#but maybe poorly so feel free to ask me to improve them

[an-ev-ent-full-time]

Last two weeks have been Fun :)

[dreamlessimp]

— special

summary: you always thought you were special to reo

warnings: mikage reo x gn reader, poorly written light angst, sfw, reader goes to hakuho, unrequited love, nagi seishiro did nothing wrong, 0.7k wc

if anyone asked, you would have said you were close to mikage reo. the two of you had been friends for years, and still going strong.

maybe you even would have said you were special to him.

the smiles he aimed in your direction made your heart flutter. his grin never failed to brighten your day, somehow managing to improve your mood in a short glance.

he often partnered up with you in class for projects. you weren’t the best in class, but somehow reo’s eyes almost always landed on you when it was announced you were to choose your own partners. he chose to be with you, and you were never complaining.

you worked well together.

needless to say, you were down bad for mikage reo. and small part of you, a stupidly hopeful part, thought there may have been just the slightest chance that these feelings were reciprocated. 

“who’s he?” you asked reo, gesturing at the tall, distracted boy stood next to your friend.

“nagi seishiro.” he replied. “i didn’t tell you about this, but we’re gonna win the world cup together!”

“since when do you play football?” 

“well, i don’t really play football. yet.” he said, obviously excited. he pulled at the shoulder of nagi’s uniform, tearing his attention from his phone.

“you made me die.” he said, not even bothering to hide his boredom.

“nagi, you should join our studying.” he nodded at you, as if asking for permission. you quickly smiled and nodded back. “i’m curious about how you study considering you never take notes.”

“huh? i don’t really study.” nagi responded flatly.

“how are you out-scoring me?” reo asked, appalled.

“i dunno. i read the textbooks if it’s important.”

besides laughing when appropriate, you weren’t a part of their conversation. they seemed to converse so easily, even if they had just met. you credited reo, and the fact that they just seemed to be good together.

“we can sit at this table here.” reo said, pointing at a rectangular table in the library.

“okay.” the quiet one said, choosing a seat to sit down in before pulling out his books and phone. he agreed to go, but blatantly planned to study as little as possible.

“mhm.” you said, walking behind reo as he chose the seat next to the other. you sat across from him and pulled out your books as well.

what you thought would just be studying with a bit of conversation, quickly turned into a largely one-sided conversation between the other two at your table.

you were there, but not to reo.

from there, it only got worse. the two of them spent practically all their free time practicing. 

reo still spoke to you as if it was no different. nothing about how he treated you changed, and you hoped he could say the same about you.

it was okay for the most part.

until he approached you after class.

“hey! can we talk?” he yelled as he caught up to you in the halls.

“yeah, okay.” you said, turning to face him. “what’s up?”

“how do you think nagi views me?” he asked, face flushed. you hoped it was from running.

“i think he thinks highly of you.” you responded.

a pretty smile grew on his face. “great, thanks.”

he started walking forward, waving his hand as an invitation for you to walk alongside him.

nagi was walking in the opposite direction, his eyes buried in his phone. once reo spotted him, he walked over, shoulders pushed back in confidence. “hi nagi.” he said happily.

“hey.” nagi said, tearing his eyes from the manga he’d been reading. “are they moving practice again?”

“no. i was just wondering about that move you did yesterday. where you trapped it from the side.” reo and nagi began walking in the opposite direction reo came from.

you stood still and silent as they walked right past you.

you’d always thought you were special to him, to reo. but based on the way he was looking starry-eyed at the white-haired boy in a way you’d never seen him look at you, you felt tears prick at your eyes as you realized he’d always thought different.

[strawberrywritingfiction]

Golf Outing

Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k 

Synopsis: Invited by he and his family, you go golfing with Tom

^^^

       You were sat at the dinner table among the Holland family members. Having met the twins, Harry and Sam through friends, and having had brief interactions with Tom, the eldest- You were invited as more or less a family friend. At least, the boys’ parents were interested in you, and in the exchanges you’d had with the boys through work and mutual connections. Plus, you thought you were a relatively pleasing house guest. Nothing abnormal about it, you thought.

“You play any golf Y/n?” Harry asked you, amidst the dinner conversations.

The rest of the boys’ heads snapped up at the question posed by Harry, most of the bunch being avid golfers and all.

“Well, sort of. But I’m nowhere up to the boys’ level.” You said with a laugh.

“You should join us for a round Y/n, we’re having a go at the nearby course tomorrow,” Tom said with a smile.

“Yeah, just a casual one, for extra practice.” Sam chimed in.

“I really couldn’t. Can’t even remember the last time I held a club - I’d have to practice in advance to get remotely close to being able to play you all.”

“Nonsense,” said Dom, “We’d love to have you join- and you wouldn’t even have to play if you’re not up for it. You can just have a few hits at the range down there, If you’d like.”

Finding it difficult to say no, and feeling Tom’s gaze held on you, you impulsively agreed to join.

This brought you to where you were now- driving mid afternoon on a Sunday, having just been to a sports store trying to pick up an appropriate looking golf outfit that fit the course’s, ‘formal attire requirement.’ Along with purchasing various balls and tees. Thankfully though, you hand a spare set of clubs at home.

Upon arriving, you met the boys in cheerful spirits, clad in their golf attire. Prepped and ready for play. So, you and the Holland clan got out on the green quickly. First hole, and your driver shot was unmistakably crap. You were glad the boys hadn’t winced at the horrible shot. You tried to play off the embarrassment with conversation between hits when being driven in the cart. The boys had 2 carts out. You sat alongside Harry and Sam in one. Tom in the other with their dad.

1st shot on the second hole though, and it was equally as bad as your previous. But luckily, the boys were distracted and missed the poorly executed swing. Finally after arriving at the beginning of the third hole, however, you stepped up to the tee, and hesitated.

“Listen guys, I think I’ll step out on this one- maybe head back, or tag along for the rest, but I think I’m out on playing. Don’t want to hold you guys back,” you said with a light chuckle. You definitely had the highest score of the bunch, and you were aware that the boys were just being polite, waiting for you to hit your past chipping shots and putts, as you were moving at a slower speed than the rest of them. Then again, they could practically be pros.

“You’re not holding us back, this is all good fun, so there’s no worries if you do continue. Otherwise, one of the boys can step out of the game and join you up in the cart, to go back to the front.” Dom said, looking to his sons. The twins made no effort to offer, which was fair, as they were in front with the lowest scores. But, to your surprise, Tom offered.

“I’d be happy to, I’ve been playing a shit game anyway,” Tom said with a laugh, placing his club back in his bag and hoisting it on his shoulder, “Only, I’d be willing to play with you on the rest of the holes for practice, If you’d be up for it. I’d... I’d Like to help improve your game.”

“My game?”

“Yeah, I think with some slight improvements to that swing of yours, you could be looking decent.”

You scoffed, “You sure? I don’t think you’ve noticed, but if you continue on with just me, you’ll be here for another few hours.”

“Time well spent.” Tom said with a smile.

The rest of the boys wished you well as they drove off to continue playing, leaving you and Tom with the remaining cart.

“Right well, you have a go first.”

“Alright,” you said, fishing through your bag for a wood club.

Interrupting as you removed one from it’s bag, Tom said, “Er- hold on, let me check.”

He too dug through your clubs before picking another one- “I reckon this one here’s a good fit,” he said, handing it to you.

“Ok then, I trust you,” You said, stepping up to the tee, “you got any other tips Holland?”

“Maybe. Give me a practice swing and we’ll take it from there,” he said, stepping back from your side.

You did as you were told, and Tom kindly gave you his input.

“Right well- this arm,” he said motioning to his own, “you’ve gotta keep that straight even on impact, no getting flimsy elbows before making contact with the ball there.”

You were trying to correct yourself, copying his directions, but upon your confusion, Tom walked up behind you to help demonstrate. “Okay so this arm,” he started, his hands gripping both of your own from behind, “You’ve gotta keep it like this through your back swing,” he said, drawing your arms back behind your shoulder. You couldn’t help but loose brief focus as he gave his directions soft spoken from behind.

He stepped back to examine your practice swing, “right that looks better, but uh- may I.”

“Go for it,” You said.

“Right, so-“ he placed his hands on either side of your hips “-you wanna kind of turn your body this direction, and move the opposite knee forward as you do.” You did just as you were told.

After the few tips, and Tom was satisfied with your practice technique and form, you took the swing, proving to have a much better result.

“See? That’s so much better! Your swing will be looking like Tiger Woods’ in no time, I bet it,”

You laughed, “All thanks to you Coach.”

Next, Tom stepped up to take his own swing. You watched, and to no surprise his form was practically perfect, landing him a nice spot on the green. You complimented his swing as the two of you hopped in the cart to head over to the next ball.

You drove the cart, and the cart rides throughout the day gave the two of you an opportunity to talk. Also, on each hole Tom continued to give you tips. You admired that he was so patient, and never got frustrated with you, or exasperated if you didn’t happen to pick up his directions quickly. He claimed you significantly improved by the end of the day. Surely enough though, by the time you got out of the course, the rest of the Holland’s had left, and it was practically dark.

The two of you carried your clubs to the car park, utterly exhausted. What was meant to be casual, fun and quick, felt as if it were never-ending.

“You got a ride Tom? You asked.

“Shit, well- no, really. Harry and Sam must have taken my car back to our shared apartment,”

“I’m happy to drop you off- least I can do. You practically gave me lessons for free today, forfeited your game too.”

“Nah, It was good fun, and I’d prefer to have forfeited than to have lost another game to those twats this month,” he chuckled.

The two of you continued to chat, and on the car ride home you both stopped for some takeout at a drive-through, seeing as now it was dark and neither of you had had anything for dinner.

You thanked Tom again once whilst dropping him off, “I’d love to do this again, actually,” he said, fumbling with the strap of his bag of clubs slung over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m up to anymore golf for a while,” You said, with an awkward laugh.

“Well, we won’t do golf again then,” he smiled, “maybe just a dinner.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. Saying good night, you left to head home and upon arriving, you immediately began to receive messages from the rest of the boys.

* Sam H - Already, he won’t shut up about you 😐 9:37 pm.

* Harry H - 10 bucks said he’d be too much of a wuss to ask you out before the end of tonight and I lost 🙄 9:41 pm.

^^^

[red-jaebyrd]

She Made Everything Better

Summary: Dick has his first cold since moving into the Manor with Bruce. All he wants is the one person he can’t have – his mom. Bruce does his best to fill the void as well as helping an ill and still grieving boy find safety and security in his new guardian.

For @ckbookish

There are many things that Bruce wasn’t prepared for when he took in 8 year old Dick Grayson. Little things like enforcing bedtimes and daily baths; to big things like no swimming in the pool alone and making sure Dick stayed off the front foyer chandelier…or any chandelier in the Manor. The other was taking care of a sick child.

Dick had only been living in the Manor for six months and had yet to come down with any kind of illness. Considering all the stories Bruce had been told by well-meaning co-workers of their kids coming home frequently with colds; he considered himself fortunate that Dick had remained cold-free.

Until one morning when he could hear faint coughing coming from the bedroom down the hall.

“Bruce,” Dick cried, dragging out his name followed by a series of more wet coughs.

Oh no, Bruce thought to himself. Those coughs didn’t sound good at all. He followed the cry and coughs to Dick’s room and saw the boy laying down on his bed bundled in blankets and surrounded by discarded tissues. His cheeks were flushed, his nose was red, and eyes were glassy.

“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed.

“My head hurts, my nose won’t stop running, and I’m coughing,” Dick answered, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

Bruce quickly went through a mental checklist of what the boy might need while dealing with a cold. By the looks of the boy’s flushed cheeks, he likely had a fever. What was that saying, ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’; that didn’t sound right to Bruce.

Dick coughed and then groaned, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.

“Why don’t you drink some water. It’s important to stay hydrated,” Bruce suggested, walking over to Dick’s nightstand and handing him his water bottle.

“No,” Dick whined with a pout pushing the water bottle away. “Water tastes gross, and it hurts when I swallow.”

“Understood,” Bruce said, a bit bewildered by Dick’s whining. Set the water bottle back onto the nightstand. He sat on the bed in front of Dick reaching to feel Dick’s forehead with the front of his wrist. Dick shivered at the contact. “You feel warmer than usual. I’ll be right back with a thermometer.”

“No,” Dick moaned, reaching his hand out for Bruce from under his blankets. “Don’t leave me.”

“I know you’re feeling bad, Chum, but I need to get a thermometer to see if you have a fever,” Bruce soothed, sweeping Dick’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. He smiled, taking Dick’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m not leaving I’m just going to your bathroom to get the thermometer.

Bruce walked toward the en-suite bathroom in search of the thermometer but came up empty. He searched all the cabinets, and they didn’t even have any children’s medicine, just polysporin, hospital grade antiseptic and, tons of band-aids. Bruce could have sworn they had children’s Motrin, but sadly there was none.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Bruce said, closing the bathroom door and making his way toward the bedroom door.

“No, don’t leave,” Dick pleaded, reaching out frantically to Bruce this time with both hands. His eyes welled up with unshed tears. Bruce shoulders slumped and he sat down one the bed again, taking Dick’s cold hand in his and rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

Bruce furrowed his brow in concern at Dick’s behavior. It was extremely unusual for Dick to be this clingy and demanding when it came to Bruce. The two did spend more time together now that Bruce had changed his schedule a few months ago. Dick did like to seek attention from his guardian in the most heart stopping ways imaginable. Bruce quickly recalled the first and last time Dick backflipped off the second landing stairs nearly giving Bruce and Alfred a heart attack.

As Bruce had gotten to know Dick, he had learned that the boy liked being with people; liked spending time with Bruce and once Dick had got his fill of ‘peopling’, he’d be off outside or in his room playing alone. The boy liked attention, but he was far from clingy.

“Dick, I’m not leaving. I’m just heading to the intercom near the door to speak to Alfred,” Bruce explained, using his free hand to gently card his fingers through Dick’s hair and resting his hand on the boy’s cheek. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay,” Dick sniffed, letting go of Bruce’s hand to rub his face with his blanket.

Bruce wrinkled his nose and handed Dick a fresh tissue from the discarded box on his bed. He then headed to the intercom near Dick’s bedroom door and pressed the button hoping Alfred was still in the kitchen.

“Alfred, I need a thermometer. Can you bring one to Dick’s bedroom, please.”

“Right away, Sir,” Alfred answered promptly.

Bruce turned and gave Dick a small smile, but the gesture wasn’t returned. He expected as much considering how poorly the boy felt. It warmed Bruce’s heart to know that Dick found security and safety in his presence. A little hand reached out to him from under the blankets. It made Bruce chuckle, so he made his way back to the bed and sat down taking Dick’s hand. Dick slouched low against his pillows blinking tiredly at Bruce.

“I wasn’t going to leave you. I told you I wasn’t,” Bruce reassured, trying to tuck Dick’s duvet around him with one hand and failing. Dick let go so Bruce could finish with both hands. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Just as Dick was going to answer Alfred arrived with a thermometer and a fresh box of tissues. He handed the thermometer to Bruce and set the tissue box on Dick’s nightstand. He then proceeded to collect the dirty tissues and deposit them in the trash bin.

“Will that be all, Sirs?” Alfred asked, moving the bin closer to the bed so it stayed within Dick’s reach near the nightstand.

Bruce stayed sitting on the bed and gave Alfred a rundown of all the supplies that they would need while Dick blew his nose. As usual Alfred had a pen and notepad on hand and wrote down everything.

“Anything else? Master Dick, would you like something to eat before I go?” Alfred asked, tucking the notepad and pen into his front jacket pocket.

Dick didn’t answer Alfred right away. The boy looked lost in his own thoughts, but mostly he looked tired. Poor guy, Bruce thought to himself, he must be feeling so out of it.

“Dick,” Bruce whispered, gently squeezing Dick’s hand to get his attention. Once the boy’s glassy eyes met his, Bruce took that as a sign to continue, “Are you hungry?

“Oh um –“ Dick stammered, and started playing with the hem of the duvet. “Would – would it be okay to have toast with cinnamon on top, please?”

“Certainly, young sir. I’ll get to it straight away.” Alfred replied and left the room closing the door behind him.

Bruce proceeded to take Dick’s temperature and just as he suspected after the thermometer beeped; he frowned looking at the number on the screen. Dick had a fever. Bruce was trying to remember if he should call a doctor right away or if he was supposed to wait two or three days if nothing improved. He’d likely call Leslie today just to be sure.

“Is it bad?” Dick asked, bringing the blanket up to his eyes.

“Well, it’s not good, 102.2, buddy. We’ll keep an eye on it. Make sure it goes down with meds. If not, I’ll have to call Dr Thompkins,” Bruce clarified, turning the thermometer off and setting it on the nightstand. “So cinnamon toast?”

“Mom would always give it to me whenever I got sick,” Dick swallowed thickly, looking down at his blankets. “She – she said the cinnamon had healing properties that would help make me feel better.”

“I’m sure it did,” Bruce said, brushing Dick’s bangs away from his face. “Moms are good like that aren’t they?”

Bruce tried to give Dick a smile, but it felt stiff on his face as he fought against the lump forming in his throat at the memory of his mom making him chicken noodle soup whenever he got a cold. He remembered loving the noodles and the broth but like all kids his age, Bruce hated the chicken and veggies. Over the years the soup was something that Alfred had tried to replicate, but to no avail. It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his mom’s soup.

“My mom would –,” Bruce sniffed and then cleared his throat, but before he could finish his sentence; Dick’s face crumpled, and he started sobbing.

In the short time that Dick had been staying at the Manor, he had only cried a handful of times. Even after a nightmare, tears spilled down silently. Dick was always quick to wipe the tears away before Bruce could fully envelop him in a hug. Always pulling away from the embrace claiming he was fine as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. Bruce had never pressed as he never felt he had the right words to say. Because ‘I know how you feel’ and ‘I’ve been there too’ didn’t really seem like great words of comfort.

But maybe they were the exact words that Dick needed to hear.

“Oh Dickie, come here,” Bruce offered, his arms outstretched and his own eyes filling with unshed tears. He gathered Dick in his arms and settled him on his lap. The boy practically melted into his embrace.

“I don’t feel good, Bruce,” Dick bawled, his breaths hitching from crying so hard. “I want – I want my mom.

The last sentence was said in a whisper in between sobs. Dick’s fingers tightened as he clung onto Bruce in a desperate hug.

“I m-miss her,” Dick mumbled, trying to catch his breath and failing. “I miss how – how she made everything better.”

Bruce’s heart sank; his own tears finally falling down his cheeks. She made everything better. It echoed in brain and he couldn’t deny that the boy was right. Of course, Dick missed his mom; it made sense that he missed her. Every child who felt ill wanted their mom to be the one holding them, taking care of them, and making their favorite comfort foods; not some stranger they’ve barely known for six months.

He hugged Dick a little tighter and sighed. They had come a long way these past six months, dealing with Dick’s anger and trust issues that had only been fueled by Bruce’s incompetence and neglect in the guise of protection. While necessary changes to his schedule were made to fit Dick into his busy life and it had changed the dynamic in how they interacted with each other; the change still didn’t do much to help Dick feel safe enough to talk to Bruce about the loss of his parents. Until now, so naturally Bruce took advantage of a missed opportunity.

“I know you do. I know you miss her so much and I’m so sorry,” Bruce empathized, resting his cheek on the Dick’s head and rubbing small circles on his back. “I know – I know how you feel, chum. I really do. I’ve been where you are and it – well it sucks.”

Dick nodded in silent agreement and continued to cry.

“I know it feels like – it feels like the pain is so much bigger than you, but one day it won’t feel so big and overwhelming,” Bruce comforted, wiping away his own tears with his free hand. “And – and while the hurt won’t go away completely. It will get better in time. For you, that I promise.”

Bruce continued to hold Dick as his body calmed from his crying jag. The boy’s breaths slowly regulating from shuddering gasps to hiccups. Bruce was happy to finally be able to provide such comfort to Dick after so many months of him pushing him away. His feelings were never hurt from the boy’s rejection, Bruce understood firsthand that type of vulnerability and transparency in grief can be scary, especially in an unknown environment.

He had hoped that their conversation today would help pave the way to more talks and further healing for Dick. Bruce was confident the boy would be alright, but these difficult conversations had to be something that Bruce initiated and participated in as well.

“Any time you want to talk ab out your mom or your dad; come find me, okay?” Bruce offered, giving Dick a reassuring smile. He wiped away Dick’s remaining tears with his thumb. “Even if it’s in the middle of night. Understand?”

Dick nodded, his breaths finally evening out.

They sat on the bed in companionable silence. Bruce hummed a tune he remembered his mom singing whenever she was knitting or just needed to fill the silence. He could slowly start to feel Dick’s body going boneless against his chest with exhaustion; his breaths gradually getting deeper with sleep.

Just as Bruce was about to close his eyes a knock on the door startled him and woke up Dick.

“Here is your toast, Master Dick,” Alfred announced, setting a tray on the other side of the bed. “I also added a few digestives and the last juice box until I can get the apple juice you requested.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick sniffed, still clinging onto Bruce.

Bruce brought the tray closer to Dick so the boy wouldn’t have to move from his place of comfort.

“You are very welcome, young sir. If there is nothing else you require of me, I shall leave to retrieve the necessary items.”

An hour later, once Alfred returned with the medicine, Bruce was pleased to finally be able to give the boy some much needed relief from the headache and congestion. Dick still wouldn’t let Bruce leave, so Bruce suggested they move to the media room to watch a movie.

Bruce covered them with a blanket thin enough to make Dick comfortable, but not too thick to spike his fever. Dick settled himself right up against Bruce’s side, draping a thin arm around him and using Bruce’s chest as a pillow. Dick fell asleep ten minutes into the movie. Bruce stayed watching the rest of the movie, carding his fingers gently though Dick’s hair relishing the closeness and comfort he was finally able to provide his hurting foster son.

[asmr-analyst]

an update on my last post (about the geordi video), probably a little ranty (tldr: that was more distressing than i expected!)

For starters, the voice acting in that was stellar. Don’t know why Erik has such a talent for acting out distress and crying but my god, it always hits. That’s why it surprises me so much when people were acting like it’s unreasonable that people reacted emotionally to this video??? Because that’s the point, right? How anyone can watch that and not be mad at Cutie is beyond me lmao

Cutie seems extremely insecure, but their view on reading Geordi’s mind is so toxic and... out of touch? I don’t see how any person could believe that their somehow entitled or constantly deserving of literally being inside someone’s head! Sure, coming from a family of telepaths might do that to you, but that is one of the most abusive behaviors I can think of. It’s the exact reason Regulus is so scary, at least to me (not comparing them, but you’d think redacted fans would understand how violating this behavior is?)

Another hot take, I think the fandom views the listener characters too much like their fully formed individuals when they really... aren’t. Sure, I have my favorites, but they’re really just vessels to project onto, even if some have more of their own personality and spunk than others. Trying to give Cutie an abusive family backstory or something to explain everything seems like such a weird response, but I guess that’s just people listening to things differently, which is completely okay. 

^ My point with all this is that I think listener characters being morally grey is wonderful, but there’s a line where it’s just too much (and that’s why people reacted so poorly to Fred and Bright’s series and eventually got it deleted). People don’t enjoy projecting onto characters that clearly exhibit abusive behavior, especially when they’re attached to the character they’re abusing.

And I can’t imagine having to deal with what poor Geordi is going through there, especially since he can’t know if they’re in his head (since he’s unempowered). Cutie thinks that him sharing his feelings verbally is somehow “fake”, but he has to trust they aren’t reading his mind all the time? terrifying.

That’s it, I guess? Feel free to share what you think (I’ll open up asks soon if I figure out how). Maybe I’m wrong - for god’s sake, past me thought Xiaver was gonna be evil, so I have a precedent for being wrong LMAO

EDIT BECAUSE IM AN OVERTHINKER: just because I’ve took a bit of a stance on this doesn’t mean I disagree with people who think Cutie’s behavior is tramua based or that they have room to improve or anything like that. I agree with those things! But i feel like people are missing the other side of this picture. We need both for this to be beneficial discussion. It’s silly and not helpful to pick Geordi or Cutie’s side and ignore the rest, this is complicated. Duality of man and all that LOL

[adorerdraco]

Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: PART 5 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and figuring out how to survive his new life while finding out a way to keep you in it. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, torture, blood, death eater stuff - the usual ! 

Words: 7.8K

A/N: FINDING WAYS TO PROLONG THIS SERIES !!!! 😼 AND SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES ITS VERY LATE AND I NEVER CATCH THEM 😔 but omg my little week long hiatus I took was against my will but i’m back and healthy again and can finally think out sentences again lmao !!! also i DO own gif 

Draco stared at the vast, dark marble ceiling as he lied awake. His black silk sheets were strewn across his king bed in a lofty heap from when he had woken up. There was a sheen layer of sweat across his skin, but his room held no warmth and the draft that was coming in from his open windows was nothing less than freezing.

There wasn’t a moment where he had enough peace to sleep, but when he ultimately did; he always regretted ever drifting off when he felt the hot, ravenous feeling that ran through his body when he would jolt awake from a nightmare with his heart thundering against him and the inability to differentiate reality from a subconscious image. He would lie back down, breathing unevenly, and fixate on a random crack in the ceiling and let his now very tortured conscience remind him, “it all happened, you can't escape it!”

And that little malicious voice in his head was right. The horrible images in his mind weren’t made up or conjured by his brain - they were very real and he had lived through them.

He remembered the agonizing decision he had to make when he left the love of his life, jinxed and in hysterics in an abandoned classroom. He remembered his Headmaster, who he had cornered and disarmed who still offered him genuine help and guidance despite the wand pointed in his face. He remembered his once-favorite Professor, kill his Headmaster who he thought for maybe a second would be able to help him. He remembered bounding down the steps of the astronomy tower, wanting to topple over and vomit while he followed closely behind a billowing cape and several sniggering and smug Death Eaters into the halls of the unsuspecting school. He remembered his aunt wreaking havoc on the Great Hall with pure joy as he could only watch in horror while she shattered the windows in her celebration. He remembered walking through a maze of trees in a dazed stupor towards Hagrid’s hut, Bellatrix giggling maniacally beside him as she skipped past him. He remembered seeing Harry run towards them, hurling any hexes and curses he could think of towards Snape while he scurried off. He remembered meeting his mother at the momentarily failing barrier, her hand wrapping tightly around his arm before she apparated them home. He remembered the cold wooden floors underneath him and the way the Manor’s structure seemed to be crashing down onto him as he tried to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

When he would finish going over every mistake he had made that night, and every choice he could have made instead, he would turn over in his bed and stare out the large window in his room where he could see the cloudy night sky and the nature swinging around in the wind like it was in a constant state of what seemed like an approaching tornado. He would wonder about you, and what you were doing and what you thought of him. He wondered if you meant what you said - if you would truly never forgive him for leaving you there. He wondered if you thought it was him who killed Dumbledore and how you probably saw him as a killer now. He was in ceaseless disarray of wonder, a painful wonder that he couldn’t escape.

He didn’t dare try to owl you, especially with Bellatrix around the house as a very vigilant guard dog that noticed anything and everything. There were barely any opportunities in which he could leave the Manor, not by foot, by broom, or apparate. He was a prisoner in his own home, just as much as he was in his mind. The increasing amount of Death Eaters that came and went every day made him feel more unsettled than ever, all of them giving him intimidating and sneering looks as if he was a joke while they forcefully turned the Manor into their place of 'work'.

The day Lucius was released from Azkaban, Draco felt a slight hope that things would improve, that his father could somehow find a way to fix things for them as he always had and the young boy could finally step down from the responsibility he felt for his family. But what he saw in the foyer of his home wasn’t Lucius Malfoy; influential, formidable and feared by many - he saw a shell of a man who had lost all sense of who he was and had paid greatly for his failures. He recalled how his father had embraced him in a weak and shuddering hug, clinging onto him as a spew of desperate words incessantly flew from his mouth without making much sense. 

He knew immediately then that his father couldn’t swoop in and fix all his problems, and his mother couldn’t be left alone in all this. He was stuck, whether he liked it or not, and he had to follow through on anything and everything the Dark Lord expected from him or wanted out of his family.

He hated the way his home was defiled with death and wickedness. He hated the way there were lifeless bodies littered around the living room sometimes. He hated the echoing cries and pleas of those who were locked up in the dungeon below. He hated seeing Voldermort use his home as his headquarters, pacing the room in a self-given majesty and humiliating his father every chance he could get. The only reason the Malfoys weren’t killed off yet was, in Draco’s opinion, to be used as an example of what happens when you fail the Dark Lord, to be used as malicious entertainment, and to see just how far someone could be tortured from the inside. Draco did mend the cabinet, but he didn’t kill Dumbledore or die trying as his master had desired. He was always visibly apprehensive of everything he had to do and every order he was given. He wasn’t willingly cruel or vile and hated the idea of actually hurting anyone. His father had failed every mission he was given, and his mother wasn’t a Death Eater, to begin with. They were just there, as pawns and as sadistic pleasure. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was subsequently, a rare day that the Manor was empty. No one was walking through the halls or running their mucky shoes on the expensive upholstery of the furniture as they relaxed into it. Even his father was out, along with Bellatrix, which left only him and his mother at home.

Narcissa Malfoy was just as arrogant as her husband, valued the pro-pure-blood ideals she grew up with, and always appeared to be very cold and haughty. Yet there was one thing that she valued above most; her family. She was entirely devoted to her son and husband and loved them profoundly. It was for Draco she worried for the most and would do anything for. It was for Draco she would risk everything for and go against the Dark Lord for. 

So on the night she brought her son back home, and he was breaking down in her arms with cries about a girl she had never heard of - it piqued her curiosity more than she wanted to admit. She had asked Draco who you were a handful of times since that night, but he always refused to answer. She even went as far as asking Snape, pulling him aside one night behind a dark pillar in her home as everyone was leaving and whispered secretly to him.

“Severus, I know I’ve asked too much of you already but I need to know this,” she rushed to say in a very hushed and imperceptible tone but she knew he had heard her. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically. 

“What might that be?”

“On the night Draco came home, he was calling out for someone,” she began, “do you know if he was involved with anyone by the name of Y/N?”

She could have sworn she saw a twinge of muscles move in his cheek, but he only shook his head shortly from side to side.

“I apologize, Narcissa, but I know no student by that name,” he sighed. “Draco spent most of his time mending the vanishing cabinet, I doubt he had time to be venturing out in his love life.”

She wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t brush off the intuition that was beating against her gut, nearly screaming at her that she was being lied to and there was more to the story. It’s not like she wanted the information to hurt you or to judge, she simply wanted to know who had broken through to her son during the year he was the most closed off. Who had impacted him so greatly, that now that it was seemingly over left him in shambles and withdrawn almost completely. If anything, she wanted to help. And if there was a possibility where she could, she would help Draco take it if it meant it would make his life easier. There was nothing more she wanted for him, free of pain and filled with hope, and if a certain individual would help her get him there - she would be willing to see it through.

With the opportunity of everyone gone, Narcissa trailed up to Draco’s room, letting her knuckles fall softly against the wooden double doors three times.

“Draco, dear, would you like to join me on a walk?”

She heard a shuffling from behind the door and a sharp sniffle, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself to see his poorly hidden tears that she knew she would be met with.

As she predicted, the doors opened and the blond stepped out of his room, lowering his red-rimmed eyes to the ground so he wouldn’t have to meet her worried gaze. He looked well-groomed as always, but she took notice that his skin seemed gray and dull. His eye bags were deep and nearly black from all his crying and lack of sleep. When she linked her arm through his, she felt the slight weight he had unwillingly lost in the past month that he’s been home. Her mind was spinning with concern, promising herself there that she was ready to do whatever she could for him, anything she could.

She led them out of their cold and darkened home, stepping out into the gardens that sat behind the Manor in a large vastness of gorgeous flower arrangements of whites, greens, and reds. There was a large marble fountain placed in the middle of the garden, spewing water smoothly from a small bowl that spilled into a larger one beneath it. It was boxed in with stone and surrounded with red amaryllis flowers, giving anyone enough space to sit around it without being splattered by droplets of water. 

It was a gloomy day, but a warm afternoon sun had peaked through the clouds and cast a glowy light around the house that she hadn’t seen in ages. It made her feel hopeful as she walked her and Draco through the garden, thinking of ways on how to approach him. She knew he had shot her down and changed the subject every time she brought up your name, even if it was in privacy, and she pleaded to the stars that this would ultimately be the chance she would get to find out. 

When they reached the fountain, she sat them down and watched as Draco slouched, silent and staring distantly at his shoes.

“Dear, I know you hate for me to bring this up,” she started slowly, shaking her head as she spoke, “but I want to know who she is. I want to be able to help you, and maybe even her. I know you’re in love, I see it in your eyes and I see it now that you’re apart. I know everything else certainly applies to how you’re feeling, but there’s a look for heartbreak, and you have it.”

Draco looked up at her, finally peering into her worried eyes as he contemplated what she said and what she offered. The last time he told someone about you, he was reprimanded and denied any sort of help, only suggestions for abandonment were given. He wanted to tell his mother all about you, but he wished it was under happier circumstances, however. 

He wished it would be him coming home during the summer, no Voldermort or Death Eaters in his life or his family’s, and arriving with you by his side after sending an owl to his parents about the new love in his life he wanted them to meet. He would boast about you and your smarts, care, ambitions, and beauty. He would make sure his parents understood just how important you were to him and just how amazing you truly were. He imagined their inevitable surrender and allowing him to invite you on one of their luxurious trips to somewhere beautiful and expensive. He pictured a yacht ride in Italy, your skin glowing and your smile bright as you gazed at him in delight under a warm summer sun. Or a grandeur trip to France, walking around the Parisian streets with you as he spoiled you with gifts and delicious gourmet food while ending the night under the Eiffel Tower. He wanted to see you leave on shopping trips with his mother, the two of you coming back with heavy bags and new memories while his mother would walk by him and secretly whisper, “I love her!” to him. He wanted to flaunt you, and boast and gloat all about you - but the circumstances now were dreadful, and to talk about how he had failed you made him want to cry all over again. 

His mother waited patiently for his reply, clasping her hands together in her lap as he stayed quiet while he decided. He was so used to sulking and torturing himself on his own in the past month, that seeing a genuine look of concern and desire to help pushed him into making his final resolve.

“I met her around the beginning of last year,” he breathed out finally, “her name is Y/N Y/L/N, we had a Potions class together but I met her in one of the corridors where we accidentally bumped into each other. I sprained a finger trying to catch myself and she healed it without a second thought. She wants to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s after Hogwarts, and she’s very skilled with her wand. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and the kindest. She always listened to me, and helped me, and encouraged me. She always reassured me when I needed it, and if it weren’t for her I don’t think I would have mended the cabinet or even had the energy to wake up every day. She stayed with me even when I told her the truth about everything. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way she does, I can’t explain it, she makes me feel-”

“Alive?” His mother softly finished for him. “She makes you feel alive.”

“Yes,” he nods fervently, “I love her and I failed her. I don’t think there’s anything I can do now and neither can you.”

“I beg to differ,” she briskly interjects. “It’s never too late for anything, Draco. There’s always an opportunity to make things right, as long as you try. She at least deserves an explanation and an apology, and it will be up to her to decide what she wants to do. She sounds wonderful, and I’m glad you met someone who brings out your best.”

Draco agreed wordlessly, his tears sitting at the brink of his eyelids begging to be released as he mulled over everything that was said. He knew where you lived, having learned the fact somewhere in your relationship when you were talking about your childhood and where you were from. He knew the place you called home and the address that came with it that you constantly reminded him of in hopeful jokes that he would visit you over the summer.

“There’s no one here, no one would know you’re gone,” Narcissa encourages swiftly as if she knew what he was thinking about. “It’ll be a few hours before anyone returns. Go to her.”

“But if I become involved with her again, he’ll find out, won’t he?” He insinuates in distress. “The reason I left her was to keep her safe from him, I don’t want her anywhere near this.”

“He won’t find out,” she promised, “I’ll make sure of it. Go.”

There was a hopeful and elating sensation that ran through his veins as he stood up, turning back to look at his mother as she nodded at him optimistically. He suddenly lunged towards her, giving her a tight hug and muttering thank you’s to her like a broken record before running out of the garden towards the front gate of the Manor.

As soon as he reached his exit, he used his newfound Death Eater ability to half-apparate himself into a thick black cloud of smoke that allowed him to fly over to where you were - not giving a care in the world if he were seen by muggles as he recklessly took every shortcut he knew towards your hometown.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There was a slight breeze in the cloudy air that brought you comfort. It was cold, but refreshing - a sharp contrast against the burning feeling that never seemed to leave your body. You were back home now, in your small little town in England that held little to no wizards.

You spent a lot of your time wandering around the local stores and cafes nearby, mingling with strangers as you told them fake life stories for fun. There was also the small forest behind your house you regularly enjoyed, and all the small hidden creatures that you encountered along the way. You always brought along your family cat, the chunky orange tabby always finding his way for you outside of the forest when you got too far in, or if he sensed there was nearby danger and would warn you. Sometimes you would talk to him, complain to him about everything that was bothering you and he would respond to you now and then with broken meows and chirps that made you feel like he understood, even though he didn’t. It made you feel less alone.

Of course, you had your family that worried over your changed behaviors. They weren’t oblivious. They noticed the puffy eyes, the sniffles, and the quiet sobs that escaped under the space of your bedroom door when they would pass by in the middle of the night to get a glass of water from the kitchen. They noticed your sudden quietness, and your lack of interest in everything and hardly found you in the house. You were always out and about, trying to find anything and anyone to distract yourself from what was going on in your mind.

 It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to your family, even though they had incessantly offered their support, you just knew they wouldn’t understand. They would want to know about Draco, his family, and their beliefs. They would eventually figure out of his involvement with the Dark Lord and the looming second Wizarding war. They wouldn’t approve, and you didn’t want to hear the scolding you would get for ever giving him the time of day. You were bitter enough as it was, and the last thing you wanted to hear was how bad Draco was and how you were better off without him.

But even if you were supposed to be better off without him, a life where he wasn’t in it didn’t feel good at all. It felt empty and lost. You were used to his presence always being around you and how he was always a few minutes away from you. He was always available to you for anything and willingly; for company, affection, comfort, reassurance, love, everything. You hated the fact that you let yourself get attached, especially when you knew deep down the direction the relationship was going in.

There were days when you would wake up okay. Days where your mind blocked out your feelings entirely, including Draco and all the memories that came with him. There were days when you felt like you had finally forced yourself to move on, but always finding it to wear off when you’d clamber into bed at night and your brain started illustrating everything you didn’t want to remember. The silver band bracelet he had gifted you was in constant movement from your wrist and jewelry box, hidden on the days you wanted to forget him or sitting pretty on your skin on the days you missed him the most. As much as it hurt to think about him and remember him, you couldn’t stop the way your whole being drifted towards him.

You were currently stepping over a big fallen tree trunk covered in thick green moss, your cat following closely by your leg as he pranced and jumped over all his obstacles. You walked mindlessly around the greenery, not taking notice in the shape of the leaves of the fern you were placing your hand upon to move out of your way. It wasn’t until you felt the sharpened ends of the leaves dig deep into your skin that made you recoil your hand back in pain, a slight hiss leaving your mouth as a small gash began to form with blood flowing quickly upwards out of the new cut. Your hand was held in the air as you frantically looked around for anything that would stop the bleeding that was now dripping sleekly down your arm.

“Stupid ministry and underage magic,” you mutter under your breath. Your wand was in your pocket, begging to be used, but the idea of being sent a letter from the ministry that was now under the Voldermort's control quickly dispersed any desire you had to use it. “Come on, kitty. Let’s go back home, please.”

'Home' was a word the cat did understand. He bumped your leg with his head before meowing loudly at you as he began trotting off to your right side towards the exit of the forest. He moved stealthily, dodging in and out of everything that was in his path as you attempted to follow in his cleared steps. Every time you would trip or rest briefly, he would stop ahead of you and wait until you would walk towards him again before he started back on the journey.

When you finally saw your house in the distance, you sighed in relief at the thought of your first aid kit waiting patiently for you in the bathroom cupboard. And belatedly, your feet hit the stone path that led home, skipping slightly with your hand in the air before nearly toppling over your cat as he stopped abruptly in your path. You moved out of the way, last minute, and very clumsily before eyeing him suspiciously.

He was looking up at the sky, his ears pulled back and the fur on his back straightening up as his eyes frantically searched around the clouds above him. He wasn’t hissing like he normally did when he felt something dangerous coming, he looked more confused and alert than anything. You searched the sky with him for a minute before concluding he was being too wary so you bent down and pick him up with your uninjured hand, nearly scooping him into your arms until he carefully swiped at your arm.

“You’re being dramatic, there’s nothing there,” you exclaim at him irritably. You were stumped, on one hand, literally, you were still bleeding though it had significantly slowed down and was now just coagulated blood, and on the other hand, you couldn’t leave the cat outside because of the number of dead critters he left in his past outdoor ventures around the yard and his sometimes week-long disappearances that left everyone in the house worried.

In just a few seconds of your thinking, he had sprung forward and rushed towards the large open field that was a few feet away from your house. Although it was summer, it had been rainy and allowed the grassy field to flourish in tall and wild greenery. This did not help as you watched the fluff of orange disappear into the small jungle that lied ahead and you began to sprint after him, spotting his bushy tail in your vision every time he jumped over something. If you could use magic, this little ordeal would have gone much more different - but you couldn’t.

You chased him until the very near end of the field, spotting him sitting calmly as he looked back at you as if he was expecting you. Rolling your eyes, you reached towards him again to pick him up, if he wanted to go back to the house scratching and biting then so be it. You trained your gaze on him, trying your best to grab him as carefully and as slyly as you could. But as soon as your hand landed on the silky fur of his back, you heard a soft whooshing sound a few feet away in front of you and a very audible shuffle of dead grass crunching underneath someone's shoes as they moved slowly. 

You didn’t look up, all of a sudden feeling scared at who could have magically appeared in front of you, and instead, you waited for your cat to hiss and attack, but he sat himself down in a loaf as if he were in the most comfortable place in existence. This is when you looked up, and the sight before you was like an invisible force that knocked you onto your bottom as you jumped back in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

What was supposed to sound like a concerned question, came out a little ruder than you had intended, almost seething at the boy that was fearfully staring down at you.

“I’m sorry,” Draco ran his hands over his pallid face in distress, “I shouldn’t have come.”

There was an awkwardness that hung in the air. The two of you were finally where you had wanted to be, together, but now that you were face-to-face it couldn’t have been more perplexing. He didn’t know how to begin, and you weren’t sure if you should even listen to him. It was like a weird staring competition, he was taking in everything about you as you were doing the same to him. It was obvious you were both a wreck, and the damage was apparent on him the most as he was dealing with his Death Eater status now more than ever.

“Your hand is bleeding,” he stated suddenly. You didn’t have time to answer before he had cautiously walked over to you and sat down beside you in a flattened patch of grass. “Let me see it.”

Like magnets, your hand instantly fell into his cold grasp without you thinking about it. You eyed him carefully and quietly, observing him as he turned your injured hand over in his and inspected your gash like you had done many times in the past for him. You didn’t stop him when he took his wand out of his pocket and waved it over your wound, murmuring a familiar spell that closed the cut with ease, a small pink scar left in its place. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” you say lightly. “Thank you.”

“I learned from the best,” he smiles faintly. 

Neither of you moved from your sitting spots, and neither of you said anything. He would meet your eyes now and then and search them with such a pained expression that it took everything in you not to just throw yourself into his arms and cry in relief that he was there.

“I know it was Snape who killed Dumbledore and not you,” you break the silence apprehensively. “Harry told me.”

“Potter told you?” He grimaced, but he let out a breath of relief. “I would’ve thought the git would have loved to throw me under the bus. I didn’t even know he was there, then I see him chasing us down-”

“Draco, why are you here?” You asked him again, gingerly this time and cutting him off from his rambling in hopes that he would just cut to the chase on his unannounced appearance. He sighed, looking down at his now muddy, once expensive dress shoes.

“I needed to see you,” he answers honestly. “And I wanted to apologize for how I left things.”

You peered up at him with a raised eyebrow, bringing your knees up to your chest so you could rest your head against them as you faced him. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m serious,” he frowned. “I’m sorry I used my wand against you. I’m sorry I shut you out. I’m sorry I left without giving you much of an explanation. I’m sorry I abandoned you and disappeared off the face of the Earth. I’m sorry I broke my promise that I would never leave you again.”

“Draco-”

“No, wait, I need you to understand that I thought leaving you was the only thing that would keep you safe. I would have never forgiven myself if I let you die for trying to help me, even if you say you’re ready to accept whatever fate is in store for you, I’m not. But I don’t want to run anymore, I don’t want to be away from you, I can’t do it and I always think I can let you go for your safety, but I can’t.”

There was a brief period of stillness as you contemplated his apology. Your head moved to fall in between your knees as your hands began to fiddle with the long strands of grass beneath you. You were stripping it and pulling at it, hoping that there would be a hidden message underneath the earth that would give you an answer on what to say or what to do, but it wasn’t possible. The only thing you found was the loose pitiful tears slipping down your face that seeped into spots of dry soil. Draco stayed wordless beside you, the only sound coming from him was uneven breaths as he stressed over your reaction.

You were caught in between wanting to give in, wanting to forgive him, and hug him and kiss him to make up for all the tortuous time lost, but there was also a part of you that was now afraid to trust. You wanted to, so badly, but everything felt so unpredictable. You weren’t sure whether you could handle him leaving again if he had to. And if he were to die at the end of all of this? There was no way you’d be able to recover from a loss like that. He was on an unforeseeable path that held no clear outcome.  

“I’m scared, Dray,” you sniffle, closing your eyes tightly as you began to answer him. “We’re not kids anymore fooling around at school. Everything is getting more real by the day. How am I supposed to be comfortable with the idea that you might-”

You stopped yourself from finishing, a soft sob escaping your throat at the near mention of his possible death. You felt him scoot closer to you, stopping about a few inches away from your shuddering body as he placed a reassuring hand on your lower back.

“You say you can’t accept the decision I made when I said I’m ready for whatever fate lies ahead of me,” you mumble miserably. “Well, I can’t accept yours either.”

“I won’t make any more promises I can’t keep,” he starts warily, “but I can promise you that as long as I’m around, I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever. And as far as my future goes, I promise that I’ll do everything and anything I can to survive this.”

You had unhooked your arms from around your legs, bringing them underneath you as you sat yourself up to face him better. He was staring at you intently, hopeful gray eyes boring into yours with every emotion under the sun flashing through them. He didn’t show it, but he felt like at any moment he was going to faint. He had never seen such uncertainty on your face and it killed him, but he tried to remain stoic as he spoke and kept a brave face at every concern you had. He couldn’t guarantee you anything that lied ahead, but there was also nothing he wouldn’t do for you now.

“Okay,” you agree, finally giving him the consolation he had been woefully praying for. “I believe you, we can get through this together.”

There wasn’t another second spared before you speedily moved out of your sitting position to pounce him with a tight and suffocating hug. It was desperate and smothering, his arms wrapped tightly around your lower back as he pressed you deeply into his body as if you were going to disappear any second.

You didn’t care that you could barely breathe against his chest or that your knee was digging into the mud below you. It was the most relieving feeling in the world, finally being in his arms again with new hopes and possibilities that always found a way to present themselves. It was one of the many reasons that you knew he was the one for you. Everything with him felt easy, even if the world was crashing down around you. He could melt away all your pain and worries with one look, touch, or words. He felt like home and heaven all in one.

It came to you in the middle of your longing hug, that there was always going to be something looming over the two of you in the current state that the wizarding world was in. There’s no point in wasting time when everything could change overnight, just as it had that unforsaken day at Hogwarts before you were dragged home the next day. There was no reason for trying to stay away from him when it was everything you wanted and you knew then that you needed to take advantage of whatever time you had left with him.

“I'm sorry for saying I would never forgive you that night,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “And for being stubborn.”

“You had all the right to be angry with me,” he laments.

“But it didn’t make it okay,” you nuzzle yourself deeper in his embrace, frowning to yourself as you recalled the night.

He looked down at you, a pang of guilt hitting him when he saw the corners of your lips pulled down in sadness. He leaned down and carefully placed a kiss on your temple, lingering for a bit before moving away and muttering, “nothing about that night was okay.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

There wasn’t an inkling of an idea how long the two of you were sat outside, holding on tightly to each other as you filled each other in on any news that happened in the last month since you’ve seen each other. The only indication that let the two of you know that time had surely passed was that the sun had begun setting behind the valley in the distance. The moon now had a faint appearance in the purplish evening sky that was for the first time in a while, free of the heavy cloud covers.

You listened attentively as he told you about the Manor and how it was being used as a Death Eater meeting place. He told you about his father being released from Azkaban as a treat for the Malfoy’s since he had fixed the cabinet and disarmed Dumbledore for Snape to finish, unknowing to him that he would. He explained to you how ghostly he felt when he was venturing out of the school that night. He even scarcely described the horror that had gone on in the dead of night, when victims had been brought back to the house for ‘interrogations’ and the way their screams would keep him wide awake for days.

You nearly felt sick to your stomach the longer he went on, empathizing with him delicately when he would sometimes stop talking to take a deep painful shaky breath. The guilt that was eating away at him wasn’t hidden or pushed down, he expressed it very obviously and you couldn’t picture how he managed to hold a straight face in the sea of terrors he had encountered.

“You’re nothing like them,” you whispered tenderly to him when you saw the distant broken look that clouded his eyes. “You are good, Draco. Not once have I ever changed my mind about that.”

He was slipping, far and fast into the depths of his despair. His new life away from school was eating away at him now that he was forced to experience it upfront. He wasn’t cut out for it, nor did he want anything to do with it. It physically pained you that there was nothing you could do except offer him what you’ve always been able to provide; a listening ear and to remind him that he’s not the evil monster he deludes himself to be. 

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” he mumbled gloomily, taking your hand into his as he turned to look at you. “I want to hear about you and your summer.”

“It wasn’t pleasant or anything, honestly,” you shrug, “I spent most of it in the village nearby and the forest behind my house with my cat, who by the way knew you were coming somehow.”

You both suddenly turned to look for the orange tabby who had seemingly disappeared without either of you noticing sometime throughout the evening. 

“Where is the little critter so I can thank him for leading you to me,” he chuckled softly as you rolled your eyes.

“He’s probably back at home now but I’ll pass the message,” you bite back a smirk.

Draco felt the familiar fluttering of pixies in his stomach as he looked at you, a sense of exhilaration and delight shocking his body from its usual anguished state. He was so far gone in you and he never wanted to leave the feelings you left him with and with such little effort. He couldn’t count how many times he had the same thought in his head when he was around you, much like your own, he knew with you was where he was at his calmest and his happiest. It was like a chunk of agony being released from him that made him feel like he could breathe again without feeling like he was going to drown. Even if it was just for a few hours, he was always grateful for moments he shared with you and the comfort you brought him.

“I love you,” he said dazed, eyes locking onto yours intimately. “I hope you know that.”

"I love you,” you repeated, a coy smile making its way onto your features. 

“You know,” his thumb began mindlessly running over your knuckles as he spoke, “if it wasn’t for my mother knocking some sense into me earlier, I wouldn’t have had the great idea to show up here.”

He looked over at you when he felt you tense up completely, slightly worried at first before a small amusement quickly replaced his fear when he noticed you were gaping at him with wide wondrous eyes. 

“You told her about me?”

“All about you,” he nods, “I accidentally let your name slip a while back and she’s been asking me about you ever since. I didn’t want to say anything in case someone heard, but everyone was gone today and she got it out of me.”

“What did she say about me?” You asked him timidly as if it was the most important thing in the world for you.

He chortled quietly at your nervousness, “she said she thinks you’re wonderful and she’s glad we met. She pushed me to come and make things right with you and she offered to look out for us.”

There was an intense delight that beat against your chest at his answer. The only other person in his life who’s opinion he valued the most above all had made one about you, and it was one that was better than anything you could have ever hoped for. Narcissa Malfoy had vouched for you before she’s even properly met you and it left you feeling astounded and beyond appreciative.

“When you get home, please send her my regards,” you plead heartily, your hands clutching onto the lapels of his suit jacket as he laughed lightly. 

“I will, I will,” he smiles, “I have to be home soon, so she’ll hear about it within the next half hour.”

Draco pulled you up with him as he stood up, both of you finally stretching out your limbs with groans and sighs of relief from the tension of sitting for so long.

As you peered up at him, you let your hands slide up into the platinum blond strands that looked brighter than ever under the now bright moonlight. He placed a hand over one of your wrists, a smile growing on his face as he noticed the silver band sitting warmly against your skin. He leaned forward to press his forehead against yours, letting himself stay there for a minute as he tried to revel in the last few moments of peace he was going to try and prolong for the rest of his night.

“I’ll be back soon,” he cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazed delicately over your cheekbone as you leaned into his touch. “Right back with you.”

“I’ll be waiting, Malfoy,” you grin.

For the first time that night, he ducked down and pressed his lips soft against yours. The gentleness quickly dissipated into longing and fervor as he kissed you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do, seeking the closeness and union he missed so desperately. Neither of you made any move to pull apart as you melted into each other, basking completely in the feeling of being so close to one another like this again.

If it wasn’t for you worrying about his timely arrival back home before everyone, you would have allowed him to keep you like that forever. But much to your dismay, you tapped him lightly against his chest that let him know it was really time for him to leave if he wanted to keep his secret trip, secret.

You stood there sadly, watching him as he unwillingly backed away from you and whispered one more goodbye to you before he disappeared into the sky in a ghost of black smoke, the aroma of his cologne still lingering in the air and a swollen feeling against your lips that left you feeling fuzzy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

The Malfoy Manor was staring eerily back at Draco when he finally arrived back in front of the main gate of the home. It was deathly quiet and dark, only a small light could be seen from the living room as he approached further into the property.

He swiftly ran up the steps, hand falling carefully onto the brass doorknob of the front entrance, stopping in his tracks completely when he heard a mixture of hushed angry voices.

“I told you, Bella,” he heard his mother exclaim fiercely. “He only went out to clear his head.”

“Clear his head of what?” his aunt sneered. “He’s falling weak, Cissy. He should be running around in joy that the Dark Lord has him in his inner circle.”

“My son is not weak, don’t you think this can all be a little overwhelming for someone who hasn’t even finished his schooling?” His mother defended him and he could picture the exact sneer on her face as she spoke.

“I want to know where he went,” Bellatrix says hotly, “he’s been gone too long.”

Draco ran through a list of excuses in his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat when he decided on one and put on a straight face as he turned the doorknob, cautiously stepping into the dimly lit living room where both his parents and aunt were waiting for him.

“Ah, there he is,” his father announced as he was the first one to see the boy clambering inside.

“I’m sorry I went off for so long,” Draco spoke up before anyone could ask. “I remember someone mentioning they had spotted Potter around a village nearby so I tried to go look for him.”

“Did you?” Bellatrix chastised. “And nothing?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged with a feigned annoyance.

“And you were alone?” She added with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, all by myself.”

Narcissa gave her sister a pointed look as she walked up to Draco, hand gripping tightly onto his arm before leading him away from the surprise interrogation and towards the foot of the stairs where she stopped him hastily.

“How did it go?” She asked almost inaudibly.

“Y/N sends her regards,” he whispered, “thank you.”

He gave his mother a warm hug good night before he hurriedly bounded up the stairs, looking down towards the living room once more where Bellatrix was eyeing him carefully. He decided on giving her a curt nod before vanishing into his bedroom and letting himself fall against the shut double doors, a large exhale of relief slipping past his lips as he was now safe to freely recall the night with a dazed smile he didn’t want to let go of.

PART 6

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy  @bluesunflowersz  @dreamyvcid  @goddessofgames  @natt-nih  @cheesecakes-randomshitz  @supersouthy  @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee  @peter-parka​  @thefandomplace​  @angelofslytherin​  @karentheugly​  @thebirdskeeponsinging​  @rubbyy420​  @bimyoux​  @lovely-valllll​  @angstywhore​  @moose-squirrel-asstiel​  @lordfxxker​  @dommiefinch​  @johannalauraaa​  @aestheticallymarauderss​  @mrs-isabela-malfoy @dogglefoggle​ @ba-responds​ @1tristful1

APOLOGIES IF I FORGOT ANYONEEE 🥺 BUT I REALLY HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER EVEN THO IT WASNT TOOO EVENTFUL ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I GOT ACTION FOR THE NEXT PIECES THO JUST WAITTTT

[rocorambles]

It's Always Been You

Pairing: Semi x Reader

Genre: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (I swear it’s more fluff than hurt/comfort), Getting together

Summary: You’ve always known Semi was your first choice. Now you just need to convince HIM that it’s true. Easier said than done.

Prompt: “When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?”

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Also this is an AU where the boy’s and girl’s volleyball teams practice in the same gym. Just go with it. LOL Please and thank you.) Thank you for beta-ing @sawamooora~

There’s a certain sense of pride and anxiety that comes from being accepted to Shiratorizawa as a student athlete. Pride from knowing your athletic prowess has been recognized as being at least notable. Anxiety from not knowing if that’s all it’ll amount to, talent that’s forced to remain seated on a bench as other, even more capable athletes surpass and outrank you. But as wide-eyed first years, Semi and you don’t feel that full weight yet, not as you watch and learn from your senpais in awe, and it’s that curiosity, that love for the sport that brings you two together.

Semi’s always been on the quieter side, but when he sees you in the corner of the girl’s side of the gym all by yourself, practicing setting a volleyball against the wall, recognizing you as a fellow newbie from his class, he takes his chance. It’s an easy friendship, one that easily crosses from the court, to the classroom, to after school study sessions and hangouts. And even though it sucks to still be set aside on the bench, left to cheer on your upperclassmen while the both of you hone your skills, it brings both of you comfort that you’re not alone, that you have someone else cheering you on, growing and improving right alongside you.

It’s hard work trying to stand out among all the hopeful first years at Shiratorizawa, but the endless hours of hard work and encouragement you give each other, the shouts to keep on going, the careful bandaging of each other’s fingers before and after grueling practices, it all pays off. The two of you proudly stand side by side in your second year as your parents snap a photo of both of you donning your brand new team uniforms, marking you as starting players.

The adrenaline of the cheering audience, the exhilaration of being in a real game, it’s everything both of you have wished for and more. But through the excitement, a nagging worry tugs at Semi as he watches the new rookie setter, Shirabu Kenjirou, from afar.

There’s nothing wrong with Shirabu. He’s a smart kid, albeit a little short tempered and rude at times, but aren’t they all in high school? But it’s not his attitude, not even his shitty haircut that bothers Semi. It’s the ease with which he connects with the rest of the team, the natural skill and talent he possesses, the way Coach Washijou stares at the younger male with interest, that has Semi striving harder, his desire to stand out and prove himself only hindering him and the team more.

And reality comes crashing down around him one day as a shrill whistle jars him from his razor sharp focus, the paddle with his number being held up by Shirabu making his heart drop to his stomach as he’s subbed out, face heating with humiliation and embarrassment as his teammates eagerly high five and clap the younger setter on the court, welcoming him into the game.

Just like that, he’s been replaced.

It hurts, but he knows it’s to be expected. He had seen it coming, and acknowledges that it’s the better decision for the team. But that doesn’t make it sting any less. And he watches with steely eyes at how effortlessly Shirabu melds in with the team, the ball easily and smoothly connecting.

He thinks this is the worst of the heartache, vowing that he’ll just work harder, at least be a useful pinch server. He’ll be the best setter he can when he’s needed. But what he isn’t expecting is the lancing stab to his heart when he sees you rush over to Shirabu after the match is over, the way you’re practically bouncing on the soles of your feet as you fawn over the younger setter, congratulating him on his first game, complimenting him on a job well done, not even sparing a glance in his direction. In your defense, you do make your way towards him eventually, but he can feel the pity in your eyes, the way you approach him as if he’s a wounded animal, and he slaps your hand away before it can come in contact with his arms, storming off, leaving you gaping in his wake.

The situation was poorly handled and he knows he owes an apology at minimum, but those words get stuck in his throat when he spies you chatting one-on-one with Shirabu at practice the next day while the boy’s and girl’s teams share the same gym. It’s vaguely reminiscent of watching a horror film and despite the way he freezes, heart clenching, Semi can’t tear his eyes away as you demonstrate some setting techniques and drills to Shirabu. And when your bandaged fingers carefully wrap around the younger male’s forearms to adjust his posture, Semi rushes off, unable to bear watching how once again, he’s become irrelevant.

He wonders— hopes that it’s just a one off thing, that things will return to how they once were. But they don’t, and he watches as Shirabu and you laugh and joke, high fiving and cheering each other on as you help one another practice, time and time again. He tries his best to ignore it, gritting his teeth and using more strength than necessary in his practice serves, brushing off the concerned questions from even usually stoic Ushijima. But it all comes to a head when Shirabu is absent from practice one day and you cheerfully walk up to him like no time has passed, like you hadn’t turned around and instantly betrayed him for a better version of himself, grinning as you ask him to practice with you.

There’s a sick satisfaction in how quickly your smile disappears, the flash of hurt in your eyes when he sneers at you, thanking you for “gracing him with your presence”.

“Glad you could find it in yourself to make some time for me. Thought you’d skip out on practice to take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What-”

The whole gym stares at both of you as his harsh voice echoes throughout the area.

“When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?!”

Semi and you don’t talk to each other for the rest of that year, although not for quite the same reasons.

For Semi, it’s a completely burned bridge and, as good as seeing you feel some of the same pain he feels is, there’s an emptiness inside of him as he goes home that night. The belief that he’s ruined everything between the two of you heavily weighs inside of him.

For you, it’s a medley of hurt, shock, and confusion. You give Semi the time he needs to cool off, give yourself the time and space to ponder and think into the late and early hours of each night, wondering where everything went wrong.

Shirabu? Boyfriend? How could Semi possibly even believe that?

Being an upperclassman means mentorship and guidance. So when Shirabu had come up to you one day after he became the boy’s team’s starting setter, you had graciously offered up some tips, let him know that you’d practice with him if you were free, encouraged him. You had missed your easy banters with Semi, missed how in sync and in tune with each other you were. But how could you turn away an underclassman in need?

Yet, the more you think about it, the more you really try and understand Semi’s perspective, guilt gnaws at you, clawing at your heart.

Had you meant to neglect your closest friend? An emphatic no.

Could you see why he had felt abandoned? ...A begrudging maybe laced with remorse.

Do you want him back in your life? A resounding yes.

You know it’ll be hard work to regain Semi’s trust, know he has a stubbornness that’s hard to crack — especially when it’s been hot glued together by seeming betrayal. But you’re just as determined, just as headstrong, and to both the dismay and amusement of both your teams and classmates, you twirl together in a chaotic dance.

To say he’s caught off guard when you knock on his door one morning to walk with him to school is an understatement, but when realization comes crashing down on him, he scowls, and his parents watch while shaking their heads and hiding a laugh as you scramble to keep up with him while he pointedly ignores you and speed walks a few steps ahead of you.

His mom points out to his father the way their son slows down just the tiniest bit when you stumble in your haste to catch up.

Ushijima watches in uncomfortable confusion as you sit with them at lunch, plopping down in the empty seat beside Semi, chatting away at your old friend despite the way Semi resolutely stays silent, not even sparing you a glance.

But if the ace notices the way Semi doesn’t snap at you or pull his bento box from you as you grab a piece of fish Semi’s mom had cooked, he doesn’t say anything.

Shirabu pouts when you completely bypass him, fondly ruffling his hair as you stride towards Semi, volleyball in hand at practice. And both your teams watch in exasperation and fascination at the unintentional comedy show the two of you provide as you waddle after Semi like a baby duck following its mother, quacking your head off and never giving up even though Semi pretends he doesn’t see you in the corner of his eyes, mimicking every drill he does.

Coach Washijo and your coach wonder if they should slap both of you on the heads for this madness, but when they observe the way Semi painstakingly slows down and exaggerates his form when you struggle with an exercise, they roll their eyes, turning their attention to the other players lounging around.

Yet as amusing as it is, all shows must come to an end and your grand finale arrives with the devastating loss against Karasuno, the chances of going to Nationals again ruined just like that for the third-years.

Even for you, a bystander in the audience, just another spectator in the crowd, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Unshed tears glisten in your eyes when you see the years of hard work they’ve all put into the sport go down the drain, the slump of Semi’s shoulders as they walk off the court. You can’t even begin to imagine how the players themselves are feeling, don’t know a single word you could say to make this alright. Yet your legs are sprinting, wobbling and shaking in their frantic need to comfort your long-time friend, to try and soothe him, to tell him how proud you are of him, how this doesn’t change how you think and feel about him.

It’s more than a little awkward, panting to catch your breath as the entire dejected team stares at your sudden appearance in confusion. But Tendou’s always been a little quicker, a little sharper than the rest, and he grins, practically shoving Semi in your direction, playfully waving farewell at both of you before slamming the locker room doors shut before Semi can process what’s happened.

There’s a tense silence as you try and wrap your suddenly dry mouth around words.

“I’m sorry for your loss-”

You jolt at the cold scoff, the way Semi quickly spins on his heel, set on re-entering the locker rooms, turning his back on you.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Go comfort your little boyfriend. I’m sure our star setter would eat those sweet words right up-”

“SHUT UP!”

This time it’s Semi’s turn to clamp his mouth shut in shock, hesitantly turning around, eyes wide as you storm towards him, jabbing your index finger into his chest.

“I swear to God, if you mention Shirabu’s name one more time while I’m talking to you, I’m going to muzzle you until you can’t say ANYTHING.”

(If either of you hear Tendou’s giggle from behind the closed doors, neither of you mention it.)

“I came to talk to YOU because I miss YOU. I like YOU. And if you could take just a minute to get your head out of your ass, you’d know that you’ve always been and always will be my first choice.”

Your chest is heaving, blood rushing in your ears from the exertion of your passion. But the reality of your accidental confession comes crashing down around you and your face heats in embarrassment, heart plummeting at the way Semi just gapes at you, speechless. You turn to rush away, mortification triggering your flight response. But a gentle, but firm tug on the hem of your shirt keeps you still.

You brace yourself for the rejection you know is coming, nervously turning around, slowly lifting your head to meet Semi’s gaze. But your heart flutters at the hope and disbelief in his eyes.

“But I thought...You and Shirabu- OW!”

You roll your eyes, a satisfied smirk on your face at the way he gingerly rubs his head, shooting you an accusing look.

“I did warn you about mentioning him, didn’t I?”

But before he can open his mouth to retort, you gently peck him on the cheek, giggling at the flabbergasted and stunned expression on his face, cooing at the faint blush that radiates across his skin.

“Hurry up and get your things. You owe me a popsicle for being such an ass this past year.”

There’s a lot more cheering and celebration in the locker room than there should be for a team that’s just lost their shot at Nationals as Semi re-enters the space, his already packed bag (courtesy of Ushijima) shoved into his arms by a gleeful red-head.

[sunshineandaisies]

Coffee Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: sexual suggestions, i think a few language words maybe?

You were a creature of habit, there was no denying that, and you had no shortage of habits that made you such.

Example A; every Thursday afternoon, after you’d rushed from the lecture hall at the end of your final class of the day, you’d spend two hours sitting on the plush couch in the coffee shop just down the street from your apartment, sipping coffee after coffee as you fingers clacked across the keyboard of your laptop and you made the latest edits to your graduate thesis.

Usually, there would always be a random stranger sitting at the opposite end of the couch, and it was never the same person two weeks in a row. Sometimes it was a sharply dressed business type that sipped their coffee while scrolling through emails on their phone, and other times it was sleep-deprived student, sipping on what you assumed was likely their sixth cup of coffee that day and trying their best to not pull their hair out as they worked on whatever assignment had them so obviously stressed. Occasionally, you even recognized a professor that you had taken classes with during your undergrad, laughing as they graded poorly written and ill-conceived papers.

But six weeks ago, you recognized the man that sat in the seat at the other end of the couch as the same man that had sat beside you the week before.

When you first realized that he was the same man from the week before, you did your best to look him over from the corner of your eye. He was certainly the tall, handsome brooding type - that much was clear with just a single glance - but you had to do a bit of a double take when you saw the book that he was so intently focused on.

Twilight? Really?

You had been so shocked by his book choice that you didn’t see him look up at you with an annoyed expression etched across his features, but as soon as you felt his intense gaze on you your cheeks flooded with warmth and you quickly averted your gaze.

You didn’t dare look at him again that day.

The following week, however, you put your surreptitious observation skills to the test as soon as you took your usual seat on the plush couch, and you were pleasantly impressed with what you saw. Mesmerizing blue eyes, deliciously muscled thighs, fingers that made your mind wander to less than appropriate places, and...and a metal arm?

You put an end to your staring sooner than you really wanted to, but you’d rather not have your silent coffee shop companion see you salivating over him. Instead, you focused on your thesis and cast the tiniest of glances at the man when you found your mind conjuring up images of what his fingers could do and what it would feel like to have his metal hand wrapped around your-

What the hell? First he was reading Twilight, and now he’s reading The Hunger Games? Who the hell was this guy?

As the weeks went on, the two of you sat alone together and your confusion over his reading interests only grew. So far, you’d seen him read not only Twilight and The Hunger Games, but also various books from the Game of Thrones series and The Fault in Our Stars.

Additionally, as the weeks went on, your impending thesis deadline was swiftly approaching, and your Thursday routine was rudely interrupted by an impromptu meeting with your graduate advisor after your final class of the day. It was a quick meeting, no more than twenty minutes long, but that small interruption of your usual schedule had you sprinting across campus, frazzled and frantic and worried that your seat on the plush couch of the coffee shop would be taken by the time you finally arrived.

You hurried away from the counter as soon as your usual cup of coffee had been pushed into your hand by the exhausted barista, hoping that your seat hadn’t been taken when you failed to show up ten minutes ago. A sigh escaped from between your lips when you saw that it remained vacant. Depositing your bag on the ground in front of the couch, you quickly pulled your laptop out and tried to calm your frazzled nerves enough to focus on your thesis.

“You’re late.”

You were so surprised that he had actually spoken to you that you froze, wondering if you’d simply imagined it. A quick glance to your side told you that you absolutely had not imagined it. He stared at you with a frown on his face and his brows pinched together in irritation, his book all but abandoned in his lap.

You raised a brow at him. “What?”

His eyes widened and a barely noticeable dusting of pink coated his cheeks. Cute. “I, uh-” Watching him stumble over his words as he tried to come up with a believable explanation for his surprising concern had you biting your lip to suppress an amused smile. “Nevermind,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to his book - this time the Maze Runner - as his lips tightened into an unimpressed line.

“No, you’re right.” He cautiously dragged his gaze back to you, curiosity sparkling in his blue eyes. “I was late. I’m never late.” After a moment of observing you, he nodded. Before he could go back to reading his book and ignoring you again, you commented, “Your taste in books has improved since the first week you sat with me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly before he was expressionless once again. “Yeah, I really wish I could get those hours of my life back.” You giggled, and he wasn’t able to fight back the smile that spread across his face.

“The Maze Runner’s pretty good,” you assured him. “Movies are good, too.”

And somehow, you ended up spending the next hour talking with your once silent coffee shop companion - “Bucky,” he had introduced himself with a smile - and completely ignoring your thesis in favor of talking about his recent book choices and opinions on their respective movie or television adaptations. Did he think Twilight was terrible? Absolutely. Did he think that the Hunger Games was an interesting commentary on social class differences? Definitely. Did he think the last season of Game of Thrones was awful? Don’t get him started. Did he cry while watching The Fault in Our Stars? No comment.

When you finally asked why he was reading so much - especially some of his questioning book choices - he sighed, answering, “My therapist thinks it’ll help me get acclimated to the twenty-first century better if I work on understanding pop culture better. These books were all on her list of recommendations.”

Suddenly, it clicked. Bucky, metal arm, getting acclimated to the twenty-first century. “You’re Bucky Barnes.” It wasn’t a question. It was more of a statement, an undeniable fact, and it clearly caught him off guard that you came to that conclusion so easily.

“Uh, yeah.” He nervously scratched the back of his neck, his lips turning down into a frown. “That’s me.”

Despite his reaction, you chuckled. “Well this is awkward.” He quirked a brow at you, his frown deepening. Before he could misunderstand, you continued, “I’m writing my thesis on societal perceptions of superheroes. I’ve literally spent hours researching you and Captain America and Iron Man and Thor and-”

He interrupted you, his brows pinched so tightly together you worried they’d end up stuck like that. “You think I’m a superhero?”

You shrugged and took a quick sip of your now cold coffee. “I mean, yeah. You helped Captain America fight Hydra back in the forties, and you helped beat Thanos last year, didn’t you?”

“There’s a lot of things I’ve done in the time between then that would firmly put me in the other category.”

You let out a breath, nodding solemnly. “I read about that, too,” you admitted. “But I also know that it wasn’t really something that you did of your own free-will. That makes you a victim, not a villain. When you actually had a choice, it seems like you always chose to do the right thing.”

He remained silent for an extended moment, and you worried that you ruined the easy companionship that had developed between you and the supersoldier. You tried to force down the rising sense of disappointment as you pursed your lips and turned away from him, slowly packing up your belongings to leave.

“Wait, Y/N.” You paused in the middle of shoving your laptop into your bag and glanced up at him curiously. “Can I-” He cleared his throat. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

You raised a brow, gaze flickering to your half-full cup of coffee on the table.

He chuckled, and dear god a sound has never made your stomach flip and flop as much as the sound of his deep chuckles spilling from his parted lips. “I mean a fresh, hot coffee. If, uh, you’re open to it, I’d like to hear more about your thesis.”

You nodded eagerly and pulled your laptop from your bag as a wide smile curled your lips. “I’d like that.”

[leverage-commentary]

Leverage Season 3, Episode 2, The Reunion Job, Audio Commentary Transcript

Jonathan Frakes: Hello everyone I'm Johnathan Frakes.

Michael Colton: Michael Colton.

John Aboud: John Aboud.

Aldis Hodge: This is Al Hodge.

Chris Downey: Chris Downey.

John Rogers: Am I sexual chocolate if you’re Al Hodge?

[Laughter]

John Rogers: It's John Rogers.

Aldis Hodge: Sexual chocolate is coming up.

John Rogers: Executive Producer of this particular episode, along with Chris Downey. And those other gentlemen are the writers and director down at the end. Welcome to The Reunion Job. Boys, which we always ask in the opening sequence, where'd this episode come about?

Michael Colton: The- initially you guys told us you wanted to do a high school reunion episode. And I think all you had was ‘they go undercover at a high school reunion’ and I think you had the end beat of the dancing.

John Rogers: Yes.

Michael Colton: At the dance. 

John Rogers: Right, yeah.

Michael Colton: And so from that we started thinking, you know, who would be a good villain for this episode? Someone who high school meant a lot to.

Jonathan Frakes: You talked over my Bourne Identity opening!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Sorry. Frakes why don't you tell us about the-

Jonathan Frakes: No, I got my-

John Rogers: Where'd that particular opening come from?

John Aboud: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: I'm kidding. Bourne Supremacy.

John Rogers: Bourne Supremacy.

Jonathan Frakes: Carry on.

John Rogers: That was a very aggressive style.

Jonathan Frakes: Where’d you get the rest of this story?

John Aboud: Well as nerds, we were able to channel the rage of a software magnate. Why would a software magnate be bad in the Leverage universe? Well maybe he's supplying his software to some very bad people overseas.

Michael Colton: Well right at the time we were writing this, there was the Irianian- the aftermath of the Iranian elections, so it was actually in the news that this kind of thing could be happening.

John Aboud: And this episode aired on the one year anniversary of that election. And around- and the protests.

Michael Colton: There was enough propaganda.

John Rogers: It was actually funny, we did get one phone call that's like ‘are we gonna get in trouble for like- can we be open to litigation?’ I went ‘if one of the most evil regimes on earth wants to sue us, I don't really see that as a problem.’

Michael Colton: That would be good press for the show. Iran sues-

Jonathan Frakes: Any publicity is good publicity.

John Rogers: Exactly. Now who's playing our victim here? Did a great job.

Jonathan Frakes: That's Ricki Bhullar.

John Rogers: Yep, fantastic job. And now Frakes, why don't you tell us about that opening? What- cause it was a very different opening than what we usually do.

Jonathan Frakes: Well I think what we try to do with each of our cold opens is to either pay an homage or, in other words, steal stylistically from a show. 

Chris Downey: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: From a Hitchcock show, or from you know-

John Rogers: It lets you know what the rest of the shows gonna be like.

Jonathan Frakes: Well- hopefully. Or that you just feel like the story of this show is in this particular style. That was a Bourne Supremacy rip off. 

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: How many shots can we get? How fast can we cut it? How fast can this action happen? And it has that vibe of international espionage.

John Rogers: Yep. Also that room was great, it was built totally on set. That was actually just a two wall set, wasn’t it?

Jonathan Frakes: That was a three-wall set, but we shot the shit out of it.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Chris Downey: And then so you put your energy into that and the rest of the episode you sort of coasted? Is that- you sorta let it…?

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah it's an approach I've found very useful.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now.

John Rogers: Now.

Jonathan Frakes: Who do you think that- oh!

Everyone: Woahhh!!! 

Michael Colton: There we go.

Chris Downey: And reveal.

John Aboud: Didn't see that coming.

Michael Colton: That worked really well.

John Rogers: It did; it did. Johnathan Frakes knows what he’s doing. Yeah and this was also part of the mandate for the opening of the third season, where we wanted to start opening it up into international stories. Kind of open up the Leverage universe in a way that, you know, this is a fictional universe wherein certain rules apply. And it’s close to ours but you know we wanted to start seeing the ramifications of crime world and politics.

Jonathan Frakes: It also suggests the backstory of a lot of these characters has been, in fact, international.

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: So that they have experience with all these things. It makes them look, or appear to have more experience than-

Michael Colton: Right.

John Rogers: And sometimes people ask where we get the cases, and we’re kinda establishing here there's a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I'm inside your head!’

John Rogers: ‘I'm living rent free.’

Aldis Hodge: Yeah, haha.

John Rogers: You know, kind of establish there's a community of people out there who take freedom of software, the internet's role in being free of government regulations and rules and internationalism very seriously, and Hardison is part of that group. That's part of the hacker group he fell in with.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed.

John Rogers: And that's how he knows this guy. That's his background.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘Yeah that's right, we are here to inspect your restaurant.’

John Rogers: Also based on a real spy safehouse that came up in research. But with better locks I think that one had. Ah this is crazy. How'd we get the roach?

Chris Downey: That’s a digital roach.

John Aboud: Digitally inserted.

Michael Colton: It's a real roach, but that plate was not there, it's like the whole thing.

Jonathan Frakes: More discussion about this cockroach than there was about the script!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: We tried to be a little robotic cockroach that went poorly. It went actually too well because it killed.

Jonathan Frakes: What about the real cockroach that we had that nobody liked? Cause it didn’t-

Chris Downey: Oh look at that! Boy that's great.

John Rogers: I think the close up was the real one, that one digital. 

Chris Downey: Is that one digital?

John Rogers: I love this, and the little.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, this tees up later. 

John Rogers: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: They don't get much to do together, it's nice to see those two have a little beat.

Michael Colton: I feel like there's a lot of improv in this scene with you guys.

John Aboud: Absolutely.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah this- you know, anytime you get me and Christian in a room together it's over.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: It's like ‘script, what?’ We just talk. 

John Rogers: Yeah, we’re just pretty much superfluous. Maybe next year without writers.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: That was how-

John Rogers: And that was a great way of using Jessie by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: How to make an entrance.

Chris Downey: We’re running out of ways for her to get out of a duct. I mean I feel like is there-

John Rogers: You know what? I just I may be speaking for-

Jonathan Frakes: Cirque du Soleil in town next year.

Chris Downey: We need to watch and take notes, cause there needs to be something new.

John Rogers: I may be speaking for a certain percentage of the audience, but anytime we have her in black jeans and that leather jacket coming out of a duct it's a good day. Really, the dismounts- really now you're really.

Aldis Hodge: I'm glad you said it, cause I was about to.

Jonathan Frakes: How about this shawarma?

John Rogers: I love the shawarma, by the way.

Jonathan Frakes: Who doesn’t?

Aldis Hodge: That shawarma was disgusting though, it was cold and greasy.

John Rogers: You can't shoot around hot shawarma.

Chris Downey: Prop shawarma was not?

John Aboud: Prop shawarma.

Aldis Hodge: Prop shawarma.

John Rogers: Don't eat the prop shawarma.

John Aboud: Don't recommend.

Jonathan Frakes: Not much room to move in this location as I recall, remember this place?

John Aboud: It was very narrow.

Jonathan Frakes: It feels as narrow as it was.

John Aboud: Hard to maneuver.

John Rogers: What was it? Was it a real restaurant we redressed?

John Aboud: It was a Hawaiian barbeque restaurant.

Jonathan Frakes: Real restaurant, Hawaiian barbeque.

Michael Colton: That's right.

John Aboud: And the production had to buy them out for the day, so there was a lot of the-

Jonathan Frakes: Are we happy with the yellow choice on the inside of the van?

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It's a little late to be asking that.

John Rogers: Yeah, I think we might want to change that. Could you fix that in post? Could you just go and… And yes it's the first time- when do we air this? Episode two or three?

Chris Downey: This is second- this is first night.

Michael Colton: First night.

John Rogers: That's right even though we shot it- did not shoot it second, it aired second. And that was re-establishing- that was establishing the new Lucille.

John Aboud: That's right. Near and dear to Hardison's heart.

John Rogers: This is also fun is that- it always amazes me the amount of international espionage that is actually kept in notebooks. 

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: No, the people-

Jonathan Frakes: Old school.

John Rogers: Old school. Yeah, but people- 

Aldis Hodge: It keeps them off the radar.

John Rogers: Yeah. You can, you can burn it. You know it can't be hacked, it can't be stolen.

John Aboud: Now that dishwasher, I believe he was also in the prison- in the Jail Break Job?

John Rogers: Oh so this is the jail- it's the job.

John Aboud: In my mind the backstory is: he's on a work release.

John Rogers: Oh that's right.

Chris Downey: Already fell into the wrong element.

John Aboud: Yeah, right away.

John Rogers: Well he doesn't know, they don't tell him.

Chris Downey: His parole officer is not doing a very good job.

John Aboud: Right away, right away.

Jonathan Frakes: The victim. Now we get the villain Arye Gross. Very reliable character actor, been doing it for years. 

Michael Colton: You worked with him…?

Jonathan Frakes: I worked with him on Castle. Recommend him to the gang and he nailed it.

Aldis Hodge: Nice.

John Rogers: Your career is banterific. Eliot, of course, learned to make amazing tea, and that is English Breakfast from his samurai master when he studied for 18 months. [pause] Wait no that was Wolverine.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Now whose idea was this to add this whole sequence?

Michael Colton: Well this is all based on NLP which means neuro linguistic programming. And all this is actually based on a guy named Derren Brown, who is British. And what would you- what would you call him? A magician slash-

John Rogers: He calls himself a mentalist, but he uses like a quotation marks around it because he duplicates the effects of charlatans by using psychological techniques.

Michael Colton: You can look him up on YouTube. Look up Derren Brown and NLP and there's stuff he does that is, we sort of basically ripped off for this episode.

John Rogers: Yeah ‘D-e-r-r-e-n’. Yeah, the primary one being he hires two advertising guys to come to his office and give him a campaign- a possible campaign for a children's zoo. They do the sketches and then he reveals his own sketches he did hours earlier and they're almost exactly the same. And then he reveals the visual cues he planted along the way into their head. And that really was the crux of this whole thing.

Michael Colton: And the one where Simon Pegg from Shaun of the Dead has- sits him down and asks him what he wants for his birthday, and he says he wants a bike.

John Aboud: BMX bike.

Michael Colton: But earlier he had written down he had wanted something completely different.

Chris Downey: A leather jacket, I think.

Michael Colton: A leather jacket! And throughout this whole discussion he was just doing cues to get him to say bike. It's kind of amazing.

Aldis Hodge: Wow.

John Rogers: It was also fun to kind of get into the mechanics of- it's easy with a grifter character to say they're just natural at it. To get into the intellectual work that Sophie does in her job.

Chris Downey: And also the idea of hacking into someone's head. I think that's what made this-

John Aboud: Wanted to establish that up front.

Jonathan Frakes: How infuriating it was that it was this character who [unintelligible].

John Rogers: Yeah, and also the fact that once you guys came up with the whole hacker/villain- the whole hacker theme, that really led us to the other material. 

Jonathan Frakes: And here we are, Dubertech.

Chris Downey: And this a great location too, this is very-

Jonathan Frakes: On the campus of-

John Aboud: The community college.

Jonathan Frakes: The community college in Portland.

John Aboud: It’s a great building.

John Rogers: The digital overlay on the sign.

John Aboud: It's a theater, actually.

John Rogers: A lot of digital signage.

Jonathan Frakes: It's the theater department, ironically.

John Rogers: It looks evil. 

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Got an evil vibe to it. This was a lot of fun and this was one of the- one of the times that we took something we could do in a beat, and turned it into almost the entire act. We have broken into someone's office in like half a scene.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.

John Rogers: But sometimes you just.

Jonathan Frakes: What we go through to get the fingerprint.

John Rogers: And it's great. And sometimes you find ways to do- you find stuff you want to do, you want to explore and kind of revel in, and that's the fun of this show. You know there's no real template to this show. So if you have an act where you have a bunch of cool stuff you wanna showcase, you can. Yes, tons of fun.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

John Aboud: We wanted this to be a real showcase for Hardison. 

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: Because obviously we're dealing with his world. We are in the world that he knows well, and we really liked the idea of him confronting this 1980s technology. I think that was one of our initial pitches to you guys-

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: For an episode.

John Rogers: I think that- you pitched that as a freelancer.

Michael Colton: Our pitch was Hardison hacks an ENIAC.

John Rogers: Yes.

John Aboud: In a museum.

Michael Colton: And that became a TRS-80.

Chris Downey: An abacus really.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yeah a giant, giant vacuum tube. Yeah and that blended right into this. No, that was- and by the way, if you're gonna pitch a Leverage, pitch a high concept, don't come in with a procedural. You know, ‘he has to hack a 60 year old computer’, I love it, you know. That was an easy one.

Chris Downey: And this is great, I mean how great did they dress this set?

Jonathan Frakes: I love that we [unintelligible].

John Aboud: The music was-

John Rogers: It's the music.

Michael Colton: The set’s great but it’s the music that put us over the edge and sold it.

John Rogers: Yeah Joe LoDuca again giving us that 80s synth pop vibe. It was fantastic. And Aldis you’re great here just the total shock and horror.

John Aboud: This take is wonderful.

Aldis Hodge: This took me back a couple years. I mean, this stuff was older than me but still.

John Rogers: Thank you, thanks for reminding us of that.

Chris Downey: We love to confront Hardison with old technology. Audio tapes things like that.

Jonathan Frakes: He’s appalled here.

John Aboud: His horror.

Aldis Hodge: He's offended, he's insulted.

Jonathan Frakes: And there it is!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: This takes me back to when-

Chris Downey: Look at that.

John Rogers: Five and a quarter right there, baby.

Aldis Hodge: I used to run off of floppys though, I still remember those.

John Rogers: You were a baby though.

Aldis Hodge: It took like 10 hours to upload a page.

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: We used to use the war games. The phone doesn’t-

John Aboud: War dialer.

Chris Downey: They used to be on cassettes too.

John Rogers: Yeah they used to be on cassettes.

Jonathan Frakes: What was this computer called?

Michael Colton: TRS-80. Although I don't think we could say that.

John Aboud: We weren't allowed to.

Michael Colton: Yeah, it's just generic 1980s computer.

John Aboud: For clearance reasons.

Jonathan Frakes: I remember part of our prep was the ebay version of the TRS-80 that we shopped for, for two weeks trying to find the one that was actually going to be programmable.

John Rogers: Yeah. Yeah apparently Tandy Corporation has a problem with us saying that freedom is oppressed in Iran through the use of their product. Oh we’re the bad guy? That’s some sort of brand infringement I guess.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: I love the caricature- oh the caricature kills me!

Chris Downey: I didn't even notice that! The caricature of him winning the chess trophy.

John Rogers: He was twelve!

Michael Colton: Well they had photos all around of Arye Gross from that era.

John Aboud: From his personal archive.

Jonathan Frakes: With the hair. When he had that big John Hughes hair.

Michael Colton: The pre-Soul Man. Old stuff.

Chris Downey: That is pre-Soul Man]. He's great in Soul Man, by the way. Soul Man is-

John Rogers: That's a great little shot, by the way. That's kind of an iconic shot of Hardison being distracted and annoyed while Parker quietly freaks out next to him. It's just a nice vibe.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘How much time are you really gonna spend in here after I told you that the bad guys are on the way?’

John Rogers: Yeah.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: But they saw the bad guy in the sweater vest on the way in. I mean, they're not that intimidating.

John Aboud: They knew they could take him. They knew they could take him.

John Rogers: What do you think the origin for the- oh that's great.

Chris Downey: Oh that’s great!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: A locked off comedy frame people!

Chris Downey: It's a locked off comedy frame.

John Aboud: Yep.

Jonathan Frakes: The third in three shows!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Can't go wrong. This was fun, by the way, the- this one when he says ‘it's adorable you still think there's privacy’.

Jonathan Frakes: Isn't this where some of our regulars drink when we do the 360?

John Rogers: Yes, yeah, we drink and we shoot it, too. But you guys had found out- who- was it Albert cause he was a journalist he knew that you could buy people's yearbooks?

John Aboud: Well he did that all the time at People.

Michael Colton: That’s what it was, yeah.

John Aboud: As a celebrity journalist he would go buy people's yearbooks. And it was the easiest thing in the world.

John Rogers: And there's actual services out there that will help you buy the yearbooks of different high schools. There's an enormous amount of creepy shit in this episode.

Aldis Hodge: Your embarrassment is on sale.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Here's where we bring up the Roman Room, which a lot of people thought we made up but is just another-

John Aboud: By a lot of people you mean Tim Hutton.

Michael Colton: Yes.

John Aboud: Thought we made it up.

Michael Colton: Just another curious thing from the mind of John Rogers.

Chris Downey: It's just one of your many hobbies.

John Rogers: One of my many hobbies.

Michael Colton: Memorizing everything.

John Aboud: Memorizing disconnected pieces of information.

Chris Downey: What was last season, whaling?

John Rogers: It was whaling. I remember I made you that scrimshaw-

Michael Colton: What, you memorized famous whalers?

John Aboud: Wow.

John Rogers: No. I am- a hobby of mine is memory techniques, and I use the Roman Room, and we wound up using it here. And it was just a great way- if we're gonna hack- the big problem was why do we need to go to this high school? We can go to this high school without this guy. Well no, we need context. Well what's the context? Well… It was interesting how this episode kind of organically came up. It was the flashback, it was the 80s thing. And that was that he was using, like I do, he was using his Roman Room for his passwords. And the- actually yes they did not believe this. I was up visiting them and I wound up doing the complete works of Shakespeare based on my high school gym in order to convince Tim that I was- that this was a real thing. 

Aldis Hodge: Right.

John Rogers: Aldis you were in the limo that night, that's right. The- we didn’t take Colton or Aboud with us.

John Aboud: Well it coincided with Comic Con.

John Rogers: There you go that's right. Yeah this is, by the way, a really easy memory technique, you can learn it really quickly and with a little bit of practice and imagination. The key is making everything as filthy as possible.

Jonathan Frakes: Seriously?

John Rogers: Has to be obscene.

John Aboud: Ahh, there you go.

John Rogers: Actually Chris Downey made me not use him in my Roman Room techniques because he was distrubed by the fact that I was having him have sex with people and things.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Well he knows what goes on in that room.

John Rogers: He knows that the Roman Room is a horrible place.

Chris Downey: And John you'll be at the Allentown Marriott this week doing the Roman Room technique, won’t you? Doing it on your tour.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: If you'd like to advance yourself in business or socially. If you’d like to amaze salesmen and other people in your company.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Whenever you see those signs on a light posts that say ‘make money from home’ the number rings at John Rogers home.

John Rogers: I'm not just running a TV show. I'm running a lot of small businesses out of my garage. Oh was- was that the Psych yellout?

Michael Colton: Oh that was- it in this scene where we talked about what's on his Netflix queue. 

John Aboud: That show Psych.

Michael Colton: I wanted Turk 182 to be on his Netflix queue but that was rejected.

Chris Downey: It’s a little too meta.

Jonathan Frakes: I thought it was Rockford?

Chris Downey: It is Rockford.

John Rogers: Well it is Rockford, we went with Rockford and Psych- we added Psych in the end cause Psych had given us a nice little shoutout in their show.

Michael Colton: I think Sex and the City was thrown out there.

John Rogers: Why Sex and the City?

Michael Colton: I think it was an improv, wasn't it?

John Aboud: Humor?

Aldis Hodge: It was an improv.

John Aboud: Humor. Cause it was funny.

John Rogers: Nothing funny about Sex and the City.

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Very serious show.

Jonathan Frakes: Not that Gina likes to do accents.

John Rogers: This was a lot of fun.

Chris Downey: This was the tour de force.

John Rogers: And the difference- and what's great is watching this with the sound off is watching her physicality change and the smile, yeah, that character smiles and the other one is angry, yeah. It's lovely. And this is also one of those ones where it originally started much more complicated and turned into ‘let’s just have Gina talk, she can do the accents’.

Jonathan Frakes: We cut it all together, let her do the two characters.

Chris Downey: In, sort of, the Facebook era, one of the things I think helped this episode was that you are kind of confronted by people from your high school all the time that you have no recollection of.

John Aboud: Right, right.

Chris Downey: So it really sort of helped the idea that they could actually bomb into somebody's high school reunion as other people and they would just be accepted.

Michael Colton: Yeah this is kind of The Social Network of Leverage episodes, I think it's fair to say.

John Rogers: But before The Social Network- they stole this from you right? The Social Network is stolen from you.

John Aboud: And Facebook, the idea for Facebook.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: We came up with Facematch.

John Rogers: This is the skype of evil.

Chris Downey: We got the finger pyramid of evil going too.

John Rogers: He's got the finger pyramid of evil.

Aldis Hodge: That was scripted right? Finger pyramid.

John Rogers: The finger pyramid of malfeasance I believe, this is the Skype of evil. 

Jonathan Frakes: Wait heavies right, there's heavies in dark clothes behind him.

John Rogers: Yes exactly I like to think he prepped it ‘alright let's Skype this- wait turn off the lights!’ I can't.

Chris Downey: Oh I love this.

Michael Colton: This turn here is fantastic. After he hangs up with them.

Jonathan Frakes: Unafraid to milk.

John Rogers: And also one of the things I like about- that you guys did in the script just wanted the general attitude you want to give the villains - ahh there you go - is nobody’s a villain in their own head.

Michael Colton: ‘Larry Duberman?’

John Aboud: ‘Larry Duberman?’

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: It took so long, but it worked.

Jonathan Frakes: And we stayed on it! We kept it all in. 

John Aboud: You did.

Jonathan Frakes: Confidant actor.

John Rogers: Yeah somebody said if schadenfreude is the pleasure of other people doing worse than you, what is the German word for delight in doing better than everyone else but not being able to come out and say it? The Germans should have a word for it. Yeah it's pretty impressive- that's a great match for Tim by the way, was that an actor or did we pick an-?

John Aboud: Stock. It was stock.

John Rogers: It was stock, wow.

Aldis Hodge: Now whose stock photos because there were some fugly people in there.

John Rogers: We went to fugly.com.

Aldis Hodge: All right. 

John Rogers: That’s where we got that stock.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just saying there’s a select few you didn't know exactly.

John Rogers: Well it's also 80s hair.

Aldis Hodge: There’s that.

John Rogers: 80’s hair was just a nation making a bad choice.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: Evil speech of evil.

Chris Downey: Oh here it is. It's the slow push in on the evil speech of evil.

Aldis Hodge: You gotta get in his nostrils, nice and tight right up there.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well it's a 40 ft screen; it's a different look when they're on TV.

Chris Downey: And now here we go!

John Rogers: Now where was this?

Chris Downey: And now we're off!

John Aboud: Actual high school.

Michael Colton: This was an actual high school.

John Rogers: They let us redress, and yeah fantastic.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the gym of- what's the high school called? Hall? James T Hall High School?

Chris Downey: Now how many days were you here at the school?

Michael Colton: We were there-

John Aboud: Three days.

Michael Colton: Three, I think.

John Rogers: You managed to get all this done in three days?

Jonathan Frakes: Well the exterior was stock, and not our greatest effort.

John Rogers: Still pretty good.

Jonathan Frakes: This is- here we go!

John Aboud: Here we go.

Michael Colton: Now this was unused-

John Rogers: This was unused footage.

Aldis Hodge: Unused footage from the first season.

John Aboud: Season one.

Chris Downey: Using every part of the animal.

Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed. It’s probably one of my favorite scenes I've shot.

John Rogers: By the way, that is fearless of you. Not a lot of actors would go in the braces and throw on the-

Jonathan Frakes: Aldis is fearless.

Aldis Hodge: Very much so.

John Rogers: Throw on the hat. You really did manage to spot-weld Will Smith and the other guys from Fresh Prince into one character there.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Alfonso Ribeiro, you mean?

John Rogers: Alfonso Ribeiro. That's the Fresh Prince of Alfonso Ribeiro right there. And this is great that we-

Jonathan Frakes: Eliot pre-hair.

John Rogers: Eliot pre-hair.

Jonathan Frakes: Like wait a minute.

John Aboud: Still the same guy, he looks to camera.

John Rogers: Well it's a flashback.

John Aboud: He looks to flashback camera.

John Rogers: As one does.

Chris Downey: That's good man, that's a good match.

John Rogers: I also like the dialogue fix. Cause it was originally the dialogue-

John Aboud: Brutal punch.

John Rogers: Where we actually lay in that he learned about the knives in context not from a murderous Guatemalan, but from a sexy Home Ec teacher.

Chris Downey: Sexy home ec teacher.

Jonathan Frakes: He's the one who doesn't get to go to the high school.

John Rogers: Ooh yeah that was fun.

Jonathan Frakes: It was easy to take that guy out with one shot.

John Aboud: Little minion did not deserve the brutality of that one punch.

Chris Downey: But it's also nice like-

John Rogers: You know what he knows he's screwing the Iranian kids. He's an accessory after the fact.

John Aboud: It's true, he's complicit.

John Rogers: Absolutely more than complicit, he's an accessory. And therefore worthy of scorn. Ah this was again the Joe LoDuca score. Amazing.

Aldis Hodge: This the song that's playing in this scene right now is the band that Dean Devlin was in.

Chris Downey: Oh that's right. What’s the name of Dean’s band?

John Aboud: What was the name of that band?

John Rogers: Nervous Service.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: This was Dean’s band from the 80s. 

Aldis Hodge: Sure it wasn't Dean and the Devlins? 

John Rogers: No, no, that was his 50s band. And that's Beth in the badger suit right?

Aldis Hodge: Yeah.

John Aboud: Yes.

John Rogers: Yeah that is Beth.

John Aboud: Yes, spoiler warning.

Chris Downey: Well they've seen it already.

John Aboud: No, they haven’t.

Michael Colton: This is like their sixth viewing.

John Aboud: I only watch Leverage with the commentaries on.

John Rogers: Really? Interesting.

John Aboud: Yes.

Michael Colton: You don't know what happens in this one?

John Aboud: Nope. No clue.

John Rogers: That would explain why your pitches were so weird first year.

John Aboud: Well then Rogers drinks, right? And we do a zoom to see he pours the alcohol into the glass. 

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh yeah this was a lovely bit of scripting, by the way, on the NLP on this, guys. Very subtle.

Michael Colton: Yeah it's subtle it’s incredibly tight knit it’s-

John Rogers: And great dress. Is this Aboud or Colton on this scene?

Michael Colton: It's mostly Colton.

Jonathan Frakes: It's Grace Peltz! Look at Peltz in the middle of that shot.

John Rogers: That was a nice frame up on that shot.

Chris Downey: Look at that right there.

John Aboud: That's an actual Arye Gross high school photo in the row below.

John Rogers: Are you really?

John Aboud: Yup Lawrence Duberman, first one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Jonathan Frakes: And here’s how it happened.

John Rogers: All you have to do is insert one page. Who doubts the evidence before their eyes? Where’s Arye Gross?

John Aboud: He's cross eyed. First one on the second row.

Aldis Hodge: That's really him?

John Aboud: That's really him.

Michael Colton: Now what kind of alphabetical order is this? Grace Peltz above Larry Duberman.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh, the honor society had their own photos.

Michael Colton: Oh there you go. That’s computer club.

John Rogers: One of these days you gotta learn to just lie quick.

Chris Downey: You know how to retcon.

Michael Colton: Most of those names are from my high school. Jack Lebowski. I used my-

John Rogers: Don't say that, people have to sign forms for that.

Michael Colton: My high school girlfriend is in there.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom.

Chris Downey: Here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Don't always get a ninja zoom into the socks and sandals.

John Rogers: He's enjoying that way too much.

Chris Downey: He is. Cleaning pools. I love that- I love that about him. Former quarterback now cleaning pools.

Jonathan Frakes: Tim owned Drake.

John Rogers: Yes.

Jonathan Frakes: He totally owned Drake Macintyre.

John Rogers: He really was enjoying that. There really was a moment you saw Tim kind of like ‘I wouldn’t mind cleaning pools. It’s nice and quiet’.

Michael Colton: Mandy Babson. 

John Rogers: Yep.

Michael Colton: What do his pins say?

John Rogers: I don't remember.

John Aboud: One of them said ‘I'll wash first’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Wha- why? Why would you have a pin that said that?

Chris Downey: Not blondie or something?

John Aboud: That's the kind of guy you are. They were all slogans. Oh my voice is really giving out.

Michael Colton: Maybe you should stop talking.

John Aboud: Apologies to the home viewer.

John Rogers: Just let Colton- he’ll be honest about who did what.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: There's no way he’ll-

John Aboud: How can that go wrong?

John Rogers: Yeah. And it was also fun coming up with the idea that: of course there's a villain. Everyone has a narrative in their head, everyone had the villain in high school. You know the person who made their life hell. Unless you were the villain.

Jonathan Frakes: There he is! ‘Oh Doucherman!’

John Rogers: I'm glad we got that past Standards and Practices, cause Doucherman really was-

Michael Colton: The whole episode was built around Doucherman.

Jonathan Frakes: Whole episode.

John Aboud: It really would’ve fallen apart.

Michael Colton: It's the first thing we started with.

Aldis Hodge: All you thought about at first, and then you built the story around it.

John Aboud: It came later.

Aldis Hodge: ‘Doucherman, hmm we need to write a show’.

John Rogers: And she anchors it with a touch every time, nice acting, nice use of space.

Chris Downey: Who's that guy?

John Aboud: That guy was wearing a kilt! That guy was wearing a kilt.

John Rogers: I know, I saw him in the opening shot.

John Aboud: In the opening shot you can see he was wearing a kilt.

Chris Downey: Good variety of alumni characters.

Michael Colton: You know when I was on Twitter when this was airing to watch it, and Tim was- I thought it was very flattered he was just repeated ‘Douchermans got lady parts’.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Yes over and over again. He loved that. This was also fun showing Hardison scrambling. There's just some stuff you can’t prep for.

Aldis Hodge: Well Frakes, that was the first scene we shot for this episode, but it was also in the middle of shooting another episode the same day.

Jonathan Frakes: Same day in the van, here’s what’s gonna happen.

Aldis Hodge: I remember all that banter.

Chris Downey: That was the violin stuff.

Jonathan Frakes: Well this was the double up day.

Aldis Hodge: Double up day. All that banter was- I'm not even gonna lie I learned that right then and there in like ten minutes. Because I was on the other episode-

John Aboud: It worked.

John Rogers: You were on the other episode.

Michael Colton: Well you were on the violin.

John Rogers: Other episode was a giant part.

Aldis Hodge: Really shoot five pages just straight out? ‘Ok guys!’

John Aboud: Who’s this guy?

John Rogers: And there's our line producer!

Jonathan Frakes: There's our producer Paul Bernard as Schmitty!

Michael Colton: Star of the show.

Jonathan Frakes: I will tell you, he did have the 80s hair, that's not a haircut.

John Rogers: That's just what Paul Bernard looks like.

Jonathan Frakes: He works in that hair.

John Rogers: He works, he plays in that hair. That’s not stunt hair people.

Michael Colton: Is it true TBS is interested in a Schmitty spin off? Is that happening?

John Rogers: Yeah I think we might do ‘Here’s Schmitty.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘We’re up to our necks in Schmitty.’ We haven’t decided yet.

Chris Downey: I think there was a reality show in which somebody- they had hidden cameras and people led-

Michael Colton: Someone made like a 2020 special about someone who- some woman who didn't want to go to her thing so she hired a- I think it was a stripper.

Chris Downey: I think it was a stripper.

Michael Colton: To play herself.

Jonathan Frakes: At her high school reunion?

Michael Colton: At her high school reunion.

John Aboud: She coached the stripper through an earpiece-

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Aboud: As she was watching on a video feed.

Michael Colton: While she was watching Hardison-style in a hotel room.

Aldis Hodge: Doesn't it seem like it takes a lot more effort than just showing up?

John Aboud: Just go to your reunion.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's the Roman Room!

John Rogers: Turns out not. See you're young, you still remember what these people look like. You have to remember after 20 years everyone's kind of- what's the great line from Grosse Pointe Blank? Swollen? Everyone just doesn't quite look like what they used to.

Aldis Hodge: I'm young, but I'm an actor, but I don't remember a damn thing past 5 minutes ago.

John Rogers: ‘I don't remember other people, I'm an actor’.

Aldis Hodge: Hey.

Chris Downey: It's fun, too, seeing Eliot typing stuff.

Michael Colton: Ten go to twenty stuff.

John Rogers: It was- and this was actually fun too, we were originally developing this trying to figure out what the hell Eliot was doing and then we realized just put him over there. For once he's gotta- yeah. Also allowed us to do the fight in an interesting way. This- god all high schools do look alike.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah this high school is perfect. The shiny floors, the lockers. We said, ‘We’re looking for a broom closet.’ They said, ‘Well what about the broom closet?’ We said ‘Good, that'll be fine.’

[Laughter]

John Rogers: ‘That'll absolutely work!; And by the way Gina seems to really enjoy when her character doesn't like Tims character. She seems to be digging in a little bit more, I'm just saying. Yeah the utter scorn of the good looking asshole is fantastic. Oh we're past that. That was the-

Michael Colton: This is fun also ‘cause so much- I mean just ‘cause the nature of the show often Tim’s or Nate’s character is playing the shady businessman and this is totally opposite.

John Rogers: Yeah this is a low status character.

Chris Downey: He doesn't do a lot of low status.

John Aboud: He's not worn a hat like this on previous jobs.

Aldis Hodge: I just saw one of the other buttons said ‘I’m a handyman’.

Chris Downey: Is that what it said?

Aldis Hodge: One of them yeah. The yellow one.

Chris Downey: ‘I’m a handyman’.

John Rogers: The bright green one says ‘if you can't be handsome be handy’.

Michael Colton: There's very few of his characters where he can wear that necklace.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I should give you my card’.

Aldis Hodge: The necklace is questionable.

John Rogers: Questionably- is it a surfer? Or what is that?

Aldis Hodge: It's a surfer, man.

Chris Downey: Oh is that what that is?

John Rogers: He's still a Boston guy, so I don't know what he's wearing that for.

John Aboud: Well he's around water all the time.

John Rogers: That’s true.

John Aboud: Pools.

Chris Downey: That's right.

Aldis Hodge: He's a great surfer in his mind.

John Rogers: The great surf pools of Route 9.

Aldis Hodge: Surfer in his mind.

John Aboud: Uh-oh what is this?

Chris Downey: Someone is coming down the stairs.

John Aboud: What’s this what’s this?

John Rogers: Oh yeah, the lovely Kari Wuhrer.

Chris Downey: Now uh MTV? I mean best known-

John Aboud: Oh absolutely.

John Rogers: The sliders, the-

Michael Colton: What’s it called?

John Aboud: Class of ‘96.

Michael Colton: Remote Control. 

Chris Downey: Remote Control, that’s right.

Michael Colton: That was a formative influence on me. So I was very happy when I got to work with her.

John Rogers: Yeah, she's fantastic, by the way. She’s really sweet, worked her butt off and just-

Jonathan Frakes: Also happens to be married to our UPM [Editor’s Note: Unit Production Manager]. 

Chris Downey: But certainly we’re not giving away parts to people connected to the show!

John Aboud: No no.

Jonathan Frakes: Otherwise Jeanie Francis would be on the show by now.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: I did not know-

John Rogers: She didn't want to work with you, that's the problem. We called here and-

Michael Colton: I did not know she was married to the Leverage team until after she was cast. Her audition was great.

Chris Downey: She was.

John Rogers: Well that's the- Jim Scoura, her husband, the UPM, plays of course the assassin in the finale, in the summer finale.

Michael Colton: It's a double assassin household.

John Rogers: In our heads actually they are married in the Leverage verse; they’re like the bad Mr and Ms Smith.

John Aboud: Neither one of them can actually complete a kill.

John Rogers: They just- but they work hard, they get a lot of-

Jonathan Frakes: Watch them roll down these lockers.

Chris Downey: Was Jim here for this sequence?

Jonathan Frakes: He avoided this scene.

John Rogers: Interesting.

John Aboud: Stayed in the office.

Michael Colton: Stayed with the kids this day.

John Rogers: Having your improbably hot wife all over a good looking actor is just-

John Aboud: Why improbable? Why improbably hot?

Jonathan Frakes: Watch this, watch Tim with these- is this where he does the-

Michael Colton: That’s coming up.

Chris Downey: Oh man.

Jonathan Frakes: The stuff with the-

Aldis Hodge: Did this in one take right? Just one take.

Chris Downey: Jeez she's devouring him. This is like an episode of V!

[Laughter]

John Rogers: She’s gonna unhinge her jaw any second now.

John Aboud: And here we go.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof what a surprise that she'd have it there.

John Rogers: It's a warm key.

Jonathan Frakes: Look at Tim! Look at Tim working those props!

John Aboud: Battling the brooms.

Chris Downey: Nothing like-

John Aboud: And then he stands back up.

John Rogers: Come on the doors right there. 

Jonathan Frakes: Come on, come on. Tried and true.

John Rogers: ‘And now I'm gonna go kill a dude.’

Jonathan Frakes: Lucky for us, Beth is in the building.

John Rogers: Yep. This is a real broom closet, that's great. How did you have room to shoot in there?

Jonathan Frakes: Went for the big broom closet.

John Rogers: Ah there you go, as opposed to the little one. Also this is a recurring bit: how Parker will just dump food everywhere. It actually turns out to a plot point in the Rashomon episode.

Chris Downey: Apparently we can have food.

Michael Colton: We can if it's chicken wings. They had like three giant trays of chicken wings.

John Rogers: Ahh good spark welding effect. Thank you, thank you props and special effects, appreciate it.

Jonathan Frakes: This works great, actually.

John Rogers: Yes that was better than the lightsaber through the door in the Star Wars prequel.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: That’s a low bar sir.

John Rogers: Well it's still- it's a feature bar I'll take it.

John Aboud: Feature bar.

Michael Colton: ‘I’m for clean fun’. That's another button,

Chris Downey: Is that what it says?

John Aboud: That’s another one, another button.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: The one on the left is haunting me, I can't quite make out the one on the left.

Aldis Hodge: It says- wait.

Michael Colton: Can we enhance?

John Rogers: Stop and enhance, enhance, push in. 

Michael Colton: Push in.

John Rogers: And yeah,this was a lot of fun just zooming in on- cause lets face it, not a lot of women can edge Gina Bellman out of that situation.

Jonathan Frakes: I know, and throw wine on her!

John Rogers: Yep.

Chris Downey: And the fun of this was having them revert to their high school personas and being offended by the cheerleader muscling in on her. I mean right? I mean this is- that's what-

Michael Colton: It's called subtext.

John Aboud: Seeing Sophie confront a mean girl.

Chris Downey: Yes.

John Rogers: Yes. It's great everyone had- everyone had their thematic little hook in this. One of the reasons we originally were attracted to the idea, even a year earlier, was because high school is that period where just the shell isn't on yet.

Chris Downey: And a high school reunion-

Jonathan Frakes: Had you done this before where the con men get conned in the middle of their con?

John Rogers: We play around with it, but rarely in this particular thing. Rarely this particular style.

Chris Downey: You mean an assassin showing up late in the episode?

Jonathan Frakes: No, no, no, I mean two con- our con and another con trying to duke it.

Chris Downey: Oh right.

John Rogers: Intersecting? Two Live Crew kinda.

Chris Downey: Well Order 23 we had a guy pretending to be a Marshall and he was an assassin.

John Rogers: Yeah but not a- those are the crucial- the crucials of surveillance photos.

Jonathan Frakes: Oh, she's on Interpol!

John Rogers: You need a half turn, you need a glasses-

Chris Downey: By the way you never see somebody eating spaghetti in surveillance photos.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Well what are the odds that when you see that person they'll be eating spaghetti? You really don't want that on the wanted photo. That you can't recognize a killer without the spaghetti. You want a spaghetti free context.

John Aboud: ‘Here, eat this.’

John Rogers: ‘Oh, you're that person!’

John Aboud: ‘We've got our man!’

Jonathan Frakes: Mission Impossible.

John Rogers: Yeah great little three way walk, nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Boom. ‘You go this way I'll take this way’. Taking a long time to get through that door.

Chris Downey: Really is. It's a really thick door.

John Aboud: Very secure door.

Michael Colton: They stopped for a break.

Jonathan Frakes: Thick door they established that early.

John Rogers: This, by the way- this is great. Not a lot of guys could land this joke. ‘The health inspector?’

Michael Colton: Was that in the script or was that?

Jonathan Frakes: That was on the day.

John Rogers: That was on the day, that was an improv, right?

Michael Colton: Yeah, Chris did a lot of improv in this scene. Entire fight was improvised.

John Rogers: And that was fun, too, is coming up with the- I remember ‘ok what’s- what’s from the 80s you can hit people with?’

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

John Rogers: This is a great fight.

John Aboud: First take on that smash.

Chris Downey: Oh that's great.

Michael Colton: Oh I know, ‘they give trophies for chess’ was Christian’s.

John Rogers: That's right.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

[Silence]

John Rogers: Sorry mouthful of Irish whiskey.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: Yeah this is a great fight oh and the bowling trophy.

John Rogers: The bowling for chess. 

Jonathan Frakes: There’s no prop he doesn't flip!

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: He flips everything.

Jonathan Frakes: Am I right?

Chris Downey: Or twirl.

Aldis Hodge: He’ll flip a table.

Jonathan Frakes: Never found a prop he couldn't twirl.

John Rogers: And that's interesting, because on the big screen, you cut from the dude sort of cracking his neck behind Christian, and it's a slam cut into two people kissing. For a second I'm like ‘what the hell? Wait what the hell is going on here? Oh alright.’

Jonathan Frakes: Here's something we've all looked forward to. The fox fight in the girls dressing room.

Michael Colton: Well that- when we were writing the high school show and we came up with this character we knew we had to have a girl fight in the locker room.

John Aboud: And where was that silencer?

Jonathan Frakes: Gina resisted, and then ended up saying, ‘When can I do this again?’

John Rogers: She loves fighting, you see.

Chris Downey: She does.

John Rogers: You're always worried you're going to get hurt fighting, but the stunt people know what the hell they're doing, everyone’s super safe and you wind up just having fun. And also that was a big thing, you know Sophie’s character is not a killer, she has to cheat.

Chris Downey: Oh and the shoes!

John Rogers: The shoes come off.

Jonathan Frakes: Now it's real. Boom.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: And there's another locked off comedy frame!

John Rogers: And then the cross.

Jonathan Frakes: Locked off comedy!

John Rogers: The cross cutting between the two fights was a lot of fun. And yeah, she could probably take her if she didn't have the fire extinguisher. It- Kari’s frustration in ‘what the hell are you talking about’ here is hilarious, actually.

Jonathan Frakes: These stunt doubles are quite good, this is intercut nicely.

John Rogers: Yup it is. And- 

Chris Downey: Oh and she uses a gun, look at that.

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, look at that.

Michael Colton: Yeah, but she missed.

John Rogers: Yeah that's the problem, silencers are really useless anywhere over 10 feet. She should've unscrewed it but by then she'd be gone. 

Jonathan Frakes: Woah, woah, woah. 

John Rogers: And this is a great- actually of the early episodes this season this was one of my sort of favorite sort of character twists is that Drake actually has an arc. 

John Aboud: Right.

John Rogers: You know no person is without redemption, including Drake. Oh yeah.

Aldis Hodge: And the taser!

John Rogers: And the taser. Again, crucial for the finale for us to plant it that soon.

John Aboud: Her weapon of choice for the season.

John Rogers: Yeah catering. We originally had her lowering from the ceiling, and then that was just crazy. Used the taser. Oh the hug, that's nice.

Jonathan Frakes: Oof.

John Rogers: Oh the- and then the double turn this, is this is dense. This one’s actually got a lot going on in this act.

Michael Colton: I have no idea what's happening now.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: Truly lost.

John Rogers: Is this the fourth act? This is the fourth act

John Aboud: I think we're in act nine.

John Rogers: Yeah this is the fourth action act, and there's an awful lot of story going on here.

Chris Downey: Oh here we go. 

John Rogers: And what I kinda like here is where Arye Gross is playing not just angry, but hurt.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Rogers: It's like ‘I thought all my high school dreams had come true and now you're lying to me.’

Michael Colton: He's great in this. 

John Rogers: Genuinely never- can't go wrong with a shot down the gun.

Jonathan Frakes: Nope. Reliable.

John Rogers: Gonna react to it? Nope, just go to the reverse.

Jonathan Frakes: Go out number one.

Michael Colton: Bang.

Aldis Hodge: Commercial, people.

John Rogers: Remember, a guy pulling a gun for the act break is always better than a guy leaving with a gun. And now we do- what's sad is this was the plan. That's- when you think about it this is the most convoluted possible way to get this information in this guy’s head. I don't mean sad in a bad way, I mean this guy really just has no chance whatsoever. And yeah the mixture of like ‘I’m a villain’ and- this may be the saddest villain we’ve ever had.

Michael Colton: Well I was watching this with my sister, who said- this scene happened, she's like ‘oh I feel bad for him’ then he has a line about ‘cause you brutally beat the Iranian’ then she's like ‘oh now I don’t feel bad for him.’ It was the perfect-

Chris Downey: You're like, ‘Ooh I'm glad I put that in there.’

John Rogers: It's a little- it is sometimes a little funny that you know you realize television very much leads you through the emotions of the show. So it’s- you sorta feel like an idiot resetting the emotions as a writer but it’s important. You know you're in a contract with the viewer.

Jonathan Frakes: Well we’ve been in the school for two acts. 

John Rogers: Yeah.

Jonathan Frakes: Absolutely true. And the hacker getting hacked we've forgotten about that.

John Rogers: Yeah 42 minutes is- what is it, average American attention span is like 10 minutes? Which is why act length is probably just about right.

John Aboud: ‘Nice try fake Drake’.

Chris Downey: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: And he pointed out that that sounded a little like a Batman villain.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Fake Drake.

John Aboud: ‘Very well Fake Drake.’

John Rogers: The- and again, these are people- these are professional spies. These are people who are hired to take care of people like Eliot.

Aldis Hodge: So it's okay for them to get hurt.

John Rogers: So it's okay for them to get beat up.

John Aboud: For his arm to bend that way.

Aldis Hodge: Yeah we don't feel bad for him, no.

John Rogers: I love the ASCII art there. 

John Aboud: Yep, yep.

John Rogers: I love that he would go to the effort of making an ASCII manticore. Cause that's not easy. And you can't have an intern do that cause it's your secret logo.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: I think that probably took Derek all of five seconds. And then it even animates! It even animates when it dies.

John Rogers: x o x o x o yeah. Again, he would've had to do that. So at some point Arye Gross' character had to have gone, ‘What if somebody hacks this? I should put a death animation in just in case.’

Chris Downey: Yeah well you want to know that it's gone.

John Rogers: Yeah exactly. Made unaware.

Jonathan Frakes: This is the fifth Beatle, played strong in this show.

John Rogers: Yeah Derek Frederickson. And of course manticore based on various intercept methods that you can use. And that's kinda tricky is social media is both a tool of insurrection and makes you vulnerable. As soon as you network with other people it's a weakness.

John Aboud: We talked about Carnivore I think wasn’t that the-

John Rogers: Yes, that was the FBI one.

John Aboud: Was the decryption.

Chris Downey: Now how long did it take to ‘Badger 85’? ‘Cause you had to find ways to implant it.

Michael Colton: That- actually that was kind of fun because we had to figure out ways to use the word ‘badger’ or ‘85’.

John Aboud: For this.

Michael Colton: Yeah.

John Aboud: For this sequence.

Chris Downey: For the flashes.

Jonathan Frakes: There was a wonderful alliteration in this.

Chris Downey: ‘Five years’.

John Aboud: ‘Wasn't all bad-ger brain hold onto every detail’.

John Rogers: And there's the badger. You gotta remember that badger.

Aldis Hodge: AKA Beth.

Michael Colton: ‘I already ate, five months’.

John Rogers: I've had this dream so many times.

[Laughter]

Michael Colton: ‘You hacked me?’

John Rogers: And now the meltdown. We don't really give them a gloat here, we don't really give them a gloat.

John Aboud: He pre-gloats.

Aldis Hodge: With the Fred Flinstone run out.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: That’s a chess club run.

Chris Downey: He was in the chess club.

John Aboud: Schmitty.

Jonathan Frakes: Can’t believe we’re out of beer.

Chris Downey: ‘Out of beer!’

Jonathan Frakes: Never happened to Paul.

John Rogers: I don’t think that was a line, I think we just ran out of beer on set.

[Laughter]

John Rogers: Oh Larry Duberman, millionaire, the stress has gotten to him, he's melting down. I'll take him away.

Jonathan Frakes: Here's where we toyed with having our favorite FBI guys in this.

Chris Downey: We almost did but the scheduling didn't work. But we tried to have-

Michael Colton: Yep.

John Rogers: Again always the pain but real humans are attached to these roles. They don't wait around for us.

Chris Downey: Taggert and McSweeten.

John Aboud: Doucherman!

Aldis Hodge: Doucherman.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Chris Downey: Gave him a nice shot there.

John Aboud: So disappointed.

Jonathan Frakes: He's a friend, he gets a good close up.

John Rogers: That's good.

Jonathan Frakes: And this- I love this end. I love this.

Michael Colton: This is what the show started with.

John Rogers: We held onto this end for two years.

Michael Colton: This was all we had.

John Aboud: This is the image from which the episode sprung.

Michael Colton: From whence it sprang.

John Aboud: Yep.

John Rogers: Like the head of Zeus.

Aldis Hodge: It's a red party cup.

[Laughter]

John Aboud: I love that shirt. I love that shirt. I do love that shirt.

Chris Downey: Is that what that is?

Aldis Hodge: Yup yup.

John Aboud: Red party cup.

Michael Colton: Which is a line-

Chris Downey: Oh I want that.

Jonathan Frakes: And he gives it up to. This actor gives it up again.

John Rogers: Yeah, well didn't we put cayenne pepper in his eyes?

Jonathan Frakes: No we did not.

John Rogers: Oh we don't do that anymore? Alright. No he was-

Aldis Hodge: It's how we motivate our actors. They go hard.

John Rogers: Absolutely fantastic work. 

John Aboud: I made him cry.

Aldis Hodge: It’s cause you called him fat right before you shot it.

John Rogers: That's a big part of the show by the way, the victim isn't just pathetic.

John Aboud: It was the insults that did it.

John Rogers: That was a spinoff, too, we talked about - Mandy and Schmitty.

John Aboud: Mandy/Schmitty.

John Rogers: Unwittingly getting involved in cons.

Michael Colton: Schmitheads.

Jonathan Frakes: Mandy was thrilled to get to play a girl with big boobs cause she had just had a baby, so she never had boobs like this before. So she was thrilled to be asked-

Chris Downey: I'm sure she can enjoy hearing that on this.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Lana[?] told me this for sure.

Michael Colton: They look wonderful.

John Rogers: The- and this was fun. The whole idea that they were so convincing at the con and so charming-

Jonathan Frakes: Yeah that they become-

John Rogers: You could've done an entire subplot like that. 

Chris Downey: Oh look at that.

John Rogers: I think that's you  know that's a good day for Schmitty, he really lost track of his friends, and he's just happy to know Drake’s doing okay.

Jonathan Frakes: And you can't miss the beer bowl, John Hughes. Thank you very much.

John Rogers: No he- and this is Joe LoDuca giving us- and we originally wanted words and then he gave us the melody as a sample before he put the words on and realized we don't want words.

Chris Downey: No, yeah, that's perfect.

John Rogers: This is perfect. This sounds exactly like an 80s tune.

Aldis Hodge: Now which one of your guys' high school dreams is this, here?

John Rogers: Dancing with Gina Bellman?

Michael Colton: Dancing with Tim Hutton?

[Laughter]

Aldis Hodge: Becoming prom king after like 85 years.

Jonathan Frakes: I love the callback to these two characters, in these costumes, in this place. I think this is lovely, actually.

Michael Colton: Magical.

John Rogers: This is fantastic. This is one of my favorite endings. It really is.

Aldis Hodge: Bit of redemption for what they’ve gone through.

Jonathan Frakes: No, but it’s in front of all these people. Their pasts-

John Rogers: Yeah, and she's not gonna tell him the name, but she's-

Chris Downey: And high school reunions like we said are full of, like, emotion. I mean it's just that’s what's- it kinda takes you back so it’s-

John Aboud: Well and of course what we liked was that Parker never experienced this stuff. So to her it's an alien world and by the end-

Chris Downey: And here's the shot.

John Aboud: This is it.

Jonathan Frakes: Well the metaphor of her feet being off the ground. Here we go bring it on.

Aldis Hodge: Yup.

Michael Colton: Oh yeah.

John Rogers: Yeah, just never actually touching the ground.

Aldis Hodge: I'm just that strong, I'm holding her up.

[Laughter]

Chris Downey: That is great.

Aldis Hodge: Oh yeah.

Chris Downey: And of course look! The one who- the one guy who didn't get to have any fun.

Jonathan Frakes: ‘I don't get to go.’

John Rogers: ‘Did anybody ask if Eliot's okay? Is Eliot alive?’

Jonathan Frakes: Sorry buddy.

John Rogers: Pissed off Christian is a funny Christian. And then pan up and then find both of them. Oh I love this shot.

Jonathan Frakes: Excellent use of the crane.

John Rogers: This is kind of the whole reason to do- yeah. And-

John Aboud: Fan favorite, gonna call it.

John Rogers: Fan favorite, yep.

Chris Downey: Yeah.

John Aboud: Calling it yeah.

Chris Downey: Both of your episodes guys have endings of real-

Michael Colton: The rest of them are shit, but the endings really land.

Chris Downey: But I'm saying-

Michael Colton: Stick the landing.

John Rogers: Gotta hold on for the ending of Colton and Aboud episode.

Chris Downey: I’m trying to pay you a compliment!

Jonathan Frakes: Makes you wanna put in another DVD doesn't it?

John Rogers: Yes, yes, you should go-

Jonathan Frakes: Let’s watch another episode!

John Rogers: You should go watch another episode right now.

Jonathan Frakes: Go run to the fridge, get some stuff, put another one in.

John Rogers: Get some stuff. If you're pantless that's cool we’re pantless.

Michael Colton: You’re saying for douchbags to go hard.

Aldis Hodge: If Hardison-

Michael Colton: We wrote two endings-

John Aboud: Fake it- we fake it well.

Michael Colton: That are actually heartwarming.

Chris Downey: Very heartwarming.

John Rogers: Well you were given one of them.

[Laughter]

Jonathan Frakes: Thanks for watching.

Aldis Hodge: Peace people.

[incorrectlumityquotes]

Why Amity fell for Luz: A Theory

Watching all the episodes of The Owl House and reviewing them brought back a lot of thoughts and feelings that I maybe forgot about. We all ship things and sometimes we do it for fun; sometimes for deeper reasons. I just started lumity because it reminded me of Diana & Akko from Little Witch Academia. I loved that show so much that I wanted more, and I thought it would be cool if Luz & Amity did something similar. I had no idea that it was going to go beyond that, so DAMN. To quote a talking science wolf, “For years we ask how, but we should ask why.” I mean, we saw how. But why? Well I can take a guess.

If we’re are going to start anywhere it’s going to be with the girl in question, Amity Blight.

As far as I know as of this typing, Amity Blight is a witchling from The Boiling Isles. She lives in Bonesboro at The Blight Manor estate with her parents and her siblings. She attends Hexside School of Magic and Demonics. Good for her.

Amity has an ambitious and competitive personality. She’s always striving to be better and be at the top of whatever she is doing. When she’s introduced in I Was a Teenage Abomination, she’s showing having great pride in being the top student in her abomination class. In Adventures in the Elements, she goes to The Knee in hopes of training to beat her siblings’ high score on the placement exam.

Amity also has a bit of a temper and gets annoyed easily. In I Was a Teenage Abomination, she sics her abominations on Willow and Luz just because she wasn’t named top student that day. In Enchanting Grom Fright, Amity snapped at the person she bumped into before realizing it was Luz. And later in the same episode, Amity beat up Hooty when he decided to get too close.

But she does have a soft sensitive side. She keeps a diary in her secret room in the library and even reads to kids in her free time. Amity also has a strong sense of integrity. She despises cheating (and cheaters) and feels guilt when she’s forced to break ties with Willow.

So why did someone like this fall for Luz of all people? (see above image)

Enter what I call my Shipping Theory of Compliments

The Shipping Theory of Compliments is that two characters would be shipped and sometimes canonically enter a romantic relationship based on their personalities complimenting each other and fulfilling elements they don’t have alone necessary to developing the character.

People like to use the image of a missing puzzle piece, but I don’t like that comparison because I think it’s a little inaccurate and I don’t like puzzles. Think of it more like the two pieces of the yin and yang coming together and then growing the circles of the opposite colors in them.

Something like that.

And it’s compliments, not opposites. When you think compliments, think more Star and Marco from Star vs the Forces of Evil. Star wants to go on a magical adventure. Marco also wants to go on a magic adventure. The difference is that Star goes in recklessly while Marco wants to plan it out a bit. They still have their adventure as oppose to Star’s opposite who wouldn’t want to go on a magical adventure. That sort of thing.

So how do Luz and Amity compliment each other?

Let’s start with that they have in common. Obvious stuff aside, they’re both training to become the best witches they can be. The difference comes that Luz is a human who has to learn magic via glyphs that she finds and Amity learns magic the “proper” way on The Boiling Isles. 

Luz and Amity are also both fans of The Good Witch Azura book series. Difference is that Luz is more open about her fandom while Amity tries to keep it a secret. Also petty thing but they’re both fan artists too, but I think Luz might be a better than Amity. But hey, her crosshatching is improving.

Luz and Amity are also (at the start of the series) both lonely people. Luz’s mom says that she doesn’t have any friends, and Amity doesn’t like her “friends.” The difference is that Luz reaches outward to ease her loneliness (being social and friendly, trying new things, etc.) while Amity reaches inward (keeping a diary, staying busy, having a secret spot, etc.). They both also use escapist fiction to ease their loneliness.

That’s all well and good, but now we get into the real speculative parts. 

...complimenting each other and fulfilling elements they don’t have alone necessary to developing the character.

When I was taking acting classes I was taught that the way you see people act is a persona based on their experiences on what it takes to survive and avoid physical, emotional and social death. So now we have to speculate based on what we were given on what emotional/social needs and wants has Amity not been getting before that she has with Luz.

First let me point you to another show called F is for Family. F is for Family is an adult animated sitcom on Netflix that follows a very dysfunctional family in the 1970s. These are legitimately bad characters, not in terms of being poorly written. What I’m saying is that these guys are assholes. But here’s where it gets interesting.

One of the characters is Kevin Murphy, the teenage son of the family. He’s a dim-witted wannabe rockstar who is always yelled at and put down by his parents throughout the entire series. However in season four Kevin meets Alice. Alice teaches Kevin that his favorite band is a big reference to Tolkien and gives him a copy of The Hobbit. They bond over their love of Lord of the Rings and get along really well. Alice calls him smart for being able to read all of Lord of the Rings over a few days and never puts him down. Even in the one time they did fight she never yelled at him or raised her voice which he found weird because he’s so used to being yelled at. Alice gave Kevin the emotional support he always wanted but never got from his family.

Using that as a backdrop, let’s go back to Amity.

Amity grew up with her parents making her do things she didn’t want to do, making choices for her. Amity wanted to be one way. Her parents wanted something else. Amity’s mother even dyes Amity’s hair green so it matches her siblings. Amity wanted to be friends with Willow. Amity’s parents wanted her to be friends with the mean kids. While Amity does work hard to be the best at what she’s doing, her parents also put pressure on her to make sure that she is at that level. 

Her siblings are another bag of awful. They constantly refer to her by an annoying nickname that I’m guessing has an embarrassing moment attached to it. They seem to live by a double standard that Amity despises. She has to work hard and follow the rules just to be accepted while they are naturally talented and break the rules with everyone still thinking that they’re perfect. 

Family is supposed to provide unconditional love except it looks like the love of the Blights is based on conditions. Nobody just likes Amity for who she is. She doesn’t have a friend.

Enter: the friendliest person she’s ever met

Amity has to struggle and work for the simplest things, even affection. Except when it comes to Luz. Luz is naturally friendly and positive. Amity doesn’t have to earn her kindness. Even when she’s bullied Luz before, Luz is always coming back with a smile. I suppose when you live life surrounded by jerks, you’ll want to hang out with the one person who’s always nice to you. Sort of.

Yes, Amity did think Luz was a bully for constantly getting her into trouble. But even at Covention and Lost in Language, Luz kept reaching out to her. This combined with Amity’s awareness of her own behavior is what convinced her to try to reach out in kind to Luz by the end of Lost in Language. “She’s trying to be nice to me, so I should try too,” I’m guessing is the mindset especially in Adventures in the Elements. And then...Luz continued to be nice to her which is kind of a big deal for Amity.

Let’s tally up what we have so far:

Luz and Amity have similar interests (The Good Witch Azura series, art, fiction, learning magic)

Luz and Amity have similar values (work ethic, disdain for cheating, protecting those closest to you, etc.)

Luz gives Amity the positivity and affection that Amity doesn’t normally get anywhere else

They still have differing personalities with Amity being more competitive and Luz having more of a live-and-let-live attitude.

Even with all these things in mind, why was Amity so scared to ask Luz to Grom?

Speculating again but my theory is that Amity wasn’t sure if Luz actually liked her or if Luz is just friendly because that’s how Luz is. Amity was scared of being rejected because she felt that maybe she was just reading the situation wrong. Luz is this ray of sunshine in her gray skies (if you’ll forgive the cliché). People like Amity always think of all the worst possibilities (I know because I do this too). Amity was probably thinking a bunch of what ifs. “What if Luz doesn’t actually like me? What if she’s just being friendly because she feels sorry for me? What if she has feelings for someone else? What if she never actually liked me? What if she’s straight?”

Luz is Amity’s first crush and it is scary as all hell to put yourself out there like that for the first time. She wasn’t expecting to get married at Grom night. She just wanted to dance with the girl she liked.

The dance at Grom was like confirmation for her that it could happen. Amity didn’t have to ask out Luz because Luz asked her. Being with Luz isn’t a pipedream. It’s a definite possibility. And we all know how she reacted to that idea.

Uh...she’ll be in her bunk.

While Luz and Amity aren’t together as of this typing, I believe it’s bound to happen. Until then, after The Lumity Trilogy, Amity knows that Luz is the girl she likes. 

tl;dr version

Amity fell for Luz because they have similar interests and values, their personalities differ in a compatible way and Luz provides Amity emotional needs and wants that she doesn’t get anywhere else.

Also, round eared girl pretty.

.

Thanks everyone for reading.

[chaoslynx]

Genuinely asking - How do you turn all the ideas into real fanfics? I tried to write multichapter fics but they ended up being very poorly written. I have no clue what to write when I start writing. Can you give me some tips?

OOF okay this is a difficult and broad question, but I'll do my best to answer!

General advice

Don't give up!

improvement doesn't happen overnight

if writing is something you enjoy and/or a goal of yours, then it'll be worth the effort you put in!

The only way to improve is to write!

I sometimes get caught in research holes where I read articles on how to write

I've learned some valuable info from these, but honestly? Not nearly as much as I've learned from just ... writing.

I lied. There are two ways to improve. The other is to read!

Read things you enjoy, and figure out what you enjoy about them!

(Start to) read things you hate, and figure out what you hate about them.

Then, just write the things you would want to read (by which I mean tropes you enjoy, grammar that made it easier to read, wording—whatever makes the story something you liked), and don't write what you wouldn't want to read.

More specific info:

Honestly, it really depends on what you're struggling with specifically, so if this isn't helpful, feel free to send in another ask with more info on your situation.

It sounds like you're doing well on the "ideas" front, which honestly is something that I struggle with sometimes, especially for multi-chapter fics. I feel like I have trouble coming up with actual plot points other than "uhhh they fall in love I guess????" So give yourself credit for being an idea-haver! That's huge.

If your first attempts were multi-chapter, that might have been part of why things were difficult. My first writing projects were novels, but honestly in retrospect, it probably would have been an easier introduction for me if I had started with short stories (or fanfiction oneshots). When I did get into fanfic, I started with really short oneshots, around 2000 words. This is probably specific to the person; some people are probably going to be more naturally prepared for longer works, whereas some are going to do better with shorter works (me). But if multi-chapters weren't working, maybe give a oneshot a try and see if that's an easier introduction.

Again, it also depends on what you're struggling with. You say that you think your works were "poorly written." For one thing, that's subjective! In fanfiction especially, there's not really any such thing as poorly written unless it's, like ... harmful. (Racist, etc.) And, again, no one starts out writing perfectly. It takes practice, like any other skill. So yea, of course your first attempts were "poorly written"!

If you're worried about your grammar and wording, a beta reader who you know is exceptional at grammar might help. (Grammar is one of my fortes!) You should also pay attention to what your beta reader is suggesting, so that eventually it'll come naturally! And makes sure to ask your beta reader to pay special attention to grammar, or whatever it is that you think you need help with.

If you're worried about your plots not following through on your premises (in other words, you have a great idea for the summary, but no clue what actually happens in the story), it might be helpful to plot things out in advance. (This is actually something I'm working on right now! I think I really dropped the ball on this with Feelings, where my premise was great and then ... nothing interesting happened through the entire story.)

There are a million reasons an author might think that their story is poorly written, and trust me, I've been there. But if you've already got some ideas going, that's a fantastic start! That can be the hardest part for some writers who excel at the technical aspects, but struggle with premise and plot. (Me. I'm talking about me, who just writes school settings where they fall in love over and over for longer works.) So congratulate yourself for what you've done so far, and keep working to improve the areas that you're struggling with!

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[tigerkirby215]

5e Irelia, the Blade Dancer build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games.)

FINE I’LL MAKE IRELIA GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!

Irelia is my least favorite champion in League. She’s not my most banned (Shaco) nor is she the champion I complain the most about, but she is absolutely the champion that I look at and constantly think “this character actively ruins the game for me.” I’ll admit that Irelia’s role in the Sentinels of Light story was pretty interesting but you’re still not going to make me like Irelia, Riot!

I’m not going to bore everyone with a long-winded rant about my hatred for this character and how what I thought was going to be a nerf actually made her S tier (joy to the fucking world I now actually have to ban her) but I will say this: there are no champions who I won’t make a genuine build for if I take the time to make a proper blog post about them... Except Talon, but that’s because Talon has one of the most boring kits in the entirety of League of Legends.

GOALS

Step. Two. Whirl. Lift! - What? Do you think that a champion with literally unlimited dashes is unfair?

Perfection of form - We’ll also need to weave our blades around us like a dress, slicing at foes and protecting yourself in one fluent motion.

Remember the Placidium! - When in doubt just use more blades.

RACE

Irelia’s a human... but making humans all the time is boring. Irelia has an innate magic and I’d consider being in-tune with Ionia’s spirit a connection to the Fey. So I decided to make her an elf for the sake of this build, more particularly an Aereni High Elf from Eberron for the innate Expertise.

A regular High Elf works too if your DM doesn’t allow Eberron races; the only thing that really changes with the Aereni High Elf is that you get Expertise in a skill. Valenar elves are also cool for the Double Scimitar.

You can also make Irelia a human but there aren’t many feats I want for her except maybe Mobile, but I felt like being an elf was more fun to grab other feats.

As an elf you have +2 to your Dexterity score, Keen Senses for proficiency in the Perception skill (gotta watch those wards!), and the Fey Ancestry of Ionia grants you advantage against charms and immunity to being put to sleep magically. Instead of sleeping you can spend time in a Trance meditating to regain strength. You only need 4 hours in a trance to rest, and are fully aware of your surroundings while doing so.

As an Aereni Elf you get Expertise in one skill of your choice: we’ll be taking Performance because... well you are a dancer. As a High Elf you learn one Cantrip from the Wizard list, and we’ll actually be taking Prestidigitation to aid in our performances. Oh and you’d normally be increasing your Intelligence by 1 but we’ll instead be increasing your Wisdom because... well it fits Irelia more. (No big loss if you increase Intelligence instead though.) And you can learn one language of your choice: pick whatever you think would inspire fear into the heart of Noxians!

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - A dancer is meant to be beautiful first and foremost.

14; DEXTERITY - Of course dancing takes nimbleness. "When no one's around, I dance for myself."

13; WISDOM - This is where the +1 from our race is going! Keep in-tune with the natural world and Ionia’s spirit.

12; CONSTITUTION - You are still a top laner with just... way too much sustain. (Feel free to swap this with Wisdom for more HP but less roleplay.)

10; INTELLIGENCE - Nature is an intelligence skill and military tactics are good to learn, but we simply need everything else more.

8; STRENGTH - You swing your blades with the rhythm of the natural order. Which is to say Riot doesn’t like buff ladies.

BACKGROUND

A dancer is a type of Entertainer. You get proficiency in Acrobatics but since you already have expertise in Performance feel free to grab Nature to become more in-tune with the world around you. You also get proficiency with a Disguise Kit and an instrument of your choice: pick whatever you think suits you and make your own Ionian war hero!

You feature By Popular Demand makes you known as both a dancer and a war leader! You can perform in exchange for a place to rest for you and your allies, and people will remember your dance and treat you with respect.

(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

What? Did you expect this to just be 20 levels of Swords Bard? Honestly Rogue serves as a better recreation of Irelia’s abilities, at least at early levels. That and I want proficiency in 4 skills, so take Insight, Persuasion, Intimidation, and Slight of Hand proficiency to lead and dance with grace. You also get Expertise in two of those skills: Acrobatics is a must but since we’ve already got proficiency in Performance you may as well grab Persuasion for good relations with Ionia’s people.

You also get Thieves’ Cant to speak in the way only other performers can understand, “performers” in this case being other Rogues. But of course the main skill you get is Sneak Attack, giving you an extra d6 of damage if you have advantage on your attack or an ally is near the enemy you’re attacking.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

I always love when I get to recreate League of Legends dashes by just... letting you use the Dash action a lot. Second level Rogues can make Cunning Actions to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a Bonus Action. Keep it simple stupid and weave around your foes on the battlefield.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Third level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype, and to dance around the battlefield while slicing down foes the Swashbuckler is a great choice to keep your rhythm in check. Your Fancy Footwork will allow you to attack a foe before slipping away without provoking Opportunity Attacks while your Rakish Audacity will allow you to add your Charisma to your Initiative to always be the first on the front line.

Rakish Audacity also lets you Sneak Attack a foe who is alone on the battlefield as long as you don’t have disadvantage and they don’t have an ally within 5 feet, letting you hit them for an extra 2d6 with your blades.

Now may as well be a time to ask: Dual Wielding or single weapon? Since you’re not going to be getting a shield I’d say carrying two blades is worth it for the potential to deal more damage when needed. You can also use your Dual Wielding attack to activate Fancy Footwork more often to evade more enemies. Just be mindful of when Dashing or Dodging would be more useful.

LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4

4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement and Dexterity controls most of what we do right now, so a +2 to DEX would be beneficial.

LEVEL 5 - ROGUE 5

Normally I wouldn’t go out of my way to grab level 5 in Rogue just for the sake of Uncanny Dodge, but here’s the thing: it’s literally Irelia’s Defiant Dance! Take less damage from an attack you saw coming before striking back with your 3d6 Sneak Attack.

(Artwork by Michelle Hoefener. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 6 - BARD 1

Now it’s time for those 20 15 levels in Swords Bard! Multiclassing into Bard gives you proficiency with one musical instrument (pick your fancy) and one skill of your choice: I opted for Arcana because... well you’re fighting with magical floating blades. (Or at least you will be in due time.)

As a Bard you can inspire your allies as a Bonus Action thanks to Bardic Inspiration, letting them add a d6 to their Attack Rolls, Ability Checks, or Saving Throws. You have a maximum number of Inspiration die equal to your Charisma modifier, which come back after a Long Rest... for now.

But of course as a Bard you get Spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Bard list such as Message to communicate on the frontline, and Vicious Mockery which is sure what I fucking feel playing against an Irelia one-trick smurf account. You can also learn four leveled spells like Faerie Fire to mark your foes, Command to strike fear in the hearts of foes, Heroism to strike vigor in the hearts of allies, and Healing Word; because healing is always good to have.

LEVEL 7 - BARD 2

Second level Bards have dabbled in a little bit of everything: healing, damage, healing, mobility, healing, crowd control, oh and I think Irelia does need some more healing. Regardless Jack of All Trades will let you add half your proficiency bonus to any skill checks you aren’t already proficient in. (This also includes Initiative which is important to mention!)

If you use Tasha’s rules you can also grab Magical Inspiration to make your allies’ spells either heal more or do more damage thanks to your Inspiration. Oh and speaking of spells you can also grab Longstrider for more speed on the battlefield.

Oh and you get Song of Rest, the ability I always mock for scaling poorly. But it will help your allies recover after a hard battle!

LEVEL 8 - BARD 3

Irelia has many magical blades because she went to the College of Swords. Along with Bonus Proficiencies with Medium Armor and Scimitars (neither of which Rogues have for some reason) you can pick up a Fighting Style: I personally opted for Two-Weapon Fighting to get more attacks in but Dueling is also a perfectly fine.

Of course the main appeal of being a Blade Dancer is your Blade Flourish: When you attack on your turn you move 10 feet faster until the end of the turn, and if you hit you can use a Bardic Inspiration on a Blade Flourish:

Defensive Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage and AC.

Slashing Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to your damage, and do that extra damage to any other creature of your choice (that you can see) within 5 feet of you.

Mobile Flourish lets you roll your Bardic Inspiration to add to (guess what) the damage. You can also push the target up to 5 feet away from you, plus a number of feet equal to the number you roll on that die. Immediately afterwards you can use your reaction to move up to your walking speed to an unoccupied space within 5 feet of the target. It’s not quite a Dash, but it’s certainly a Bladesurge!

You can only use one Blade Flourish per turn though. Additionally you get Expertise in two skills like Insight and Nature, to know the spirit of both people and the world around you. And finally you can learn a second level spell like Hold Person for a stun before you do your full combo.

LEVEL 9 - BARD 4

4th level Bards can grab something a little better than Flash; the Fey Teleportation feat! Along with a +1 to your Charisma you learn Sylvan, but most importantly you can cast Misty Step once per Short or Long Rest to get out of a dangerous situation! It unfortunately doesn’t add the spell to your spell list (like Fey Touched from Tasha’s Cauldron) but being able to regain your mobility spell after a Short Rest is extremely useful!

Speaking of spells you learn one more Bard spell, and one more cantrip! For your cantrip take Mage Hand to grab blades from afar, and for your leveled spell take Calm Emotions. It perhaps isn’t the most practical and there are certainly better options, but it’s fitting.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 10 - BARD 5

5th level Bards get a Font of Inspiration, letting their Bardic Inspiration charges come back after a Short Rest. That’s nice because your Bardic Inspiration (and Blade Flourish die) also increases to a d8.

You can also grab a third level spell like Hypnotic Pattern, to stun an entire army with your blades.

LEVEL 11 - BARD 6

6th level Bards can finally turn their Vampiric Scepter into Blade of the Ruined King, giving them some Attack Speed for an Extra Attack. You can still only use one Blade Flourish per turn, but at least now you can attack twice with your action or up to three times if you make a Two-Weapon Fighting attack.

You can also grab another spell but there’s not much I want from third level, so instead I’ll talk about Countercharm, which is dumb and bad. You spend an action to give yourself and nearby allies advantage against Charms and Fears. Or you could fight through the fear and slay your foes... or cast Heroism or Calm Emotions.

LEVEL 12 - BARD 7

7th level Bards can learn 4th level spells like Dimension Door to teleport into lane or back to base, and Freedom of Movement for some Tenacity.

LEVEL 13 - BARD 8

8th level Bards get another Ability Score Improvement. We’ve been investing more in Bard so more Charisma would be nice for more Blade Flourishes and better spellcasting.

You can also learn another spell but again: don’t really want anything, so we’re going to wait for...

(Artwork by Jana Schirmer. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 14 - BARD 9

9th level Bards get to pretend that Song of Rest is a useful ability that scales well, especially when multiclassing. I mean, at least it’s a d8 now!

You also get 5th level spells like Animate Objects. Hey: it only took us 14 levels to get your blades! You can also grab Rary's Telepathic Bond (ty Tasha’s) to keep to team chat with everyone.

LEVEL 15 - BARD 10

10th level Bards get Expertise in two more skills: take Arcana to further your connection to Ionia, and Slight of Hand for the specific hand movements to manipulate your blades. You also see your Bardic Inspiration increase to a d10, which also means your Blade Flourishes deal a d10 of damage!

Additionally you get Magical Secrets from any class so you can use your unique brand of blade magic. And by far the most blade-like spell you can grab (at this level) is Steel Wind Strike, to dash through multiple foes for a big burst of damage!

Additionally we will be grabbing Blade of the Ruined King (finally) with Spirit Shroud; yes it’s a bit of a low-level spell but it serves as a great damage boost to your melee attacks and also keeps enemies close for you to fight them. And finally you get one more cantrip: Mending will help you keep your outfit in check.

Also if you want you can replace Message with Prestidigitation now that you have Rary’s Telepathic Bond.

LEVEL 16 - BARD 11

11th level Bards get 6th level spells: you can lean into your lessons as a dancer and take Otto's Irresistible Dance to force your foes to keep up with the rhythm or die trying. "Okay, I'm warmed up."

LEVEL 17 - BARD 12

12th level Bards don’t get extra spells, but they do get another Ability Score Improvement: more Charisma means more Bardic Inspiration die (for more Blade Flourishes), better spells, and more initiative so capping that out would give you more bang for your buck overall.

(Artwork by Art of Maki. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 18 - BARD 13

Hey remember when I said Song of Rest is a useful ability? Well it’s a d10 now!

At least you can learn Forcecage to take Noxians as prisoners of war to be properly judged... As long as they don’t have a filth bucket in their cell.

LEVEL 19 - BARD 14

14th level Swords Bards as masters of their blades, and can perform a Master’s Flourish using a d6 instead of one of their Bardic Inspiration.

You also get two more Magical Secrets, and hey we can finally grab your ult! Take Blade Barrier to cut the armies off with your Vanguard’s Edge. Alternatively if you need to go back to base take Word of Recall to recall back to your fountain. Which is to say: I had no other good spells to give you.

LEVEL 20 - BARD 15

15th level Bards see their Bardic Inspiration die (and their Blade Flourish die) increase to its maximum size of a d12! And you can cap off the build with an 8th level spell, but in all honesty there isn’t many spells I want from 8th level. So use that slot to upcast and take Hold Monster instead to finally be able to stun Wukong.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Grace bends where strength breaks - You have a variety of ways to deal consistent damage between competency with swords, Blade Flourishes, and powerful spells.

I move to unsung melodies and unbeaten rhythms - +12 to initiative and the ability to move between enemies you attack freely means you’re guaranteed to be on the battlefield fast and able to put yourself in a position to fight with your allies.

Never stop learning; there's always a form you don't know - It was not my intention but turns out Bards and Rogues get a lot of skill proficiencies. +17 in Performance and Persuasion, +16 in Acrobatics and Slight of Hand, +14 in Insight, and +12 in Arcana and Nature. Not to mention Jack of All Trades helping you with all the skills you don’t have proficiency in.

CONS

Each form has a name known only to the wind - So your Dexterity isn’t maxed out, which means you’re a little lacking in both AC and hit chance. Honestly level 5 of Rogue isn’t that good, even if Uncanny Dodge works well as Defiant Dance. 4 / 16 would’ve been better for another ASI.

Stay ready, and there is no need to get ready - Most of your fun spells are accessed at a very high level, with your lower leveled spells dedicated more to utility. You’re a sword fighter first and foremost but seeing as your Charisma is maxed it would be good to use your high Charisma.

We are sharpest where we break! - Low DEX and no Shield (no Shield spell and two-weapon Fighting) means that your AC isn’t the most impressive. That along with 120 health means that a few bad hits can put you in the danger zone. Sure Uncanny Dodge gives you a reliable way to soak up damage but a good surprise hit will quickly put an end to you.

But you don’t need to worry about weaknesses when you’re probably smurfing anyways. Dash, dance, and decapitate foes in a graceful death of a thousand cuts. Keep your style and inspire the commonfolk to take up arms to protect their homeland. Just don’t get too out of line, or Riot might nerf your movement speed by 5.

(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)

[tessiete]

"You’re burning up” for Obitine BUT ONLY IF YOU WANT TO! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

FOR YOU? ANYTHING!!! But only if you like it. If you don’t like it, please immediately erase this from your memory so we can still be friends. Anyway, there’s meant to be some stuff in here about the fever of first love, and like passion and fire and stuff, but it’s also just them bitching at each other so....I TRIED.

I love you!

IT CANNOT HAPPEN TWICE

“You’re burning up.”

“Remove your hand from my face before I remove it from your person.”

“I only meant to say that we can rest,” he explains, watching as Master Jinn forges on ahead, clearing a path through thick brush. “If you need to.”

It is safer here, out in the wilds, than on the road, the stretch between Mircine and Kar’Marev known for kidnappings, hunters, and corpses, but Satine will not be bowed.

“We may if you need to,” she spits. “I am perfectly capable of continuing without breaking, though I would not begrudge any weakness of yours.”

He grits his teeth, and she holds his gaze, steady and fever bright, the heat of her presence grinding him into deference out of respect for her position, for his master, and for the basic tenets of the Code - a Code which he seems to remind himself of continuously these days. Certainly, he has become more familiar with the first precept than ever before. He is intimate friends with it, having meditated on it for hours with no great success. There is no emotion.

“Of course, your Grace,” he says. His bow is shallow and poorly done, the curve of his lips equally false, but she says nothing. “I was only trying to help.”

“Thank you, padawan,” she says, then turns and marches on.

He catches up with her at sundown, hours later, and her condition is not improved. She stumbles along behind Qui-Gon, head bent, eyes on every next step. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps, and Obi-Wan can’t help the worried glances he keeps throwing at Qui-Gon’s broad back. He frets at the strand of shared consciousness between them, like he frets at the hem of his sleeve, and when it’s finally gone dark, he approaches his master where she cannot hear them.

“She’s ill,” he says, with no attempt at a conciliatory preamble.

“I know,” says his master. “I had hoped we might reach Kar’Marev tonight, but it is later than I thought. And I dare not brave the open plains past dusk. Not like this.”

“Then we’ll rest for the night?”

“We will,” Qui-Gon says. “Though I fear it will not help us much.”

“Master?” He shuffles nearer, and Qui-Gon speaks even lower to be certain of their confidence.

“The duchess is ill,” he says. “And if her fever persists she shall not be able to continue tomorrow. If it breaks, she shall be too exhausted to proceed. Either way, our efforts will be in vain, and worse - foolish. We gain nothing by gaining ground on foot only to lose it in body.”

Obi-Wan glances behind him as the duchess stokes the embers of their fire, banked low so as not to draw attention. She coughs, and it sounds as though it catches on every ribs, rattling and severe.

“Is it so serious?” he asks. “We are at least a day’s walk from help in any direction. What if she gets worse?”

Qui-Gon huddles close, scratching at the edge of his beard. “There is a plant,” he says. “A weed, really, and so it should be in no short supply. If I can find it, we may make a tea of its leaves.”

“A local remedy,” says Obi-Wan, looking skeptical. “Will it cure her?”

“It might alleviate the worst of her symptoms.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “Show it to me, master,” he says, closing his eyes to search out the gossamer impression of light and colour in the Force. But his master frowns, and holds him at arm’s length.

“No, Obi-Wan,” he says. “I shall search. You must stay here, and care for Satine.”

“What? But master, surely it is better that I go!”

“I know what I’m looking for, where to find it, and how much we need.”

“There are hunters on the prowl -”

“- And the only company worse than yours, should one find her here. Stay, padawan, and watch over her.”

She coughs again, and he throws a doubtful glance over his shoulder before applying to Qui-Gon once more.

“Master -?”

“Be kind,” he says. “And patient. Trust in the Force, and I shall be back soon.”

But Qui-Gon is not back soon, and the night grows cold and dark around them. The creakers in the grass go to bed, and the home world Mandalore hangs heavy in the sky until the clouds come in and shroud it from view. Obi-Wan smothers the fire with sand, the red heat of it glowing bright in the absence of planetlight. He worries it might draw the eye of any unsavory observers, and trusts that Qui-Gon will be able to navigate without it. He can feel him, far afield, illuminating the shadows like starlight falling softly over leaves, and moving father still.

“Do you think Master Jinn will return before dawn?”

Satine sounds miserable, her voice crackling in place of tinder. She clears her throat, and clutches her thin cloak more closely about her. 

“I hope so,” he replies. “Maybe sooner.”

“I had not thought reconnaissance something so eagerly done at night.”

They had decided between them it would be best to keep Qui-Gon’s purpose from the duchess. Qui-Gon had said that she was already struggling under the weight of so many expectations of infallibility that one breach might be enough to topple her. Obi-Wan had simply desired an evening free of insufferable debate. If Satine suspected either reason, she would be offended, so Obi-Wan shrugs, and unrolls his bedkit.

“Master Jinn felt it would be better if he used the cover of night to clear our path than simply hope we don’t stumble across some hive of villainy in the daylight.”

“And you agreed with him?” she says.

“I trust him,” he says, unflinching. “Master Jinn is very experienced in matters of this nature, and I trust him to lead us safely.”

“So long as the Force wills it,” she mutters. It is not his imagination that some bitterness sours the air, then, and he feels it twist against his spine, drawing him stiffly upright to counter her.

“Yes,” he says. “But you seem to be labouring under the presumption that trust in the Force is tantamount to resignation to our fate.”

“Isn’t it?” she demands. Her eyes are bright, and her cheeks flushed pink and raw.

“Isn’t pacifism?” he retorts. “Or would you contend that laying down arms in the face of violence and oppression a brave choice?”

A twig snaps in the distance, but Obi-Wan feels no danger stir in the Force. Foolish - for she scowls at him, baring her teeth like a feral strill on the hunt. 

“What do you know of bravery, padawan? You have always been at heel, always in the shelter of your Order, and your Temple, and your Master Jinn. You know nothing of fear.”

“And you know nothing of me,” he snaps. “But I would fight. I would sacrifice everything for what I believe is right. I would die for it.”

“And so would I.”

“I would kill for it,” he says, and she is silent. He feels his victory at hand, and her silence. his reward. Finally. “Don’t speak to me of bravery. You have fine ideals, and beautiful dreams, but I have seen the galaxy, and I know what it is to face villains who would destroy everything you love simply for the sake of seeing you suffer. I would not wish that on you, but your pacifism will not save you from it. I’m sorry, but I cannot see peace for your warrior kind.”

Satine sniffs. She coughs. He feels a sharp tug in his chest, looking at her already so weak and downtrodden by illness, and now battered by his own unruly emotions. But then she throws back her head. Her hair is lank, the lily-white gold of its strands turned dusty with neglect, but she is somehow regal still.

“We are not violent by nature,” she declares. “Our cultures, our traditions - there is more to Mandalore than bloodshed. And there is bravery in standing bared and open with nothing but peace, our shield between life and death. A blossom is just as noble as a blaster. More, for it thrives in harmony and gentleness. It lives, it grows, it seeds, and grows again. A blaster can only destroy. Would you have me wish that for my people?”

“I do not know your people.”

“Then do not speak for us,” she says. “I may not have seen the galaxy as you have, but I know Mandalore. Pacifism is not passivity. It is still the warrior’s way.”

Obi-Wan kicks out the end of his coarse bushcover, straightening the edges, and smoothing away bumps that rise up beneath the narrow mat. He says nothing as she coughs, not even when the next fit lasts for more than a minute. He only folds his rucksack so that his spare stockings and pants may act as a pillow, and cushion the edges of rations and various other instruments of use. He sits. He pulls off his boots, and aligns them neatly beside his bed. His stockings are next, and he lays them flat to dry in the open air of the forest. At last, the choking and sputtering behind him fade, and he lies down with his back to Satine.

“Aren’t you going to wait for Master Jinn?”

“No,” he says, closing his eyes. “And I wouldn’t advise you to, either, though I know nothing I say has any weight with you.”

“But what if he needs help?”

“Then I don’t suppose your being awake will have particular value there, seeing as you won’t lift a finger to defend him.”

He can hear as she surges to her feet, and kicks at the little rise of buried fire. Bits of sand and ash scatter at his back, but it is only a bluff.

“You’re insufferable,” she says. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” he assures her, pulling his coverlet up high, and nuzzling against his pack until it cradles his head just so. It is a warm night, and the earth still holds the heat of the day. The insects of Harswee have been until now a mannerly bunch, and Obi-Wan hopes that this resolution will last the night. He has already suffered enough. 

He waits until he hears Satine unroll her own kit, kick off her shoes, and lie down before he releases a deep breath, and relaxes into the Force.

When he wakes, it is still dark. The air has turned cold, and Qui-Gon has not returned. Instinctively, as though still a child in the creche, he reaches out to his master, first, worried that it is some disturbance there which has stirred him from his rest. But no. Qui-Gon still burns, an effulgent flicker of light somewhere out on the plains, and Obi-Wan feels a sense of comfort and reassurance pass over him like a zephyr of thought. The problem does not lie there.

Instead, he finds it lying six feet away on the other side of the smothered campfire.

Satine’s fever has gotten worse. She shivers on the ground so loudly her teeth chatter, and her shoulders shake. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her, the thin coverlet strained with the desperate desire to provide some heat. Obi-Wan kneels to press his hand to her brow, only to find her skin slick with sweat.

“Oh, Force, Satine,” he says, shaking her awake. She looks at him with glazed eyes, but her frown seems instinctive, for it falls into place immediately upon recognition. 

“I thought I said don’t touch me,” she says. There may be fire in her, but it is raging through her blood and her skin, and her words come out as thin as smoke.

“Your fever is worse,” he says. 

“I know,” she replies.

“You should have said.”

He hurries back to his kit, throwing aside the cover and tripping over his boots in his haste to reach his rucksack. The careful work of folding and primping forgotten as he pulls it apart to find a small canteen of water and a packet of electrolytes. He tears the packet with his teeth, and dumps its contents into the liquid, shaking it, before returning to Satine’s side. With all the gentleness of newborn things, he slips his hand beneath her neck and raises her to rest against his chest. She protests feebly, but she cannot fight him, and when he brings the water to her lips she drinks as bidden.

“Small sips,” he says, one arm wrapped around her back to brace her, the other steadying her hand on the canteen. “You must stay hydrated.”

She nods, but pushes the drink away.

“Satine -”

“I can’t,” she whispers. She wilts against him, her head tucking itself into the crook of his neck beneath his chin. Her breath is hot against his throat, her body hotter still where he can feel the warmth of her fever radiating through the thin layer of her clothes where they touch. He puts the canister on the ground, propped up in the dirt but still within reach. 

“Obi-Wan,” she murmurs. “I’m so cold.”

“Alright,” he says, and he reaches forward to drag her coverlet from where it lies crumpled at her feet. “You’re alright.”

He pulls the blanket up over her shoulders, and wraps her in his arms. She responds to his touch in a manner so differently than usual he can feel his heart stutter and stop in confusion. Burrowing deeper, she nuzzles her cheek against his chest, and folds her arms between them. 

“Hush,” he says, rubbing wide circles over her back, the friction of his palm against the cover doing little to soothe her tremors, but doing much to calm his own uncertainty. 

“Is Master Jinn returned yet?”

“He will soon,” he says, though Master Jinn is still distant and cool.

“Do you promise?” she asks. She has never asked for his word before, never solicited his opinion, or sought his comfort. He pulls back to look at her face, certain he is being mocked somehow. But her eyes are closed, and her face slack with exhaustion. She tilts her chin, until her throat is bared, and she waits for him to speak.

“I promise,” he says. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I trust you. Will you wake me when he does?”

“I promise,” he repeats, staggered by this turn she so easily concedes to.

“And will you stay with me til then?”

He tightens his arms around her, cradling her head, and holding her close so that she might be warmed by the heat of his own body.

“I promise,” he vows.

And in the dark, he waits, and he watches, and he holds her until the sun comes up.

[clue-can-writes]

A Fresh Start

Itzy 6th Member AU

Pre-Debut Era

Jina joined JYPE for new opportunities, but it doesn’t feel that way for her

*If you want to know the characters in this story, read this

Can’t You Hear that Boom Boom Bass

Jina sang the last line on her monthly evaluation song. She, along with 4 other girls, were assigned Nicki Minaj’s Super Bass. And while the singing came easily to Jina, the dancing and performing aspect made her want to leave.

“Jina, do you not like the song?” Sangwoo asked the girl. “You don’t seem engaged with the choreography and your face was blank the whole time!”

Jina sighed, knowing he was right. Since she had come to JYPE, she has barely received any praise. The trainers said the only thing good about her was her voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to understand what the lyrics meant because we had to change our song last night.”

“Why did you have to change your song?” Sangwoo asked.

“Another group had chosen our original song, so we choose to pick a new one for less confusion,” Areum answered instead. Jina was grateful for Areum, as she was the only person here that spoke Cantonese.

“That makes since as to all of you doing poorly,” Jihun said, surprising the girls. Jihun barely spook up during the evaluations and when he did, he would normally praise the girls.

“Maybe we weren’t perfect, but we are getting better!” Miyeon said, trying to keep her calm. Miyeon was the worst at taking criticism out of the 5 girls.

“The only good thing about your performance was Jina’s vocals. Everyone else was either a bad singer, bad rapper, or bad dancer. You weren’t even in sync!”

Dasom sighed and looked over her notes, “I do have to agree with him on the vocal parts. Jina was the only good vocalist and while she is not a good performer, she fully carried this performance!”

Chaewon almost started crying right there. She was the youngest at only 13 and she had just joined JYPE this year. She also was one of the few Japanese trainees and she couldn’t always get pass the language barrier.

Changho looked at them and sadly looked down. He was the newest staff member in the room and he hated telling the trainees they wouldn’t make it.

“Look, girls. It’s fairly simple,” Jihun said looking at the 5 of them. “You either need to become better soon or you won’t have a future with JYPE. We are debuting a new girl group later this year and if you don’t step up, you have no chance of debuting! You’re dismissed.”

The girls quickly rushed out of their, not wanting to upset Jihun anymore. Chaewon had started fully crying now. Areum hugged her and started apologizing. The competition at JYPE was so tough that more than one bad evaluation and you were done. It had happened so many time before that Jina didn’t even want to think about it.

“Jina, what are you thinking about?” Sooyoung was the oldest of the 5, having been in JYPE since 2012. She was an amazing leader, but she was almost never praised for her talents.

Jina looked over at her, almost about to cry herself. “Every time they do that I feel bad.”

“Do you mean every time they say how amazing you are?”

“No, I mean every time they use me to drag anyone else. And in the process, they still drag me! They clearly said that I was a bad performer, but I still carried the performance!”

They had been doing since Jina got in and it’s a wonder she was still a trainee with all the bad evaluations she got. She wouldn’t be surprised if this was the final straw and they kicked her out!

Jina sighed, just wanting to be alone and practice for her solo evaluation. “I should go. I need to improve my stage presence at the very least and I reserved a practice room for the night.”

“Good luck,” Areum said, smiling at Jina. She and Jina were the closest of all the girls and had begun training within a month of each other. “If you need some help, feel free to call me!”

Jina waved bye to the girls and started heading towards the rehearsal space. She would have one more shot to prove she deserves to stay in the company and she wasn’t going to waste it.

She began moving through the steps, like she had been practicing. Her vocals were stable and she knew when to breath, but with her dancing she needed a big boost!

For her individual performance, she had picked Ariana Grandes Into You. It would show off her vocals and it gave her the opportunity to do a more sultry dance. Also, the way it was choreographed, it was a easy dance, but it looked great and matched the song perfectly!

She had gotten the beginning parts down, but the pre chorus required her to jump up from the floor and fully land, while still singing! She had tried over and over, but she could not get it!

She tried the move again, but instead of falling on her butt, she twisted and fell on her arm. She quickly grabbed her arm and felt it being broken. She was still on her side when she heard a voice from the door, saying….

“Oh, god! Are you okay?”

Part 2

[shera-dnd]

Cupid’s Kiss

Took me way longer than expected curse the whims of my mental health but the winner of this month’s 3k fic poll is finally here!

In which Carmen and Julia have a lovely totally not date in Paris while in search for two thieves who are certainly also not having a date

if you’d like a chance to get your fic ideas written by me, or just want to support me, you can feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules over here)

and here is the ao3 link if you’d rather read it over there

also this fic was brought to you thanks to the help of @cantdrawshaw

NOW ON WITH THE FIC

Carmen Sandiego was the best at her job. She had bested trained assassins and killer robots, evaded the world’s most advanced detective agency, and destroyed the largest criminal organization. All in her early twenties.

Yet there was one task she was not prepared to face. One that escaped her skills, both martial and technical. One that she had failed to plan around. One that existed entirely beyond the range of her skills. A foe that she could not beat.

“Come on, Carm,” Zack called, “it can’t be that hard. If even Ivy could score with the girls, you can do it too.”

“Even Ivy?!” His sister replied, furious, “I’ve been with more girls than you, jackass.”

“Guys, guys!” Carmen interrupted, “you’re not helping.”

Mentioning her interest in spending more time with Julia Argent had been the biggest mistake she had made in weeks. This was supposed to be a peaceful day at their old home base, but now here she was.

Her friends were trying so hard to help her and she couldn’t even be mad at how poorly they were doing, because she knew she wouldn’t fare much better were the roles reversed.

“Sorry,” the siblings replied in unison.

“I appreciate the support,” she assured them, “but I’m not trying to ‘score’ with anyone. I just wanna get to know Jules a little better.”

“So this is not a date?” Ivy asked.

“No!” She replied, a little too quickly, “me and Jules aren’t like that. She’s more of a… professional acquaintance. A coworker.”

“Carm,” Zack replied, “we’re coworkers and you’ve never had a bouquet of roses delivered to my door.”

“It was just a thank you for handling all those precious artifacts for me,” she explained, “she’s a hard worker, she deserved it.”

“Sure,” Ivy nodded, unconvinced, “is that why you take time to chat over coffee with her every other caper?”

“Not every moment of our lives has to be a chase, you know?” she countered.

“Or why you keep finding excuses to dance with her?”

“It’s the easiest way to speak privately at those parties without garnering unwanted attention,” she recited as if from a textbook.

“Or why-”

“Cease this!” Shadowsan’s stern voice commanded and the siblings fell silent, “VILE has trained her to never cave under interrogation. You’ll have a better chance extracting information from a rock.”

Carmen smirked at them, proud to have her skills of deflection recognized.

“Do not be so full of yourself,” he added, making Carmen flinch just a bit, “I have taught those lessons for years and I know how to see through them.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she deflected, looking away.

He walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“I have seen the happiness Miss Argent brings you,” he said, “and I wish you the best of luck should you wish to pursue it.”

That meant a lot to Carmen. More than she could really express in words. But after she had been so thoroughly embarrassed by her friends, all she could really say was,

“Not you too.”

She looked up at the smirking siblings and braced herself...

“Hey, Red,” Player’s voice called, just in the nick of time.

“Player!” She jumped to attention and grabbed the laptop from their desk.

“Woah!” he exclaimed, “everything okay, Red?”

Zack and Ivy snickered as they sat by each side of her, so they could see Player.

“I think Carm would rather you sent her on a crazy chase instead of sitting here talking about her crush on Jules,” Ivy teased.

“Well it looks like you might get to do both,” Player replied, to Carmen’s dismay, “look who our cameras just found walking around Paris.”

The screen cut to a video feed of one of ACME’s hidden cameras over the streets of Paris. None of the people on camera seemed particularly conspicuous… until a particular pair walked on screen. Even without their costumes Carmen could always recognize them.

“Tigress and Paper Star,” she noted, “those two can’t be up to any good.”

“Looks like we’ll be going to Paris, eh Carm?” Ivy commented as she playfully nudged her side.

“City of love,��� Zack added as he joined the nudging.

Carmen groaned. This was gonna be a rough mission.

Chase had grown a lot over the past few months. His deductive reasoning had vastly improved, his mood was far more amenable, and he actually stopped to listen to Julia nowadays. What hadn’t really improved with time was his overall clumsiness. 

“Miss Argent, I’ll be fine,” his insistence was interrupted by a powerful sneeze, “This is nothing.”

“Agent Devineaux, please,” she pleaded, “you’re in no state to continue this investigation.”

Devineaux had landed himself into his fair share of rivers over the months he had worked for ACME, and it seemed that so many cold baths had finally caught up to his health. Not that he would ever admit to that.

“Nonsense,” he claimed, “I’ll be back in perfect shape by the time we land in Paris.”

The sneeze that followed said otherwise.

“Chase, please,” she asked again, “rest. I can handle this.”

“I refuse to send my partner on a mission by herself.”

“As sweet as your concern is,” she countered, “I doubt I’ll be by myself for long.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure La Femme Rouge will make for good company,” he agreed and she was glad he did, but it sounded like there was more to his words. “Were you anyone else I’d worry this was all a ploy to have some private time with Miss Sandiego.”

She shot him an unamused glare.

“Apologies,” he said almost immediately.

“Accepted,” she sighed, “but I do not appreciate any insinuations as to the nature of me and Miss Sandiego’s relationship. We’re good friends, nothing more.”

“Of course,” he nodded, but Julia could tell he had more to say.

Truly his detective skills have improved considerably as of late. It had become harder and harder for Julia to pass her excitement for those missions as simple passion for her work. Not when she had abandoned that work as soon as it conflicted with her passion for… something else.

Chase was her friend and she knew he’d understand her feelings for Carmen. She was also sure he’d do his best to keep it a secret until she was confident enough to bring these things to light. She trusted him and she didn’t fear anything of the sorts.

What she did fear was Chase trying to wingman for her. Just the thought was enough to fill her with dread. Enough dread to keep her mouth shut about her feelings in the vicinity of Agent Devineaux. Even if it felt bad to hide this from her friend.

Thankfully the Chief chose that exact moment to call her to give her updated information on their targets. 

Now she could just shut off all these awkward feelings and focus on her work.

The Louvre had been an obvious target. The world’s most famous museum, home to thousands of priceless works of art, including the Mona Lisa itself. It was so obvious in fact that VILE had never bothered to consider it.

But VILE was gone now and its escaped students no longer had any faculty to dissuade them from this target.

That’s why Carmen now walked its halls, diligently searching for any security flaws that could be exploited and any sign of the two master thieves on the loose.

She still took time to appreciate the art of course. This was the most famous museum in the world for a reason and she wasn’t gonna let this unique opportunity escape her, even with the evil duo to watch for.

Carmen had her attention split in every possible direction, her mind juggling its many tasks as she wandered hall after hall. Until, that is, she found something that pulled her focus into one singular point.

A shorter woman in a nice fitted suit, standing before one of the statues.

“Jules,” she greeted as she walked up behind her.

“Miss Sandiego,” Julia smiled as she greeted her, utterly unsurprised. She must have been expecting her, “it’s nice to see you here.”

“It’s nice seeing you too,” she replied, “and we went over this before, Carmen is just fine.”

“Carmen,” she said, in a way that warmed Carmen’s heart, “I take it you’ve been enjoying your time in Paris.”

“Hard to go sightseeing while I’ve got work to do, but I’m making do,” she shrugged, “how about you? What caught your attention today?”

Julia turned back to the statue she had been appreciating until then, “Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.”

Carmen smirked, it was her time to shine.

“Sculpted by Antonio Canova, commissioned by welsh art-collector John Campbell in 1787,” she recited from memory, “its prime version was acquired by the Louvre in 1824 after the death of its previous owner, Joachim Murat.”

“Very impressive,” Julia praised, “I wish my students put half as much time as you do into their research.”

“I’m just good at memorizing trivia,” Carmen shrugged, trying to hide her pride at earning that praise, “I’m sure you know so much more than me on the subject.”

Boy was Carmen right about that. That seemed to have been the cue to send Julia into a long lecture about the neoclassical and romantic periods, as well as an analysis of the sculpture’s mythological origins and the many interpretations of the myth.

Many people would probably find this amount of information unspeakably tedious. But for Carmen, who was always hungry to learn about the world around her (and could never get tired of Jules speaking so enthusiastically,) it was exciting and endearing.

Carmen had realized then that she wanted nothing more than to spend her every waking hour listening to Julia talk on and on about anything she wanted, as long as it was passionate like this. Maybe someday soon.

Right now they had the whole rest of the Louvre to scout.

“Alright, alright, victory is yours,” Carmen playfully interrupted, “I guess you really are the biggest history nerd here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, it seems I got a bit carried away,” Julia cringed in shame. Damn it Sandiego! “I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“You couldn’t bore me if you tried,” Carmen assured her as she placed a hand on her arm, “I mean it. It’s nice hearing you talk.”

“Unfortunately I no longer teach,” she replied, “otherwise I would have given you an open invitation to any of my classes.”

“Well, how about you show me around the place?” she suggested, “we can call this a private lesson.”

At that Julia smiled again, “then I hope your memory is as good as you say it is, Carmen Sandiego, because I’ll be quizzing you at the end of the tour.”

They both laughed as Julia led them along to the next art piece in what was clearly a meticulously planned tour of the museum. Jules kept her teacher face on for all of her little lectures, but as they walked from room to room it felt so simple and casual.

For once Carmen felt like there was no rush and that she could just enjoy her time with someone she cared about. Maybe that was the moment. Her chance to make something out of this and let Julia know how she felt.

“Hey, Jules,” she called, walking a little closer to her.

“Yes?” Julia turned to look at her, she seemed surprised by the sudden closeness, but did not move away from her.

Carmen decided to take that as a good sign.

“This has been really nice, you know?” she tried, her usual confidence failing her, “just spending time with you like this.”

“I guess it was,” she replied with- Wait, was that a blush? No, that had to be wishful thinking.

“Yeah,” she agreed, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck, “and I just feel like-”

It was then that she was rudely reminded of what she was here to do.

“-you have got to be kidding me!”

“What?” Julia jumped a little in surprise.

“5 o’clock, behind you,” Carmen instructed.

She turned to look and there they were. Tall, blonde and scheming, and short, monochromatic and homicidal. The two thieves they were here to catch. Two thieves that had also noticed them.

They both smirked at them for a moment, before Paper Star whispered something into Tigress’s ear and they both bolted in separate directions.

“I go for Tigress, you go for Paper Star,” Carmen ordered as she bolted after her target.

Tigress was the fastest of the two, and the one most likely to pull dirty tricks on them. Unfortunately for her, Carmen was well-versed in all of those tricks, and of course had all her equipment on her. It’s amazing how much she could hide in just a red hoodie.

Soon Tigress had led the both of them out of the main building, ready to make a run for it and disappear into the city. Her mistake though, was going somewhere Carmen could use her grappling hook without worrying about damaging priceless works of art.

She swung after her, quickly closing the distance and knocking her down with a kick to the stomach. Tigress groaned as she forced herself back up, but instead of running again or getting ready to fight Carmen, she simply shouted.

“Come on!”

“Done running around?” Carmen taunted.

“Yeah yeah whatever,” she replied. Well that was unusual, “did you girlfriend catch Paper Star already?”

“What!?” She nearly jumped in surprise, “She’s not- we’re not- that doesn’t matter! You’re going to jail, for good this time.”

“For what?” she replied.

“Trying to steal from the Louvre!”

“Ah yes, because that’s the only reason we’d be enjoying some time together in the city of love,” she mocked and rolled her eyes.

Was she implying what she thought she was implying?

“Aww, babe,” a voice above them called. Paper Star leaned out of a nearby window and openly teased her partner in crime.

Babe?

“She caught you already?” she continued

Tigress groaned again, “not my fault you got easy mode.”

Paper Star jumped down and casually hooked her arms around Tigress’s neck.

“Well I’ve won,” she declared, “now where’s my prize?”

The last thing Carmen expected was for the two of them to kiss right there in front of her, and yet that was exactly what they did.

“I did not need to see that!” She complained.

“You were the one who interrupted our date!” Tigress complained back.

“Do you seriously want me to believe that you two were just spending the evening together in the Louvre as a date?”

“Was that not what you and your little agent were doing too?” Paper Star teased.

Carmen’s reflex was to say no, but… was that what they were doing? They had been walking around, sightseeing, talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company and- oh god Carmen almost confessed to her back there. 

This was her chance to have a proper date with Jules and it got ruined right at the finish line because of a mission that didn’t even exist in the first place!

She would have time to figure all of this out later, right now she had a job to do and two smug assholes to put in their place. Thankfully she already knew just how to do that.

“You’re right, it was very rude of me to interrupt your romantic evening,” Carmen raised her hands in surrender and backed away, “how about you two get back to what you were doing and I can arrest you both tomorrow?”

“What?” Tigress challenged, “no romantic chase over the rooftops of Paris?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend would love that,” Paper Star added.

“Actually I think Julia would rather just have you behind bars,” she shrugged.

Right on cue the ACME’s blue sleep gas finally reached the both of them, making them both drop on the spot. It was kinda cute how they were put to sleep still holding each other. Carmen almost felt bad for arresting them. Almost.

She pulled her grappling hook again and launched herself through the open window above, landing right next to a very proud Julia Argent.

“Two for one,” Carmen praised, “at this rate, pretty soon you won’t be needing my help anymore.”

“I appreciate the compliment, but I had my partner down there to keep them in place,” Julia replied playfully. Carmen’s heart skipped a beat at the word ‘partner’, even though she knew she meant it as coworkers.

“Always happy to play distraction for you, Jules,” she played along.

Taking another step forward, Carmen felt her sense of balance completely leave her as she accidentally inhaled some sleep gas fumes. 

She tumbled forward, but before she hit the ground she felt Julia’s arms holding her up. It took her a second to shake away the effects of the gas, and another second to process the position they were in. How Julia was holding her like she had just dipped her in a dance.

For a moment they froze, staring into each other’s eyes as they held onto each other, until finally Julia helped her up again.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Julia apologized as she tried to fix up Carmen’s scuffed clothes.

“It’s fine,” Carmen assured her, “I should’ve been more careful around the sleep gas.”

Still Julia fussed over her, readjusting Carmen’s hoodie as she muttered a few more apologies. It took her a moment to notice just how close they were both standing now. The realization made her jump back a bit on reflex, but still she remained considerably close to Carmen.

She took a moment to collect herself before finally asking, “so uh- you had something you wanted to tell me?”

Carmen sighed in relief. Good to know those two hadn’t completely destroyed her chances.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed our time together today,” she admitted, “before we got interrupted that is.”

Julia gave her a genuine smile that made her heart stop, “I enjoyed our time too. It’s nice to be able to talk about these things outside of work.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, feeling her confidence return bit by bit, “wanna do that again sometime? Maybe over some coffee.”

Jules seemed surprised at first as she caught on to what Carmen meant, but that expression was quickly replaced by a playful smile.

“Carmen Sandiego,” she called, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Nothing escapes ACME’s best detective,” she joked, “I guess I am.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait a little for my answer,” she asked.

Carmen opened her mouth to say that she was more than fine with waiting however long she needed, but she was frozen mid motion when Julia’s lips met her own. A quick, sweet little peck. 

“I want to finish our first before we plan the second.”