#assuming that the memory here is real & that she looks younger than when he properly leaves bc

[icekingandbetty]

memory of a memory + simon petrikov

[thefirstknife]

Iron Lord Saladin Forge

Season of the Lost dropped some major lore about Saladin and I love every piece of it so I will make a huge post detailing stuff about and what's important.

The lore is on Iron Banner armour which you can see in-game when you go to the armour section. The lore is the same on each class so it doesn't matter which one you read. It's in the order of how armour is set, so helmet -> arm piece -> chest piece -> leg piece -> class item. There's some extras on Iron banner weapons that I'll add as well.

The rest under the cut due to length and also spoilers!

I'll link to the Hunter gear because I'm a dirty Hunter main and I read it from there and that's what I have open because I couldn't remember the names for other two classes, but the lore is the same on all of them. The set is called Iron Forerunner.

We haven't really had any substantial Saladin lore in D2 besides few lore pieces from Chosen and Splicer. Not nearly enough I think, especially since he wasn't properly introduced in D2 at all and it was kinda assumed that everyone would know about him from the Rise of Iron expansion in D1. He had plenty of voice lines, but with no real context. His voice lines in Season of the Chosen were interesting, but also made a lot of people think he's a bad person and a warmongering coward who sat on his butt during the Red War and was then preaching action for action's sake.

The situation is obviously more complex, but I've always said that it's Bungie fault for not explaining more about him prior to his involvement in the Season of the Chosen. Well, now we got some really interesting information at last!

Anyway, helmet first!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We threw ourselves on the blades of tyranny so others may live free." —Lord Saladin

This is referencing the Iron Lords' fight against the Warlords in the Dark Age. Saladin is heavily influenced by his time in the Dark Age. It seems like some really old Guardians never get over the trauma of living through that (Drifter is another example). Side note: this could also be referencing the battle against SIVA since Rasputin is also known as "The Tyrant." It's not fully relevant tho, as Saladin was equally affected by both periods in his life.

This first entry details something we don't really think about when it comes to Guardians: death. It's a temporary thing with them so it doesn't really matter. But Saladin recounts how he remembers his deaths and how each one felt. Despite the fact that he will be brought back, the pain and struggle of dying are very real. There is also the associated trauma of the realisation that you will go through this over and over and over:

He laughed when his Ghost reassembled him. Then, he cried.

It's not something mentioned often, and definitely wasn't a point raised with Saladin. It gives some context to how seriously he takes combat, training and the lives of his fellow Guardians.

Saladin remembers the day he stopped counting deaths. "Something about you is different," Jolder had said, and put her hand on his.

This explains that his worldview of the role of Lightbearers changed the moment he was invited to become an Iron Lord. It's also important to remember that he loved Lady Jolder very much (in whichever way you want to interpret it) and that watching her make the choice to die a final death has had a heavy impact on him.

Saladin remembers all this and more when he looks at the Crow. He feels rage form a hot pit in his belly when Osiris tells him about the young Lightbearer's suffering at the hands of his fellow Guardians. Osiris asks him if he can keep a secret.

"I don't like secrets," Saladin says, and that's the end of it.

Saladin doesn't really say this during Chosen and his interactions with Crow, but it's evident from this that he cares deeply about the young Light who suffered in ways Saladin only remembers people suffering during the Dark Age. It's also important to note that the Osiris he speaks to here is Savathun. Saladin seems to be uniquely unaffected by Savathun's schemes. This will repeat itself again later.

Second, arms piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We were forged in the fires of a burning world." —Lord Saladin

Same thing as before. Referencing the post-Collapse Dark Age. The lore tab details a really tragic story of the Iron Lords burying bodies, including the implication of Saladin burying the body of a child. He recalls that these people were victims of Fallen Raiders.

"It's a vicious circle," Efrideet had said as she tied off a funeral shroud with great care. Saladin remembers the bundle being very small. "One day, I'm going to break it."

Saladin remembers how easily the body fit in his arms, how light it felt as he laid it in the grave. He remembers, with shame, pretending not to hear Efrideet's words so he wouldn't need to respond to them.

He remembers not having anything kind to say.

He obviously regrets not having a stronger stance on this in the past. Where Efrideet seems to have always been keen on ending the cycle of violence, he clearly thought differently and is now ashamed of it. This transitions into more about his relation to Crow:

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow talks back to him. Sometimes, he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sometimes, he looks up to find his Ghost focused on him with a knowing look.

He doesn't say anything to his Ghost either.

Because Crow was saying things that reminded him of Efrideet. Breaking the cycles of violence, extending a friendly hand, not treating everyone like an enemy. It's evident that this turmoil is still inside of him as someone who spent most of his time fighting for survival, only to be told by those younger than him that there's a way out of that war. It's a very common struggle of people dealing with trauma and specifically PTSD to not be able to imagine and/or live in a world of peace and to outright reject the possibility of peace ever existing. Saladin is very clearly dealing with that and here, we see it from his own POV: despite sometimes being harsh to Crow, there were times when he chose to say nothing because deep down he knows that Crow is right. Accepting that is a long process though.

Third, chest piece.

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We rose from the ashes of a dying world to save humanity from itself." —Lord Saladin

Same again, but this is an interesting way to phrase it. He's talking about humanity being a danger to itself, not about any external threat. Ultimately, the Traveler's gift was the first thing that harmed humanity post-Collapse, despite later being the thing that saved it.

This leads into Saladin's thoughts on the Red War, something we've been sorely missing for a very long time.

Saladin remembers losing his connection to the Light. He remembers thinking that the Traveler must have discovered his most secret doubts; the darkest thoughts he shared with no one—not even his Ghost. He remembers the strange sense of relief that had washed over him until his radio crackled to life just moments later.

His deepest secret? Probably that Light is a burden. When he lost the connection to the Light, he specifically thought it had only happened to him and then felt relief. Freedom from the eternal war he has to keep waging. I'm sure he feels incredible shame for thinking it would be better to just lose the Light and die a final death, but alas, he is bound by duty. Especially a Titan's duty.

He stands there thinking about it for a while before finally deciding to embrace that duty. And now we know what he was doing during the Red War:

"Saladin," his Ghost said again, and Saladin remembers moving. He remembers clutching his radio and rallying survivors—those strong enough to make the journey—to the Iron Temple.

It's been abbreviated as him "sitting out" the Red War because he didn't fight. Of course it was strange that the last remaining active Iron Lord did not show up to the City to fight alongside all the others, both Guardians and ordinary humans. That Lord Saladin, someone who endured so many hardships and fought so many battles since the Dark Age, hasn't come to help humanity in its time of greatest need.

But now this hits different. He didn't fight, yes. He couldn't. Losing the Light wasn't just something that made him scared (like all Lightbearers): it was something that made him scared of how he might actually enjoy dying a glorious final death. To end the trauma and the memories of all the horrors he's been through. So instead of throwing himself into a reckless death, he chose to stay in the Iron Temple and protect survivors.

So yeah, he didn't fight, but he did something equally important. The Iron Temple is an extremely well protected fortress that's very difficult to reach and breach, so any survivor he gathered was perfectly safe there until the Red War ended. Sometimes "sitting out" is more noble than fighting.

Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow challenges him on his cowardice during the Red War. He wants to break the young Guardian's back to teach him a lesson about what it's like to feel helpless, but something stops him.

He remembers hearing stories about the Crow's life on the Shore before he arrived at the Tower, and does not raise a hand against him.

The lore entry ends with telling us that Saladin was clearly very agitated about Crow's teasing. But in the end, he remembered what Crow has been through and realised that Crow already knows what it's like to feel helpless. He did not need a reminder and Saladin decided to take the teasing without a response. It truly frames some of those voice lines in a different light, knowing this background.

Fourth, leg piece!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crossed a burning world with sword in hand, bringing justice and blood." —Lord Saladin

Once more, we are told that Saladin was mostly forged (eheh) through his experience in the Dark Age.

The lore page details a bittersweet memory Saladin has of him with his fellow Iron Lords and friends enjoying some good time over a meal and song.

He remembers Radegast asking him to sing the song taught to them by the people of the blacksmith's village, but agreeing only when Jolder and Perun promised to join in. Their voices rose like wolves in the night and were so raw by morning that none of them could speak.

This is honestly heartbreaking. Saladin being this happy and free to sing and enjoy himself: compared to how he is now. But even with that, he has retained the need to do it again sometimes, if he ever finds people to be comfortable around.

Saladin remembers all this and more when Zavala tells him Amanda has taken the Crow out to drink in the City's streets. He wonders what song they'll sing, if it's anything like the one he's heard everyone humming lately—even though he hasn't tried it himself.

I love how he projects his past joy onto the two young people and wonders if they'll do the same as he did once. Here we also get another hint about Saladin apparently not being affected by Savathun's viral chant. It might be a point relevant in the future.

Finally, class item!

Flavour text:

"Some know the legend. We crushed the Warlords beneath our heel so that they may never rise again." —Lord Saladin

Nothing new here. Just Saladin recounting how hard they went against the Warlords.

The rest is a very poignant lore page that details the relationship between Saladin and Zavala. Zavala studied under Saladin who was his mentor and it's been repeated often that Saladin has retained a "soft spot" for him.

Saladin remembers the first time he met Zavala. He remembers thinking that the Awoken had regal bearing like the stags he once hunted on the Steppes. His shoulders were broad, and his chin held high. When he moved, he did so with the strength and purposeful deliberation of someone with the power to determine his own place in the world.

"You'll never have a son," his Ghost had said, "but it isn't too late for you to take an apprentice."

I love when non-Awoken describe Awoken, there's always something ethereal about it. But I'm mostly putting this part here because of what Saladin's Ghost says.

First, I am incredibly soft for older Guardians adopting younger ones as kids and teaching them. Easily my favourite dynamic ever. Saladin seeing Zavala as a son makes me cry a thousand tears.

And second, is this finally a full confirmation that Guardians cannot bear children? It's kind of a strange place to put it, but it seems to be the implication. It makes sense they wouldn't be able to, but it's also nice to have some direct lore information about it in case it pops up as a question. I'm sorry if this ruins anyone's fics.

Saladin remembers their sparring matches. He remembers how Zavala always got back on his feet, no matter how many times Saladin put him down. He remembers refusing to offer the younger Lightbearer a hand up. Until the day Zavala finally bested him in combat.

He remembers lying flat on his back, left shoulder dislocated and ribs shattered, a strange pressure on his chest that made it difficult to breathe.

"Finish it," Saladin had commanded because that was the way of things. His Ghost would revive him.

Saying nothing, Zavala hauled him to his feet instead.

I love how this is placed at the end, paralleling the beginning of Saladin remembering his deaths and the pain of dying. But instead of "finishing it," Zavala pulls him back up. It's definitely something Saladin hasn't experienced before, especially not before becoming an Iron Lord, when all of his deaths were just gruesome ends to a struggle. Then seconds after, he'd be back up. He took the revival for granted, until Zavala offered him the alternative. Again, an interesting perspective about something we don't usually think about much. I do wonder how Saladin healed afterwards though.

Saladin remembers all this and more when his former apprentice calls him into his office and tells him about the face behind the Crow's mask. Zavala says he knows that Saladin doesn't like secrets; that it's unfair to ask him to keep one of this magnitude, but there will come a time when the Crow needs someone—the way Zavala needed Saladin.

"You never needed anyone," Saladin insists.

Zavala only smiles.

This page ends with the two bonding again. Despite their differences and disagreements, there's mutual respect between the mentor and the apprentice. The father and the son.

And Saladin thinks Zavala never needed him, but that is obviously not true and Zavala tells him so. He also tells him that Crow, and implied Guardians like him, will need the same guidance.

It gives us a full circle back to Saladin's musings about his purpose as a Guardian and Lightbearer. He may have doubted his place in the world before, but seeing as he's still here with us and actively participating and helping; training us through Iron Banner, helping with the Eliksni, refusing to side against the Vanguard despite the difference in opinion, now serving as Zavala's ambassador for the Cabal and easily bonding with someone he would've considered an enemy not long ago...

I think Saladin knows his place. He's one of the strongest Lightbearers and most principled among them. He is not swayed by lies and deceptions, he does not abide by them and speaks plainly. He has deeply rooted beliefs in justice and he will not compromise himself, even if it means conceding his position to make peace with a former enemy when that enemy proves their worth, honesty and good intentions to him.

He is a Guardian.

He is an Iron Lord.

[missnight0wl]

Say hello to Olivia Green. Tbh I find her design very different than Jacob's, like... She matured but not him... And I can't accept that's bc he's been trapped in the portrait bc if so, he would be trapped longer than Bea and he has no effects at all of the curse, and I doubt he's THAT strong. I keep thinking that's not the real Jacob but a projection of the old memory of Jacob (ex.: when Tonks transforms into Binns, is in ghost form bc she remembers him like that and no his alive form).

Alright, a couple of things I want to address.

First of all, I talked about Olivia and Jacob having child models in my previous post, so I won’t be repeating that.

Secondly, I agree with you that Olivia’s and Jacob’s vibes are very different. And honestly, I don’t think that the matter of models is even super relevant here. Because yeah, Olivia somehow looks… more mature. And for a moment, I’m gonna assume that Jacob was really trapped in the portrait and whatnot. Let’s also ignore his mental state for now. Technically, it could make sense that Olivia looks more mature because she was simply living through all those years when Jacob was trapped. Like, she literally is more mature and has some life experience. The problem is that Jacob doesn’t look younger in comparison to her. He just looks… odd.

This is actually something that always bothered me about Jacob’s appearance. While I quite like his outfit in general, when put on his model, it gives the impression of a child who was playing in his father’s wardrobe. And honestly, this thought feels quite ironic after “Player Father” was revealed. I mean, it seems that it might be exactly what happened. Also, another thought I had about “Player Father”: don’t you think that his outfit somehow gives younger vibes? Especially that shorter jacket... I think it’d look much better on Jacob while the long coat could look less ridiculous on the Father.

Either way, I feel like we have two problems with Jacob’s appearance:

1) Why JC failed so badly at making him look more mature when they did just fine with Olivia? Seriously, she actually looks like a young adult, even though she quite clearly has a child model.

2) Why they even felt like they need to make Jacob look adult, to begin with? I mean, it was never confirmed how old Jacob was when he allegedly got trapped, but he had to be about 15-17. So, why he has such an adult outfit? I suppose we can assume he wanted to impress Rakepick or whatever, but… it really didn’t work for him. I’m sorry, but he just looks ridiculous, and I don’t understand why JC made such a design decision.

And this brings us to the problem of Jacob not being affected by the portrait... Because no matter how old he was then, and no matter if his age was frozen, he’s spent years in there. I remember one of my Anons proposing once that it was Jacob’s Legilimency that helped him stay mostly unaffected. And I suppose it’s indeed possible that it had some impact on how strong Jacob is, at least in this context. But in general, you know I don’t believe this Fugly Slut at all. Not only do I share your concerns, but also we should remember about Nearly Headless Nick telling us that the victim of the Portrait Curse from years ago was freed very quickly. Meaning that the curse was broken properly, meaning that the dragon had to be defeated, meaning that there was no reason for Jacob to get trapped. So yeah, what’s the deal with that?

Finally, I have to say that I really like your idea about a projection. It actually reminds me of my old theory about vault!Jacob. However, if vault!Jacob was placed by R, then I believe it’s all about appearing more familiar to MC (which obviously means easier manipulation).

[vegalocity]

AU idea based off the fact that MK's age is unknown- Xiaotian is Wukong's son and before everything fell apart, he and Red Boy were childhood sweethearts. And now, for reasons, neither really remember each other but are drawn to each other.

okay this is really interesting to me because this feels like it could be one of those AUs that technically plays with canon but doesn't subvert it like a normal AU

Like, One would think that maybe Red Son would remember after all it was Xiaotian's fucking father that sealed his father away, but if they BOTH don't really remember eachother lets take it a step farther-

(under a cut bc i got carried away bc i speant like all shift today thinking about this)

Let's say that neither of them remember their own childhoods at all. Idk how or why, thats not the point, but if we run with this, then we can assume Xiaotian grew up on FFM, but after a certain point left for the city, maybe since he's just.. way more extroverted than his dad he just wanted to be around people other than the monkeys, and bc... you know... reasonsTM he's been keeping his relationship with Wukong secret. Also it's fun to hear how the stories that were some of his favorites of his dad's adventures ended up remembered by others. And he's not sure if Tang's research was a flawed history or his dad embellished a bit more to entertain him as a child, or maybe both, but some of these stories as Tang tells them are VERY different.

But it's then, when he's living alone and always out and about on deliveries something-... happens... something mysterious and-

Suddenly he can't really remember much about a time before he moved in to the little loft above Pigsy's shop.

And the letters (emails) keeping Wukong updated stop coming. He considers finally giving in and getting a cellphone to call his damn kid and ask if he's alright, but Xiaotian never answers his phone for unknown numbers- Is- is something wrong? Is he in trouble?...Maybe he'll just pop into the city real quick in disguise, just to be certain, and if there's not a problem he can laugh to himself about being paranoid and then come to visit properly-

And maybe just to check up on it, peek in on his staff to make sure everything's still in place.

And then Red Boy was there, holding some machine apparatus to his. damn. staff. and taking readings, writing down whatever he's got and muttering to himself about 'the plan' and Red Boy--certainly no longer a boy much like how his own son had become a man, was planning something.

blah blah blah the pilot happens but whoops this time canon is like EXTREMELY sad through Wukong's perspective bc his OWN FUCKING KID somehow FORGOT ABOUT BEING HIS KID?! WHAT THE FUCK?! and he'd TRIED getting him back on his own but that did nothing, and then he'd faced LBD again and she said that thing 'the memory of you' and... yeah that context would make this whole thing like WAY scarier lol

ANYWAY SO SEASON 3 ROLLS ALONG AND RED SON IS PLOT RELEVANT AGAIN

And maybe it's just brought up breifly, just simply while the lot of them were chillin around the dinner table, Xiaojiao tells this hilarious story of her childhood involving a bee, a sequoia tree and several gallons of applesauce, and asks Red Son if he's got any crazy stories like that, and he says very bluntly 'I can't remember Jack shit from my childhood.' Xiaotian over here like 'Big mood' Sun Wukong exits as quickly as he can without it looking sus (-insert subplot ship here-)

And here's the thing, now that they're not trying to fight eachother it's easy to get comfy around eachother. Too easy. Like suspiciously easy. Like 'I had multiple naptimes beside you for the majority of my younger years and by that logic when we're not actively enemies i trust you implicitly' easy

Memory seems to come up a lot on their search for the weapon, and whenever that heppans the others seem to carry the missions, leaving Xiaotian and Red Son constantly feeling useless, and its starting to get really REALLY upsetting, so Red Son just huffs, and approached Xiaotian's bunk one day like 'It's odd right? That you and I have the exact same sort of memory problems, and we have both been in contact the most with LBD other than Wukong is it possible that these events are all related?'

so they start working to try and figure out what it was they'd both forgotten.

[sepublic]

Amelia’s Alzheimer’s?

           From what Owen Dennis told us, Book 5 of Infinity Train would’ve been a movie, covering Amelia’s takeover of the train… Which, I don’t know if Book 5 would’ve gone over her takeover, AND her eventual arc post-Book 3, but; I believe the implication is that like Book 4, this movie would’ve been a pure prequel, set in the past. A good look and further contextualization of Amelia’s past sins and how she got into the headspace she now has, in order to set up for a future Book where she finally gets her proper arc.

           That leaves just three other books… One about Guilt, the next about Revenge, and the last of Acceptance. Book 5 is about Grief fittingly enough, and we know that Book 8 (Acceptance) would’ve delved into a passenger with alzheimer’s, whose condition would’ve kept them from engaging with the Infinity Train’s intended function properly. Owen Dennis mentioned how this final season would’ve been based on his own experiences with his grandfather, who had a similar issue in the past.

           It’s easy to assume that Book 8 would’ve been about a whole new character, which leaves either Books 6 or 7 for the resolution to Amelia’s arc- But what if that’s not the case? The Book 8 protagonist would be pretty old, presumably, so…

           …What if Amelia was the Book 8 protagonist? What if, by the end of the series, Amelia’s age would’ve caught up to her, and she’d start developing alzheimer’s- Further complicating her attempts to get her number down, especially when she can no longer remember Alrick like she used to!

           Think about it- Amelia as the final protagonist would be a neat book-end to the series, given how we began with her as the final antagonist of Book 1. The show starts and ends with Amelia, who alongside One-One and Samantha the Cat (and arguably Randall) are basically the core, central tenet characters of the entire show. The resolution of Infinity Train is the resolution of Amelia, who serves as the passenger most entwined with the train, having once been its conductor even!

           Not only that, but with how Amelia’s character serves as a means of criticizing and showing the fallibility of the Infinity Train, how she’s able to game the system, how she works in a place to criticize One-One’s direction with it… And her having to deal with alzheimer’s could continue that theme of Amelia’s character being a commentary on the flaws of the Infinity Train, if it can’t account for her memory loss!

           Amelia’s memory loss would be difficult to work with, if we’d only gotten to know her in just Book 8; But now we have Books 1, 3, 4, and 5 (at the very least!) to bring background and context to her life-story, and it’s a LONG one too! Setting up Amelia’s past in great detail, going into the intricacies across the entire show… It could be setting up the audience to remember all of this, when Amelia herself can’t- So we can get a better idea of her frustration, of how she ended up here when Amelia herself is confused, etc.! We gain a deep and intimate understanding of Amelia’s past for her, in preparation for the memory loss of Book 8.

           Owen talking about how Book 8 would’ve been based on his own experiences, watching his grandfather deal with amnesia- From a meta sense, the audience could serve Owen’s role! We’re the younger people, watching Amelia, our favorite old lady, grow across the series… We get attached to her, she’s basically like family, so naturally it hits harder to see her lose her memory. It’d be a meta way for Owen to really capture what he experienced in real life, by having the audience take his position when observing the character of Amelia.

           From an in-universe standpoint, perhaps Hazel could serve as the proxy for Owen! She’s more or less Amelia’s daughter in the technical and arguably figurative sense- We don’t know exactly how their relationship would progress, and the last time we had hopes of Found Family for Hazel, it didn’t quite work out… But regardless. Perhaps Hazel, as a kid with relation to the older Amelia, would’ve gotten to grow up with her surrogate caretaker, learn to value and appreciate her and vice-versa; And then we see from Hazel’s pained perspective, the loss of Amelia’s memories. Perhaps Amelia losing her memories of her times with Hazel, even!

           This could tie Amelia and Hazel’s stories together, especially with how linked the two are, with Hazel resulting from Amelia’s failed attempts to bring back Alrick! And Hazel has a few of Amelia’s memories- She remembers taking ballroom dance lessons, because Amelia was drawing upon those memories when trying to recreate Alrick. Hazel could serve as a young guide to comfort Amelia, a genuinely emotional connection, someone who remembers what Amelia can’t, in the absence of Alrick.

           Book 8 would’ve been about Acceptance- AKA the final part of the 5 stages of Grief, when dealing with the death of a loved one… And Grief is the theme of Book 5, Amelia’s origin story! Amelia would accept the death of Alrick at the end of Book 8, and perhaps Hazel could learn to accept the death of Tuba and another family member in Amelia… In the sense that yes, Amelia is leaving her too- But Hazel will learn to move past Tuba’s death, and perhaps her own experience can help Amelia as well. They can grieve for Amelia’s memories, for Alrick, etc.

           It’d also be an interesting and frustrating challenge for Amelia- As someone who no doubt has at least some pride in her intellect and mind, having her own mind start to degrade… It’d really put her into an interesting headspace, and force Amelia into that acceptance of what is inevitable, that some things she really can’t change. And of course, this could deal with theme of acceptance, of how Amelia clings to her past with Alrick; Having her memories of him start to fade could really shake this up, and force her to re-evaluate her life and values, her priorities… Perhaps decide to instead focus on the Now and Future, accepting that her past with Alrick is not only long-gone, but possibly due to be forgotten. That she can love and appreciate what it did for her, but Amelia has no choice but to move on- Even without those memories, without that past, she still has a future with Hazel and everyone else to keep living for.

           For all we know, Samantha the Cat could even come into play here! She’s someone with access to people’s tapes, among them none other than Amelia’s- And before she gave it to Simon, Samantha also had the ability to create new tapes from passengers on the go. Samantha is a long-lived denizen, at least about 150+ years old, she’s lived and seen the entirety of Amelia’s reign, and was likely there since the very beginning; Owen Dennis did allude to Samantha being present in Book 5… Specifically, he suggested that us seeing Samantha kill someone was a possibility, amidst One-One or Amelia committing murder instead; And that of course suggests that, regardless of whether or not the Cat kills someone in Book 5, she’d still be a prevalent character.

           Samantha having that past with Amelia, and her own conniving nature, could possibly lead to her conflicting with Hazel, perhaps recounting memories differently, or trying to tell them in a way that’d sway Amelia to her side, who knows? It’s also worth noting that she’s someone who has regret and loss in Simon… So perhaps if she served as a central cast member for Book 8 (befitting my point about Amelia being a book-ends kind of character), Samantha would’ve learned to accept the death of Simon, and/or help Hazel and Amelia move on as well. It’d be a fitting and appropriate farewell, I believe, to have Amelia and Samantha, two main-stays since the beginning, have their arc at the very end of the series.

           And Hazel? Hazel could be representative of a new generation, to step up and take the mantle passed down. One-One’s own input would be fascinating, because like Samantha and Hazel, he has quite the past with Amelia, and a lot of significance and understanding of her sins. And with his control of the Infinity Train, I can see him attempt to recreate Amelia’s destroyed tape, or even try to create a new tape for her, to try and get around Amelia’s memory loss. The Infinity Train selectively deciding which memories it only thinks are important could lead to disagreement with One-One and conflict, exposing the flaws of the system- And/or, the Infinity Train might come across a roadblock because it can’taccess Amelia’s memories anymore!

           This could be a culmination for One-One’s arc as well, as seeing his failure to account and accommodate Amelia’s alzheimer’s, leads him to decide to make MAJOR reforms to the Infinity Train as a result! Maybe he’ll even stop the whole process of kidnapping passengers (while still letting the denizens function and roam freely). Him and Amelia have an unusual, kind of at-odds but not really, sort of frenemy relationship; They’re working together, they’ve been enemies, they’ve collaborated, each was the reigning conductor at one point. We could have Samantha as someone with negative recollections of her time with Amelia, One-One with overall netural ones, and Hazel with positive associations! Three different people with different pasts and interactions with Amelia, to provide their own input on their time with her, and thus help her rediscover her past…

           …Or, at the very least- Come to terms and accept who she is, and finally move on. And, it goes without saying that Amelia’s dilemma with her huge number could be complicated by her Alzheimer’s, if she can’t remember things- And it’d be interesting to see how it might fluctuate, if at all. Perhaps Amelia’s progress actually gets pretty good, but THEN the memory loss begins to kick in, and that frustrates her. It’d teach the lesson that progress is not linear, that sometimes you might backtrack, you might think you’re so close, only to have retread the same path… And sometimes you’re tired of the journey and just want to get to the destination, to the final stop at the end of the railroad. We could have Amelia learn to accept help from others, to not try and seize control for herself as all-powerful Conductor, to gain some humility amidst her pride in her own ability and intellect…

           We could have Amelia awkwardly navigate the train without her memories, stumbling across and slowly figuring out what needs to be done in order to lower her number, with just the number’s movement as an indicator, and no memories to work off of! Her only hints are whenever her number moves to a certain situation, so Amelia really has to work backwards… Through trial and error, figure out what needs to be done; Perhaps a callback to Grace and Simon, who had no guidance and struggled with figuring out what their numbers expected of them.

          It’d be an interesting book-end to THAT point, especially since it was Amelia who unknowingly contributed to Grace misinterpreting the function of her number, so then having Amelia rectify this with herself, learning to properly figure out what her number means, and then accepting that without going into denial like Simon did… It’d really show the growth of her, but also the series, and of course the fact that Grace and Simon were literal kids, and Amelia is a seasoned adult. And of course, there’s the existential questions, if Amelia is a different person without her memories, if those sins still apply if she can’t remember them anymore, if she’s essentially disconnected and detached, etc.

          We might see Amelia operate without any memories of her grief with Alrick, see how she is without that- And it might concern and frustrate Amelia, because she could conflate moving past Alrick, as being the same as getting rid of him truly… And the memory loss certainly doesn’t help. Who is she without her memories? It could lead to an identity crisis that echoes back to Book 2’s themes. Amelia without memories might learn to rediscover herself by looking into her past, perhaps existing without recollection, just this number she slowly figures out how to lower. Perhaps having a new, more detached/objective look at her own past, from a perspective as someone who doesn’t remember them, so it feels like the recollections of a stranger- It might contribute to Amelia really coming to terms with happened, with herself, and finally Acceptance.

           It really could be the culmination of the series; With how the age of protagonists for each Book gets progressively older, Amelia’s elderly age and Alzheimer’s would’ve been the end of the line, the final stop/destination for the train. It’d make Amelia the central Passenger of the show, who we’ve been following since Book 1, watching her progress, in a sense seeing her grow up- And then finally seeing her grow old and suffer from Alzheimer’s. The journey of the Infinity Train could be the journey of Amelia, from her boarding the train, to the final destination, literally and figuratively. It could tie into the arcs of Hazel, Samantha, and One-One, and finally deconstruct the Infinity Train with an outsider who did exactly like that!

           What do you guys think? I think it’d be quite the experience to watch Amelia grow and struggle as a person, so it really does feel personal and intimate to us, when we know her memories, only for Amelia herself to lose them... A fascinating, bittersweet study and journey of Amelia, but one we accept, because the journey made the destination worthwhile.

[masterweaverx]

RWBY Parents from Best to Worst

That’s right, everybody, I’m a-going to rank how terrible these people are to and for their kids! For the sake of covering as many parents as I can, I am defining ‘parent’ as either ‘legal guardian’ or ‘the one that gave birth to you’, and excluding relationships that are explicitly something else. That does mean that we’re going to miss out on some very important people, though, so before we begin, let’s have some Honorable Mentions!

Yang Xiao Long and Winter Schnee: Professional Momsisters

“That’s why big sisters come first, to protect the ones that come after.” I don’t know who said that to these two, if anybody actually did, but it’s a quote that most definitely applies to them. Not only would they take a bullet (or a sword, or a fireball) for their younger siblings, they took the time out to give them affection and training that they needed when their own parents weren’t quite doing the job. If I absolutely had to rank one of them as the better momsister, I’d say Yang, but that’s really only because Yang had less to deal with overall; a depressed single dad not being able to pull himself together just doesn’t stack up with an abusive powermonger, a self-loathing drunkard, and all the institutional bigotry and pressure of Atlas. Plus, you know, Winter went into the military for a bit. Still, pretty good track record considering!

Klein Sieben: Doing the work of seven good dads

Look, there is only one reason Klein wasn’t listed before the momsisters, and that reason is that he is technically the hired help (and could therefore become the fired help). He is, hands down, a better surrogate parent than Yang and Winter, providing guidance and care to all the Schneeblings and very effectively undoing the damage Jacques Gele (HE DOES NOT GET TO BE CALLED SCHNEE!) did to them. And he even helped out Willow! If he was allowed to do more, he would absolutely be My Real Dad of the year.

Qrow Branwen: “The only one that gets to be sad in this house is me!”

Qrow has a lot of flaws. Like, so so many flaws. As Yang said in a noncanon spinoff, he’s cool but not exactly a role model. Thing is, you don’t have to be a role model to be a good parent--you just have to make sure your kids (or nieces in this case) get good advice and the opportunity to grow into the best versions of themselves they can be. And when Qrow’s not beating himself up or drowning his sorrows, he’s actually very good at helping Yang and Ruby. Honestly the only reason he’s not on the actual list is because he’s technically not a parent.

Uncle Copper: Adopting a blind kid automatically makes you cool

So here we have a character that appeared in a single flashback in the novels, but from what we do know he was pretty likely to be a good guy. Like, raising a blind kid is hard enough; raising a blind kid in a desert after their actual parents got nommed by sand is so, so much more difficult. And yet, this guy said ‘If nobody else is going to adopt this kid I will!’ and by all measures he was a very caring and loving guy. Also, shout-out to the tribe, who took Fox in after Copper got killed by some maniac (and also killed said maniac). Fox has had a rough life, but it’s been filled with supportive people. Not everyone can say that.

Starr Sanzang: She put up with Sun

Sure, she’s only had one scene in one novel, but Starr showed patience and caring and... probably did a lot to make sure Sun stays as aggressively cheery and patient as he is. Plus she’s got a dojo in Vacuo now... okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t know nearly enough about her to really assess her. Still, as far as cousins go, Sun Wukong could do a lot worse. And there are the implications of their motifs to factor in...

Rhodes: If you’d done even just a little bit more--!

So, reasonably, what would you do when you see a little girl enslaved with a shock collar? Would you (A) get the girl out of there, (B) arrest the woman doing it, (C) try to get the girl therapy, or (D) all of the above? If you picked (E) secretly train the girl in swordplay so she can join a huntsman academy when she comes of age, then congratulations! You’ve given her hope! Good for you! And what if she snaps after five years of literal torture, kills her abuser, and then turns to you for comfort and/or approval? Welp, obviously she’s an irredeemable criminal and you have to bring her in, crushing all the faith she had in you and herself.

Seriously Rhodes, dropped the ball hard on that one. I’m only mentioning you because you had such a serious impact on Cinder’s development.

Brother Gods: Creating and destroying entire species

Like, okay. Look. These are the two that made humanity, so an argument could be made that they’re humanity’s parents. But, by the strict and arbitrary rules I have selected, they aren’t parents. And even if they were, they would be just the worst sort of parents possible. Darkbro is bad enough, what with viewing only strength as valuable and creating the Grimm and, you know, annihilating humanity that one time, but he’s at least honest and honorable. Not like the cryptic Lightbro, who doesn’t bother making sure people understand him, who doesn’t even keep his own promises to his brother... I get that they’re basically overpowered children. Yeah, they are. Still... kinda terrible.

So, now that that’s all done, let’s get to the actual list! After the break, so you don’t get stuck scrolling a lot. RWBY parents, from best to worst, are as follows:

23. Saphron and Terra Cotta-Arc: Two moms are better than none!

If I’m rating all the parents, and I am, then I have to acknowledge their flaws. And... these two don’t have any! Okay, fine, they used Adrian in a criminal scheme that one time (and that was literally just asking him to cry on command) and maybe Terra’s overworked and, to be fair, parenting a young kid is a lot different than parenting a teenager. But not only did they support their kid, they helped out all the kids that needed to room with them for a while! Saphron may also qualify as a momsister, depending on how well the Arcs managed their massive-numbered horde of kids. Look, the point is: Excellent parents. Bam.

22. Yatsuhashi's Parents: Their slipups weren’t their fault

When your kid can wipe your memories and you don’t know about it, you’re bound to get a few mistakes down the line. Luckily for everyone, after the whole incident with Hiyoko Yatsu came clean, and his parents made absolutely sure that he understood (A) that having such an ability was a big responsibility and (B) that even though he really screwed up he was NOT evil. Given the man that Yatsuhashi is now, I’m pretty confident in calling them great parents--even if they only appeared in a book flashback.

21. Coco's Dad: He exists!

That’s... honestly all I really know about him. He’s mentioned once in the books, and Coco has a few brothers. I’m kind of just assuming he’s a good parent from that, even if he didn’t figure out how to help Coco with her claustrophobia. So... yeah, shrug, Coco’s got a dad.

20: Ghira and Kali Belladonna: Actually marvelous people

Loving. Caring. Mentoring, protective. You may be asking why these two aren’t lower on the list, given that they are absolutely great for Blake, and I’ll have to admit that they only really made one slipup--letting Adam talk with Blake.

And okay, look. The thing about people like Adam is that they don’t start out showing their true colors. It’s always a slow, gentle broil. Blake was young and stupid, Adam was cute and edgy, and these parents want their daughter to be happy. So not twigging on what Adam really was--or at least not being able to properly convince Blake--that’s entirely understandable. And they did instill her with a strong enough moral code to leave when enough was enough, and they absolutely welcomed her back with open arms. Frankly, if the lower-listing parents didn’t exist, I would happily say they are the best parents in the show.

19. Pietro Polendina: He took Penny’s death flags

When you carve out part of your literal soul to bring your girl back from the dead, you get MAJOR parenting props. And even beyond that, Pietro is an absolutely caring and supportive father to everyone’s favorite bundle of sunshine. Even when she’s put in the rough position she was in, Pietro did his best to help her out. His one big flaw, though, is being overprotective and a bit presumptive. He does want Penny to live her best life, but he also can be just a touch too quick to say he knows what’s best for her. To his credit, when he’s called out on it, he does mend his ways. And he’s at least better then the GENERAL...

18. Salem and Ozma: Good parents, surprisingly!

Sure, Salem decided that world conquest was a good idea and wanted to put down anybody that wasn’t directly from her bloodline. Sure, she psychologically manipulated her husband when he had doubts. And, being fair, it’s highly likely that her four daughters were killed in the crossfire of her and Ozma’s little tuff. But! That was likely an accident, she’s been shown to still clearly mourn their passing, and before that point she absolutely loved and adored the girls. Ozma gets points for being a generally good person who fell in love with her before she became unstable and, honestly, was just trying to help his girls escape... and hey, he blames himself for their deaths. As does Salem.

Just because they’re kind of directly responsible for a LOT of Remnant’s woes doesn’t mean they aren’t good parents!

17. Will and Meg Scarlatina: Estranged but loving...

Yes, I know Rooster Teeth hasn’t officially confirmed that Bill is Will. I still believe though! Also it makes for a great picture, in any case.

Look, you can be the best and most loving parents ever--and from what we saw in the novels Will was definitely loving--but if you split up, your kid is going to get a little stressed. And hey, it’s not like these two were terrible people! Velvet’s just got a lot going on because of things entirely out of her control. Parents are people too, but sometimes the stress of one situation will leak out into another. Just... give people time to adapt.

16. Nicholas Schnee: The man, the legend, the titan!

Nicholas Schnee is the rockstar success story of Remnant. Some guy from Mantle put in all the work to make the SDC, and honestly from what little we know about him he was probably a great guy! But if we’re registering parental goodness, well... he wasn’t quite smart enough to warn Willow away from abusive gold diggers, and he’s not present when the story starts. So, yeah, even if he was a good parent otherwise--and I think he would be--he kinda... didn’t put in the work to prevent Willow breaking later. Still. Not deliberately terrible!

15. Li and An Ren: Don’t die in front of your kids, folks!

Seriously, it traumatizes them, especially if there’s a Grimm assault going on at the same time. Oh, double-especially if you reassure them that everything will be fine literally the second before the roof collapses on your head. And... well, okay, you couldn’t help your son and some random girl being the only survivors...

In all seriousness, that whole situation was absolutely out of their control. And before their deaths they were shown to be loving, wise, giving good advice to Lie Ren and helping him understand what the right thing to do was. Honestly, if they hadn’t died in front of him he’d be a lot better, mentally speaking. His trauma is not their fault. Plus Li went out distracting the big Grimm so Lie could run. No greater love hath man, indeed.

14. Summer Rose: Loving mother, ticking trauma bomb

When she was around, Summer Rose was probably the best mom Yang and Ruby could ask for. Sure, everyone could be exaggerating a little on how great a person she was--fond memories and grief can do that--but even taking that into account, she was probably a great and wonderful woman to be raised by. And hey, it turns out the reason she vanished was to go confront basically the Devil Herself so her kids wouldn’t have to live in a world where she existed! I can totally get the logic behind that.

And to be fair, “I’m going to do this on my own so nobody else suffers” is a pretty common character flaw among the RWBY cast. There are entire arcs where each character learns to overcome it. Still, wandering off on your lonesome without telling anyone was not the smartest move, Summer. Especially if you expected to die--which, you know, Devil Herself, high probability. And you know, if you had died, that would be bad enough, but now Ruby’s practically certain to have to fight your grimmified self. At least she figured out what happened to you before Salem decided to hammer in the trauma button, so she’ll be a little more ready, but... seriously.

13. The Arc Parents: Look, you try juggling eight kids!

To be fair, neither Arc parent has appeared on screen, but we can derive some of their traits from their kids. Jaune’s father said women like confident men. Jaune’s mother said strangers are friends you haven’t met yet. Jaune’s sister moved out of the house and (it’s implied) was happier for it. Jaune himself took his family’s ancestral weapon and ran off to Beacon to become a hero without any training whatsoever....

I get the impression that these two are not horrible parents, but they aren’t really stellar ones either. They slip up, don’t understand their children, give some really bad advice (as well as really good advice), and... look, it’s kind of middle of the road here. The Arcs could be wonderful people that just weren’t ready for the complexities of raising eight kids. I come from a big family myself, I know it can be stressful. And their kids turned out well anyway, so...

12. The Mother of Pyrrha Nikos: You taught your girl too well

Hero complexes are funny things. And Pyrrha Nikos... in retrospect, she was really hiding a lot of insecurities under that facade. Laying it all at this woman’s feet is unfair, I’ll admit, a lot of that came from being The Mistral Champion. But... with stories and fairy tales of heroes, it’s not hard to imagine a genuinely loving mother making sure her daughter knew right from wrong, always knew to act with mercy and protect the weak, and made her hardline into being a hero at the cost of her own... sense of self. It wouldn’t even be something either of them noticed, really. Good people can make bad choices sometimes.

11: Ilia's Parents: Oh god, can good people make bad choices...

So the idea of getting Ilia up to Atlas for a better life, that rocks (if you assume the propaganda to be true). And I’m certain her parents absolutely did what they did out of love. But what they did, you see, was tell Ilia to hide a very important part of herself from anybody who could find out, since it was likely she would be kicked out of the school she was in if people found out she was a faunus.

Which actually, did a lot of damage.

I mean look at Ilia now! She has trouble expressing herself until she explodes, she follows a crowd instead of her own morals, she broke down in tears when she finally did the right thing... Conceal Don’t Feel is never good advice, and these two went on and said ‘Honey, because of racism, you have to hide the fact you literally change color when you have emotions.’ Oh, and then they died offscreen--again, not their fault, but boy howdy did it give Ilia a complex.

10. Taiyang Xiao Long: Slumped at just the wrong time

Honestly, Tai as he is now is a wonderful dad. Supportive of his daughters in their time of need, able to lift their mood with a tasteless joke or two, frankly if we were assessing just how they were in the moment... I’d still be a little critical of his refusal to talk about the girls’ mothers, but hey, that’s minor. Compared to, you know...

Okay, so this needs serious addressing. Taiyang cannot be blamed for falling into a depressive slump. People can hurt, and need time to heal. That said, his depressive slump is at the root of Yang’s many issues, and frankly if she hadn’t had to pull herself together for Ruby she would be a major mess. It’s a bad situation all round, even if it’s not his fault.

9. Willow Schnee: “Kids, don’t wind up like me.”

Drowning her sorrows isn’t the best way to handle being stuck in an abusive marriage, but it was the best way Willow could think of. And, yeah, that really cut into her skills as a mom... but despite that, she did her darnedest to make sure her kids had what they needed to free themselves. Heck, once Jacques was out of the picture, she even pulled herself together and risked her life to save them! A broken women, to be sure, but not a shattered one.

8. Neptune's Mother: She exists!

Being fair, there’s not a lot to go on here. We know Neptune’s mother is a lawyer (insert evil lawyer joke), that their family are famous swimmers, and that his brother caused his hydrophobia by tossing him into the water. It does paint a bit of a picture, though, of everyone having expectations for Neptune that he was not able to live up to. Pretty poor parenting, if it’s true.

7. Nora Valkyrie's Mom: Come get your girl!

Literally the only factoid we have about Mama Valkyrie is that she abandoned her to the Grimm. We don’t know when this was, and it’s feasible it’s a case of ‘Oh No I Lost Track Of My Daughter In The Panic!’ But given we see young Nora scavenging for scraps of food... I’m not optimistic on her parenting skills.

6. Raven Branwen: "I wasn’t part of your life, how could I ruin it?”

Raven is just not a good mom at all. And, surprisingly, she seems to know it. Or that’s one interpretation of her character. The thing about Raven is that she plays her cards close to chest. We still don’t know why she left her daughter, and we only have inklings about the reasoning behind her behavior once they reunited. In the end, though... she did concede to Yang, she did apologize for something, and there’s a very deliberate indication that a lot of her behavior is a mask to both others and herself. So, terrible mother, for the moment, but self-aware.

5. Salem's Father: Explicitly noted as cruel

We get a bit more about Salem’s father from ‘Fairy Tales Of Remnant’, how he became possessive of the last remnant of his wife and locked her away in a tower. From what we know of him, that’s all he did--lock her away and not let her go. Still makes him a terrible dad. And with this, we transition firmly into the most definitively abusive parent figures. Everyone before this might have the excuse of not realizing what was going on or having their own damage, but now we’ve got parents actively deciding to make their kids’ lives worse.

4. Jacques Gelé: HE DOES NOT GET TO BE CALLED SCHNEE!

His children are property, to be manipulated and traded for the benefit of the company he married into, and any defiance is to be quelled instantly. He is manipulative, scheming, abusive, and frankly the worst sort of scumbag to ever wear a white suit. He does have the single redeeming quality of only leaning into the punishment if it benefits him; nobody would ever accuse the man of being needlessly cruel. His name is Jacques, and you will hate him... especially on the rare occasions he actually has a point.

3. The Marigolds: There’s no peppy tagline, they’re just mean

There’s not a picture of these jerks on the wiki, so you’ll have to make do with the woman that is no longer their daughter. See all that empty space around her? That’s about as close as they ever got. May spells out how much they hated her for having a heart, and how little they cared about her as a person, in one epic line. And even if they have other redeeming qualities (unlikely) we can tell they’d probably still be terrible parents because of how sleazy May’s cousin is. Honestly, for once I’m glad some characters don’t get pictures. They don’t deserve to be remembered. They aren’t even the cool kind of evil, they’re just... gross.

2. Marcus Black: Look if you train your kid to be a killer...

...you’re going to have to expect them to kill you. I mean, you basically ripped apart Mercury’s legs, man. He had to get cyberlegs. Also, you used your semblance to steal his. Which, given that semblances come from aura, and that aura is a manifestation of the soul, is kinda... that’s a deeply personal and intimate violation. Sure, you got your assassin kid. And can we talk about the fact that Marcus was an assassin? It’s not a pretty job. I guess I can see all the abuse--physical and mental--as a good way to train up another assassin, but... geeze, if that’s your goal, why did you use your own kid?! Why not hire some angsty teenager?! Yeah, no, Markus Black stood high on my list of parental monsters... and was only toppled by the arrival of one other.

1. Madame of the Glass Unicorn: She only appeared in one episode and she rocketed to the top of this list, that should tell you something

Let’s be clear here: What Madame did to Cinder is bad enough. It was literally slavery. Enforced by a shock collar. And because the collar looked like a necklace, she pulled it off in front of I don’t know how many clients. Granted, said clients were racists, why else would they be customers at a ‘We Do Not Serve Faunus’ hotel, but keeping her torture just out of the public eye very clearly shows both that she knew what she was doing was illegal and that she was clever enough to avoid detection.

Oh... and then there are her birth daughters.

With Cinder, she was abusive to a dangerous degree. With her daughters, she was permissive, not only allowing but encouraging them to bully their adoptive sister. The whole point of parenthood is to teach your children how to become the best version of themselves, but Madame didn’t even bother to instill a semblance of morality in these girls. She used them as extensions of her will, and they obliviously played along because that was all they knew.

You’d think the biggest monster on the show would be the Grimm woman, but no--it’s some random lady with a hotel.

[jadoue1999]

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll make sure of it) Chapter 3

Summary: Pietro wasn’t Pietro, who was he?

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 3: Bonding

Wanda tensed up when she heard him talk. Oleg never wore any helmets, a hat, sure but she had never seen him wear a helmet.

“Who are you?” She asked, sharply, pinning him tighter to the tree when he tried to leave.

“Name’s Peter,” he looked around seemingly looking for something. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, do you?”

Peter, not Pietro. It wasn’t him.

Of course, it wasn’t, she mentally smacked herself, it was too good to be true. She had ignored the signs, the differences, but there was no denying when it came directly from him. This man wasn’t her brother. Still, it wasn’t fair. All she wanted was to be happy, to have a family, but the universe seemed keen in making sure she’d never get a happy ending. She wanted to feel angry, to lash out, but she just felt... empty. She turned to the man, still immobilized, he was still waiting for an answer.

“Westview,” Wanda replied, “New Jersey.”

Peter nodded, obviously not understanding where the town was, but not having much choice but accept his predicament.

Wanda raised a hand, and let the illusion changing his clothes break. His runner costume gone, the man was wearing leather pants, a silver jacket with a band T-shirt. A Walkman was at his side, the headphones at his neck.

‘Weird, where did he even get a Walkman?’

She smirked at the goggles on his head, if he really had superspeed, he certainly had the right idea. Pietro had complained a lot about dirt and debris getting into his eyes, she had suggested a shield from her magic, but he said he’d find a solution eventually. She noticed with a sigh that his hair was back to silver, no more pretending now.

“How did you even get here?” The question came out harsher than she would have wanted. The man didn’t seem phased by it, he might have been used to someone in his entourage losing their temper. He simply shrugged and answered.

“I’m not really sure, I was in my room, deciding what to do about my father when a portal opened and suddenly, I’m in some freaky dungeon. There’s a lady talking about you getting desperate, next thing I know, I’m at your doorstep.”

It didn’t make sense, no one in Westview had a dungeon and sure, maybe she had wanted her brother back, but bringing in a stranger? He didn’t even look like Pietro, why did her magic took him, out of everyone else? She looked at the necklace in her hand, the magic wasn’t his, that was for certain. He had been under a spell, but why?

He should have had his role attributed to him when he came in the town, no need for any fancy jewelry. Speaking of, how could he stay himself right now? Why was he unaffected?

She waved her magic away, letting him go. He took a step forward and looked at her, probably wondering why she had just let him loose.

“Tell me about you, where are you from?” Wondered Wanda. He might not have been her brother, but she could still feel the connection. Apparently, so did he, because he sat down and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m Peter, I grew up in America, with my mom and my,” he paused, “my younger sister, Lorna.” Wanda frowned, why had he hesitated just now? Peter continued his ramble, “when I was seventeen, three guys and I helped a known terrorist to break out of the pentagon, you know him as Magneto, but I figured out later that he was my father. I found him again 10 years later, but he had joined ranks with the god wanna be. He called himself Apocalypse. Took my dad in because he could control metal. Tried to tell him we were related, but I was too much of a loser so instead I tried taking on Apocalypse by myself, got my leg broken and I’ve been wondering how to tell him ever since. Oh, and I joined the X-Men.”

Wanda frowned once again; she hadn’t heard of any events that Peter described. Could it have happened while she was being experimented on? She had never encountered anyone named Magneto, or Apocalypse. And who were those X Men? Perhaps he meant Avengers? But those names wouldn’t easily get mixed up. The same unnerving feeling was creeping up on Wanda. The feeling he didn’t belong here, not just him not being her brother, there was something more. His life didn’t add up, nothing of it made sense. A few questions came to her mind, but she settled with the more urgent one.

“Who was the lady in the dungeon? If someone is trying to sabotage my life, I deserve to know who it is.”

Peter seemed lost in thoughts for a moment, before looking at her. “I’m sorry, I guess she used a trick on me because I know she’s a lady, but I can’t remember specifics details.”

Wanda sighed and pressed her face into her hands, why couldn’t she just live her life without someone ruining it. Chaos was the usual in her life, the moment she tried to settle down, a threat would rise and rip her loved ones away. She thought she would be safe in her own little town, but then the drone came, and now that lady who seemed determined to destroy her world.

“What happened to your brother?” The question took her by surprise. It was to be expected from him, he was, after all, brought in to replace Pietro. He had to be wondering why her actual brother couldn’t play the part. Peter cleared his throat, understanding of rude he sounded and opted for a not-a-care-in-the-world mannerisms. “I mean, I think I know, but I don’t want to assume and be rude. Hell, I have his memories, but I have no idea if what I’ve been shown is real. The lady that messed with my mind could have slipped stuff in, so I hurt you without wanting it.”

Wanda smiled, he might not have been her brother, but he did act a little like him. Pietro was very protective of her too, must have been an older brother thing. She too was protective, but her grief had kept her from really connecting with anyone.

‘Except with Vision and look where you ended up’ she shook away the thought. Those intrusive comments kept haunting her, why couldn’t she shake them away? She looked at her not brother, choosing to focus on him.

“He was a hero.” A dead hero. “We survived a bombing when we were ten and ended up on the wrong side. We saw the truth and saved the world.” Yet he lost his life. “He only had his powers for a few months, same as me. He wasn’t in total control of them. He saved a friend of mine and a child from being shot down, but he wasn’t quick enough.”

Peter looked at her with sympathy in his eyes, he slowly put a comforting hand on her shoulder, trying to help her. “I uh, I know it’s not the same thing, but I’ve been struggling with telling my true lineage to my father. I thought it was only my truth but it’s apparently true for all speedsters. I’ve noticed that for people as fast as us, we always seem to be too late.” They both chuckled, sadly. He removed his hand from her shoulder and gripped her hand instead.

“You know, I didn’t even get to attend his funeral,” Wanda said, grief dripping from her words. “I’m part of a superhero group, the Avengers. There was always something happening, I never took the time to grieve him properly.”

“I- I’m a twin as well,” confessed Peter. Wanda looked at him in shook, was that why he hesitated when he described his family life? He squeezed her hand, clearly this was a painful memory. “She died. She wasn’t shot or anything, it happened when we were 15. She uh, she had probability powers,” Wanda frowned at that power, she had never heard of it. “She could sway the odds in her favor, if that makes it any clearer.” Peter chuckled, “she would use it to make sure we never missed the bus, or that she’d pass a test she wasn’t sure she had studied enough. We’re not sure what happened, no one was there with her. I was running, when I just felt it, you know? Like a bond just breaking and next thing I know I’m passed out and my mom keeps calling my name.”

“What’s your name? Your full name?” Urged Wanda. They were too similar, there had to be a reason for it. She had felt the same way when Pietro died, like a piece of herself was ripped away, leaving a bloody mess in its wake.

 “Peter Maximoff”

Notes: Sorry it ended like this, the chapter was originally 2500 words so I split it in two where it fitted best, I hope you like this!

Don’t for get to like and comment if you enjoyed it!

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu VERSUS Ⅳ Vol.6 Laito VS Yuma [TRACK 5]

Original title: ゲームの方向

Source: DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu VERSUS Ⅳ Vol.6 Laito VS Yuma [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Hirakawa Daisuke & Tomohisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: You know shit is about to get serious when Laito’s voice drops. I honestly like how even Yuma was SHOOK by it. I don’t blame him though, I am terrified of Laito’s serious side as well. One moment the guy is smiling and making dirty remarks, then the next he is ready to end your entire family line. :’’)

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 5: The Game’s Direction

Yuma: ...Eve, he says!? I don’t care who this Kino guy is, but you’re watchin’ from somewhere through these cameras, aren’t ya!? How do ya know she’s Eve!? Who the fuck are ya!? 

*BZT*

Yuma: ...!? Another message appeared...!

Laito: Seems like he won’t ignore us this time, but actually give an answer. 

Yuma: Yeah. ...’I am Kino. Karlheinz’s...illegitimate child...!?’ One of...Laito’s siblings?

Laito: ...!?

Yuma: Karlheinz’s...illegitimate child? What is this about!?

He turns towards Laito.

Laito: My brother...That guy’s...child. Fufu...Fufufufu...Ahaha...Ahahahaha!!

Yuma: O...Oi...

Laito: Ahahaha...It all makes sense now~ He planned this whole farce because he’s after that man’s powers which currently belong to me. Fufu~ 

You frown.

Laito: Rest assured. I haven’t gone crazy. After all, I’ve been broken all along. I thought Kino was simply a guy who gets a kick out of messing with others, but seems like I was wrong. His objective is you - Eve - in other words, he wishes to become the next Demon King. I can only assume he locked me up in here to steal Karlheinz’ powers.

Yuma: Haah!? ...Then why am I here as well!?

Laito: He obviously tried to create tension between us. With those assignments, you see. Just think about it, our personalities clearly clash, no? In reality, we’ve become hostile towards one another and if she had not stopped us, we were one step away from lunging at each other. Best case scenario, you would have left me fatally wounded, which would give Kino an easy opportunity to steal these powers.

Yuma: ...!? The fuck does that mean? So I’ve been used? From the very beginning till the very end?

Laito: Nfu~ ...Honestly, that guy’s a freak on a whole different level from me. On top of that, in the end, it always boils down to that Karlheinz...I’m sick and tired of hearing that man’s name...I’m fed up with it.

Yuma: O-Oi...

Laito: It was such a fun class as well, but I’ve lost all interest in the blink of an eye. ...This Kino, you know, I don’t know if he’s my older or younger brother, but I think it’s about time he starts standing on his own legs (1), so to speak. That guy is DEAD after all...!

*BZT*

*BOOM*

Laito: ...!? T-The device...exploded!?

*BZT BZT BZT*

Laito: This sound...Watch out!!

Laito pushes you out of the way.

*Rustle*

*SHATTER*

Laito: Are you okay? ...I’m glad. However, seems like we’re not out of the woods just yet.

*BZT BZT BZT*

Yuma: ...Fuck!? What’s goin’ on!?

Laito: We failed the task, so I guess this is our penalty? Alternatively, he figured that if he cannot get his hands on that blood, he might as well just massacre us all?

Yuma: This isn’t a joke! We’re still Vampires at least...but what about her!? 

*SHATTER*

Yuma: Oi! Come into my arms! If ya were to take one of those blows with yer body, you’d be in serious shit!

You worry about Yuma. 

Yuma: I’m fine! I’ve got a broad physique. I can be yer shield! ーー Ugh!

He tugs you his way.

*Rustle*

Yuma: Fuck...What do we do? If only Ruki were here...

Laito: What’s the point in mentioning someone who isn’t even around? 

Yuma: Then help me think here! I can’t even use my powers properly ‘cause of the magic barrier!

Laito: I know~ We’ve been completely driven into a corner. However...You really think things will go your way?

Yuma: ...!

Laito: You want this supreme power which has been forced upon me? In that case, I’ll give it to you. As much as you’d like. You planned out this whole thing...Looking back at it now, there were several hints to your true intentions all along. Of just how badly you want these powers. It’s hilarious. Even though...I never asked for these powers in the first place...!

Laito charges up his powers and fires an attack.

Laito: Arghーー!

*CRASH*

Yuma: ...Ugh!! ...! Those are...That man’s powers? Ya...I thought ya couldn’t use them!?

Laito: Haah, haah...I didn’t think I could either!

Yuma: ...!! It didn’t work at all! So even these powers are useless!?

Laito: No...We can get out...through there...

Yuma: The glass is melting...! 

Laito: Even if my powers didn’t work...He can’t stop the fire I set...I’ll burn this whole building to the ground! ...You take care of her!

Yuma: Understood! ...Oi, I’ll carry ya, ‘kay? 

Yuma picks you up.

Yuma: Listen carefully. Hold on tight, remember?

The classroom slowly starts collapsing.

Laito: Are you two ready!?

Yuma: Yeah!

Laito: I live in the moment...Always prepared to risk my life...However, I’d rather not die because of that guy. ...I’m tired of this game. I’ll end it here...! Ugh!!

Laito fires another attack.

*BOOM*

*CRASH*

...

You are watching the burning building from the outside. 

Yuma: Fuck...It’s burning...This scenery brings back bad memories.

*Rustle*

Yuma: Ah...Woah there. Can ya stand by yerself?

You nod.

Yuma: I see. ...Ya don’t have any wounds or burns, right?

You confirm his statement.

Yuma: Haah...Good.

Laito: ...

Yuma: ...Oi!

Laito: Hm? ...What?

Yuma: Ya...said ya don’t have anything ya refuse to give up, but ya do. 

Laito: Hm? ...I don’t. 

Yuma: Stop playin’ dumb. Rather than yer whimsical side, when ya were actually bein’ serious earlier, ya gave a much better answer. 

Laito: What are you talking about~? I don’t remember~

Yuma: Che...You’re back to yer usual self, huh? That nasty smile of yers grinds my gears.

Laito: That’s so mean! Don’t make fun of someone’s face! ...Aaah~ I tired myself out, but seems like we won this game~ 

Yuma: Can ya really call this a victory?

Laito: We managed to clear all the tasks, so it is, right? In the end, we clearly proved it, right? That the Vampire deserving of her...is me~

Yuma: Aah? Don’t be spoutin’ bullshit. I’m obviously a better fit for her? 

Laito: You’re still surprisingly persistent after everything that happened, huh? 

Yuma: Haah? Ya wanna settle the score here?

You run up to them, stopping their fight.

Yuma: ...!? What’s yer problem!? Don’t suddenly jump in between us.

Laito: Nfu~ Don’t worry. We won’t fight. ...Our real enemy seems to be somewhere else after all.

Yuma: Eden’s destruction, the Demon World’s chaos, Demons being hunted down in the human world...On top of that, Karlheinz’s illegitimate child. There’s no way we’ve seen the end of this.

Laito: I know. However, let’s not worry about the future. For now, let’s rejoice we managed to avoid the worst. 

The school bell rings in the background.

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) 親離れ or ‘oya-banare’ literally means ‘to leave one’s parents’ and refers to the moment someone starts living alone and becomes independent. 

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 3

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, soft Javi, brief mention of domestic Javi, mentions of some smexy stuff, unrequited feels, lots of medical things that are probably wrong but I did a five minute internet search so we’re gonna call it good, okay?

Word Count: 1982

Notes: You're awake....but what do you remember?

Read on Ao3

Every inch of your body felt like it had been smashed with a heavy hammer.  The soreness seemed to echo and reverberate up and down, through your wrists, through your calves, along your hips, up your back.  Everything was black and you sluggishly realized it was because your eyes were closed.  Based on the way your body was feeling, though, you didn’t have much desire to open your eyes.

You did anyway, feeling like Sisyphus hauling his boulder up a hill at the effort it took to simply lift your eyelids.  Blurry daylight streamed through the vinyl shades of a window.  A news program was playing on a muted television in the corner.  The parts of the room you could see were stark and sparse: clearly a hospital room.  You tried turning your head to survey the rest of the room and groaned, a shrieking thumping in your head threatening to send you right back into the blackness of unconsciousness you had just come from.  You heard rustling coming from somewhere on your other side, out of your vision; then a wizened older woman with chin length grey hair stepped into your line of sight.  She looked at you earnestly and brushed a smooth, dry palm softly across the top of your head, pushing your hair back and murmuring your name.  

You struggled to place this woman’s face….your mother?  No, that wasn’t right.  You got a maternal feeling from her, certainly, but this woman wasn’t your mother...so who was she?  Your brain grasped to remember.  

“It’s all right,” the woman spoke and her voice was gentle but commanding, calm, steady with a flint of authority.  “You’re safe.  You’ve been unconscious for a while and had a nasty head injury.  Take it slow...don’t push yourself too hard.”  As she spoke, she pressed a recessed button next to you on the hospital bed, calling for a nurse and half asking, half ordering said nurse to get the doctor down here to check on you immediately.  This woman was clearly used to having people do what she said.  She sat next to you, a comforting hand resting on your forearm.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over.”  Your voice croaked and something clicked in your mind.  You flicked your eyes back to the woman.  “I’m in Columbia, right?”  The woman nodded slowly, her eyes searching your face.  “Bogota?”  Another confirmation.  You carefully turned your head and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember, feeling your mind spinning like tires in mud trying to get traction as you tried to remember what had landed you in this hospital bed.  A memory of this woman’s face rose in front of you, sitting behind a large desk in an office, poring over maps and files and directing yourself and others.  “Agent Dixon.”  You said, flashing your eyes back to her.  Her face appeared years younger as a smile spread on her lips and you made your own attempt at a small smile as memories of your mentor seeped into your mind, like water finding cracks in a sidewalk.

The doctor arrived then and proceeded to examine you, asking you questions about what you did and didn’t remember: names, dates, presidents.  Already confirming that you were in Columbia, you also remembered you work as a DEA agent, having been stationed here for close to two years now.  You did most of the talking while the doctor and Dixon merely asked you questions, elaborating on how you had ended up in the hospital: the DEA had been tracking a drug lord with lofty and insidious aspirations named Rafel Ortiz, an operation to capture him and his network that hadn’t gone as planned, you had been injured during the operation, though after a meaningful shared look across your hospital bed, neither Dixon nor the doctor gave any details as to said operation, nor how you had sustained your injuries.  As the doctor finished up, you lifted your hand to brush a stray piece of hair that was tickling your face beneath the bandage on your head.  Your eyes caught a glint of something on your finger.  You stopped, remembering through a fog: photographs with you in them, a warm grip on your hand, a gentle kiss on your forehead, a panic-stricken voice filled with concern calling for you to wake up, then the same husky, low voice whispering to you to sleep well, calling you “princess”.  Your eyes turned with concern from the ring on your finger to the doctor and Dixon.

“Where is he? Is he ok?”  Another shared glance between the two across your bed.  Your heart sank.  Dixon spoke quietly after a moment.

“Where is who?”

“I don’t remember his name.  The man in the pictures...he was with me in the ambulance.  Where’s my husband?”

****

Javier had managed to sleep, though certainly not well.  He knew he looked like shit as he stalked through the halls of the hospital.  He’d managed to make himself look slightly less of a mess than yesterday after a shower and change of clothes this morning, but he didn’t feel much better.  Beneath his pounding head and screaming muscles, a bubbling of worry simmered and all he wanted was to get back to the hospital and wait for his partner to open her eyes, to give him a wry smile and shoot him some teasing barb about how much worse for wear he looked than she did.  

They’d almost pulled it off, the two of them. He had felt a little ridiculous during the pre-op: having his finger measured for a ring that fit properly, posing with his partner for “engagement photos” in the small garden courtyard of the DEA office building, then changing into formal wear and recreating what would hopefully look like a sweet moment from a wedding ceremony, but was really a job of play acting in front of a blank wall in a conference room.  They’d set up in the large house on the outskirts of the city, posing as a freshly arrived expat couple, newly married and looking to supplement his international banking career by padding it with up and coming connections in the cocaine trade.  They’d “been married” for a little over two weeks, operating normally as agents and partners when on their own, but putting on a convincing performance as a newlywed couple when entertaining or meeting with Ortiz or any of his men.

Javier couldn’t lie to himself.  He had always been attracted to his partner.  She was smart, feisty, independent, strong-willed, and beautiful...oh so beautiful.  When they had first started working together he had pursued her relentlessly for a grand total of three days before she had knocked him across the face and nearly twisted his hand off when he had gotten grabby.  In no uncertain terms, she had made it crystal clear that no, she was not interested in sleeping with him, she had no desire to be a notch on anyone’s bedpost (much less his), that he was being an absolute pig for assuming that she was and that if he ever tried to grab her ass or any part of her again without permission she would shoot him in the dick.

That had been well on two years ago and thinking back, it was probably in that very moment when she had growled at him and he had stared up at her from where she had landed him on the bar floor, that he had started to fall for his partner.  After that night, he had never made another attempt to pursue her...at least not physically.  There had been times, over one too many drinks at a bar or over shitty take out or during a late night glance through the smoky haze from the cigarettes they would chain smoke, that he had seen something in her eyes.  Something that had made him pause and wonder if things had perhaps changed...if maybe the needle had moved for her, if she thought differently now.  They had been through so much together, had grown so close. But he had never been quite brave enough to ask.  And she had so often made her opinion abundantly clear on considering him merely her partner; teasing him about being able to outrun him in a foot chase, scowling in distaste whenever his amorous methods with his informants came up, screaming at him at least twice a week for over some disagreement or another.  

He had liked being “married” to her, though.  For just a little while, he had gotten a taste of what domesticity might be like for Javier Peña: jaded DEA agent.  He had liked the excuse to hold her hand at dinner in a restaurant or place his hand on the small of her back while walking...all of the moments when he could give her little touches: a brush of her cheek with the back of his hand, a kiss to her temple.  

Then there had been the moments that stirred something deeper than his interest in domesticity.  When she had sat on his lap after dinner and nibbled on his ear while he talked business with Ortiz.  When they had attended a party the drug lord had hosted and Javi had found his hands exploring the smooth planes of her body, her fingers knotted in his hair, pressing the occasional kiss to the other’s lips as they danced recklessly until the early morning hours.  He had felt like it had been real, moments like those.  As though the pretense of their undercover personas gave permission for their unspoken craving for each other to float to the surface and be reality, even if just for a little while. Kisses for the benefit of their marks had seemed to linger just a few moments longer than necessary, her lips had discovered the spot on his neck below his ear that drove him crazy and seemed to just naturally end up there whenever they had to “act” married. 

Then there had been that last night before everything had fallen apart: the two of them pressed together for a moment in panic, trying to keep themselves hidden from the suspicious gaze of Ortiz’s men...then suddenly pressed together like lovers, hands under clothes, groping and grappling for purchase on each others’ skin wherever they could find it, the smell of the plumeria trees wafting over them. Javi knew it had only been to cover the fact that they had been snooping somewhere they shouldn’t have been, but he couldn’t shake the way that moment had made him feel: as though suddenly every barrier and wall that separated he and his partner had crashed and crumbled between them.  If they hadn’t been discovered as DEA later that evening Javi wondered what might have happened when they had returned to “their” house….

No. He couldn’t let himself dwell on those kinds of “what ifs” right now.  He shook himself as he rounded the corner and spotted Dixon and the doctor standing outside your hospital door, speaking intently. As he approached, Dixon glanced at him and both of them abruptly stopped talking.

“Peña, what are you doing here?  Shouldn’t you be at the office?  I’m sure you have a report to fill out...” Javi shot her an annoyed look.

“I just wanted to stop by on my way, see how she’s doing….” He trailed off, looking back and forth between Dixon and the doctor, waiting for one or both of them to give him an update.  When none came, he irritatedly asked, “Well?….How’s she doing?”  Worry tugged at him as he saw the look that passed between them.

“Agent Peña…” Dixon said slowly. She gestured to one of the crappy plastic chairs along the wall outside the rooms.  “Have a seat.  We need to talk.”

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[maddrmatt]

A Beautiful Future: A Premonition or a Punishment?

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Greetings, readers and fellow SoKai fans!

Time for a certain Princess of Heart to take the spotlight in this story!  

Fair bit of warning though, I sort of used this chapter to showcase a few headcanons and speculations regarding the future of the series.  

Also, there’s a little challenge within this chapter that you can take on if you wish.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Writings of a Princess

Land of Departure

Dear Sora,

I know it’s been a while since I last wrote to you.  I haven’t really had anything really important to tell you since I came here.

Now something incredible has just happened and I had to tell you first before anyone else.  But before that, here’s a few updates on what’s been happening on this side of reality.

I’m still training hard.  No offense to Merlin, but I think I’m getting way better with my Keyblade training under Master Aqua than him.

My days here at the Land of Departure are filled with learning various fighting techniques or improving my magic skills.  And to test them, I often spar with Aqua, Terra or Ven.  One day, I might even get a perfect score against one of them in our matches.

All of three of them and Chirithy have been very good to me. They’ve really made me feel like part of their family.

But as great as it’s been with them, they’re no true replacement for everyone back home.  I miss everyone:  Mom, Dad, Selphie, Wakka, Tidus, Riku, and you.  Especially you.

Sorry, Sora.  It’s just so hard every day knowing that you’re trapped in that fictional world.  I really wish I could’ve gone there with Riku to save you.  But after being out of action for a year and the fact that I couldn’t even land a single blow on that memory of Xehanort, I knew it was the better choice to stay behind and train even if I didn’t like it.

I really hope Riku finds you soon.  We’re all so worried about both of you.  Since nobody really knows anything about this Quadratum place, we’ve all thought Riku was a little hasty in just taking off there alone.

We still haven’t heard anything from Mickey yet either. Hopefully, he’ll come back soon from Scala Ad Caelum, and he’ll have found something we can use to help you and Riku.  Until that happens, all the rest of us can do is wait.

Anyway, time to tell you the real reason for this latest letter, Sora. And you are not going to believe what it is.  I can hardly believe it myself.

Last night, I had a dream.  It was actually the first dream I’ve had since I came to the Land of Departure.

Not that I’ve minded not having dreams just in case they ended up being recreations of my worst memories.  I’ve already watched you vanish twice.  I don’t think I could bear to watch it happen again in my dreams.

But the dream I had was nothing like that at all.  It was of a wedding, Sora.  Our wedding.

It was an amazing sight.  It was in this gigantic chapel that looked like it was in Radiant Garden, and it was filled with all your friends from around the worlds.

Many of our fellow Guardians of Light and closest friends made up our wedding party.  It was hardly a surprise to see Selphie as my maid of honor or Riku as your best man.

You looked so handsome in the suit you were wearing.  And judging from the stunned look on your face when you saw me coming down the aisle, I must’ve looked pretty beautiful to you.

It was truly incredible, Sora.  It felt so real and so wonderful.  I wished it never ended.

But, unfortunately, as it is with dreams, we all have to wake up eventually.  And when I did, the happiness I felt ended up giving way to other emotions as I reflected on the dream.

First of all, I felt a little confused.  As good as that dream was, I couldn’t help but wonder why I had it at all.  I mean, wouldn’t you find a little strange to have a dream about a wedding especially since we haven’t even had our first kiss yet?  It’s kind of rushing things a little.  

But don’t get me wrong, Sora.  I know, deep down in my heart, how we truly feel about each other. I wouldn’t have shared that paopu fruit with you otherwise.  And when the time is right for it, the idea of getting married to you is something I will embrace wholeheartedly.

So, I thought more about the dream and believe it or not, I started to think that it was not merely just a dream.  I wonder if what I saw was our future.  It definitely did feel like that since there were so many unfamiliar parts in it.  

For example, I had no idea there was a tradition in Radiant Garden weddings for the bride and groom to crown each other with symbolic flowers.  Then again, I could have known that if the knowledge came from a memory from when I lived there.  Maybe I attended a wedding there when I was young.

But what really stood out to me and made me believe that this could be our future was the many unfamiliar guests.  I knew that because I’ve been studying the details of your last two journeys from Jiminy’s Journal and the Gummi Phone.  And even though the Journal of your first journey was erased (Naminè’s still really sorry about that), I still remember everything about it from being in your heart through it all.

So, I was able to recognize who you had met and who were strangers. They were far too numerous to mention. But here are some examples that really stood out to me.

A tall woman with long black hair wearing a tan colored dress and a beautiful turquoise necklace with a raccoon, a dog and I think I saw a hummingbird flittering around her.

A pair of robots, one yellow and box-shaped, the other white and cylindrical, who were holding hands.

A couple that consisted of a redhaired woman and blonde-haired man who appeared to have some kind of hairless rodent on his shoulder.

A teenage boy and girl along with a younger boy and a company of animals such as a bear with gray fur, a panther, an elephant with a tuft of brown hair and a quartet of vultures.

A large family that appeared to be a mix of humans and skeletons along with a very colorful winged dog and a giant winged cat.

A boy with red hair (whose head looked triangular) along with another boy with green hair and a bunch of other teenagers as well as some kind of strange teal animal that looked like a cross between a duck and a beaver and a man with brown hair, poor posture and wearing a lab coat (who wears that to a wedding?).

A princess dressed in a beautiful green gown accompanied by a prince in a green suit with a blonde woman dressed in pink, a short old woman dressed in white and wearing sunglasses and a snake around her shoulders as well as an alligator who was carrying a trumpet.

A very unusual group consisting of two men and a woman with blue skin and pointy ears along with a dog-sized dragon, a centaur, and a winged lionlike creature with horns and a scorpion’s tail.

A girl with bushy brown hair among what appeared to be a family of giant frogs.

A woman dressed like she was some kind of islander with a burly man with numerous tattoos (I think I saw one of them move) over his body along with a pig and a chicken that didn’t look very smart.

A family who seemed to be some kind of royalty consisting of a princess in a simple green dress with long curly red hair along with three identical boys with the same kind of hair, their big, strong father with a peg leg and their very elegant mother.

A boy and a girl who looked like they were twin siblings who were accompanied by a pair of old men who looked like twins as well.

A redhaired boy in the company of a group of what looked like various human-sized bugs.

There were so many more, but I think I’ll stop here.  With the large number of guests at this wedding, I could go on listing them for a long time.  But it does seem there’s a lot more friends for you in the future.

Unfortunately, while I was mulling over the dream further, a horrible thought came to me.  I started to wonder if the dream, as beautiful as it was, wasn’t meant to bring me happiness at all because it was actually showing the future that we could have had but now would never have.  And the true reason of it was to punish me for my failures in the fight against Xehanort.

I know you wouldn’t like to hear this, Sora.  But there are still days where I can’t help but feel responsible for your disappearance and think that if I had made some different choices, you’d still be here.

I know it was my choice to fight alongside you because I wanted to keep you safe the same way you’ve always done for me.  But looking back, I now see it was foolish to assume that my training alongside Axel would turn me into a Keyblade wielder on yours or Riku’s level. And it was probably an even worse idea for a wielder with very little actual battle experience to go from basic training to a high stakes battle with nothing in between.

We may have been desperate to stop Xehanort before he went after the New Seven Hearts especially since he had already assembled all his darknesses. But we probably could’ve and should’ve explored some other options instead of going to fight the Organization right away after you woke Ven.

Since Ienzo told us that they had a replica body ready before we even left for the Keyblade Graveyard, we could’ve gotten Roxas or maybe even Xion out of your heart before the fight.  In Axel’s words, they were the old hands when it came to Keyblades.

We also could have made a bigger effort to find and save Terra first even if our chances were pretty low.  That would not only have gotten us a more experienced wielder, but it would’ve also lowered Xehanort’s ranks by one.

Maybe if we had done things that way, we would’ve had more experienced Keyblade wielders to fill out the Seven Guardians of Light.  And even if it would be disappointing to be put in the reserves, it would’ve been worth it if it led to you being safe.

So, those are the reasons I believed that dream was a punishment. But you’ll be glad to know, Sora, that I only entertained those beliefs briefly.

After thinking it over some more, I decided that it didn’t matter what that dream’s purpose was.  Comfort or punishment, I’m going to actually use it to serve my own purposes instead.

I’m going to let it remind me of what my ultimate goal is and drive me to be the best Keyblade wielder I can be.  One that’s going to make the forces of darkness think twice before causing trouble and one that you and Riku will be proud to have fighting alongside you.  And hopefully, that will lead us to a future like the one in the dream or at least one that’s pretty close.

In fact, after seeing that dream, I think I may end up actually proposing a couple of ideas to Aqua and Master Yen Sid.  I’ve been thinking about them a lot and maybe now is the time to try to put them into action.

Since I need to get some real battle experience to become a stronger Keyblade wielder, I’d like to go on a journey throughout the worlds to gain some. Hopefully, Aqua will think it’s a good idea.  And even though there’s been little sign of the Heartless and Nobodies since Xehanort’s defeat, there is one thing I really wish to do.

I’d like to try to find and identify the remaining three of the New Seven Hearts.  After all, who’d better to find them than someone who’s part of the same group?  And if we knew who they were and what their home worlds were, we’d be in a better position to protect them if someone tried what Maleficent and Xehanort did.

Who knows?  Maybe all those unfamiliar faces at the wedding were not only friends you’ll make on future adventures, but ones I’ll make on my own adventures.  Maybe even the remaining New Seven Hearts were among them.

I also have an idea that may be able to help in the quest to bring you home. If Fairy Godmother could bring me back to the Final World, I could talk to that girl from Quadratum again.  She may not be able to remember certain things. But she might be able to tell us something about that world that could help.  

Naminè might even be able to help with this plan.  Even if you only met that girl briefly, that may be enough for her to be considered connected to you and therefore, Naminè’s memory powers can work on her.

Hopefully, the Masters will think that these are good plans.  I really want to do any part I can to not only help bring you and Riku home, but also to protect the worlds as both a Keyblade wielder and a Princess of Heart.  After all, with you two gone, someone’s got to pick up the slack.

Well, I think that’s enough for now.  It’s nearly time for breakfast and then it’s training until lunch.  But before I go, there’s just one final thing I’d like to say.

Whether that beautiful dream shows a wonderful future that is meant to be or not, it doesn’t matter.  Because the only kind of future I’ll ever wish for is one in which we’re safe, we’re happy, and we’re together.  That’s all I really need.

See you soon,

Kairi

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Much later, the training hall in the Land of Departure was filled with the sounds of clashing Keyblades and various shouts of magical invocation.  While those sounds were nothing uncommon in that location, there was an unusual intensity that day.

As Aqua, Ven and Chirithy watched, a heated sparring match was taking place between Kairi and Terra.  But much to their surprise, the more experienced Keyblade wielder was actually struggling as the young rookie was keeping him mostly on the defensive.

“Wow!  Kairi’s on fire today!” exclaimed Ven.

“She is, indeed,” concurred Chirithy.

“Well, she has improved a lot in her skills since she came here.  But you two are right.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this driven before,” said Aqua.

“You’ve got that right, Aqua.  If she lands one more hit on Terra, this’ll be the first time she’s won by a perfect score,” said Ven.

As the match went on, Terra blocked blow after blow from Kairi.  Then, strangely, she ceased her attack.

Terra saw his opportunity and charged toward her with a downward slash. The Princess dodged to the right narrowly avoiding the hit.

“Light!” she cried out as she fired a small but powerful Light spell at Terra’s side.  He grunted as the magic struck him and knocked him off his feet.

“Point to Kairi,” declared Aqua.

“That’s three to nothing!  Kairi wins!” exclaimed Ven as Chirithy clapped its paws together.

“Well done, Kairi,” said Aqua.

“Thank you, Master Aqua,” Kairi said as she walked over to Terra and helped him up.  

After exchanging bows with each other, the Princess of Heart said, “I hope that didn’t hurt you too badly, Terra.”

Terra chuckled.  “Not at all.  It helps that you’ve learned how to restrain your magic during training.  But I’ve got to say, Kairi that I am impressed. That’s the first time since you’ve come here that I’ve been unable to land a single hit on you.”

“You’ve certainly come a long way, Kairi.  Today, you showed some truly exceptional skill and strength.  You should be very proud of yourself,” said Aqua as she, Ven and Chirithy approached.

“Well, I’ve had a good teacher and some great sparring partners.  But I think it really helped that when I woke up today, I just felt a little extra drive,” said Kairi.

“Yes.  We noticed,” said Aqua.

“Why is that exactly?” asked Chirithy.

A certain smile came to Kairi’s face which caused her four friends to exchange knowing looks.  They had spent plenty of time with her by now to know what exactly brought out that special smile of hers: thoughts of a certain someone close to her heart.

“I had the most amazing dream.”

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Notes from the Mad Doctor:

I thought the best way for Kairi’s spotlight chapter would be to do in the style of one of her letters to Sora.  I’ve used it before as readers of my big fic Kairi’s Epic Journey would know.

So, in case it wasn’t obvious, the challenge I mentioned at the start is that list of unknown guests.  It was quite a challenge to write all those characters by description alone.  I hope you all will take a shot at identifying them. Some are pretty obvious, but some may be a little more difficult.

I hope I did a good job in trying not to make this chapter’s narrative too similar to the previous chapters.  I actually tried having Kairi leap to the punishment notion before the premonition notion.  But unfortunately, the flow didn’t work right.

Fortunately, the views on the punishment notion are a little different. Sora has absolutely no regrets for what he did and believes that he’s being unfairly punished for breaking rules he had no idea existed.  Kairi, however, believes her punishment is deserved since she blames herself for what happened to Sora.  Fortunately, both are able to use that dream to keep on fighting.

I hope you all aren’t put off that this is more like a series of one-shots centered around a certain plot device (the wedding dream) instead of a congruent storyline.  That was what this project ended up being.

I give my thanks to whoever reads this chapter.

I also give my special thanks to @fandomchanger, @flynn-science​, and @ladylucky​ for their likes on the previous chapters as well as @sokaiweek, @phoenix-downer, and @the-secret-place​ for reblogging the previous chapter.

Comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated!  Stay tuned for what comes next because it’s going to be a real feel-good chapter!

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Onto the next chapter!

[theasstour]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸��𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

 Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

���There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What��s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry​

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin."  And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously  tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.'  The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

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

Chapter 3

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

Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

[tanoraqui]

[previous]

so right here is probably where you get your obligatory “Wild Hunt follows our hero back to the human realm, forcing them to go on a high-stakes, high-speed chase with their romantic interest as their (fantasy, no cars involved) driver.” Tylweth Tyg Lan Wangji, flying yarrow stalk, clinging tightly together, natch.

their goal is the Duchy of Butchers’ Hill. They probably crash-land in a courtyard

quick history of Butchers’ Hill: a merlin so lowly she had a job in the human world as a butcher, before she saved a monarch’s live and so earned the use of a Hope Chest, and through further service, a duchy. In the face of lingering scorn, she named her new demesne after her mortal career, because fuck you

the current duke, Nie Mingjue, is Tuatha de Danaan through and through, child of happily divorced parents - well, one’s dead, now - because it was an amiable political marriage and his mother had a barony to inherit on a different continent

however his brother and heir, Nie Huaisang, had. Daoine Sidhe mother (everyone knows, though she more or less wandered in one day and left a few years later when she’d stopped her dancing). He has fine Tuatha features, but his hair is the dark dark red of a cursed rose, his eyes are yellow rather than copper, his magic is scented of roses as well as Nie stone. He’s never been able to open a portal. His mother was sickly, they say, and something went wrong in the childbirth; she recovered, but not for long

their goal today is not the duke but in fact his younger brother. “Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang says cheerfully, with the air of someone who’s about to get some ~gossip~. “And Lan-er-gongzi! It’s good to see you! You look like you need a drink.”

Lan Wangji accepts tea, Wei Wuxian accepts wine, and takes a deep sniff - not of the wine. He cuts through the burgeoning small talk. “Nie-xiong, your mother wasn’t a Daoine Sidhe.”

(if I was writing this properly, I would’ve foreshadowed this with more recent historical context, with descriptions of everyone’s magical scents at that first confrontation in Glamour Hall. Suffice to say: his magic smells like his grandmother’s)

“...No,” Nie Huaisang says, after a particularly long sip of wine. “She wasn’t.” He leans forward, because if they’re doing real gossip, then they’re doing real gossip. “Neither was yours, right?”

“Ah, busted,” says Wei Wuxian. “So, can you open a Rose Road?

Hold up, you might ask at this juncture. How does he know about that? Did Captain Pete tell him? For that matter, he knew his exact relation to her - Toby didn’t know this stuff, circa her own fight with Blind Michael! What gives?

Well, here’s the story...

Wei Wuxian is already feeling pretty shit, wandering the streets of Yiling with magic overuse ache like he’s been run over by a tractor, which needless to say is the only reason Wen Chao gets the jump on him

the Burial Mounds is an abandoned iron mine. I think Wen Chao shoots him, first, too, with, like, a gattling gun full of shards of iron (please don’t ask about the technology level of this setting). Anyway, it’s an obvious death sentence. A cruel, slow death sentence, iron poisoning with a fun side dose of, like, broken limbs from being dropped down a mineshaft. Wen Chao laughs and leaves; Wei Wuxian lies here in agony and waits to die

Except...he doesn’t

and then he continues to not

or maybe he does, or comes as close as makes no difference, and wakes up again anyway?

the first time that happens, the Night Haunts arrive. expectantly. There’s only room for a couple of them, and they won’t stay long because of all the iron, but they do their duty; they come for the body

But the body is still living

hallucinating, a little

definitely he assumes the night haunts are a hallucination, at first

he starts talking to them, and eventually, they talk back (maybe one who wears the face of one of the Lotus Lakes squires).

it’s not in the night haunts’ nature to aid the dying but it is acceptable to wait with them, and trade stories with them, or perhaps simply give them, as a parting mercy...

but it’s not parting. For three months, the Night Haunts take shifts perching on the few iron-free spots in this hole in the ground and waiting for Wei Wuxian to die, and letting. him coax them into telling stories with memories as old as Faerie. He needs something to focus on other than the pain - and thirst and hunger, when he remember them. He does his best to pick shards of iron out of his skin, passes out and would die save for the power in his blood, and wakes up and picks out more iron. “Liar’s child”, they call him, and enjoy talking to someone living once more. 

Eventually, he gains enough strength to start crawling, climbing, falling, pushing himself up and crawling again towards the exit.* Eventually, he breaks into the open air again, rolls over on clean grass and turns his head sideways to spit a last (for now) mouthful of blood.

He keeps some of the iron scraps. He forges them into points for his new trident, the Wens having confiscated his old one. He introduces Wen Chao to it a couple months later.

[fastforward out of the flashback!noises]

“I caaan,” Nie Huaisang says reluctantly, tapping his fingers on his wine glass. “But it’s really hard and I’m not very good at directing them, and you just want to use it to help a Wen.”

(here’s more history of Butchers’ Hill: not long after his second wife passed away, the old duke was elfshot. The poison in it was slow-acting; only after several decades did he start to fail. This turned out to be a mistake on King Wen Ruohan’s part, because it meant Nie Mingjue had had time to grow in his own power and military experience. the Sunshot Campaign began not long thereafter)

(there were arguments for Nie Mingjue to take the crown of Golden Sun, after, but it was Jin Guangshan’s changeling who killed Wen Ruohan, and the Daoine Sidhe are ever hungrier than the Tuatha de Danaan)

“I’ll owe you one,” Wei Wuxian promises. “If you want, I can even shift your blood to one side or the other - I can’t imagine it’s comfortable, being half-plant, half-mammal.”

(it’s an honest offer, not a threat. But also: Wen Zhuliu died in agony, at the hands of the Yiling Patriarch. Rebalancing the blood hurts more than anything in the world, except maybe 3 months of death by iron poisoning.)

“I don’t think so,” Nie Huaisang says consideringly. “I mean, yes, it’s terrible sometimes but...could I claim the favor for someone else, if they agree to it?”

“If you can get me on a road to Blind Michael’s realm and back, sure. You don’t need to worry about aiming me.” He flips a compass out of his pocket, 

once again: do I need o dwell on Blind Michael’s dark realm, night without the hope of moon or stars? There’s running, there’s chasing, there’s fighting...rather more fighting than Toby, actually. As established: the Yiling Patriarch isn’t popularly called a Hero (yet), but he is known for his bloody battlefields.

There’s negotiating. Blind Michael is predictably cruel; Wen Ning is sitting at the foot of his throne like a dog, though he hasn’t grown much more than fur and sharp teeth. So far. Wei Wuxian bargains one soul for another and presses rose-wrapped candle and compass into his friend’s already-less-paw-like hands, whispers, “Think of your sister and follow it. Tell her we’re even. Don’t look back, accept any help you’re offered but not ask for it, and you have...” He checks his watch. “About 2 hours.”

He watches Wen Ning go - for a moment. Until Blind Michael calls, “Take him,” and someone hits him very hard on the back of the head, and the empty sky swallows him up.

TBC

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #335

“on my forehead, a birthmark  /  remove it with the kiss of a knife  /  even if it causes me to die”

Do you recover well from surgery? Judging by the two surgeries I've had, oh yeah. I was hyper as hell when I came home from getting tubes put in my ears as a little kid, even though the doctor said I'd be very sleepy. Then, after my cyst removal, I was put on very strong painkillers but was still warned it was going to be a painful recovery, when it totally wasn't. I literally only took painkillers the first day. What addictions have you had? Caffeine, technology. Would you change your name if you became famous? Nah. If Cupid were real, would you hire him to make someone love you? No. I don't want somebody forced to love me. Ever been to an auction? No. Which word(s) do you generally use to describe someone attractive? (e.g. “fit”, “sexy”) It kinda varies with gender. Women I tend to call "beautiful" or "gorgeous," sometimes "hot" or "cute," while men I usually refer to as "handsome" or "hot"/"sexy." The last person you kissed - are they older or younger than you? She's a bit younger. When was the last time someone wanted you to do something, and you refused? Hm. I dunno. I have a hard time saying "no," so. When was the last time you had Pop Tarts? What flavour were they? Many months ago; I kinda stopped eating them because they're truly not filling and just a load of sugar that veils itself as an actual breakfast choice. But anyway, I liked the chocolate sundae ones. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Did you ever play Spyro? I LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!! SPYRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those games were my CHILDHOOD, and it's half the reason I'm dying for a PS4 to play the remastered trilogy. Speaking of which, it'd be awesome if they remade the The Legend of Spyro trilogy as well. I might just like those games more than the originals, but that's a bold statement I'm unsure about. Have you ever dated someone who was of a foreign origin? I dated a Hispanic guy for less than a day. Have you ever read any of your idols’ books/autobiographies? Ozzy Osbourne's, yes. I'm just fucking waiting for Mark to write one, but he's always said he has so little interest in writing about his life. DO IT, YOU FUCK. Do you own any succulents? No. I think they're pretty, though. Do you have a drone? No. What’s your favorite Netflix series? *shrug* What is something a lot of people like but you don’t? Summertime. The heat, the humidity (at least here), the sunburn from just standing outside for ten minutes... I hate all of it. The ONLY two things I enjoy about summer is swimming and then flowers, though spring is the more floral season here anyway. Do you have revenge fantasies that you never actually play out? They've... happened. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Pretty sure forever. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? Once upon a time, that was the plan. Now, nah. I'd just want to be in a healthy, stable, and long-term relationship. What do you think about divorce? It's sad, but necessary for some people in order to be happy, which everyone has the right to be. I used to be very firmly against divorce except in extreme cases like abuse, etc., and I'm still definitely no fan of it and think couples should do their best to work things out, but it's incredibly unfair to believe that someone should be stuck for the rest of their life with a person they just don't love anymore. Getting married can be a mistake; don't damn people forever to be chained to their bad decisions. Do you remember the first time your heart broke? What was the reason? It was probably when Dad just abandoned us. What's the worst prank someone has ever done to you? I don't think anyone's ever pulled a sick joke on me. Have you ever seen someone sleepwalk? Yes; my little sister deadass tried to walk outside late at night. Thank God I was on the computer in the living room and stopped her. What song are you listening to right now? I just turned "Mutter" by Rammstein on. When is the last time you cursed? I'm not re-reading, but I have probably cursed fifty times in this survey already. It's so deeply ingrained into my vocabulary. Are there any words on your shirt? No; it's just a plain gray tank top. Why do you forward forwards? I never do because they annoy the fuck out of me. How many people are you interested in at the moment? Just one in a healthy and logical way. I can't be truly interested in Jason because like come on I haven't spoken to him in four whole years. My PTSD just ensures I never forget the memory of who he was, who probably no longer even exists. I mean, look how much I'VE changed in four years. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nnnnope. Who was the last person (apart from family) that you spent time with? What did you get up to? Apart from family, I have no idea. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them got on your nerves? Venus never does, but Roman can get on my nerves sometimes when I don't let him lay on me when I'm on the laptop in bed. He's a large cat (not overweight, just a big male cat) and blocks the screen big time unless he lies down properly, which he doesn't always do. He still tends to win when he tries to come over, but sometimes I'll block him with my arm, and this spoiled brat will actually slap it a few times before walking away lmao. Would you rather live in a house with a swimming pool or an indoor cinema? Absolutely a pool. I want one badly. Do you own a credit card? If so, do you currently owe any money on it? Could you afford to pay it off tomorrow if necessary? No. How many hours of sleep do you typically get each night? Is that enough to function or would you rather have more? Especially lately, I don't get nearly enough. Like at the time I'm answering this question, it's 4 AM, and I've been up for almost a couple hours. I struggle with falling asleep, I will ALWAYS wake up at least once in the night, and I jerk awake from nightmares regularly still. It's a big reason why I pretty much require naps. Does your house have a loft/basement? Are they functional or do you just use them for storage? We only have an attic. Do you suffer from road rage? What kind of thing tends to set you off or wind you up while driving? No. I'm way too timid of a driver to get that outwardly pissy about stupid people. I'd just judge them in silence, haha. What kind of animal did you last see in the wild? Is that a common sight where you live? Because of just how common they are, I'm going to assume this excludes birds, in which case it was probably a squirrel? Yeah, the normal brown ones are common. Do you post a lot on social media? If so, what kind of thing do you tend to post on there? Since I was fucking stupid enough to post a suicide note on Facebook (I don't want to hear a goddamn thing about "attention seeking," I genuinely wanted to say goodbye), I almost never, ever, share things about my personal life. Even before, it was rare for me to actually share what's going on with me. All I really do now is share relatable, wholesome, or funny shit I find, as well as political things I'm in firm agreement with. What are some habits you have in common with your parents? I pace like my dad, and it drives people crazy because it apparently makes them anxious? I can't think of an obvious one I have with Mom, but I'm sure one exists. Where's your favourite place to swim - the ocean, a pool, river, lake etc? I feel safest and most clean in a pool, but c'mon, swimming in the ocean is so much fun. When you're saving your place in a book, do you use a bookmark or fold your pages down? Or something else? It depends on the book, it seems. Especially if someone else owns it, like in school or something. Is any part of your body hurting at the moment? Is there a specific incident that caused the pain? My legs always hurt. I've shared enough as to why; it wasn't an actual, singular "incident." What was the last thing to make you laugh out loud? OH MY FUCKING GOD. So in group therapy the other day, one of the girls had her bearded dragon out, and he was being aggressive. I think he tried to bite her aND SHE SAID WITHOUT REALIZING HER MIC WAS ON, "fucking dickhead," and everyone d i e d. She's a really cool chick, I'll miss her when I'm finished with PHP. Who was the last person you heard sing? Myself, surprisingly enough. I barely ever sing. Do you bite your lips a lot? Yes, especially when they're dry. .-. What part of your body would you never get pierced? Anyone who gets a piercing "down there" has a greater pain tolerance than this bitch right here. Have you ever dated someone with tattoos? Juan had quite a few. I don't remember if Tyler did... but I think maybe a The Legend of Zelda-related one? Have you ever failed gym in school? No. Are you scared of dogs? No; I love dogs. What is the saddest movie you’ve ever seen? Man, idk, I'm a little bitch when it comes to emotional movies. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is high up there, as is of course Johnny Got His Gun. Old Yeller, too. Which one of your friends is most likely to be famous one day? Why? Sara's gonna write a fuckin book series ok you can't convince me otherwise. What is the worst present you have ever gotten? Damn dude, what an ungrateful question. I'm just appreciative someone even thought TO give me something. Do you shave your arms? My armpits, yes, but not my arms themselves. How many people have you dated? I only count three as even remotely serious: Jason, Sara, and Girt. Have you ever performed in a play? I remember back in Sunday school as a tiny kid I played Mother Mary in one we did in class. Do you chew gum? I have been more lately since my doc upped the dosage of one of my mood stabilizers (which I think is actually helping); I mention that because apparently a side effect is dry mouth, and it's the fucking Sahara in there. He advises those who deal with it to always carry around hard candy or something like that for the sake of forcing salivation, so gum works for me. How old were you when you first started dating? I was in the 7th grade when I had my first "boyfriend," but it was total puppydog love. I started dating my first "real" bf when I was just shy of 16. Are/were your parents strict? Dad, no. Mom, only to a degree that I feel was pretty reasonable. She only ever wanted to prepare us to be functional, independent adults. Didn't work so well on me though, ha... Do you wear glasses? Yes. God, I need new ones. I'm blind as hell. What do you miss most about your childhood? Being so outgoing and happy to just be weird lil me. Do you write “To-Do” lists? Not really, no, but I do have notes on my phone about a couple things, like a bulleted list of planned monetary investments by importance, as well as a list of drawing ideas. Do you have a favorite quote? What is it? I don't, really. There's loads I like, but no one favorite. Could you survive as a vegetarian? I pretty desperately want to, but I don't know if it's realistic. I am so, SO picky, and without meat, it's very questionable as to where I'd get an adequate source of protein. I still want to try again though once I'm at my goal weight. Has anyone ever asked you for your autograph? Lol no. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yeah, but that was a looong time ago when I was actually some semblance of pretty. Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? I used to be someone who firmly stood by nighttime showers, but now I'm all about them in the morning. It's a nice way to wake up and start the day with productivity. Could you handle living with a male roommate? I mean, I lived with my then-boyfriend once, but I'm going to assume you'd consider him more than a "roommate." We lived with our two other friends, though, also a couple, and I was totally fine with living with them. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yes. Do you like Freddy Krueger? His concept is very scary, but all the movies I've seen bits of have always been super cheesy. Which do you prefer, Naruto or One Piece? I haven't seen either and really aren't interested. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I've never really watched his movies, but I'm a fan of his music. What’s you fetish? I don't have one. Have you ever been in the “friend zone?" Well, what I'd call a "fake" one with Jason after the breakup until I was blocked on Facebook. I know now he absolutely did not want to be friends; he was trying to appease me. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? Definitely conservative. Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Yeah, me. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm certain Mom was, but idk about Dad. I think so. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. What was the last thing that you recorded? I think Mom and I singing "happy birthday" to my late dog Teddy; we knew it would be his last. Do you like the show Futurama? Not really. Have you ever been in a choir class? I was in the elementary school chorus, as well as the choir at my childhood church. Are you ashamed of any of your family members? No, only myself. Were you a chubby child? No. Did you ever have senior photos done? No, even though I wanted them. Who is the person you dislike the most? God, this is so petty... but it's the girl Jason dated after me. I know it's childish as hell to feel like she "took" him from me, and I just feel this horrible hatred towards her that is entirely uncalled for. I just can't get myself to move past it. Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? No, as I'm unemployed and also don't have disability, so I literally can't. How do you usually celebrate New Years? I really don't do much. Sometimes Mom will grab a pack of daiquiris, but that's pretty much the extent of it. Does the place you work have music playing? What sort? N/A What was the last job interview you went to? At a local grocery store to work in the deli. Got the job, lasted there for not even two hours. :^) Do you know anyone with autism, mood disorders or learning disabilities? Autism and mood disorders, yes. I myself may have high-functioning Asperger's (yes, I know that term doesn't technically exist anymore, it's just the umbrella term of "autism," but w/e). Have you ever had an immediate relative pass away of cancer? My grandmother died of pancreatic cancer, and it's pretty much guaranteed that, unless there's some sudden accident, my mom will die of cancer, too. Hers got too bad to entirely eliminate every trace of cancer cells, so it will inevitably re-emerge at some point, just obviously some place else given that she had a total hysterectomy. Would you rather work in an office, warehouse or on a retail shop floor? Office. Are you a fan of sweet, sour, salty, or savory snacks? I enjoy all of those, but sour I think tops the list.

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics Chapter 2.

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by strange shopkeeper Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- almost too well. In fact, Arch's life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as great as it seems....

Directory: [chapter one]

CW: bullying, deadname use (though never revealed), memory problems

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CHAPTER TWO: THE OLD WORLD

Earlier that day,

Their name rang down like an emergency alarm bell in their ears, breaking them from a state full of dreams that they wouldn’t remember by the time their feet had touched the floor. Despite the name not belonging to them any longer, Arch would still be forced to hear it until they could find their own place, their own life, their own bed -without their mother screaming down to them both figuratively and literally.

There it was, the damned name again, screaming down from the top of the stairs, and then the tired list of consequences for being lazy came down with it. You'll be late for the bus, you'll be failing class, you'll be working at McDonalds- which wasn’t fair- Arch knew of several kids in their grade making decent money through working at the one on the corner of twenty-sixth avenue and Carmichael Drive.

“Up! I’m up”-

“You have ten minutes, little lady!”

Arch shook off the comment as they found the shirt that they had worn the day previous laying on the carpet by their dresser. They tugged it on, and added some pants to perfect the outfit. Ruffling short bangs and tufting out the sides more evenly, Arch began to look almost like they had a full night of sleep. They hadn’t. Not with the carelessly loud insomniac who lived above them. Not with the dread of existence in this world to keep them up at night either.

Their mother was never a friendly stranger when it came to change, and after a year of begging her to stop buying dresses and skirts for them, their relationship came to an impasse. It was only a month ago that Arch was accused of heinous things like “being ungrateful for the body their Lord gave them”, and acting treacherously like a boy. At that point, Arch locked themselves in the bathroom with a pair of scissors, and didn't emerge until they had chopped their dark hair off just above the ears- leaving their mother crying on the main floor's hallway and praying to the Virgin Mary to save her daughter from the devil's grip.

Arch gave up going to mass after that too.

The truth was, that Arch was never once ashamed of their body or the way it was made- but they did have a keen sense on how they wanted to act, and apparently, it was too masculine for their mother’s comfort level. They weren’t created to be a boy or a girl, but maybe something slightly in between. The parts of their body didn’t matter nearly as much as who they defined themselves as- and as it was contemplated endlessly during sleepless nights, it was decided, by them and them alone that they were Arch.

In the morning rush up the stairs, Arch nearly stepped on the cat, instead of over it. Maleficent decided the near miss was an invitation to play, and dug her pin sharp claws into the denim at the top of their ankle. Arch kicked her off, unceremoniously and pulled their backpack over one shoulder. They were moving too fast to care whether the little beast had drawn blood this time. Skipping breakfast and any goodbyes, Arch was out the door just in time to watch their bus pass them across the street with the students inside, making obscene gestures with their fingers and tongues at them as it drove away.

Arch should have stayed in bed.

“Shit.” They sighed, taking the opportunity to walk through downtown. At the very least they could start looking for a job, a way out of the hellhole their mother called a home. And by the time they graduated, they would be out. They would be free. They would find this job, even if it took all freaking day.

Presently,

“That’s not what it says on your email or on your resume,” Lyrem noted casually, making a quick scrawl in the margins. “I’ll make certain that your name is respected here, but for governmental and tax purposes, I can’t use Arch until you’ve changed it properly.”

“That’s fine,” They responded. “I thought my chances on getting hired might have been better if I used my real name.”

Lyrem regarded them carefully over the cash desk.

“Arch is your real name. I’ll be looking forward to the day that it is recognized as such,” he advised sagely, “besides, it’s not like I haven’t changed mine a hundred times over. I know it can be a pain.”

Arch looked at them skeptically and stepped back.

“Dude, come on, are you fleeing the IRS? Involved with human trafficking”- Arch shook their head.

Lyrem couldn’t have been younger than fifty years of age, and it was very rare to find a man of that time so accepting of these modern values. He briefly glanced up from the generally unimpressive resume and smiled, almost robotically.

“I was only joking.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Arch inquired, “Your shop has been on this street for as long as I can remember; why do you need someone now? Why did the last part-timer leave?”

Lyrem placed the paper down. It was a fair question, reasonable for anyone to ask if they were being hired on so soon.

“I ran this shop with my wife for many years,” he answered honestly. “But… she is gone now…”

Arch raised their eyebrows, a look of sympathy crossing over their face until Lyrem finished their sentence.

“- Drained my savings account without my knowledge and ran off to Cuba with some ugly bastard named Phillip.”

Oh.

“I just hope she can still find happiness.” Lyrem finished, trailing off.

Oh.

“Sorry I asked.”

Lyrem shrugged.

“You’d have found out eventually, I’m sure. I may rant to you from time to time, I hope that is not an issue.”

“No, never. I love a good rant.” Arch grinned slightly sideways.

“Dress code: simply look presentable, is all I ask- don’t smell like patchouli, I suppose, is another thing, and you can play music in the store as long as it’s tasteful. There’s a record player in the corner.”

Arch had gazed around, there was indeed, a record player in the corner, but an old one- one they had assumed was merely for display use only. The entire shop was set up like something out of a seventies television series. The shag rug in the corner held a couple deep orange velour wingback chairs with the record player nestled between them by the window. Did people just sit in here to hang out?

The hanging chandelier over the desk was stained with a foggy yellow glass, and the shelves of tarot decks and mystical books were perfectly arranged alphabetically by subject, then by author. Lyrem continued as Arch took in the layout of the store.

“There is some Holst, Tchaikovsky, John Denver, Earth, Wind, and Fire and even some Segovia”-

“Mm. What’s Segovia?” Arch asked, turning back to him.

Lyrem’s face fell into utter disappointment. “You heard it yesterday, at the coffee shop.”

Arch didn’t expect such an offended response but then their face twisted in confusion.

“The coffee place was playing City and Colour,” Arch responded, recounting their chance meeting with total clarity. “Everyone knows City and Colour.”

Lyrem suddenly looked quite shaky. Arch moved around the side of the counter as he paled. Unsure what to do, they helped Lyrem into the stool in nestled behind the register in the corner.

“Do you need some water or something? Medication?”

“No!” Lyrem stood upright, pushing Arch away as they crowded him. “No, I’m fine!”

With a raised eyebrow, Arch backed off, suddenly rethinking the opportunity here.

“Apologies, Arch.” Lyrem grounded himself. “I didn’t mean to get so worked up over that.”

Arch looked at him sideways, and changed the subject-

“It happens… Teach me how to use the till?”

Lyrem nodded, attempting to brush off the odd discovery as simply an accident of the aging mind.

The evening shift progressed without further flaw, and after a tour of the store and several small sales later, Arch was taught to close out the till, and to close the store. It was shortly after eight when they both stood outside, and Lyrem handed over a set of silver keys to them.

“There you are. Now, I will put together a proper schedule that will fit around your school hours and have it to you tomorrow when you come in.”

Arch nodded. “Four o’clock?”

“Precisely.”

Arch turned to the left, heading home to the condo toward the southeast. They turned, a thank you, was on the verge of leaving their lips when they realized that Lyrem had left already, and was no where to be seen. The sun was just dipping below the horizon as Arch returned to the street, assuming their employer turned down the alley already to retrieve their vehicle. Arch walked the way home with contented steps, feeling proud- unstoppable, even.