry would not feel the need to be around her constantly since the initial threat had been dealt with and he could go on about his normal life. When she really thought about it, she was sort of just a wrench in his normal plans -- an unnecessary addition and disruption, having accidentally gotten involved in their whole scenario. 

But almost as soon as they landed, an hour or two after they had all parted ways to unpack and destress, Harry rang her phone and when she answered she got a, “I don’t think m’quite ready to not be around you 24/7 -- can I come over?” 

With a grin that threatened to split her cheeks, she told him to hurry up. 

While things were calm now, Y/N still strayed from going out too late at night or lollygagging when she went on her walks with Ubbe. She’s cautious still, of course, but it doesn’t feel like she has to keep looking over her shoulder. They were still taking care of some things, tying off the problem with a nice, neat little bow, and figuring out the semantics of what Elias had left behind with the people he’d hired. From what she understood they were paying them off with a suitable amount to make sure whatever they had discovered or heard wouldn’t be discussed, along with the looming threat that they had actually kidnapped her, and they shouldn’t be a problem any longer. Especially given the fact that they had no emotional ties to the whole situation. 

There were still a few questions she might have and confusion on some parts of what happened, but Harry opens up and explains it to her if she asks him anything.

And now she was outside his flat, after climbing seven flights of steps with an ecstatic Ubbe who was beside himself with the new smells. It was a nice area -- a rich one, at that -- the kind of place that she would press her nose up against the window glass as they pass, before looking it up later and realizing that it’s a month’s salary for rent alone. The outer exterior was all sleek and white, about a thousand windows that decorated the building and peered into the lives of the residents. There were balconies as well, each flat had one and from where she could see when they were driving around it toward the parking garage, they were evenly spaced far apart from each other. Which she reasoned that they would be decently large on the inside. 

They could have taken the elevator but Y/N felt too guilty to drag Ubbe in when there was an older woman and her friends stepping in, so they took the stairs.  When Y/N had suggested it she hadn’t known he was on the seventh fucking floor, but she trudged up and huffed every time he giggled and teased her, even though he huffed and puffed himself. 

He was quick with his keys, the slide of the teeth into the lock was smooth and clicked in a fluid motion that she envied (she had to jiggle and jangle her own), but he paused before he twisted the knob, and turned toward her, “Listen -- this is. . .new for me. I don’t invite people over ever . . .not even like hookups or anything, so other than the movers and the occasional Mitch  -- nobody else has been here. This is my own little safe space, y’know, I try not to sully it with all the shite I’m in but you -- I just can’t get the thought of you in here out of my head. Needed to see it for myself.”

Her heart was full upon entry, which she hadn’t known if that was his intent or if he just needed her to know beforehand that he wasn’t used to having other people in his flat and he might be a little squirrely. Either or, she leaned forward and nudged her forehead against his shoulder (her hands were full with a wriggling Ubbe so at the time it had been her only option to show affection). She was still a little nervous about initiating the kisses -- Harry was typically the one to initiate it and Y/N melts into them. 

Harry opened his door and Y/N was almost immediately greeted with the beloved Racoon dog statue. He told her to go ahead and let Ubbe run amuck (he was her good boy though, he wouldn’t climb any couches or beds without explicitly being told he was allowed to) as she was looking around the small foyer-like entrance. Right away she could tell that Harry had somewhat of an eye for interior design -- everything was cohesive in color and sense of style, he easily put her flat to shame. The sofa was facing away from the door and loveseat was caddy corner to it, both large, and a light grey that looked incredibly pricey but lived on -- there were blankets rumpled atop of it like he might have napped there, the pillows only kind of positioned correctly on the couch. They sat on a rug that is a lighter grey in tone, atop of smooth pine flooring. Behind the sofa, there was a dark console table that stretched along the length of it with a modern square lamp on either end. To the left at the end of the couch, he had an electric fireplace installed into a wall of what appeared to be marble, and above it his tv was fixed to the wall, far bigger than what she was used to. His coffee table looked like it was made of black glass, magazines and books were halfheartedly thrown in the middle. 

But what really takes her, that she’s trying to drink in entirely, is the wall of windows that is opposite of where she stood. It was clearly the way to the balcony that looked far larger than it did from the car, the panes of glass were so clear that she would probably slam right into them. They only stopped when it reached the kitchen, because of its open concept she could see it from where she stood and it was all sleek, marble counters and black appliances that all looked incredibly new. There was an island counter with bar stools that she reckons he eats at. On the opposite end of the flat, there was a hallway that she believes led to what she presumes was the rooms and bathrooms. 

“Holy fuck.” That’s where she was now, her brows raised as she turned to face him, “We’ve been at my crowded, old, rickety flat when you’ve had this just laying around?” 

His brows furrow deeply, “Oi, I love your flat. It’s cozy and comfortable, don’t you dare talk about her like that.” 

Y/N is too enamored with what she’s seeing to pay much mind to his words. She’s looking around with her face permanently stuck with her lips in an ‘o’ as she looks up and around, taking in the artwork that he had chosen, how it smelled like him, the way it appeared well lived in yet still pristine and polished, “If I lived here, I reckon I wouldn’t leave,” she continues, reaching out, letting her fingertips stroke against the couch wondering how the material could just feel expensive, “I’d be one of those nurses that answers panicked calls from parents at like 3AM ‘cos their kid sneezed.” 

A snort leaves him, but he shakes his head all the same, “S’not that great. Gets a bit lonely.” Her face is pressed against the cool glass of the windows, looking out on the dazzling lights that twinkle from the city below them, but his words and the sad inflection in his voice drags her from it. She turns to face him, where he’s setting his things down on his coffee table before sliding up beside her, “It looks much better with you stalking around it though.” 

She laughs, leaning her head against his shoulder, “I’ll come stalk about whenever you want then.” 

Harry maneuvers them, kisses his teeth to garner her attention before stealing her lips in a kiss when she turns to face him. Her nose scrunches up and she giggles -- he’d let his facial hair grow out some, and it tickled her face when he pressed their mouths together. She sinks into it though as she always does, and Harry can only kiss her for a few moments before he begins to smile against her, and withdraws, “Christ,” he pecks another kiss against her mouth, “Alright, I’ll show you how to operate my shower, and I’ll have some clothes out for you to change into. Will you teach me how I should wash your scrubs?” 

His bathroom is just as modern and seemingly hi-tech as the rest of his flat. He surpasses the one in the hall in favor of taking her to his own through the master bedroom, which has a Hilma af Klint painting (he and Mitch have similar tastes), a bed the size of a room that she’d grown up in (it felt like at the very least) that was made, with a black comforter and about thirty thousand pillows. The headboard was large, rectangular, and a dark stained wood that his other furniture matched. Across from his bed, there is another TV affixed to the wall, with a screen saver of a night sky during a thunderstorm. It smells like lavender and Harry -- she’s comforted by it. 

There’s a sleek, black tub, an entirely separate shower that came straight from the ceiling, his sink counter is large -- like, several people could keep their morning and nightly skincare routines on there. He shows her how to use the shower (there was a fucking touch screen on the wall that she used to decide the settings), makes a cheeky joke about watching her undress before he left her be to shower. 

It was unlike any showering experience she’d ever had before. He showed her the rainfall setting, gave her a spare loofah to scrub with and he let her use the rose-scented body soap he had a huge container full of. She scrubbed her skin raw, washed away every bit of the day. Harry had told her there was a surprise about the towel when she was finished, which she was soon to find that he had a heated rack. The towel is warm, big, and soft as she wraps it around her body, and she finds that he had left her some clothes to change into. It was a grey soft, worn Harley Davidson shirt and sweatpants. Y/N wriggled them on and left the bathroom. Harry told her he would be in the living room, so she ventured out from his bathroom, but she pauses when her eyes flicker across his dresser. 

Set on his drawer chest, there was a photo frame that made her heart swell. 

Y/N very vaguely remembers taking it -- the night of the bonfire, when she was scared to be alone and that man who’d been following her turned up at the park when she was there. Harry had come to get her, made her feel safe and soft. It was the first night she had met everyone, hung out with them, drank with them until she got sleepy, and managed to slump into Harry’s body. She remembers being lulled to sleep by the steady drum of his heart, how nice it sounded, how warm she felt, and she remembered how he accommodated her body with his arm around her while he let her rest. All of that she remembers quite vividly, however, the picture that was taken is what she has to dig through her thoughts to be reminded of. It was right after Harry had woken her up, called her snoozy, and patted her bum before letting her lean against him so they could walk to the car. Just before they had started their venture to the car, she remembers Mickey stopping them, having been trigger happy with a camera the entire night. 

“Big smiles! This one’s for the books.” 

Y/N’s eyes shut and she smiled sleepily, her fingers thrown in a peace sign and Harry grinned wide, a dimple dotting his cheek. The ember glow of the fire outlines them in an orange-ish tint as the flash illuminates them in the night, and Y/N wonders what possessed either of them to wear ripped jeans when she was almost certain that night it was below freezing. 

“Tha’s my favorite photo,” Harry’s voice rings from behind her and she nearly startled out of her skin, turning her head to look at him, the frame in hand, “Mickey gave it to me like a month or two after he had developed it, I thought we were right cute.” 

“We are,” she thumbs the wooden frame, the ridges dabbing into her skin, “This is the night you first stayed at my flat.” 

“After you practically tore me a new one for suggesting otherwise,” his chin hooks on her shoulder, nose dipping into the curve of her throat, “You look nice in my clothes.” 

“Reckon?” She leans back, melting into his touch, “They’re very soft, kinda feels like cuddling with you. Guess if I have your shirts I don’t have to bother with the body and your freezing toes.” 

“Oi,” he grumbles, sliding his arms around her waist, “Be nice, Pet, or I’ll take ‘em right back. Besides, clothes can’t pet on you, or feed Ubbe, or even turn on the godforsaken vampire film or cook dinner.” 

A gasp leaves her as she spun in his arms, “You put on Twilight?” 

“Of course I did, you wouldn’t shut up about it before, which had me wondering if I remembered it correctly. Figure after you we eat and you tell me about all the gross shite you had to deal with today, we could watch it.” 

It was true -- on the way to his flat, she had not so subtly mentioned that it felt like she was being invited into a vampire’s home before delving into a scene by scene explanation of the better half of Twilight. Harry had openly admitted to not really liking the film but he let’s her rant and rave anyway, even offered his commentary on what he did remember from it. Y/N thinks it’s the first time anyone other than her mother let her express the teenage nostalgia that still resonated with her and the movies as a whole. 

And for him to put it on for them to watch? In his beautiful flat that smelled like him? Where she would be fed, be able to chat about her day with someone other than Ubbe, feel warm and happy? She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her time. 

“As long as we can cuddle, I think this might be the perfect night.” She tells him and he rolls his eyes playfully, teasing her with a squeeze at her ticklish sides. 

“Of course, we’re going to cuddle. You think I spent the last four months pining after you, just for us not to cuddle?” 

Y/N lets her eyes flutter shut, leans into him, and smiles. 

[bates--boy]

Peter thought that he was ready for this meeting. He had basically rehearsed it within the limited scenarios that had played out in his head. He was going to ask questions and demand answers, he was going to wring an explanation of this whole polyamory business out of this man, probably even force an apology out of him for acting so unbelievably inappropriately and thinking he could smooth-talk his way into Peter’s pants, and seduce him into following along with this game without even telling Peter about it first!

          Then, he was probably... he was probably going to say no. He was going to say no. Definitely no. Even if it meant losing Naseem’s friendship, what Peter thought was a brotherly bond between the two that gave Peter the much-needed new direction in life. He felt himself go nauseous at the idea of Naseem leaving his life for good, and had even set up a wastebasket nearby in case he couldn’t make it to the bathroom, but... it had to be done, he told himself.

           But he opened the door and there was Naseem, always ready with that easy smile with thick, shapely lips, his face framed by a couple loose strands of bleached locs, and those eyes. Those beautiful hazel eyes that had glints of gold in the right light, fanned by long, dark lashes that would spark vile envy in some people, knees-weakening and cheeks-reddening adoration in others.

                And Peter felt pinned in place, his breath already going shallow. He cleared his throat and stepped aside. “T-thanks for coming.”

                “Thanks for having me,” Naseem said as he stepped inside. He stopped as Jack wove his big body between his legs, the cat sniffing at his boots to see what was it about this man that was making his daddy want to run and hide and mate. Naseem giggled and bent to scratch behind the cat’s ear. “Aww, miss ya too, Jack!”

           Finding nothing really amiss, Jack went away to lounge in his favorite patch of sunlight, keeping his head pointed toward the men just in case he needed to spring into action. Naseem straightened and waited for Peter, who closed the door and led the way to the couch.

                “I imagine that you have a lot of questions to ask me,” Naseem said as he sat. Peter felt a short flare of irritation as he watched this man lounge back, cross a leg over the other and drape his arms across the back of the couch like everything was peachy keen and hunky-dory and all aces and rainbows and unicorns. Ingen ko på isen Naseem looked like as he watched Peter, as if it hadn’t been less than a week since he... (almost) knew Peter carnally and it was perfectly normal for Peter’s head to be messed up about it since!

            “...I do,” Peter said when he found his voice. He wanted to sit down so Naseem wouldn’t think that all of this was bothering Peter immeasurably. He also wanted to stand, because height gave an advantage and exuded power. Peter remained standing, crossing his arms and schooling his face to make it blank. He was going to be logical and reasonable. No emotions. No mind games.

            Except Naseem stared up at him, waiting. So goddamn unbothered by this intimidation tactic. He even let his gaze wander, his eyes flicking up and down Peter’s body, that smile of his quirking fractionally wider by what he saw.

            Peter tried to refuse to believe that Naseem was undressing him with his eyes, or thinking about that night when he almost physically did. Yet, Peter’s arms went loosely around his middle to hug himself, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

            Naseem lifted a hand from the couch. “Do you want me to--”

            “I need some tea.”

           He couldn’t think to ask Naseem what tea he wanted, or if he wanted anything at all. He heard Naseem make a confused sound and tried to drown out his voice, his presence, and the loudness in Peter’s own head with much banging of pots and clinking of glass, and running the water full blast as he searched for the box of chamomile tea. He hated chamomile tea and usually reserved it for only when he really needed to force himself to sleep for longer than two hours. It was perfect for calming Peter down in short bursts, and maybe this time, it would help him center his mind or some other frou-frou zen guru shit. He felt Naseem follow him into the kitchen before he heard Naseem call his name gently, but Peter had his focus all on peeling the circular tape from the box without ripping the paper off. And he knew he had to make a snack to go along with the tea, because Naseem probably had to skip a meal in order to come here and even under this circumstance, it was rude for Peter to let the man starve after having come all this way.

            “Pete--”

            “What are you in the mood for, Nazz?” Peter asked, finally getting the tape off. “I have some lemon and strawberry biscuits or I can heat up some frozen meals. I had Thai take-out last night if you--”

            Naseem snatched the box of tea out of Peter’s hands and placed it back into the cupboards. He turned off the water and went back to Peter to grip his shoulder and turn him around. “Peter, stop. I don’t want anything right now except to talk. Look at me.”

           Peter did, knowing that he looked like he was going to jump out of his skin.

          Naseem gripped Peter’s other shoulder, murmuring, “Breathe.”

          Peter did, and the air went down dry and hot. He breathed again, and finally he could look into the other’s eyes and feel some weak semblance of calm in spite of it.

          “Why?”

          Naseem raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

          Yes, the question was vague, perhaps even a wee bit loaded depending on how Naseem interpreted it. It wasn’t intentional, it was just that hundreds of questions flurried about in Peter’s mind and it proved challenging to pluck all of the right ones from the air.

          He tried again, though, breathing through flared nostrils and forcing out through grinding teeth, “Why. Did you. Kiss me?”

           Peter could see a reflection of himself in Naseem’s surprised eyes, the way his skin burned bright red from the neck up, his lips drawn tight, nostrils still flaring, and shaking. He was shaking. Not violently, of course, but enough that he still felt like a cornered rabbit despite trying his best to keep calm. Oh, god, did he struggle, because sexual frustration became frustration and Naseem could stand there so fucking blasé about all of this while Peter had to spend days -- weeks, actually! -- wringing his hands and suffering wave after wave of nausea over the possibility of playing a huge part in wrecking a family and possibly devastating two innocent kids that he loved so much. Except that wasn’t even true apparently! He just thought himself an invasive slut because Naseem couldn’t be assed to be upfront about this open marriage nonsense before trying to bed him, and Peter was the one left to feel so confused and out of the loop and naked and guilty that he could burst into tears at any given second!

          “Holy shit,” Naseem gasped, reaching to wipe Peter’s eyes. “Peter, I need you to calm down--”

          “And I need you,” Peter said, grabbing Naseem’s wrists and throwing them down, “to not fucking touch me and answer the question! Why did you kiss me, Nazz?! What is going on?!” 

          “I will tell you, Pete. But I need you to calm down first so you can listen to me and not work yourself up so easily!”

            Peter wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took another deep breath. He crossed his arms. 

            Naseem scratched the back of his head. “Alright, so your first question. I kissed you because... Well...” he dared to give Peter that playful half-smirk. “I’m sure the answer’s a given.”

          “Nazz.”

           “Nah, I’m serious.” He wiped that stupid smirk off his face. “It’s ‘cause I like you. A lot. I’ve been into you for a while and I was kinda stressing myself out thinking how to tell you. Then I said ‘fuck it’ and made my shot.”

            Peter closed his eyes and tried to let the confession roll right off his body. Naseem was right, the answer was a given. He just hoped that it was more poignant or... he didn’t know what answer he was hoping for or expecting. He didn’t know why he asked. Maybe he wanted to voice his confusion more than get a plain answer. Offset some of that confusion onto someone else. He opened his eyes again. “And the second question?”

          “Nothin’ major, really,” Naseem said. “Sheer and I decided that we want to open our marriage and have a relationship with you. I’d meant to bring it up with you before I, ah, shoot my shot and see if you’d be interested, but I figured...”

          “You figured what?”

          “I figured you were feelin’ me, too.”

           Such a statement would have prompted Peter to analyze all of their interactions over again, to go over their friendship and partnership with a fine-tooth comb to find when he must have misled this man, because he had to have been responsible in some way, even a small one, to cause all of this wild shit to happen. However, Peter was tired. He didn’t know if he was on the verge of tears again, but it wouldn’t be surprising if he was because this was trying. It was draining. This was the lowest he’s felt so sprung in days and he was still ready to rip his hair out.

            Instead of doing a third and fourth and fifth round of searching, Peter asked Naseem, “How did you figure?”

            Before Naseem could answer, Peter threw his arms out. “How did you figure, Nazz?! Was I giving off signs, sashaying my hips too much? Did I bat my eyelashes a lot? Or-or, uh, invite you to my place too many times or cozied up to you too much, or-or-or have too many lunch ‘dates’ with you -- which, by the way, I do with almost all of my friends because a bastard likes to have company from time to time, okay?! Did I kowtow to your mentorship too much and ask you for too much advice in your divine and infinite wisdom?! Did I write you love letters -- oh! Was it that goddamn letter of recommendation?! Is this what this was all about? That ‘hero worship’ nonsense you said? Jesus fucking Christ, my guy, get over yourself!”

            Peter hissed air through his teeth, feeling it puff up his chest. “I have and had no romantic intent behind any of the things I did, okay?!”

            He had had enough of feeling guilty, and he was damn sure not going to feel guilty for the wounded shock all over Naseem’s face. He wasn’t going to relish in it, either, because he’s a fucking idiot and still had some stupid attachment to Nazz, and it’s not exactly easy to throw away all of their time and work together, or pretend that Nazz didn’t play a major part in Peter’s recovery and that they’ve built something wonderful together in The MizFists. But if Naseem was going to storm out of the door all soap opera-y and block all contact with him and ghost him the same way Peter had done with Naseem, well, Peter wasn’t going to chase him down and cry apologies and try to soften the blow.

            Peter was so sure, until Naseem looked down, confusion washing over his face in place of the hurt, and he looked back up at Peter.

          “Then why did you kiss me back?”

            It was Peter’s turn to be shocked, his jaw hanging open as he was blindsided. Yep, blindsided. He shouldn’t feel so stricken, either, because not only was this something Peter had anticipated in the many scenarios he had this conversation playing out, but he asked himself this every. Single. Hour. And Naseem thought he was really doing something bringing this up? Peter scoffed, and scoffed again, until he was laughing, probably too softly for how absolutely tickled Peter was. He might not have been able to explain away Naseem hitting on him, but Peter had an explanation as to why he fell for -- no, not fell for, but went along with the weird charade at the studio. He had a goddamn good explanation, too, even if he couldn’t say it now, and he might have waited too long to say it and Naseem was giving him those same bedroom “gotcha” eyes like when Peter didn’t slip out of his clutches quick enough. 

          Peter totally had an answer, he just couldn’t think of it with Naseem sliding closer into his space and slipping his hand into Peter’s hand, fingertips caressing Peter’s palm. Naseem probably thought he read Peter like an open book again, probably thought that he had Peter figured out, and thought it was a-okay to hold Peter’s hip with his other hand and pull him even closer -- how much closer could they get at this point? Peter could feel Naseem’s heart beat against his own chest, for Christ’s sake! Naseem, this disgustingly beautiful asshole, kissing Peter’s eyebrow and pressing their foreheads together.

          “Breathe,” Naseem said.

          Holy shit, holy fucking shit, if Naseem told Peter to breathe while touching him and kissing on him and obvious trying to drive him crazy one more time, Peter was going to go ballistic--!

        “Peter, breathe.”

         ...Peter did, taking a lungful of Naseem’s scent. Castor oil, shea butter, and lavender and lemon soap. Peter could breathe until he gone through all the pages of some therapeutic breathing exercise book out there, it would not stop the kitchen from spinning around him. So, he pressed his face into Naseem’s shoulder and let whatever emotions flooding him come as Naseem wrapped his arm fully around him and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. He wasn’t going to identify every single one of them at that moment. He was just going to close his eyes and let his body tremble and hope that his legs won’t give out on him like some swoony, giggly caricature.

           He didn’t know how much time had past, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. A couple minutes of Naseem gently rocking them, of Peter allowing himself to be soothed by Naseem’s breathing, the distant sound of the faucet dripping, and Jack’s heavy padding coming into the kitchen to see what was going on. 

          “...I don’t know.”

          “Hm?”

           Peter raised his head and looked up into Naseem’s eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes with lashes that can go for miles. Yeah, Peter’s knees were going to go weak. “The studio. I... I don’t know why I kissed you back.” That was his answer. Yeah, it seemed like a cop-out, but it was the truth. Or close to it. Just like he didn’t know why he let Naseem kiss between his brow and the tip of his nose, or why his mouth was already open and ready to let Naseem slip his tongue inside, slow and careful and assuring; even when Peter felt Naseem moan hungrily against his lips, Naseem didn’t try to claim or rush at the risk of Peter unraveling too quickly. 

          He did not know why he let Naseem take him to the living room by hand, or why when Naseem sat on the couch and patted his lap, Peter climbed on top of him, straddling those warm thighs and curling his fingers in the front of Naseem’s sweater as they came in for another kiss. He did not know why he didn’t say, “Yeah, we should stop, when Naseem chuckled against his mouth, “I’m getting ahead of myself again”. He did not wish to know why he wordlessly invited, demanded, Naseem to deepen the kiss by pressing harder against Naseem’s mouth, demanding Naseem to thrust and roll that skillful tongue of his inside Peter’s mouth; he did not know why he hung his head back when Naseen kissed his chin and kissed down down down his neck and whined “Please. Oh, god, please...” when Naseem’s teeth grazed his skin. 

            He just knew that he needed to be held like this, that this would feel right, so he wouldn’t feel weird and guilty if he said yes. Otherwise, he didn’t want to think at all, and enjoy fitting so perfectly curled against Naseem, until Naseem checked the time and hesitantly helped Peter climb off him.

            Peter followed Naseem to the door, where Naseem stopped, turned back to him, and hooked a finger around Peter’s chin and tilted it up to kiss him once more. Oh, god, this man had the audacity to look Peter in the face, look down at his lips, and lick his own lips like he just took a bite of the most decadent cupcake. 

          “We’ll call you later so we can talk about this more. ‘Kay?”

          “Okay,” Peter murmured. He closed the door as Naseem turned away, the tumblers of the lock deafening in the silent living room. He checked to see if his legs were steady, and walked to his bedroom for a nap.

[beeeeeeecause]

Makeshift Couples Counseling

*

Dust flies from the mattress as you flop onto the worn cushions, a creak resonating from the bedspring. Your eyes are screwed shut and fists are clenched. You vaguely hear someone else enter the room but there's too much buzzing in your mind to acknowledge it.

"Hey, dude, are okay?"

Lydia's voice barely registers. You consider not responding and just letting her get the idea: you want to be left alone. But you love this girl too much to give her even a hint of cold shoulder.

"I'm fine Lyd's."

You roll over onto your stomach and try to release the tension in your body.

"You sure? Cuz it looks like you're crying into my pillow right now."

Were you crying? Huh. When did that start?

You fingertips brush under your own eyes and collect the moisture there.

Lydia is still in the door way, studying you. With hair frazzled and dark circles, there was nothing you could say to convince her you're stable.

"It's just a headache, keeps coming and going." You reply weakly. Just as you finish your sentence, another guest appears in the doorway, this one less welcome.

"There's my girl!" The all too familiar, raspy voice exclaims. But there's no affection in his voice—only disparagement.

"Aaaaaaand it's back again."

Lydia glances between you and Beetlejuice, with her arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"Are you two okay?" She points her finger incredulously at you two.

You don't have the heart to look at him right now, you know if you lift your head all the angry tears will spill over and you'd really rather not start a screaming match with him in front of a 16 year old girl.

"Oh, us? We're peachy keen, super in love, nothin' to worry about here." The ghost smiles unconvincingly and pats your leg. The gesture almost makes you punch him.

Lydia is too smart for her own good, and she knows you far too well for this weak charade to fool her. She takes careful note of the way you subtly move away from Beetlejuice's touch, very unlike you.

"No. You're not. Tell me what's going on before I go get Barbra."

You roll over and sit up so fast you make yourself dizzy.

"Don't get Barbra! We can sort it out ourselves!"

"Aha!," She points at you with manicured nails.

"So there is something wrong, what the hell happened? You two never argue."

"Everybody argues, kid. We're not saints."

It unnerves you how soft he's being towards her. He's less rowdy, for once, Beetlejuice is still. He's hurting.

She sits on the bed between you two. She's fiddling with her hands, the situation had made her anxious and that's the last thing you want.

"Hey," you say gently, urging her to look at you.

"We're fine hun, you don't have to worry."

Your comforting seems in vain, as her pained expression doesn't change.

Beetlejuice clasps a hand on her shoulder. Her head snaps towards him.

"This shit happens kid. Don't get all worked up about it." — Kind with a hint of insensitive, very on brand for him.

"I know I just...I wouldn't want you two to break up or something."

She looks down at her lap and sniffles.

"You guys are my family, I don't want something to happen, a-and you guys not to hang out with all of us anymore."

You hasn't really thought about the ramifications your relationship would have on the teenage girl. Sure, the three of you were close, but it was becoming evident just how much she valued the makeshift family she had.

Your arm wrapped around her middle.

Beetlejuice looked at you then, his head tilted slightly and a sad smile on his face. You reciprocated the sentiment.

"Lydia...that's never gonna happen." You told her reassuringly.

"Sure, Beej and I have our problems, but he's the only one for me. I'm not leaving him—"

"—and we're not leaving you, kiddo" He finishes for you.

"Not even death could do us part."

In that moment, whatever the hell you two had been arguing about didn't seem to matter so much anymore. Relationships were hard and complicated and challenging, but there was nothing you wouldn't do for your family.

With one glance he seems to understand exactly what was going through your head, and your heart filled with affection.

His fingers intertwined with yours behind Lydia, as he flashed a genuine smile.

After a few seconds of basking in the warmth of your family's affection, Barbra's voice sounded from a kitchen, calling for Lydia.

"I should go see what she wants, will you guys be okay?"

You both nodded.

"We're good babes."

Her black dress flared as she turned and left the room. A comfortable silence settled.

"I'm sorry."

You and beetlejuice spoke at the same time, making  you both quietly laugh.

He yanked at your intertwined hands and pulled you to his chest. Your head buried in his striped suit jacket.

"Listen babydoll, I get it, I can be insufferable as shit and probably really fucking annoying—"

"Both of those things are very true yes."

He playfully pinches your side, hard, and you yelp.

"Yeah yeah, whatever, what I'm tryna say is, I love ya, and I'm sorry for bein' a dick these last few days."

You wrap your arms around his torso, a silent way of letting him know you accept his apology. Though, you know Beetlejuice is more of a 'words of affirmation' type of guy. Your voice is small when you finally speak up.

"I forgive you, Beej. I'm sorry for being so harsh. I know you're just trying to make me happy...it's just everything going on lately, all the planning, it gets to me sometimes."

He strokes your back lovingly, causing you to shiver because his hands are goddamn freezing.

"I know you've been stressed lately babes, and I wanna help out, but you've gatta let me," he tells you calmly.

"...so are you gonna put it back on?" He adds nervously.

You pull back from his arms to look into his eyes. He's fidgeting slightly, and looks all around anxious. The guilt hits you like a ton of bricks. You nod sheepishly.

"I never should have taken it off. I'm sorry."

He slides the engagement ring back on your finger with ease, and relief flooding his features.

"I get it, babes, it's alright, but uhhh, try not to do it again?"

You kiss him softly, trying to convey how sorry you are, and how much you miss not fighting with him. You were both wrong in a lot of ways. Perhaps just because you're so used to agreeing on everything, but as you've come to find out: planning a wedding is far from easy.

When you stop for a breath, he peppers kisses along your jaw line, and pecks your nose.

"I love you Beej."

"Yeah yeah, I know—hey! Don't hit me! I love you too!"

the previous tension in the room dissolves into giggles.

Lydia sat on the floor, ear pressed to the closed wooden door to her own bedroom. Barbra and Adam leaned over her, both itching to hear what was happening on the other side of the wall.

"Did it work?" Adam finally asked.

Lydia shushed him with a finger to her lips and a quick glare.

A few more seconds pass before she stands up and nods at the couple.

"All fixed, no more arguing." She says proudly.

They sigh with relief, letting their shoulders sag.

"Oh, thank god, I couldn't stand their fighting any longer." Barbra sighs.

"I'm just glad I won't have to deal with Beetlejuice's loneliness-induced temper tantrums anymore."

Lydia nods her head in agreement.

"Did they really think we wouldn't be able to tell something was wrong?"

Barbra shrugs. 

"You know how they are, they like doing everything themselves. What did you say to them to get them to make up anyway?"

The dark haired girl smiles mischievously.

"Gave em' the whole, 'if you break up it'll ruin my life' type of talk.

She wraps her arm around her shoulder.

"Nice work, hun."

[Heres more content that no one asked for lmao]

[runnfromtheak]

fanfic author’s tagging game (yay!)

Thank ya darling for tagging me!!!! @boyblunder-thedarkheir!!!!!

AO3 Name(s): LostandLonelyBirds aka RUNNFROMTHEAK

Fandom(s): Primarily Batfamily (so, Dick Grayson) and Young Justice (along with DCU obviously, but I also dabble into Miralculous Ladybug, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, and MCU (none of which I will ever seriously write for? Idk man).

Number of fics: 22 I will admit to (how do you have so many, my dear @boyblunder-thedarkheir​? What is your secret?)

1. Fic you spent the most time on: Are we talking writing or thinking about writing, cause those are two very different answers. I spent the most time writing this bitch of a fic I’m working on right now, and the most time thinking about the two latest installments of my main series, Death is But An Illusion (aka How Could He and How Could It Be). I agonize over every goddamn detail with Dick’s anger, Jason’s Jason-ness, and every person’s every move and word. I am a mess, and I’m going to be murdered if I don’t update them soon. I am not sorry about that XD

2. Fic you spent the least time on:  You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) aka my pick-your-own-canon clusterfuck of Dark!Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson being traumatized and tortured with no comfort (Some of them are so fucked up I question my own mind). I take less than an hour to write 80% of them, cause they’re short, and they very rarely take any time to plan. Fun and easy!

3. Longest Fic: At present, he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn)  is my longest, but the fic I’ve been hinting at on my other tumblr, @lostandlonelybirds​ is easily double the length (why do I do this to myself? Why am I like this?) the long boi (named one, not the one I won’t shut up about) is easily my best fic at the moment, and I’m so excited to write a sequel whenever I get the chance.

4. Shortest Fic: With Bated Breath and Pain You See (We're Nothing More Than Memories) technically, I have one shorter than that, but it’s a collab that wasn’t my original idea so I’m not counting it :)

5. Most Hits: You Came Behind Me Secretly and Shattered Every Piece of Me (There's Blood On My Hands) why do you people like this trash-fire so much? I don’t understand

6. Most Kudos:  How Could He which does not surprise me.

7. Most Comment Threads: Technically, How Could He followed by the trash-fire AU title thing I’m too lazy to type again, but I’m gonna love on this one: Just Close Your Eyes (No One Can Hurt You Now) because it’s my baby, and it deserves it okay?

8. Fave Fic You Wrote: Ooo we are doing a top five.

             5. How Could It Be (Jason is precious and sad and Dick is oblivious, and I love one-sided pining wayyyy too much)

             4.  How Could He (I put my life force into this stupid fic, so ofc it’s here)

             3. I'm Scared to Live But I'm Scared to Die (I'm Numb Inside) (the suicidal boy, major trigger warning)

             2. I See Things That Nobody Else Sees (And It's Slowly Killing Me)  (the only fic I’ve ever written from Cass’s perspective, and definitely one of the creepiest and most fucked up. Bruce does not look good here)

             1. he had a chest full of heart and a body full of scars (pain became the only way that he could ever learn) (so ummm Bruce doesn’t look good here either? RHATO #25 if DC wasn’t cowardly and let Dick react how he actually would, aka fuck Batman is the new motto)

9. Rewrites?: Fuck. All my older ones? Everything? Who knows.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

Let’s do two. I’m nice.

First comes from How Could It Be:

“You loved him,” Donna says, ignoring his barb. “You loved him, and no one’s seen you or heard from you and I’m concerned, damnit.”

 She punches his shoulder roughly, and he’s reminded of her strength, no matter how small she seems in her dead best friend’s sweater.

 “I’m fine. Peachy-keen. Couldn’t be fuckin’ better. Honestly, you should be more concerned with Replacement, don’t think he’s slept in—”

 “Jason.” Her voice is firm, even as her eyes swim with tears and she holds her arms tight to herself, breathing in the well-loved item’s scent. Jason wonders when Dick wore it last, if Donna had taken it from his abandoned Gotham Penthouse or his Chicago Apartment. He wonders if he’d left it draped over the couch, like the natural disaster he was, or if it had been folded neatly in a drawer.

For someone who prides himself on not being sentimental, Jason suddenly wishes he had something of Dick’s too.

 “I’m here because I care, and because if Dick was here, he’d be doing the same thing I am.”

 “But he ain’t here,” Jason snaps, “Is he?”

 Donna’s head falls, and he feels like a giant jerk. He just… reacts poorly to that name, hasn’t heard it spoken since the transmission and subsequent funeral, since the guy he’d had the hots for since wearing the scaly panties had his mask ripped away and his life taken in front of Bruce’s eyes (who, to absolutely no one’s surprise, failed to save his son).

In the aftermath, no one said Dick Grayson’s name, always Nightwing, or some inane nickname the superhero community had for him. Last time he said it was to Damian, a failed attempt at comfort. But even Jason’s form of mutual grieving had been better than any of Bruce’s shit ideas. Bastard immortalized the ripped costume from his own son’s corpse (not that it had been the first time) and hadn’t even had the decency to give it a plaque (No ‘Good Soldier’ or ‘Good Son’, just a bare glass case with a bloody suit). Which… was weird. Jason was far from B’s best friend, but even he noticed something seemed strange, off, just not quite right. Like the funeral he didn’t speak at, like the breakdown none of them had witnessed beyond a one-off rage fit

“B, what the fuck happened down here?”

The Batcave was a disaster, dents glaringly obvious in several vehicles and a large spiderweb crack across the Batcomputer. Bruce closes the screen down, but Jason manages to catch a spiraling eye.

“Nothing, just…”

Bruce looks at the spare Nightwing costume none of them had taken down yet, still clean and ready for use (too bad its owner died and would never wear it again).

“Dick?” Jason questions, and the way Bruce’s eyes snap to his face is almost suspicious, almost enough to arouse concern.

“Yes. I—”

Jason sits next to Bruce on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I miss him too, Old Man. Don’t mean you need to be an ass about it.”

 A memorial next to Jason’s own, but Dickhead’s is empty and broken from Damian’s fists and grief, and Jason’s is just gone. No one told him why, it was just gone.

Kind of like Dick.

He wonders if Bruce would have told him if the video hadn’t been broadcast, if he would’ve told anyone. B did love his fuckin’ secrets.

 “No,” she whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice, can feel her grief as keenly as his own. It’s palpable, tangible, “He’s dead, and I’m alive, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

 And then, to Jason’s mounting horror, she starts crying openly.

…..

Second comes from my one I’m working on rn with Stray!Dick called I See Sunset In Your Eyes (I Hate This Part Right Here)

“Come on,” Wally says with a pout, dragging an overly amused Jason and Dick with him through the karaoke bar doors. “Donna and Roy are waiting for us, and Dick had to take forever to primp.”

 Dick shrugs with a grin.

 “Beauty takes time, time I can tell you did not take.”

 Jason snorts, and Wally glares at him.

 “At least I don’t take five hours to finish getting ready.”

 “At least I can last longer than five minutes.”

 “Ouch!” Roy butts in, throwing an arm around Jason and Dick’s shoulders. “Claws are out tonight!”

 “Speaking from experience?” Jason asks, eyebrow raised.

 Dick smirks without comment, sauntering past the group towards the table Donna’s lounging at.

 “Hey gorgeous twin of mine,” He greets with a kiss to her eyes. She smirks, rolling her eyes at him.

 “You’re just stroking your own ego with the twin tacked on, Wonder Boy.”

 Dick bumps his shoulder against hers.

 “Can’t I stroke both our egos?”

 “You can stroke mine,” Wally mutters, turning red when Stray winks at his phrasing. Jason and Roy both facepalm, groaning. “Not what I meant guys!”

 “Why Kid Idiot,” Dick replies, hand on his heart, “I had no idea you could be so forward~!”

 Wally glares, waving over the waitress.

 “Round of shots, on this dick,” he jerks his thumb at Stray, offering up his fake ID. She doesn’t bother checking it, probably because this is Gotham, and they were all in uniform. “Whisky, please.”

 “Trying to get me drunk?” Jason jokes. It is, after all, his first big outing with the Titans for non-mission reasons. Stray had practically dragged him out of the Manor with a wink at Alfred and a middle finger for Bruce, saying that Jason needed to have fun outside of books.

Jason knows better than arguing with Dick Grayson-Kyle when he wants something, Stray trained him well.

 “Of course, Batboy,” Roy replies, “It’s not a Titans outing if Stray is fully dressed and everyone’s sober.”

 Dick shrugs.

 “You’ll have to get some real liquor in me if you want me to do anything like last time.”

 “Last time?” Jason asks, looking to Donna for an answer. Dick snorts. You get near naked one time…

 “Boy Blunder ended up in just his boxers in a dancing cage drunk of his ass. Everyone thought he was one of the strippers, and he made, what, three-hundred dollars in bills?”

 “Five-hundred,” Dick replies proudly, offering the waitress a twenty as she came back with their drinks. “Keep the change, darlin’!” He adds with a wink.

 She flushes, making Jason frown.

 Stray, of course, notices this and elbows Jason.

 “Don’t get jealous, Blue Jay, it’s not becoming.”

 Jason does not blush. He doesn’t, and that’s the hill he will die on.

 “I’m not. On an unrelated note, pass me a shot.”

Jason is the master of changing the subject, Stray thinks sarcastically, passing him a shot and downing one of his own.

 “Five bucks says alley cat blacks out,” Roy says smugly as Dick makes a face, the way he always did with heavier liquors. He glares at the redhead, who shrugs unapologetically.

 Donna eyes them both speculatively, taking a sip of her own drink.

 “Twenty says he gives a lap dance before he blacks out.”

 Roy snorts.

 “I’ll take it,” and to Dick, “Don’t do it, for me.”

 Dick bats his eyes innocently.

 “Lil’ old me? I would never do something so…” He trails a finger down Roy’s chest, making him swallow roughly. “Scandalous.”

 Donna grins victoriously as Roy groans, trying and failing to hide his excitement.

 “I hate you. I hate you both.”

 Tagging whoever sees this, I suppose? 

[snarkwrites]

FFT: villainesses want heroes; ray palmer

Notes:

Okay look. It was fun to attempt writing a kind of morally gray / bad girl type. And it’s something I do wanna do again at some point.

Summary:

Ginger did all the wrong things for all the right reasons. And it nearly cost her family, a love and her actual life. Thanks to her sister Sara, she’s back on the Waverider and she’s recovering. When her memory returns, can she recover what she had with Ray? or is it too late?

Pairing:

Ray Palmer x Lance!OFC, Ginger

Warnings:

morally gray character, innuendo, mentions of temporary amnesia..

“You’ll do as I ask, Ginger.. Or your father and your sister Laurel? The real one? Well, they stay dead.”

The phone went dead and Ginger threw it, swearing as she practically paced a hole through the floor. From the doorway, her sister Sara spoke up.

“You’re the leak? You’re the reason Damien’s been a few steps ahead?”

That look of disappointment in her sister’s eyes had Ginger biting her lip and looking down, instantly ashamed of herself, despite Sara not really having any room to talk. “You don’t…”

“Don’t you dare tell me I won’t understand.” Sara was angry and hurt and stepping closer to the younger sister she thought she’d been bonding with.

Apparently, her baby sister was just using her as a means to an end. Sara stepped closer, glaring down at her and her sister swallowed hard, taking a few shaky breaths.

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? I mean, color me curious. What’s so damn important that you’d throw all the good we’ve done.. That you’d throw your own sister.. Under the bus?”

“Damien promised me he’d bring back our dad and Laurel, okay? Look, you got years with them both. Mom, she… she whisked me away to Nebraska when I was still a baby. Do you think I liked growing up away from you guys? Do you think I wanted to deal with Mom always putting her teaching career over me and refusing to let me see our father or either of you?” Ginger snapped at her sister, pacing, winding her fingers through long blonde locks as she punched at the wall next to the door.

She was in over her head, she knew that now. Thing of it was, she was too little, too late. She clearly saw now that Damien had been using her from the start. Manipulating events that at any time could’ve gotten the team hurt or even killed. The only way out of the situation she’d gotten herself into was through it. And given the anger she saw in her sister’s eyes right now, asking for any kind of assistance to pull off what she had in mind was probably going to result in a brawl.

A throat cleared from the door and Ray stood there, staring at her in confusion. “You’re the leak? I thought..”

“Ray…”

Ray didn’t even bother sticking around, he turned and walked away, vanishing from Ginger’s sight and Ginger sank back into the chair, lightly beating her head against the back of it.

Yeah.. She was definitely going to have to go this one alone, it seemed. It’s what you deserve, Gin… her mind echoed as she stood and smoothed her shaking hands over the front of her favorite pair of jeans.

It dawned on her.. She had a particular advantage. Maybe if she acted quick.. She sprang up from the chair and made her way off the WaveRider….

And that was the absolute last thing she remembered, prior to waking up in the medic bay on the ship.

XXX

Everything fucking hurt. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. The steady hum of the machines alerted her to the fact that something was.. Horribly wrong.

The platinum blond man stepped out, rubbed his hands together as he shook his head and chuckled. “I swear, I wish I knew what was so gosh darned enchanting about that idiot Palmer.. Not only did he manage to bewitch my own flesh and blood… But he got under the skin of one of my best assets.” the man tutted and shook his head, checking her vitals as he asked her calmly, “Do you still think shooting the serum directly into your neck was a good idea, Ginny? You’re such a smart girl, I’m almost disappointed to see you do something so foolish.”

“Look… I dunno who you are or what the fuck you’re talking about but… If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick, alright? It’s not like I got anything to live for.”

Damien eyed her, a brow raised at first. Then the look of confusion transformed into one of sheer joy. The memory erasing serum he’d been testing -and that she’d mistakenly grabbed when she was trying to steal the mock up of Mirakuru he had, it worked!

And it worked quite well.

Ginger felt that the guy was just dragging things out on purpose. She’d never really been a fan of someone who didn’t have the balls to get straight down to their intentions. Her mother always told her she got her mile wide stubborn streak and her strong sense of right and wrong from her father and that at times, it could be infuriating.

She managed to pry her wrists free and when the guy was puttering around his lab, she snuck up behind him, raising the only weapon she’d been able to find high above her head, every intention of braining him to death with it if it meant her making it out of this situation alive.

Her jaw dropped when he cleared his throat, lifted a finger and the object she held in her grasp fell to the floor with a noisy clank. He turned, staring her down. “If you’ll have a seat, I’m more than willing to explain everything… Including how you sought me out, desperate for dear old daddy to get one more chance at life… To have your whole family together again.. How you sold out your own sister for a chance to bring your dead one back.”

“You lying piece of shit!”

“Oh, but I’m telling the truth, darling.”

Ginger’s mouth opened and closed. While every fiber in her being wanted to believe the man was full of bullshit, there was this feeling deep down inside that insisted that no, he wasn’t.

And that thought blew her mind.

She went for the blunt object she’d been intending to use as a weapon again and Damien waved his hand, sending her crashing back into the room, a table toppling over on top of her. The table pinned her down, although by her own math, she should’ve easily been able to lift it.

The door burst open just as she started to black out all over again. She didn’t start coming to until she felt herself being scooped up.. The cologne.. Something about it was… familiar in a way.

She definitely knew whoever it was who was behind her rescue. She gripped hold of them, muttering the first name that came to her mind torn between consciousness and just giving in to the void again.

Ray sighed as he hurried down the hall, trying to locate Mick Rory to pass Ginger off for safety.

“Shh.. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m kinda like a cat. I tend to land on my…” she was starting to slip out again. Everything faded out and the next time she opened her eyes, she was somewhere entirely different. She almost wanted to say it was a hospital room… But something felt off about the whole thing.

The blonde woman who resembled her mother stepped towards her, a hand out and she tried to scoot as far away from her reach as possible. She was fighting against the drips and IV’s, hell bent on getting away and lucky she didn’t injure herself further. She stopped shy of ripping anything out because she’d always heard that doing that was never a good idea and she wasn’t keen on dying.

“Who the hell are all of you? Where the fuck am I?”

Sara caught her just as she managed to get a hand down to where her thick soled boots would’ve been normally and she spoke up. “Do you remember anything?”

“No… Wait… I remember a fight with a biker in an alley. Because he caught onto me hustling him in a game of pool..” Something about the memory didn’t feel right, but she wasn’t.. Sure about anything enough to know.

Sara glanced at Ray, tears stinging at her eyes. This was similar to the way her sister acted before they reconnected. Had her father lived -and been the one to raise Ginger, he would’ve definitely had his hands full, given some of their intel on her prior to choosing her to become a Legend.

Sara sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m Sara. Your sister.”

Ginger eyed her, wary. “I haven’t seen her since I was 4. How do I know you’re not lying? Mom told me Sara died…” Ginger trailed off, fidgeting.

“Mom believes that too. Nothin Dad tried tellin her would convince her otherwise.” Sara reached out and tilted her sister’s chin to make her meet her gaze. “Do you remember anything?” Sara tried again, hoping that maybe jogging her sister’s memory would free anything.

“Coming to Star City and visiting Dad’s grave..”

Ginger’s eyes settled on the lanky brunette male standing in the doorway and she nodded to him. “Getting shitfaced and waking up in a bed with that guy… Have you two… ya know? Because that tongue…” Ginger fanned herself, giving a giggle of delight at the way the guy blushed when every set of eyes in the room with him turned to fix on him at once. “In all seriousness.. He will totally rock your world.”

Ray’s face darkened and he cleared his throat.

Mick was quick to step between Ray and Sara, reminding her that the important thing here was to find out what Dahrk did to her kid sister while the guy had her. Ginger rubbed her head and grimaced as she felt dried blood and what felt to be a clumsy attempt at stitches.

“Well this is just peachy.” she mumbled as the others stepped out into the hallway. Sara immediately slapped Ray in the back of the head and Ray gave her a sheepish look.

“You… I can’t even right now.”

“Try being me.. She remembers our first night together.. But doesn’t remember anything else.. I get the feeling she might not take it well when she realizes just how serious we’d gotten before that night she left to go stupidly offer herself up to Damien.” Ray shook his head, swinging at a wall. “I still can’t believe she fucking did it.”

“She thought if she went and stole the device and serum herself, she’d be giving us an edge. She had all the passcodes to his compound, Ray. She’s never been afraid of anything. We both know this. Did you really think she’d sit back and just.. Let things go?”

“I wish she had.” Ray grumbled, taking a few deep breaths, staring intently into the room Ginger was currently recovering in. He’d spent months thinking he lost her too, that she’d died when they faced off against Damien a third or fourth time. And then they started to hear rumors about some badass new assassin. Apparently, she’d gotten on Damien’s bad side somehow, because the next thing they knew, Gideon was picking up a ping on Ginger.

Given that Sara had way more than enough time to calm down, to figure out the motive behind Ginger playing double agent, - a talk with her mother helped, and that in the months following Sara cooling down, she had ample amounts of time to settle into a pattern of blaming herself for her baby sister possibly dying, them going to try and rescue her and face Damien one final time was inevitable.

Ray hadn’t worried about anything beyond getting Ginger the fuck out of the compound. In fact, he’d kind of stepped up and really taken on leadership of the whole attempt.

Sara hadn’t been in the mindset to think clearly. To be honest, he hadn’t either, but he knew he wasn’t going to lose another woman he loved.

His hand rested against the glass as he watched Ginger like a hawk through the window. He couldn’t stay away, so while the others were talking, he made his way in quietly. Ginger’s eyes lit up at seeing him and she teased quietly, “Come to give me sweet dreams again, Dr. Feelgood?”

Ray stared at his hands. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Things he needed to say. But it all got trumped by the fact that he was just glad she was there and alive and able to say things to drive him crazy and make him blush.

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?” Ginger asked, moving to sit up, sort of snuggling against his side and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I’m technically a doctor.. And that’s what you called me….”

“After that night when I woke up in your penthouse. I remember that much.” Ginger nodded, giving a frustrated sigh. The light bounced off of something on a chain around her neck, and curious, Ginger pulled the chain out of it’s hiding place beneath her favorite tee shirt. As soon as she saw the dog tags and read the name on them… And the simple engagement ring that was also on the chain, everything rushed back to her at once and she sighed, going quiet.

“Oh.”

Ray eyed her, eyed the necklace he knew she never took off. He swallowed hard at the sight of the engagement ring he’d gotten her as a ‘joke’ when they were stranded in 1975 together on her first mission with the team.

“You were more than just a one night stand to me and true to form, I completely fucked that up.. My sister, she… Why would any of you even bother coming for me after what I did?”

“Maybe sometimes, princess.. Maybe sometimes the good guys fall for the bad girls. Did you really think I was going to just leave you there?”

“Ray, I would’ve left me there, okay? I can’t believe I was so fuckin stupid. Damien was never gonna bring either of them back.. And I betrayed the only sister I have left.. And you, I-…” she trailed off, looking down at her lap. She was about to do something she hated doing and tried to av oid at all costs.

Something she hadn’t done since the night she came to Star City and spent an entire night sitting at her father’s graveside doing it. The fat tear made it’s trek down her face just as Ray tilted her chin to make her look at him.

“I get it. I didn’t at first. I wanted to hate you. I really wanted to hate myself… Especially after we thought.. Ginger, you’ve been gone almost a year now. We thought you died… I spent almost a year thinking that you died. Knowing I could’ve stopped you from leaving that night, but I was too disgusted by what you were doing to bother.”

He leaned in, cradling her cheek against his hand, wiping at her eyes with a tissue. “Everything is going to be okay. You’re back and I’m not… Nothing like that is ever going to happen to us again.”

Ginger swallowed hard. “It’s not too late?”

“When you really love someone, Ginger, it’s never too late to try and fix things. If that’s what you want.”

Ginger glanced down at the dog tags and the ring he’d given her in joking. She slipped the necklace from it’s place around her neck, unfastening it. Ray raised a brow, biting his lip as she slipped the ring off the ball chain and onto her finger.

“Does that answer your question, Dr. Palmer?”

He pulled her onto his lap and as they started to kiss, throats cleared from the doorway.

“For fucks sake, you two! Jesus, get a room.” Sara turned until they’d both finally caught on to not being in the room alone and could be bothered to pry themselves apart in the sense of public decency.

“You both done now?”

“Actually, as soon as I can get these stupid fucking drips out of me…”

“Don’t… Don’t you dare finish that, Ginger Louise Lance.” Sara groaned, laughing as she moved closer, making an attempt to hug her sister.

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guildwars Love Story

(Contains trigger warnings: alcohol usage, sexual assault)

Chapter 2

Cruel, green eyes gazed deeply into Amalthia's amber-gold orbs as she struggled to break free of her leader's grasp.  The heavy breathing emanating from his nostrils rose and fell as his body shook with a rhythmic guttural, purring sound.   "Go ahead and scream little kitten.  Nobody will hear you.  In fact, nobody will even care."

Rodin Talonrend and Amalthia Rendfoe were the last surviving members of the Rend warband.  During a routine patrol on the Plains of Ashford, Flame Legion snipers ambushed their warband.  Out of the six members, only three made it out alive.  One of the survivors was also severely injured.  

Since Rodin elected to scout on ahead, Amalthia was given the task of tending to her wounded bandmate.  Their brief respite was shattered when a squad of Flame Legion soldiers spotted them.  Amalthia struggled to convey her injured comrade to safety.  But due to her somewhat diminutive size - at least by charr standards - she found the task more of a struggle than she had imagined.  Rodin returned only to see his remaining bandmate about to be shredded by the enemy. With his last gasp of breath, Dorvak Rendfear told Amalthia to leave him and to save herself.  Try as she might, she was unable to heave his heavy body upon her back.  She simply lacked the physical strength to do so.  Although Rodin managed to lay down some covering fire to help Amalthia escape, he never forgave her for her physical weakness and took every opportunity to remind her of that fact.  

"Damn you!  One of these days when you forget to tie me up properly, I will exploit that chance then I'll slice off your vitals with my fungal-infected claws!"

*** Amalthia awoke, her body shaking from the aftereffects of the nightmare.  She breathed heavily in attempt to evaporate the sweat that was pouring off her tongue.   Next time, I will go easy on the mead before downing a whole side of steak, she thought to herself.

"Amalthia!" Came the deep bellowing voice of her sire, Ludrick Crushblow, from downstairs.  "Is everything alright?" "Everything's peachy keen, sire.  Just having a rape fantasy, that's all," she said laconically as she loped on all fours onto the floor then began a series of stretches.  

"What did you just say?"  She could hear his voice echo through her upstairs room.

"The loud boom booms from the wars you fought in must have dampened all four of your ears.  I said that I had a fungal-infected dream, that's all." Ludrick facepalmed knowing full well what she had initially said.  "If everything is good then get down here.  I need some help carrying those beef sides to the chopping block." "I'll be down there in a frizzen flash." Amaltia's father was confined to walking on a cane thanks, in no small part, to an Ebonblade soldier's hammer sundering his right foot some twenty-five years ago.  The wound never fully healed but he managed to do his best to remain independent.  At least that was until Amalthia wound up knocking on the door of his flourishing butcher shop when she told him that she was exiled from her warband.  Since she was his only surviving cub, he simply did not have the heart to turn her away.  

Over the course of the next three years, she became his valuable assistant in running the day-to-day operations of his marketplace.  She helped him expand his shop to include a section that was filled with all sorts of exotic herbs and spices from all over Tyria.  The only things she asked in return was a workbench so she could hone her engineering skills (as she was part of Iron Legion) and a firing range in the back yard.   She helped her father unhook the massive sides of beef as they both laid them out in staggered rows across the thick oak chopping table.  Once the pieces had been arranged, Amalthia lit the boiler then opened the pressure relief valves.  As the pressure began to build, a shrill grinding sound began emanating between the deep grooves in the table.   With the pull of a lever, a massive saw blade rose between the oaken blocks.  Ludrick nodded to his daughter as they began to slide the first slab over the spinning teeth.   "That's twenty sides in five days.  Not a bad haul if I do say so myself," her father said with glee.   "Since the treaty, business has been booming.  Who would have thought we would be supplying both charr and human? Oh the irony of peace," Amalthia chuckled as she helped her father pull along the next side into the blade.   "Peace? It's just damn good business, that's all.  Even before the treaty, everyone could see that things were winding down.   That's why I set up shop in Triskell Quay.  People here are a little more tolerant of our kind, plus we still have the ports to ship our products to all regions of Kryta and Ascelon." "I still keep wondering if any of the humans around here have caught onto our little not-so-tightly-kept secret.  I mean this place ships five-times as much meat products in one-third the time.  And how did we lose Ascelon, again?" Amalthia quipped. "Um, Foefire."  Ludrick laughed.   His daughter chuckled as she began quartering a flank into smaller portions using the saw. "Magic and religion are crutches for idiots.  Acetylene and alloy brings home the gold any day of the week." Both father and daughter then hurled the severed chunks into various sized bins each according to cut and quality.  Amalthia swapped out the large-toothed saw blade for a fine-toothed one then proceeded to make the various bone-in cuts of meat.   "Heh!  Your dam would probably get a kick out of you saying that.  Hell, she might even crack a smile for once." "Her face would shatter into a thousand tiny bits if it did.  I don't think that bitch has a happy bone in her body." "Amalthia!  You should not speak about your mother, I mean dam, like that!"  Ludrick chided. "Human vernacular has started to rub off on you, hasn't it father. Ha!  Couldn't resist that one!"  Amalthia said with a smile that ended in an upraised curl to her lips that prominently displayed her large upper canines.

Ludrick's ears lowered.  "When you have mice bringing in their squealing piglets all the time asking 'mommy can I have this' and 'daddy can I have that' it kind of rubs off on ya.  Anyway, calling someone a 'bitch' is just wrong." Amalthia pursed her lips then raised a clawed finger to her mouth.  "Ah.  I see.  So calling my dam a bitch, even though she is a bitch, is just plain wrong.  Yup.  No more calling that bitch, a bitch.  Got it!"   "Now you're just being obnoxious.  Have you been drinking again?"  Her father chuffed. "Well, perhaps just a little swig or two.  Oh.  I can be a bitch if you want.  Even your bitch." Her father planted his leather-padded hand over his face.  "Ugh!  Do you even have any idea just how wrong that sounds?  I think you need to study up more on human colloquialisms.  That mouth of yours is going to doom us both." "Funny thing.  My primus said almost exactly the same thing.  He said that I was the only cub in the fahrar who had a chronic case of north-end diarrhea because I was always running off at the mouth.  Hence my nickname, Amouthia." "Shut up and cut the damn meat, cub!" Amalthia began to slowly and silently spell out the word that had become a bone of contention in their conversation.   Her father let out a deep growl.  "I'm not playing this game anymore.  You're just a bored cub with no direction in your future.  I'm done for today! Sort the product and clean up this mess when you're done.  Dammit! I'm getting a drink." Ludrick plunged his knife into a strip steak he was cutting then stomped off without saying anything further.   For her part, Amalthia simply stood in the corner and sighed.  

I hate myself for being in love with myself sometimes, she thought as she began to make short work of the remaining cuts of meat. Gah! People take things way too seriously.  I wish they would understand that it is just my own way of communicating with them... my own way of dealing with... Amalthia removed her butcher's smock, threw it to the far end of the cutting room then sank down onto the floor as rivulets of tears began to well up in her amber eyes.  She knew that the sun would be setting soon and there would be an extra liter of mead stored in the cooler waiting just for her.  

[ducktracy]

16. one more time (1931)

release date: october 3rd, 1931

series: merrie melodies

director: rudolf ising

starring: rudolf ising (foxy), carman maxwell (foxy)

one more time gives us foxy one more time. he’s credited as both rudolf ising AND carman maxwell... i’m not certain about the validity of that, but again—88 year old cartoon. this is the end of foxy’s very short lived career. predictably, walt disney asked if harman and ising could discontinue the use of foxy for obvious reasons. it’s a shame, as much as a blatant rip-off as he is, i really like his design! i don’t know if it’s the freshness of “finally, a new character” or just the relief of “finally, not a caricature”, but he seems to have slightly more personality than bosko. still barebones and transparent, but he’s fun to watch. in this short foxy assumes the role of a police officer, but maintaining order proves to be difficult when reckless driving and kidnapping gangsters interfere with his duties.

we open with our favorite copyright infringement merrily patrolling the streets. all is well, until a handful of cars speed past foxy, nearly flattening him across the road. justifiably his mood turns sour as he launches into “one more time”, a very catchy, rhythmic patter song. he dodges various cars, cursing “just one more time!” and shaking his fist.

he turns a corner for safety, when a gangster unprecedentedly rises from a trashcan and shoots foxy’s hat to smithereens. in retaliation, foxy pulls a gun on him, and a mouse extends out to give a hearty whack to the gangster’s head. these gags are predictable, but how i love them! they’re just so cheesy and fun. not to mention, this entire sequence (and cartoon) is paced really well. it’s snappy and quick, but not too breakneck, either. it fits just right with the brisk tempo of the song.

focus shifts to the hippo from smile, darn ya, smile! driving a fancy car. a mouse in a tiny car behind honks at her to get out of the way, and both of them battle for dominance. in the midst of their wacky races-esque battle, foxy gets run over by the hippo. rightfully so, he tweets on his whistle and goes to right her a fine.

the song portion picks up again as the two patter song in argument. what a great sequence! the timing is just right. the beat is catchy and tactile, and the voice acting is relatively good compared to what we’ve seen. foxy writes her a fine as the hippo tries to negotiate with him before bursting into crocodile tears, occasionally checking to see if foxy buys it. to get her to shut up, foxy slaps a trash can on her head and walks away.

conveniently, foxy stumbles upon roxy and her dog (who i bet was not at all influenced by pluto in any way, shape, or form). the dog is ecstatic to see foxy and pins him against a wall, showering him in licks. foxy protests and roxy giggles, borrowing bosko’s catchphrase of “ain’t that cute?”

she skips away to position herself at a player piano that just happens to be handy and bangs out “one more time” on the keys. foxy’s protests and the dog’s licks are executed in time to the beat. foxy briefly ties the dog’s tongue around its snout as a muzzle, but both become overpowered by the magic of music and join in dancing.

another predictable gag that warms my heart regardless—mickey foxy uses pluto the dog as a player piano, playing the music with his teeth.

however, they’re interrupted by the sound of gunshots. a bird robs another hippo of a pocketwatch and speeds away, with the police going after the criminal (complete with a cat siren).

foxy chases after the bird (who is driving a tiny excuse of a car). the bird drives through a pipe, and at the other end pops out a much bigger buggy and a gang of criminals who join in the chorus of “one more time”. we have some shots of the police and then the gangsters singing the song call and response style. once again, very catchy, with some lush barbershop harmonies.

the gangsters throw a grenade at the police, stopping them in their tracks, leaving foxy with the responsibility of stopping the crime.

no crime is complete without a little kidnapping! the gangsters kidnap roxy and drive off, and foxy chases behind on the same mechanical horse used by bosko in ups ‘n downs. this entire sequence happens like a breeze, it’s so fast! but not entirely in a bad way. the music is fast and it’s the climax, so the fast pace is relatively charming.

foxy races behind the gangsters, and by pulling the horse’s tail, the horse extends its mechanical head to bite roxy’s skirt and bring her to safety. the tables turn as the gangster are the ones pursuing the chase instead of initiating it.

god, i love this! foxy and roxy ride into a local jail cell with the gangsters hot on their trail, and pop right out from a manhole cover, locking the criminals in the slammer. it might be a trite gag (as all of these are), but it’s nevertheless amusing.

everything’s peachy keen as the criminals give a last bar of “one more time”, and foxy bows.

that is until the bird also rises from the manhole and SHOOTS FOXY IN THE BACK. iris out!

so our loveable copyright infringement was killed off! that scene is set up to be funny and not to be taken seriously, but considering this is the last time we see foxy, it wouldn’t be stretching the truth to say he was killed off.

what a short! in my opinion, this is the most polished of the foxy cartoons. the pacing is perfect! there are only some repetitive scenes towards the beginning with foxy walking down the street. the jazzy score of the music picks up the pace and allows the cartoon to be bouncy, swingy, and chipper. compared to other cartoons, the voice acting isn’t half bad! very entertaining and a good way to bid goodbye to foxy. i’d definitely recommend a watch! i might watch it again, just one more time!

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Musings #79: When Titans Fall: How Arthur Watts will cause the downfall of General Ironwood and Atlas Academy.

darleenas-art asked “ What are your predictions on how big of a role Watts will do this Volume? “

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Squiggles Answers:

Disclaimer: I was actually writing this musing this morning with plans to post it BEFORE the new episode dropped. But unfortunately. I didn’t finish it in time so some of the points I made mention of in this post were written premature to watching V7 CH2 and I’m not in the mood to go back and edit over some of the details. Nevertheless some of my theories presented in this post still apply even with what was learnt this episode. 

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@darleenas-art​  Top of the morning to ya, Dar-Dar. That’s a pretty good question so I hope you don’t mind if I turn my response into another small RWBY Musing post. As far as I can comprehend, given what I’ve picked up thus far from the first episode of the new season, my key theory is that Watts’ involvement for the events of V7 is going cause just as much trouble for Ironwood as he did back during the events of the Vytal Festival and the Fall of Beacon. 

As a matter of fact, I believe that this time it’s going to be much worse. Last time Watts ruined the repute of Atlas in the presence of the other kingdoms and the rest of Remnant. Now I think the next stage of events is ruining Ironwood’s reputation in the eyes of Atlas.  

My theory is that Watts’ schemes is going to spark a catastrophic chain reaction that will end Ironwood’s career entirely this season as well as his credibility within his own home kingdom. I believe that by the end of V7, Ironwood will be forced to step down leading to someone else with more malicious intentions replacing him on the governing Council for Atlas and it will all be due to Watts. Here’s what this squiggle meister is thinking:  

Pre-V7 CH2 Theories 

According to some clues presented in the first chapter of V7, there currently seems to be some sort of Election for Councilman going on in Atlas. 

While I’m unsure of the full details of the Election, it seems that right now there are two primary candidates in the running for a chain on the Council---newcomer Robyn Hill, representative of Mantle and Jacques Schnee of the SDC.

Despite the fact that this all sounds like a simple election to elect someone a new chair on the Atlesian Council, I feel like there is going to be more to it than that. I can’t help but shaking their feeling that this election is going to result in an impeachment of General Ironwood with the new elective taking his place on the Council. Right now in the series, Ironwood is the man with the most power and authority within Atlas Kingdom.

Unlike everyone else on the Council, James holds two seats which I’m assuming is due in part to his double role as Head of Atlesian Military in addition to headmaster of its local huntsmen academy in charge of moulding Atlas’ next generation of protectors. Not to mention that it was also stated by Pietro Polendina in the first episode that the Atlesian Council are currently so scared by everything that’s happened to their kingdom since the Fall of Beacon that they’re willing to put their full trust in Ironwood’s leadership.

“…How does the Council feel about all this, or Winter Schnee? Do you know anything about her?” “Well the Council’s so scared, they’ll agree to whatever he wants…”

It was also briefly mentioned by the Soul Doctor that some of the representatives from Mantle haven’t been too keen with the way Ironwood has been leading things. So right now, things aren’t looking too peachy for the General in terms of his presence to the People of the Surface World. I’m not sure how things are looking up in Atlas for James but it’s been clear from the get-go that Mantle isn’t happy with him.

Hence the election. It looks like Robyn and Jacques are running against Ironwood in hopes of one of them eventually joining the Council to introduce change. However, while Robyn is looking out for her people down in Mantle, the only reason Jacques probably wants in on becoming Councilman is for the sake of lifting Ironwood’s dust embargo. In typical, Jacques Schnee fashion, he is only in it for his own selfish greed.

And it is for this reason why I believe Watts is going to use that to his advantage. 

I think Watts is going to do everything in his power to ensure that Jacques Schnee ends up winning the elections and gaining a chair on the ruling Council of Atlas.

Watts is going to end up tipping the elections in Jacques’ favour by discrediting the name of the remaining candidates against him---meaning Robyn Hill. This is where Tyrian’s role comes into play. In the V7 Opening, Tyrian was shown fighting against Robyn who is backed up by Qrow Branwen. I think it’s going to be revealed at some point in the story that Robyn Hill is some kind of local Robin Hood of Mantle---she steals from the rich to give to the poor.

Similar to her fairy-tale counterpart, Robyn has probably been leading a secret group of Merry Men in targeting the Schnee Dust Company.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Robyn is fully aware of the SDC and all of their nefarious deeds under Jacques’ leadership; especially in respect to the abuse of Faunus employed under them.

It also wouldn’t surprise me if part of Robyn’s story involved her utilizing whatever resources and power she had in Mantle to put a stop to the SDC. This is probably why Robyn decided to run for Councilman in the first place. After learning that Jacques was planning to plant himself on the Council, there was no way Robyn was going to allow that snake a chance to run Atlas into the mud like he’s done his own company.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Robyn joined the elections not just to challenge Jacques Schnee but to ultimately become a voice for her people. There is no doubt that Robyn is the Voice of Mantle and she would do everything she can to help her people especially during the current tough times since the embargo.

But while Robyn’s intentions may be noble, I have a feeling that in the end,

Robyn is going to outed and labelled as a ‘criminal’ in the public eye which will ruin her chances in the elections.

After all, even if she might still win her seat in Mantle (as her people might still wish to back her up), I doubt anyone up in the prestigious Cloud City of Atlas will wish to have a ‘vicious thief’ sitting as part of their ruling Council, right?

So yeah, Robyn is going to lose the election to Jacques Schnee and you can bet your bottom dollar that Watts will have a hand in that victory, with Tyrian’s aid. As a matter of fact, not only do I think that Watts is going to ensure that Jacques is appointed to the Atlesian Council but he’ll probably tip the scale so far in Jacques’ favour that he’ll even usurp Ironwood

I have a feeling that V7 will end with Jacques Schnee taking Ironwood’s place on the Council while Ironwood himself will be given the big metal boot.

I believe Watts’ ultimate goal is to cause Ironwood’s downfall---humiliate him so badly in the public eye that at the end of it all, it will be the Atlesians---the very people that James swore he would protect--- demanding that Ironwood step down as leader. Watts is going to turn Atlas against Ironwood.

Right now, the Council and the People of Atlas all have fate in Ironwood. Ironwood is no different than the Greek God his kingdom is named after. This is basically James right now---carrying the full weight of responsibility for his kingdom and its citizens resting solely on his broad mighty shoulders that are slowly starting to quake from his own Baobab. 

In the eyes of Atlas or at least the people who believing in James, he can do no wrong. You heard Cordovin last season? When Ruby and Weiss so much as implied the slightest probability of Ironwood showing weakness in the form of his fear and paranoia, they were immediately shut down:

“…The General is no coward! Atlas is STRONG!”

To Cordovin, Atlas’ strength is reflective of Ironwood. So long as the General remains resilient, his people will continue to look to him to be the personification of that strength and security. So long as Ironwood remains strong, Atlas remains strong and his people will have his trust.

…This is why it’s going to reflect so poorly when Watts eventually hatches his ultimate scheme that will rally the People of Atlas against Ironwood. Turn their faith in him into distrust. Divide them. Sounds familiar to you?

This makes me realize who Watts’ fairy-tale counterpart is supposed to be. In the beginning I pegged Watts to be the RWBY equivalent of Dr. Frankenstein. But the more I thought about it, I eventually came to realization that Watts might be a mix of two classic villains from the Pinocchio series: The Coachman and J. Worthington Foulfellow or ‘Honest John’. 

 He possesses the charisma of Honest John, my theory is that Watts is going to make a ‘complete jackass’ out of Ironwood and he’ll probably use the Ace Ops as his guinea pigs for that cause since he was seen eyeballing them during the V7 Opening. 

Apart from the General and its military, the huntsmen are another symbol of strength and integrity within Atlas. 

I feel like in the end, not only will Watts’ scheme  destroy the reputation of Ironwood but also the huntsman. According to the Atlas Academy promotional artwork that was shared yesterday, it was stated that graduates from Atlas Academy eventually go on to joined the kingdoms’ esteemed military forces given them an opportunity to move into the Special Operatives Division. According to the ad, the Special Operatives are promoted as the most elite group of huntsmen and huntresses in all of Remnant.

I’m assuming this is where the Ace Ops also fall in. They are the crème de la crème of the huntsmen hailing from Atlas. It also wouldn’t surprise me if the Ace Ops are the Team STQR equivalent of General Ironwood’s forces. The Ace Ops probably know of the Relics and the Maidens. But perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. [Squiggly Note: As I said, I made this point prior to watching the episode and as it actually turns out, I was correct in both the Ace Ops being Ironwood’s personal team as well as already knowing about the Relic and Maidens] 

All in all, this is what I think is going to happen with Watts for V7:

Watts’ interference, accompanied by Tyrian’s meddling, is going to result in Robyn Hill being labelled as a criminal to the public of Atlas, resulting in her losing her chance at Councilman to Jacques Schnee.

Jacques Schnee will join the Council of Atlas but he still won’t have enough political prowess to overstep Ironwood since James’ still has the fate of the Council.

This is where the second part of Watts’ scheme will come into play. Similar to the events of the Vytal Festival, Watts will release an upgraded version of the Black Queen virus which will take over all of Atlas and Mantle. Long story short, basically the idea I have is that Watts will orchestrate another attack on the kingdom which will result in defacing the reputation of both General Ironwood and the huntsmen using the Ace Ops. Like I have a feeling that the Ace Ops will end up being framed for an attack on the Kingdom. It wouldn’t  surprise me if the Ace Ops are specialized branch of the Atlesian Special Ops who serve Ironwood personally. And if the Ace Ops are framed as traitors to their kingdom then so will Ironwood.

Ironwood will be labelled as a traitor to his own kingdom and thus, Ironwood will be revoked of all of his titles and be sent to prison along with the members of the Ace Ops. Can you imagine how very tongue-in-cheek it will be if we started V7 with our heroes being detained by the Ace Ops only for the season to end with the very same Ace Ops going to prison with Ironwood joining them? Think about that and let it sink in, if you will.

Not only will Ironwood lose his seat on the Council but he will also lose his title as General of the Atlesian Military.

I also have this theory where Ironwood will be forced to step down even as Headmaster of Atlas Academy with the academy programme itself being shut down on decree of Jacques Schnee. I believe that should Jacques Schnee become Councilman, at some point, he will vouch for the removal of huntsmen programme so Atlas Academy could potentially be shut down by the end of V7 as well.

I know this part of the hunch sounds especially farfetched but hear me out on why I believe that’s a probability especially with Jacques running for Councilman.

Do you remember what Whitley said to Weiss back in V4?

“…What can a single huntsman do that an army cannot. That’s why we have one…even if it is run by a fool…”

At first I saw this quote as a throwaway line from Whit, but now I believe this line might have relevance this season. Since Whitley is being portrayed as a mini-version of his father, you can assume that his own views on the huntsman and the military are the same as Jacques. Therefore, Jacques probably sees the huntsmen as obsolete. Useless when compared to the fighting force of the Atlesian Military and possible even a waste of money since I’m assuming part of Atlas’ economy is going into funding the Academy.

And given the fact that Ironwood closed off Atlas’ borders, this means the kingdom hasn’t been making any profits from trading. I’m no accountant or economist or anything but I’d imagine that Atlas owes a big chunk of its financial success to the dust trade, right?  Not like I’m trying to imply that the kingdom is bankrupt or anything. However with the state of how Atlas and Mantle are (especially Mantle), you have to ask the question: With the dust embargo set into play, how is Atlas making money and more importantly where is the money that the kingdom currently has being invested into?

I guess where I’m going with this point is that I can easily picture Jacques Schnee, in parliament, presenting a good argument against the investment of the huntsmen academy and he’d probably make sense from a business standpoint. After all, Jacques is a businessman. He knows all about dem profits and making the best decisions that will reap the greater financial success (in spite of it the means and long term consequences of such schemes). So I can easily see Jacques trying to make the debate that Atlas having both a military and the huntsmen a huge redundancy in cost.

Why bother to waste the kingdom’s resources on funding both when you can best invest in the superior of the two---and if what Whitley implied in V4 is indeed true, you can bet your ass that Jacques might push for eliminating Atlas Academy as a whole while promoting the military.

And another rationale as to why I believe Jacques may push for the military is because of Winter. After all, right now, one of Jacques’ own in in the military. Not only that but Winter is also the proclaimed best operative under Ironwood and his right hand.

So imagine this for a second. Watts ruins Ironwood’s credibility by the end of V7. The People of Atlas turn their backs on Ironwood. The rest of the Atlas Council turn their backs on Ironwood and vote for his immediate dismissal with Jacques Schnee replacing him and gaining the influence James once had within the Council. Under Jacques’ proposal, Atlas Academy is shut down and replaced entirely by the Military.

And with Ironwood also losing his role as head of the Military, who do you think is going to the next best candidate to the take his place? Who do you think Jacques Schnee will put in a good work for take Ironwood’s place?

I think you know we that person will be. If my memory serves correctly, James and Jacques were also found arguing about Winter back in V4 with Jacques commenting that ‘James stole Winter from him’.

So…imagine how Winter will feel when she becomes Head of the Military, not by her own hard work and integrity. Not with Ironwood’s blessing but because daddy dearest put in a good word for her with his newfound friends in the Council since Ironwood was made into a bobolee.

Imagine Jacques turning this into more propaganda for the SDC with Whitley officially taking over from him as President of the SDC, Jacques becoming Councilman and Winter as the new Head of the Military. That will be three Schnees in positions of power. I know Winter isn’t nefarious like her father nor was she groomed to be like her little brother. However, this is how I think things are going to go down by the end of V7.

Mind you, this hunch isn’t to imply that Jacques is secretly in cahoots with Watts. On the contrary, much like Yang and Pyrhha during the events of the Vytal Festival, Jacques will be nothing but a pawn to Salem and her forces and what would be expected is that he’ll too much a selfish fool to even realize that he’s been used by the villains.  

  And it’ll be all be courtesy of Arthur Watts.

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So in conclusion:

These are my theories and predictions on Watts’ for V7. Then again....I did make these theories prior to watching V7 CH2 and I’ll also admit that some of these hunches might’ve changed a bit after watching the second episode. 

I still believe that Watts’ plan is to cause Ironwood’s downfall, only this time it will be on a much global scale. I think it’ll be best if I save that for its own musing since, as always, I’m still grasping stuff from the second episode. 

For now, I hope you still like this musing Dar-Dar and for the most part, I hope it answered your question well enough. Take care, fam.

More Squiggle’s RWBY Content

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019) 

[corescorner]

Charmberry Cove Chapter Three.

Chapter Title: Thrift Store Shopping Shenanigans.

Wordcount: 3,627

AO3

Ch1. Ch2.

Taglist: @unsocialchapeau @aularei @softest-emo

“Alright gang” Thomas announces, clapping his hands together getting everyone to look his way. They're standing in front of the thrift store, Thomas is at the front of the four of them holding their attention “I'm going to be back here in about an hour to get you, so be ready for around-” he looks at his phone “-three, three thirty at the latest, I'll text Patton when I'm here.”

 Logan however, already knew this. He had his watch set for three seventeen since this morning.

“Everybody get that?” Thomas asks making them all chorus a 'yes' in varying tones. He seems satisfied with that, so he gets back into his car and drives off leaving the four of them to themselves.

Remus is the first to move.

“Well let's get the fuck in there!” He declares, pushing his way through the door.

They file in after Remus, Patton grabs a cart for them to share.

“So what are we doing first?” Patton asks the group.

“Well, we should probably get what we are here for and if we have enough time, look around at anything else we might want to purchase” Logan suggests.

“To the clothes then!” Roman says leading the way, an arm up pointing in the direction of the clothing section.

They stop right at the edge of the first row of clothing racks now looking around at another loss of where to start, so Logan asks: “what specifically are you looking for and how much do you have in spending money?”

“I need a whole new wardrobe and I have like fifty bucks” Remus replies.

Okay, this is going to be slightly more challenging, he was certain Remus had more money than that.

“I've got you covered for anything you're missing Bro” Roman interjects.

Ah, that makes more sense now, he knew he wasn't wrong.

“Should we split up and pick out anything we think you'd enjoy or would you prefer us all to stay together?”  Logan turns to ask Remus.

“Oh! The first one sounds like fun! Wow me plebs!” Remus exclaims.

“It'll be like a fashion show!” Roman says excitedly.

“Oooh fun” Patton claps.

Well, it seems like that is what they're going with. He's not surprised.

It had the higher probability level of the two after all.

They separate, Logan goes straight for the button up shirts, knowing Patton will go towards the sweaters and Roman to the shoes first.

And Remus... Well Remus is harder to pinpoint, his probability doesn't exactly work well with Remus' random and sporadic thought process.

It is nice sometimes though, to have someone he can't predict the next actions of. It's one of the reasons he enjoys Remus' companionship.

Remus dose surprise him by following him instead of going off on his own.

“I thought we were splitting up?” He asks the other, Remus flails his arms up in a loose shrugging motion.

“You'll probably find the best stuff” he says factually, “ya know, on the account of your psychicness an junk” he waggles his fingers in Logan's face.

“I'm not psychic Remus” he informs while adjusting his glasses. “I just know the probabilities of certain outcomes and the percentages of each possibility before it happens so I can properly assess the situations at hand from the probable outcomes it provides me.”

“Assess this” Remus says shoving him lightly, “nerd” he tacks on affectionately.

Logan smiles as he stumbles, fixing his glasses as he rights himself.

“Shall we get started?”

“You tell me Mr. 'I know things before they happen'.”

Logan sighs. “That's not exactly how it works, there's more to it than just knowing.”

“Whatever! Start looking for clothes Nerdy Wolverine.”

So that's what they do, Logan picks up items and instead of using his probability to calculate the items he simply turns to Remus for confirmation; it's relaxing.

Some items that he shows he knows for a fact that Remus would never wear and he doesn't need his probability to tell him that, he does it on purpose to see Remus laugh out at the suggestions that are obviously not his style.

It's fun. Logan is having fun.

They have a handful of potential shirts as they finish that row; they make their way to the next aisle, when a rack metaphorically catches his eye.

He walks up to the stand of different ties, Remus follows.

“Only serious people wear neck ties Lo.”

“Yes, you are quite right. I might get one for myself.”

“Blue” Remus says making Logan blink in confusion. Blue?

“Pardon?” He asks, looking at Remus looking at the ties.

“Blue” he repeats as he points at a specific tie. “It's your colour” he explains.

“Blue is my colour? How so?”

“Suits you” he simply says. “That darker one up there” he waves his pointing hand to get Logan to look at it then jumps for it and trips in the process; taking the whole stand down with him.

“Are you alright?” Logan slowly asks.

There are ties everywhere, and there's also a large cut on the side of Remus' cheek, but he has a wide triumphant smile plastered on his face so Logan supposes his friend is alright. Remus holds up the tie that he's clutching, it's the one that he jumped for.

“I got it bitches!” He yells as a worker rushes towards the commotion frantically.

“We are quite sorry for the disturbance; we’ll get out of your way.” Logan hauls Remus away from the puddle of ties and the disgruntled worker who mutters 'fuckin children' under their breath.

Well then.

“Here!” Remus happily declares, thrusting the tie at Logan.

He takes the tie. Yes he does think blue will suit him just fine.

“You're bleeding” he states, “we should wash that out in the bathroom.”

Remus flaps his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Nah I got it” he says, wiping the blood on to his sleeve.

Or rather, Roman's sleeve.

“Roman is not going to be happy about that” Logan muses.

“Did your probability thingy tell you that?” Remus mocks.

“No, common sense did” Logan snarks.

 ~0~

Patton goes to the sweaters to begin with, cause who doesn't like a warm snugly sweater?

No one that's flippin who.

He knows kinda what he's looking for, he knows that Remus' favourite colour is green and that his sense of style is unique.

Though, he does wear a lot of Roman's more baggy and comfortable clothes, so he'll go for those.

He picks out several sweaters, most of them having green accents and funky designs on them, before moving on to the next aisle.

He looks up from his search to see Roman five rows down with his own basket filled with an abundance of items he’s heading towards the jackets at the other end with a shine in his eye.

He looks over to where Logan and Remus are to the far left of the jackets that Roman is perusing.

They both have an arm full of items, engaged in what looks like a playful conversation. Remus laughs, Logan smirks.

Well, they're having fun.

He continues the clothes hunt, picking up random things that he wants for himself as well, like this really cute long grey knitted sweater with little blue stars all over it.

He startles, jumping a bit when he hears a loud crash around the area he last saw Remus and Logan.

He hopes they're alright, he goes to investigate the commotion.

He sees Remus wipe blood onto the hoodie sleeve he's wearing and he panics at the sight of the blood.

“Oh my gosh! What happened are you okay?” He rushes over, trying to push out a soothing aura as best as he can at the moment.

“Peachy keen Papa!” Remus smiles.

“You should clean your face” he worriedly suggests.

“That's what I said.” “That's what he said!” they chorus at same time.

“Who said what?” Roman asks as he saunters towards them and continues without waiting for an answer like he didn't even ask the question to begin with. “I heard a ruckus and assumed it was my brothers doing, do I need to apologize to anyone?”

“Nooo” Remus says indignantly.

“I already did” Logan supplies, then looks at his watch. “We have a little over half an hour before Thomas arrives, we should decide what we're getting.”

Everyone nods as they dump all of the items they've accumulated into the cart Patton has been pushing around, Roman even drops his basket in.

“To the changing rooms!” Roman declares leading the way.

 ~0~

Roman goes right for the shoe racks to begin with, he knows Remus needs another pair and he has a vague outline of a specific outfit in mind if he can find the right items, and a pair of boots got his attention from across the room, so shoes first.

Remus was right yesterday, even if they had a bunch of money to spend they would still be going to the thrift store, Roman thrives here with all the treasures you can uncover and all the differing styles.

He goes from aisle to aisle and back again to aisles he's already been in to grab things he didn't think would work at first to pick them back up, in the end he figures the more Remus tries on the more he can find what he wants.

He needs a basket.

Dumping everything into an abandoned hand basket he looks up towards the back racks of jackets and a shine catches his eye that he just zeros in on it, marching up to it intent on getting it.

Taking it off the rack his eyes rove over it. Oh yes, this is definitely Remus' aesthetic.

He hears a loud crashing and rolls his eyes. That would probably be Remus; he should go check on that.

 ~

“Okay, so I got you things I know you'll like and also things I think you should wear” Roman says as they get to the changing area.

He pushes his brother into a stall “you go in there and we'll hand you things!”

They hand Remus outfits, if it fits he shows them, some items are not... great, Roman will admit, liking something on the rack and seeing them worn are two different things entirely.

Some of the clothing Remus comes out with are really nice, and he makes jiggy movements when he likes a specific piece.

This happens for a while longer until Roman hands him The Outfit. Saving it for last, of course!

“What the fuck?” Roman hears his brother whisper with amusement “Ro, what the fuck is this?”

“I don't know.” He so knows.

“This is definitely your doing isn't it?”

“Maybe, we won’t know until you come out.”

 Patton looks worried, Logan looks curious.

“Roman?” Patton starts in a low tone.

“Don't worry Padre, it's nothing he'll be uncomfortable in, trust me.”

Patton looks slightly unsure but nods.

Roman feels a wave of calm wash over them anyway. Patton's way of saying 'it’s okay' directed in Remus' direction.

“Fiiine” Remus says pushing the door open and stepping out.

Who knew they made clothes like this for young teens?

Remus has his arms stretched out from his sides as he does a spin like he has done for all the other outfits.

The outfit, Roman must congratulate himself is simply amazing.

The jacket Remus is wearing is form fitting but not tight, the collar fans out and the ruffles lining the shoulder and cuffs aren't ugly like most ruffles tend to be and the jacket is also imbued with shiny green sparkles everywhere.

The shirt is slightly baggy with intentional rips throughout in a deep green colour; the collar is dipped, but not too low.

The pants are worn leather, but not clingy or tight, just the right amount of slack; covering up to his knees are a pair of punk boots.

Roman makes a note to buy neon green laces for them.

“Woooow” Patton breathes out.

Logan adjusts his glasses with a throat clearing. “Yes, 'wow' indeed Patton.”

Roman thinks Logan might be a tad flustered. Though, he would probably never admit that. You know cause: 'Roman, I do not have those types of feelings, stop asking'.

Whatever Nerd.

He can see a blush from Remus at Logan's agreement. Well, not much can do that, good for you Calculator Watch.

Roman whistles appreciatively.

“I love it” Remus says.

“Of course you do, I chose it” Roman boasts, hand fanned out towards his chest. “If I knew how good we look in leather I would have already gotten some for myself” he tacks on.

 ~0~

Remus decides he likes this style, he was already kinda leaning towards it, but this solidifies it for him.

 The jacket is sparkly and the pants are weirdly comfortable.

 He also looks pretty bad ass and judging from the others reactions, they agree.

He's definitely going to incorporate this more into the rest of his clothes buying decisions.  

That was also the last outfit they had for him to try on. Of course leave it to Roman to save it for last, the fuckin drama king.

He changes back into the clothes he came in. Roman hasn't noticed the bloody sleeve yet.

He picks up the 'yes' pile of clothes and they all head to the cash.

He ends up with three sweaters, two jackets, seven pants, eight shirts, four button up shirts a pair of converse and the boots.

Rather good haul today.

They're in line to pay as Logan's watch goes off at the same time Patton's phone dings.

Not psychic his ass.

“Thomas is here” Patton announces. “I'll just tell him we're almost done.” He says as he texts.

The total comes out to be much more than the fifty three that Remus has. Roman stays true to his promise to spot Remus the remaining amount.

Roman is too good for him honestly.

All of them are, he doesn't deserve them.

Patton snaps his head towards Remus with a concerned look.

Right, no self-deprecation around the living emotion detector.

Gathering all their bags they file out of the store, walking to Thomas' car; the trunk is already open for them to dump their newly acquired shit in.

As they climb into the car- sitting in the same seats as they did coming down- Thomas asks: “Have fun?”

“So much fun!” Patton pipes up “Remus gave us a little fashion show and he got so many cool clothes! And I even got some new stuff too!”

“That does sound fun” Thomas agrees “hey you guys hungry? I bought some snacks” he says handing Patton a lemonade and a large oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.

Thrusting a convenience store bag into the back for the rest of them, Remus takes it being the one sitting in the middle seat.

It's clear that Thomas knows what they like.

It makes sense the man practically raised them alongside their parents after all.

Roman gets a small bag of sweet and salty popcorn with an iced tea.

He hands Logan the water bottle and yoghurt/fruit/granola mix cup thing.

And he gets Mountain Dew Red and one of those individually packaged large pickles.

No doubt on who's was who's that's for sure.

Thomas starts the car after they buckle up and drives in the general direction of home.

That's the only way you can go when you wanna get into The Cove, just go in its general direction, vaguely knowing where to go. You'll eventually get there if it accepts you.

 ~

The drive was quiet while they ate for the most part. Remus did make some innuendos with his pickle, making loud gross noises until Thomas told him to stop.

“Remus, buddy. Please, enough with the noises okay?” He asks, but in that way adults ask which really means 'shut up'.

He did notice that it was annoying Roman on how his twin was crunching on his popcorn, and making Patton uncomfortable if the forced calm aura was anything to go by.

Logan is the only one who seems like he's not fazed by it.

Fine. He'll stop.

The rest of the drive was filled with light chatter and laughter, mainly from the brothers up front.

Roman and Logan do interject every now and then to get into the conversation.

Patton tells them about his new friend that he was helping yesterday, but Remus isn't listening...

He stays uncharacteristically quiet. Roman shoots him looks every once in a while.

What's wrong with him?

Whatever, his thoughts are enough for him to concentrate on right now, too loud to distinguish between what's being said and what he's thinking, so he stays quiet.

He doesn't know where this mood came from, but does he ever?

The answer is no. His brain does whatever the fuck it wants.

They just had a fun day! Stop being stupid!

He can feel Patton trying to calm him, but he pushes against it as best as he can, he doesn't want that right now.

Patton's wince at the push back obviously hurt his feelings but so what, he shouldn't be forcing that shit on people anyway!

Uuuuugh, why is he like this. He knows Patton is just trying to help!

Well, fuck him then huh?

Jeeze Remus, shut up.

He needs a distraction. That would be nice right now. He looks to Logan, who is conversing with Thomas and Patton.

Well, that idea is fucked into the ground.

So what, he'll just... deal with his thoughts.

Nothing new.

~

They get to The Cove within forty five ish minutes, the sun already going down as it does earlier once you're in The Coves boarders.

It felt like much, much longer than that though.

They get dropped off first considering Logan lives close by to Thomas and Patton, while they live on the other side of town.

Remus slams his bedroom door shut once he gets there, dropping his things on his bed and throwing himself limply to his floor, staring at the glow in the dark stars Logan gifted him.

'It might help calm you down' he said. Well, tough fucking luck for Remus.

UGH, he needs a distraction.

Roman knocks on his door but walks in without an answer and flicks on the light Remus ignored to do when he came in.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly.

“It's just a small cut Ro” he snips.

Roman looks at him like it's the first time he's seeing the cut.

“Well, I didn't realize that that was new”

Well, maybe he didn't notice.

“Dunce.”

“Asshole.”

They're both quiet until Roman comes to kneel at Remus' side, softly touching around the cut.

“This is not a small cut Rem, it's kinda deep actually.”

“It's fine, you can leave now.”

“Are you okay?” He asks again, Remus huffs.

“I already told you it's fine.”

“That's not what I meant.”

He knows, but Roman doesn't need his crap brothers crap ass thoughts dragging him down too.

Roman sighs while he gets up and leaves.

That's for the best.

But he comes back with rubbing alcohol, bandages and a warm cloth.

Idiot.

He closes his eyes, he can't look at Roman being so soft right now.

Remus doesn't flinch when Roman dabs his gash with the alcohol soaked cloth.

“You don't have to tell me anything” he whispers.

Duh, he knows this.

“But, I would like to help in any way I can. So I'm not leaving you tonight.”

Oh.

“We've dealt with everything else together, and we can deal with these intrusive thoughts as well. I'm The Prince Rem, I'm not going anywhere while you're hurting.”

Fuuuuck Ro stop being so you! You chivalrous wang!

Remus opens his eyes.

“They hate me” he whispers.

Roman looks taken aback.

“What? No they don't, what makes you think that, we just had a great day together.”

Remus shrugs. “They're being nice cause they like you.”

“So they've been being nice for our whole lives? Remus we grew up together, they like us equally.”

“They like you. I'm just the tag along reject twin who needs to be told to shut up.”

Roman finishes bandaging his cheek.

“You have to know that's not true” he says softly.

Remus grunts.

“Is, is this about Thomas telling you to stop? Cause you know he wasn't being malicious right.”

“No” Remus says, Roman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes? Ugh! Kind of? I don't know Ro it's a lot of things!” He throws his arms and legs up into the air, letting them thud back to the floor making his body into a star.

“Thomas was annoyed, Patton was annoyed, fuck you were annoyed!”

“I wasn't annoyed” Roman says.

“Bullshit, Mr. Passive Aggressive Popcorn Muncher!”

“What? I was eating my popcorn in a normal fashion thank you very much.” he says poking Remus' bandage. 

“Whatever.”

Roman sighs again.

“Okay, granted, not everyone enjoys your... sense of humour” he says slowly.

Remus scoffs.

“But, but” he points at Remus “that's okay.”

Remus rolls his eyes.

“Hey, it's true! Do you like your jokes?” He waves his hand as he asks.

Remus nods.

“Okay so there, we may not all appreciate the crudeness, but that doesn't mean they hate you” he enunciates with poking Remus in the forehead multiple times as he speaks.

“Take your own advice Ro.”

Roman squints down at Remus with a scowl pout and huffs.

“Yea” he simply says, flopping himself down on the floor laying next to Remus.

They look at each other with small smiles.

Until Roman notices his sleeve, picking it up with Remus' limp arm.

“Uhgh” he whines, “you can keep this one.” he says, dropping the offending sight.

Remus snorts. 

[ask-chef-teruteru]

You actually do know who I am, haha, I’m just too afraid to reveal my identity right now. I just think you’re amazing. You have so much optimism despite everything and I wish I could be like that too.

“Nothin’ wrong with usin’ your anonymous mask when you’re feelin’ shy or embarrassed or what have ya. Ain’t even a stranger to puttin’ one on for myself once in a blue moon, so y’all won’t find any judgement here.

I... Well... Darlin’, I gotta be honest with ya— even I got my days where I can’t muster no optimism. Sometimes life really knows how to throw some hard hits n’ it just ain’t feasible to just hope for the best n’ keep my chin up. Nothin’ wrong with havin’ times where the light at the end o’ the tunnel seems too dim n’ too far away to stay optimistic about it. I would hope nobody’s tryna uphold y’all to the standard of never feelin’ in low spirits anyways—even if that person tryna uphold y’all to those standards is just you. Heh, not everybody out there’s an Ultimate Hope, understand?

You can be optimistic in the face of hardships too though, my dear— and that ain’t just my optimistic talkin’, promise. Now, I ain’t sayin’ you gotta go bein’ in denial, pretendin’ everything’s A-okay, peachy keen, all aces, the epitome of paradise, but I’ve found that pessimism don’t exactly serve well. New situation presents itself— it ain’t gonna do you no good to assume it’s gonna be a bad experience, that it’ll probably make your life worse, that it’ll be a waste of time, that you’ll be miserable or whatever negative thing. And hey, don’t get me wrong here, sometimes things’re just shitty as can be, no two ways about it. But why assume so from the beginnin’? Better to leave room for disappointment n’ not need it than to be disappointed the whole time no matter how it turns out, ain’t it?

If you’re the pessimistic type or lean more on the fearful side to where y’all can’t be excited by new prospects or try makin’ lemons from lemonade, I wantcha to try n’ work on adjustin’ your thinkin’ a little. Maybe somethin’s happenin’ that feels scary n’ new and could wind up not workin’ out so hot— but I want you to keep in mind that things can be excitin’ too—might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened n’ ya don’t even realize it!

Or— if awful circumstances do befall ya, think about things ya have to look forward to down the road; don’t even gotta be big things. Eatin’ a favorite meal again, seein’ a loved one again, countin’ down ‘til the release date of a movie or a game or somethin’. A next payday, a new outfit, gettin’ your hair done, gettin’ to take a nap, cozyin’ up with a good book, takin’ a hot shower. Not everybody’s gonna be able to be optimistic all the time or come out of a fire unscathed, but it is possible to hold out for bein’ able to have happier days.

I dunno if anything I said is of any kinda help to you, sweetheart, but I still got the utmost confidence that you’re amazin’ too n’ can work towards a better outlook in life too.”