#at least she got to know us through Cooper and he certainly loves us

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

If she is like her mom I would think you get along alright then. I am sure her dad has something to do with it too.

[lemoncrushh]

Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

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MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[narrans]

56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

PROMPT

56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

Humans can be wonderful, giving, accepting creatures. They can shine a light in the darkest of times, providing aid and stability to those who need it. They provide hope to the hopeless, meals to the hungry, and endure the most wicked and unfortunate of circumstances if it is for someone they love.

Perhaps that’s why they could justify treating us so poorly…

Their kindness simply ran out.

Their tolerance could only go so far.

The cruelty built up and needed a place to vent like steam from a compression chamber.

We - that is… us pets - are not human, even though the only thing that makes us different is our size. Pets are, in essence, much smaller humans, the tallest of us reaching only six-and-a-half or so inches tall - and that was saying something. I, myself, am a solid five and a fifth inches tall, but who is counting?

Certainly not my so-called owners.

They could care less about me with the way they treated me before discarding me – literally. Up until that point, I had never known that humans could be decent creatures.

I remember like it was yesterday when everything really began. After being trained and “properly conditioned,” I was sold to one family as a birthday present for a little girl as her first pet. It was terrifying. Instead of a gerbil or fish, they picked me.

Little did I know it was going to only get worse there for several years.

The girl who “owned” me was a brat through and through. Her screams were ear shattering, but her tendency to hit whatever wasn’t cooperating was far worse. The bruises on my body left me a purple-yellow lump most days. I lost count of how long I was with them honestly.

It wasn’t until she broke my arm, however, that she decided to show me the only mercy I had ever received from her, but it was far from that at the time.

She threw me away.

She tossed me into that odorous hot pink tin can lined in thick black bags.

“Audrey! Please! Don’t do this. I-I-I-I’ll get better. Just…”

“Broken toys go in the trash. You are broken. So, you go in the trash. Good-bye.”

The lid snapped shut and, in a moment, I was plunged into darkness which lasted for hours. The last thing I saw were here dark eyes and wide toothy grin.

Haunting.

She was ten. She should’ve known better. No. She did know better and chose to do the wrong thing.

I slipped into unconsciousness from pain after trying several times to climb and claw my way out of the bag among the various snack bags that were half eaten. It was a miracle I didn’t slip into shock, because the next thing I knew was that I was being jostled around, taken out with the rest of the trash.

I tried shouting, but nothing happened; at least, nothing happened until the bag was still for a few more hours. While in the dark expanse of the bag, I felt another massive jostle again before the inside was flooded with light.

I remember my eyes adjusting just in time to see two pale green eyes widen before the impending digits of doom reached in after me. Trapped at the bottom of the bag and trying to protect my injured arm, I snapped out of my trance. I tried getting away and managed to land a solid punch on his finger, which, to my surprise, made his fingers retract.

“Woah, you’re alive?” he said in awe. My stomach churned as it sank into my hard plastic shoes. I remember kicking myself, thinking if only I had played dead in that moment, then I would be safe.

I’m glad I didn’t do that now.

Slowly, he tilted the bag and kept it propped open, speaking softly to me.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to make a grab for you. I just didn’t want to leave you in there like that. It’s not the decent thing to do,” he said. “You wanna come out of there? Or not ready to leave yet?” I wanted to sprint to safety, be left alone, and not have a broken arm to tend to, but I knew we pets never really got what we wanted.

Reluctantly, I stood and inched toward the entrance of the bag o he could just barely see me. My insides churned uneasily. I knew what was coming. I was going to be grabbed, bruises pinched between his fingers. There would be a breathless jolt that would whiplash my neck as I lifted up to his face so I could stare into eyes that were the size of my head. Only the most horrible fates danced before my eyes, but as I began the countdown to my demise, none came.

I kept counting just to pass the time as I continued to pinch my eyes shut.

Three… Two… One… Now.

No?

Three… Two… One… Now.

I breathed deeply and summoned what courage I could and squinted one eye open. Sadly, I didn’t manage a glance up and could only stare at his pants leg, which was horrendously dirty and looked like it was one of many layers he wore; and it was no wonder – it was freezing. His one hand hadn’t moved from the top of the bag, but that was all I could see at the time.

Heart racing out of my chest, I felt absolutely sick. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I suppressed a cough and choked back the feeling that was compressing my chest.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed something – anything – to relieve the tension.

I dared to look up, and immediately I met his two massive pale green eyes and a face that undoubtedly once was full of freckles.

One look and I knew he was examining me, eyes latching onto my injured arm that practically hung limply by my side in two places as well as the aged bruises mingled with the fresh.

I didn’t know what it was, but I knew the look in his eye immediately.

Disgust.

However, it wasn’t disgust at me. It was disgust for me.

I watched a protective presence radiate from him like waves of heat. In his eyes raged a distain and loathing for the one who hurt me. A lump the size of his fist formed in my throat.

Was it possible he felt pity? Sympathy?

No… it was empathy.

His other hand, which hadn’t made a grab for me, was in a brace of its own, and I saw a healing bruise on his cheek that was now a pale yellow. Somehow, he saw and understood everything I had gone through. It was a thought I had a few times before that people could be unkind toward one another, but I had never actually witnessed it happening.

I watched a coaxing smile curve his lips as he snapped himself out of whatever evaluation he just performed.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Bit banged up, are we? Let’s see what we can do about that.” He laid his hand on the ground for me to step onto, which was a new phenomenon for me since most humans would simply pinch my torso or wrap their sweaty fingers around my body. Thinking of no other option or alternative at the moment but to cling onto the thoughtful look in his pale green eyes, I stepped onto his fingers and sat down cross-legged in the center of his palm.

“It’s a tad cold out and I’ve got a little way to walk. Do you care for a pocket or shoulder in my hoodie?” he asked.

Wait…

He asked?

A choice?

“Um…” I fumbled, bracing my arm tighter against my body. A bitterly cold gust of wind whipped by. I didn’t want to be confined, but the pocket sounded warmer. Then again, I was already warming just by being near his hand. I did want to see where we were going.

As if he could read my mind, he asked, “Not used to choices?”

I shook my head.

“Figures,” he muttered, a hint of anger in his voice. “How about shoulder? I’ve got a scarf in my bag here. You can use it like a blanket.”

What kind of human was this?

I couldn’t help myself and nodded eagerly and, within no more than thirty seconds, he had wrapped his scarf around his neck and had nestled me safely in the folds of the fabric, pulling up his hood to protect the both of us from the wind.

Without another word, he stood and began walking down the street, tugging a backpack onto his back and walking briskly. I didn’t ask any questions, mind reeling from what was already happening.

I wanted to ask him questions. Where were we going? What was he going to do to me? Was he taking me to someone who would be my new “owner”? Or was he going to assume that role? Why was he hurt? How was he going to fix my arm? Was he going to fix it?

I decided against asking any of them though. I didn’t want to say something that might make him change his mind in helping me. He could easily chuck me into any of the trashcans that we passed by, landing me right where I started the day.

It was about an hour later when he seemed to spot what he was looking for and changed direction, now walking toward a part of a bridge guarded by a partially torn down metal fence. He slipped under with cat-like dexterity and climbed up the steep concrete pad until he was directly under the overpass.

He reached up and gestured for me to slip onto his hand.

“I need to get my area set up, and then we’ll take a look at that arm. Sound fair?” he asked. I decided to be compliant, though I wasn’t sure what this whole “area” was supposed to look like. He unraveled the scarf and set it off to the side, keeping me snuggly wrapped in it to keep me from being subjected to the wicked wind.

I could’ve run for it. I could’ve slipped away and slid down the concrete pad to freedom, but I didn’t move. It was already getting dark and there was no chance of me surviving the night with a broken arm and no supplies. Even with this stranger, I was still safer than I would be alone.

I watched curiously as he pulled his backpack off of his back and began assembling a one-person tent, a compact set of blankets, and a few lamps which he hung inside of his pale tan tent. He shoved his bag into the opening before poking his head out and looking back at me. I had to admit that I was a bit nervous, watching him make this tent and then move inside wordlessly without bringing me with him.

“Ready?” he asked. I wasn’t sure. Was I ready? Still numb from the pain of my arm, I thought only for a minute before nodding and letting his hands cup either side of the scarf that surrounded me. He moved slowly and brought me into the tent where he set me on top of his backpack, a scuffed medical kit resting in his lap.

I didn’t get a good look, but I saw there were dozens of tools on one side of his kit, and they were all tools I had seen in my life. They were small tools – perfect for pets like me. Unease crept into my chest. Why did he have these tools? They looked professional, as if they came from a veterinarian’s office.

I shuddered as I watched his fingers reach inside and pull out some odd-looking tweezers.

“Now, let’s see about that arm,” he said. I recoiled immediately and shoved myself deeper into the fabric around me.

“No! You find someone else to play doctor on. I won’t have you practicing on me!” I shouted.

He sighed slowly and nodded a few times but didn’t try again. Was he frustrated with me? Or was he thinking of something to say. I got my answer when he spoke directly to me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Look, I’m not here to play doctor and know a thing or two about setting small bones. Believe me. Fingers make good practice,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but I need you to trust me. You don’t want that arm just hanging there like that, unless you like having a nice jolt of pain every time something taps it the wrong way.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and curled in on myself, accidentally bumping my arm against my knee in the process. Would he work on my arm without my permission anyway? Was it better to give him permission or resist, demonstrating my free will?

Either way, my arm needed help and I was in no position to make it better.

“Fine,” I muttered. He moved his fingers closer and slipped his finger under my injured arm. His keen, pale-green eyes absorbed every detail of my arm, flicking every so often to the other scars on my body.

He lifted his hand again and I slid onto the columns of flesh clumsily, abandoning my warm spot by his neck and jostling my arm in the process. He set me down on the table which had several long-dried coffee stains and spilled sugar crystals. I sat there on the desk while he washed his hand and came back.

“Feel like telling me how this happened?” he asked as he began opening up the material he’d need to brace my arm.

“Tell me about yours first,” I snapped, regretting my tone immediately for fear of punishment. His pale green eyes flicked up to my own, and my heartrate spiked just for a moment before he sighed.

“My dad. Finally decided to defend myself and got hurt in the process. Now, your turn,” said Bruce. Defend himself? Against his father? There was definitely more than met the eye with this guy, but I could see he was waiting for my response, and I guess I owed him that much.

“Kid,” I spat. “She wanted my arm to bend the other way like all of her other dolls.”

“Yikes, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Humans are terrible, but bratty kids are some of the worst. May I?” His fingers approached, gesturing for me to place my broken arm onto the pads of his fingers. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Every part of me was shaking, but I had calmed down from my outburst a few minutes ago just enough to lift my arm and lay it against the tips of his fingers. He kept his pale green eyes on me and better examined my injury.

“I’m Bruce by the way. I assume that kid gave you some ridiculous name? Or do you have a name that you’d like me to use instead?” he asked.

“You don’t want to claim your right to that?” I asked bitterly. Bruce scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Naw, I’m good. I’d rather hear what your parents named you,” said Bruce. I looked up at him, sensing he was being genuine. At least he had the decency of asking what my parents named me instead of what the training facility decided to call me. Did he know we actually had parents and weren’t just grown in a lab?

Fine. It was the least I could do since he did save my life.

“Pip. Just Pip,” I said.

“Like Pippy Longstocking? Or Pip like Pippen from Lord of the Rings?” asked Bruce.

“I don’t know,” I said, taken aback by his question. Was there a difference? Did my parents know the difference? “I like the sound of the Lord of the Rings one better though.”

“Me too,” said Bruce. His nimble fingers worked swiftly and, before I knew it, my arm was braced between fragments of popsicle sticks, string, and pieces of a cut shirt. Despite the size of his fingers, he was tender and careful. After I was bandaged up, arm in a sling, I stared at him as he carefully broke apart a pill meant for killing the pain and handed it to me. He also gave me some water to take with it as he began making some kind of dinner for himself, which came in those odd-packaged noodles.

We ended up eating in silence after I took the medicine before I summoned the courage to ask him about why he was out here on his own in a tent instead of a home. I had an idea of what happened when he mentioned his arm, but I wanted to hear it from him directly.

Turned out that he knew a little something about the viciousness of humans and empathized with the abuse pets suffered daily. His father was a cruel man, especially after his wife left him, leaving Bruce behind to endure alone. We compared scars and injuries, though I had to admit that Bruce’s injuries surpassed my own, which was surprising.

It was only because of the kindness of one other, a veterinarian who helped him through the darkest times in his life, that he was where he was in life. It was this veterinarian who he was going to go live with once he made it to his final destination. Bruce explained that his father made him move out of state “for a change of scenery” after his mother left, and Bruce finally had enough and was going back to live with the veterinarian.

I found myself endeared to him after hearing this story. Not only had this veterinarian helped Bruce, but he also helped him learn the skills necessary to help pets like me. He helped him see that there was no difference between us, and for this I would be forever grateful.

After talking well into the night, Bruce offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. Sadly, I had nowhere else to go. Bruce then offered me to stay with him, traveling as companions and not as pet and human. Whole-heartedly, I accepted and drifted off to sleep just under his chin when it was time for bed.

This was the start to something wonderful.

For the next four months, we traveled together in the most peculiar circumstances. We slept in odd places like under bridges and in parks in the evenings, and we used public electricity to charge his batteries. Sometimes, he collected cans or other odd ends for cash if he didn’t work the odd job. Never did he beg along the side of the road like the other nomads we came across while traveling.

While on the road, we came across more than just other people like Bruce. We came across others like me who were down and out, rejected, thrown away, or simple runaways. We soon found ourselves moving in an entire group of five, bringing three other pets along for the ride – Volley, Lowe, and Flick.

We made up the “Fantastic Five,” collecting spare change and living life on the road as we made our way across the country from one coast to the next. It was a good time for all of us. Late night talks and dream – real dreams – about the future. It was something none of us were really used to when given the chance.

For the first time, I let myself dream. I dreamt about walking on the beach and seeing an ocean sunset. The others had dreams of going to school, becoming an inventor, and even becoming a chef. Some of these dreams felt farfetched, but it was the fact that we could let ourselves dream that made the time worthwhile.

Of course, dreams were not the only things that made up our world. On our travels through the human world, there were still dangers and cruel humans. More often than not, Bruce had to fight away different humans so they would stay away from his things and, more importantly, away from us.

One particular individual, David, became a particular nuisance when we had to stay in the same campsite for a few weeks while Bruce gathered up enough money to stock up a decent supply of dried goods before making one of the longest treks of our journey yet. David would often sneak into or around the camp, pinching things from others’ campsites and claiming he didn’t steal anything when confronted.

Bruce, along with myself and the other three, were onto him from the moment Bruce set up his tent, and we were very careful to make sure to keep an eye out for David. From the moment that slimy git greeted us with a hello, I knew he was going to be trouble.

It wasn’t until one particularly warm morning, however, that everything happened.

I woke up, stretching into the warm spot by Bruce’s neck that I had grown accustomed to, and saw a shadow lurking nearby. I shoved the others awake and tugged on Bruce’s earlobe until he woke up.

“Hm? What’s going on?” he murmured sleepily, rolling over onto his back. The moment Bruce spoke, the shadow quickly vanished away from the side of the tent, and we were left alone once again.

“Pip? You see that?” asked Flick, rubbing his curly brown hair out of his eyes as he looked up toward the top beams of the tent.

“Yeah. Why’d you think I woke you up? I think it’s David again,” I said quickly, making sure Bruce could hear. In a moment, Bruce was sitting upright and was crouched by the edge of his tent, listening intently.

“You sure it was him? It might’ve been someone passing by,” suggested Bruce.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know if it would be anyone else other than him,” I replied hastily, hoping I hadn’t raised the alarm for no particular reason.

“Well, did you see where he went?” asked Bruce. His hand lowered and, without hesitation, I stepped on and sat up on top of his shoulder so we could speak quickly and quietly without others hearing.

“No, but hopefully he’ll go bother someone else,” I said as softly as I could into Bruce’s ear.

“All the same, I think we should get out of here. Maybe it was him and maybe not. Regardless, we should get moving anyway. Besides, unless he really wants something of mine, David won’t follow,” said Bruce. I nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see me directly. “I’m going to fill up my water container and then we’ll be off.”

Without another word, Bruce quickly packed up his things and dismantled the tent, setting everything into his pack. The water spicket was only sixty or so feet away, which was quite a fair distance for a pet like me and my fellow companions, but it was, as Bruce would say, a “stone’s throw,” away from us. He would be gone from us for maybe thirty seconds and David was nowhere in sight, which was a relief.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured as he moved quickly to the water spicket with his collection of empty containers.

The others and myself assumed our positions along his bag, slipping into pockets and securing our lines onto the edges of his bag, all while keeping an eye out for anyone approaching. My eyes were pealed sharp. I was keeping a close eye out – or so I thought.

One moment, my eyes were fixed on the nomadic campsite and Bruce mere steps away. In the next moment, the bag we were all on was being hoisted up into the air, jostling with the force of someone running away quickly. My head whipped around and felt my insides drop as I recognized the dark, matted hair on David’s head. I heard the others cry out indistinctly, and I knew in an instant we were in trouble.

Doing the only thing I could think of, I called out as loud as I could for the one person who I knew would be able to help.

“Bruce!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Bruce!”

Did he hear me? Did he even notice? All I knew was that I had to hang on within an inch of my life as my friends and I were jostled, thrown and bounced within an inch of our lives. My once broken arm ached with the force with which I tried clinging to the bag.

The nomadic campsite vanished from view as the thief darted from street to street with us in tow. A sick, churning feeling seized my insides. What was going to happen to us if Bruce didn’t follow or find us in time? More importantly, how were we going to help Bruce find his things and find us?

I didn’t have to worry or think for very long. Once we were a few streets over, David stopped running and threw the bag carelessly on the ground. We landed hard against the pavement, making my bones ache. The others cried out too, but I couldn’t see them from where I was on the top of the bag. Something else seized my attention – literally.

I was pinched harshly between the grubby fingers of the thieving human and was hoisted up into the air. I could smell the decay off of David’s breath as he squinted at me.

“Ah, I forgot about you little twerps,” he muttered. I glared up at him and squirmed in his grip, trying to get free.

“Get off of me and leave Bruce’s things alone!” I demanded. My insides were suddenly squeezed within an inch of my life. I gasped for air, trying to remember how to bring air back into my lungs.

“You making demands of me, pet?” he scoffed. “Squeaking and mewling all of your complaints. It’s a wonder why he keeps vermin like you around. I think I’ll do him a favor and exterminate the lot of you. One less mouth to feed.”

I felt his fingers start to tense around me again. My vision started to blacken. Every part of me screamed, and a shout of pain escaped my own body. The others were shouting, demanding for me to be released, but it did nothing for me. My vision darkened and I could see nothing.

Suddenly, I was completely weightless. What was going on? Was this dying? A jostled landing and a sudden relief let me bring air into my lungs again. I felt hands my size tapping my face and grasping onto my shoulders once feeling returned to my body.

I also heard a roaring shout from a voice I recognized all too well.

“Let go of her! And leave us alone!” shouted Bruce. There were sounds of dull thudding as David tried to fight back.

“Ow! Stop it! I was just looking after your stuff. I was afraid someone would st-”

“I’m not stupid! You picked the wrong guy to mess with! Don’t you ever come near my friends again, you hear me?” Bruce roared as his blurry form pounded David with his fists. David began to stumble away and retreat, wiping the blood away from his lips.

“Geez! They’re just vermin. They don’t feel…” Bruce grabbed the nearest rock and hucked it at David’s head as the other human ran away.

“If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the s*** outta you!” yelled Bruce. Thankfully, my vision returned in time to see the faces of the other three and Bruce hovering above me.

“Are you alright?” asked Flick as he began checking out my once injured arm. Volley lifted me up just enough for Bruce to lift me up into his palm. I sank into the warmth of his fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” I moaned, clutching my sides that I knew would have finger shaped bruises on them.

“Not until we’re far away from here,” Bruce muttered. “Come on. We need to get going before David decides to come back.”

We loaded up once again on the bag while Bruce carried me in his hand until I was well enough to sit up on my own on his shoulder. It wasn’t until we were several hours into our walk that I realized that I hadn’t thanked Bruce. I looked up and over at him, leaning into the crook of his neck and tugged on his earlobe to get his attention.

“Hey, Bruce. I meant to say it earlier, but thank you,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” said Bruce. “It’s the least I could do for a friend.”

I smiled to myself and curled in tighter. Bruce reached up and gently brushed his fingers against my side.

Friend.

What a human term, but what could be more fitting for us and our merry band.

The days were long, but we soon found ourselves on the doorstep of Bruce’s mentor and friend. The vet was an interesting man, but we – the other pets – took a liking to him almost instantly. We also took a liking to, as he called them, “house guests,” which were other pets like the three of us. Settling in took no time but, at the end of the day, there was no place I would rather be than by Bruce’s side, nestled into his neck as I had done for so long.

Humans are such interesting beings, capable of great evil and kindness. I was blessed enough to find one who knew cruelty and chose kindness instead.

We all have a choice, and now I choose to be happy.

[richmondsims]

The problems of staffing Kyle's two shops never seemed to end. To be fair, they had been through a period of relative stability for a while, with Cory and Samantha working full time and Kyle's foster daughter Georgia working some weekends and afternoons after school in the Richmond shop, and Gavin and Andrew working in Bluewater Village. 

Things had been uneasy between Samantha and Cory for a while. Their friendship had a complicated history, although they'd done their best to put that aside when they worked together.

It certainly made things easier now that Samantha had Eli.

They had met on the lakeshore one gray afternoon a couple of autumns ago. By all accounts it was love at first sight.

Eli worked as a lifeguard...

... and had a little house by the lake.

By winter, Samantha had moved in with him.

Their first summer together was happy and relaxed

Samantha felt more content than she had in years

One of the results of this contentment, while joyous for Samantha and Eli, created a major problem for Kyle and the shop.

Cooper Bradshaw Holley was born last November. His parents were delighted and Samantha found she loved being a mother.

She loved it so much so that she had offered her resignation from the shop at the end of her maternity leave. Eli was comfortable financially thanks to an inheritance, and he could support the little family for some time. 

In honesty, she said, she had a feeling she would want to come back to work some day. She just couldn't say when. In the end they had decided that rather than accept her resignation they would give her unpaid leave, at least until she made a decision. 

,The better part of a year later, Samantha still showed no interest in returning to the shop. Kyle didn't expect that she would for some time now. She had more than just the baby to occupy herself with.

There was a wedding to plan for next summer, too.

From Kyle - Part 2

Samantha's man is Eli the overly dedicated lifeguard from this post - Samantha was the woman in the kiddie pool. She and Eli really did have love at first sight:

The baby happened autonomously and the engagement and marriage are something they both want, too. So Samantha finally got her happy ending, although I'm using the term 'ending' loosely as in this game, as in real life, you never know where things will go...

[1908jmd]

BLATINA (or is it BLAINTINA or BLINA )

Call it meta, maybe

Again the topic of the nature of Blaine’s friendships has got me thinking, and I was considering certain things about those friendships. I meant to write something about these two for a long time, but thought I’d use my days off to do it, rather than any real life stuff. As you all know, I am a bit Blaine obsessed, and think about his character and interaction with his friends. Plus Tina is just adorably gorgeous, and often the least written about of the originals. This is going to be a lengthy post - sorry.

So I thought I’d look primarily at Tina and Blaine, and how their stories are so similar, so entwined for a season and a half, and then let go by the writers.

Background

One initial observation about the two of them is that we don’t factually get any solid details or information about their relationships with their parents. There is a reference in PUC, that Tina, is of Korean heritage like Jenna, but she’s only ever referred to in one of Sue’s insulting name calling as Asian number one. We are told that Tina is adopted by Jewish parents. It’s unknown if she has siblings, or the nature of her relationship with her parents. Of the original 13 - not including Matt - Tina is the only character whose mum or dad are not on the show AT ALL. There’s very little information given to us about her family life, which makes it impossible to judge why she has particular personality traits or why she behaves in certain ways, and whether it stems from her upbringing. For example, why does she look for attention or is so sensitive, and cry so easily. Fandom, as usual, can only make it up for themselves.

As for Blaine, there are slight references to his Asian heritage, and fandom has accepted his half Filipino roots just like Darren's. We meet only Blaine’s mom in A Wedding, when he has barely any interaction with her, and she’s not Filipino; she appears happy for him but they don’t hold any conversation together. There are stories about Blaine having a difficult relationship with his dad and his brother growing up. When Blaine talks about his dad in Sexy, or past experiences like in NBK, it’s clear that he has some issue with his dad, most likely about his sexuality. This is to become a fundamental aspect of Blaine’s character, developed mainly by fandom, and certainly head canoned by Darren: that his parents are not around much, somewhat neglectful and even just uncaring as he spends a lot of time alone, which causes a deep rooted dislike of being alone or left behind unloved. Plus the bad relationship with Cooper has led to the lack of self-esteem, self-love and actual confidence.

The lack of clear plot regarding both Tina and Blaine’s backgrounds has enabled fandom to flesh them out more.

Season one and two I see your true colors shining through

So let's talk about season one, Tina. Within the New Directions group, formed in episode one, she is the shy girl, compared to Rachel's loudness and brashness and Mercedes' sass and outward confidence. Even when the next three girls join, Tina is sold as less pretty, talented or popular because she's not on the Cheerios, or have all the guys of the school after her. Therefore, Tina adopts a fake stutter to hide her shyness, and avoid contact. Only when she starts dating Artie does she attempt to drop it - much to his horror. Will attempts to give her solo, only for her to be told she's not as good as Rachel. This of course impacts on Tina - her long term pleas for solos, attention and acceptance.

Jumping to season two, when Blaine first meets Kurt, his demeanour is the opposite to Tina's shyness - he seems confident, dapper, put together, and a strong mentor for Kurt. It's only as his character develops through season two and three, that we actually see that he has underlying vulnerabilities and he's actually covering up a lot of issues from previous experiences: such as the assault at a former school for being gay.

Both of them put on a front initially to be accepted and liked and fit in with the people surrounding them. One thing they make quite an impact and statement with is with their outward appearance and by what they wear. They value on clothes to hide their true feelings or build up their confidence.

Tina, in season one, sports a punk rocker style of dress and hair. Mostly in black, with black hats or hair bands, chains, and outfits with only a splash of colour. Her look is tough, inwardly she's very different. In Hairography, her choice of song, True Colors, which encourages someone not be afraid to show their true colours, or personality, to shine as they are beautiful, is a definite pointer to Tina's own qualities. She's added a blue t shirt to her customary black when she performs it. In Theatricality, when Figgins won't let her dress in black anymore, as he believes in vampires, she dresses in effervescent brightly coloured bubbles, to let her personality shine, even though she's "painfully shy". In season two her look becomes more of a goth, still initially black, but then gradually moving to more gregarious colours and outfits, as she spends more time with Mike.

As for Blaine, and how he presents himself, in season two, he's mostly in uniform, or certainly giving off the dapper, impeccably dressed young man, with immaculate gelled hair and good looks. When he's not in his uniform, he's in toned down darker clothes, mainly black, or brown and with no bow tie. Most certainly this is to fit in with the rest of Dalton, and not bring attention to himself, as he explains to Kurt in Special Education - we wear a uniform to fit in. Only in "New York" do we see him in a red cardigan, declaring his love. When he joins McKinley in season three, we see his wardrobe become much more flamboyant, though not as much as flamboyant as Kurt. He doesn't attempt to hide the fact he's gay, and reflects his personality in his clothes. He's no longer hiding behind darker clothes, he's wearing clothes that Kurt likes, including bow ties. This is the start of Blaine becoming more willing to show his true self, but still coping with his emotions, and past trauma of assault and insults for being gay. We see his sensitivities arise in Big Brother and Dance with Somebody.

So, in one and two, they hide behind their clothing choices - in three they start to develop their style which is more suited to their personalities.

Season three Take your passion, and make it happen

Throughout season three, both Tina and Blaine are in serious committed relationships, for 16/17 year olds, they have quite intense relationships with Mike and Kurt respectively. Both have moved on to the sexual side of expressing their love. Both are supportive partners: in Asian F, Tina confronts Mike's dad about letting him be what he wants to be; and Blaine is seen providing support to Kurt at the school election and during NYADA auditions. What is apparent though is the lack of real friendship with others apart from their SO. Tina is mostly seen with Mike, and though she is often with the girls, she doesn't have a particularly deep friendship or even rivalry with any of them. She does bond well with Mercedes, but we don't see a lot of them together. She shares secrets with the girls, such as how she lost her virginity to Mike, but her first choice of friend is always Mike. In Props, she initially rebels against Rachel always getting the solos, but in the end she helps Rachel with the trip to Carmen Tibideaux, and the reassurance from Rachel that she should be the soloist next year, when Rachel is gone. Likewise, Blaine spends the majority of his time with Kurt, and though he mingles with the boys, such as Mike mainly, the overwhelming thing about this season is his lack of solid friendships apart from that with Kurt. This becomes apparent as the season moves on, when Dance with Somebody shows Blaine's fears of Kurt moving to New York and him being left by himself.

This season Blaine was used very much as the human juke box and there were many great performances. Tina should have been given more moments to shine, because when she did, it was amazing to watch.

It is no coincidence that Blaine and Tina were sitting beside each other at the graduation ceremony in Goodbye, which is probably the first time, we really see them interact, not just dance together. It's a small reminder that they're going to be staying behind next year, without their true loves, and maybe there will be a budding friendship between them.

Season four Some nights…I could use some friends for a change

Season 4 and it’s all change at McKinley . The obvious plot concerning Tina and Blaine, in the first five episodes is the Klaine split, because of Blaine’s cheating as he believed Kurt had moved on with his life and no longer wanted him. Also, mentioned in passing, is Tina’s split from Mike as he went to dance college in Chicago. What the show didn’t do a great job of was actually dealing with the common issue behind these splits - the loneliness of being left behind, the huge life change for both of them, now their loved one has graduated and moved on. They are both isolated from each other at this point, as well as everyone else. Blaine's reaction to being alone is to self-destruct, and cheat. Tina's reaction is to throw herself into the Glee Club -trying to become lead vocalist, trying to encourage Brittany, with whom she never seems to have a good relationship; making costumes, and eventually auditioning for a role in the musical.

Initially, Tina has little sympathy with Blaine's dilemma, because she is not aware of his self-loathing at this point, and because she thinks she's got similar to deal with, and makes a snarky comment when Finn says Blaine is going back to Dalton Academy. In Dynamic Duets, we see Sam reach out to provide the support Blaine needs, plus the call with Kurt in Thanksgiving and in The Role You Were Born To Play, Tina makes peace with Mike. It now gives them the opportunity to move on, and we see them getting closer in Thanksgiving and Swansong. This becomes the turning point in their relationship, as they join the Cheerios together, and they arrive together in Don't Dream It's Over, as if they have been spending time together. They take comfort in each other's company.

Because of their closeness, the crush that Tina develops is not unrealistic. Blaine too can pass as a straight guy; plus also, he is charming, lovable and caring. She is sensitive and wants to be helpful, appreciated and loved. All personality traits that they both share, and both can see in each other. Tina devises the Sadie Hawkins proposal idea so that she can ask him out, in true Blaine style, by serenading him in public - unfortunately this leads to humiliation. They agree and Blaine lets her into a deeper secret about his crush on Sam. They make up, and go to the dance together, where they almost kiss. By this stage, Tina's need for someone to love her and believes Blaine is the one for her, and it leads her to act impulsively and inappropriately, and when alone in his room, and he has passed out on his bed, she "vapo rapes" him. It's at this point in the season that we see the loneliness affect Tina, that she doesn't have someone there to love her or love in return, and latches on to her best friend with a hope that she might stand a chance with him. Loneliness and lack of self love had caused Blaine to cheat at the beginning of the season; now it causes Tina to act inappropriately.

This is very uncomfortable to watch, particularly as he told her a few moments before that he was definitely not into girls, and would never have given consent to her touching him. However, when he finds out about it, he is somewhat amused by it, and embarrassed, but does not let it affect his friendship with her. Likewise, if we consider Blaine's parallel crush on Sam, the performance of Against All odds can be somewhat uncomfortable but ultimately Sam is understanding about Blaine's crush. Crushes happen, and thankfully it did not affect their friendship.

In I do, below, I always think how they look when they walk down the corridor with Kurt. Blaine has locked his arm into Tina's - it's comfortable, they are used to walking arm in arm or hand in hand, they're close together: they have a special friendship. Tina's other arm and hand are rather formally linked through Kurt's arm, and she's not leaning into him - she doesn't have the same level of trust or friendship with Kurt, and Kurt was pretty pissed off with her for touching and making a move on Blaine.

Rest of season four and season five. Don’t be afraid, take a sad song and make it better.

I think overall, Blaine and Tina got their most personality development in season 4 , which the writers chose to ignore in 5b, when Tina was hardly in the show at all. Plus let's face it, Tina only got scraps in a show that she could have got many more performances in.

For the rest of season 4 and 5, we see how much Blaine and Tina cared for each other and looked after each other. Their relationship in these episodes felt like big brother/little sister. Mostly loving and supportive, but sometimes snarky. Here are some examples:

Shooting Star. Blaine is most concerned that Tina's not in the room with them, and about her safety. Tina is so upset that's she's not there and know they are safe. Their chat in the corridor the next day is adorable, Tina tells him,l that he, and everyone else is like family to her, and he responds poignantly that she was in the choir room with them, because she was in his thoughts. This is such a big brother/little sister moment. The two of them crying together, so relieved, they've come through it. And whilst everyone else sits in couples around, they sit together, comforting each other.

Love love love - initially she doesn't seem to keen to be encouraging him to propose to Kurt, which must be an inconsistency, because she went with him to chose the ring in All or Nothing, showing her support for his intentions. He's there to round up the guys to sing her a song to build her up and get her out of her bitterness. She's there to hug Kurt as he entered Dalton - second behind Sam, Blaine's "best man".

Tina in the Sky with Diamonds - Tina's big moment to be prom queen, almost ruined by Bree's evil plan. But it's Blaine that's the leader of the New Directions in rushing to her aid, cleaning her up, and encouraging her to go back out and get crowned. Probably from watching how Kurt stood up to the bullies, in season two. Blaine gives Tina the confidence she needs to go back out, and he was right beside her, singing for her and encouraging her.

Frenemies and Trio. Affirmation again that they really care about each other. When Blaine gets valedictorian ahead of Tina and Artie, he asks them to join him to sing rather than hear him give a speech. Trio is a great summary of their relationship - how she adores him and does as he says, how much fun Blamtina actually have together, how they hope to be always friends (if only...), how much Blaine really doesn't like to see straight couples make out, especially his besties.

In New Directions, we get a wonderful version of Loser Like Me, as the four seniors sing a final song together before graduation, and they encourage Tina to join them in New York. Here we see Tina's insecurities and struggles as she believes she isn't good enough to get into big universities, (despite her great grades and talents - oh writers, ffs). Plus her dream of being in New York with all her friends, even if it means walking in on Klaine making out. Luckily, Blaine, Sam and Artie are there to encourage her to dream big, go for Brown, which she gets into.

One more song to recall - More than a feeling - their only duet. And they dance it perfectly together.

Season six I wish I could witness all your joy, and all your pain.

I've said many times that one of my pet hates about season six is how they just neglect the friendships of Blamtina - how if Sam and Tina had been around for Blaine more when he split from Kurt, maybe things would have been different for him. As it is, he went to beneficial therapy and it will proceed to help him with his marriage.

The one thing that the writers got right was that Blaine dropped everything to come to her, when she wanted to tell her "best boys" that she intended to propose to Mike. It's an odd scene, I suppose written to give Puck some more to do, but it would have made more sense if it had been Sam, with Artie and Blaine. At least, the show is acknowledging the Blatina friendship existed: the only time it did in season six. For the rest of the season, we don't see any more interaction between Blaine and Tina, though they are both there when Rachel wins her Emmy, and Tina says that she's heard about the forthcoming baby from Kurt and Blaine. It doesn't seem like they are in touch a great deal - which is such a shame, but not unrealistic as many school friendships do not last into adulthood, as the couples go their separate ways and have separate busy lives. It would be nice to think that they do meet up, even once a year, or at reunions. I was never fully happy Tina ended up with Artie - I loved the idea of her going to Browns, meeting many new guys, and becoming a successful business woman, if she did not stay in the arts. I was always drawn to her coming back as the Anderson-Hummels' personal assistant, but that's a head canon of mine only.

One more final thing: and I try to keep it short. Was it a comparison to Kurtcedes or Hummelberry? If anything, it is a nod to the Hummelberry relationship, where Kurt was continually supportive of Rachel; just as Blaine was to Tina, even if it could get a little demanding and irritating. And here's where I'm sticking my neck out, because I love it, if Blaine had been written as bi-sexual, then Blaine and Tina would have been a midgame relationship, and probably quite a serious one. There would have been a lot of mutual support and that could only have been positive, given their insecurities. Looking in detail at their friendship, I find it interesting that they are actually very similar: in background/family information; in the way they initially disguise mental fragility by how they behave and dress; the all consuming relationship with Kurt/Mike in three, detrimental as they move forward; their loneliness and insecurities causes them to act inappropriately; they are supportive and caring towards each other, with them supporting each other in four, and Blaine being super supportive in five; until we eventually don't see much of them together in season six. The show didn't write so much about the friendship, when one or both was in a relationship with someone else.

Let's end on a positive note - it was refreshing that Blaine and Tina were written as such great friends in 4/5, great to see them interacting, and performing and singing together. What assets Darren and Jenna both were to the cast.

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Pedro being teased and questioned about how close he is with you, Gal’s adopted sister, and trying his best to hide the fact that you are actually dating.

“So, Gal, I am going to direct this question mostly at you but of course anyone can get to answer. I actually wanted to know your opinion about it.” Conan said, as Gal herself nodded her head with a smile.

“Oh, please, with pleasure.”

“There have been several photos, and I do not mean just from paps or professionals. Even you on your personal instagram posted a few. Which, to say the least, broke the internet as we all saw.”

“Yeah uh truth is my instagram wasn't working for several hours afterwards and I thought it was just me but then I kept asking others and got the same reply from everyone! Turns out, we caused a blackout of sorts.” Gal laughed, admitting to it before looking away in embarrassment while the rest of the cast nodded their heads as if almost giving her a a playful glare, even through the screen of the computer.

“And the reason behind that, who would have thought, a couple photos!” Jimmy nodded his head “Your sister, your adopted sister (Y/n), came to visit you on the set of Wonder Woman 1984. It was, for lack of better words, a historic moment not just for instagram who crashed because of the popularity of the photos but also for comic book fans worldwide. It was the closest we could get to a Marvel and DC crossover.”

“You say that because she was in her costume in some of them yeah?” Gal asked with a bright smile, always loving to talk about her little sister as Conan nodded his head “Yes, it was (Y/n)'s idea and everyone knows it, I can never say no to my little sister. Plus, she was right; we had so much fun fooling around in our costumes! I had more fun than I've ever had on a set of a movie before. And, yes, I almost always enjoy the movies I'm in, but this one- this one was truly something else! We- almost everyone, I think, played along as we acted as our characters and filmed some scenes just for laughs. I really really hope they make it into the bloopers somehow.”

“So you're planning on taking down youtube next, I see. I see.” the host nodded his head with playfully narrowed eyes, seeming all suspicious and making everyone laugh.

“No, no I swear! I don't want to!” she said in between laughter “We all had so much fun and an amazing time on set and in front of the cameras, playing superheroes that it would be incredible for the fans to see! It's- Really, it is kind of an unofficial crossover that should make it to the internet at least!”

“I'll have to-” Patty spoke up “I'll have to give it to Gal, she is right. (Y/n) had this amazing idea and creative at the same time because she had a small plot in her mind and lines and everything concerning the set. We all did a small setup and filmed it and, honestly, it came out to be real good!”

“Patty is no even exaggerating and Gal is certainly right. We had so much fun filming that small crossover, and (Y/n)'s ideas were brilliant! Fans will definitely love it!” Kristen said in addition.

“She truly is an incredibly talented, smart and creative person, besides an absolute darling. So kind to everyone and sweet, we all couldn't get enough of her. And-” Patty raised a finger “I will say it here once more because Gal has heard it before: the fastest we've filmed a scene in this movie. And it was all thanks to how professional she was, it was truly incredible!”

“Well, I can't ever deny it, my little sister is the biggest star there is! Oscars or other awards aside, she proves how great she is on every set on her own!”

“And you are definitely her biggest fan, as we all can clearly tell.” Conan pointed out with a small laugh “Speaking of, I think we do have someone who could only be described as your main rival on that sweet stop of being your sister's number one fan. Someone who hasn't been shy about expressing his admiration about (Y/n) but who has yet to utter a word.” Conan looked back up from his papers and said someone almost felt his heart jump in fear and nervousness, hoping that at least nobody noticed that he was indeed being silent for a reason “Pedro, you're being uncharacteristically quiet about this one, especially for something that caused Instagram to crash within thirty minutes of the photos being uploaded. I'm not- I'm not used to this from you. Come on, talk to me. Say what's on your mind.”

“This is oddly- I'm getting strange deja vu vibes here. Must be cause of that one time I visited a therapist. Long story short, it was only one session for me and about hm at least 25 for him. I heard he's still going to a therapist now.” he shrugged casually, earning laughter from everyone. He chuckled slightly himself, glancing over the screen of his computer while trying his best to keep anything from showing on his face even more so his smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean-” he cleared his throat “Ah man, what else can I say? The ladies have spoken, and they've said exactly what- I believe anyone that gets the opportunity to work with (Y/n) or watch her movies would agree she is one of a kind.” he shrugged softly with an adorable smile “Besides, it feels like anything I say is just going to be used against me, so I- I better keep on silently observing. That does seem like it's the safest option here.”

Pedro's laugh was more of a nervous if not awkward one, but he was pretty confident it was just no different to how he would usually laugh away questions he didn't want to answer in interviews. Most celebrities did the same, he wouldn't be the first nor the last, so he didn't expect Conan to insist any further. He didn't want to push his luck, he had been really successful (if not blessed after all these close calls) with all these online interviews to not have everything revealed by accident, so now especially with the current topic, he didn't feel like messing things up. He loved this privacy, he didn't want to lose it not yet, he wanted you and this all to himself for now. And he wanted the story of how you met, of how over that one month and a half on set he felt himself fall in love with you.

And yet... Yet, he was probably a weak man, a man who couldn't help but indulge even if he knew it could probably get him in trouble. You were worth it, though, you were worth all of it and as you were his weakest spot and so indulge he did. He slowly chewed on his lower lip and he so subtly looked over the screen of his computer.

His eyes fell on you, still splayed on his bed, book in one hand and steaming mug on the nightstand – your nightstand on your side of the bed, the thought of which made his heart flutter inside his chest – hair slightly messy, that oversized Mandalorian shirt on, which you'd gotten all excited amongst many many more fandom related toys a couple months ago and couldn't wait for him to see. A shirt which had, inevitably, ended up being taken off you barely ten minutes later starting from him stealing kisses and leading to the two of you making love till the very morning in between endless giggles. The pup you'd gotten – the both of you – not so long ago made a small noise drawing your attention for a short moment as you kept petting him, the both of you too tired to do anything else after an exhausting day of playing. Pedro couldn't complain, although he'd been a part of it he had mostly spent time filming everything even if you hadn't been the one to ask him to, he couldn't help it.

It was something that the both of you decided on and although you hadn't said it out loud, you both knew and at least Pedro hoped, that it was the next step, a very important one, in your relationship besides you moving in with him. To be responsible for another living being together was, if not a test, at least a way to see how well you could cooperate. And, if he could say so himself, you had been doing great so far.

“Good morning, darling. Here for morning kisses? Yes? Come up here.” your giggles were able to warm him more than the sunlight coming through the window “Ooooh someone really loves mommy, don't you?”

And then your words set his entire being alight. Or more specifically that one particular word.

“Well-” he stretched a bit, his arms finding your waist again to bring you closer and cuddle with you “Who doesn't love mommy in this house?” he couldn't help it as his smile turned into a lovestruck grin “Morning, mi amor.”

“Good morning, darling.” you pecked his lips “And don't worry, mommy loves daddy back, enough to make up for the rest of the world.”

As if reading his mind, you chose to look up from your book at him, smiling as you held his gaze for a good few seconds. So much love was evident, even in those few seconds, he could almost feel his own heart burst. Yet another reason for him to control his reactions from showing just how much on high on happiness and love he was. You shook your head, eyes wide as you heard Conan speak again, you playfully mouthed to him “Focus!”

As subtly as possible he tried to clear his throat and taking the mug of coffee that was beside his computer, he took a sip and decided to focus on it as much as he could. Until the subject changed, at least.

“...Wise man. I feel you, so don't worry I'll leave you to it.” if only he knew the big sigh of relief Pedro tried to hold back as Conan continued “It's the tactic I follow 99% of the time when I'm out with my wife, just smile and wave kind of thing. Alright-” he nodded his head in thought “Alright, well, let me ask you all something else. You keep saying in front of the cameras and talking about this small crossover, but I assume she must have been around for longer than that, yes?”

“Yes, yes she was there for at least a month, a month and a half I think. She was on vacation, after being done with filming, and she decided that before heading home that she'd come by and visit us. It was meant to be for a short period of time. She loved the place... the people, perhaps, how could I know for sure?” she shrugged not looking innocent in the least bit, earning a few laughs.

“Anyway-” she cleared her throat “And you see before she knew it, before we all did, one week turned into two turned into three and so on. It-” she chuckled “She was around on set and with us on all those beautiful locations we were in. And while we were all working and walking around with purpose and the need to finish this scene with so much pressure on- on our shoulders and she was just sitting around with a iced coffee or tea on her hand, sunglasses on and phone on the other hand looking she didn't have a single care in the world. It kind of made everyone a little bit jealous to be honest.”

“A little? Cause I sense that there's more than you're letting on, Gal. Come on, spill the tea.”

“Alright more than a little.” she laugh “I mean, it wasn't all the time, of course. Just the first couple days mostly but you can imagine how it was. It seemed like she did it on purpose sometimes.”

“Twistin' the knife even deeper, that's what she's best at. Oh I know!” Conan nodded his head “I'm actually afraid to invite her on the show because I fear how bad she'll roast me. Andy-” he laughed “Andy is the only one who has the most fun during those interviews.”

“I know right? Boy you tell me!” Gal exclaimed “That little shit. I adore her to no end but I really had the hardest of time when she was around. She just had to make comments on everything she could, especially when I was acting. I couldn't stop laughing sometimes, but nobody got mad at her. It was always my fault somehow!”

“I mean she's just so sweet, how could we be mad at her?” Patty added.

“She messed up so many of my scenes!” Gal pretended to be angry but her smile gave it away “But it's true, I couldn't even be mad at her. I don't get to see her that often, because of the work we both do, so I would give anything to have my sister with me like that every other chance I got. Even if I got all the blame for it, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, you understand.”

“Aw that's- that's incredibly sweet, actually. It's- that's the exact opposite of me and my brother so no I can't really understand to be honest, but alright.” Conan laughed “Well, then, you really got your chance this time, right? You had the opportunity to spend all this time with her. When you were not working of course.”

“I...” Gal trailed off, her smile turning into a mischievous one but the rest of her expression trying to remain innocent, and failing at it because she truly wasn't even trying “Well, I would say yes. And I would agree with you. And I would even ramble about the wonderful two months I spent with my sister... If that had been the case. If I had really seen her for more than a week total, then yeah I would say that.”

“Wha- P-Pardon me?” Conan blinked in surprise “Didn't you j-just say your sister was with you on set for about two months? Or have I been in a parallel universe all this time and I just now came back to our reality?”

“Oh no it's very much our reality but I also did mean what I said. My sister was on set, and I did see her quiet often. But did I spend almost all of my free time with her? Did she spend hers with me? Nope. And that-” again with a far-from-innocent shrug “That is probably the only question I can answer. What she did? Did she have fun?... Who she was with? I wish I knew. What I know is I wasn't the one closest to her on set.”

“So you're telling me, (Y/n) was on set full of people she didn't really know, and you, her sister, barely spent any time with her? I'm gonna assume the rest of you didn't spend more time with her compared to Gal, right?” he asked and got nods from everyone, well, everyone who had their eyes on their screen and therefore looking at Conan, because there was still one that would avoid eye-contact even through the screen “Well, then, who was closest to her on set, if not you?”

“She, well-” Gal paused, smile all too sweet as she added “There could be someone...”

Said someone who couldn't even look up from his mug of coffee, as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, and didn't dare say a word for fearing of messing things up; even if his silence spoke volumes as it was. A silence which was... even more intense than before. Even more... real. Probably because it wasn't just in his head, probably because it wasn't just from his part.

Blinking several times, he slowly raised his head to look up from his mug and at the screen of his computer. Only to be met with the eyes of the rest of the group staring at... well, they were staring at the screen of their own computers but for some reason – a reason which he knew all too well – he felt like all eyes were suddenly on him. And they probably were. Because Gal was being nice about it but almost everyone had noticed how much time you had spent with Pedro during those almost two months. You had just met back then so they didn't imply anything back then but now... now they could just as well do so.

“I-” he laughed and he hated how nervous he sounded “Is it time to talk about my character?” he asked almost shyly, nearly praying on the inside that they would say yes and let him change the subject “Well, Max Lord is a guy who-”

“Are you trying to change the subject there, Pedro? One can wonder why.” Conan narrowed his eyes “Come on, don't be shy. Share your opinion here, or maybe your personal experience. Since I am assuming you do have one?”

“Yes, Pedro, why don't you share your opinion with us?” Gal raised an eyebrow, small smirk on her lips “You've been particularly interested in that drink the past couple minutes apparently.”

“I-” Pedro paused, before shaking his head with a laugh “This is going to be a long interview. I can tell.”

[xxruinaxxmcu]

Jack Thompson x Reader

What Lies Before Us 

Masterlist (book 1, and previous chapters) 

Chapter 9

Y/N made an effort to come up with a summary of her information that would be digestible in under multiple days’ worth of study, but she left some things out on purpose. For example, that during her time investigating, she had managed to find some ‘soldiers’ of the families that were willing to cooperate – for money, of course. She felt that sharing these names with her co-workers could work against her in the long run, or at least, work against the case she had built and hoped to pick up on at a later point. She trusted them, but the more people knew about a secret, the higher the probability became of someone spilling it by accident – drunk in a bar, or to their loved ones, or something. It also put them needlessly at risk, and she was pretty sure that she had enough blood on her hands for about ten lifetimes’ worth.

“Do you think it’s possible that it’s just a coincidence that the meeting’s in that area?”, Jack asked when she brought him the file.

“I don’t really want to bank on it”, she shrugged, “I wouldn’t know if there’s any connection between the crowd at our party and the mob, but then again, they’re interested in the same things. There might be more they have in common than what they don’t.”

Jack’s fingers drummed against the top of his desk as he skimmed the papers she had given him.

“Gives you a warm feeling knowing in what areas they’re working”, he remarked darkly, “from dumpster to suits manufacturing.”

“Yes, unfortunately the 1920s and 30s proved to have been great for business, and the war only secured their foothold”, Y/N commented, “many members came over to escape Mussolini. One of the stranger side-effects of fascism, I have to admit.”

“Any plans on switching professions and become a historian?”, he joked at her background delivery.

“Who knows, might pay just as badly as our job, but with significantly less gunshot-wound potential”, she retorted cynically, “besides, understanding how the current situation came to be is quite important. The landscape changed dramatically over just a few years, from Irish and Jewish gangs to an almost-monopoly from the Italians.”

Jack only scoffed: “So you could say Prohibition was a shot in the foot.”

“Very.”

“Does anyone know you?”, he inquired, “from the Mafia?”

Y/N tilted her head: “Not anyone that’s in the ability to stir any trouble.” She saw his questioning look and only winked.

“They’re dead?”

She nodded – many of them were, others were still alive, but not a threat either, because they wouldn’t rat on her, knowing the leverage she held against them.

“I’ll go through this”, Jack lifted the file, “then I’ll brief the rest.”

……

Going to these types of fairs was something the ordinary person never got to experience – and despite them being everything but ordinary, it wasn’t something that happened to Y/N and Jack on the regular, either. He had one up on her with Chadwick’s fundraiser, and that ended up in disaster. Good thing Underwood, Chadwick and Masters were all dead by now. Made a repeat incredibly difficult. However, Y/N still felt a sense of dread when she put on her dress for the night, which felt like something that should be worn by someone within the European nobility, certainly not a girl from New York that was more familiar with different knife-fight techniques than with ballroom etiquette.

Her dress was black, held up by thin straps and with decorative fabric draped across her chest and below her shoulders, and the fabric of her bust was decorated by reflective rhinestones. The skirt was looser, which allowed for easier movement – as well as a place to hide a weapon, as – unfortunately – she did not have the luxury of being able to hide her weapon in a shoulder girdle beneath a suit jacket.

Not certain if she liked what she saw in the mirror as it was such a foreign picture, reminding herself of the feeling looking at her reflection when she had to dress appropriate for German fairs in the 1940s, Y/N pulled a face before continuing to apply her lipstick. There was nothing she could do about it now – and she still preferred to go there, even dressed like this, rather than sending Jack with his men on their own.

Then, she walked out, into the living room of her apartment, where Jack was waiting for her to arrive. He looked up, raising his eyebrows.

“Not a word”, she hissed, knowing more than well she looked like a painted doll.

“What do you think I was about to say?”

“No idea”, she scoffed, “maybe that I look like a girl playing dress-up.”

“You look far too classy for dress-up”, he replied, holding up his arm for her to hold, more out of amusement at her mood, rather than thinking he needed the stability.

She sighed, looking at his suit: “Well, so do you. You’ll blend right in.”

“I’d return the compliment, but I’m sure you’d always stand out in a crowd. Anyways, I’d kiss you, but I’d ruin your look, and mine”, Jack said with a grin before leading her outside to his car.

“You’ve got the list of the Club members that should be there?”, Y/N asked, having herself studied it extensively beforehand.

“Yes, mother.”

Y/N huffed: “Wonderful. Because they’ll prefer talking to you than to me, I fear.”

Jack threw her a look: “They’re men, Y/N. They’d love talking to someone like you.”

“Like me?”, she shook her head, “I doubt they think I even have a brain.”

“Well, for most of them, other assets count more.”

She pulled a face: “Unfortunately, that will hardly help to figure out if they’re planning to blow up a city or something.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me that people do anything for love?”, he asked back with a lopsided grin.

“I’m not planning on making Mr. Hayes one of my next targets. At least not that way”, she shot back cynically.

“I wouldn’t allow that.”

She whipped her head around to face him: “What?”

Jack frowned: “D’you think I’d let them do the thing with you?”

“I think we’d do anything to finish a case”, she shrugged, “I mean, we’ve literally stormed buildings.”

“Yeah”, he scoffed, “I’d rather storm his facilities than resort to the other option.”

She knew where he was coming from, but she also knew that, in the big picture, it wasn’t necessarily rational. If it came down to it, the risks of another home invasion might very well be bigger than if she’d do it her way, though the thought of it alone was enough to gross her out.

“Thank the lord we didn’t have a thing before I went to Germany”, she remarked dryly, “it was difficult enough to not get married to them.”

“How’d you do it? Staying with them, I mean”, the question sounded sincere, not accusing at all. He knew very well that she had to do it.

“Honestly?”, she gave him a tight smile, “I thought about the moment when I’d get to kill them.”

“I really hope you let go of that habit with me.”

She boxed him in the arm: “Very funny, Thompson.” He only laughed, given she herself was obviously not offended and was grinning, too.

They pulled over in front of the establishment, where they met up with McKinley and Harrow, who were similarly dressed to Jack.

“Perimeter is secured”, McKinley informed, “All clear, till now.”

“Great. You know the drill, you head in, don’t show your weapons, get a feel for the crowd, ask the right questions”, Thompson said quietly, looking at the entrance, which was guarded by two well-built men.

“And let me do the talking”, he added, pointing to the men with his chin.

Jack walked up to the guards, flashing them his batch: “We’re here to have a look around, not to cause any trouble. You okay with that?” He was clearly insinuating that if they weren’t okay with his plan, he’d cause them more serious problems, so reluctantly, they granted the group of four entrance.

Y/N scanned the room. Aside from several members she recognised from the list of Arena Club members – incidentally, Mr. Hayes was present – she recognised some as most definitely being ‘soldiers’. She could see it in the way they stood outside of the main crowd, more observing than engaging with the guests.

“Careful”, she whispered to Jack before making her way towards the former Frost-associate, “don’t get your shoes filthy.”

She hoped that he got her euphemism, but she also knew that he was an excellent agent. He’d be fine.

“Mr. Hayes?”, she asked, mustering up a convincing smile, “I did see correctly!”

He eyed her, obviously asking himself if he knew her from somewhere.

“Oh, don’t worry, we haven’t met”, she said, doing her very best to adopt a German accent in her English, “Erika Neuhausen. I’ve seen you a few times in Los Angeles.”

He gave her a smile and kissed her hand: “I see. What were you doing in L.A.?”

“I moved there in the late 30s”, she gave him a telling look, “it was a better place to further my career than back at home, if you understand what I mean.”

It really wasn’t that difficult to understand what she was insinuating, but she also didn’t know how witty her conversation partner was.

“Of course”, he nodded and eyed her from top to bottom, leaving her feeling incredibly exposed, “You work in the show business, I assume?”

She supposed that she was dolled up enough to fit into that category this evening, and she gave him a small nod.

“Maybe the next Miss Dietrich?”, he asked curiously, and she was happy that he at least bought her act of being German.

“Oh, you flatter me immensely.” She leaned forward, more than aware that he probably saw deeper into her décolletage than she would have liked: “Tell me, Mr. Hayes, what does a man like you do in New York? Is local politics not a bit too dull for someone with your status?”

“Sweetheart, every seat matters, no matter from which coast or state.”

She tilted her head: “Oh yes?” She knew she couldn’t press him too hard, otherwise he’d grow suspicious, so she decided to pull the foreigner card. “What’s some of the more pressing political matters of the day, Mr. Hayes?”

“A lady like you doesn’t have to bore herself with it”, he gave her a pitiful smile, “You should enjoy the amenities of this event.”

“Oh, I will, I’m sure”, she sighed dramatically, “But you see, ever since I came here, I felt like a stranger to those around me. Maybe you can help with that.”

“There are two things that drive this country, money and power”, he said cryptically, “they’re usually behind every political decision that is made. The key is to be on the right side of power.”

She would have loved to tell him that she wasn’t interested in a riddle, but knew that she couldn’t say that. So instead of showing him her annoyance, she gave him an intrigued smile: “Power, Mr. Hayes, might just be the one universal currency.” She looked around, pretending to spot someone in the distance. “I’ll leave you to it, then, Mr. Hayes. It was an immense pleasure.”

She walked off, very happy not to see his smug face any longer. Arguably, she didn’t find out what he wanted, exactly, but whatever it was, it sounded ominous. Seemed like the Arena Club, decimation aside, still hadn’t given up on its goal to expand their own members’ power inside the country.

She spotted Jack talk to another member, and she could tell he was making an effort to engage with harmless small talk whilst teasing out the information he needed. She was about to make contact with him when a figure brushed past her, slipping her a note.

She pretended not to react, as she had a slight suspicion as to who it was that had slipped her the note. Once the man had walked past her, she looked to the side, seeing him disappear into the crowd. It was, as she had suspected, Anthony Lorenzo. One of her informants.

Y/N made her way to the restrooms, where she was able to open his note without being watched. She initially damned him for his ugly handwriting, which was almost harder to read than a German code.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November.

November was still a bit away, but she had no idea what he meant by that. Did they have something planned for the 5th of November? Or was it meant to be a code for something?

Storing the note in her bra, she left the restroom to re-enter the crowd again.

……

Jack was talking to George Heath, the CEO of one of America’s biggest manufacturer of artillery, who – as it turned out – was also a member of the Club Jack had grown to hate.

“You’ve been in the war, son?”

He had no real intention on sharing any war stories with the man, but he also knew that there was little more that impressed men like this than being told about one’s time at the front.

“Of course”, he nodded, “It was my duty, after all. Though I have to admit, unfortunately, all the artillery in the world didn’t really help us against the Japanese on Iwo Jima.”

The mention of the by now infamous battle brought a sense of admiration to the man in his mid-to-late 50s: “So I’ve heard. Don’t mean it never will, Mr. Thompson, I can assure you, my scientists are working day and night to provide even more lethal weaponry to the US Armed Forces.”

Jack took a sip from his drink and gave the man a tight smile: “I’d hope no one’d be dumb enough to attack us now, with us being the only ones with nuclear bombs at our disposal.”

“Until now!”, Heath’s face darkened, “You know how these things go, think back to poisonous gas. One side uses it, soon enough, everyone uses it. The key is to always stay ahead of the cattle.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Heath.” He noted to himself that though Mr. Heath sounded like a man who’d sell his soul for an edge over his competitors, he didn’t sound like he was in bed with communists.

“You know, Vernon told me a lot about you”, Heath continued, and Jack gave his best grieving face.

“Only good stuff, I hope, God bless his soul.”

“It was a tragic accident indeed”, Heath agreed, “Unusual, too. I tried getting a look at the report of what weapon caused it, but the feds wouldn’t say. You know something about that, son?”

“I’m afraid not much more than you do, Mr. Heath”, Jack evaded, “And if I’m honest, even if the scientists did explain it to me, I’m no artillery expert. Some sort of cannon, I think.”

“Yes, something in that manner.”

He looked around: “Son, ever thought about entering the world of politics?”

Jack scoffed at the question: “About as much as I have thought about getting into a pool with hungry sharks. No, sir, I’d rather serve my country, rather than run it.” He bit his tongue not to add – run it to the ground, which is what he suspected would happen if these guys took over the wheel.

“Who’d you vote for in the last election?”

“The last election?”, Jack frowned at the question, “well, Roosevelt. That was 1944. Didn’t think a leadership change during a war was that smart, you know? Also, we didn’t really have time to get a good look at the other candidate. Given we were trying not to die.”

“What’d you think of Truman?”, the question was enough to indicate that Heath himself would rather have someone else in office – which was obvious from the start, considering they were at a convention of the opposite party.

“I try to abstain from judging my employer, Mr. Heath”, Jack said with a small grin, “wouldn’t want to risk being booted.”

“With that tongue of yours you could’ve become a diplomat, too.”

Jack internally thought to himself that he would have made the worst diplomat in the world, but that he at least now knew what this guy wanted out of the next election: Truman gone.

“Thank you, sir”, he replied with a nod, seeing Y/N emerge from the restroom and meeting his gaze.

“If you need the SSR”, he grabbed a business card, “this is our line.” After he removed himself from Heath, he made his way across the room to meet Y/N, because he was more than certain she wanted to tell him something.

“You find anything?”

She gave him no response and instead looked in the direction of Heath: “Good chat?”

“As to be expected”, he shrugged, “Talked to half the men on our list. Doubt they’re in the Commie Camp.”

“Yes”, she tilted her head, “I don’t think that’s their Camp, either.”

She was still mulling over what the hell the 5th of November could be. It was no holiday, it was a regular Wednesday. She wasn’t aware of anything particular happening that day, either.

“Now you’re brooding.”

McKinley approached them, informing Jack that he and Harrow had talked to the rest of the list, and that everyone appeared – more or less – clear. And, besides Hayes, none of them seemed to have any idea of what happened in L.A. and with Whitney Frost. Apparently, neither Hugh Jones, nor Hayes had any interest in sharing these details with their colleagues.

“A’right”, Jack declared, “then let’s leave.” He had a pretty decent idea of which men’s companies should be monitored by SSR agents in the future – Heath definitely among them.

In the car, Y/N finally opened her mouth to share her finding.

“I got this”, she started, awkwardly getting the note out of her bra.

“You don’t got a bag for this?”, Jack noted, a bit embarrassed by the manoeuvre.

“A bag can be stolen, a bra is far less likely to end up in the hands of men I don’t invite to hold it”, she snapped, “And besides, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before and I can’t see anyone else looking.”

He cleared his throat: “And what’s it say?”

“That’s the thing, I have no idea. It says ‘remember, remember the 5th of November’, which sounds like the start to some stupid children’s song”, she shrugged.

“Where’d you find it?” He frowned, asking himself why someone would walk around with a line from a song to a formal event, only to accidentally drop it.

“I didn’t find it, per se”, she said, stretching out her words, “I was given it.”

“What?”, Jack shot her a confused look, “By whom?”

“By my informant?”, she said high-pitched, “inside the Mafia?”

“And you didn’t think that this was a detail worth sharing??”, he shot back, visibly annoyed, “that we have insiders in there?”

“It didn’t compromise anything, did it?”, she retorted, “Besides, I wanted to minimise the risk of it getting out. If anyone knows, he’s dead and we lose on of our most crucial informants.” She ignored his frustration and continued: “But, nonetheless, I have no idea what he meant by that. Nothing is scheduled to happen on November 5th, and it’s just a normal Wednesday, in my opinion.”

Jack sighed, choosing not to give her a lecture today about the fact that she didn’t get to decide what information was worth sharing with her chief and instead briefed her about his own findings: “One thing all of them have in common is that they hate the Reds, but they also hate our own politics.”

“I still have no idea how that ties in with the mob”, Y/N announced, “unless they have some sort of common goal. Whatever that is, though, I have no idea.”

Entering her apartment, Y/N was about to get off her shoes when Jack interrupted her with a lopsided grin: “If we’re already dressed for the occasion, it would be a shame if we didn’t at least have one dance.”

She owned a phonograph, but she hardly used it, so she had no idea what music would start when Jack turned the thing on. It was a slow song, and it was classical music. When she saw his hand reaching out to her, she accepted with a smile. He was still a fantastic lead, and she enjoyed the nearness.

“And for the record”, he said before spinning her, “I don’t think you look like a girl playing dress-up. You look gorgeous, Y/N.”

........

Y/N had checked everything, from local fairs to national conventions, nothing happened on the 5th of November, at least nothing that was publicly planned. Frustrated, she placed down her notes as the phone rang.

“Y/N L/N, SSR, with whom-“

“am I speaking, hi Y/N!”, Peggy ended her never-changing greeting with a laugh, “You sound miserable, if I’m allowed to say so. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, and that is exactly my problem”, Y/N muttered, “We’re chasing down a lead with the Arena Club and our lead is very unhelpful.”

“Is the subject not speaking?”

“No, that’s not the problem”, Y/N rubbed the bridge of her nose, easing the headache that she had given herself by squinting all day, “It’s a note that doesn’t make sense. And it’s not even encoded, if you can believe it!”

“Is it a foreign language?”

“No, it’s in English.”

“What does it say then?”, she inquired curiously.

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November.”

Y/N was taken aback by the silence that greeted her. “Peggy, you still there?”

“Y/N”, she heard Peggy’s voice again, “it didn’t happen to be a political fair, did it?”

“Yeah”, she frowned, “Why’d you guess that?”

“Because”, Carter cleared her throat, “that’s a poem. Remember, remember the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot, I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot. Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent, to blow up the King and Parli'ment.”

Now, it was Y/N whose voice failed.

“Y/N-“

“Peggy, thank God you’re English”, Y/N announced, “I think I know what the plan is. I’ll call you back!”

She jumped up, walked straight into Jack’s office, throwing open the door without knocking.

“Whoa, ever heard of knocking?!”

“You said they hate our politics”, she reminded him, “correct?”

He frowned at her, visibly confused: “Yeah?”

“But they don’t hate the entire political system, they just hate the president”, Y/N expanded, obviously waiting for him to catch on, but unlike her, he didn’t just talk to Carter.

“What are you on about, Y/N?”

“The 5th of November, you genius!”, she exclaimed, “It’s not about the date, it’s about the action! Taking down the head of state!”

A/N: As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter - if you did, I highly appreciate every comment, reblog, any sort of feedback, or simply a heart. It all helps! Also, I promise this is going somewhere. I have a plan for overarching enemy and everything, even if it might sound all a bit random still! And you’ll get some more about Y/N’s and Jack’s time before the war, too, so there’s that to look forward to! 

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MCU Loki: Why I fear they failed to deliver what they promised

At this point I’m kind of confused by who the “Loki” series is trying to reach or which is the goal/message they’re trying to pass along.

They had tried to intrigue assorted audience but, if you ask me, the series has often failed to deliver what it seemed to promise.

Of course I might be wrong. Or maybe I'm not seeing another type of audience the series aimed and managed to reach.

When the series started I wanted to keep a positive mentality and hope whatever seemed not to work would be fixed along the way or have a reason for existing that I just wasn't seeing because I hadn't seen the full story yet.

However, after 5 episodes I'm starting to lose hope the series will make a genuine effort to reach the fans at whom it seemed to aim.

PART 1 – “LOKI” IS NOT FOR THE OLD FANS WHO PRODUCED META SHOWING HOW HIS TRAUMA DAMAGED HIM

"I think it's the struggle with identity, who you are, who you want to be. I'm really drawn to characters who are fighting for control. Certainly you see that with Loki over the first 10 years of movies, he's out of control at pivotal parts of his life, he was adopted and everything and that manifest itself through anger and spite towards his family." [Loki's Struggle With His Identity Confirmed To Be A Focus Of His Disney+ Series]

What was it about Loki as a character that attracted you? He’s just fun, for one. He has a very playful sense of humor about him. I like how he never quite lets you know what he’s thinking. Beyond that, what I connect to about him is the same thing the legions of fans do, which is his humanity and his vulnerability. This is a guy who—yes, on the one hand, he was the prince of Asgard, seems like a nice life—but his father, in fact, killed his actual birth father, adopted him, lied to him about his heritage and parentage his entire life, he was forced to live in the shadow of his oafish older brother who was born to be king. He’s experienced a lot of trauma, and I think that what he’s looking for is just a little bit of control over his life. Which he feels like maybe he’s never quite had. That’s something I think we can all relate with. [From Loki to Doctor Strange and Star Wars, Michael Waldron Is the New Franchise Whisperer]

Let’s be honest, the audience for the “Loki” series is not really meant to be Marvel movies old time fans who enjoyed “Thor” and “The Avengers”, made countless Meta analyzing Loki’s behaviour and who wanted answers about what happened to Loki prior to “The Avengers” or wanted to see Loki’s family terrible dynamics be discussed, or at least to see explored the wrong dynamics of Loki’s interracial adoption (he’s taken away from his planet, the truth is hidden from him, his look is changed to disguise him as an Asgardian, nothing is done against the racial hate for the Jotuns at which Loki is exposed, even witnessing it from his brother) or talk how much in control of himself Loki was during “The Avengers” (okay, the web said the sceptre manipulated Loki, but what about acknowledging that in his own series? It doesn’t have to come from Loki who had no idea he was manipulated but someone could mention ‘think yourself lucky here the stones don’t work, they’ve the nasty tendency to manipulate people’).

The series has avoided digging into all that as much as they could.

Even when Loki talks with Sylvie, the most we get is a small big about how Frigga was awesome in his eyes and taught him magic, but this isn’t meant to explain any of the issues Loki had with his family, it just make Sylvie feel bad because she can’t remember her adoptive mother, as for the D.B. Cooper born out of a bet with Thor, yeah, fun but completely random. What’s meant to be the message about family dynamics here, that it was the bets between Thor and Loki that caused Loki to decide to conquer Earth? Or what about the Sif loop? Is it there to push on Loki the blame of his poor relation with Sif?

No, clearly not.

In regard to Loki the Frigga flashback is there to remark he had a loving and supportive family while the other two are there to have Loki admit he is ‘a mischievous scamp’, ‘a horrible person’ and ‘a narcissist’.

To put it in Classic Loki’s words: ‘Damn it! Animals, animals! We lie and we cheat, we cut the throat of every person who trusts us, and for what? Power. Glorious power. Glorious purpose! We cannot change. We're broken, every version of us. Forever. And whenever one of us dares try to fix themselves, they're sent here to die.’

In short it’s all Loki’s fault if he does bad, nothing happened to him that could have messed him up, he’s just a horrible person… however…

PART 2 – “LOKI” IS NOT FOR THE OLD AND NEW FANS WHO BELIEVED LOKI TO BE A DANGEROUS, EVIL, PSYCHOPATH VILLAIN EITHER

"Loki is an a**, and that makes my life as a writer, easy." ... "Due to the trauma in Loki’s life, I would even [accept a story] in which he is committed to being all bad." [Michael Waldron on Loki: He’s an a**. That makes things easy]

Considering the series is trying to pin SOLELY on Loki his wrongdoing, completely skipping the toxic way in which he was raised you might think they want to paint him as an evil, psychopath who was just born bad.

But no, that’s not the intention, we see it from the start.

Loki is given a quick briefing on how his beloved family loved him despite him hurting them, a briefing that contains false information which would work if we accept the briefing as manipulative but, at this point I’m not so sure that was the author’s intent. The Doylist purpose of the briefing is clearly to show the audience how Loki cares for his family, how he still has feelings, feels pain at the idea Frigga and Odin died and wish to make up with his brother.

It’s not just they loved him and did nothing wrong toward him, it’s also he who loved them and didn’t mean to harm them. That’s why we’re fed that damn discourse about Loki sending the Dark Elves to kill Frigga, because the series wants to remark that no, Loki didn’t want to kill his family, he loved them.

Tom Hiddleston used to say what Loki is came from a place of pain but the series didn’t explore that place of pain… it just gave him more pain and not just in episode 1. Episode 2 has him discovering Asgard is destroyed, episode 3 has him remembering Frigga, episode 4 shows him believing Sylvie die and watching Mobius being pruned. He doesn’t cry in Ep 5, episode 5 wants us to truly feel bad for Sylvie, not for him, but there’s a lot of bitterness from Classic Loki who commits a heroic suicide so you might say we get a sad Loki anyway.

And this also works as a shock to make him change his mind about his ‘glorious purposes’. Sorta, with Thor reminding us he’s not so bad and Loki explaining his behaviour as “I don't enjoy hurting people. I... I don't enjoy it. I do it because I have to, because I've had to. Because it's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear.”

Plot-wise, this is completely useless.

The show will prove Sylvie is not Loki and has completely different motivations and Mobius, being an expert in Variants, should know.

What’s more why would Mobius care if Loki enjoys hurting people or not?

His goal is to capture Sylvie with Loki’s help. The most he should care about is how to keep Loki loyal to him, not if Loki has fun hurting people or not which, in fact, is a knowledge that won’t be used in his investigation.

No, this is here for the viewers, to tell them Loki isn’t a sadistic, evil villain, he’s someone weak who tries to scare others so as not to look weak. As Mobius will put in ‘a scared little boy, shivering in the cold’ who has an ‘insecure need for validation’.

What’s more?

The show will try his hardest to establish he’s not even competent.

Let’s talk of him as a fighter.

In the movies Loki is a competent fighter and side material establish he’s pretty strong, definitely much more than a human.

In “The Avengers” we see Captain America needs Iron Man’s help to beat him and, anyway, Loki’s plan was to be captured. Loki manages to walk away on his feet when Coulson hits him with that superspecial weapon and it’ll take him to be Hulk smashed after a fight with Thor and a meeting with an explosive arrow of Hawkeye before he can’t fight any longer.

This doesn’t happen in the “Loki” series.

Loki gets beaten up by various people in 4 episodes, preferably women (B-15, the people possessed by Sylvie, the guards on the train, Sif). You might say in episode 5 he’s not but actually Classic Loki is the one who gets swallowed by Alioth and our Loki instead survives because he has Sylvie supporting him as, on his own he couldn’t even distract Alioth.

Let’s talk of him as a wizard.

He can use magic, impressive magic but… it serves him mostly nothing. In the TVA his magic doesn’t work. Outside of it is mostly useless. It doesn’t help win fights. The Tempad he caused to disappear gets broken. To beat Alioth they needs enchantment, not his own magic. What’s more, when they’ve to go on the train his disguise wouldn’t have worked without Sylvie’s enchantment and, if this wasn’t enough, he got drunk, removed the disguise and wasn’t even able to make tickets appear.

Classic Loki too, with his impressive illusions is ultimately a distraction. Alioth tears easily through his illusions which aren’t even solid.

Let’s talk of him as a planner.

All Loki will accomplish is to escape from the Time theatre for a brief period in episode 1 and figure out Sylvie hides in apocalypses in episode 2. The rest of his plans fails or are not plan or are mocked over and not even put into practice.

Let’s talk about him as a manipulator with a silver tongue.

He can’t even persuade Mobius when he’s telling him the truth, Mobius dismisses it as a lie due to ‘cockroach's survival mechanism’.

And psychologically?

He’s just someone who crave attention because he’s a narcissist scared of being alone. Not a psychopath.

Loki is not meant to be a dangerous, evil, psychopath villain in this series, he’s a not serious man, a clown, a scared little boy in need of attention, a narcissist who needs to be loved.

Welcome to cartoon villain Loki, this Loki isn’t the Variant of “The Avengers” Loki, he’s the Variant of “Avengers Assemble”Loki… only he’s even less competent than him.

PART 3 – “LOKI” IS NOT EVEN HERE FOR GENERAL MARVEL MOVIE FANS

"That's a lot of Infinity Stones. That's true but they are useless there in the TVA, so I don't know. Is that gun loaded or not? We'll see..." [Loki Writer Comments On Whether TVA’s Infinity Stones Will Return In MCU]

“We had to create an insane institutional knowledge of how time travel would work within the TVA so the audience never has to think about it again. It was a lot of drawings of squiggly timelines.” Marvel already made its case for how time travel works in Avengers: Endgame, but that, Waldron points out, “is the way the Avengers understand it.” With a TV show it’s a little different. “I was always very acutely aware of the fact that there’s a week between each of our episodes and these fans are going to do exactly what I would do, which is pick this apart. We wanted to create a time-travel logic that was so airtight it could sustain over six hours. There’s some time-travel sci-fi concepts here that I’m eager for my Rick and Morty colleagues to see.” [How the Man Behind LokiIs Shaping Marvel’s Phase 4 and Beyond]

BC: The TVA is there to clean everybody up? MW: Yeah, Avengers: Endgame… that's how The Avengers understand time travel. 'Loki,' episode one, is how the TVA explains time travel to Loki and we're certainly building on what's come before us. [Loki: Michael Waldron On Gender Fluidity, Mephisto, Time Travel & More]

It’s true “Loki” is focusing on a new corner of the MCU but it interconnects very poorly with the movies before it.

Although Loki escaped with the Tesseract... it just dismisses completely the Infinity Stones.

Despite talking a lot about timelines and creating branching realities it waved away the whole plot of "Avengers: Endgame" as apparently supposed to happen even though it should have created branching realities.

We see Renslayer wave away how the Avengers went in the past causing the Tesseract to end up in Loki’s hands... and all the other things the Avengers did that affected the past goes unmentioned.

Bruce meeting the Ancient, Thor meeting his mother and taking away Thor’s hammer, Rocket being seen as he steals the reality stone from Jane, Tony stealing a suitcase and damaging the place in which the Tesseract was kept then meeting Howard Stark, 4 flacons of Pyn particles missing, an alarm given to the military bases, how Steve managed to bring back the sceptre if that timeline was pruned, how a timeline handled being without Thanos and Co as they went in the future or how they clearly didn’t bring the orb back the second they took it as Nebula remained unconscious there and nobody came and when she woke up Thanos could get her. It didn’t even explain why Steve remaining with Peggy didn’t change anything.

It's not that the audience has all explained... it's that they were told to dismiss it as 'meant to happen' and that was it.

What's more, the TVA apparently didn't list a finger to stop 2014 Thanos from going in the future and causing Tony Stark's death.

As if this wasn't enough, “Loki” just skips any possible connection with the movies, even hands Loki false information about them (he lead the Dark Elves to his mother when Loki had no idea the Kurse was a Dark Elf and they would have found her anyway as they were searching for the Aether which Malekith could sense, he’s born solely to cause pain and suffering and death, overlooks how he saved Jane twice or helped the Asgardian escape Hela) and never discusses them again.

Even with Classic Loki, who’s a Variant of “Avengers: Infinity War” Loki, they don’t talk about what happened after Loki’s supposed dead, apparently hinting it was better if he died, nor explain how Loki knew Thor survived.

PART 4 – “LOKI” IS NOT REALLY OFFERING A GOOD REPRESENTATION FOR FEMALES EVEN THOUGH IT CLEARLY AIMS AT FEMALE AUDIENCE

Let’s make a quick experiment.

Everyone, let’s name all the characters we remember which appeared in more than 1 episode of “Loki” for more than one minute.

We’ve, of course, Loki, Mobius, B-15, Renslayer, Sylvie, C-20 and Miss Minute.

5 females versus 2 males.

What’s more, females are not sexualized, they remains completely dressed, they’re clearly not there to attract male gazes, they’re represented as strong, dangerous, in control, something archived often by showing them beating males either physically or intellectually or in rank.

It seems promising. At first.

Is there someone who’s sexualized?

The “Loki” series takes care to offer us Tom Hiddleston naked.

So since there’s an abundance of females in the cast and Tom Hiddleston is shown naked is it aiming at a female audience?

Very, very likely but… but how’s then handled all this?

When Loki is seen undressed he’s not in a situation of power, like Thor who’s twice shows half naked in his movies but because he’s changing/washing and perfectly comfortable in showing his body and once in a situation which could be a male forbidden fantasy, to have many women massage your naked body, no, he’s shown as he’s powerless while being stripped by a machine. Clearly not a male power fantasy, more like a male nightmare.

And, in a totally not surprising way, pictures of this scene were spread by many female fans because it was aimed at them… though a part of them, was also honestly appalled at seeing this scene in contest, finding the forced stripping humiliating and degrading.

Sure, a naked Tom Hiddleston makes a nice eye-candy but this wasn’t how Loki’s many fans wanted to see Loki naked.

But let’s talk of female representation here, since the show seems to be interested in female audience… only who even though this was the representation women wanted doesn’t understand much of women representation in the first place.

Why?

For start because women here are all the same type of woman.

Strong fighters who’re in control and confident, with no real characterization beyond this to speak of despite the large amount of screen time.

Renslayer is an ex-hunter who can fight one on one against Sylvie and who clearly has the position of power she has because she was good as a hunter and shows her abilities in fighting after that Sylvie had beaten 2 guards at the same time. B-15 is introduced by beating Loki and is the commander of a squad. C-20 is another commander and, albeit possessed, can dispose of a part of her squad members.

Do I need to spend words on how Sylvie is depicted as this awesome fighter who has learnt to fight by herself, can keep at bay more than 1 Minuteman, can use a sword, has learnt enchantment on her own and is feared by all the TVA? Do I?

And it’s awesome to have women who are strong fighters in positions of command/power/control… but why women has to be represented as just that?

Even when they add a female as an one episode cameo, it's Sif, beating the hell out of Loki. And what about the Lady in Lamentis 1 who was too old to be strong but managed to blast away both Loki and Sylvie seeing through their deceptions?

Even the harmless Miss Minute can avoid being hit by Loki and gets she has to pretend to do researches to stall Sylvie and save Renslayer.

Women kick asses here… but that’s all they’re good for.

And so we get to Sylvie, who is the superior Loki Variant… because she’s female.

Kid Loki: You're different. Why? Loki: No, I'm not, you see? I'm the same, really. I'm the same as all of you. Have any of you met a woman Variant of us? Classic Loki: Sounds terrifying. Loki: Oh, she is. But that's kind of what's great about her. She's different. She's not trying to take over the TVA, she's trying to take it down. And she needs me. Now, you said Alioth is what keeps us here. You said it's a living thing. You said it's a shark. Well, if it lives, it dies. So I'm gonna kill the shark. I'm gonna kill Alioth, and I could use all the help I can get.

That’s what Loki preaches to his fellow Lokis who think a woman Loki would be terrific.

I mean, they’ve an alligator Loki, a POC Loki, but the one who has to be different is the female Loki. Because being female is a character trait.

Mobius: Okay. I feel like I'm always looking up to you. I like it. It's appropriate. [Ep 1]

Basically females in the “Loki” series are all representation of the Action girl trope and aren’t even different representation of said trope. I mean, “The Avengers” have 5 actions boy who’re clearly as different as they could be. Girls can be represented as different too, if they really aim at young audience they can take good old “Sailor Moon” as an example. 5 action girls who are strong and determinate AND DIFFERENT, more than just someone who kicks the adversary away.

And it’s not like they don’t know how to characterize people in a different way.

Mobius is an analyst who shows sympathetic traits toward the Variants and a certain level or intelligence. U-92 and D-90 are hunters who are shown to held Variants in little regard (U-92 wanted to attack the boy they found in the church, D-90 mistreated the scared people in the shelter). Casey is an harmless and naïve guy who had never seen a fish. The guy who made Loki sign the papers about what he said seemed emotionless but he clearly loved cats as not only he had one but on his cup there was also the image of a cat. Martin is clearly a bossy daddy’s son, who think too high of himself to the point he can’t respect rules. The boy in the church, despite thinking Sylvie was a demon, accepted and ate food she gave him and remained in the place despite the crime. He’s clearly more brave than he looked like but he’s also naïve as he easily trusted ‘the demon’ and Mobius.

What’s C-20 character trait when she gets described by Sylvie?

Sylvie: Yeah. She was just a regular person on Earth. Loki: A regular person? Sylvie: Loved margaritas.

She’s a regular person who loves margaritas. Liking a drink is not a character trait!

There’s a more diverse female representation in “Thor” than in “Loki”.

In “Thor” we’ve Frigga, queen of Asgard, loving mother and wife who’s powerless to erase Thor’s banishment. We’ve Sif, a dangerous and loyal warrior. We’ve Jane, the amazing scientist with a lot of enthusiasm. We’ve Darcy, who’s funny and who seems focused mostly on herself but who, when the city is attacked, worried to save all the animals at the pet store.

But maybe the one who gets the worst treatment is the supposed heroine, Sylvie, because the poor girl is turned into a Mary Sue.

In case someone isn’t familiar with the term:

“The prototypical Mary Sue is an original female character in a fanfic who obviously serves as an idealized version of the author mainly for the purpose of Wish Fulfillment. She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye colour, and has a similarly cool and exotic name. She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story. The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting; if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal. She has some sort of especially close relationship to the author's favourite canon character — their love interest, illegitimate child, never-before-mentioned sister, etc. Other than that, the canon characters are quickly reduced to awestruck cheerleaders, watching from the sidelines as Mary Sue outstrips them in their areas of expertise and solves problems that have stymied them for the entire series.” [tvtropes.org]

So let’s see how she fits this checklist:

1) She's exotically beautiful, often having an unusual hair or eye colour: Sylvie painted her hair blonde even though the Lokis are supposed to be black haired

2) has a similarly cool and exotic name: She is the only Loki Variant who has changed her name from Loki to Sylvie.

3) She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas, and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting: Awesome at fighting she can enchant people, an ability the Lokis don’t posses, that she magically learnt on her own and that is necessary in the story. Also she figured out how a Tempad worked BEFOREseeing it in action.

4) She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws — either that or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing: No flaws, all her plans involve fighting and brute force is no substitute for diplomacy and guile, which could be a flaw… if it wasn’t for the fact that the series will prove Sylvie can plan just fine without using fighting and brute strength and also be successful at it.

5) She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story: She was taken by the TVA when she was younger than Kid Loki but managed to escape them and had to live alone and on the run till then.

6) The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues, and are quick to adopt her as one of their True Companions, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting: Loki, who has never loved anyone, falls for her, Mobius saves her and apologizes to her, B-15, who used to look down at Variants, basically asks her what should they do and is shown admiring her, the Lokis don’t criticize her plan, Classic Loki dies to save her, everyone views her as the superior Loki Variant.

7) if any character doesn't love her, that character gets an extremely unsympathetic portrayal: Renslayer, the hunter who has arrested her, is currently playing the part of the antagonist who’s fascist and believes in a murderous, lying cult.

8) She has some sort of especially close relationship to the author's favourite canon character — their love interest, illegitimate child, never-before-mentioned sister, etc.: She’s the Variant and love interest of the titular character.

9) Other than that, the canon characters are quickly reduced to awestruck cheerleaders, watching from the sidelines as Mary Sue outstrips them in their areas of expertise and solves problems that have stymied them for the entire series: Loki, the title character, has conveniently been turned into someone who’s a weak fighter and incapable of planning which Sylvie has to save by enchanting guards or giving him her sword or pruning herself or teaching him how to enchant and coming up with all the plans.

Now all she needs in order to be a perfect Mary Sue is to know how to sing well as Mary Sue usually do this as well, though I’m sure she can do it because Loki could so she surely can.

Sylvie is amazing, Loki himself said so:

Loki: No. We may lose. Sometimes painfully. But we don't die. We survive. I mean, you did. You were just a child when the TVA took you, but you nearly took down the organization that claims to govern the order of time. You did it on your own. You ran rings around them. You're amazing!

There’s nothing inherently wrong in having a new female character who’s competent, for whom the hero falls and who changes him… if all this is built around a solid plot.

Think at “Iron Man”.

Tony Stark is, to quote Tony Stark himself a “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist”.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? But the movie shows us why he’s that.

It spends time setting up his pedigree, how he inherited the money and intelligence from his father, how he was supported as he grew and studied becoming always a greater genius. Tony shows himself to be charming before seducing his first woman onscreen so that when he does it makes sense. His philanthropic activities are, at first, just mentioned but seems rooted in how his father was a hero who helped fighting Nazi and then they became his mission. He felt guilty he was a merchant of death and tried to make up for it.

Sylvie too could have a solid plot behind herself.

Instead than magically knowing what a TemPad does and how it works and managing to escape with it, she could have escaped with, let’s say, a hunter that discovered the truth and decided to rebel to the TVA or just had pity of her. Maybe another Mobius Variant who used to work at the TVA prior to Mobius and that, instead than an analyst was a hunter. She might have learnt fighting from him and then he too died and she was left alone.

Enchantment might have been an ability she might have learnt coming in contact with a mind stone. It could have been an occasion also to talk how mind stones can influence people negatively. Or it could have been taught to her by Frigga who, with a female daughter, decided to teach her a different type of magic than Loki.

Her past could have been explored more instead than being tragic for the sake of tragic. We might have seen her fall in love and either be betrayed or have to say goodbye to her loved one because that reality got pruned. We might have seen her being interested in males and females alike as she’s supposed to be interested in both.

She could have had discussions with Loki that weren’t just about Frigga or about how the TVA kidnapped her from Asgard, she escaped and from that point on she was always on the run, or about how love didn’t feel real, but more about how they were, how they felt, what hurt them and what made them happy, what they liked and what they disliked, their ideals and their fears, things that can built up a relation.

Loki basically fall for her because she’s on a mission for revenge instead than power and seems confident. That’s his reasoning.

She falls for Loki… because apparently he’s the person who spend time with her who praised her. That’s not a solid love story, that’s desperation.

SYlvie could have flaws, she could have learnt diplomacy or persuasion from Loki or could have something she lacks and Loki has so that they would complete each other.

And since the purpose was to have Sylvie and Loki fall for each other… they could have let Loki have characteristics that can motivate the exceptional heroine to fall in love for him PRIOR to him falling in love for her. He might be shown good at something, instead than just a clown.

Even if we say the real purpose of this series was to turn Sylvie into the protagonist, the heroine, a good Loki character was still needed to explain why this awesome girl would fall for him.

So okay, there will surely still be women who can see themselves in Sylvie and imagine they got Loki… and it’s not bad really… but I think we deserved more.

Long story short, yes, “Loki” has many females in its cast and this is meant to draw the female audience… but the representation is poor as almost all of the females have no character traits and Sylvie is just a Mary Sue with no realistic characterization.

A good female representation is diverse and solid. Women don't need to be born irrealistically perfect out of nothing to be good, they can inherith and grow and learn to be as such like any human being.

Last but not least…

PART 5 – DOES “LOKI” REALLY OFFERS REPRESENTATION TO THE LGBT COMMUNITY?

BC: There is a lot of talk on social media about Loki being gender fluid. Wouldn't that actually be a natural fit for the character? MW: Yeah, I guess as, with all questions pertaining to that stuff, I think those answers, truly, are best experienced in the watching of the show, as opposed to me trying to answer them. Because it's just watching it and the way that's addressed and everything will just be more fulfilling. BC: Why do you think it's important that Loki is gender fluid? MW: I think that Loki is a character that a lot of fans see representation in. People that haven't felt represented before, and they see themselves in Loki and everything. So we want to do justice to the character, to who the character is in the comics and in Norse mythology as well. And you also … you know you want folks to feel represented, and everything. That's why it's important. It always has been. It comes from everybody on the creative team. [Loki: Michael Waldron On Gender Fluidity, Mephisto, Time Travel & More]

The series hugely spread the info that this Loki would be fluid and Bisexual. The news were welcomed with delight and it’s awesome how the series didn’t hesitate to put it on paper.

Loki being fluid was written for everyone to see, and Loki having male and female interests was spelled out for everyone to hear.

IT’S A GREAT THING!

However…

It’s all we got.

It had no relevance into the plot whatsoever, it’s just a random info we’re given.

Him being fluid was on a paper along with his other data like eye colour and birth planet.

Him being interested in males and females seems to be put there just to imply he tried a large amount of people before deciding love didn’t feel real.

Assuming the other Lokis too were fluid, they actually found terrific the idea of a woman Loki in a not positive way. They weren’t interested or asking for clarifications about what Loki meant.

Loki’s bisexuality doesn’t even get a side story, them sending Fandral to beat Loki instead than Sif because Loki cheated on him or something. I’m not upset Loki ended up with a female, this is one of the possibilities of a Bisexual person. I’m upset that this was used merely to attract the audience but then wasn’t explored. They could have said Asgard was open minded with it, or disapproved it so Loki had to keep it hidden, or it could have been Sylvie who discussed some experience in that regard.

We were told over and over it was a show about identity. We expected it to be explored instead we were just told ‘ah, by the way, Loki is bisexual, let’s move on.’ And that was all.

Having representation from an important Marvel character is always important, especially considering the shortage of representation. But honestly I expected more.

PART 7 – TO SUM IT UP

Many of the people who worked in “Loki” are fantastic actors. They worked hard for this series, I can see they tried their best.

The premises for the “Loki” series are interesting.

We get a Loki who hadn’t experienced most of what happened in the movies yet, we make him confront with someone who knows his life, the one he lived and the one he was meant to live and we also make him confront with Variations of himself.

Loki has the Tesseract and the TVA has plenty of infinity stones, we could explore them.

The TVA itself have a fascist organization that dictates people’s lives and murders whoever tries to do differently, that goes so far as to brainwash the people working in it, which mistreats and belittle the Variants and establish a manipulative cult around the Time-Keeper with elements of police brutality which could be very actual.

Time travelling was the plot of "Avengers: Endgame" they could have tied the movie to the series, esplore the why some time travels were allowed and some weren't or their effects.

There were references to plenty of awesome comics they could take inspiration from.

But unless it redeems itself with the last episode… well, so far it’s failing to deliver what it promised due to a really poor plot which doesn’t give the characters a chance to be themselves or to be characterized as they’ve no real story nor real differences to speak of.

They’re given more time than a movie as they’re a series… but that’s no good excuse for wasting said time.

I’m still hoping the last episode will be spectacular, that it’ll manage to erase the messes of the other 5… but, as of now I’m disappointed.

I’ll just keep my fingers crossed and hope they’ll surprise me.

[princecharmingmendes]

Heart by Heart | Chapter X | Raul Mendes

                                               *secret agent AU*

Y/N and Raul have been friends ever since they could remember. And falling in love with your best friend can be pretty tricky and messy 99% of the times, add that to the fact they're constantly risking their lives side by side on the field since they're both secret agents, and the best team that's ever existed. Perfect recipe for disaster.

Hi, this chapter is finally here, it's a bit shorter, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for that long anymore and on the cliffhanger, and this was also important for the story development. Anyway, this is the tenth chapter of this series, you can find the first ones here. Please read the warnings on this one, if you don’t feel comfortable with the contents listed on the “warnings” section, please read something else, there are a lot of other works on my masterlist and on the “fic rec” hashtag on my blog. Please give me some feedback and I hope you guys like. Happy Reading! 

                                                previous chapter | masterpost | next chapter

*Word Count: 2K+

*Warnings: cursing, violence towards the reader, blood, kidnapping, hostage situation, angst.

Please don’t read it if any of this subjects make you uncomfortable, feel free to check my masterlist for other writings.

*Posted: September 16th, 2021.

                                                  -*-

Raul was a mess as soon as he was able to get into an empty room. 

He allowed himself to finally let the severity of the situation hit him. He had no idea where Y/N and Tom were, if they were alright or what could Geonoff could possibly win with this. He certainly would’ve tried blackmailing them to get something in return of the two agents he had in his hands. 

He’s been pacing back and forth in the tiny room as he tried to remain calm enough to keep his rationality so he could still be helpful. Raul just wanted to punch his way into that base and get the kid and his girl back, but he knew that was completely stupid, even for him. He could practically see the frown on Y/N’s face if she ever heard his brilliant idea, and the vision alone was almost enough to bring him to tears. Instead he shook his head, knowing that letting his feelings take control would only be a waste of time in this situation, and that’s something he learned a long time ago when he first started working with his best friend. 

She was a really rational, and maybe even a bit cold on the field. Always with a sharp remark on the tip of her tongue and a thousand of extra plans in case something failed, she could easily slip into the role of the Professor in Money Heist. Constantly analyzing and thinking. And while she was clearly the brain of their duo, Raul was clearly the heart, not thinking twice before jumping head first to save someone or get and intel. And that’s why they worked so well, he pushed her to be more spontaneous while she kept him in his place (and alive) most of the time. 

He needed her more than ever right now. 

The sound of hushed whispers and two pairs of shoes approaching him, made Raul sharply move in the direction of the door, still on edge, and waiting for it to reveal his visitors. As soon as the handle turned, he was met with his triplet and Celine wearing the same saddened and worried expressions. He might’ve come down to help with the investigation as fast as he learned about his best friend. 

Peter sighed taking in the sight of his brother. Raul looked like a lost puppy in distress, eyes on his face but his mind was clearly somewhere else, shoulders sagged and curls a mess from the constant nervous tugging habit he had. One look was enough for him to know he was carrying all the guilt and having no clue how to fix it. It’s the same look he gave his younger self when he accidentally broke his brand knew camera. 

“We’re going to find them” was the first thing he said and Raul nodded, looking unconvinced “It’s not your fault” he then added and at that, his gaze finally seemed to snap into place as he stared his brother dead in the eye. 

“Whose fault is it then?” his voice sounded a lot smaller and less threatening than he pictured. 

“Geonoff’s” Celine mumbled “but not yours, you did what was best, what was right”

Raul shook his head in response, mumbling a quiet ‘yeah, right’ under his breath, but Celine was quick to take three steps closing the distance between them and placing both hands on his shoulders. 

“Cut this shit right now” she snapped, catching both him and Peter by surprise “you and I both know I’m not your biggest fan and never truly got what everyone else saw in you, but this past months changed my perspective of things and you’re actually a decent person, a great friend and an amazing agent, and you did the right thing” she said squeezing his shoulder for great measure “and you and I both know Y/N would’ve wanted you to do the same thing, she’d be proud of you”

Raul nodded slowly and Celine let him go at that, as he was still processing her words. Peter finally reached his brother, placing his hand on his shoulder as he turned to face him “I know you’re going through a lot right now, but we need you to help us find her, we need you to hold on a bit and try to think of the places they could possibly take her, everything you heard  or saw on the past month is useful”

He nodded again “yeah, okay, I can do that”

“Good, come with me then” Peter said patting his brother’s back “she’ll come back to us, you and I know her enough to know she’s probably making their life a living hell”

Raul snorted a little laugh, that didn’t quite reach his eyes and nodded along, as they dragged him back into the main room. He needed to do what Y/N would in his place, shut his feelings off and analyze every every they took.

                                                 -*-

Y/N starts slowing coming back into her senses, feeling her muscles burning, her arms stiff and head hurting, the dark place she was situated doing little to help her regain her memories. She tried looking around to see if she could find something useful to recognize the place, only noticing a slim frame still unconscious close to her. The person had its back to her, but from their clothes and body type, she was able to recognize them as Tommy.

Tommy who was still breathing and almost at arms reach.

That was a good sign, or as good as it could be in this situation. But he was there, breathing and no signs of big blood loss around them, so no external wounds that needed to be taken care of urgently. She tried to reach for him, but the heavy chains attaching her wrists to the cobblestone floor kept her in place.

She tried locating their belongings, or anything that could help them get out of there, but it was all missing. Raul was also nowhere in sight, which probably meant he wasn’t there and probably the info was delivered safely. At least that’s what she hopped with no signs of him around them. 

There? Where the hell was there?

That’s when it finally clicked to her, she had no idea where they were or how long was she out. They could be across the ocean as far as she was concerned. She had to get them out of there. But before she could start planning their way out with absolutely nothing and Tommy still out, she heard the grating of the old and rusty hinges coming from the only way in and out of that room, a heavy iron door. 

Coming from the source of noise that snatched her attention was the man responsible for all of this. Geonoff Reyes himself. Wearing a button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled back, and a pair of dress pants, and a smug look on his face. He took lazy long strides getting close to her, crouching down in front of her. 

Geonoff smirked at her “You know, it’s pretty hard to fool me and you almost got away with it, if it weren’t for your stupid boss you’d be home by now”

Y/N just blinked at him, a completely neutral facial expression on as she stared up at him, making him tsk.

“By the way, how is your little boyfriend? Does he know this relationship is just an act or you manipulate him as well?” he asked and she didn’t even flinch at his statement, noticing that her silence was doing more at getting him upset than clapping back “it must be sad, being such a pathetic agent and letting his little girl and friend get caught as he fled, and in the end discovering this was one sided”

Her gaze shifted quickly to Tommy and then back to Geonoff’s face, that was too close to hers for her taste “don’t worry, he’ll live for now, need him to get you to cooperate” and Y/N felt a little lighter knowing that, taking all the self control she had to not let that show on her face “you know they’ll never find you, right? Thought about sending a little photo as a gift for them, but might do it whenever we move to our next location, better lighting and stuff”

“What do you want?” her voice was hoarse, but she was able to keep her tone steady enough to not seem frightened.

“Oh, sugar, missed that sweet voice of yours, it matches your pretty face, just wish I could see that beautiful smile again, but we’ll get to that” he said patting her cheek with his long fingers, making her insides turn in disgust and she had to swallow the sudden wave of nausea down “I want something simple, just know all the info you’ve been feeding your precious little team for the past weeks, you’re smart enough knowing I wouldn’t mind hurting you to get what I want”

Y/N only stared back at him watching his brow twitch in annoyance “don’t want to hurt your pretty face, so cooperate with me and I might even let you go safely”

But her silent response seemed to be enough for him to loose it, because he took a deep breath before slapping his hand across her face for the first time. The pure shock of the action almost made her react, but she held her face up as she kept staring at him, her face burning but she wouldn’t give him the little taste of a small victory at breaking her neutral mask of indifference. 

“This could be so easy” he mumbled slapping the other side a little harder “you didn’t have to do this, you could be free by now” the third one was stronger than she was expecting, making her face turn with the pure force of it, the loud sound coming from the aggression echoing on the empty room and down the large corridor, the echo making her realize there wasn’t much down where they were, mostly just blank empty walls without doors to divide the sound. 

“What is it? Anything you’d like to say?” he asked grabbing her chin and yanking her face to look up at him, but her mouth remained closed “well, your choice”

After a few consecutive hits, one being so strong making her face collide with the wall when it turned, and she felt the sticky liquid running down her face. Her skin probably breaking with the brisk contact with the stone wall, cutting her cheek in the process. The seemed to please him, since he let out a loud boisterous laugh, making her lean her head so he could see it better mumbling a quiet “vicious bitch” under his breath “stop fighting back” before going back to it. 

After a couple more minutes, her right cheek numb already, Geonoff said grabbing her face roughly in his hands, forcing her to look up at him “Come on, sugar, you’re really stressing me out here”

“I’m truly sorry you had to kidnap and keep two agents hostage to try and prove you’re better than your sister” she said blinking at him monotonously and that seemed to hit a nerve, because Geonoff squeezed her face harder in his palms before pushing her head against the wall. 

Y/N felt her limbs giving out as her vision got blurry, her vision going dark before she felt her body leaning to her side and hitting the floor with a dull thud. The sound of shoes hitting against the rocks and the door being shut closed again a sign that the man lost his patience and left them behind. She tried fighting the numbness getting ahold of her body, but ended up succumbing at the end. 

The sounds of waves breaking somewhere near them and the constant throbbing of her head dragging her back into unconsciousness. 

                                                  -*-

*Please reblog or like this post if you liked it so I’ll know.

*I’m sorry if there are any spelling mistakes.

*Please do not repost this without giving me the credit, this is a completely original piece and I do not give permission to copy this!

*Hope you guys enjoyed it!

*xoxo

-🌙

[camthesolemnone]

*crashes through door*

HI I HAVE ANOTHER ONE!!

Ok. Soulmate AU!! it's the one with the red string connecting you to your soul mate by your pinkie. Make up some rules for it if you need to!! I like to do the thing where the string gets tighter/looser as they move closer and farther from their s/o.

Ok, goodnight, I love you, bye!

*mwah*

*passes out just outside door*

Whoops accidentally made Zhanna older than Heavy in this one. Well I mean, maybe she is, but I've always written Mikhail as the oldest child in his family. Anyway, enjoy!

Wide eyes full of tears and flushed cheeks was what Mama came across upon turning to face who was tugging at her shawl. Little Zhanna, no more than five, was highly concerned about her baby brother.

"Mama! Misha’s finger is blue!"

Fearing that her son had developed gangrene from the cold brought on by the heavy storm outside, the distressed mother turned away from her soup pot and made haste towards the living room.

"Zhanna! Go get your father!" She instructed, entering the space, and the small girl nodded rapidly as she dashed off to where Papa was doing laundry.

Mama approached her child. The infant was situated in the center of the carpet, tiny hands shaking and eyes also leaking. Mikhail couldn't form words yet. He could only helplessly wail as he became light-headed; he had lost all feeling in his pinkie finger.

Mama kneeled down near him, and Zhanna and Papa appeared a second later.

"What is going on! Is moy syn alright?" The older man cried.

Mama took the boy’s hands in her own and examined them closely. As Zhanna had announced, his left pinkie was a light shade a blue. At the base of Mikhail’s finger was a small red string, fastened so tightly that it constricted the blood flow. The Russian mother breathed a sigh of relief.

“There is nothing to fear, he has simply acquired his soulstring,” Mama explained, standing up and giving her family a reassuring nod.

Papa let out his own held breath at the fortunate news, but Zhanna simply stared at her parents in confusion.

“Mama, what is a soulstring?”

Her father reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, and the two of them smiled down at their daughter.

“Young Zhanna, a soulstring is leetle red string around your pinkie that connects you to your soulmate: the person you are destined to fall in love with. Some people’s thread appears immediately after birth, but for others, it can take several years before their special partner is chosen,” Mama revealed.

Papa added on, motioning to Mikhail in the process.

“The tighter the string is, the farther you are away from your soulmate. Seeing as your brother’s is strong enough to cut off circulation, there is good chance his soulmate does not live in this country.”

Zhanna glanced over at the thread on Mikhail’s finger and then back to her parents, crossing her arms.

“What happens to the string when you find your ‘soulmate?’“ Zhanna inquired.

Papa crouched down to ruffle his daughter’s hair while Mama picked up Mikhail and left the room to resume dinner.

“Once you meet fated love, the string falls off for good,” he explained.

The small girl beamed and ran a hand through her black hair.

“Chudesno! I can’t wait to get my soulstring!”

.

Mikhail had given up on his chances of ever finding his love or feeling his finger again.

Forty seven years had passed since the red string initially appeared on his pinkie, and not once had he ever felt it loosen up. He felt hopeless and silently wondered most days if the higher beings had made a mistake. Maybe he truly wasn’t attached to anyone and they had tied the thread just to spite him. Instead, the Russian decided to spend his time taking care of his family.

His father had long since passed and Yana and Bronislava had run off with their soulmates, but at least Mikhail could still provide for his mother and Zhanna.

An ad in the newspaper intrigued him one morning: a mercenary job in America offering thousands. The giant immediately took to calling the company, known as Mann Co., and asked for a position. Not only would he be able to make enough money to provide a comfortable life for Mama and his sister, he was delighted at the opportunity to wield guns against evil men with no consequence. Moving away from the Russian blizzards would also prove to be a positive change.

Within two months of his interview, the new Heavy Weapons Specialist was landing down in New Mexico. A few days were spent getting used to his new surroundings and signing paperwork, but eventually, the bus came by his hotel to take him to the Reliable Excavation Demolition base. 

While lounging in the tough leather seat, Heavy glanced at the surrounding seats and took notice of two other men sitting in the back. They both wore red and yellow bands on their arms, indicating they were some of Mikhail’s new teammates. Preferring not to spend a year with a group of people who disliked him, the Russian moved to the back of the bus to make a good first impression.

“Privet, I am Heavy Weapons Guy,” he began.

The two men looked up from their respective pieces of literature. The younger of the two lazily held and flipped a baseball magazine with one hand. The other man, taller and masked, was gripping a thick, plain-covered novel.

“Yo! I heard that our Heavy was supposed to be, well, you know, heavy, but damn you’re fa--OWW!” The Bostonian shouted, being met with a swift slap from the man sitting beside him.

“Please ignore Scout here. This rotten bunny doesn’t seem to have any manners.”

“Go to hell, you French bastard!” Scout shot back.

The insults continued and Heavy found himself silently slinking back into his seat. He had the strength to snap both of them like toothpicks if he so desired, but it was better not to end his career before it started.

Along the ride, the bus stopped several times to pick up the rest of the RED team. First came their pyromaniac and engineer, then the sniper and soldier. The demolition’s expert came by himself and the final stop was saved for a relatively young woman in a purple dress.

“Er, hello, everyone. I am Miss Pauling, your boss’s secretary. I’m scheduled to give you guys a tour around the base and to break down your jobs. Raise your hand if you have any questions and please, try to cooperate with one another,” the woman sighed.

Dell, the shortest man on the team with a yellow hardhat, raised his hand.

“Yes, Engineer?” Miss Pauling prompted.

“Isn’t there supposed to be one more fella here with us?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Miss Pauling glanced toward the ceiling briefly as if she were really pondering the answer before turning to Engineer.

“Medic’s flight got delayed due to a massive snowstorm in Berlin. He should be here tomorrow at the earliest.”

It was impossible to notice the difference just by looking at it, but Mikhail nearly jerked forward when he felt it. Was he really going insane in his desperation? Had the string really just loosened? It most certainly had, he had felt the pressure ease up ever so slightly, but something in the back of his mind that told him it was just his imagination. The giant shook his head and groaned, barely able to pay attention to anything else Miss Pauling said.

His mind became a battlefield of longing versus absurdity. The thread had suffocated him during his prime. There was no possible explanation as to why his soulmate would be appearing now of all times. By forty seven, Mikhail was overweight, balding, had several scars from his time in Siberia, and was rated ugly by every woman he had attempted to romance. He couldn’t think of a single reason as to why his love would find him attractive now, and it deepened the eternal hole in his heart.

But Heavy held onto the faintest thread of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his suffering was about to come to an end. He would meet with the woman or man fate had binded him to, and he could finally be happy.

That night, Mikhail stared at his bedroom ceiling wide awake. Once their team’s doctor arrived in New Mexico, he would know for certain what destiny had in store for him.

.

Ludwig’s attempt at getting some shut eye on the flight failed. He couldn’t fall asleep even if he wanted to, for his pinkie was regaining its color. Somehow, this job as a battlefield medic that he had selected out of the blue was leading his soul to its missing half.

“It’s only a matter of time,” he murmured to himself, eyes more hopeful than the day he earned his doctorate’s degree.

.

Heavy awoke to the sound of loud yelling and banging on his door.

“Attention! You will be dressed and be stationed in the recreational room for role call in five minutes! That is an order!” Soldier commanded.

The softer, more compassionate voice of Miss Pauling sighed and spoke through the door.

“I’m sorry Heavy. I couldn’t say anything to convince him not to come with me to wake you guys up. Just settle down in the rec room in a few minutes, okay?”

Mikhail groaned, both from a lack of sleep and the sudden wake-up call. He complied, however, adorning his red, short sleeved shirt, his bulletproof vest, the bandolier for his minigun, pants, a belt, and a pair of sturdy combat boots.

When the heavy weapon’s specialist arrived in the rec room, it was absolute chaos. Spy had moved on from insulting Scout to bickering with Sniper, Demoman was already sloshing around a bottle of alcohol, Scout had stolen Engineer’s hardhat and was taunting him with it, and Soldier was shouting at a terrified looking Pyro.

“RED Team! Enough! It’s only the first day and you’re already at each other’s throats!” Miss Pauling stomped, placing her hands on her hips.

Some the the mercenaries, including Heavy, faced towards their higher-up while the others continued to do their own thing.

“Now look, your first battle will begin as soon as Medic arrives. I’m heading over to the airport to pick him up, so I advise you all check over your equipment,” her words more of a command than a suggestion.

Heavy’s eyes widened. He felt it again. 

He decided in that moment that polishing Sascha could wait.

Before Miss Pauling could leave the room, the large man scurried over to her and placed a massive hand on her shoulder to grab her attention.

“Yes, Heavy? Do you need something?” She asked plainly.

Mikhail nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Da, I want to come to airport with you, if you do not mind. I promise not to cause any problems.”

Pauling raised an eyebrow.

“Pozhaluysta, Miss,” the Russian begged, rubbing his forever blue pinkie with his other hand.

Miss Pauling opened her mouth to speak, but her words died on her lips when she noticed the tiny gesture. Instead, she gave him a short nod of understanding and proceeded out of the building.

.

In the car, Heavy’s leg bounced. His breathing was deep, and his whole body seemed to sweat with fear and anticipation. With every inch the vehicle moved, he could feel the burden on his finger lighten up. This wasn’t just some illusion or dream, it was really happening. After forty seven years of waiting, he was about to meet the love of his life.

Miss Pauling took note of his anxiousness, but didn’t say anything during the trip, giving Mikhail plenty of time to ask himself a million questions. What would his lover look like? Would they be a man or a woman? Would they have a heart of gold, or a rotten core that sought to make the Russian miserable at every turn?

Finally, the airport was in sight. Mikhail could hardly withstand the separation between himself and his soulmate. He wanted, needed to find his other half. He needed to shower them with all of the affection he had been waiting so long to administer. He needed to hear their voice and inhale their scent and feel their body against his own.

Miss Pauling nearly tripped over her high heels trying to catch up with the eager Russian. She had seem some truly heartwarming instances of soulmates meeting over the years, but never before in her life had she seen someone so desperate to unite with their fated love.

.

He had to hold onto a railing as he stepped out of the plane to avoid passing out. 

Ludwig had always experienced air-sickness while flying, but more than that, his hand was trembling. The string that had plagued his right hand for decades was loose, looser than it had ever been before. The doctor was overwhelmed; he wanted to throw up and cry tears of happiness at the same time. This was his moment, his soulmate was waiting for him.

As he stood near the loading gate, the thread loosened further, and it signaled that his soon-to-be lover was getting closer, closer.

Unable to withhold his excitement, Medic dashed across the airport. He got caught up in several crowds and passed right by the luggage pickup, but none of that mattered. He was following his heart’s call now; he let the slackening of his bindings guide his every step.

.

“Heavy! Please slow down!” Miss Pauling yelled, but the giant had blocked her out a long time ago.

There was only one voice he was willing to let in now. He pushed past a group of adults with the tiniest apology as he charged up the stairs. If he were anywhere else, he would have most likely been stared at and thrown out by security. In the chaos of the airport, everyone assumed he was simply running to reunite with a loved one.

An opening in the crowds.

Everything went silent.

The world slowed down.

Mikhail spotted him, his soulmate across the grand building. He was more handsome than he could have ever imagined, and although he didn’t know it yet, Ludwig also firmly believed that he had just encountered an angel.

The soulstring unraveled and landed on the ground.

All remaining distance between them was covered in a second. The force of the impact sent them to the ground, but neither of them cared. Arms wrapped around strong bodies, tears spilled out of adoring eyes, and lips whispered the pledges of love they had so desperately longed to hear.

At last, Mikhail and Ludwig were home.

[butterfly-buck]

Parent Guidance Recommended

word count: 3,281

focus characters: Pacifica Northwest, Fiddleford H. McGucket

warnings: child neglect, implications of alcoholism, implications of infidelity, mugging, knives, threatening, generally awful people

summary: On the worst birthday she’s ever had, Pacifica finds herself seeking support from a source she’d least expect; the new owner of the once-Northwest Manor, her own former home.

Pacifica was turning fourteen on the Fourth of July. A perfect birthday. Perfect girl. Perfect family.

Her parents would throw a party. Like any Northwest party, with gorgeous, itchy lace ball gowns and impeccable etiquette, each word in every conversation spoken with flawless flow, with purposeful posture and respect-demanding mannerisms. A perfect party for perfect people, with perfect food prepared.

After claiming her designated ruby-studded chair at the dinner table, she would be shocked when her plate was revealed to her. Deep-fried Roareos. Stacked in a small sweet-powdered delicious heap in front of her, chocolately, cream-filled cookies, dipped in batter and deep-fried to perfection. Sugary. Messy. Pacifica had never had it before. How did her parents know she wanted to try it?

She turned her head to cast a quizzical look to her parents, who’d been watching her, holding each other with loving smiles directed at her. A warm feeling spread inside her like warm butter. She reached for a fork.. but hesitated, and hovered her hand over the plate instead. She casted another glance at her parents to see their reaction. No cold response was elicited so far. In fact, she could have sworn her father nodded in approval.

She delicately picked one of the cookies up with her thumb and forefinger, and raised it to her lips to nibble at it. Her senses were flooded with warm, sweet goodness. Just as amazing as she imagined. She stuffed the rest in her mouth, going so far as to lick her fingers. Her lips were coated with melted cream. She neglected the napkins beside her plate to instead lick the sugar mixture from her lips. Barbaric. But her parents didn’t seem to mind either of the actions. She thought she even heard an amused giggle from her mother.

“Sweetie, would you like your presents now or after you’re finished?” Priscilla— no, this was Mom— asked. Pacifica paused. She had a say? Were they not on a schedule? She supposed if she was given the option, she would love to open gifts while she snacked on the rest of the Roareos.

“Now, please,” the young blond girl responded. On cue, one of the butlers was beside her, placing a neatly-packaged gift box on her lap. A beautiful purple silk ribbon sat on top, holding it together. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so eager to reveal its contents.

What was inside? Some comfy clothes? Paint, perhaps? A cute animal plush that would contrast the creepy porcelain dolls in her room? The possibilities were endless.

Delightfully, she tugged at it. The box opened. As she peered inside, her excitement dissolved. The warm feeling turned to ice.

The bell. The one her father carried on his person at all times. The one that willed his command in the mansion. The one Pacifica hated. Suddenly Preston was standing over her, slowly picking the bronze item up.

Loving smile gone, replaced with a disapproving, even disgusted scowl. She shrank in her seat.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” he boomed. “So it’s true. You’re mingling with the common, ignoble crowds these days.”

“No!” she found herself crying out. “It’s not like that! I have to!”

“Have to what? Work a lowly job as a waitress in that slobbish cesspit? At that- that disgusting, sorry excuse for a dining destination? THAT’S NOT ACCEPTABLE EVER. How can you call yourself a Northwest? How can you call yourself our daughter?”

The very first thought she woke up to was that it was too good to be real.

Tangled in her sheets, warm tears trickling down her cheeks. She sniffled and quickly wiped them away before slipping out of bed.

The house was dark. Silent. The clock on the wall read 7:52. Her parents’ bedroom was empty as she passed. It smelled of wine. They would not be back for a while. Pacifica found herself releasing a sigh, her tension easing a little, even if that meant she’d be spending her birthday alone for the very first time. She leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes, trying to recall the good part of the dream, trying to revive the taste of the sugary treat, but it was gone. Soured by the unreality of it. All it was doing was making her hungry belly ache.

When checking the refrigerator, cabinets and pantry and coming to the realization that all that was left was a loaf of bread, a half-empty tube of Bringles and a couple dinner kits. No breakfast food. Not even a single egg. Not even leftovers. Something like despair and disappointment blossomed inside her. She would have to eat at the diner again…

She snagged her wallet from the counter only to find her twenty had disappeared, leaving only a couple measly ones and fives and whatever coins were loose inside. She felt the tears building a little again and slapped the wallet shut to try to stifle them. There was a time she had nearly everything, but now after Weirdmaggedon, she couldn’t even trust that her own hard-earned cash wouldn’t be snagged if left around her own greedy birthgivers. Her strength was being sapped by the will not to burst into a sobbing fit. There was enough in there to cover breakfast at work when she got to Greasy’s, at least.

With her belly still growling, she changed out of her nightwear, threw on her apron and a pair of aviators and began the walk to work.

The day was a bright one, sunny and a little breezy. A pleasant temperature. It did not reflect how Pacifica felt. Despite the summer weather, she pulled her scarf over her head, casting shade over her face. The neighborhood streets were mostly void of people, every house gated off. Just because they lost the mansion did not mean the Northwests were living in squalor, but her spending money was strictly monitored. Her parents now enforced that any money she spent, she’d have to earn. A fourteen year old. A child. Just so her birthgivers could ensure a few extra dollars in their account.

Pacifica couldn’t help but feel the fanciness of the neighborhood was almost deceitful. Her own household was a prime example. Her own rumbling tummy was a prime example. She wondered if there were others who lived in these houses that had similar problems as hers. Unlikely here.. however there were definitely others, people who’d been pushed to extremes just to get by.

Whether that was the reason behind why Pacifica soon found herself being followed halfway through the trip, she didn’t know. The feeling of being watched intensified by the minute, and glances into the reflections of shop windows told her there was a person. They refused to let up for at least a couple of blocks, the likelihood that they were just going the same direction by chance was steadily decreasing. They probably saw her leaving the wealthier neighborhood. The young girl picked up her pace. It did her no good.

The next moments were a blur. Her arm was snatched. When she struggled, a slice put a stop to it. Her arm began to bleed. Something sharp pressed to her throat, stiffening every muscle in her body. Vulgar language was hurled at her, demanding cooperation before her purse was yanked from her shoulder, and she was thrown to the curb. She was left winded, bruised, panicked and hyperventilating. She struggled for her breath back.

Mugged. She’d been mugged for the few measly dollars she had on her. And the fact that her first thought after all that was concern for what her parents would think that she let those precious dollars be nicked in the first place.. it only increased her distraught. Her breaths hastened more and more, and she didn’t realize her tears had finally started to flow until she was already sprinting down the street, her vision muddled. Every step felt like thunder to her ears. Home. She just wanted to go home. Maybe she couldn’t be herself as much, and maybe she was always busy, under constant supervision. But at least there was stability. At least there was certainty of the future. At least it was comfortable, at least there was always food on the table, breakfast, lunch and dinner. At least her father never stumbled around reeking of alcohol while only Lord knew where her mother was. Maybe her parents weren’t the best to other people but at least she could be certain they were true to each other. At least she could pretend everything was fine.

Pacifica wasn’t sure how far she’d gone. She was sweaty, she felt gross and sticky. Her legs were sore, threatening to give out if she went any further. She was still bleeding. She ached everywhere. But she’d reached her destination. She stood at the bottom of a familiar, long driveway, and at the top, sitting on a large hill, towering over the town stood the proud family mansion. Waves of nostalgia and sorrow crashed over her. Everything felt so gross. Every memory tainted by the knowledge of her parents’ true nature. She couldn’t even speak to anyone, not even her parents. Who would listen to a rich brat whine about how she used to be richer? Certainly not any of the townsfolk.

She found herself staring at the manor for a while, not entirely sure what to do.

“...What am I doing here…?” Pacifica whispered, sniffling and reaching for the tissues she kept in her purse, only to be hit with the whirlwind of events that had just happened again. Her arm stung. She could barely hold herself upright. She felt so… so tired. She meekly wiped her nose on her sleeve, and started to turn around when suddenly she bumped into someone.

“Wo-ah there, kiddo, careful, better watch where ya—” a cheerful voice piped, before cutting itself off when the sight of Pacifica in her disheveled state registered. “Huh? Hey.. Ah’ know you.”

Color drained from Pacifica’s cheeks. This guy again.. Why was he here? She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried a witty remark, but — “Y-y-ea-h, well-, wh-o w-ou-uldn’-t-” — ultimately failing when her quivering body wouldn’t stop heaving sobs. Again she sniffled. Disgusting. In front of the hillbilly too.

McGucket’s face morphed into something like sympathy. He kneeled down to her height. “Ah- hey, what’s goin’ on kiddo? Are ya alright?”

Pacifica parted her lips. She wanted to say yes. Her instincts screamed at her to say yes. She could practically hear her birthgivers demanding her to say yes. She had to be perfect. She had to be flawless. She had to be stoic, proud, happy, for her family.

But that’s not what came out.

“n-NO!” she cried, her knees finally buckling as if the years of abuse weighing down on her shoulders finally came crashing down on top of her. Her face buried in her hands, sobbing violently into them. She wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay. Wails and cries escaped. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She was in so much pain, she was so alone. The sobs wouldn’t stop. The raging storm of emotion only continued to demolish her walls, clawing at her pride and self esteem. Everything she pretended to be crashed and burned at that moment.

Fiddleford had been a little stunned by the sudden breakdown, but he started to piece the situation together from the bits and pieces the poor girl was babbling. He didn’t get up and walk away like Pacifica was expecting him to. He stayed put, even placed his hand on her shoulder to try to console her. When she didn’t flinch away from him, the old man started rubbing circles on her back as she cried and cried. Fiddleford never was the best at comfort.. though he could only imagine how long this outburst had been bottled up, and he thought it best that Pacifica let it all out before trying to say anything.

It was a while before Pacifica’s sobs began to calm enough to allow her to speak in more coherent sentences. The story became clearer. She spoke about how her parents had mistreated her, like she was an accessory rather than a human being, a literal child. How things had been getting worse this past year since they were forced to move due to her father’s irresponsible stock market decisions during Weirdmaggedon, to preserve what fortune they had left. How she felt more at home at the diner than she ever did at her own residence. How she hardly saw her parents anymore. How everything had changed for the worst. The way her parents had become about money, even how they scolded her for ‘nagging’ about her birthday the previous day, when it had been the first time she brought it up in half a year. It all hurt terribly to speak of but Pacifica couldn’t help but notice the sudden weightless feeling after getting everything out. She was surprised to find Old Man McGucket was still listening.

“Y’know,” he spoke finally, “Ah knew a fella once who thought ‘e had everythin’ before ‘e lost it all too. ‘Should’a been there for ‘im like he needed.”

Pacifica was quiet for a moment. “..W..ho was he?”

Fiddleford only waved his hand. “Ol’ college buddy. Doin’ mighty fine these days. Now whaddya say we get off’a the street an’ patch up that lil’ ol’ scratch a’ yours inside?”

It tooka moment to register the question through his southern accent, but when she did, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “..I- inside..?”

Inside the mansion. Pacifica almost couldn’t believe it. Old Man McGucket was the one that bought the Northwest Manor. She wondered how on earth a former homeless man was possibly able to afford such a grand purchase, until peeks into a couple rooms along the hallway that had been filled with computers and strange machinery told her she didn’t know nearly as much about McGucket as she previously thought.

It was so strange walking through the hallways again. Everything was the same, but different. Was the grand rustic architecture and furniture always so beautiful? And… were those.. raccoons she was spotting out of the corner of her eyes?

McGucket led her to a room with a couch- a familiar silver-themed room with a certain carpet pattern. It looked nearly the same, except for the banjo leaning against the couch’s armrest, and maybe a few more stains than its previous flawless condition “for guests- that is, for guests to look at”. Despite her emotional state, she found herself smiling at the memory of her adventures with Dipper Pines, trying to bust that ghost… until she recalled the punishment her parents had made for her after that was all over. She began to feel a little sick. Her gaze dropped to the floor as McGucket trudged into the room, plopped onto the couch and patted the cushions beside him. Hesitantly, she followed him and did as gestured. It was.. weird to be back. She wiped her eyes again.

“How’d that’a happen?”

“..What?” the question hit her like a slap.

“The cut.” He gestured to the bleeding injury with a bandaged hand.

“...Oh.” Again, her gaze dropped. Her eyes began to mist again before she shut them. “..I-I.. I was.. um.. mugged on the way here… They stole my favorite purse…” Shame burned at her belly. She didn’t see any sign of judgement in McGucket’s reaction, though. He didn’t ask why she let that happen, or why she wasn’t responsible enough to bring someone with her. There was only concern for her.

“Oh.. ‘Ahm sorry that’a happened. Gravity Falls’s usually safe.. er- ah..” The old man scratched the back of his head. “‘least, it’s not the people ya gotta usually worry ‘bout.”

“Heh.. yeah..” Shrugging, the old man pulled out a full-blown first aid kid, temporarily baffling Pacifica for a moment. “Wai- were you just carrying that—?”

The question went without a response as McGucket went straight to disinfecting the cut. “‘Doesn’t look terri-bubly deep,” he piped. “Should’a stopped bleeding by now but we’ll patch it up ta’ keep it safe while it’s a-healin’.”

“Wait.. how do you know how to do this..?” Pacifica asked, furrowing her eyebrows a little. The old man gave her a cheery grin.

“Well, ‘gotta pick up somethin’ ‘bout it after livin’ in the dump buildin’ evil whatsits and thingamajigs outta rusty metal for a couple’a decades.”

..Oh. Well, that would make sense, she supposed.. Briefly, the question as to why he was being so nice to her after the way she and her family treated him crossed her mind. She wondered if that friend he mentioned had something to do with it… Suddenly she found herself wishing she’d paid closer attention to the details of the relationships between the other people involved in the zodiac. She guessed it could be that hotter Mr. Pines (or.. Dr. Pines?), she recalled seeing some kind of emotional exchange between him and McGucket during Weirdmaggedon.

Occupied with her thoughts, she hardly realized McGucket had completely finished with the bandage until he announced it.

“Done!” he cheered, stuffing the first aid kit back into the oblivion from which it came. Weird. More Gravity Falls weirdness. “...Thanks.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Y’always got’a listenin’ ear right here if ya’ need it.”

Pacifica gave him a small, grateful smile. The old man would never know what that meant to her.

“I.. I don’t know..” she sighed softly. “Today was just… awful… It’s the first birthday I’ll be spending alone, and I guess it’s… getting to me…”

“Yer birthday’s today?? Ah, Ah’m sorry, sugerbun,” McGucket spoke. “Awful break, goin’ through somethin’ like a’this on’a birthday mornin’. Say, ya always got a place right ‘ere if ya need. Plenty a’ empty bedrooms.”

Pacifica raised her head. “...R...Really..?”

McGucket beamed. “Why sure! Ya remind me a’ my lil’ Tator Tot, Ah’ miss ‘em somethin’ terrible. It gets a lil’ lonely in this ‘ere big ol’ mansion sometimes and ah wouldn’t mind a visit from some young folk from a’time ta’ time.”

She could… she could visit. Whenever she wanted? Her old home, without her parents around. McGucket was that okay with her? Even going so far as to compare her to (presumably) his own kid? That was… incredible. Before thinking it through, she threw her arms around the old man, chorusing her ‘thank you’s with a bubble of laughter. Though startled, Fiddleford slowly returned the hug with a warm smile.

He stank quite a bit. Pacifica recoiled a little at the realization of what she was doing. Ew. What would people think of her if they caught her doing something so unthinkable? Willingly embracing this stinky old man who…. gave incredible hugs.. Her concern suddenly dissolved. In its stead, a certain safety appeared, and she melted into it a little more. It was the same feeling she craved in her dreams. Dirt didn’t matter at all anymore. The feeling of a parental embrace shielding her from the unpleasantness of the world was all she could bring herself to care about at that moment. It felt so warm… Before she knew it, she was tearing up again.

“...Thank you, McGucket..”

“Heheh, anytime, sugarbun. Say, since it is yer birthday, whaddya say we hit th’ town an’ find somethin’ ta’ cheer ya up?”

Pacifica wiped her eyes with her palm. What an offer... To think a year ago she would never had even considered walking around with the old kook as a possible option, but.. She found herself looking forward to it. “I… I would love that.”

[Part 1 of ??? possibly 2??]

[meetmeatthecoda]

Now that I’ve had some time to cry & mourn & actually think about that horrendous excuse for television... I have... some thoughts.

Firstly, the pace of that episode was insane. I mean, the season itself felt like we were slowly & tortuously hacking our way through a tangled rain forest, trying desperately to see the forest for the trees, but instead stuck cutting vines & branches down one by one... until we got to that finale, which felt comparatively like finally cutting away all the dense foliage only to immediately fall off a fucking cliff. You could just tell they were using the least amount of dialogue they could to move through so many weird emotions at fucking breakneck speed. I mean there was... the brief aftermath in Latvia, the 4 second plane ride to re-introduce Red’s illness after how many eps, Liz’s 3 second long recuperation, the awkward attempt at humor with the helium followed by a crash landing into solemnity at Red’s talk with Cooper, the abrupt & unsatisfying discussion with Red & Liz where he makes his rEqUESt, all the different “heartfelt” one-on-ones with Liz’s people, the fucking forced af “romance” with K**nler, the shoe-horned “chance meeting” with Beth Ryker, the most Agnes has ever talked in the history of ever, the weirdly morbid & fucking heartbreaking walk in the park, the choppy restaurant scene, to the unmentionable... end event. It went all over the place, which is very unlike TBL imo, which usually seems to stick to a theme or emotional center for an entire episode, whether blacklister or mythology driven. I think it was painfully clear how poor their planning was (when they have literally no excuse bc they knew this was coming the whole season???) & just how much shit they were trying to squeeze into one episode.

Secondly - & this may seem obvious, but I think it’s worth talking about anyway - Liz should have gotten her answers. And I’m not just saying this as a Lizzington shipper (I mean, mostly I am, but there are other reasons also!) Primarily, I think bc... literally everyone expected them. Not just bc they were advertised (it’s certainly not the first time they’ve delighted in false advertising in promos when it comes to the all-important AnSwErS) but bc THEY MADE SURE EVERYONE KNEW BEFOREHAND THAT IT WAS MEGAN’S LAST EP. It might have been mildly acceptable to play coy for yet another season finale IF she was coming back in some capacity later to eventually wrap things up, but - given that they fucking slammed the door on that possibility - THEY SHOULD HAVE GIVEN US ANSWERS. I don’t think anyone considered the possibility that they would KILL her & NOT give us answers bc it makes no fucking sense. Additionally, Liz should have gotten her answers simply bc SHE!! DESERVED!! THEM!! They’re literally the thing she’s been fighting for for eight seasons & she fucking died without them? WTF??? But, most importantly to us Lizzington shippers, Liz not getting her answers ruined the park fantasy. I think we all imagined (BC IT WAS MEGAN’S LAST EP) that Red & Liz would finally talk & Red would give her the answers she wanted. I think we all expected from the (misleading) promo that he would make some sense out of the potentially jumbled memories/visions (?) from 8.21 &, most importantly, there would be SOME KIND OF EMOTIONAL TURNING POINT, SOME CATHARSIS, AN UNDERSTANDING & RENEWED LOVE BETWEEN THEM DRIVEN BY THE AFOREMENTIONED REVELATIONS (& LOVE OF WHATEVER KIND, MIND YOU, WE WEREN’T PICKY, JUST SOMETHING FOUNDED ON RECONCILIATION & PEACE.) But - bc they denied us that - Liz was still in the dark & waiting on answers for the entire ep, unable to forgive or reconnect with her true feelings for Red (whatever you believe them to be) & this made her reaction to Red’s rEqUeSt ring very hollow & detached, the whole park bench conversation stilted & awkward (on Liz’s end) & - THE WORST PART - it made the whole park fantasy feel FALSE. It cheapened it. Like she was just indulging him, letting him walk with her & play with Agnes & enjoy one more day of life before she indifferently killed him. The one thing we expected to get, should have gotten, & THOUGHT WE WOULD HAVE NO MATTER WHAT ELSE HAPPENED IN THE FINALE was ruined. With the assisted suicide talk beforehand, the almost begrudging acceptance from Liz, the obvious morbid mindset from Red, the song in the background, the context of it all. It put an awful spin we completely didn’t expect on what should have been our beautiful Lizzington park fantasy. And I think that may be the part that hurts the most - the fact that I can only look at gifs of that scene - bc the music & dialogue & context completely undermine what Liz’s fantasy should have been, that she got for just one afternoon, when she was supposed to be happy & at peace with Red & Agnes.

Thirdly, (anyone still there? lolz) the whole “plot” of this episode was fucking nonsensical. Chiefly - & many other people have pointed this out before now - Red would never ask Liz to kill him. I simply call bullshit. No matter how hard they tried to justify it (& boyyyyy, did they try) Red has never wanted Liz to be a killer, criminal, or have to live a life like him. He has canonically said as much. I could maybe buy the whole “taking over his empire” thing as the seasons progressed, but asking Liz to live with the guilt (however slight or delayed) of killing him, after everything they’ve been through together, after she told him she loves him (seasons ago, but the feelings are still there, albeit buried deep)? And thereby launching her (& by extension Agnes) directly into harm’s way as the “new” Concierge of Crime (?), without him there to guide her from the shadows? No way. Bullshit. Also - & @iwouldlovetoeatyourtoast mentioned this first, I believe - the whole idea of it was stupid anyway bc Liz has spent the entire season chasing him, has repeatedly gotten opportunities to take the big shot, & has always been unable to kill him. It wasn’t even an engaging tWiSt to throw in at the very end bc - even when she agreed to do it - we all knew it wouldn’t happen, also bc Megan was the one leaving & not James. So, it wasn’t a surprise when she broke down at the end & said she couldn’t, so wtf was the point?

Fourthly (almost to the end, god this feels good) & this was a huge tell imo - everyone was OOC. Now you might say that’s the bitterness talking & you might be right... but you fucking try & tell me that 1) Red all of a sudden decides he’s ready for death after how long of not accepting it or mentioning it & absolutely must be killed by Liz & no one else within the next 24-48 hours 2) Liz would willingly go along with that for even a second 3) Dembe wouldn’t try his damnedest to talk Red out of assisted suicide in general & especially coercing Liz into doing it 4) Ressler would be the one to fucking figure it out & hightail it out of bed AFTER BEING ON DEATH’S DOOR WITH A BUSTED LUNG & SEPSIS FFS 5) Wolf Man Van Dyke would even know where to find Liz on a random fucking street corner outside a random fucking restaurant 6) Red wouldn’t see him behind Liz taking aim 7) THERE WOULDN’T BE A DECLARATION OF FEELINGS/LOVE CONFESSION BETWEEN RED & LIZ IN THE 14 MILLION OBVIOUS PLACES THERE COULD HAVE BEEN *PRIMARILY AFTER SHE SAYS “I CAN’T DO IT, I DON’T WANT TO” I MEAN, HELLO????? WTF, WHY WASN’T THERE AN “BC I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU TOO, LIZZIE” LIKE HOW HARD WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN, IT WAS THE PERFECT PLACE, THE LAST CHANCE, & WE FUCKING DESERVED ITTTTTTTTTTT *ahem* & lastly, & most importantly, & I’m definitely going to cry typing this... 8) if you fucking try to tell me that Red would allow himself to be pulled away from Lizzie’s dead body for a second time by Dembe or anyone else (especially when it was only the stupid task force arriving???) without simply crossing the street to load his gun with trembling fingers, pull the trigger, & join her... you’re fucking crazy.

In conclusion, bc this has gone on long enough, this was just... a hasty, sloppy, rushed, unprepared, careless ending on all fronts, no matter how hard they tried to convince us it was totally-100%-on-purpose-of-course-why-do-you-ask? (And I’m not even touching on the Redarina bait bc fuck that shit.) Like, did anyone else feel like when Red was telling Dembe that he was sure & this was what he wanted & really he’s positive so please stop asking, and when he was explaining things to Liz in almost too much detail, and when he was telling Harold this was absolutely necessary... that it was really the writers trying to convince us? It just felt so sudden & forced & heavy-handed & absurdly preventable & at the same time ridiculously unstoppable... I mean, look, whatever drama clearly went on behind the scenes? I think we can all agree that they did a terrible, awful, shit-tastic job on all fronts. And it’s just such a shame that that’s how it ended 💔

[hb-writes]

My Person

Some people have been asking for some Clara and Isiah and a little something came to me while listening to ‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?’ by Arctic Monkeys. Once I started writing, it strayed from that a bit and I’d still consider this very much platonic but I hope you like it!

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe. It’s 1925. Clara and Isiah haven’t talked in weeks but after a drunken night filled with a break up and scrapping in Small Heath, Isiah insists on going out to Arrow House to see her. 

Featuring: Clara Shelby, Isiah Jesus, Tommy Shelby, Finn Shelby, Charles Shelby

-----

Because Clara was awake far later than was wise, reading by the light of the small lamp on her bedside table when she should have been asleep, she heard the rumble of a car engine out on the front-drive, the sound distinct and seemingly louder because of the quiet that descended upon Warwickshire at this time of night.

She’d made it down only two steps when Tommy crossed the foyer, giving her a quick glance as he kept moving to the door, Clara’s eyes drawn to the gun in his hands.

“Go back to bed.” 

“Who’s—?”

“Clara, get up the fucking stairs,” he answered, the words inching towards a shout. 

Tommy kept walking, turning his head towards Clara once again, this time only long enough to see her lift her foot, finding enough satisfaction in that small movement that his sister would cooperate with his command.

Clara couldn’t see anything from the foyer, the hall leading to the front door much too dark, and in Tommy’s absence, she drifted down a few more steps, leaning over the rail for a better look.

She started when the front door slammed against the wall and Tommy stalked back into the room, locking eyes with Clara for a moment, shaking his head as he went to put the gun away. Clara took a few more steps before Tommy came to the bottom of the staircase.

“Who’s—?” she started.

“Is that upstairs, then?” Tommy asked, hand extended to gesture towards the spot where she stood.

Clara glanced at the placement of her feet and then back to him, shrugging. “I’m up the stairs from you.”

Their eyes pulled from one another to the boys, to Finn and Isiah, as they came through to the hall, stumbling a little, the both of them clearly a bit drunk.

“See, Finn, told ya she’d be awake,” Isiah said, pointing up to her and leaning an arm over Finn’s shoulder. “Put us off for a night with your stories, eh Clara?” 

They were the first words Isiah had directed at her in weeks and Clara wasn’t sure how to respond. She had indeed passed the evening after her nephew was asleep alone in her bedroom with a book, that much was true, but it wasn’t why she’d declined Finn and Michael's invitations in the first place.

Clara cleared her throat and settled her eyes on Finn, decided on speaking to him rather than Isiah. “You two idiots had a cup too much an—”

“Enough. Charles is asleep. Get the fuck to bed,” Tommy said. “All of you.” 

“We came for dinner, Tom,” Finn said. “We’re fucking starving.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his younger brother. “Well now, you’ve missed that by about nine hours, Finn.”

“Chef’s probably left something,” Clara answered Tommy, taking a step. “At the very least there’s a bit of chocolate cake. I could—” 

“They boys can feed themselves,” Tommy waved them on before turning to his sister. “You go back to bed. And actually do it this time, eh?”

“Why have I got to go to sleep if they haven’t?”

Tommy was growing impatient with the kids, impatient with this particular interruption to his evening because even being as close as it was to two in the morning, and regardless of whether he was usually awake at this time or not, these hours were the hours he filled with distractions entirely of his choosing. And he’d certainly not chosen to be dealing with his sister’s smart mouth and the boys’ whiskey addled brains. 

He was about to give her an answer, ready to tell her that his giving an order didn’t require her to ask any questions, but they were saved from the shouting match it would have quickly devolved into by Charles’s arrival at the top of the stairs. 

“Dad?”

Tommy took a deep breath, rubbing his face with one hand as he beckoned the boy forward with his other. “C’mere, my boy.”

Charles came down a few steps but never made it to his father, stopping to hug Clara’s side, her arm fitting over his shoulders.

“Who’s here?” Charles mumbled as he settled his head against her.

“It’s just Uncle Finn and Isiah,” she answered.

Charles glanced around her looking for the older boys. “Why?”

“Well, my sweet sleepy boy,” Clara squeezed him a bit as he yawned. “They came to spend the night because they want to play with you bright and early tomorrow morning,” she said. “You should wake them extra early. Lots of shouting and jumping, eh?” 

Charles grinned as he looked up to her. “You think they’ll want to ride horses?”

“Hmmm, you know, I think they’d love that, Charlie. A brilliant idea.” 

Charles looked to Tommy. “Can we, Dad?” 

Tommy glanced at his sister, snorting a bit at her smirk, the small bit of devilment she’d shown in planting the seed in her nephew’s head, the seed which would result in a bit of hell for the boys in the morning when Charles called on them. 

“We’ll see about that in the morning,” Tommy answered. “Let’s get you back off to bed.” 

“Can Aunt Clara come for a story?” Charles asked. 

“One story,” Tommy answered, grateful his sister didn’t fight when Charles tugged on her hand, grateful she left her arguments and defiance on the staircase. 

-----

It had taken two stories to get Charles back to sleep and though Clara wasn’t tired, she hadn’t gone back to her book, instead electing to lie awake in her bed and stare at the small sliver of moonlight passing through her windows while she listened to the boys come down the hall, finally finding their way to their rooms after several moments of hushed chatter.

She was unsurprised when her door was pushed open though it was nearly an hour later. It was why she was so intent on resisting sleep, because she wasn’t just lying there with no purpose. She was waiting. 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she said as Isiah came through, his eyes immediately finding hers in the dim room.

He didn’t seem so drunk now, the couple of hours and the food he’d probably consumed settling him a bit, the effects showing on his composed features.

“I want to talk.”

Clara snorted. “You came all the way out to Warwickshire for a chat?” she said. “Doesn’t your girl talk to you, Isiah?”

“She’s not my girl,” he answered. 

Oh. The word was only a thought in Clara’s mind but Isiah read the understanding in her face, her lips subconsciously taking the shape needed if she were to voice it, and he twisted the knob before pushing the door closed, nothing more than a soft click sounding off as he did it.

“Well, I’m sorry to hea—”

“You’re not,” he answered. “You never even tried to like this one.” 

Clara shrugged. “Either way, no reason for you and Finn to drive out here drunk. We could’ve waited, chatted about your woes with the girls of Small Heath without endangering your life and risking one of you getting arrested.” 

Isiah sat down on the edge of her bed. “One of the new boys drove us.” 

“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it.” Clara nodded, pulling her robe tighter. “But you really shouldn’t be in here. Tommy’ll kill you.” 

“Will he?” Isiah asked. 

Tommy hadn’t yet, though he hadn’t ever really come across Isiah and his sister together in quite that way either, every instance of them being caught together someplace her family would probably kill any other boy for being had been so innocuous that the Shelbys had nearly come to believe what the pair consistently insisted, that there was little more than a close friendship between them. 

“Why is it whenever you can’t find a girl to bring home from the pub, you come find me?” 

“We needed to talk.” 

Clara met his eye and took a deep breath. It had been a long couple of weeks without talking to Isiah. She slid across the bed, offering him some space by the headboard. Slipping off his boots and dropping them to the floor with a solid thump, he joined her at the head of the bed, picking up the book on her nightstand and glancing at the title in the small bit of light through the window. 

“So this is why you couldn’t come out with us, then?” 

Clara shrugged, focused on the braid over her shoulder as she sat cross legged facing him. ���Didn’t think you’d really want me there.” 

Even before they’d rowed, Clara hadn’t wanted to be around the boys so much, not when all they wanted was to go out with the girls from the factory, with Millie and her friends. She’d been avoiding Isiah in general, claiming an extra bit of school work and Tommy’s insistence that she spend more time with Charles was keeping her home at Arrow House when in truth, she just wasn’t feeling up to facing him. 

Clara wasn’t often like that after an argument with him, wasn’t often distant or aloof after the initial flare of emotion subsided, but then again, she was often the one who did the shouting, the one who left the other person a bit peeved or hurt, the one who needed to take the first step and do the apologizing. 

And though she’d done her fair share of shouting the last time they spoke, it was Isiah’s words that stung and it was Isiah’s tone that left Clara’s heart a bit melancholy. 

“You were right.” Isiah glanced at her. “What you said about Millie.” 

The tightness in Clara’s chest released a bit as she took a breath. 

“You won’t believe me but I am sorry, Isiah,” she said. “I know you liked this one.” 

Isiah shrugged.

“Not like it’s your fault,” he said. “You tried to warn me off of her. I should have listened when you told me there was someone else. Would’ve saved myself from this.”

Isiah flexed his hand and Clara caught sight of his knuckles. 

“Christ, Siah.” She leaned over him to switch on the lamp and pulled his hand into hers, looking it over.

“They’re just bruised,” he said, nonchalant, his hand left there, the fingers of his right hand draped over her palms though he flinched when she drew her thumb over the tender skin. “You should see him.” 

Clara glanced up and saw the red mark on his cheek. “I hope he looks worse than you.”

“Of course he looks worse than me.” 

“You shouldn’t go picking figh—”

“I didn’t,” he said. “Not that it wouldn’t have been deserved, but it was actually Millie who brought it all about. I was ready to let it be.” 

“It’s good I didn’t come, then.” 

Isiah raised an eyebrow. 

“We’d both have bruised knuckles,” Clara answered. “I don’t know I’d have been able to stop myself.” 

A light snort escaped before Isiah sucked in his bottom lip, tilting his head a bit as he met Clara’s eye. “You know, I didn’t mean what I said that day, right? I was just mad.” 

“You did mean it,” Clara answered, looking away from his face, down to the hand she was still cradling in her lap. “And you were right, I suppose… Well, half right, at least. I said what I said because it was true and I didn’t want you hurt but...”

Isiah smiled. “Miss Clara Shelby, are you in love with me?”

Clara pushed his hand away and glanced up to him at the end of her eye roll. She’d wanted to say something clever in return but instead found herself just missing the warmth of his hand as she mumbled. “Siah, you’re my…”

They both struggled to find a word to describe what they were to one another, even after all this time, a decade or so of various labels unable to do them any proper justice because nothing seemed to catch all of the different elements, all of the moments, all of the meaning. 

“Person?” Isiah finally said and Clara gave him a small smile. 

“I suppose,” she answered, because she did suppose that was it. Isiah was her person, a little bit of everything to her, as he always had been, a bit beyond her best friend, not quite like a brother though she considered him family in every way that mattered. “Even when you’re so infuriating I’d like to have one of my brothers chuck you in the cut.”

“You’d miss me if you did,” Isiah said. “Just like I miss you when you decide to hole yourself up all the way out here.” 

“You were avoiding me too.” 

Isiah shrugged. “I shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

“I was jealous though,” she answered. “Always am when you find yourself a new girl, a new...” 

Clara focused on picking at the covers of her bed.

“Person?” he said, guessing again. “You really think one of those girls could push you out?” 

Clara shrugged. 

“I imagine someday one of them will,” she said. “I just hope it’ll be the right one when it happens. Someone I can get on with well enough. A nice girl who’ll help keep you in line and let us stay friends.” 

“Christ, Clara,” he answered, grabbing for her hand, squeezing once despite the pain it caused. “Don’t be worried about that.”

He had been annoyed when he called her jealous, put off by her constant derogatory nagging about Millie Clarke, a bit triggered by her telling him she was seeing someone behind his back.

“I never should’ve said it.” Isiah tugged on her hand. “Come here.”

Clara shifted so she was sitting beside Isiah against the pillows, her cheek resting against his chest as his arm fit over her shoulders. 

“It will happen someday, Siah,” Clara said. “And it should. You’ll fall in love and things’ll change.” 

“Yeah, well, whatever happens with that doesn’t change this,” he answered. “It’d be a bit of a waste, yeah? To let some girl push you out after all the nagging and sassing and trouble you’ve put me through?” 

Clara elbowed him. “Don’t be a prat, Siah.” 

“See what I mean?” he continued. “Why would I just toss out ten years of elbows to the stomach for a girl who doesn’t even know how to properly push me about?” 

Clara glared up at him but took thing no further, settling against his chest once again. 

“And I can’t imagine there’s another person on the face of this earth who looks at me like you do.”

“Like you’re an imbecile I can’t believe has made it to the age of nineteen on his own?” she answered, though that wasn’t right, not nearly close to being it, because the way Clara and Isiah looked at each other, whether it was a glare or accompanied by a laugh through crinkled eyes or with a pooling wave of tears, was something different altogether. It communicated something that no one really ever put words to, something neither of them ever really tried to describe. 

“Like you’re my person,” he said. “A right pain in my arse, but my person, nonetheless. and I’m sorry for shouting at you and for not properly hearing what you were trying to tell me.” 

Clara didn’t answer him right away, thinking over his words, contemplating the relief she was feeling for the first time in weeks.

“I think I’m meant to be comforting you,” she finally mumbled, her head still there against his chest. “You’re the one who’s been dumped.” 

Isiah’s body rose and fell beneath her as he took a slow, deep breath and Clara looked up to watch his face though he was deliberately looking to the ceiling. Isiah played at being the cheeky womanizer, played at wanting nothing more than fun and chaos and lust but Clara knew there was a bit more to Isiah than that.

“I’m alright, Clara,” he said.

“You’re not. You’re upset. You want to talk about it?” 

Isiah finally met her eye and shook his head. “Not right now. How about we just read a bit?” He reached for the book on her nightstand, holding it open between the two of them. “You can go first.” 

“I don’t think you’ll like this one,” she offered. “It’s a bit romantic.”

“What’s wrong with a little romance?”

“Nothing. I just thought what with Millie and all, it might not be the best choice of material,” she said. “Seeing as you’re a bit-”

“Enough deduction. Just read to me, eh?” 

“Fine, but you’ll let me know if you want to talk about it?” she asked. 

Isiah nodded, shifting a bit to get more comfortable against the pillows. Isiah closed his eyes as he settled, resting them for a moment, and Clara still studied his face, continuing with her investigation in peace now that he’d closed his eyes.

Isiah squinted an eye open at her. “You gonna read that book or just sit there staring at my beautiful face all night?” 

He coughed as her elbow once again found his side.

“So much for you comforting me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you liked me throwing elbows and pushing you about.” 

“I never said I liked it, just that I’m too invested at this point to go tossing you out.” Isiah sighed, rolling his eyes. “Though maybe I should reconsider, let Mickey and Finn fight it out to be my best mate. Michael’s probably as good of a reader as you, probably got more better taste in books anyway.”

“Give me that.” Clara snatched the book from him and started reading without offering a rebuttal, the two of them falling asleep atop the covers before the chapter came to a close.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

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[acesydneysage]

My thoughts on how an Alchemist revolution could go

I turned some of the initial points into a one-shot, but I'm very unlikely to actually write anything that sees all of it through to the end, so I'm laying out what I imagine would happen. I could follow the initial fic's format and just write cutesy domestic fluff with hints of what is going on in the Alchemist revolution in the background, but who knows

In The Golden Lily, Sonya thought Sydney's blood might be key to a vaccine, since it was undrinkable to Strigoi. Later, in The Fiery Heart, in their visit to Inez, we find out that it's because her blood is coated in human magic. That makes it taste foul to undead vampires, and also broke her Alchemist tattoo, by countering the compulsion of Moroi magic with human magic.

She eventually uses a similar principle to make the tattoo breaking ink she gives to Marcus, and that she uses to help the other re-education inmates in Silver Shadows.

So, with that in mind:

My initial idea was that one of Marcus' operatives, who got tattooed with Sydney's ink, would suffer a Strigoi attack. Their blood would turn out to be undrinkable. Since Sydney's ink breaks the Alchemist tattoo, the receivers blood would get coated with human magic, like a witch's.

I would like it if that person was one of the people Sydney helped in re-education, because I'd like to think those people stayed loyal to her, and maybe see her as a leader. Just because it's really touching to me how she was still worried about others, and risking herself to help, while she was going through her worst nightmare.

In my fic I went with Sydney's roommate Emma, "the Sydney Sage of re-education", because I really love her. She really did turn out to be the Sydney of re-education, at least in part, because while she was repeating the party line and trying to seem cooperative, she was actually a badass rebel who fights back. There are other reasons, I'll get to that in the end.

Sydney's ink potentially working as a Strigoi vaccine is something important enough that she would risk her truce with the Alchemists to investigate. And since the ink also makes people immune to their mind control, the Alchemists wouldn't work with them like they did for the spirit vaccine. I truly believe that they value their control more than human souls.

I'm sure Declan’s blood will be important to the spirit vaccine. They couldn't mass produce it since it required a recent Strigoi restoration, trapping the spirit before it left the blood, while his blood is described as brimming with spirit. But Sydney and Adrian don't want their son to be experimented on, so that's just more incentive to seek an alternative.

I think Sydney’s ink wouldn't work on Moroi, going by the logic of the magic described in the books (human magic wins out in humans), but helping humans is already a big deal, and it could maybe work on dhampirs.

Meanwhile, the Alchemists have been getting polarized. When it's revealed that some of them were helping the Warriors of Light in the end of the series, while Warriors were keeping Moroi captive, that causes controversy. They eventually start to get divided into factions.

After the US re-education center burns down, those who oppose re-education try to defend that it not be rebuilt, and that other centers be shut down. There are symbolic concessions, but they eventually get basically re-education by another name. Similar things happen when it comes to demands for more transparency, and less authoritarianism in general.

And of course there's a reaction to progressive demands. A hardcore anti-Moroi faction is amenable to teaming up with the Warriors. They're tired of "fighting evil by cataloguing it."

If this faction wins out, they won't actually care that Sydney is blackmailing them into letting her live with proof that they worked with the Warriors, since they openly want that, and they consider her continued existence a humiliation. So Sydney and Adrian wouldn't be able to sit out this fight.

There are more and more defectors who simply leave and join Marcus (or go into hiding and try to stay away from that whole mess). But out of those who stay Alchemists, as things start to devolve into an actual civil war, the moderate faction has a lot of infighting about joining up with the rebels.

That's at least in part because Sydney is one of their most notorious members, and while they might not want to see all the Moroi exterminated, marrying one of them is still going way too far to a lot of them.

So, let's talk allies. Sydney definitely put Marcus in touch with more witches and taught them how to make the ink. And I think besides kidnapping Moroi and dhampirs, the Warriors could be capturing witches too, which would turn them against each other.

In re-education, when it's revealed that Sydney has magic they say that has happened before, and I imagine they handled it with the same amount of compassion. I think maybe Chantal is a witch too and that's why she was fown in the punishment level with Sydney.

Alicia definitely showed that some witches might be willing to work with them for their personal gain, but I think as a community they would protect their own. They wouldn't look kindly on Alchemists torturing witches. And even if they were born into the Alchemists, they chose to be witches, so their allegiance to them would take precedence in their minds. Sydney's coven and Ms. Terwilliger are definitely on board.

I think the rebels might be able to get the Keepers on their side, since they have a complicated relationship with the Alchemists, where they seemto deliberately keepthem dependent. Marcus' stated goal for a long time was helping Moroi on their own terms, that's what he did for a long while. He definitely didn't have any plans to topple the Alchemists in the Bloodlines era, he didn't thinkthat was possible. So they occasionally helped them get better technology and resources that the Alchemists don't want them to have, and they promise to help them further in the future. That gets them the Keepers sympathy.

The Moroi government obviously isn't gonna side with the anti-Moroi faction, but I think they'd try to stay out of the conflict and not be dragged into the fighting for as long as possible. But they've come to depend on the Alchemists too much to keep them hidden, and they're now in chaos.

With the Alchemists weakened by a civil war they aren't really doing a great job of keeping up the masquerade, Moroi secrecy gets very precarious.

Now. While Alchemists claim to be very worried about human souls, absolutely no one in the VA universe seems that worried about regular humans' lives. They don't even know about the existence of Strigoi so they could protect themselves. And yes, there are humans who'd work with Strigoi. Strigoi seem to have zero issue finding those humans as is, they simply tell them about vampires themselves when they wanna get servants.

Now there's a vaccine that could help protect humans, and really reduce Strigoi's capacity to feed, but you have to actually apply them to humans. And more and more supernatural events are being sloppily covered up since the Alchemists are otherwise preoccupied.

I'm sure there are some valid reasons for the masquerade, and humans might not behave amazingly towards supernatural creatures, but leaving them completely helpless to this threat isn't very ethical, and certainly not when you have a vaccine that could help them.

And honestly, as cliche as that argument is in discussions of monster hunting, humans could potentially take the Strigoi out, we have some pretty amazing weapons. Or we could be massively incompetent about a problem that we are fully capable of solving. You know...

So the supernatural world gets revealed, and that makes the Alchemists pretty obsolete. Of course, although they have been weakened by the decade(s) of infighting, that doesn't mean they lose all of their resources and connections all at once, but it would be a huge blow their relevance.

They get splintered into a lot of different groups that can still cause trouble, but they're no longer the omnipresent shadow organization they used to be.

And if this whole process took about 15 years, Declan and his buddies would be neatly protagonist aged in time to deal with the huge upheaval and the new mess of problems brought on by the integration of the Moroi and human world. And he'd more capable of thinking about his own relationship to the spirit vaccine and making his own decisions.

So most of this post was written to be understood whether or not you read Silver Stars, but this final bit is more about what could directly follow. When it comes to the fic I was more worried about the characters and their feelings, and excuses for domestic fluff and hurt/confort. So here's the fic on AO3 and on Tumblr.

In the end of The Ruby Circle, there's indication that Zoe Sage and Stanton, with the incentive of Sydney's blackmail, will be trying to reform the Alchemists. I don't really think they're reformable, attempts to extinguish re-education would basically result in rebranding. @sydneysageivashkov has some lesbian!Zoe head that I think are pretty compatible with my headcanons for an Alchemist revolution, and what Zoe would be doing during that initial period.

I think it could take a few more years, 3 or 4, for Sydney to actually have to leave her home and go into hiding. Declan foes actually get a little bit of a normal school experience. I imagine this whole process going very slowly, as the situation gradually deteriorates. And the witches would now claim Sydney as one of their own, making it a bigger problem for the Alchemists to attack her directly, lest they make enemies of the whole magical community.

By the time Sydney has to go into hiding I imagine Zoe is gonna have to leave the Alchemists as well. The other reason why I chose Emma for the first fic, is that she was in re-education in part for her sister's actions, so it shows that the Alchemists wouldn't be above hurting Zoe for Sydney's actions.

Sydney has very important reasons to join the revolution, and in fact she might eventually not have a choice, but she knows that once she officially breaks her truce with the Alchemists her whole family and even her fellow re-education inmates that she got amnesty for.

I imagine Sydney, Adrian, Eddie and Declan could spend a while hiding in a ranch very out of the way that Chantal and Duncan got themselves. Insert Adrian joke about that escape plan where cute blonde girls had to wear cow girl outfits.

Duncan has been shown to be pretty hesitant to risk going against authority, and Chantal is even more psychologically messed up than Sydney and the rest of them. Sydney feels pretty awful about placing them in danger, but they're both very grateful to her for helping them escape. Also Chantal is a really badass witch, although a bit unstable, I'll eventually find something to do with that, revolution wise.

But Sydney and Adrian would eventually leave and get more active roles in the revolution. I would very much like it to be an actual collective movement and not one special girl bringing down the Alchemists by herself, but I think Sydney would have a pretty prominent role after everything she went through.

This is way too long, but I had fun with it, and if you got this far, thank you for reading 😀

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Aftermath

Not much physical whump in this chapter or the next but that doesn’t mean there won’t be any angst or whatever so there’s that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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Ingredients: painful magical healing, referenced use of “it” pronouns

The days since the incident had been entirely uneventful, which was both a blessing and a curse. Erebus was certainly glad to have some time to himself without being examined and grabbed all the time, but just being stuck in this room with only so many things to do and no one to talk to was a little rough. He had nothing to distract him from the myriad of things he didn’t want to dwell on. Struck with a sudden urge, he picked up his pillow, walked into the bathroom, calmly sat down in the corner, pressed his face into the pillow, and screamed. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why, not that he didn’t have a multitude of reasons to. Maybe he wanted to do it without anyone hearing for once. Maybe it was because that arm still took him by surprise every time he looked down. Maybe the constant itch of the collar wrapped around his throat had finally gotten to him. Maybe it was the fact that he could hardly write his name anymore, despite his best efforts. Maybe it was because the only person who’d been kind to him since this whole mess began, the only person he could turn to for comfort, was also ripping him to pieces, making him into some kind of monster. And there was nothing he could do about any of it. All he could do was endure. Endure and hope things wouldn’t get much worse.

He heard the door to the cell open, but he stayed where he was, figuring it was just someone dropping off food or bandages. It wasn’t until he heard a tentative “What are you...you’re not asleep are you?” that he looked up. Neteri was poking her head through the doorway, giving him a concerned look. She looked a lot better than the last time he’d seen her, and Erebus almost smiled before remembering that A) she was the majority of the reason he was so miserable in the first place and B) her catching him doing...this...was embarrassing, to say the least. He felt his face grow red.

“Why are you...were you just going to look in here without knocking?” Now it was Neteri’s turn to blush.

“Well-you-the door wasn’t closed so I thought...whatever, it’s not like I saw anything. What are you even doing in here?”

“I’m-it’s none of your business.” He stood up, taking comfort in the significant height advantage he had over her. “Look, can we...not talk in here?” Neteri nodded and they went and sat in the main part of the cell, Neteri on one of the chairs and Erebus on the bed. He didn’t put the pillow down, hugging it to his chest instead.

“So. How have you been these past few days? Both with your arm and after the, uh, incident?”

“My arm hurts and it’s shaky and I can’t straighten it out or make a fist and I can barely write with it.” Erebus rattled off his grievances quickly. He’d tried to keep track of everything that he noticed was wrong with it in the hopes that Neteri could fix it, going over the list time after time in his head. She nodded slightly.

“Okay, not too bad. It’s about what I was expecting, honestly, so I should be able to fix it without too much trouble.” Erebus allowed himself to feel a small bit of relief. If he was going to be stuck with this horrific arm, it was at least going to work. 

“As for what happened with, uh…”

“Hjáll?”

“Yeah. I...I think I’m okay now.” Erebus looked down. “Being a person...helps.” He looked back up at Neteri. “Who is she, anyway?

“She’s...my rival? Kind of. And also my boss.”

“Wait that was your boss?! Does that mean that she can-”

“No, no, what she did the other day was completely out of line. She technically has a right to examine you every so often, but I have to consent to it and be present, which obviously didn’t happen then.” She sighed. “I...I’ll likely have to let her do it again in the future, but I promise it won’t be like, uh, that. I’ll be right there the whole time, and I won’t let her hurt you or do anything...weird.”

“So I’m just going to have to sit there and let her...look at me?”

“Well, most likely she’s going to request that you be restrained, since she seems to have gotten the impression that you’re some kind or feral beast, which is honestly hilarious. What, did you bite her or something?”

“No, I just resisted when she tried to take off my clothes. I pushed her back. And I kicked her.” Neteri burst out laughing.

“Wait, you kicked her? You?” Erebus nodded, and Neteri laughed again. “Oh, oh that’s fantastic. I love it. She’s so high-and-mighty all the time and it is annoying. For real though, if she looks at you again I swear it won’t be that bad. Ugh, she’s probably going to keep using “it” pronouns for you, but I’ll try to correct her.” Erebus hated that he was grateful that his captor was insistent on treating him with basic human decency in this one instance, but here he was. “Alright.” Neteri jumped out of her chair. “You ready for me to fix your arm?”

“As long as you’ll get it right this time,” he said as he stood up.

“Keep talking like that I just might not.” He was afraid she was serious for a second, but the mischievous smile she flashed up at him told him otherwise.

After she freed his ankle, her hand clamped around his right wrist and she began to gently pull him down the hall. He briefly entertained the thought of jerking out of her grasp and running, but deep down he knew there wasn’t much point. He had no idea where he was in the castle or where the teleportation stone was, and he’d honestly rather just let Neteri get his arm working correctly. So he let her lead him along without a fight, at least until they arrived at the lab. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing that table again, the horrors of a few days prior starting to overtake his mind. Neteri looked up at him.

“You’re going to have to get on there if you want me to fix it.”

“C-could I at least sit up or-”

“Nope, I need you to be as still as possible or else it’ll mess with the...things could get messed up, to put it in not-technical terms. You need to be lying down and secured.” She thought for a moment. “I can, like, not strap all of you down, would that make you feel better?” He steeled himself before slowly nodding, approaching the table on shaky legs. Deep breath. He hoisted himself up onto the table, every fiber of his being crying out in protest not to get back up here, not to lie down and let himself be tortured all over again. But he did it anyway, because it was either do it himself or be forced to. Neteri watched him intently the whole time, not moving even when he’d laid down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“You’re...you’re really brave.”

“Huh?” 

“Well,” she said as she finally moved towards him, gently rolling up his right sleeve and unwinding the bandage,  “I mean I can tell how scared you are, and that’s justified, but you still got up here despite that, you know?”

“I don’t think that’s...I just know there’s no point in running or fighting.” He looked away, and his voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “I think it means I’ve given up more than anything.”

“In a way, yes, but that’s not a bad thing.” She tightened the strap around his right wrist. “You just understand that resisting gets you nothing, and you’d rather make the choice to cooperate, but you’re still…” she furrowed her brow as she strapped his chest down. “You still have...resolve or...I don’t know how to explain it. Just like...something.”

“Something. That really clears it up.” She smiled.

“In conclusion: you’re brave,” she declared as she shoved the rag into his mouth to prevent him from arguing further. He halfway reached up to pull it out, but stopped himself and laid his arm back down. Maybe he shouldn’t give her a reason to strap his other arm down, since it seemed like she was going to start with just his right arm and chest secured. He braced himself, fingers of his left hand curling into the fabric of his shirt as he looked up at Zander the rat.

The pain started out quiet and slow, crackles and pops of little agonies sparking throughout his arm, preludes to the coming blaze. They steadily intensified, and before he knew it he was screaming, head arched back and knees bent as the pain ravaged his arm. A thousand flames coursed through every nerve before the sensation changed to a crawling itch, and it was all he could do to resist scratching at his arm. Thankfully, the magic stopped flowing soon after. And after a few residual twinges, the pain stopped too.

Neteri was breathing heavily, but she seemed to be in a much better condition than she had been the last time she attempted this, no blood coming out of her nose or ears. She smiled at him. “The worst of it should be over, but I might have to make a few adjustments. Can you try to make a fist? You said you couldn’t do that before, right?” Hesitantly, he did so, feeling a bolt of elation as the foreign fingers obeyed with ease. She let him sit up, having him move his arm all sorts of ways, and they were both happy to find that there were no problems with it at the moment. She cut the stitches around the now-healed spot where red and bronze skin were gnarled together, and he couldn’t help but wince as she pulled them out, despite how gentle she was being.

Once they got back to the cell, Erebus realized he could finally ask Neteri the question he’d thought of yesterday. “Does it do anything?”

“What?”

“The arm, does it do anything...special? Like how the tongue-”

“Oh, yeah, it should be able to...well, have you ever met a lust demon?”

“No?”

“Alright well basically what they’re able to do is change their appearance to suit the, ah, tastes of whatever human they’re trying to prey on. We’re not exactly sure if this is something they’re consciously able to do or if it’s purely reactionary. But there is a possibility that you’ll be able to change the appearance of your arm with enough practice.” 

“Really?” Erebus looked down at his arm, imagining it changing back to look like the one he’d lost, feeling a small spark of hope.

“Mmhmm. Theoretically, at least. I can’t promise you’ll be able to do it, but there’s a chance.” She shrugged as she said this. “Oh, that reminds me of something else I wanted to ask you earlier. Is there anything you want? I...I feel bad about what happened with Hjáll, and the procedure on your arm was more painful than it was supposed to be. So, is there anything I can do to sorta make it up to you? Obviously I’m not going to let you go or stop what I’m doing, because no, but uhhh…” Erebus furrowed his brow. What did he want besides his freedom? He considered asking her to let him visit his home and say goodbye to people, but he shuddered at the thought of anyone who knew him seeing him in his current state, and he didn’t want to burden them with the reality of what was happening to him. They might blame themselves, and it wasn’t their fault. So he wouldn’t ask her to take him to Nathar, but maybe…

“Could I...go outside? I haven’t seen the sky or plants or anything in so long and I...I hate being stuck underground like this.”

“Sure! Ooh, I could show around the city! Yeah, yeah, that should work. I’ll need to get a few things in order first, so it might be a couple of days.” She got up to leave. “Until then, work on seeing if you can get your arm to change or whatever. I’ll be back with your food...at some point later today.”

After she left, Erebus stared at his arm, concentrating on the image of the one he’d once had, trying to imagine the skin fading from bright red to light brown, but it remained the same as before. Well, he didn’t expect it to work right away. But hopefully it would, someday.

Hopefully.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 11 - What If This Is All The Love You’ll Ever Get?

Masterlist; Chapter 10

Summary: The brief peace you experience does not last long. And this time the consquences cannot be ignored.

Warnings: Swearing; it gets quite angsty with some mentions of loss, excessive drinking and such... (I’m sorry)

Author’s Notes: Right so... this is post-Kiev, before Mumbai film-wise. It gets intense for which I’m sorry (trust me this wasn’t fun to write). I hope you enjoy nonetheless and please let me know what you think! Feedback makes my days so much better <3

It turned out that if you and Neil were forced to cooperate (long-distantly yet still), it could work out pretty well. Kiev was a success, to put it simply. Yes, the opera house got partially blown up, and TP’s initial operation became a ‘massive fuck-up’ (as Neil put it), but the boss himself made it. You have been assured about that by some remote Tenet connections you did not even know they had. Now it was their time to step into the game. So you waited patiently for Neil’s return while keeping yourself occupied with other random small tasks for the organization. You went back to texting him rather frequently as well, having decided that friends are allowed to have little chats like that. Also, because you could not deny yourself that guilty pleasure…

He came back just as it was planned, four days after your awkward goodbye (which still haunted you at night). It was late in the evening, and you were finishing a report needed for the morning when you heard a knock on the door.

“Hey you” Neil smiled when you opened the door.

You eyed him quickly, noticing the wrinkles on his clothes, ruffled hair, and tired eyes. It became pretty obvious he came to see you straight after coming back. And that idea made you feel… strange.

“Hey” you smiled back and left the ajar for him “When did you come back?” you watched him sit down on the bed and stretch his arms elegantly.

You could not hide the small smile that showed on your face at the sight. He met your gaze with a little grin of his own before answering:

“Just arrived back from the airport. Left stuff in my room, and here I am” he opened his arms to emphasise the point, and you laughed.

“I can see that. Aren’t you tired though?” once again, you warily searched his face.

But apart from being shocked at how beautiful he was, you got nothing concrete.

“I’d rather talk to you than sleep” he shrugged as though it was obvious. You blushed and looked down at your lap before closing the documents. The report would have to wait.

“How was the mission?” you turned back to him and watched, mesmerised, as he rolled up the sleeves and leaned back on his forearms.

Having Neil chill on your bed was certainly not an image you expected to see this evening.

“Well, you were there in spirit, so you probably know” he grinned “But if you want details…” he trailed off to gather his thoughts, “It was surprisingly easy to enter despite the ongoing siege with two different groups fighting inside. Then all I had to do was wait and try not to draw attention to myself”

“Where did you wait in the end?”

You have discussed the different options he had a day before the attack.

“A lovely storage room backstage” his eyes sparked “Would’ve been more fun if you were there with me” he smirked.

So nothing’s changed then.

“Did you find TP with no problems?” your swift change of topic did not go unnoticed.

But this time, he obeyed.

“Once shit started going off, I went back into the concert hall, and there he was. Trying to save all those civilians from being blown to pieces” Neil looked pensive for a moment “But then just as I thought that I would not be needed there, I saw movement near him. Someone has shot an inverted round there” he met your gaze “So I collected the bullet, making sure it went through whoever that was threatening TP and left just as quickly” he took off the shoes and went back to relaxing on your bed.

“He noticed you?”

“Probably yeah. But to him, I was just a handy help in a rather messy situation” he smiled “Enough about that. How have you been?” this time it was his turn to search your face.

You wondered what he found there.

“Alright, I guess” you smile lightly “When I wasn’t busy helping you, I was mostly working on some boring reports”

“Sounds fascinating” he grinned “Anything fun happened while I was away?” now he was lying on his side with head propped on the elbow.

For a second, you thought about the fact that your pillow might smell like him over night.

“Apart from Anna nearly slamming the door in my face yesterday… not really” you frowned at the memory.

“What?!” Neil’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yeah, well… think she just didn’t see me following her through the door, but I almost ended up with a concussion”

“That doesn’t sound like her but, then…” it was Neil’s turn to frown.

“After everything, I wouldn’t be surprised” you murmured and met his gaze with a weary smile.

You probably had to get used to the rush of butterflies you felt every time your eyes met. He stared at you with an inquisitive look. You were acutely aware that you were both probably recollecting the events from a few days ago. To stop the flood of images from making you do something stupid, you got up:

“Do you want a tea?” you busily stared at the kettle.

“Yeah sure” you could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice.

While you got busy with preparing two cups of tea, you could feel his eyes on you. Then a text alert broke the silence that fell. You turned to see him type an answer. For an absolutely unknown reason, you wanted to know who was messaging him. And why. But instead, you had to try not to pour boiling water all over your hand. At which you failed.

“Fuck” you hissed on reflex and hoped he has not noticed.

But nothing seemed to go past those deep blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” he sat up and watched you from across the room.

“Yeah, just clumsy as fuck” once the tea was brewing, you could assess the damage.

Apart from a little sore skin, you should live. When you turned to give Neil his mug, you were faced with a very smug grin.

“Don’t tell me you got jealous over a text from TP” he pushed his phone into your hands.

You stared blankly at the recent texts. The last one was his response to The Protagonist. One before that was to you. And nothing more remarkable after that. You felt very stupid. But thankfully, Neil was done with taunting. At least for the moment.

“It’s okay” he took his phone back and then gently cradled your hurt hand “Swear I won’t mention this again”

“If you will, I’ll shoot you” you glared at him, trying to ignore the waves of shame threatening to spill from your system.

“Now that’s quite dramatic, don’t you think?” he looked up at you and grinned.

Then he kissed your knuckles and released his hold on your hand. You were finally free, and you were not going to waste that.

“I’ll… I’ve got to go the bathroom for a sec… sorry” you bolted to the door with newly found energy.

Just before you locked the door, you heard him say:

“I’ve missed you”

Fuck. You pressed your back against the closed door and took a deep breath. The sting of the burn was nearly gone, but the shame burned just as strongly through your body. Now you understood why Jasper called you pathetic. That was probably the best adjective to describe your behaviour. Slowly, you calmed down the racing heart and opted to take off make-up as a relaxing task. It worked, and soon you also decided to change into some nightclothes. It was late, and it was safe to assume that Neil would leave for the night in the not too far future. Finally, you took long fifteen minutes to coach yourself to go back out into the room. It was a rather difficult task as you had enough humiliation for the day. But at the same time, you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him. 

Was addiction to Neil a thing? Because you might have just diagnosed yourself with it, you mused while exiting the bathroom. Outside, you were faced with a surprising yet adorable sight of the man himself curled up on your bed and snoring. His face was relaxed with no frown lines visible, and the abandoned mug of tea steamed on the bedside table. You noticed that he took your blanket and covered himself with it. You could not stop the smile that showed on your face when you took in the image. However, that also left you with a rather difficult decision… He certainly left enough space for you on the bedside facing the wall. But also, that was a bit risky… was it not? You contemplated taking a spare pillow and nodding off on the floor. But as soon as that thought entered your mind, the pathetic side decided to object. Friends are allowed to share a bed right? You sighed, switched off the lights, and carefully stepped over Neil’s form to lie down. You made sure to leave all the space you could before you turned to the wall and let the tiredness take you. As a parting thought, you realised that his presence next to you felt right somehow.

*** Waking up to the sound of your alarm was a harsh experience. Unconsciously, you reached out to turn off the brutal device and sighed with happiness when you succeeded. Only then, your brain began to catch up with reality. And especially with the fact that there was an arm draped over your stomach, with fingers touching the bare skin where your top rode up. The alarm has woken him too as you felt him hug you closer to his chest. You felt a warm breath on the back of your neck.

“I could get used to waking up like this” you shivered at the way his voice reverberated through your chest.

Before you could react, he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck and followed it with a trail of pecks down your spine, as far as your shirt allowed. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to level breathing. His fingers softly caressing the strip of skin just above the hemline of your trousers made your brain short-circuit. It was all too much. You had to move, or else you could not be responsible for anything that would happen.

Quickly you turned in the embrace to face him. The closeness made your breath hitch. Neil stared at you with a small smile on his lips. You knew that the innocence was nothing but a façade. You had to distract yourself and him, so you scrambled for anything to say. Glancing down at his shirt collar, you found the words:

“Maybe you should stop falling asleep in suits” you aimed for a neutral tone, but the moment his eyes lit up, you knew it was pointless.

“If you wanted me to undress, all you had to do was ask” he smirked when seeing your mild panic.

Bloody fantastic.

He was still too close. And the way he glanced down at your lips for a split second did not help the situation either.

“Right… I’ve had that alarm set for a reason” you rushed to get up and climb over him.

But naturally, Neil had other ideas. When you leaned over him to push yourself up, he took your hands in his, forcing you to lie partially on top of him. You stared in shock, suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. His blue eyes stared back at you with that unreadable expression you have seen before. You took the time to look at him, his wild bed hair and two-day stubble on the chin.

If you were allowed, you could get used to this…

“Is this one of those moments when I should be the voice of reason?” when you found your voice again, it was weirdly hoarse.

“Maybe…” he grinned and squeezed your hands “How’s your burn?”

Only now you actually remembered about your embarrassing moment from the previous night. At the reminder, you felt your face grow warm. The moment was gone.

“It’s fine” you muttered and moved to get up.

This time he let you go, but you were sure you saw a brief look of disappointment on his face.

“What is your plan for today?” he asked while reaching for yesterday’s tea.

You frowned at that.

“Sure you don’t want a new one?” you gestured towards the mug.

“Nah, don’t want your martyrdom to go wasted” he winked and finished the cold drink.

“You really want to get shot, my dear” you mused while eyeing him sharply.

“My dear?” he sat up and looked at you with one eyebrow arched curiously.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. It was so much easier to talk with him like that when you had a little bit of space preserved.

“You don’t have a monopoly on nicknames”

“Of course not” Neil got up and folded the blanket he used “But it’s nice to hear that you consider me ‘yours’ in any way, my dear” he winked and crossed the room “I’ll see you around later” he kissed you on the cheek and was gone before you could process anything.

In the end, you never got to tell him what your plan for the day was.

*** The next three days went in relative peace. You started to build a pleasant routine in the organization, and ever since he was back, you could incorporate time spent with Neil into it. Every morning you would attend a sparring session (with Ives or whoever was handy), then a shooting training to keep yourself in shape. After that, meetings and missions briefings where you would help with the logistical side of the operations. In the evening, you ate dinner with Neil in the dining hall. Undoubtedly that was a highlight of the day for you when you could use the hour and a half window to get to know him better. Apart from that first blunder in your attempts at friendship-like behaviour, it all went rather smoothly. Neil did his best to cooperate. The only times when he was proving to be difficult were the goodbyes during which he made it his goal to make you flustered. The kisses on the cheek became a routine thing. And so did his tendency to gaze into your eyes for extended periods of time. You did not mind either of those things.

The lack of concrete news about the unfolding plan sometimes made you almost forget about it. But you did not dare relax, remembering TPs words about the upcoming events. And so, you waited patiently, preparing in any way you could think of.

The fragile peace got disrupted during one of your evening meals. You were mid-conversation concerning Neil’s past experiences in the Navy when Ives approached your table:

“Evening lovebirds” you grudgingly accepted the nickname he chose for you both.

“What is it?” Neil instantly sensed trouble, judging by the frown that showed on his face.

“TP is calling us to the US. Urgently” Ives looked at you apologetically “Just me and Neil, sorry love”

“That’s okay” you met Neil’s gaze over the table “You two are more crucial to the whole organization than I am” you shrugged.

Neil looked as though he wanted to argue but chose not to. Luckily.

“When do we have to leave?” he asked Ives.

“Ideally in an hour”

“Shit” he took a moment to gather his thoughts “Okay, I’ll meet you in the reception in 45mins”

Ives only nodded and left without a further word. You stared at Neil, who eyed his half-full plate mournfully.

“At least you’ll get some nice food on the plane” you offered upon seeing his internal debate.

“But the company won’t be as good” he looked up and smiled sadly.

“That’s quite harsh on Ives” you joked, trying to ignore the inexplicable sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Neil laughed, but you could tell that he was worried too. Using the only way you knew to assure him, you reached out across the table and squeezed his hand.

“You should pack” you brushed your thumb over his knuckles “I’ll see you when you’re back”.

He entwined his fingers with yours and met your gaze for a moment. You could see that he was hesitant, as though he wanted to say something you would not like. Then he made up his mind because he released his hold over your hand and got up to stand next to you.

“I’ll miss you” he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Before you could answer, he left the hall. You took a deep breath, aware of the strange feeling creeping into your brain. Hopefully, it is nothing but anxiety, you sighed and went back to eating, acutely aware of the loneliness.

*** The peace you got when Neil and Ives left lasted for about twelve hours. A good night text from Neil calmed your nerves slightly as it meant he made it safely to the HQs. You tried to get an early night, but it did not happen. Instead, you spent three hours staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to convince your stubborn brain that it worried for nothing. After all, urgent missions happened all the time, right? Well, your logic was desperately trying not to fail while faced with an irrational voice that never seemed to shut up. In the end, you resorted to taking a sleeping pill and hoping to catch at least 5 hours long nap.

That plan was cut short by a sharp ringing at 7 am coming from your phone resting on the bedside table. You looked at the display to see Ives as the caller ID. This could not be good. A sudden shock made you sit up and pick up the phone despite being barely able to open your eyes.

“Yes?” you cleared your throat when you heard your raspy voice.

“Y/N…” you have never heard Ives’ use your first name.

Fuck… The world went black for a millisecond. You felt lightheaded. Something was terribly wrong.

“What’s going on?” panic was creeping into your voice.

“Neil… he found TP in his room…” his voice was breaking “He’s gone” you heard him take in a shaky breath “TP is gone”

Your heart skipped a beat. Your vision blurred as you reached out to touch the wall to feel something steady beneath your fingertips. For a short second, you forgot how to breathe. Then as you started to struggle for the oxygen, you took greedy breaths, hoping to calm down. It was not working.

“Are you there?” Ives’ panicked voice broke through the paralysis.

“How did it happen?” you choked out the question, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“He…” Ives stifled a sob “He took a cyanide pill”

You could not stop the sobs that came then. Only after you could take in a full breath, you spoke again.

“Why?”

“No one knows. He saw Neil and me when we arrived. Then I went to sleep, and Neil woke me up” you could hear the strain in his voice.

“How’s he?” you feared the answer to the question.

Somehow you knew there was a reason why it was not him calling you. But the explanation for that was too terrifying to be admitted aloud.

“Bad” the grave tone made you panic again.

“Fuck” you inhaled sharply.

“You should come via the next plane. He has to be in Mumbai by the twentieth, and I don’t think we can sort him out without you”

You winced at the serious tone.

“Okay, I’ll try to get there as soon as I can” you bolted up from the bed “Please try to look after him” you hated the pleading tone.

“I’ll try though it’s hard to do when he’s locked himself in his room and isn’t letting anyone in”

Shit. The dizziness returned, and you leaned on the wall for support. To say that you were worried would be an understatement. Everyone knew how much Neil cared about TP. The helplessness was frustrating. You wanted to scream and let it out.

“Just do what you can” you sighed “Stay strong, Ives”

“Don’t hang up yet”

“Why, what’s wrong?” his sudden change of tone made you even more concerned.

“Nothing, it’s just that I think you should know about something… about Neil”

“Yes?”

“He should be the one telling you but fuck that” he sounded hesitant.

“Ives” the agitation won over any other emotion “Please”

“Neil lost someone very important to him nearly two years ago during a mission. It was an accident, but Neil blames himself for what happened as he was leading the attack”

“Okay…” you needed a moment to process the information.

“I just wanted you to know in case it mattered”

“Thank you… What was their name?” that was the only question you could think of.

“Alex. He was an agent and joined Tenet at the same time Neil did. They were together”

The only immediate thought was that you wished you knew before. Maybe then you could have been a better friend. However, Ives’ took your silence as something else.

“Is that okay?” he sounded genuinely worried.

“Of course, I don’t care who he was with. Only that he’s hurting right now” you glanced at the watch “I should start packing. I’ll see you soon, I hope” you hung up.

You tried your hardest not to breakdown while throwing random clothing articles into the bag. You tried calling Neil, but he has not picked up. You just sent him a message:

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to get there soon”.

There was not much else you could do. Apart from trying to preserve sanity.

*** The plane journey to Boston was a blurry memory. You spent the 8 hours trying not to cry publicly and ignoring the temptation to get drunk to numb the pain and worry. Once you landed, the anxiety got worse. With shaking hands, you went through the customs and into the arrivals hall. All the while, you tried not to think too much about the last time you visited the airport and about Neil’s steady hand guiding you. He still has not responded to your text, and that made you think about the worst. You calmed down your anxious stomach just enough to get into the car sent by the HQ and relaxed into the leather seat. Just twenty minutes now.

But before you could reach any mental clarity, your phone buzzed. You took it out of the pocket and nearly dropped it onto the car floor upon seeing the text. It was from TP. You gasped and unlocked the device to read it.

“When this reaches you, you most likely know what happened. I’m sorry, but there was no other way. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know that you, Neil, and the rest are ready. I trust you, Y/N, and that’s why I have decided to make you responsible for the logistical side of the plan. Once you’re ready, materials are waiting for you in the inbox. Please take care. I know I don’t have to ask you to help Neil but make sure he doesn’t blame himself”

It was clear that he scheduled the messaged to come through after he was gone. And you had a feeling it was only the first one of many. You only had time to wipe the tears from your eyes before the car parked in front of the Tenet building, and you were forced to get out. Once you got through the security booth, you spotted Ives waiting in the reception hall. He had his head bowed, staring at the floor. None of his usual confidence was there. Once you approached, he sensed company and looked up. You were struck by the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“Hey” suddenly you did not know what to say.

“Thank god you’re here” Ives shook off the hesitation and hugged you tightly.

You returned the embrace, feeling tears well up again. You stepped back and sniffed, accepting the offered tissues. Only now you noticed how quiet and empty it was in the building despite the hour.

“How is the situation?” you did not even know how to ask any specific questions.

“Very bad” Ives frowned, and you felt like he was holding back.

“Take me to him, please” you shivered involuntarily.

He did not need more convincing and started leading you through the corridors.

“He hasn’t left the room since midnight when I last saw him” Ives started speaking, “I’m pretty sure he’s drinking” he stopped in front of a regular door in yet another corridor.

“Right… Has he let anyone in?” you strained to hear any potential sounds from within, but there was nothing.

“No” Ives shook his head.

You could tell that he was incredibly tired and worried. You had to be the strong one this time.

“Why do you think I’ll be different?”

You placed one shaky hand on the surface of the door.

“Because it’s you” you could tell he was barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes “You’re probably the only person he cares about”

Despite the gravity of the situation, you felt your face grow warm. You took a deep breath to calm down and raised a fist to rap on the door. At first, there was nothing. The panic kept rising.

“Neil, it’s me” you leaned your head against the door “I’m sorry…” with tears streaming down your cheeks, you tried to find the right words “Please let me in. I just want to see you…” you glanced at Ives who looked almost uncomfortable.

Suddenly you heard faint sounds coming from the room. Rustling, the unmistakable clang of an empty glass bottle hitting the floor and the footsteps stopping just by the door.

“Please go” you mouthed at Ives, who only nodded and rushed down the corridor.

You took a step back and waited, with the heart in your throat. After agonising few seconds, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Nothing prepared you for the sight you saw.

Neil’s hair was sticking out in every direction. His eyes were red-rimmed and paired with dark shadows underneath. He still wore the clothes you saw him in the day before. But probably the worst was how obviously drunk he was, barely able to stay upright by the door. When his unfocused eyes landed on you, he attempted a smile. It ended up looking like a tragic scowl. He opened the door wider for you and went back inside. You took a second to gather your thoughts and followed him, shutting the door behind you.

Once inside, you took the time to scan the room and analyse the situation. Neil sat down on the edge of the bed, which was entirely unmade. The floor was covered in random bits of paper he must have tossed from the table. You counted at least two empty bottles of alcohol lying amidst the mess as well. Taking a deep breath, you faced Neil. He was looking at you, but his eyes lacked their usual spark.

“I’m sorry” he breathed out, and your eyes widened.

“What for?” you were not expecting that.

“They sent you to get me sorted” you did not like the dark look in his eyes “That can’t be an ideal job. Even for you”

“Neil” the stern tone made him focus on your words “I’m not here because they asked me to come. I’m here for you” you took a step closer and knelt to be levelled with him “I was worried” you admitted finally.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” his slightly slurred rambling made you even more acutely aware of his state.

“No, don’t apologise” you interrupted him; TP’s text message fresh on your mind “None of this is your fault. And my job here is to make sure you understand that” gently, you reached out to brush the hair away from his eyes.

You did not know whether it was what you said or what you did, but at that moment, he seemed to break. Before you could react, he slid down onto the floor and started crying with heart-wrenching sobs. It took you a second to change position and put your arms around him. He leaned into the embrace.

“He’s gone” he choked out after a few seconds of silence.

“I know” you run a hand along his back in a soothing motion “But you don’t have to tell me more. It’s alright, I’m here” you whispered, feeling him shake.

At that, he just started sobbing more violently. You could only sit there, holding him and letting your own tears fall silently. You will be okay someday. You hoped.