#chopping off the back half of her quote where she talked about doing your own research…

[lunar-years]

Chappell’s thoughts on the election sound a heck of lot like many of the takes I see daily on social media in fandom spaces and leftist spaces and on my personal accounts from people I went to high school/college with etc. etc. and I actually think it’s helpful that she’s giving voice to the thoughts a lot of people are clearly having and acknowledging a fairly prominent point of view amongst a portion of young voters whilst STILL ultimately saying she’s going to vote (for Kamala!) and emphasizing the importance of local elections. Like, I personally don’t agree with her stance but many people do and many in that group are the ones going around saying they’re not voting entirely or trying to get us all to vote Jill fucking Stein. Maybe what Chappell is saying will register with some of that group? Maybe they will get out and vote for Kamala despite not agreeing with all of her policies and viewpoints? Which is…a positive thing? What am I missing here 😭

[b3ast0fburd3n]

yapping about Eden

Currently thinking Eden needs to carry around an axe/hatchet !

The other two fit her too, one good sized knife and another smaller one that she made herself

Also thinking about how little ingenuity we see from the pirates in fc3. Most of the stuff they're wearing and using is premade. Not a crazy idea- some of these people came here through unfortunate circumstances and didn't grow up in the environment, but there's a lot of natives that switched sides for their own reasons. You can kinda see this in how many of them carry large knives (and some of their tattoos but that's irrelevant rn), but no one really makes stuff. Even their structures are either reused or half built.

And like. Eden makes stuff. She likes making stuff!

She doesn't go so far as to make her own clothes (until New Dawn) but she knows how to tan animal skins and use the leather to make holsters and belts and such. She built her own treehouse when she was a kid* and built her own house on the island. It would just be so dog motif if she makes things for the people she likes and just leaves them where she knows they'll find them. And for the bigger things like structures, she just starts building them. She'll pause if she's instructed to do something else, of course, because she considers it a personal project, but when she's done its right back to work. Its weird, I can't see her making things to trade. It makes so much sense, this seems like it would be a special skill on the island, she could have so much! but. The thought never occurs to her. Something, something, hopeless optimist.

andandand its so cute to think about her 'pouting' (going off to be alone when she's upset because she was taught that her emotions are only her problem) and just aggressively chopping up wood. also vvv sweet idea that someone who cares about her would recognize this pattern and try to find her,,,she'd be so mad at first but I promise she appreciates someone caring that much she just doesn't recognize affection as anything other than a manipulation tactic.

*More on that, I think the cult was really big on 'doing your part', so most if not all the members assisted in building structures. Joseph was probably there too. watching. He's so manipulative, it only makes sense to me that he'd make others do all the work. Like Manson. He'll quote bible verses while they exhaust themselves and call it helping. Anyway, of course his daughter is made to help when she's old enough, but she refuses to knit or wash the laundry and she's not allowed in the kitchen to help cook since she got her 'greed' scar. So she ends up helping the builders and the hunters (coincidently, the same places where her favorite uncle ((Jacob)) spends his time. Maybe its because he's the only person in her life treating her like a person. Who knows.)

ALSO. CULT DAYS. In my verse Joseph and Co. moved to Montana much sooner and established The Project in Hope County over a longer period time. When Eden was young, the cult would take somewhat frequent trips into town for certain groceries they couldn't grow or make. She probably knew some of the locals when they were kids/teenagers. Tensions between the residents and the cult probably would've gotten worse the older she got, to the point where she wasn't allowed to leave the compound anymore (like others her age, only armed guards were allowed to leave). No way in hell she would follow that rule. Especially if she had sorta kinda friends out there. Originally I thought she'd be too attatched to her fathers ideas to befriend outsiders but the more I think about it the more I see her never really following him in the first place. She follows Jacobs logic of "it's going to happen eventually because the world sucks, might as well be prepared for it" when it comes to learning how to live off the land and bunkers and stuff.

Hey while we're talking about Jacob did I ever tell you that he pretty much raised her? Taught her everything she knows? Insisted she learn how to read and do basic math and take care of herself? Instilled the belief in her that she's worthless unless she's of use because its something he believes himself? Dogs make dogs, it's an endless cycle.

[sansacherie]

Sansa Stark Day One Quotes -  Sansa Standing Up To Her Abusers/People In Power

-          Sansa was confused. "I don't understand," she said. "Where is Jeyne's father? Why can't Ser Boros take her to him instead of Lord Petyr having to do it?" She had promised herself she would be a lady, gentle as the queen and as strong as her mother, the Lady Catelyn, but all of a sudden, she was scared again. For a second, she thought she might cry. "Where are you sending her? She hasn't done anything wrong, she's a good girl."  (Sansa AGOT IV)

-          "Your father is a traitor, dear," Lord Varys said.

Grand Maester Pycelle lifted his ancient head. "With my own ears, I heard Lord Eddard swear to our beloved King Robert that he would protect the young princes as if they were his own sons. And yet the moment the king was dead, he called the small council together to steal Prince Joffrey's rightful throne."

"No," Sansa blurted. "He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't!" (Sansa AGOT IV)

 -          The words made her breath come faster, yet still Sansa hesitated. "Perhaps . . . if I might see my father, talk to him about . . . "

                 "Treason?" Lord Varys hinted.

  "You disappoint me, Sansa," the queen said, with eyes gone hard as stones. "We've told you of your father's crimes. If you are truly as loyal as you say, why should you want to see him?"

"I . . . I only meant . . . " Sansa felt her eyes grow wet. "He's not . . . please, he hasn't been . . . hurt, or . . . or . . . " (Sansa AGOT IV)

 -          "I don't want to marry you," Sansa wailed. "You chopped off my father's head!"

-          "He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I'd be merciful, and I was. If he hadn't been your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean death."

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered.  (Sansa VI AGOT)

-          "Did he instruct you to hit me if I refused to come?"  

"Are you refusing to come, my lady?" The look he gave her was without expression. He did not so much as glance at the bruise he had left her.   He did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. He felt nothing for her at all. She was only a . . . a thing to him. "No," she said, rising. She wanted to rage, to hurt him as he'd hurt her, to warn him that when she was queen, she would have him exiled if he ever dared strike her again . . . but she remembered what the Hound had told her, so all she said was, "I shall do whatever His Grace commands." "As I do," he replied.

"Yes . . . but you are no true knight, Ser Meryn." - (Sansa VI AGOT)

-          "Silence, fool." Joffrey lifted his crossbow and pointed it at her face. "You Starks are as unnatural as those wolves of yours. I've not forgotten how your monster savaged me."

"That was Arya's wolf," she said. "Lady never hurt you, but you killed her anyway." – (Sansa ACOK III)

-          She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No, it gives me joy to kill people." His mouth twitched. "Wrinkle up your face all you like, but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord's get. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

"That was his duty. He never liked it."

"Is that what he told you?" Clegane laughed again. "Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is." He drew his longsword. "Here's your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor's steps. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old . . . but Ilyn Payne's blade went through his neck all the same, didn't it? Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders?"

Sansa hugged herself, suddenly cold. "Why are you always so hateful? I was thanking you…”   (Sansa IV ACOK)

-          He snorted. "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

Sansa backed away from him. "You're awful."  (Sansa IV ACOK)

-          "They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she said recklessly. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown."  (Sansa V ACOK)

-          “And what if I never want you?”  (Sansa III ASOS)

-          "Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are . . . kind to think of me, but . . . pray forgive me. I am very tired.”

"And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."

She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."

"I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well.”

       "Unhand me. You forget yourself."  (Sansa VI ASOS)

-          Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid."

"You're supposed to kiss her." Sansa glanced up at Lysa's balcony, but it was empty now. "Your lady wife."  (Sansa VII ASOS)

-          "Will you play the coy deceiver with me?" her aunt said. "I was not speaking of Robert's doll. I saw you kissing him."

The High Hall seemed to grow a little colder. The walls and floor and columns might have turned to ice. "He kissed me."

Lysa's nostrils flared. "And why would he do that? He has a wife who loves him. A woman grown, not a little girl. He has no need for the likes of you. Confess, child. You threw yourself at him. That was the way of it."

Sansa took a step backward. "That's not true."

"Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. We keep a whipping boy for Robert, as is the custom in the Free Cities. His health is too delicate for him to bear the rod himself. I shall find some common girl to take your whipping, but first you must own up to what you've done. I cannot abide a liar, Alayne."

"I was building a snow castle," Sansa said. "Lord Petyr was helping me, and then he kissed me. That's what you saw."

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion. I know everything that happens in the Eyrie, little lady. And I have known your like before, too. But you are mistaken if you think big eyes and strumpet's smiles will win you Petyr. He is mine." She rose to her feet. "They all tried to take him from me. My lord father, my husband, your mother . . . Catelyn most of all. She liked to kiss my Petyr too, oh yes she did."

Sansa retreated another step. "My mother?"

"Yes, your mother, your precious mother, my own sweet sister Catelyn. Don't you think to play the innocent with me, you vile little liar. All those years in Riverrun, she played with Petyr as if he were her little toy. She teased him with smiles and soft words and wanton looks, and made his nights a torment."

  "No." My mother is dead, she wanted to shriek. She was your own sister, and she's dead. "She didn't. She wouldn't."  (Sansa VII ASOS)

[aubreyprc]

In My Veins 4

part 1 part 2 part 3

People say goodbye

In their own special way

-this is for you, @suckerforhotchniss, please do not come for me bestie🥲-

-

JJ comes by the next morning before work and finds the room empty, surprisingly. She’d expected to see Hotch in the chair next to the bed, even brought him a coffee.

“Even in situations like this, the man manages to go missing.” She laughs, to herself and, to Emily. “I swear, without you he’s like a dog free from a leash.”

JJ places Hotch’s coffee down on the bedside table and looks at her friend.

“Come on, Em.” She whispers, brushing some hair from her face, “Any day now, please. You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Bullying a woman in a coma? Really?” Morgan’s voices comes into the room, the blonde woman jumps and turns around before smirking back.

“If it will get her up.” She says, “Is Spence being released today?”

“Yeah. I’m here to pick him up.” Morgan says, “Told me he wants to shower before he annoys Prentiss with his presence enough that she wakes up simply so he’ll leave her alone.” He quotes the man and JJ laughs.

“If anyone can annoy someone out of a coma, it’s a genius..”

“Precisely, pretty solid plan.” He laughs.

“I wish I could sit with her all day.” She sighs, “Makes me worry less, when I can see her.”

“I’m sure Reid and Hotch will keep you updated.” He says and JJ hums, “Speaking of Hotch… where is he?”

“That’s a good question.” JJ says, “I need to head to work but.. I was hoping to see him.”

“Do you think he went home to Jack?”

“Maybe…” JJ mumbles, looking at her watch, “I need to go, don’t want to be late.” she says, placing a quick kiss on Emily’s cheek before running a hand through her hair and standing, walking away. “Rossi’s in charge,” She grims and Morgan laughs.

“You’re back tomorrow, right? You’re taking over until Em wakes up?” JJ asks.

“That’s the plan. Hotch said he’d rather spend time here and with Jack and not have to worry about all the other stuff. Which I get.”

JJ nods and places a hand on his shoulder, “Give Spence my love, okay? I’ll come see him tonight.”

“I will.” Morgan nods, “I’ll keep on the lookout for Hotch.”

“You’re looking for me?” The man in question says from behind them and the two turn.

“Hey.” JJ smiles, “Yeah I wanted to talk to you about something..” She says, looking to Morgan who gets it, and nods.

“I’ll be bullying the coma woman.”

“You’ll be-.” Hotch says before shaking his head and moving on from his words, obviously missing a joke between the two of them. “Everything okay?” Hotch asks her.

“Yeah, I just..” JJ says, before running a hand through her hair and looking at him, “Do you want me and Will to take Jack for a few nights?” She asks, “Jess could probably do with a break and we don’t mind. Henry and Jack get along great.”

“I don’t want to put you out-.”

“Hotch. We’re offering.” JJ smiles, “It’s absolutely no problem. Jacks an angel. Henry has been asking for a playdate for weeks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” JJ nods, “It might do Jack some good to talk to Henry about Emily, as well. Henry isn’t quite grasping what’s going on and keeps asking when his Auntie Emily is coming over.” There’s a sad sigh at the end of her sentence and Hotch feels an ache in his chest for the woman, who loves Emily just as much as he does. “I think Jack could help him.”

“That would be great.” Hotch says, “Thank you.”

“It’s not an issue. Will can pick him up from school?”

“Only if you’re sure..”

“We’re sure, Hotch. I’ll drop him off at your house on Friday? Or do you want him to come here?”

“Do you think letting him see her is a good idea?”

“I think giving him the chance to say goodbye will be good for him.”

“Then sure, here is great. Thank you, for this, JJ.. it means a lot.”

JJ smiles at him and hesitates before hugging the taller man, feeling almost at peace when his arms hold her back and she gets it now, what Emily used to say about how his presence was just.. comforting.

She doesn’t even know she’s started to cry until he whispers, “It’s going to be okay.”

She nods, pulling away just as he does and she nods.

“It’s going to be okay.” She repeats, blinking away the rest of her tears. “There’s a coffee on the side, as well as a bacon sarnie. You need to eat.”

“Thanks.” He says, and with a smile she steps to the side and heads out of the hospital.

-

It’s just him in the room not long after, Morgan heading downstairs to Spencer.

Hotch takes a sip of his coffee and works through some files he needs to get done before handing off Unit Chief to Morgan for the foreseeable. He knows it’s what he needs to do, because no matter the outcome he is going to need to readjust. Emily could.. be gone, and he’d need time to process that, to grieve her, to help Jack through his grief and his job would have to take a back step, for his mental health if nothing else. But he also is hoping for a miracle and he knows if -when- she wakes up, he’ll need to be with her, helping her through this. They’ll be physical therapy on top of other things he knows they’ll be going through and she’ll need him. He will make the right choice this time and choose the woman he loves over his job. She deserves that. He looks up and gently wraps his hand in hers.

“I’m here, Em.” He whispers, placing a kiss on her hand, “I’m here. And I'm waiting for you to come back to me.”

-

Garcia drops by later that day, smiling as she gently places the flowers next to Emily’s bed as quietly as she can as to not wake up the sleeping man in the chair. She looks at Emily and runs her fingers over her arm before leaning down.

“You should wake up and see this.” She whispers, “He looks so much like Jack right now.”

Smiling once more at a sleeping Hotch, she quietly sits down, looking at her most special friend and grabbing her hand.

“I miss you.” Garcia says softly, smiling down at Emily. “I read that coma patients can hear and so.. I guess I’m hoping if you hear how much everyone is missing you, you’ll wake up.”

Penelope looks over at Hotch, smiling sadly before looking back down at Emily.

“Please don’t leave us, Em.” She whispers, “If not for our sake then for his. For Hotch. He’s already lost so much. He loves you. We love you. Come back to us, okay?”

Penelope places a soft kiss on Emiy’s hand before standing and heading out of the room.

-

Hotch wakes up half an hour later and frowns in confusion at the flowers on the side, wondering when they got there.

“You’re up.” Rossi says, entering the room, “Good. Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on. You need to eat and there’s a little diner not two miles down the road.”

“Dave..”

“Save it, come on.” He says, “Chop chop.”

Aaron sighs, looking back at Emily, before grabbing his jacket and following his friend out of the room.

“Maybe you should go home, get some proper rest. I’ll stay with her tonight.”

“I’m fine.” Hotch tells him.

“I know.” Rossi says, “I just think a real nights sleep in your bed and maybe a shower is what you need. You’re back at work the day after tomorrow. You need to get yourself together.”

“Thanks.” Aaron rolls his eyes and Dave laughs.

“If there’s any change I’ll call you. You know that.”

“I know.”

“So I’m dropping you off and your apartment and then I’ll come back here and I’ll stay with her tonight.”

“Okay.” Aaron says, and gets into the car.

-

Rossi reads for most of the night, quips some of his lamest jokes at her, before leaning back and sighing.

“You’re really starting to scare me now, Emily.” He tells her, “Who am I going to bully Aaron with if you’re gone? That’s just selfish to leave me to do that job alone.” He smiles, grabbing her hand. “I need you to wake up. I need you to come back because I’m counting on you too look after him when I retire. To pull him aside during a case and feed him, make sure he’s drinking at least two bottles of water a day. I’m counting on you to make sure Jack isn’t emotionally constipated.” He laughs. “There are so many people who are counting on you, Em. So please. Just come back to us.”

-

Hotch is finishing off the last file he needed to do when Reid walks in the day next day.

“Hey Reid. How’re you doing?”

“I’m good.” He smiles, “There’s not lasting injury.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Yeah.” Spencer nods, “You’re back to work tomorrow?”

Hotch nods.

“I just.. I wanted to tell you that I’ll be here.” Spencer says, “Everyday. All day. She’ll never be on her own. I’ll talk to her and I’ll annoy her with facts and statistics until she has to wake up to just tell me to be quiet.” Reid blabs, and Hotch smiles at him.

“I think she’ll love that.” Hotch tells him with a sad smile.

“I’ll be here, Hotch. If anything changes I’ll be here. She won’t be alone.” Reid tells him. Hotch swallows, forcing himself not to cry at what he knows Spencer is really telling him.

She won’t be alone. She won’t die alone.

Hotch just nods and clears his throat, before looking back at Reid.

“Are you hungry?” He asks the younger agent, “Rossi left a lot of food.”

“Sure.” Reid smiles, taking a seat.

-

He heads home reluctantly a few hours later with Reid’s reassurance that he will stay here for as long as he can, and he’d be back first thing in the morning.

“You’ll let me know-”

“Of course.” Reid interrupts, “Go home, Hotch.”

Hotch nods, giving Reid a grateful smile and heading out.

-

Arriving back at his apartment he sighs as the door shuts silently behind him, leaning on it for a few moments and taking some breaths before standing straight. He’s never noticed how quiet his appartment could be until now, having gotten used to Jack running around with his loud shouts while he plays, his over excited jumps when he arrives home. He’s gotten used to coming home to Emily on his couch, deep in playful conversation with his son about something only a six year olds cares about.

Clearing his throat he heads to bed, hitting the pillow and staring at the empty space next to him. He throws his arm over where she would normally be laying and turns away, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He’d spoken to Jack on the phone hours ago, talking about how he would be staying with JJ and Will for awhile and his sons demand that he stays with Emily while she sleeps makes him smile. He still couldn’t believe how close the two of them had gotten in the last ten months. Lifting his head he swaps his pillow for hers and sighs as he lays back down onto it, her scent filling his nose as he takes a deep breath. He’s asleep instantly.

Jack wakes with a gasp and sits up, grabbing the teddy his mother had gotten him all those years ago. He rubs his eyes as he grumbles, unsure of what woke him. He lays back down and holds his teddy close, blinking rapidly as he tries to go back to sleep but he’s six and he doesn’t understand why Emily isn’t home if she’s just sleeping and why she has to sleep at the hospital. Henry moves on the bunk above him and Jack rolls onto his side, closing his eyes, he thinks of the morning a few weeks ago when he’d gone into his father’s bedroom after throwing up on his bed, his floor and himself and smiles at the memory of being wrapped in Emmy’s arms as he’d cried after being sick yet again on his way back to the bathroom with his dad. He falls asleep to the memory of her comfort.

“You’re okay.” She’d told him, rubbing a hand down his back as he rested his head on her shoulder, grasping at the necklace hanging from her neck.

He’s out instantly.

-

Hotch heads into the BAU and all eyes turn to him when he heads up towards his office.

“Do you think he should be here?” Morgan asks JJ as he turns to face her, the blonde woman just sighs.

“He doesn’t have a choice.” JJ tells him, “You’re in charge for a reason. We all know that.”

Morgan hums and turns back to Hotch’s office, finding him and Rossi in a heated discussion about something. JJ pats him on the shoulder as Hotch slams a file down on his desk and turns away from the older man.

“That’s your cue, Boss.” JJ teases with a smile, he rolls his eyes and laughs before heading up towards the office.

“They can’t expect that.” Hotch tells Rossi, slamming the file onto the desk. “I can’t leave..”

“It’s the job, Aaron.” Rossi tells him, “I’ve tried to talk to Stauss about this and there’s just nothing we can do.”

“So what? I head off every week to a different city when Emily is barely hanging on-”

“We’re all leaving, Aaron. You’re not the only one who is suffering here.”

“I know.” He says sadly, shaking his head. “I can’t be in a different city if she dies, Dave. I can’t. I won’t.” He tells the older man, turning to look at him.

Rossi looks at him, before turning to the door when there’s a gentle tap before it opens.

“Is everything okay?” Morgan questions as he walks in.

“We have a case in Philly.” Rossi tells him and Morgan’s eyes widen as he takes the case from Hotch after he holds it out for him. He looks at Aaron after reading it and shakes his head.

“This is unbelievable.” Morgan tells them, “Even in a situation like this they can’t use another team.” He scoffs.

“Being one the best BAU teams in the FBI comes at a price.” Rossi tells them, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Yeah well we can be the best from here.” Morgan grumbles, looking back through the case. “I’m not-”He stops, “We’re not being a hundred miles away while Emily fights for her life. Not again.” Morgan huffs. “She was miles away when she was in Boston and-” He takes a breath, shaking his head, refusing to think about that again.

“There’s nothing we can do. It’s our job. I wish there was.” Rossi tells them, “I’ve tried everything, trust me.”

“If anything happens to her-”

“I know.” Dave sighs, Hotch shakes his head and stands straight.

“No.” He says, looking at him, “You don’t.” And with that he walks out of the office and through the bullpen, JJ eyes the two men from her desk and they shake their heads, holding up a file.

-

“It’s been an hour.” JJ tells them as they sit on the jet, “He’s not coming. I don’t blame him.”

“He’ll be here.” Rossi says, tapping his fingers on the table, “The man is hardwired to do this job, it doesn’t matter what it could cost him.”

Morgan and JJ look down, Morgan at his watch and JJ at her hands.

“He’s changed... since Haley’s death..” JJ says softly.

“He has, you’re right.” Rossi nods, “He also knows that Emily would want him to do his job.”

A phone rings then and JJ jumps before answering her cell.

“Jareau.” She says, “Oh, Reid hey.”

“Hotch is about ten minutes away, you’re still on the jet right?”

“Yeah, we’re here.” JJ says, “He was at the hospital?”

“Yeah..” Reid sighs, “I told him Emily would want him to do his job…He was reluctant but, he’s on his way.”

“He’s okay?” JJ asks, shaking her head at the mess their all in.

“No.” Reid says simply, “But are any of us?”

JJ remains silent, “It must be tough on all of you.. leaving, especially in a situation like this but, like I told Hotch. I’ll be here, all day and Garcia is coming by after work and if anything changes i’ll call you.. and she won’t be alone.”

JJ releases a breath and nods, swallowing a lump in her throat as tears roll down her cheeks.

“Thank you Spence.”

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

The phone call ends and JJ leans her head back.

“What is it?” Morgan asks. JJ smiles sadly and nods.

“He’s on his way.” She tells them, “Turns out Reid can be quite persuasive..” She takes a breath, “He told me she won’t be alone.” She whispers, her voice shaky.

The men fall silent and allow the words to settle in their minds, about what that sentence means.

“He’ll never forgive himself if she dies while he’s working this case.” Rossi says, looking at his hand as it rests flatly on the chair arm.

“Will any of us?”

The plane is silent after that, and when Hotch shows up fifteen minutes later and takes a seat next to Dave before staring ahead, making no offer of communication with them, they know it’s going to be a rough case.

-

They’re sat in the station that night, almost morning as they put together their profile, it’s silent when the phone rings and it shocks everyone from their thoughts. All eyes go to Hotch as he grabs his phone from his pocket.

“Hotchner.” He says, holding his breath.

“Hi.” Reid says, his voice is small and Hotch has never felt panic like it.

“Is everything okay? What-“

“You told me to call if anything changes?” Reid asks, the young man is nervous, he notes and it only makes his heart hammer faster in his chest.

“Has something changed?” He asks, JJ grabs Morgan’s hand as they listen to one side of the conversation and Rossi sends a prayer that it’s not the news they’re dreading. It can’t be. Not now. Not ever.

“They say she’s improving.” Reid tells him and Aaron releases a breath and stands.

“Improving? Improving how?”

“The doctor came in and ran some tests and told me that her brain activity had improved over the last two days and that her kidney is back to a hundred percent. They’re saying the lack of organ failure is a really good sign. They’re hopeful.” Reid says.

Hotch turns away as he processes Reid’s words.

“They’re still worried about brain damage but they said they won’t know for sure about that until she’s awake but.. She could wake up, Hotch.”

Aaron has no words, unable to string a sentence together about how much he had prayed for this.

“I have to go Garcia is here.” Reid says, “This is good.”

“It’s good.” Hotch agrees, and the call ends.

“It’s good?” JJ asks with a smile, Hotch nods, and tells them the news.

-

Three days later they’re on a flight back to Virginia. Hotch is staring out the window, embracing his lack of paperwork when JJ sits across from him.

“Will wants to know if you want him to drop Jack off at your apartment after school or the hospital. We should be home before they finish.”

“The hospital would be great.” Hotch says, “Do you still think it’s a good idea that he sees her like that?”

“I think it might help him understand more about what’s happening.”

“And if she-” The words go unsaid but they both know what he’s asking.

“If..” JJ says, “Then he’s seen her.. he’s said goodbye.”

Hotch nods and leans his head back.

“If she’s improving.. there’s hope, right?” She asks

“Right.” He nods.

Arriving at the hospital hours later, he walks into her room and relaxes when he sees her, hears the beep of her heart on the monitor, the sound of oxygen entering her lungs. The rooms empty, he notes, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he heads over, placing a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat and grabbing her hand.

“Jack will be here soon.” He tells her, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing it, “He misses you.” He says. “I miss you. Please.. please come back to me.” He can feel his heart shattering in his chest as he squeezes her hand, begging her to wake up. “I love you. I can’t lose you again, Emily. I can’t.” He feels a tear fall down his cheek and he wipes him, taking a breath and closing his eyes. “Please don’t leave me.” He whispers.

Jack walks into the hospital, his small hand wrapped in JJ’s as she guides him.

“It’s big.” He says looking around, JJ smiles and nods.

“It is..” She agrees, “You’re sure you want to see her? You don’t have to.”

“I’m sure.” He nods, “Mommy told me I should always be brave.” He tells JJ, who catches her breath and smiles at the boy.

“Your mommy was a very special woman.” She says, “She’d be very, very proud of you.”

When Jack looks up and gives her a big smile, she can’t help but smile back.

Hotch is stood outside the room on the phone when they walk over.

“An hour, that’s fine.” Hotch says, “Thanks.”

“Hi daddy!” The boy smiles, running from JJ’s side and into his dads legs, wrapping his arms around them as he rests his chin on his knees.

“Hey buddy.” He smiles, before sending a grateful smile to JJ.

“I’ll be over there.” She says, “If you need anything, come and get me.”

“I will. Thank you, JJ.” He tells her and she nods, walking away.

Hotch bends down to be eye level with his son and he smiles.

“Can we see Emmy now?” The six year old asks.

“In a minute, I just need to talk to you.”

Jack stands and stares, nodding.

“Remember how I told you Emily was really sick? And that to get better she needs to sleep?” Hotch asks and the boy nods his head.

“Okay, well, in order to make sure that she can get better there are lots of wires keeping her breathing. Lots of tubes, one coming out of her mouth that’s connected to her breathing machine.”

Jack nods again.

“The sound is loud and, it might sound like its hurting her but it’s not. It might look scary and that’s okay, you don’t have to be in there for any longer than you want to be. If you go in and it upsets you that’s okay, Emily will know you were there anyway.”

“Can I talk to her?” Jack asks, Hotch smiles.

“Yes.” He says, “But she can’t talk back. She’s sleeping, remember?”

“Okay.” Jack says, “Can I see her now?”

Hotch stands and Jack takes his hand, and with a breath Hotch opens the door.

Jack walks in and at first stops, staring at the woman in the bed. The woman who is normally so strong.. a superhero like his dad. The person who held him when he was sick, one of the people he knew would always keep him safe.

Hotch thinks his son is about to cry when the six year old just walks closer, taking his hand from his and grabbing the chair, pushing it closer before sitting on his knees on it, leaning his elbow on the bed as he looks at her.

“Hi Emmy.” He whispers, “It’s me.” His soft quiet tone makes Hotch smile as he watches. “Daddy says you’re sleeping and when someone is sleeping you’re supposed to be quiet.”

The young boy strokes Emily’s head, patting her head gently. “You do this for me when I'm sick. I thought maybe you would like it too.” He whispers, Jack looks to his dad and smiles, Hotch smiles back and nods his head.

“I think Daddy is sad because you’re sleeping.” Jack whispers, in his mind only Emily can hear him, he’s unaware his whispers are echoing through the quiet room. “So..Can you wake up?” He asks, “When you wake up we can go and get Sergio from Aunt Penny and we can read the book again.” He looks at Emily, his hand still stroking the top of her head, “I’m sorry that me and Aunt Jess finished it.” He says. He stops talking for awhile and just looks at her, before stopping all movement. “Please don’t go away like my Mommy did.” He asks. Hotch has to turn away so that his son doesn’t see him cry. The moment so heartbreaking that it almost shatters the man completely. “I miss you.” Jack says, “Please wake up?” His voice is small and vulnerable, “I’ll be so sad if you go away. I was sad when you went away last time and then you came back... are you going to come back this time as well?” He asks her in a small voice, before kissing his hand and placing it on her cheek, “It’s okay if you can’t come back, Emmy.” He whispers to her, “If you see Mommy will you tell her I miss her too? Will you give her a hug?” After that the boy remains silent for a few moments, holding her hand and wiping his tears away before turning to face his father.

“Daddy?” Jack calls and Aaron clears his throat before turning, “Can we read her a story?” He asks and Hotch smiles at the scene in front of him. Jack gently stroking her hair, his other hand in hers. The carefulness of his son enough to tell him that Haley is very much alive in their son. He knows this is something Jack could only have gotten from his mother. His compassion. His love. His gentle touch.

Hotch grabs a chair and takes the book from Jack's bag.

“Would you like to read to her?” Hotch asks and the boy smiles, nodding his head. Hotch grabs him gently and sits him in his arms, the book in his hands as his six year old rests his back on his chest.

Jack reads until a yawn escapes him, before asking his Dad if he could read the rest.

Ten minutes later he carries a sleeping six year old out of the room just as Jessica is arriving.

“How was it?” She asks as he approaches her.

“It was good. Really good. Better than I thought it could have been.” He smiles, “He’s all Haley.”

“He’s adorable.” Jess smiles, “Haley would would be proud of the little angel he is.” She smiles sadly.

“She would.” Hotch agrees, handing over his son to her. “Are you sure you don’t mind having him again? I know he’s a handful.”

“It’s fine, Aaron. There’s a lot going on.” Jess says, “How is she?”

“There’s improvement.” He tells her and Jess smiles.

“Good. I would like to get to know her better.”

Jack stirs in her arms then.

“Go,” Hotch says, “Call me when he wakes up.”

“I will.” Jessica says, before heading out of the hospital.

-

Sitting at her bedside once more, he turns his head slowly when the door opens and JJ and Garcia walk through.

“How was he?” JJ asks, taking a seat opposite him, “He’s been talking about her all week.” There is a smile on her face as she talks and Aaron can’t help but smile back at the thought of his son talking about Emily.

“He was.. good. It was good.” He smiles, “He’s definitely all Haley.” The smile lingers on his face as he chuckles.

“Definitely.” Garcia says with a smirk, the sound of Hotch’s phone ending the conversation.

“Girl talk time.” Garcia laughs, taking Hotch’s seat as he reaches the door. “Maybe we’ll tell her something so scandalous she’ll wake up.”

“Maybe.” Hotch smiles, before leaving the room.

JJ and Garcia smile as the door closes and Garcia gently takes Emily’s hand and faces her.

“Hey Friend.” She says softly, “Any day now, if you please.” She teases, and JJ chuckles, her hand latched in Emily’s as well.

“Ten days is too long without Emily Prentiss.” JJ says, “We’re all getting withdrawals.”

Garcia gently moves a stay piece of hair from Emily’s face and leaves her hand gently on her cheek.

“We miss you.” She says, holding back tears, “I can’t bury you again.”

JJ looks down, swallowing the guilt she still carries with her almost a year later.

“None of us can.” Garcia says, looking at JJ and smiling.

-

Later that night, Hotch is slowly getting himself ready to leave. He turns to her, placing a hand on her forehead before stroking her head, placing a kiss there and smiling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He whispers, “I love you.”

Looking at her for another moment, he stands, before heading out of the room. Reid jumps at his sudden appearance, before smiling.

“I’ll call you if..” He starts.

“I know.” Hotch smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night Hotch.”

He’s almost out of the ICU when he hears his name being shouted.

“Hotch!��� Reid shouts again. Aaron feels his heart fall to the floor as he turns in what feels like slow motion, before hurrying towards the man standing at the ICU doors.

“What’s going on?” He rushes out.

“The machine started beeping and I was ushered out.. I don’t know. The machine was just.. and..”

Hotch steps around him and heads towards her room quickly, standing still when he hears the shouts of doctors and sees the chaos going on around her. He steps back, holding his breath as the door swings shut once again, blocking whatever has happening from view.

When the door opens and a doctor steps out, nurses following behind, Hotch and Reid look up. The genius picks at his jumper and Hotch remains still, trying to ready himself for the news he knows he was told to prepare for, but never really did.

“Agents.” The doctor says and Reid nods, preparing himself to hear “she didn’t make it.” for the second time in his life.

Hotch takes a deep breath as the doctor looks at him and sends up a silent prayer, a prayer he hopes doesn’t fall on deaf ears.

Please don’t die. Please. Please don’t be dead. Please stay with me. Come back to me. Please. Is all Hotch can hear in his mind as he watches the Doctor take a breath and remove his scub cap, his face unreadable.

[surfalldaybaby]

”A Very Long and Comprehensive Analysis of Feyre’s Experience w/ Trauma and Abuse

- This is not a kind analysis of Nesta but please still read it if you want. It’s not in the wrong tags tho so please don’t rant about how much you love Nesta. I love that for you. Personally, I hate her. :)

Also- I use many of the quotes that @feysandlover and @dont-rattle-aelin used to prove her point that Nesta is abusive because she pulled many of the really jarring ones. 

I was looking through the Rhysand tag and for some reason someone posted something comparing Nesta and Feyre in terms of their trauma, and they said that Nesta had experienced way more trauma than Feyre and I-

That’s disgusting.

First - don’t compare trauma

Second- they were wrong and lacked critical thinking skills that left out Feyre’s full experience with abuse

Nesta was sexually assaulted ( which nobody talks about enough) and her family’s fortune flipped making them poor overnight. Because of this she fostered anger towards her father. I get that. I sympathize with that. She is then taken away from her life and forcefully changed into fae. I cannot imagine what that felt like for her. It must have been devastating. Her whole identity was shifted in one day and she went from hating fae to being fae. Confusing and overwhelming. She then goes into war and develops PTSD and depression from her experiences. She sees her father die and is unable to reconcile her anger and his death. It’s horrible and I cannot even begin to understand the depth of her emotions here. I have zero issue saying that about Nesta because it’s true she has gone through extaordinary trauma and I cannot imagine how she fully feels. She deals with this trauma in unhealthy ways because they only exacerbate her feelings of worthlessness. Not her fault. However, she also treats Mor and Feyre and Rhys in disrespectful ways and Cassian and her have an unhealthy dynamic where they insult each other. Her and Amren have a shaky and partner like relationship but it is by no means a sturdy one. Az and Nesta don’t seem to have a relationship at all. She has no true healthy relationship with anyone but Elain, and you could argue even that is not truly healthy.

Much of Nesta’s trauma is due to extraneous factors and a multitude or variables. It’s valid and it matters just as much as Feyres. They are both real. However the amount of traumatic experiences she has gone through does not come close to rivaling that of Feyre’s and to even try and compare them is disgusting. Trauma should never be compared but I want to show Feyre’s experience in a broader light to show her development from a scared girl to high lady

Feyre was never an active abuser in any relationship she was always the one being abused. Nesta was abused and she was also the abuser. It is important to point that out because it heavily impacts Feyre’s story.

Also, I believe the reason Feyre became so accustomed and slipped so easily into being a victim to Tamlins abuse is because Feyre was already the victim of emotional abuse from her sisters. We see this everyday, research shows that victims of abuse go back to abusive relationship and form new relationships that center around abuse because they are used to it and find it comforting. This is an extraneous point that you can agree with or can argue against it’s just a personal connection I made. However, it is very evident how Nesta and Elains treatment of Feyre affects her. She has no self confidence, she remains illiterate and with no real knowledge of polite manners ( something important in the real world, something that holds her back from being able to assimilate into the real world), her spirit is broken down at home because she knows  that verbal attacks are going to come and Nesta is going to lash out and say horrible disgusting things to her if she asks her to do something or holds her accountable for her lack of work. She is constantly degraded for everything that she does and it has a pronoucned effect on her psyche throughout the trilogy and novella. 

Like Nesta, Feyre also had to go through her family losing their fortune, she also had to bear the weight of her promise to her mother, she had to support her sisters financially going into the forest alone to hunt animals just as big as herself at 14. She never had money for herself because her sisters took it from her. Like they literally took all her money to buy things they did not need, leaving Feyre with basically nothing.

“I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same moment Nesta rose and declared: “I need a new pair of boots.””“I kept quiet, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of their arguments, but I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces... I drowned them out as they began quarreling over who would get the money the hide would fetch tomorrow…”

 And Nesta complains and whines and doesn’t stop gaslighting Feyre because of her lack of hard work. But, she doesn’t want to do work herself because she thinks it’s beneath her. 

“I thought you were going to chop wood today. Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters. She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother—especially when she wanted something. “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.” My jaw clenched. “Please,” I asked, calming my breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing I needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood.” I unbuttoned the top of my tunic. “Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.” Her brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!”

She doesn’t care about Feyre or the fact that starving is their new reality. Poverty is what they live in. We all know if Feyre didn’t go hunting Nesta would be furious at Feyre and belittle her and make her feel small and responsible for their hunger.

“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“Any bit of praise for anyone—me, Elain, other villagers—usually resulted in her dismissal.”

“Is there a problem, Feyre?” She flung my name like an insult, and my jaw ached from clenching it so hard.”

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”c“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.” She stormed off, Elain darting after her, cooing her sympathy. 

Then Tamlim comes and kidnaps her. More trauma. She falls in love with him, I think partly because of Stockholm Syndrome and also because he shows her a level of kindness that she was not given at home, and then he disappears so she has to go back to her life with her sisters. Her sisters have all the benefits of her being stolen away bcs Feyre was able to provide their old house and wealth back through Tamlin’s gift. Her sisters literally never did anything to provide for themselves or help their father or sister. If you really think about that situation as a whole it’s devastating. Then she goes to save Tamlin and finds that her home and her loved one was basically destroyed. She goes to save him.

While under the mountain Amarantha humiliates and tortures her for fun. She makes her run around trying to get away from a monster, her illiteracy is exploited for amusement while she is under pressure of death by fire, she is forced to kill fae in order to save her love, and she has to suffer with her injuries in a basement where everyone is rooting against her.

Then she fucking dies. And like Nesta she is forced to become fae in order to survive. Like she can’t catch a break. Her whole life has really just been horrible and so traumatic. A series of abuses.

That’s not even all! She goes home and is deeply depressed and struggling with PTSD and Tamlin, who she literally was tortured and died to save, takes advantage of her sexually because he is too scared to acknowledge that she is struggling. He uses her body for his pleasure while she throws up every night after he leaves her bedroom due to the nightmares she gets from saving hundreds of fae. She is also forced to fit into a box that she doesn’t want- wearing dresses, pretending to be happy, becoming a figurehead as Tamlins bride knowing that it means she will have to be submissive and have children. Lucien emotionally abused her and ignores her obvious depression because of his own fear of what Tamlin would say. He is a bystander. She is so broken that she stops caring about everything, even painting, the one thing she always loved. Then he traps her in his house which is traumatizing again because she was just trapped under the mountain! Even the people she loved, the people she trusted, continually can’t stop abusing her.

She finds happiness and stability later on after intensive work on herself, and months of building healthy relationships, but she is still troubled because of the guilt she feels from the townsfolks anger and their sense of righteousness for her actions even though she did the best she could in every circumstance. When she goes to try and save those townspeople it becomes clear that Nesta still hates her. She shows Feyre no kindness. The only reason she is allowed to use the house, the one that Feyre got for them, was because of Elain. Even after that Nesta insults her repeatedly for being fae. Those statments from the first book that I quoted higher up in this post are just a small part of how she speaks to Feyre in the following three books after she finds out that she is fae. Even after Feyre saves her and supports her she continues abusing and blaming Feyre. She continues to insult. degrade, shame, and humiliate her to uplift her own lack of self worth. Its a technique to stop her own insecurity and depression but it is in no way excusable. It’s no wonder Rhysand hates her. She abused his mate for years- something that he experienced under the mountain (shame, gaslighting, and humiliation). That is her life. She goes on to see her father murdered. She suffered so much in such a short amount of time is a wonder she wasn’t more broken.

Don’t come to me saying Nesta experienced more trauma to prove your point that Nesta is a good person and not responsible for her actions because she “feels to much” and is a woman that is cruel, and prideful, and unapologetic “bcs that’s who she is.” She has to be held accountable for her actions, her attitude, and her lack of words and apologies to everyone she wronged- especially her sister.

Feyre sacrifices her childhood, her body, her mental health, and her life in order to provide the stability that her sisters felt was their norm. They are inherently priviledged because of that sacrifice. They felt and still feel entitled to her money, and her loyalty, and that of her friends and mate. They survive because of Feyre. And Feyre never once called them out on their behavior, not even when they continually disrespected her after she provided them with a place to live and money to live off of. This was due to her feelings of guilt and the trauma that she had continually been victim to as a child and in Tamlins court.

Some of y’all use the excuse that they never asked Feyre to do any of that and I’m genuinely appalled that that is even a response to her genuine sacrifice. Her mother asked her to take care of them. Nobody was stepping up. Nesta was not going to go into the forest and neither was Elain, both for different but equally disappointing reasons. They both would have let the family starve. Also, Nesta and Elain were both older than her. Elain and Nesta as Feyre’s old sisters should have, and had a responsibility, to ensure that Feyre didn’t have to do what she did. Their apathy and ungrateful attitude is disgusting. Disgusting and unforgivable. Sure, Feyre may have been able to do it but she never should have had to. The three of them should have figured out a plan of equal work to give and take and survive. Y’all saying that Feyre never had to do that I- ... do you not have a family? Do you not have loved ones? You don’t have to do something to help your family, but you do it anyway because you love them and you hate to see them suffer. It’s just that usually you aren’t being exploited and taken advantage of at 14, for years on end, because the sentiment is usually reciprocated.

Perhaps if they had taken better care of their younger sister she would not have been in the woods and killed the fae. Perhaps all three of them would have bore the brunt of their fathers injury together and made a family. Perhaps if she hadn’t killed the fae in the forest when she was starving due to her sisters laziness, Elain and Nesta would never have been forced into being fae.

They neglected Feyre. They aren’t as responsible for her as their father ofc but they actively neglected her and Nesta even slut shamed her for her consensual sexual relationship with Isaac. The one thing she had that her sisters couldn’t take and Nesta called her filthy and disgusting for it.

“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.” 

Nesta remains unapologetic and to me she is not a feminist character. Sarah J Mass tried to use her as that trope to fulfill her idea of a “powerful woman” icon but she’s just a cruel and traumatized woman who people let off the hook. She gets away with it because she gaslights other characters while taking no responsibility for herself. She was abused and traumatized herself but that’s never an excuse for her in turn abusing someone else.

Now I don’t mean to say that Nesta or Elain are irredeemable. Frankly I think they both have potential to be good characters if they just apologized to Feyre in the next book, and really put those sentiments into actions. I do think Nesta is a bad person right now, I think she’s an abuser. And I think it’s hard for abusers to change their pattern of abuse. Elain is less of an outright abuser and more complicit in the abuse. I don’t know if either of them can change, but they definitely won’t if people keep letting them off the hook for their disgusting behavior. I am not impressed or charmed by either of them. Until they show a hint of gratitude and remorse to their sister because as y’all can tell she went through hell to make sure they were taken care of. Not to say that they didn’t do anything for Feyre. They both  had important roles to play in the war, and they do have their moments of kindness and bravery and showed they cared for Feyre but abusers can be kind and considerate and brave one minute and then switch up just as fast. It’s about showing a consistent pattern of respect and love. 

Just because Feyre took care of Elain and Nesta their whole damn life does not mean she has to be responsible for them as high lady. Also she is not responsible for knowing how to deal with their trauma. Her own abuse, and lack of real world experience- because Nesta and Elain never taught her to read, and Nesta continually degraded and made cruel remarks to Feyre about her lack of manners “ disgusting pig, take off your clothes didn’t anyone teach you ...” (manners she didn’t develop because she was in the forest)- means she is not perfect at confronting Nestas PTSD or depression. Feyre’s intention was always good, whereas you can’t tell me that Nestas was good and pure. She is not exempt from being respectful and kind because she is hurt and has mental illnesses. She is not exempt from apologizing because she “feels to much.”

This applies to all of the IC as well. They are all healing. They all experienced trauma that rivals what Feyre went through. It’s no wonder they built a family from that shared bond. They are healing together- not healed. Nesta is not entitled to Feyre’s care or her friends kindness. She is not entitled to be added into the group painting or their secret jokes or parties because she continues to push them all away. Then she insults them and disrespects them. The inner circle has already suffered so much they are not exactly going to be open to accepting Nesta knowing her history and her current actions and remarks, and the history of the IC. Do y’all not remember Mors family nailing a stake into her body for losing her virginity? Or Cassian, Az, and Rhys being forced to bond together to survive, being called bastards, and being ganged up on by all their peers? Rhys being sexually abused for 50 years and seeing his parents murdered? Az being stuck in a basement so long he became the shadows and his hands being burned so badly they were hard to look at? Or Amren being in the wrong body for centuries and still she and all of the IC remain a family because they try to understand each other and their experiences. Nesta was not only rude to them she was cruel and spiteful, especially to their high lady, and they don’t need an excuse, but especially as victims of abuse, they are not perfect, and they sure as hell are not obligated to embrace Nesta into their family. The IC and Feyre deserve better.

A lot of people have posed the argument that if Nesta was male everyone would love her but I disagree. If an older brother let his sister go hunting alone in the woods for years while sitting on his ass, slut shamed her and called her dirty and disgusting, blamed her for her family’s poverty and spoke to her like she was trash for years and years, verbally and emotionally belittled her, felt entitled to her possessions and her kindness while they were both struggling to heal from abuse, predisposes his sister to accepting abuse as a form of relationship, and then rather than apologize “steels [her] back” and says nothing-not even an apology or a thank you for saving their life tenfold- he would never even have gotten a redemption story, or a mate, let alone a 700 page book. He would be the most hated character in the series but because it’s Nesta and she’s a woman and y’all pose her as this feminist it’s okay that shes abusive all throughout the series.

[hrtiu]

Worthy of Devotion Chapter 6

Yeah so... obviously I didn’t stick to my weekly update schedule 😅 But hey, Chapter 7 is already halfway done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259979/chapters/72995721

Kaminoan breakfast was not to Riyo’s taste. It was all raw fish, squid, and shellfish chopped up and mixed together with some kind of acidic syrup and, as a native of a marshy moon with no oceans, Riyo found it disagreeable. Still, she dutifully slurped down the food and nodded along to Prime Minister Lama Su’s unhurried conversation.

“As you can see, our facilities are state-of-the-art, and the Republic is reaping the benefits of our skilled army,” he said.

Riyo nodded and picked up the last spoonful of her breakfast, hesitating only a moment before putting the tentacled mystery in her mouth. The food they fed the clones at the cafeteria had looked different, like a nutritional paste or some kind of fortified starch. This seafood hash was no doubt a delicacy meant to honor her visit, but she’d honestly prefer the paste.

“This is quite an impressive operation you have here, Prime Minister,” she said. “I look forward to discussing the future of the Republic’s relationship with Kamino at the summit.”

She set her spoon down and left her napkin on top of her plate, signalling that she was done with the meal—finally. She’d spent most of the previous night making last-minute preparations with Maja, and she didn’t think she could handle another moment of small talk and crustaceans.

Lama Su inclined his long neck. “Shall we?”

He rose to his feet and Riyo, flanked by Maja, Captain Rex, and Commander Fox, followed him out of the dining hall and into a spare, white conference room. Nala Se, Senator Burtoni and several other Kaminoan dignitaries were already seated inside, and the Prime Minister showed Riyo to her seat at the head of the table. Rex and Maja found their own spots at the far end of the group, and Fox stationed himself at the door.

Lama Su took the chair next to Riyo and cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of all the attendees to him. “I want to thank Chancellor Chuchi for visiting with us today. I am eager to discuss Kamino’s role in the Republic’s military moving forward, and to build upon the foundation of goodwill and trust that we have already established.”

“Thank you for having me, Prime Minister,” Riyo said. She waited for him to extend his welcome to Rex and Maja, too, but he moved right on to business.

“I’ll begin with the basics. As we on Kamino have provided the Republic with an excellent military in the past, no doubt contributing  greatly to the Republic’s victory in the war, we believe the Republic would be amenable to extending our contracts. Perhaps the Republic no longer has need of such a large army, but surely some standing military force is necessary for the defense of our systems, and we are also in the process of developing new technologies and personnel specializing in peacekeeping and violence deterrence.”

Riyo’s mouth twisted. The phrase “peacekeeping” had been too-often used throughout the war to justify acts of aggression, and was he really going to completely ignore the clone legislation the Senate had just passed? Senator Burtoni had to have told him. 

“The Republic does indeed owe a large debt of gratitude to its clone army,” she said, gesturing to Rex, “who protected citizens and defended our sovereignty at the risk and often expense of their own lives. However, you must understand that, given recent legislation involving the legality of pressing clones into military service, we cannot continue to use your services in the same way.”

Lama Su leaned over the table and laced his long fingers together. “Yes, Senator Burtoni informed us of this legislation. I fail to see why a practice that ensured the Republic’s victory in the war could so conveniently be deemed illegal after the fact.”

“The criticism is valid, Prime Minister, but unfortunately we cannot change the past. We can only try to move forward in a way that is consistent with our values, and creating sentient life only for it to be forced into military service is not consistent with our values.”

Lama Su’s giant eyes narrowed ‘til only a thin slice of grey iris peeked through. “What are you proposing, Chancellor?”

Riyo inclined her head towards Rex.

“All production of clone soldiers needs to end immediately,” Rex said. “The Republic has already paid, so it’s no harm to you. The Republic won’t commission any clone soldiers in the future, either.”

“This is outrageous!” Senator Burtoni said, addressing Riyo and ignoring Rex. “It is an insult to our relationship with the Republic!”

“The Senate’s vote is final,” Rex said. “Kamino is free to do what they wish, but all member systems of the Republic have to abide by Republic laws, which now prohibit the enslavement of any sentient beings for any reason.”

“Where was all this talk of slavery when the Republic ordered the army?” Senator Burtoni demanded. “I must say, Chancellor, this law feels rather pointed. If Kamino is to be singled out like this, perhaps we would not wish to remain-”

Lama Su held up a hand and Senator Burtoni closed her mouth, nodding in deference to the Prime Minister. “Chancellor Chuchi, we of course would wish to remain in the Republic, but you must understand how much our economy is tied to the cloning industry. We have invested decades of education, technology, and infrastructure into this endeavor. What you are asking is not so simple as turning a switch from on to off.”

Riyo nodded sympathetically, though it irked her to no end the way they continued to ignore Rex. “I understand your concern, Prime Minister, which is why I have already negotiated several agricultural contracts on your behalf. The nerf industry is very interested in your work isolating desirable genetic traits. Etrat Industries is also willing to hire Kaminoan geneticists to develop more drought-resistant grains.” Riyo passed a datapad to Lama Su and gave him a moment to look it over. “The current value of these contracts is about 75% of what the clone army generated for Kamino, but I believe these contracts can grow into a sustained economy that does not rely on one product, and no longer requires widespread war to be profitable.”

Lama Su’s dark eyes darted across the screen and he nodded thoughtfully. “We will need time to consider and speak with these contacts of yours before formally agreeing, but I find your proposal to be a compelling one, Chancellor.”

Riyo held back a sigh of relief. Maja had insisted that Kamino valued membership in the Republic enough to play hardball, but Riyo still hadn’t been sure the agricultural contracts would be tempting enough to soothe any hurt feelings. And as abhorrent as she found the Human factory here on Kamino, Riyo still didn’t want the Kaminoans to leave the Republic. For one thing, leaving the Republic would leave them free to create clone armies for other people. 

The summit moved on and they first went through the new clone legislation and what exactly it meant. No, cloning wasn’t entirely illegal. Yes, cloning sentient beings for servitude was illegal. Then they went through each of the agricultural contracts line by line and Lama Su and his advisors discussed which ones they could easily take on with minimal capital expense. Lama Su was difficult to read, but Riyo thought she could see a pleased glimmer in his eye as he examined the proposed quotes for each contract. She made a mental note to throw a party for Maja later for pulling so much of that together.

“Well,” Lama Su said after several hours of debate, “You are our customer, so of course we will halt production as you requested. We are tentatively willing to commit to never producing clone soldiers again, but it will take some time before we can formalize the agreement. This was, as you know, the foundation of our economy for some time. We wish to remain in the Republic, but leaving is an option if we feel we are not being treated fairly.”

“I can assure you, Prime Minister, we will do everything we can to ensure that all citizens of the Republic—Kaminoan and Clone alike—will be treated fairly,” Riyo said.

“Excellent. That brings our summit to a close-”

“One more thing, if I may,” Riyo interjected. 

Lama Su looked up at her, a frown of mild indifference on his face. “Yes, Chancellor Chuchi?”

Riyo’s eyes darted quickly to Rex at the end of the table, then over to Fox. She hadn’t had a chance to consult them about this part, but she was reasonably sure they’d approve. “As the price for the clones’ production and cultivation until adulthood has already been paid for, the Republic is willing to assume responsibility for the care and raising of all clones aged zero to three effective immediately, and for only half the cost the Kaminoan facility would have spent on their training.”

The grey brows above Lama Su’s eyes rose. “What do you mean, for only half the cost?”

“Your people would pay the Republic to take over the raising of these clones half of the estimated cost of training them here on Kamino. You would still come out ahead, financially.”

Lama Su’s nostril slits flared slightly and his eyes turned over to Senator Burtoni.

“They were created for the Republic. I suppose the Republic can claim them at any time,” Senator Burtoni said.

Lama Su’s expression remained impassive, but years of experience in politics told Riyo what he was thinking. He didn’t like the idea of capitulating to yet another Republic demand, but he was counting credits, and she knew the calculus would end up in her favor.

“If you insist, then of course we are willing to oblige our loyal customer,” he said. “It will take time to sort out logistics, so let’s say tentatively the handover will take place in six months-”

“I’ve already worked out most of the logistics on my end. We should be able to pick up the children in one month.”

A brief silence filled the conference room at her words, and Lama Su stared down at her. “As you wish, Chancellor.”

They closed the summit with all the necessary formalities, and Riyo walked from the room, her shoulders tucked back and her chin held high all the way until they reached the safety of her rooms. Then she let the tension of the negotiations go and her placid expression dropped.

“Oh my goodness, I wasn’t at all sure that was going to work, Maja.”

Maja patted her shoulder. “I told you they’re desperate to stay in the Republic. As an extragalactic planet, the Republic is vital in connecting them to trade and the political life of the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yes, but I really thought demanding all that, plus the younger clones—I was worried they’d reject us just out of spite.”

Maja smirked. “Pride is one thing, but credits are king.”

“You, my friend, are a genius.”

“Who am I to contradict the Chancellor?”

Riyo laughed, but her laugh quickly morphed into a sigh. “And now the work begins. Can you call back our contact with the Child Services Agency on Coruscant? And get in touch with those other agricultural conglomerates we haven’t heard back from yet.”

“On it, boss.”

Riyo started for the office near the back of her quarters, but a low cough turned her attention behind her. Commander Fox was standing there, helmet on and blaster still in hand, his posture stiff and formal. Next to him was Rex, helmetless, with a warm smile on his face.

“Yes, Commander? Captain? I’m sorry, I probably should have asked your opinion on this, first. I just had so many holo calls to make to work things out, and I couldn’t find either of you anywhere-”

“It’s not a problem, Madam Chancellor,” Rex said. “Thank you for caring. I know it means a lot to the boys.”

Riyo smiled at him. “Of course, Captain,” she said, then her smile fell. “After coming here, I couldn’t do nothing. I… I had some idea what it would be like here, but nothing prepared me for actually seeing it.”

“We’re clones. How else do you think we were raised?” Rex said.

“I know, it’s just… different when you actually see the trichbasa stuffed.”

“The what?”

“Oh, it’s a Pantoran phrase. Sometimes you don’t want to see the messy details of how something gets made. It’s… easier not knowing.”

“I’m glad you were willing to stomach it for us, ma’am,” Rex said.

“Ma’am?” Maja said, poking her head back into the hallway from the study. “The Chief Administrator of the Child Services Agency is on the holo.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She bade the two clones a hasty farewell and threw herself right into work. Committing to finding safe and nurturing permanent homes for thousands of young clones had meant taking on a huge amount of logistics in a short time, but she was determined to succeed. The clones deserved nothing less.

---

Riyo and Maja toiled late into the night and hardly slept before their scheduled departure the next morning. Riyo spent almost the entire flight back to Coruscant drafting up letters looking for donations and support for the child clones. She’d found enough backers the night before the summit to make the ask, but there were still so many more details to work out and more funding never hurt.

About halfway through composing a letter to a wealthy philanthropist from Bespin, Riyo’s eyes began to droop. She was so tired, if she just rested her eyes a moment she could finish this up. Yes… Just a moment was all she needed...

“Ma’am?” A gloved hand gently tapped Riyo on the shoulder, and she opened her eyes only to find her face smooshed up against the transparisteel of the observation window. She blinked blearily up at Fox, identifying him as the tapper.

“Yes, Fox?”

“We’re starting the landing sequence, Madam Chancellor.”

“Oh…” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, then hastily swiped at the puddle of drool that had collected on her datapad. “Why didn’t anyone wake me!”

“We were informed that it would be unwise…” Rex said.

“I told them if they did I’d murder them,” Maja said from where she sat in the corner, her gaze never budging from the datapad in her hand.

Riyo laughed, then buckled herself in for landing. “And that’s why I picked you as my assistant.”

Maja raised the stylus she was holding and tipped it in Riyo’s direction. “Exactly.”

They landed and Rex offered to escort Maja to her apartment, which Riyo appreciated. Maja didn’t get the same security detail that Riyo did, but she could just as easily be targeted by political enemies. 

Fox and Riyo took the high-speed lift up to Riyo’s secure apartment in Coruscant’s upper levels, and Riyo’s focus wavered as the lights of the city blurred by through the lift’s transparisteel windows.

“...Madam Chancellor?”

Riyo shook her head to rouse herself and looked to Fox, concentrating hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming up his sudden desire to talk. “Yes?”

Fox’s helmet was clipped to his belt, but his expression was as opaque as ever. “Thank you,” he said. Then he spread his arms to the side, letting them hover awkwardly away from his hips.

Riyo furrowed her brow at him. She’d had way too little sleep in the past 48 hours to believe she was interpreting this correctly. “Fox?”

Fox cleared his throat, a ruddy flush spreading across his cheeks. “You can hug me, if you want.”

“Oh. Oh!” 

That certainly woke Riyo up. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, then saw in the twitch under Fox’s eye that if she didn’t do something quick he might break the lift open and jump out. She fell forward into what she now recognized as open arms and wrapped herself around his torso. Her fingers barely met around the bulky backplate, but she would not be deterred.

Fox’s gloved hands rested uncertainly on Riyo’s shoulders, and she smiled into his chestplate. Not too long ago Fox had been alone and untouched in one of those awful nurseries on Kamino, just like all of his other brothers. She wasn’t about to let that travesty continue.

“I only wish I could have done more,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

He didn’t respond for a beat. Riyo was glad he didn’t lie to her, didn’t tell her that she’d done more than enough. There was still so much to do, so many wrongs to right. And she’d only been able to rescue the youngest clones.

“There’s still time,” he said eventually.

She squeezed him tight, her arms full of unyielding plastoid. Through all the armor, though, she thought she could feel a beating heart. 

---

“But where are we going to get the money? This is the question nobody seems interested in but me,” Senator Taam said.

“Maybe because we are more concerned with sentient lives than with credits,” Senator Organa snapped.

Fox suppressed a sigh behind his helmet. These Armed Services Committee meetings got things done, but the process was painfully slow. Palpatine had been one evil piece of Sithspit, but at least he’d been able to move quickly. If he’d wanted a fully-funded clone retirement program he’d have just called a meeting, made a few benevolent threats, and been done with it.

“Concern doesn’t pay for programs! The budget does, and I want to get this bill funded as much as any of you. So we can actually provide something to these clones.”

“Whenever we needed new flagships we managed to find the money from somewhere-” Senator Organa said.

“Ok, ok, we’re not getting anywhere arguing,” Chancellor Chuchi said. “Senator Taam is right—it doesn’t matter how great our ideas are if we can’t fund them.”

“Exactly-” Senator Taam said.

“But Senator Organa is right that we can’t use that as an excuse for inaction. This is going to cost major credits, and the budget is going to feel it. So we need to make sure that the public sees it as the necessity it is.”

The table fell silent and the committee exchanged apologetic glances. The corner of Fox’s mouth turned up. Palpatine may have been more efficient, but moments like these reminded him of why he preferred Chancellor Chuchi’s methods. Aside from the obvious fact that she didn’t abuse his brothers and send them to their deaths.

“In my experience, the more civilians know about us the more they’re willing to support us,” Rex said. 

Senator Organa nodded. “That’s an excellent point. Up until now the GAR has been used for propaganda, but soldiers have mostly been portrayed as distant, heroic figures. We can run a publicity campaign that highlights your individuality.”

“As well as your practical skills,” Senator Paulness said. “Clones should find more employers willing to hire them and invest in their training if they understand the clones’ unique qualifications.”

Chancellor Chuchi tapped her stylus in her assistant’s direction. “Maja, have Talia Tantipani draw up preliminary ideas for a publicity campaign, would you?”

“On it, ma’am.”

“That’s all well and good, but publicity alone won’t be enough,” said Senator Taam.

“You’re right. We need to also demonstrate the ways in which a retired clone army can benefit the populace,” Senator Paulness said.

“Plenty of the systems we fought on are in desperate need of reconstruction. The locals already know us and most are friendly to us—they might be open to clone workers coming to help rebuild,” Rex said.

“Hmm…” Senator Taam said. “We could expand the Relief and Recovery Agency and have it give hiring precedence to former clone soldiers.”

“I can work on incorporating more job training into the Relief and Recovery Agency, too,” said Senator Organa.

The senators began talking excitedly amongst themself and the energy in the room lifted. Fox recognized a breakthrough when he saw it, and he found himself tuning the chatter out. A twinge of guilt nudged at his conscience, that he wasn’t paying more attention to legislation that would affect the livelihoods of so many of his brothers, but there was only so much of this endless talk he could force himself to focus through. Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Like Daw Saetang. He was an agricultural lobbyist, and though he’d attended several meetings with the Chancellor already, he was slated for a one-on-one right after the Armed Services Committee finished up. One-on-one meetings called for more thorough background checks, and though Saetang’s check hadn’t raised any red flags, something about him still bugged Fox. Was it his smarmy smile? Or maybe the way he didn’t have face tattoos like all the other Pantorans Fox had met. Not that he’d met that many…

“Ok then, Senator Taam will reach out to the Relief and Recovery Agency, Senator Organa will focus on the publicity campaign, and Senator Paulness will head up our contacts in various employment and job training organizations.” Captain Rex said.

The senators all nodded their agreement, and Chancellor Chuchi started gathering up her datapads. “Excellent. I know progress can seem slow, but we need to give our veterans support as soon as possible.”

The meeting adjourned and Fox waited while Maja and Chancellor Chuchi chatted and collected their supplies together. The Chancellor was close enough to her assistant that Maja must be able to smell her perfume—a citrusy scent that Fox only knew because his damned helmet filter didn’t work very well any more. He’d have to request a new one, which would be a royal pain now that his position fell outside of typical command structures.

Yes, he’d have to get it replaced. That way, if the Chancellor ever wanted to hug him again, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of her perfume following him around all day. Though, who was he kidding? Why on earth would she ever want to hug him again? He’d been as stiff as a clanker. He’d heard the Kaminoans describe the clones as “droids but better,” before, and thinking back to his painfully awkward hug, he believed there might be some truth to it.

Maja and the Chancellor left the conference room and Fox trailed them a few steps behind. They followed the well-trod path to the Chancellor’s office, where Saetang was already waiting outside for them.

“Madam Chancellor! An honor to see you again,” the tall Pantoran man said, holding his hand out towards Chancellor Chuchi with confidence.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Saetang,” the Chancellor said.

“Please, it’s Daw. And Ms. Joyo, always a pleasure,” he said to Maja.

“Likewise,” Maja said.

Saetang ignored Fox, which suited Fox just fine.

They stepped into the Chancellor’s office and Fox stationed himself by the door. He prepared himself to tune out yet another circular policy argument, but Saetang and his skeezy smile drew his attention. He kept his eyes locked on the Pantoran man and scanned for unusual traits that might signal some sinister motive.

Saetang’s eyes flitted to Fox, and for a moment Fox could swear the man could see his gaze through the tinted visor. But that was impossible.

The negotiations continued, and Saetang had a way of getting what he wanted while making it seem like he was losing that got under Fox’s skin. Still, he trusted Chancellor Chuchi to be able to deal with snakes like Saetang. She’d been around the Senate long enough to recognize the type.

“I’ll be sure to communicate your terms to my colleagues,” Saetang said smoothly. “We’ve had our eyes on that Kaminoan gene selection technology for some time now, and I’m sure we can strike a mutually beneficial deal with them.”

“Thank you, Daw. I very much appreciate your time,” Chancellor Chuchi said, rising to her feet to signal the end of the meeting.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. He stood, but made no move towards the door.

“...Is there something else, Mr. Saetang?” Chancellor Chuchi said.

“My apologies, Madam Chancellor, I was working up the nerve to ask you… I nabbed a reservation at Pantiat Ichi for tomorrow and was hoping you might accompany me.”

Fox’s hands held his blaster a little too tightly, and he had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip. It was just an invitation. Why did it feel like a threat?

Chancellor Chuchi’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! I’m afraid I’ll be busy tomorrow evening. It’s such a shame, I’ve heard they have the best Pantoran food on the planet.”

Saetang offered her a rueful smile. “I understand, it’s so last minute. If your evening frees up, though, please let me know.”

“Of course.”

She walked him to the door of her office and he bowed over her hand before he left, bringing a bluish blush to her cheeks. Then he left and the door finally shut on the bastard.

When the Chancellor turned back to her desk, Maja was grinning at her like a tooka with a convor. 

“Stop it!” Chancellor Chuchi said, and she shoved Maja playfully.

“Stop what?” Maja asked, eyes wide with innocence.

“He’s just a smooth-talking lobbyist. It’s not a big deal.”

“You know I actually could carve out time for dinner for you tomorrow night.”

The Chancellor eyed her friend doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? He seems nice enough, and I’ve heard Pantiat Ichi is to die for.”

“He’s a lobbyist!”

“Yes, there are rules you’d have to follow, but I can make sure everything is square. Really, Riyo, why not get out and have a little fun? You haven’t taken a single personal day since taking office.”

“I… I suppose I could…”

Maja’s smile grew. “You want me to send him a message?”

Chancellor Chuchi threw up her hands. “Fine. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” Maja said, rushing the Chancellor for a surprise hug. 

Chancellor Chuchi laughed and pushed at her friend, and soon Fox could no longer make out exactly what they were saying. He sighed and commed Thorn through his helmet’s built-in system. His helmet might be old and falling apart, but at least it was still soundproof with the dampers on.

“Thorn? Can we get another background check on Daw Saetang? Dig a bit deeper this time.”

---

The first human Bacara ever killed couldn’t have been much older than he was. At least, biologically. If he just went by years then Bacara was likely at least a decade younger. Regardless, the Twi’lek man Bacara shot in the chest was too thinking, too breathing, too sentient for comfort.

Bacara had never before thought to be grateful to be fighting droids, but he had to admit it was much easier to blow a clanker’s head off than a Twi’lek’s.

“Sir, the remaining Separatists have been cleared out,” Solus told him over the comms.

“Do a thorough sweep of the area. I don’t want any stragglers to catch us off guard,” Bacara said.

General Mundi joined Bacara at the top of the ridge overlooking the wooded battlefield. “Excellent work, Commander.”

“Just doing our jobs, sir.”

“Still, I know fighting against sentients isn’t quite that same. You’ve adapted well.”

Bacara nodded and put his hands behind his back. “What’s our next move, sir?”

“Once everything’s sorted here, we only have one more assignment before returning to Coruscant.”

Bacara smiled. He’d get to see his batchmates for the first time in months. And more importantly, he’d be able to tell them what he’d learned about their inhibitor chips.

“It is difficult to be away from the ones we love, isn’t it?” General Mundi said.

Bacara’s smile faded. He didn’t like when the General said things that seemed to respond to the thoughts in his head, especially not when his thoughts strayed too close to the inhibitor chips. “Captain Peke’s waiting to report in the command center,” he said, ignoring the General’s question. It had been rhetorical, anyway.

“Excellent,” General Mundi said, and together they headed for the command center, a collapsible durasteel bunker that had seen plenty of wear in all different kinds of terrain and atmospheres.

They stepped through the automatic doors and Bacara immediately sensed something was wrong. The doors slammed shut behind them and the lights extinguished. When they turned on again the General was surrounded by insurgents, one of them with a blaster held to his head.

“Don’t move! Or the Jedi gets it!” the man said, dirt and blood on his face and desperation in his eyes.

“Let’s just stay calm…” Bacara said, slowly setting his blaster on the ground.

“I tried to warn you, sir!” Captain Peke said from across the room. He was tied up to a chair, and another one of the insurgents held him at blaster-point.

“Everybody quiet!” the man with his blaster to Mundi’s head said.

Peke shut his mouth and Bacara slowly rose from his crouch, his hands held high with his palms open.

“We don’t want trouble with the Republic,�� the lead insurgent said. “And we aren’t with the Separatists, either. We just want our planet to be in peace, we just want to live free without Republic interference.”

Bacara’s eyes darted to General Mundi’s, but the General seemed unconcerned. “This is not something you want to do, son.”

“Shut up!” the man shouted. “I know all about your Jedi tricks, and that won’t work on us!”

“This is not going to end well for you. If you leave now we won’t follow you,” Mundi said.

“We’re not leaving until you order all Republic forces out of this system!”

“This is your last warning.”

“Kriff you and your warnings! I’m the one with the blaster!”

With a sudden whoosh of power, General Mundi pushed outward from himself, knocking everything away from him in a perfect wave of energy. Bacara fell backwards and scrambled to grab his blaster before any of the rebels could get to it first. He grabbed the grip and rolled onto his back, aiming up at whoever might have followed his movements. But there was no one there.

General Mundi stood in the middle of the room, the blue glow of his lightsaber illuminating the carnage around him. The insurgents were dead. All of them. Eight bodies lay scattered around the room, burning wounds bearing testament to their singular cause of death. General Mundi looked down at their prone bodies, his mouth turned downwards and his eyes sad.

“...General? Are you alright?” Bacara asked.

General Mundi turned yellow eyes to Bacara. “Yes, Bacara, thank you. It’s just a shame.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Well then. Let’s free Captain Peke, shall we?”

Bacara got to his feet and he and General Mundi untied Captain Peke from the chair. Bacara called for help with cleanup through his comm, and in only a half hour they were debriefing in that very same command center as if nothing had happened. All throughout the debrief, though, Bacara could see the shadows of the bodies around the room.

[kob131]

*Sigh* Vexed released a new “stupid for the plot” video. Feel like taking a sword of destruction to it and it’s arguments, or do you want to sit this one out like me? Man, I’m gonna enjoy watching him fade into irrelevance once RWBY’s over.

Sure, why not? I’m feeling sadistic.

“Sometimes it’s character development, sometimes it’s aspects of the world they established, most of the time-”

It’s you not paying attention throughout the entire video process at best Vexed? I do mean ‘at best’ because my personal theory is that you do notice but you know your audience will buy any idea that seemingly damages RWBY as a show even if it’s not true so you feed them misinformation for your own ego. 

Granted, this makes you better than say...Hero Hei who does it to parasitically drain his audience of goodwill to profit off of them but ‘not being an opportunistic fuck’ should NOT be the bar you stumble over then break your nose on the fall.

“-it’s the character’s logic and reasoning.”

Oh. ... so exactly what I said. Since you never take into account character’s worldview, the themes of the show, the character’s purpose or access to information.

“Stupid for the sake of the plot is a gamble and a trap that many writers slid own-”

Note: Every single thing Vexed is about to say and I’m about to quote EXACTLY word for word applies to him.

“-because the writers are betting that the audience won’t notice, care or think as they shove the protagonist down the halls that is the story.”

Ah huh.

Remember when Vexed Viewer tried to say that Yang didn’t think of Summer as her mom despite Yang’s angst about Raven being in part because she thought she was biologically related to Summer and that many adoptive kids feel a need to connect with their biological family? How he had to force in this idea by ignoring a basic concept in how a person would think and deify both Summer and Taiyang?

Or when he tried to say Weiss was being a bitch when she thanked Whitely for helping Nora because of a bunch of reasons that get answered based on context and how people think?

Or his other three ‘Stupid For the sake of the plot’ videos that included an argument RT made fun of YEARS before that video?

How many times has Vexed needed to chop off parts of canon and logical thinking in order to whack off his hateboner? He is NOT one to talk here.

Five bucks says he tries to say ‘Cinder’s wearing a hood but the heroes should have checked everyone with a hood!’ or something similar.

“They risk losing the viewer’s investment, time and money”

And yet you still exist. You clearly understand pandering exists.

“What happens when four people enter a door at the same time?”

They all exit the much bigger exit door.

Apparently Vexed thinks this door cannot allow four people to exit.

Thing about plot induced stupidity- It doesn’t work if you decide to be a pedantic fuck. It is not a good idea for media to go through ever single tiny minute detail because it’s suppose to be concise. You cannot claim stupidity because the show is acting like a fucking show.

“They just had to make an exit door for every portal in Atlas!”

Or you know....have a giant one so you can keep track of everyone.

Another thing about this- I too can be pedantic fuck.

“Why didn’t anyone think of that?”

Because it would mean people would be separated and harder to keep track off, making them easy pickings for stray Grimm?

Oh sorry, I forgot to turn my brain off for this critical video. My mistake.

“Now I know what some of you are saying-”

‘Your idea is completely stupid and is worse than the original?’

“-’Okay Vexed, that wasn’t the best solution but the central location solution wasn’t dumb!’ But it kind of was. Because Cinder.”

You know...not like Cinder doesn’t kill indiscriminately and in fact would target either Penny or Ruby, where splitting them up would give Cinder a numbers advantage.

Oh sorry, I was paying attention. I should actually be huffing paint thinner while stabbing my brain like you do.

“No one pointed out that if Cinder popped off in their center location-”

You mean they didn’t consider that Cinder would know what they were doing after the location that she should have been in (the whale Grimm) BLEW THE FUCK UP and she hasn’t shown up since despite her known power lust and recklessness while needing to deal with the more immediate threat? Gee, it almost sounds like they’re...*gasp* HUMAN!

Hey uh, fun fact. Vexed is a fan of Avatar The Last Airbender. Remember that scene where Aang goes into the Avatar state, this extremely vulnerable state...with Azula to his back? We COULD say Aang is human and in the heat of the moment didn’t consider it...but according to Vexed, that doesn’t exist so Aaang was stupid for the sake of the plot. Wonder when he’ll talk about that. Not like he’s ignoring basic humanity to create stupid flaws to throw a temper tantrum.

“Emerald KNOWS Cinder is after Penny and the Relic-”

And has no idea where Cinder is, what she is doing or if she’s even ALIVE. But I guess  magical plot knowledge is okay right? 

“Emerald is their acein the whole and it’s really hard to lose with her and yet they sent her ahead. STUUPED!”

Yes, because not like Ironwood didn’t know what Emerald could do...or that Ironwood didn’t have a personal connection to her to cause her distractions...or that there weren’t innocent people around who could use her abilities more than the trained fighters....al ignoring what I’ve said before.

Nope, these canonical facts don’t exist because stupid for profit.

“They no send Jaune even though he can boost Ren Ssemblance! STUPED!”

Jaune is propelled out of the portal and onto his face in the pocket dimension. He stifles the urge to vomit as the rest of the group follows after him.

Jaune: Okay, we can do this. Nora and I will get people through the gates. Everyone else, keep to your roles. Remember, the evacuation is priority one no matter what else happens.

Ren: You're sure you won't need more help?

Nora: Shade is armed to the teeth with Huntsmen and Huntresses, but we're about to throw a whole kingdom's worth of negativity on their doorstep. If anyone will need help, it's them.

Damn that pesky canon! Proving you wrong even though it’s in the same episode you were quoting and you should know better!

We’ll stop here because, half way through a 9 and a half minute video- VI’ve already managed to make a long ass post.

As always, Vexed’s ‘stupidity’ is his own but he blames everyone else for it.

[ryttu3k]

Night Road quote text dump, because I've been deluging a friend with quotes and want a place to keep them all.

We're a bit like that, yeah:

They direct you to a hulking Malkavian named Severian, and the sullen giant directs you in turn to Gibberish Mike.

Fortunately, it turns out that "Gibberish" Mike is just Australian.

Practical concerns:

"That's it!" Elena says, leaning over your shoulder. "That's his yacht. Oh, and this is all about him. Very useful." She snaps a picture of the email with her phone, then the two of you get out of there before the technician returns. You head down the elevator and then back to Elena's Datsun.

You're so pleased by how well that went that that it takes you a few minutes to remember you're in Arizona.

"His yacht?" you finally ask.

Fun with bungalow ownership:

After a day of fitful dreams, you throw on your leather jacket and engineer boots and get ready for another night. You step outside to check your Integra. A neighbor parks next door in her Ford Super Duty and gives you a friendly little wave. You've been practicing this. You're ready.

"Howdy, neighbor."

"Howdy!" she responds before heading inside.

Fucking nailed it. You're one of them.

This is legitimately how I got the Messy Critical achievement:

You grab a hoe.

You rip through the underbrush with savage efficiency, staying a few steps ahead of the pushcart as Julian scans. You work in a trance, chopping and hammering. Only when you hear Julian shouting do you realize that you're holding a busted length of wood.

The head of your hoe is buried in the beautiful round black door of Prince Lettow's Rolls-Royce.

Raúlblocked:

You head to Raúl's place, but he's not there. You find a note hidden above the door that reads, "Problems in Phoenix. (Jesus Christ has returned? Stole a car?) Contact me right away for major jobs and I'll come back. Already missing you." And there's a ProtonMail address with some of the security contact codes you agreed upon earlier.

But it looks like Raúl will be occupied dealing with the Lord and His automotive crimes, and he won't be able to wander around Tucson with you.

Pattermuster doesn't get paid enough:

"Hello? What? Well, the blood can't be 'everywhere.' Surely that's an exagger—okay—okay, fine. Okay. Okay, I'll get—okay. Five minutes. What? No, Sissy Spacek. No, Sissy—you're thinking of Rosemary's Baby. No, Carrie had the prom scene. With all the pig's—yes, it was Sissy Spacek, I'm sure. That much blood? Jesus. Okay, hold—five—okay, five minutes."

Valid question:

Do they teach ax fighting at Quantico?

Julian Meyer:

"Man, it's been a while," Julian says, leaning against your door frame. "I remember the nights we spent keeping that elder asleep with offerings of blood, the days curled up together in the desert. Wasn't it romantic?"

"That never happened, Julian. You made up our relationship and tried to sell it as a novel until the old Prince of Tucson threatened to execute you." '

"Vampire romance was big at the time," Julian says with a shrug. "And I changed our names. I still don't know why no one wanted to buy it."

Dammit I thought I was done with uni:

"Awful," Dr. Caul says with a little shudder. "But now your real studies can begin."

Your real studies consist of a syllabus (thirty pages) and a trunk full of books (35,000 pages).

"Are you disappointed, Rook?" she says with a little laugh. "Were you expecting something more mystical? A bolt of cosmic enlightenment? A conversation with your Holy Guardian Angel, who would reveal the answers you seek?" She bangs the trunk as technicians get ready to load it into your car. "Get reading."

An enthusiastic boss:

You reunite with Pattermuster down in the morgue, where he's pumping his fists as a thin-blood on a gaming laptop watches with a worried expression because she can't tell if he's incredibly happy or insanely mad.

"Rook!" Pattermuster shouts, his eyes full of Blood, "you did it! You brilliant child, you did it! We're safe. Oh, thank God, we're safe." He pulls you into an embrace, then punches a brick wall because he's so happy, showering all three of you in dust.

I thought that was Finland?:

You catch all sorts of whispered gossip as you cross the rooftop garden.

"Camp Scheffler?"

"Gone. That Outlander courier had something to do with it."

"I heard the Russians helped the SI burn it down."

"That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as Russians."

Pot, kettle:

"Julian," the Eagle Prince says, "you will locate Reremouse with the equipment Vane brought. Once we find him, we will strike shortly before dawn. I have prepared a stake sufficient to pierce even his old hide."

"That easy, huh?" Julian says.

"No, but—"

"Your plan is ridiculous, convoluted, and dangerous," Julian says.

"And you have a better one?"

"Absolutely," Julian says. "We use Stonehenge to teleport him to Mesopotamia."

The must-have appliance:

He's a black outline in the glow of a single yellow bulb... and then the bats descend.

And then the bats get torn to pieces, because Pattermuster pulls his two katanas out of nothing and turns into an undead Cuisinart for a few seconds.

But aesthetic:

Leave it to a vampire to bring a sword to a gunfight.

It is pretty cool though:

"Oh my God," Julian says. "You're going to use the car engine to fling Prometheus into Reremouse's heart."

"Dammit, Julian, I am not doing this because it's fun. I am scrambling for every advantage I can because we only have one chance to stop Reremouse, and if we fail, the Second Inquisition will descend on us like wolves on a wounded deer."

"It's still cool," Julian mutters.

A e s t h e t i c:

The Camarilla looks unkindly on vampires who dress like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, but what's the point of being dead if you can't look the part?

#JustToreadorThings:

You sleep badly and awaken to an aching and acute Hunger that crowds out other thoughts. But when you approach the Rolls-Royce, you find Lettow and Julian seated on a blanket, evidently in fine spirits. They're holding stainless steel mugs as they watch the last purple streaks fade from the western sky. There's something perfect about the composition before you: the two Kindred in their working clothes with their backs to you, the blue-black clouds, the faraway mesas framing the scene.

"I fear we've lost the Aesthete," Lettow muses. "Luka? Luka!"

It's just good sense:

A lot of keypads use 0911 as an emergency override for police and fire. That doesn't work, but a common default password causes the elevator doors to slide right open.

Change your defaults, people.

They draw the line at 31%:

Not all problems can be solved by putting a brick through a window, but at least 30 percent can.

Descriptive:

That's when your Nissan makes a sound like a bunch of typewriter keys dropped in a blender, and the whole truck lurches to a halt.

Munch munch:

"There are tags attached to all the payroll numbers," you say. "FNMA. PFC. What are they?"

"FNMA?" Antonio says. "That's Fannie Mae. The loan commission. Privatized in 1968. PFC…"

"Pavlodar Fried Chicken," Janet says. "Damn Commies."

Courier what did you do:

When you try to start your Mercedes, it vomits black smoke. That's not good. You kill the engine.

"Pop the hood," Julian says. "I'll get it up and running."

He checks the motor. There's a long pause.

"Did you melt a bunch of cheese in here or something, Vane?"

“I remember crawling out of a Nieuport 20 outside Gibraltar," Prince Lettow says. "The engine looked like that. Of course, ours had been on fire."

"Engine looks like Vane fed a bunch of sardine cans into a paper shredder," Julian says.

Almost!:

So Lettow is cute. I'm going to talk to him and see if he might be interested in a handsome young courier who almost has his own car.

Scientist life:

A beaker of cold coffee on her desk has a pencil in it; she flicks the pencil away and drains the entire beaker, then looks you in the eyes.

Domesticity:

"Wow, Vane," the Banu Haqim says, "did you finally settle down. Where's the wife and kids? Why don't you get me a beer, and we can talk about football and quote some Bible verses at each other?"

I really want to know where the fake werewolf came in:

"...so the whole fucking Cadillac is on fire, and I'm kicking and kicking, trying to get the window to break!" Dove says.

"Right, right, because —" You're trying to follow this story, and it isn't easy.

"Because I'm still handcuffed to the guy who was pretending to be a werewolf, right. And I finally kick through the window, rip half the dead fake werewolf's arm off to get free — I'm out of my fucking mind now, with all the fire — and I finally crawl out of the car."

"And get clear before it — do they blow up?"

"Escalades? I dunno, probably not," Dove says. "But anyway, I'm finally clear, so I run across the parking lot, laughing because I'm just thrilled not to have met final death chained up to that guy. And I barely have time to look up before Lettow comes screaming around the corner in a Ford Bronco with the lights off and runs me over. I was in the wrong Cadillac the whole time."

"No!"

"Two black Cadillac Escalades in the parking lot of the Marriott," Dove says. "How was I supposed to know which one — anyway, that's why I don't get to drive anymore. That's why Lettow wants assholes like you driving."

"Driving what?" you ask. "Because I need a car."

Dove shakes her ugly head. "I'll get you something. Give me a few hours to work on it, and I'll send someone to find you."

Cars are everything:

You still don't know how Julian plans to go from "divert a few funds and data streams from the Camarilla" to "transform the global information panopticon in a way that ends the Masquerade but keeps vampires safe," but he has a nicer car than last time, so he must be doing something right.

Guys please be nice to Raul:

"There appears to be a vampire hunter outside," he says, "investigating your electric vehicle."

"Send your bird to peck his eyes out," Julian says. "I'm not going outside until I find my sneakers."

Cheese?:

Over the next few minutes, you cough up a glorious wad of bullshit involving MKUltra, the Philadelphia Experiment, Star Wars (the movie), Star Wars (the Reagan-era government program), Jackson Pollack's CIA connections, the history of federal cheese, and the secret mastermind behind the seventies gas crunch.

In fairness it's a pretty rare sound:

You're way up in Limberlost, near the mall and the Walmart, when Riga settles on the roof of a Safeway. You reverse into the parking lot in case you need to get out fast and scan the cars at the pumps. It looks quiet. Then you hear a faint ringing.

The sound is musical, hypnotic. It reminds you of your childhood, and for a long time you just sit there in the driver's seat, remembering what it was like to be alive. But what is that sound? What memory from…?

Oh, right.

The pay phone next to the ice merchandiser is ringing.

It's a skill!:

Not every member of Clan Toreador joins their august ranks because of their great beauty or artistic genius. Some people end up vampires because of their extensive knowledge of Adobe After Effects.

Big Pirates of the Caribbean energy:

"I'd kind of like to give Lettow here a horse and a sword and let him tear through an entire police barracks," Julian says. "Tell me that wouldn't be fun."

"One thing I learned from Napoleon," Lettow says, "is that the most powerful cannon is useless if you cannot see your target. We know the location of one small encampment. That isn't enough to start shooting."

"You knew Napoleon?" Julian asks.

"Napoleon was my horse," Lettow says.

[peachnewt]

Midnight Snack - Whipped

A Getting In Deep future short.

 -On the third day of lock-down the break room gave to me...

A competition for Dalgona Coffee!-

 Watch Two had been warned in advance that the base would have a five day lock-down and nonessential persons should go home to wait it out.  A bare-bones collection of people were left to slowly go crazy in Watch Two's underground base.  They had grown too accustomed to the card games where have of the players cheated.  Mario Kart couldn't hold a candle to the impromptu desk chair races which became a whole new sport when Will included the element of lances and jousting for rings hung from the ceiling.  

Even the retired test bunny, Copperfield, had gotten tired of people's need to cuddle something fluffy and would kick them before running away.  

What the Watch needed was a bit of excitement.  A bit of competition that didn't rely on cheating or luck.  And wouldn't get them killed.  

It happened when four voices complained in Main Tech.  

"I'm bored," said Will.  He had already read the books in his desk and had no inclination to read them again.  And picking out another ebook was a chore.  

"I'm tired," said Louis.  He had finally reached the over-saturation point of his coffee intake.  He would have to degrade himself to lay still and sleep that night instead of being "productive".  

"I want something sweet," Reese and Beni chorused.  They had not had time to stock up the essentials (ex: chocolates, candies, energy drinks, pixie sticks, gelatin - don't' ask), and the vending machines had not been restocked in a while, leaving behind stale chips and granola bars trying to be a treat and failing horribly.  

"Check the break room?"  offered Will.

"Sure." Louis pulled his body off his desk like he was pulling himself out of a grave.  It was only noon for crying out loud.  He needed more coffee.  Break room was a must.  

Beni and Reese, figuring Will was talking to them as well, joined the pair to the break room.  The four searched every nook, cranny, and drawer.  Beni even took out drawers to see of anything had fallen behind them.  

Aside from a few flattened and perished bags of peanuts and sugar packets, she found nothing.  

"Why do we have a twenty pound bag of rice?" asked Reese.  

"Cheap and easy food," said Will.  "I'm more worried about the ten canisters of instant coffee."  

"Without coffee there is chaos and darkness," said Louis without missing a beat.  "I'm more curious why we need a twenty pound bag of sugar."  

"Without sugar there is oppression and darkness," replied Beni.  "Plus adding sugar to cooked rice is tasty."  

Rachel, who had observed the four's need to pillage the break room at a distance, chimed in.  

"Have you ever heard of Dalgona coffee?" asked Rachel.  

All four looked up.  

"Whipped coffee, right?" said Louis.  

"Gone viral," said Will.  "I think."  

"It's half sugar," added Beni.  

"Equal parts sugar, instant coffee, and water whipped together to make a foam," said Reese. "Why do you mention it?"

Rachel shrugged. "Sounded interesting. Thought we could make a game of it."  

Game.  A chime in the wind.  A call to action.  A call to possible fun.  

"Go on," said Reese.  

*** 

In essence, Rachel wanted the four of them to compete in who could make dalgona coffee the fastest without using an electronic mixer.  At first the four assumed this would be a test of arm strength, until she added a caveat.

Only one of them would have a whisk.  

They set up the break room like a competition on Food Network, complete with aprons and pre-measured portions of instant coffee, sugar, and hot water.  Sleeves were rolled up, jackets taken off.  Beni put on her high speed roller blade goggles.

Rachel held up four paper bags with large letters from A to D written in sharpie.  

"These are your tools to aerate your dalgona coffee.  Each of you will have ten minutes to turn your tool into what you need. Your resources are tape, rubber bands, string, knives, and your own ingenuity.  No glue, no welding, no setting anything on fire."

"Aw."

"Once your tools are made you will have another ten minutes to turn your instant coffee, sugar, and water into a whipped delight.  Whosoever has the better whipped coffee after ten minutes wins.  However, one of you will receive a whisk at a time disadvantage, you will have only five minutes to whip your coffee instead of ten.  Any questions so far?"  

Reese popped the top button on his shirt and leaned over the counter with a "charming" smile.  "How do you prefer to be bribed for me to get the whisk?"  

"It will be random selection."  Rachel held out four cards with the letters A, B, C, and D, and had each of them pick one.

Each card got a matching bag.  Reese, card A, got three plastic forks.  Beni, card B, received three plastic straws.  Louis, card C, three cheap wooden chopsticks.  When she put the bag down in front of Will, she pulled it back when he reached out for it.  

"You got the whisk," said Rachel.  "You have to wait for the five minute mark."  

Will's eyes glimmered and he nodded.  

"Trade you," said Reese, holding up one of his forks.  

"Not even going to bribe me?"  asked Will in mock offense.  "I'm hurt.  And no." Will turned to Louis.  "You don't want to trade?"  

"No way, Fanboy. Me and my chopsticks are gonna out-whisk you!  You're gonna wish you never skipped arm day."  

Rachel held up her hand, contains of rubber bands, string, tape, and knives at the ready in front of her. "Ten minutes to make your whisks, go!"  

Beni, Reese, and Louis dashed to grabbed their implements.  Over the next few minutes Will got to observe his coworkers turn straws, forks, and chopsticks into something else.  

Reese proceeded to bend the tines of the fork outwards as much as he could without breaking them, and then bound the three forks together with the rubber bands to make something that looked like a sea urchin.  

Beni grabbed a knife and spliced the three straws half way down the middle in four ways, and then curled the ends back up to the barrel of the straw, securing them with a bit of tape. Once bound together she had something that looked very close to a whisk.  

Louis also took a knife and split two of the chopsticks into chop-twigs a fourth of the original length. With bits of string he tied the twigs together like little crosses, and then tied those crosses onto the third chopstick.  At the unadorned end of the chopstick, he added some rubber bands for a hand grip. Finished, it looked like a found-art depiction of a tree.

"Are we ready?"

"Bring it!" said Louis.  

"As I'll ever be," said Reese.  

"I got this," said Beni.  

"Red leader standing by!" said Will.  

"All but Will, go!"  Rachel tapped the stopwatch on her phone.  

In unison the four dumped the instant coffee, sugar, and hot water into their bowls.  While the others whisked their concoctions, Will waited, tilting his bowl this way and that to fully dissolve his ingredients.  He swirled it about, trying to see if he could get any foam going with just moving the bowl.  Any start was a good start.  

Four minutes in, Reese with his forks had turned his syrupy coffee into a slightly thicker syrup, the color changing from coffee black to dark chocolate brown.  He moved the makeshift whisk to the other hand and flexed the cramping fingers of the other.  

"Feeling the burn there?" jeered Louis.  

"I'm working at a disadvantage!" snapped Reese.  

"Excuses!" said Beni.  "Keep going!"  

Beni had her bowl on a towel and tilted as she whisked with her straws.  Her compact arms moved the whisk in a blur, as if inhaling the coffee and sugar scent energized her.  Her coffee was the color of milk chocolate.  She was also tiring, and the tape keeping her whisk together slowly peeled.

"Wow," said Will looking from one bowl to the next.  "You are all actually getting this stuff to work."  

Louis didn't turn his whisk like the others.  Instead he put the spiky end into the concoction and then twirled the top if it like a child would a dragonfly toy, or a scout trying to start a fire with two sticks. A design requiring less effort, but a fragile one as some tiny branches pivoted from where they were tied on their branch.  However, Louis coffee was also the color of milk chocolate, and slowly getting thicker.

Will felt a bit left out. Making a whisk out of found objects sounded fun, and he was sure he could have created something just as effective. But he had the advantage.  He got the whisk.  Which he could use...

"Five minutes, whisk!"  said Rachel.

Will snapped up the bag and immediately felt something was wrong.  The bag didn't feel heavy at all.  He opened the bag and saw...

Nothing.  

No.  Wait.  A glimmer of metal.  

Will tipped the bag over. One teeny tiny whisk, at home with the mice in Barbie's Malibu kitchen, rolled out onto the counter.  

Will dared not even attempt to pick it up between his fingers. He would need tweezers to even hold it.  Forget using it on his coffee.  

Will whimpered and bent over , arms braced on the counter.  "I've been defeated before I began."  

"What?" Louis looked over, saw the tiny speck of a whisk and full-belly laughed, hands fumbling at his chopstick whisk as he wiped a tear from under his shades, leaving a smear of coffee brown on his cheek.  

Beni kept whisking with her straws, but she glanced over and then smiled.  

"How did you even find a whisk that small?" Will asked Rachel, aghast.  "Polly Pocket outlet?"  

Reese chuckled. "Your overconfidence is your weakness, jedi."  

"Wrong quote," said Will, bent back to the floor.  

"Get working," said Louis.  "The coffee ain't gonna whips itself."  

"Not funny," said Will, pouting  "No one can whisk coffee with a whisk that size unless they were that size!"

Louis and Will froze and then looked at each other, the scenario finally clicking.  

"Switch with me, please!" pleaded Will.  

"I'm on a roll here!" said Louis, nodding to his coffee lightening to slightly lighter milk chocolate.  

"Switch with me or shrink with me, I'm okay with either!"  Will put on the most pitiful puppy eyes he could manage.  "I'll make it worth it!"  

"How?" said Louis.

Will leaned over, cupped his hand over Louis' ear, and whispered something that couldn't be heard over the swishing and clacking of plastic forks, chopsticks, and straws.  

Louis dropped his chopstick, grabbed Will's still un-frothed bowl, sat on the counter, and shucked off his shades, hooking them over Will's collar.  "I'll hold you to it."  

In a flash Louis had shrunk down to a little less than three inches, the bowl with him.  Perfect size for the tiny whisk.  

"Is that allowed?" cried Reese.  

"No rules against switching in the middle of the game," said Rachel, smirking.  "Four minutes left!"  

Will continued where Louis left off, twirling the chopstick until his skin burned.  Despite Rachel's warning, he just might start a fire with the amount of friction going on between his hands.  But the coffee got thicker, lighter, airy, harder to spin Louis' chopstick whisk through.  Out the corner of his vision he could see Louis attacking his bowl with his arm a blur. The tinny, tiny sound of metal against glass a constant ringing.  

Beni gritted her teeth, switched hands, and continued.  Reese cursed under his breath as his forearms protested.  

Rachel looked too happy at their collective state.  "Ten... nine..."  

The four put in a final burst of energy, coffee froth spattering over their bowls and they whisked to glory.  

"Four... three..."

Win or lose, I get to keep that promise to Louis, thought Will. And that was a prize indeed.  

"One... time!"

The whisks, what was left of them, dropped from their hands and they all backed away from the counter, wincing at their achy hands and arms.  

Louis panted laid down on the counter, and rolled his shoulders.  "Okay.  That was arm day."  

"Agreed," said Reese.  Of the three of the makeshift whisks, his had stayed in the best shape.  However his coffee was still more thick syrup than fluff.

"No more moving," added Beni.  Her whisk had practically fallen apart, bits of plastic straw sticking out every which way. But so did her coffee, the peanut butter colored fluff spiking out and staying there.  

Will's inherited chopstick whisk would never whisk again, the main branch falling off when it hit the bowl.  But the foam matched Beni's in color and stiffness, perhaps a hair lighter.  

Beside Louis a tiny bowl brimmed with light caramel colored foam, the top of it peaking like a sharp tack.

Rachel examined each of the bowls, testing the fluffiness of the coffee with a spoon and comparing the color and volume.  Louis' bowl had to be judged with the assistance of a magnifier.  Louis laid there unmoving.  Rachel also jotted down a few notes on a clipboard.  

A few minutes later, she stood before them with her judgment.  

"You should all be proud," said Rachel.  "The variety of whisks made was impressive, as well as your collective arm strength.  Which you will try to improve, I'm sure."  

Reese gave a grunt of negative.  

"Beni, you win for best use of a makeshift whisk, despite its short lifespan.  Out of all the dalgona coffees made with non-whisks, yours is the lightest and fluffiest."  

Beni held what was left of her three straws with pride.  

"Reese, while your dalgona has a ways to go, your handmade whisk can last the whole time without breaking or bending.  Out of all non-whisks, yours is the sturdiest."  

"And in a pinch double as a torture device," said Reese, airing his collar.  "For the wielder."

"Will, while at a disadvantage, you realized the proper use for the whisk given to you.  Fitting the tool to the purpose, well done."

Will nodded, but felt the praise was undeserved.  He had jumped in on Louis' bowl halfway.  That didn't count in his mind.  

"And Louis," said Rachel.  

Louis groaned on the counter.  

"I have never seen an arm whisk that fast.  For pure, brutal arm strength, you get the strongest arms."  

"Yay," Louis said, deadpan.  

"What do we win?" asked Reese.  

"I already have a batch of dalgona in the freezer.  All of you get to take a break and I will serve each of you a bowl."  

"And...?" edged Beni.  

"And there  are sprinkles, chocolate syrup, and redi whip for your use."  

Beni and Reese cheered as they ran back to their desks, still splattered with sugar coffee syrup and clad in their aprons.  

Will leaned down next to Louis' tiny prone form.  "You can have my frozen dalgona."  

"On top of what you promised?"  

Will blushed. "Yes.  You'll have to get it later tonight.  I had a lot for lunch."  

"Gotcha," said Louis.  "Would you mind picking me up?  I can't move my arms, I'll be flopping around like a fish."  

"Whatever you want, Mighty Mouse."  

"The Mightiest"

Will nodded and gently scooped Louis up in his palm.  They would wait out in Rachel's lab until Louis could turn back to normal size.  

***

Rachel covered the large bowls and set them in the fridge.  They would be good for coffee come morning.  The tiny bowl Rachel set aside on a lab tray.  She had a test on air density and viscosity to run.  

***

Beni and Reese had their bowls of dalgona slathered with caramel and chocolate sauce, sprinkles like confetti on velvet.  As much as they preferred energy drinks over coffee for their caffeine needs, they could appreciate it's slightly bitter taste as a dessert.  

In a spare office space designated as sleeping quarters for the lockdown, Louis enjoyed his double dose of dalgona with Will's help.  Louis lay on a cot with two pillows under his shoulders.  Louis refused to move his arms, claiming that whipping his tiny bowl of dalgona had ripped his muscles to shreds and needed help.  Will indulged his overreaction and fed him with loving spoonfuls.  

"Thank you for switching with me."  Will swirled the spoonful of dalgona through a streak of chocolate and whipped cream. "You didn't have to."  

"Yes I did," said Louis.  "Rachel's been wanting me to do more tests with her during lockdown.  And I've been avoiding it."  

"Oh."  

Louis reached out a pinky to Will's thigh.  "You're the only one I would have switched with."  

"Good.  I'd hate to be jealous of Reese over a cooking competition."  

"Speaking of competition," said Louis, sliding closer.  "I won a little something."  

"Hardly little."

"I will be." Louis rose up from the pillows and pressed his mouth to Will's, sharing the bitter taste of coffee and too much sugar. They parted with a sugary smek. "Gonna let me inside?"  

Will licked his lips, butterflies in his stomach ready to migrate,  and put the bowls aside.  

***

Later that night, Beni, Reese, Louis, and Rachel, realized that a scoop of dalgona coffee should not be eaten like ice cream right before they were about to sleep.  

Sleep did not happen until the crack of dawn.  For many reasons.  

--------

If you enjoyed this short, consider buying me a ko-fi!  

[frncs]

⌠ ERIC OSBORNE, 21, NON-BINARY, HE/THEY ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, FRANCES ‘FRANK’ LAVOIE! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in MACGYVER SURVIVAL SKILLS AND NAVIGATION & COVERT OPS; and they DID go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of oversized clothing stitched with thick yarn and littered with cat hair, the snap of stretched balloons before they’re blown and a post-nap dazed gaze. when it’s the (virgo)’s birthday on 09/01/1999, they always request CORN DOGS from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ tasha, 22, she/her, est ⍀ 

well well well .. id meant to bring another kid ages ago .. n then jus didn’t because the personality part was/is givin me grief FGJH so pls 🐻  w me n replies as i figure out his voice . also .. haven’t even written out my intro yet . . bt ik it’s gna be long apologies , pls feel free to just read the tldr 

tw: death, accidental murder, grief.

TLDR: grew up fairly well off to spy parents who didn’t want him to be part of that world but apart from that didn’t care what he did with his life otherwise. he often questioned whether they really cared for him at all (tht quote thts like .. if u love me u love me in a way i cant understand). luna’s his best friend, and he’s obsessed with his aunt and uncle’s circus that stops into town every year. life is pretty great until luna ‘dies’ at 16. he joins the circus and becomes a clown, he loves performing with all his heart. at 18, his aunt and uncle arm him with a credit card and tell him to go travel, he assumes it’s because they just want him to explore the world. visits europe for six months and asia for six months, enjoys it but misses the circus terribly, busks a lot. they actually send him away to distance him from the shady happenings that are starting to boil within the company. he comes back in time for the halloween switch-a-roo, where everyone rotates their act (so he does the magic show as a clown). he’s part of a set-up that results in him accidentally killing a person and sawing them in half. his aunt and uncle call his parents, who reluctantly send him to prep school for a little less than a year to heighten his chances of getting into a spy school for protection, which he does. dedicated to working hard and getting a high paying job to pay for reparations for the circus and do a massive overhaul of the way it runs, because it’s like his second home.

grew up in waterford ct, to one retired spy parent ( his mom ) and his dad who works with the government and is aware of espionage. his mom straight up didn’t have a good time, no one really talks about it, he has no idea what happened, doesn’t know if his dad knows either but it’s clear that they don’t want him going into the spy world. 

he feels like he’s always been treated like an adult for as long as he remembers, not in the sense that they burdened him with responsibility, but that they didn’t seem to care what he did one way or another. the best way i can describe it is that his parents had the same energy as a character in a yorgos lanthimos film, very dry and lifeless, like they’re on autopilot. he’d try and cuddle his mom and she’d just pat him on the head. he couldn’t really rebel against them and as long as he went to school and got good grades they appeared un-phased about what he got up to, a very mind your own business dynamic shared between family. 

he didn’t get up to a whole lot, he was a bit of an outsider. didn’t make friends very easily because he didn’t know how to let himself go around people, even though he’d sometimes be excited but wouldn’t know how to show it. definitely had that reserved temperament ingrained into him from his parents. 

he did have one friend who knew him inside and out, luna <3 who was also his neighbour. their demeanours were a perfect match but also he’d find himself getting so excited and wanting to tell her about his day or listen to hers, or read with her or play hopscotch or send her secret notes with his flashlight at her window. 

there was one other thing that got him terribly excited and it’s when his aunt and uncle’s traveling circus would stop in. he’d go every single day for the week and a half it was there. his parents would arrange one dinner with them and consider their familial duty done, other than that they remain out of contact with them. his aunt and uncle tell him that he’s always welcome to join, and he holds them to it. his parents say do whatever you want, just graduate high school first. 

his whole world kinda crumbles when luna ‘dies’ at sixteen. he feels immense guilt over it thinking he should’ve done something about that skeevy bf of hers...this also coincides with one of his mom’s friends dying (harlowe’s mom) which makes his mom act even weirder so he fast tracks his plans to join the circus and joins at sixteen, doesn’t graduate high school. i envision the convo btw him and his dad went like: 

“dad, i’m joining the circus.”

“graduate high school first.”

“no.”

“okay son, i can’t control you.”

the company welcomed him with open arms and he tried out everything, acrobatics, sharpshooting, but wasn’t particularly talented at anything. except, clownery. because messing up is commended, noting how all the kids would laugh at him trying basic magic tricks. so his aunt and uncle got him into a clown costume lickety-split. performing brought him a lot of joy through the grief like he’s an entirely different person when performing, insert that one cursed joker picture: put on a happy face. 

because the owners were his aunt and uncle he was treated exceptionally well and he was very oblivious to the malpractice that went on behind the scenes. the circus had a whole sector dedicated to pickpocketing (other kids who he just saw as friends were often runaways from broken homes who didn’t have anywhere else to go and earned their wages by stealing from customers), and serious kerfuffle with pay, probably some extortion going on, just general yuckery. he vaguely knew it was happening but was kind of like it is what it is kinda standpoint. heavily inspired by the circus barney and clint barton grew up in reffed in the 2015 run of all-new hawkeye.

a couple years later his aunt and uncle give him a credit card and tell him to go travel for a bit. he does because why not but misses the circus terribly. he spends six months in europe and six months in asia, busks as a clown a lot and but his on-the-road/home sickness never really fades.

he returns super excited, ready to clown around but it’s evident tensions are just really high between the workers but they’re still all super sweet to him because he’s very sweet even if he’s oblivious. halloween comes around which is his favourite time of year because they do this thing called the switch-a-roo, where everyone switches what act they’re doing, bicycle acts do contortionist acts, lion tamers do rope walkers, magicians do animal taming and clowns do magic acts. it’s just one big laugh because obviously most of them are cross-trained, but it’s meant to be more of a comedy thing and their mess-ups are to an extent choreographed but also capitalizes on the scariness because they hype up the fact that they have no idea what they’re doing.

he’s doing his magic act, messing up all the magic tricks showing all his cards, and his last act is the sawing someone in half, so the assistant comes out in the box, really selling it like omg a clown !!! being like stop !!! you don’t know what you’re doing !!! and frances is like playing along with the act, as he was told that the gag would be when they split the boxes they’ll have some practical effects to make it look like he’d accidentally actually cut the assistant in half. fumbling with a very real chainsaw, he does the choppity-chop which takes a bit more muscle than he thought it would and the assistant screams a lot then pretends to pass out. anyways it wasn’t an act he accidentally cut someone in half, and they die.

EXTRA CLOWN LORE THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT FEEL FREE TO SKIP!

i envisioned that worker negotiations had been going on for a while and had kinda reached a stalemate where nothing was happening, and there were rumblings about frances being off travelling and spending a shit ton of money where it could’ve been put towards the workers and the circus and his aunt and uncle would hear threats thrown towards frances which is why they wanted him to stay away/go travelling for a while. the girl who was killed did so knowingly, and died a martyr (and also left frances a note explaining things and how she was sorry that he was the one that had to kill her). the whole thing was executed with a lot of thought: how it would affect frances and how it would be seen as a personal attack against his aunt and uncle - and that while the act seemingly went off without a hitch and the public didn’t suspect a thing, the workers have leverage to make it public (which ideally they don’t want b/c a lot of the workers are pretty disenfranchised or have criminal records and truthfully don’t want the end all being the circus closing b/c they do love their job just not the conditions). his aunt an uncle are in a bit of a jam because they need an investor but can’t get that because of shady hiring practices in the first place, and their greed definitely exacerbated the problem.

after that happens his aunt and uncle immediately call his parents, who despite never wanting him to go into the spy industry believe that it would be the safest option for him, and enrol him in prep school (which he attends for less than a year) so that he has more of a chance getting into gallagher the following year, which, with the right strings pulled happens. 

now he’s dedicated to giving it his all so he can get a really high paying job and do a complete overhaul of the company and make a lot of reparations that should’ve been made years and years ago. 

personality

- very patient, a slow talker and more of a listener.  - idealistic, in the sense that he’s always been surrounded by people either in poverty of vulnerable, and despite being a caring guy, adopted that kind of mind your own business mentality his parents had. even his desire to get rich in order to save the circus is a very unrealistic plan or at the very least would take a very long time to achieve.  - tired, i know it’s not a personality trait but i’m making it one, he’s a little bit dazed, not gloomy per se but like he’s woken up from a nap and needs to warm up a bit before being a functioning part of society. but that’s like all his interactions. has the gait of like a drunken kung fu master, very limber.  

headcanons

has slight imposter syndrome about clowning, knows he’s great and always got a standing ovation but can’t help but wonder how much nepotism played a role in her being the main clown in the company.

planning on hiding out in her room during halloween, but is very bittersweet about it, because he thinks that halloween is one of the only times that people are happy because they get to be anyone they want and has found that most people don’t want to be themselves.

has an overweight, old cat which he’s had since he joined the circus and has been everywhere with him. it’s name is cat. he also has an album on his phone of all the strays he’s ever met, which is a lot being on the road. he named all of them but they never got to come with him.

sleeps a lot, probably has some sort of chronic sleep disorder, but enjoys the sweet release from life so he doesn’t question it. has no shame and will sleep anywhere and does.

loves making balloon animals, was his favourite thing to do at the circus. keeps a jewelry dish full of unpumped balloons on his bedside table. also a big reader, and hoarder of anything that can fit in a small travel notebook (leaves, ticket stubs, pictures, anything). 

wanted connections: i’ll update my actual google docs in the coming days but people he met while traveling for a year, anyone with pets wanting to have a pet playdate (cat’s not too active but he could use some company), someone who catches him crying (he cries a lot haven’t peeped his full chart but i can sense the water energy from miles away), people who wake him up when he falls asleep in class, in the common rooms, outside, flirty flirts, someone who’s been to the circus, someone who clowns him about being a clown and he gets super angry, really anything, i’m terrible at coming up with connections i get such a thrill from mundane relations i’m boring <3

[lukatheselkie]

HMC - Movie Crossover

@hetaliamondaychallenge

I most definitely used a script for this, and that can be found here. I only did the story that’s being told. As much as I love the grandfather, the kid, and his mom, it just didn’t fit for what I had in mind. I also mostly went by the movie for actions, so some things are in different places than the script says.

None of the quotes or locations are mine/my ideas. Movie crossovers are hard when you’re a writer 😂 (Most) emotions and anything to do with Sweden’s glasses are my own interpretation of the moment.

Movie: The Princess Bride

Pairing: Nyo!Sweden/England

Warnings: Implied murder, kidnapping, swords, parental death talked about, mentioned scars, death threat, fencing. Please tell me if I missed any!

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Sweden is Sigrid.

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Belgium is Beau.

I will finish this, I just severely underestimated the amount of time this would take to write 😭 I wrote through my favorite scene, which ends at twenty-five minutes into an hour and thirty-eight minute movie (including end credits, so the content is a bit less than that. I’d say I got... about a third of the way through it? Maybe slightly less.)

    Sigrid brushes her messy hair back from her face, making sure not to release her horse’s reins. She pushes her glasses up her nose and turns to Arthur, who’s standing in the doorway to the stable. “Farm Boy. Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.” He watches her closely, speaking quietly.

    “As you wish.” That was all he ever said to her. It both infuriated her, and made her curious.

~

    Sigrid tosses down two large buckets nearby Arthur, who is chopping wood. “Farm Boy. Fill these with water.” She pauses, thinking briefly. “Please.” His expression stays aggravatingly neutral.

    “As you wish.” She turns and starts to leave. He watches her longingly. Unexpectedly, she stops to look back at him. He manages to look away, but his heart is hammering with adrenaline.

    Sigrid stares at him in surprise. When he says ‘as you wish’, he’s really saying ‘I love you.’ It’s a thought that amazes her.

~

    Arthur comes into the kitchen with an armload of firewood. Sigrid’s heart flutters happily at seeing him. She had figured out she loved him back earlier that day. Oh! He’s leaving! “Farm Boy.” Her voice is smooth. “Fetch me that pitcher.” It almost comes out as a question. She could reach it if she wanted to, but keeping him close for just a moment longer is more important. He carefully reaches up and grabs it, handing it to her. They stare into each other’s eyes, standing very close. She can almost feel her heart in her throat. Does he know? He must know!

    “As you wish.” He leaves without so much as a glance back at her.

~

    Sigrid and Arthur kiss passionately. He has no money for marriage, so he has to leave to seek his fortune across the sea. The kiss turns into an embrace, and both of their hearts break a bit at the thought of him leaving. “I fear I’ll never see you again.” Arthur scoffs quietly.

    “Of course you will.” There’s no doubt in his voice. It helps reassure her, but not much.

    “But what if something happens to you?” It’s a serious concern that has her stomach knotted up a million different ways.

    “Hear this now: I will come for you.” He sounds so confident.

    “But how can you be sure?” Her anxiety is practically bubbling out of her now.

    “This is true love. You think this happens every day?” He smiles at her. This gives her enough courage to smile back, and she throws her arms around him. They kiss once more, then it’s time for him to leave. It’s such a beautiful sunset for such a terrible evening.

~

    Arthur doesn’t reach his destination. Sigrid clutches the letter addressed to her tightly. Its contents tell her about his ship being attacked by Dread Pirate Roberts, who never leaves anyone alive. She locks herself in her room, and doesn’t sleep or eat for days. “I’ll never love again,” she whispers emotionlessly to the empty room.

~

    Five years later, the main square of Florin City is filled to capacity with people waiting to hear the announcement about Prince Mathias’ bride-to-be. Three people stand behind the prince; his parents, and Count Beau. Mathias raises his hands, and starts to speak. “My people… A month from now, our country will have its five-hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “But perhaps you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?” There’s an overwhelming reaction that, yes, they want to meet her. On cue, she starts walking down the giant staircase leading to the crowd. Despite it being nearly impossible, the crowd collectively holds its breath. Sigrid comes into view, pushing her glasses up self consciously. “My people… The Princess Sigrid!” She quietly starts to move toward the people, heart hammering nervously. She’s never been good with people, especially in large crowds. They all suddenly kneel with no instruction, and tears come to her eyes. It’s all too much.

    She doesn’t love the prince. She’s too empty for that. The law of the land gives him the right to choose his bride, but that doesn’t mean she has to care for him. As soon as she is able, she climbs atop her horse and rides into the woods. Despite his reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she has is her daily ride. She rides until just before sundown, when she sees a group of men. “A word, my lady?” She brings her horse to a stop so she can help them. “We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?”

    “There is nothing nearby; not for miles.”

    “Then there will be no one to hear you scream.” The largest of the men touches a nerve on her neck, and her forming scream is cut off before it can build.

~

    Ivan, the giant, carries her to the sailboat at dusk. He nods at Antonio, who is finishing up getting the boat ready to sail. Lovino skillfully tears pieces of fabric from an army jacket, and tucks it into the princess’ horse’s saddle. “What is that you’re ripping?” Antonio questions. Without reacting, Lovino answers him.

    “It’s fabric from the uniform of an Army officer of Guilder.”

    “Who’s Guilder?” Comes Ivan’s voice, full of curiosity. Antonio points over the water.

    “The country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin.” He slaps the horse’s rump. “Go!” As expected, the horse takes off. He ambles toward the boat. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the Prince suspect the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed.”

    “You never said anything about killing anyone.” Ivan stares at him.

    “I've hired you to help me start a war. That's a prestigious line of work with a long and glorious tradition.” He places a hand on his hip as he speaks.

    “I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent girl.” He shakes his head slightly. Lovino gets in his face, clearly angry.

    “Am I going mad or did the word ‘think’ escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass.”

    “I agree with Ivan,” Antonio comments as he hops into the boat, pushing them off. Lovino’s rage grows by the second.

    “Oh! The sot has spoken! What happens to her is not truly your concern—I will kill her—And remember this—never forget this—when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy brandy! And you!” He turns on Ivan. “Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed in Greenland!” He glares at them for a long moment, then storms off. He doesn’t go far, since they’re on a ship. Antonio, who had gotten closer to Ivan after the insults, tries to relieve some of his stress.

    “That Lovino, he can fuss.” Ivan looks thoughtful for a moment, repeating the word to himself.

    “Fuss… Fuss… I think he likes to scream at us.”

    “Probably he means no harm.”

    “He’s really very short on… charm.” Antonio smiles at him.

    “Oh, you’ve a great gift for rhyme.” Ivan smiles back.

    “Yes, some of the time.”

    “Enough of that!” Lovino cuts in.

    “Ivan, are there rocks ahead?” Antonio’s voice is somewhat excited.

    “If there are, we’ll all be dead.” He’s feeling much better now. Good.

    “No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Lovino snaps at them.

    “Anybody want a peanut?” Lovino half groans, half screams.

~

    “We’ll reach the Cliffs by dawn,” Lovino declares to Antonio. The Spaniard nods, glancing back. “Why are you doing that?”

    “Making sure nobody’s following us.”

    “That would be inconceivable.”

    “Despite what you think, you will be caught. And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged.” Sigrid’s voice rings out. Lovino turns to give her a stern, cold look.

    “Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worrying about is your own.” Antonio continues staring behind them. “Stop doing that. We can all relax, it's almost over-”

    “You’re sure nobody’s following us?”

    “As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we've done. And no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.” He pauses for a beat. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

    “No reason. It's only, I just happened to look behind us, and something is there.”

    “What!?” They whirl around, staring behind them. It’s hard to see; the moon is behind clouds, leaving it nearly pitch black. The wind whistles, and the waves pond. It almost seems ominous. Antonio, Ivan, and Lovino all squint into the darkness. It becomes strangely eerie. Then, the moon comes out, revealing a black sailboat with a billowing black sail, far away. It’s getting closer though. “Probably some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise. At night. Through eel-infested waters.” There’s a splash behind them; it’s Sigrid, who’s dived into the water and is frantically swimming away. “Go in, get after her!”

    “I don’t swim,” from Antonio.

    “I only dog paddle,” Ivan mentions, waving his hands in the air slightly as an example.

    “Veer left. Left. Left!” Sigrid swims as fast and as silently as she can, hoping they don’t catch up to her. The wind stops, and the lack of it’s whistling allows a strange shrieking noise to make its way to her ears. She stops in fear, only moving to keep herself afloat. “Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the Shrieking Eels—if you doubt me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh.” She stays silent as the shrieking gets louder. “If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt you will get such an offer from the Eels.”

    The sound gets louder, but she doesn’t make a sound. Something huge slithers behind her. She suppresses a shudder, but refuses to reply. She’s terrified, and blind—she left her glasses on the boat—but she knows going back will lead her to a fate just as bad, if not worse. One of the Eels starts circling her, and she minimalizes her strokes. They swim directly toward her, and she’s certain this is the end, she’s going to be eaten alive. A mouth opens, the Eel shrieking louder yet at her, and she’s about to be bitten, when an arm hits the Eel, easily knocking them out. The arm grabs her, lifting her back onto the boat. “Put her down! Just put her down!” Antonio points behind them again.

    “I think he’s getting closer.” Lovino ties Sigrid’s hands together as he speaks.

    “He’s no concern of ours. Sail on!” He looks back at Sigrid with a sneer. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”

    “Only compared to some.” She stares at him, showing no fear. Ivan places her glasses back on her face when Lovino withdraws from her. She thanks him quietly.

~

    At dawn, they’re being closely trailed by the black sailboat. “Look! He's right on top of us. I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using?” Antonio inquires.

    “Whoever he is, he’s too late!” Lovino points ahead of them. “See? The Cliffs of Insanity.” They’re incredibly tall, and they surge straight up from the water. Antonio navigates the boat in closer, but the black boat is coming toward them fast. “Hurry up! Move the thing! Um! That other thing! Move it!” He screams at Antonio, who manages to get them to the cliffs first, and they hurry off as Lovino speaks again. “We're safe—only Ivan is strong enough to go up our way—he'll have to sail around for hours 'til he finds a harbor.” Antonio places a harness on Ivan, and wraps straps around Sigrid and himself expertly. Lovino does his own, and they start up a rope, tied to a rock at the top, Ivan carrying all three of them.

    A man in black hops off his boat, abandoning it without a second though, but Ivan is already a third of the way up. It seems impossible to catch up. Or, perhaps not. He climbs up the rope quickly, getting closer to the four. “He’s climbing the rope. And he’s gaining on us,” Antonio muses.

    “Inconceivable!” Lovino pokes Ivan, who speeds up. The man in black comes closer and closer by the second. “Faster!” He screeches.

                   “You were supposed to be this colossus! You were this great, legendary thing! And yet he gains.”

    “Well, I'm carrying three people. And he's got only himself.”

    “I do not accept excuses!” He shakes his head. “I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all.”

    “Don’t say that, Lovino. Please.” There’s pain in his voice. His arms slow a bit, as he’s getting tired. The man in black gains still.

    “Did I make it clear that your job is at stake!?” A few tense moments pass, and he pulls them over the cliff edge. Lovino leaps off of him, pulling out a knife. He starts cutting at the rope, tied around a heavy rock. Antonio helps Sigrid to her feet, watching her push her glasses back into place when she’s standing. Ivan stands there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He glances at the ruins nearby; they remind him of Stonehenge, though he thinks they might have been a fort at one point. The man in black is very close now, but Lovino manages to cut the rope before he can make it to the top. It glides across the ground, toward the cliff edge, being dragged down by its own weight. Antonio, Ivan, and Sigrid stand by the edge, looking down at the man in black, clinging for his life on the jagged rocks. It becomes apparent he’s wearing a mask over his eyes.

    “He has very good arms,” Ivan observes, talking to Antonio. He sounds impressed. Lovino turns toward them, stunned and outraged.

    “He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!” Antonio looks at him.

    “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” He glances back down. “My God! He’s climbing.”

    “Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the Princess, and must therefore die.” He points his dagger at Ivan. “You, carry her.” He turns to Antonio. “We'll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

    “I want to duel him left-handed.”

    “You know what a hurry we’re in!”

    “Well, it's the only way I can be satisfied. If I use my right—tch—over too quickly.” Lovino groans, walking briefly away from him.

    “Oh, have it your way!”

    “You be careful,” Ivan tells him, coming closer. “People in masks cannot be trusted.”

    “I’m waiting!” Lovino calls. Ivan nods, and hurries after Lovino, carrying Sigrid. Antonio watches them until they disappear, then looks down at the man in black. He watches for a bit, then starts pacing, shaking his hands. He practices some of his fencing skills, and looks back at the man in black when that’s not enough to distract him. He’s not much closer to the top. He walks away, then comes back, impatient.

    “Hello there.” The man in black glances up, grunting slightly. “Slow going?”

    “Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me.”

    “Sorry.”

    “Thank you.” Antonio steps away again, practices a few thrusts, then re-sheaths his sword, looking over the edge fervently. “I do not suppose you could speed things up?”

    “If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do.” He struggles a bit as he climbs, but there’s no question that he’ll make it to the top.

    “I could do that. In fact, I've got some rope up here. But I do not think that you will accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

    “That does put a damper on our relationship.” He continues climbing, raising up a bit from a good hold.

    “But I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

    “That’s very comforting. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

    “I hate waiting,” he grumbles out. “I could give you my word as a Spainard?”

    “No good. I’ve known too many Spainyards.” He grunts as he searches around for another place to grab.

    “You don’t know any way you’ll trust me?”

    “Nothing comes to mind.” Antonio raises his right hand high, eyes glossing over, voice serious.

    “I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.” Silence falls between them heavily. Then, barely above a whisper, the man in black speaks.

    “Throw me the rope.” Antonio hurries to the large rock, untying the rope as fast as he can. He hears the man in black slip, but he knows he’s still there. He scrambles back to the edge and throws one end of the rope down to him. The man grabs hold of the rope, and Antonio pulls on it as hard as he can, walking steadily backwards. He watches the man in black come into view, and he pulls him to safety. “Thank you,” he huffs out, pulling his sword. Antonio holds up his hand.

    “We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

    “Again, thank you.” He sits atop the boulder the rope is tied around. He tugs off his long leather boots, tapping them to get the rocks out. There’s more than a few rocks, and most of them are big. He stares at them, amazed. Antonio notices he has gloves on; he stares at them.

    “I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?” The man in black looks up, obviously bewildered by the question.

    “Do you always begin conversations this way?”

    “My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. He was a great sword maker, my father. And when the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done.” His demeanor turns sorrowful. He offers the sword to the man in black, who examines it closely, clearly impressed.

    “I have never seen its equal,” he declares as he hands it back, being cautious of the heartache looming around them.

    “The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father, so, naturally, challenged his murderer to a duel. ...I failed... The six-fingered man did leave me alive with the six-fingered sword, but he gave me these.” He gingerly touches two scars; one on each cheek. Solemnly, the man in black looks at him.

    “How old were you?”

    “I was eleven years old. When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello, my name is Antonio Carriedo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’” His voice is soft, almost a whisper. The air is heavy, but not completely oppressive.

    “You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?” He shrugs lightly.

    “More pursuit than study lately. You see, I cannot find him. It's been twenty years now. I am starting to lose confidence. I just work for Lovino to pay the bills. There's not a lot of money in revenge.”

    “Well, I certainly hope you find him, someday.”

    “You are ready, then?”

    “Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair.” They rise, and walk toward the ruins.

    “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

    “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.” The man in black pulls his sword as he replies.

    “Begin!” They fight far away from each other. Every time one goes in for a hit, the other counters perfectly. They begin to circle each other, moving about the ruins. They feint a few more times, then decide that’s enough teasing. Their swords clash, the gap between the noise shortening each time they strike. Antonio manages to run the man in black up a rocky hill. “You're using Bonetti's defense against me, ah?” He’s absolutely elated at that.

    “I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain.”

    “Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.” His fighting style changes with his words.

    “Naturally.” The man in black struggles with the shift, but only for a moment. “But I find Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don't you?” He jumps down from the hill, Antonio’s eyes following him.

    “Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa.” He hops off the perch, somersaulting over the man in black’s head, and lands facing him. “Which I have.” They swing and feint and glide gracefully over the rocky terrain, never once stumbling. One gains the upper hand over the other, but it isn’t long before it’s lost. They go back and forth like this, both obviously experts. Finally, the man in black is able to back Antonio toward the Cliffs of Insanity, closer and closer to his death with each step. “You are wonderful!” He’s awfully chipper, for someone so close to death.

    “Thank you—I’ve worked hard to become so.” He forces Antonio closer to the edge by the second.

    “I admit it—you are better than I am.” But he’s grinning.

    “Then why are you smiling?” He’s a step, maybe two, from falling off the cliff.

    “Because I know something you don’t know.”

    “And what is that?”

    “I am not left-handed.” He tosses the six-fingered sword into his right hand, and the battle shifts in his favour. The man in black desperately tries to keep him by the cliff’s edge, but it’s no use. He has to retreat. Antonio’s sword is merely a blur, it’s moving so fast. He backs the man in black up some stairs, and he stumbles backwards onto one. His sword strikes close, but it misses.

    “You are amazing,” he concludes, finishing climbing the stairs.

    “I ought to be after twenty years.” Antonio pins the man against a stone pillar. The top layer is forced off, over the cliff.

    “There’s something I ought to tell you,” he grunts out, struggling against the sword.

    “Tell me.” It comes out confidently.

    “I am not left-handed either.” The man in black shoves him back, and makes a show of switching his sword into the other hand. Within a matter of seconds, the six-fingered sword is knocked out of his hands. Antonio retreats frantically, diving from the stairs to a moss-covered bar between an archway. He swings for a moment, then lands, grabbing his sword. The man in black flings his sword, and it sticks into the ground, exactly next to where Antonio landed. He jumps onto the bar, rotates around it, then lands next to his sword. He plucks it out of the ground effortlessly, striking a little pose.

    “Who are you?”

    “No one of consequence.”

    “I must know.”

    “Get used to disappointment.” Antonio shrugs a bit.

    “Okay.” He starts the fight again, moving fast. They go back and forth, Antonio countering a slash he hadn’t been able to before, feeling proud of himself for remembering the man in black’s body language for that move. The sword is knocked out of his hand, arching through the air. He casually positions himself below it, and catches it flawlessly. He’s going to lose. He knows he is. He becomes desperate, fiercely swinging his sword at his competition. The man in black catches onto his desperation, and takes a moment to tease him. He swipes at Antonio’s hair, startling him enough to give him an opportunity to knock the six-fingered sword out of his hand. He stands helplessly for a second, then falls to his knees. “Kill me quickly.” There’s raw emotion in his voice. Fear, sorrow, regret...

    “I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself. However, since I can't have you following me either,” he knocks Antonio in the head with his sword handle, and he falls unconscious. “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.” He runs over to his scabbard, picks it up, and runs after the Princess, Lovino, and Ivan.

[mikauzoran]

Marichat/Adrienette: The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Five

The Rejects Club: Chapter Twenty-Five: Look

“You’ve hit snooze twice already,” Plagg reports judgmentally, scooping the phone up and moving it over to the desk so that Adrien has no choice but to get out of bed to turn the alarm off.

“But I’m so tired,” Adrien groans, hoping his kwami will miraculously have a dramatic personality shift and take pity on him.

No such luck.

Plagg snorts. “Whose fault is that?”

“Mine?” Adrien guesses with a sigh, kicking off the covers and going to stop the alarm.

Plagg openly guffaws at this. “You are a mess of insecurities, unmet needs, and hormones. You could be considered legally insane and, therefore, are responsible for nothing. I was talking about that girlfriend of yours. She’s got you so wound up that—”

“—Plagg?” Adrien calls in such a hesitant, small voice that Plagg stops his ribbing to look at his charge and listen.

“Kid?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Adrien softly informs.

The mournful look in his peridot eyes says it all: She’s not his girlfriend, but he wants her to be. He’s afraid she might never be. He’s afraid of her accepting Chat but not Adrien. He’s afraid of ruining everything. He’s scared of letting himself hope only to be crushed again. He’s terrified that if this falls through he’s never going to find someone else…he’s never going to be able to love again, even if he does find someone else.

Plagg inhales slowly and takes just as long to breathe out. “So what are you going to do about it? You had a plan, didn’t you?” He nods over to where Émilie’s leather jacket and Adrien’s clothes are lying out for the day, golden bell on a leather choker sitting on top.

Adrien closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and nods. “This is stupid and reckless, and Marinette is probably the only one who won’t figure out my secret identity. Ladybug is going to kill me.”

 Nathalie takes one look at him and sighs deeply. “Worse than I had anticipated.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he pouts.

“Well, no one recognized you when you dressed up as Chat Noir for that music video a few years ago, so maybe…” she mutters without answering his question.

“Do I look weird?” he begins to worry and considers chickening out.

“You look like Chat Noir,” Nathalie corrects, fiddling with her glasses.

He purses his lips. “…If it’s that bad, tell me to go change.”

She shakes her head and relents. “It’s not bad. It’s…I believe the correct classification is ‘sexy’. You project a ‘bad boy’ image.” He can hear the finger quotes in her voice despite her not physically using them. “You look good, Adrien; you just don’t look much like…‘you’.”

“Me me, or Adrien Agreste, face of Gabriel?” he wonders.

She turns away without responding. “You’re going to be late. If your father asks, I did not see you before you left. I have no knowledge of this.” She makes her way to the ground floor office. “Have a nice day, and good luck with Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien sighs and calls after her. “Thank you, Nathalie!”

 Victor takes one look at him and shakes his head as he opens the back door of the car.

Adrien smiles innocently, opening the front passenger side door for himself and sliding in with a snicker of, “Shotgun!”

Vitya rolls his eyes, shuts the door, and goes around to get in the driver’s seat. He releases the parking break and then pauses, turning to look at Adrien again.

“Problem?” Adrien asks in Russian.

Victor sighs heavily. “Adrianushka, it is not my place, and I hate to say it, but—this—is obvious.”

Adrien blinks, thinking for a second that he has not heard right or mistranslated a word somewhere. “…‘This’?”

Vitya rolls his eyes once more and indicates Adrien’s outfit with a wave.

Adrien’s eyes widen. “Geez. Does everybody know?”

Victor grunts.

Adrien hangs his head. “I thought I was being careful. I thought I was being stealthy.”

Victor purses his lips, giving his charge a look of sympathy. “Adrianka, I’ve been your guard for how long now? I drive you for how many years, and you think I don’t notice you sneaking off during every single akuma attack and then slinking back with some hairbrained excuse that doesn’t hold water? You think I’m dumb enough to believe you?”

Adrien wilts.

Victor came to them a year or two after Nathalie. This man has known him since he was little, stood guard by his door for years, never been too far out of sight. Of course Vitya knows.

“Sorry,” Adrien mumbles. “No. Of course you figured it out.” He looks up with a pained expression on his face. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

Victor shrugs. “Natalka, obviously. She hasn’t said anything, but…”

“Yeah,” Adrien confirms. “Nathalie knows…. Do you think my father has any idea?”

Vitya lets out a boisterous roar of laughter. “Ha! Your father! Adriashenka, if your father knew, he would take your-your—what is it? Ring? He’d take your ring and lock you up for your own safety. Your father hasn’t an inkling.”

Adrien nods, looking miserable.

“There are times when I want to take your ring and lock you up myself, and I’m sure that Natalka feels the same way. She was a wreck on Thursday. Adrian Gavrillovich Agreste, if you’re not more careful in the future, you’re going to drive that woman to drink. Child, the whole house would be a—” It’s a word Adrien doesn’t know, but Victor’s tone makes it sound something like ‘dumpster fire’. “—if we lost you. Don’t you know this?”

Adrien curls even further up into himself and answers in a barely-there voice, “Sorry, Vitya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Victor coaxes, giving Adrien’s arm an encouraging nudge. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Simple as that.”

This makes Adrien laugh, half genuine humor, half ruefulness. He gives Victor a watery smile. “It’s not so simple when it’s your job to keep Paris’s savior safe so that she can do her job.”

Victor gives a dismissive wave. “What are you—” An idiomatic expression that Adrien is not familiar with. From the tone, he fills in “chopped liver?” “—As if she saves Paris all by herself,” Victor scoffs. “Figure something out next time, Adrianka. Keep her safe without jumping in front of the car yourself. Your first instinct is always to act as a human shield. Kindly, cut it the—” Adrien knows that word, and it is a testament to how upset the ordeal has made Victor that he is using such strong language in front of Adrien. “—out, will you? Okay? Okay. We should be driving now. I’m making you late.”

They pull out of the drive and onto the street, making a few turns before ending up on the Quai Branly, taking the scenic route along the Seine on the Left Bank.

“So,” Vitya pipes up some minutes later. “Why are you being obvious today? I thought the superhero thing was a secret. Why are you trying to out yourself to all of Paris?”

“I’m only trying to out myself to one person in particular,” Adrien explains sheepishly, “…even though all of Paris might figure it out as a result. I’m being super reckless.”

“I’ll say,” Victor snorts. “And who is this special person you’re taking such a risk for?”

Adrien feels his cheeks heating up, but he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Vitya would never make fun of him, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. “There’s…this girl.” Adrien bites his lip, casting Victor a sidelong glance. “Can I do this in French?”

Victor grunts. “English would be better for me, if you have to, but try it in Russian. If you don’t know the words, I’ll help you.”

Adrien nods, taking a deep breath. “There’s this girl.”

“Not Ladybug?” Vitya hums.

“Not Ladybug, but she might as well be for how-how—how do I say she’s so much better than I am?” Adrien fishes.

“She’s not,” Vitya snorts, “but the expression is ‘she is out of my league’.”

“Vitya, she is so out of my league. She’s gorgeous and talented and passionate and kind to people who don’t even deserve it, and she listens to me when I talk, and she doesn’t make me feel like an idiot, even though I most definitely am an idiot. She’s so… She’s amazing, Vitya. She’s so amazing, and I’m…” He shakes his head, knowing that he’s not doing Marinette justice.

“And you’re not amazing?” Victor shoots him a quick, disbelieving look before focusing back on the street as he makes the turn, crossing over to the Right Bank and heading east.

“I’m rich, and I’m pretty,” Adrien remarks dryly. “I’m not amazing.”

Vitya shakes his head. “The boy is blind. Never mind, Adrianka. Tell me about the girl.”

“I’ve been spending time with her as Chat Noir,” he continues.

Victor nods knowingly. “This is the girl who is Princess. I saw in the papers.”

“And we’re kind of thinking…maybe we like each other.” Adrien bites his lip before switching to English, making sure to enunciate. “Vitya, it’s complicated. She just got her heart broken by some jerk, and I’m trying to get over my feelings for Ladybug. Neither of us is ready to date yet, so I can’t let myself fall in love with her, but I do have a huge crush on her, and she’s taking the next month or two to decide if she wants to date me.”

Victor nods along, following Adrien’s predicament.

Adrien switches back to Russian. “She likes Chat Noir, but she’s unsure about Adrien. I want her to choose all of me, so I’m trying to show her pieces of Chat in Adrien and pieces of Adrien in Chat.”

“So you’re exposing your identity to the whole school,” Victor snickers. “Good plan. Agreste men really do do some pretty stupid things for the women they love. I think I owe Natalka five euros.”

Adrien wonders what exactly Gabriel has done to merit this comment alongside Adrien because Adrien knows exactly how stupid this is.

“Maybe people will just think I’m dressed up as Chat Noir. Maybe they won’t immediately think that I am Chat Noir,” Adrien suggests, mentally crossing his fingers.

Victor considers for a moment and then shrugs. “You did get away from that music video—” Adrien is going to have to make a study of idiomatic expressions. He’s guessing this one means something like “scot-free”. “—Maybe you’ll be so lucky this time.”

Victor sneaks another quick glance at Adrien. “Who exactly are you doing this for?”

Adrien sighs, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before he remembers the disgusting amount of gel currently in it. He drops his arm by his side and mumbles, “You know my classmate Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Victor’s eyes go wide. He makes an exclamation that Adrien decides to translate as “Get out!” “Little Masha from the bakery?”

Adrien blinks. “Masha?”

“It’s the diminutive of ‘Marie’,” Victor explains. “She brings me coffee and a croissant when I’m sitting out front of the school in the mornings. She’s usually running late, but if she sees me waiting out front, she never fails to bring out a cup of coffee and a croissant.”

“See how amazing she is?” Adrien sighs. “That’s the kind of stuff that she does. All the time!”

“She’s a good girl,” Vitya agrees. “And you’re going to—” Adrien remembers only that it’s a cooking term, but he can’t match the verb to its French counterpart. “—her brain when she sees you dressed like Chat Noir.”

Adrien blinks. “You think? Do you think she’ll be able to tell that I really am Chat Noir?”

Victor purses his lips. “You mean once someone reboots her? No. The girl is clueless.”

It’s true, but…

Adrien sighs.

 Nino takes one look at him, and—after the DJ has secured his eyeballs back into their sockets—rolls said eyes at Adrien. “Mec. My Dude. What. Are. You. Doing?!”

“Chat Noir cosplay?” Adrien smiles sheepishly.

Nino groans. “Mec, I know you’re just discovering an awesome girl with a thing for a certain superhero, but dressing like that superhero to get her to notice you… You’re gonna break her.”

“Nino, I don’t expect you to understand, but the situation is desperate, otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing something drastic like this,” Adrien sighs, reaching up for another aborted attempt to card a hand through his hair until he remembers the mess of gel. “I wish I could explain myself, but…” He gives his best friend a doe-eyed look of regret.

Nino takes off his hat to swipe at his brow with the back of his hand. He shakes his head and groans again. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Mec. I get it. Girls make guys do ridiculous things. I’m in love myself; I know this firsthand.”

A slow blush creeps over Adrien’s face at the comment. He doesn’t respond, even though his mind is chanting, “I’m not in love. I’m not in love. I canNOT be in love.”

On second thought, some verbal denial is deemed necessary. “Nino, I’m not in love with Marinette. This is just a little crush.”

Nino really looks at Adrien, smiles affectionately, and then shakes his head. “Oooh, Mec. Last week you told me you had never thought about her romantically in your life.”

“That was true!” Adrien rushes to defend himself. “I hadn’t until you brought it up—and while we’re on the topic, why didn’t you bring this up three years ago before Chat Noir got his paws on her?”

Nino shrugs. “Ask Alya. This wasn’t my idea, remember?—And then you were telling me your feelings for Marinette weren’t like that.”

“I was in denial,” Adrien rebuts. “I hadn’t realized that how I was feeling had shifted.”

“Now you admit you have a crush, but you’re digging your heels in concerning the intensity of your feelings,” Nino continues with a weary sigh, exhausted by the constant drama.

“Nino, I’m not in love,” Adrien stubbornly insists. “I can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t risk giving my heart away to be trampled on again,” Adrien stresses, making Nino wonder who’s been trampling on Adrien’s heart. Certainly not Ladybug. “I can’t let myself fall in love until I’m sure I’m not just courting misery and heartache here.”

Nino helpfully does not mention that Adrien is already experiencing misery and heartache over Marinette. “As your friend, I need you to stay the hell away from this girl. She likes someone else—not just anyone, but a superhero and a personal friend of yours—and she’s already had you seriously messed up the past week. If you pursue this, it’s only gonna get worse. This is a bad idea, Mec. She’s practically taken, and you’re only going to get yourself hurt—maybe physically, if you step on Chat Noir’s toes a time too many. He seems fond of you, but he also seems like the jealous type, and I can tell you from personally seeing them together yesterday that he is off the deep end in love with her. This isn’t going to be pretty, Adrien.”

Adrien shakes his head. “Nino, I don’t expect you to understand, but—”

“—Mec, I do understand,” Nino cuts him off gently, clapping a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “That’s why, against my better judgment, I’m giving up and letting you do” He waves obliquely to Adrien’s outfit. “this. I’m going to shut up and support you. If you want to take on Chat Noir, I’ll be at your side. We can go get ice cream together or something after he wipes the floor with you.”

Adrien frowns. “Thank you? I appreciate your vote of confidence in me?”

“I’m being realistic,” Nino sighs, wishing he could go back and change things for Adrien. “I’m not trying to be harsh with you, Mec, but it would be cruel to encourage you and get your hopes up. The reality is that she loves him but cries ninety percent of the time she sees you. We’re fighting a losing battle, mon pote, and I’m prepared to fail and have to clean you up off of the floor afterwards. I’ll stand by you, Adrien, but I’m not going to lie to you to make you feel better in the short term.”

Adrien’s frown melts partially into confusion. “I’m not sure if you suck or if you’re the best.”

“I am Schrödinger’s turtle: simultaneously sucking and being the best,” Nino snorts, throwing an arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “Come on. We walk, Cat-Boy-Wannabe.”

“Why a turtle?”

“Reasons,” Nino snickers.

“…You suck,” Adrien decides.

“Only for you.” Nino winks, guiding Adrien through the quad towards the locker rooms.

Adrien rolls his eyes. “What if Chat Noir asked? I know you’re a total fanboy, Nino. Don’t pretend we’re exclusive.”

“I think Marinette is—” The innuendo concerning Marinette taking care of Chat Noir dies in Nino’s throat. He attempts to clear it.

Adrien tries really, really, really hard not to remember Marinette kneeling in front of him last night, pillowing her arms on his knees and looking up at him so sweetly, running her hands down his thighs and calling him by name.

He takes a deep breath and sighs at the futility of his situation.

“Sorry,” Nino mumbles for entirely the wrong reason. “We’ll get her to see you.” And yet somehow manages to pick the right words of comfort. “She’ll see how awesome Adrien Agreste can be, and, at the very least, you two can repair your relationship and be close friends. You’ve wanted that for a while, right?”

Adrien nods despite himself. Two weeks ago, the prospect of being honest-to-goodness friends with Marinette would have had him giddy. Now, if that’s all he gets… His stomach turns sour.

“Please let her see me…. Please let her like what she sees.”

As they pass through the quad, Adrien notes that he gets more stares and head-turns than usual. He keeps his easy model smile in place, but his voice is anxious when he whispers to Nino, “You don’t think anyone’s going to confuse me for the real Chat Noir, do you? I didn’t think of that.”

Nino shakes his head. “Nah. I mean the resemblance is striking—you had me seeing double for a minute there when you stepped out of the car—but you’re obviously not him.”

“How so?” Adrien feels slightly annoyed despite the fact that the security of his identity is astronomically important.

“Well,” Nino drops his arm from Adrien’s shoulders and takes a step back to better evaluate. “You two have the same body type, and the other physical features are similar, if not exact, but your hair is definitely not Chat Noir hair. His is naturally wild, and you can tell he rolls out of bed that way. Your hair looks like you had to coerce it to do that, and it still didn’t do exactly what you asked of it.”

Adrien sighs, giving up and conceding the point. “You have no idea how much gel I had to use to get it to do this. I would need literal magic to replicate Chat’s hair.”

“No shame in that, Mec. We can’t all have hair that fabulous,” Nino chuckles.

“What else about me is obviously not Chat Noir?” Adrien prompts.

“Well…” Nino bites his lip. “Sorry, but you’re too short.”

“Short?” Adrien is pretty sure he is exactly the right height to be Chat Noir.

“Yeah, I mean…Chat is about six foot. I’m six-one, and he’s just a hint shorter than me. You…” Nino grimaces. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you got in on the model thing on the ground floor because you just don’t have the height for it.”

Adrien blinks stupidly, feeling insulted. He’s not THAT short.

“What are you? Like, five-eight?”

“Five-ten,” (in shoes) Adrien spits, drawing himself up a little straighter.

Nino shrugs helplessly. “It’s not your fault you dodged all the tall genes in your family. Maybe you’ll still have a growth spurt. I mean, Gabe is what? Six-four? And Nathalie is at least six feet, right? Both your parents are tall, so there’s still hope.”

Adrien stares for a moment and then breaks into a titter.

“What?” Nino gives him a funny look.

Adrien shakes his head. “Yeah. My mom is pretty tall, isn’t she?”

“And it’s not like she wears heels, really. You’d think with genes like that you’d be set.” Nino shrugs in a “What are ya gonna do?” manner.

“Unfortunately, my biological mother was only five-nine, so I don’t think my mom’s six-foot status is going to do much to help,” Adrien laughs heartily, more amused than he probably should be.

Nino smacks himself in the forehead. “Dude. Sorry. I don’t know where my head was at. I, like, know—”

“—Don’t apologize,” Adrien quickly cuts him off. “I’m actually really happy. I think of her as my mom, and if other people do too, I can probably get away with saying the ‘m’ word. It’s been a long time since I could talk about mothers in the present tense.”

Sensing Nino’s unease, Adrien grins and throws his arm around Nino’s shoulders. “So. What else makes me definitely not Chat Noir?” he inquires as they resume their walk to the locker room.

 “—but they couldn’t hide the existence of a twin brother for seventeen years, could they? That’s just stupid,” Marinette groans, trying not to tear her hair out. She’s got it up in a cute chignon that she wants Chat to see, so it has to stay cute at least until she gets to the locker room where he’s probably lying in wait, lurking in the shadows…or, more likely, just plain going about his business with her completely oblivious to his existence.

Ugh.

“It does sound a little bit like the plot of an anime,” Alya confesses, nose buried in her phone. “I think we would know if Adrien and your Mystery Boy Chat were switching in and out.”

“Then again,” Marinette hums, fiddling with the black and white lace bracelet around her right wrist. “Stranger things have happened. I am living in the middle of a magical girl anime, after all.”

“Yeah, and you’re a reoccurring background character. How does that feel?” Alya hums, nearly walking into the doorframe.

For once, Marinette has to be the one to pull Alya out of the way before she runs into something. The irony is not lost on Marinette. “Alya, what are you even reading? You haven’t looked at me once this morning, you’re so absorbed in your screen.”

Alya blinks and looks up, rubs her eyes, and stares. “Wooow. Really looking to knock the boxers off someone, aren’t we?”

“Al-ya!” Marinette squeaks, swatting halfheartedly at her best friend.

Marinette is wearing an off-the-shoulder black top exposing plenty of collarbone paired with black and white patterned palazzo pants that look like a maxi skirt and billow as she walks. Adorning her neck and wrist and accenting her updo are the black and white choker, bracelet, and hair clip that she made last night out of Chat’s gift.

“I just wanted to look cute. Chat sent me some lace scraps leftover from some of his father’s old designs for our one-week anniversary last night, so…” Marinette shrugs again, and Alya stops walking.

“Let’s pause and unpack that sentence,” Alya proposes. “I would like to focus on what you mean by lace leftover from Chat’s father’s designs and the one-week anniversary aspects in particular.”

Marinette waves Alya away. “His father’s company is apparently a fashion house. He’s a fashion designer. Chat models for his father’s brand.”

Alya’s eyes narrow. “I hate to keep bringing it up, but…are we sure that Adrien and Chat are two unique individuals?”

“Not you too,” Marinette groans, half crumpling to the ground before straightening up to point a no-nonsense finger in Alya’s face. “No. Banish the thought from your mind. They’ve been screwing with me about this since-since…Friday? Anyway, I don’t need you helping them with their scheme to drive me insane.”

“Adrien and Chat are teaming up to drive you insane,” Alya repeats flatly, obviously doubting Marinette’s sanity already.

“Yes! This is where the twins theory comes from. I think Adrien’s the younger twin, despite seeming more mature and refined.”

“Uh-huh.” Alya starts to go back to her phone. “One-week anniversary?” she reminds. “Do people do that?”

“Chat and I do,” Marinette retorts as if Alya is the strange one.

“Girl, he’s already got you on the hook and wriggling. I’m gonna need his phone number and email. I’m totally serious.”

Marinette snatches Alya’s phone. “What are you even—” She freezes at what she sees.

“Webcomic,” Alya explains, making a grab for her phone.

Marinette dodges rather agilely, scrolling down and down, mesmerized by the drawings, the dialogue.

“The artist, APlaggOnBothYourHouses, is doing a Princess Noir comic, and it’s really good.”

Chat and Princess are sitting on a roof having the picnic Chat Noir prepared for Ladybug before Glaciator, watching the Eiffel Tower light show. Chat’s arm is around her, their faces a mere handspan apart, and Princess is obviously totally into him. Chat is likewise drunk on Princess’s existence.

“His art is amazing, and the story is actually pretty interesting too. Plagg postulates that Princess doesn’t know Chat Noir’s identity, and one of the main plot points is Chat Noir as a civilian trying to get Princess as a civilian to notice him and love both sides of him. They just keep completely missing one another, though.”

In the comic, Princess is asking Chat to take her stargazing sometime, and Chat is talking about going to his family’s chateau in the country in August during the break, since she’ll have figured out his identity by then.

Marinette claps a hand over her mouth. She is going to kill Plagg, because it can only be Plagg. …On second thought, she is going to have Tikki kill Plagg. Tikki will have a better idea of how to go about it and has probably been waiting several millennia for a valid excuse to do so.

“What…is Princess’s true identity in the comic?” Marinette tries not to sound too invested in the answer.

Alya shrugs, ceasing her efforts at phone retrieval. “She’s just a regular girl like any one of us. She doesn’t think she’s special or anything, but Chat Noir sees the greatness in her and adores her for it. Her name is Adrienne. Her parents own a restaurant up in Montmartre that she sometimes helps out at.”

Marinette forces herself to draw air into her lungs. “And…who is Chat?”

Alya shrugs again. “Some made-up teen actor named Marin Mineau. It’s just a fan work, Marinette. It’s not like Plagg knows their real identities. It’s all speculation and imagination.”

Marinette hands the phone back, not wanting to see any more. It’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s better if she doesn’t think about it. “Could you send me the link?” she finds herself asking. It’s part morbid curiosity, part the need to tell Chat about this.

Plagg has to be responsible. Who else would switch Adrien and Marinette around into Adrienne and Marin? Who else would even create a Princess Noir comic anyway? Chat, Adrien, Tikki, and Marinette herself are the only other possible suspects, and she has a feeling that it’s not any of them.

“Are you finally taking an interest in Paris’s latest power couple?” Alya titters mischievously, sending the link.

“Alya, I love you, but I’m too wrapped up in my own love life right now to bother with anyone else’s.”

Alya opens the locker room door, catches sight of Adrien leaning up against Marinette’s locker, watermelon pink rose in hand, and relents. “You have a point. I believe your love life requires your full and undivided attention as we speak.”

Marinette frowns as Alya starts to walk away. “What?”

“Good luck!” Alya calls, heading for her own locker.

Marinette shakes her head, too tired to deal with this nonsense. With a sigh, she points herself in the right direction. 

Adrien comes into focus, and Marinette halts as her brain attempts to process. She’s not sure what she’s seeing. That’s Chat Noir, but he’s not wearing his suit or his mask or his cat ears. His hair isn’t quite right. His eyes aren’t quite right. He looks like Adrien, but he looks like Chat, but he looks like Adrien, but…

He moves, and it makes it so much worse. It’s not Adrien’s usual gait but Chat’s. He slinks like Chat towards her, coming to a stop entirely too close, only two feet away.

“Good Morning, Princess,” he purrs, all Chat as he scoops up her hand and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, lips brushing against the lace there.

He offers her the rose. It’s the same pink color as the dried rose in the vase on her shelf in her loft was back when it was fresh…the rose he gave her—Chat gave her—during the Papa Garou incident.

“It reminded me of you,” he coos, refusing to let Adrien be embarrassed by any of this. He’s Chat right now, even without the mask, and he has no qualms about being a total flirt. “More specifically, your lips.”

He taps them ever so lightly with his index finger and winks. The wink is very Adrien, but the tone is very Chat.

Marinette’s brain shuts down for a fourth time, and all that comes out of her mouth is a strangled noise of confusion.

“Say, are you tired?” he prompts.

Marinette arches an eyebrow in bewilderment, pathetically trying to keep up.

“I just wondered. I know you have a lot of stamina, but since you’re been running through my mind all night… I mean, that has to tire you out, right?”

Marinette is tempted to smack herself in the face. She’s tempted to smack HIM in the face, whoever he is. (Her brain can’t quite decide right now, and she’s pretty sure she’s seeing things.)

“By the way,” his voice softens. “The accessories you made with that lace turned out exquisitely. I knew you’d be able to make something beautiful with them. You’re so talented, Princess.”

Marinette melts a little bit at the genuine admiration in his voice. The rest has felt like a ruse precisely calculated to mimic the fake, flirty side of Chat that turned her off for so long. It seemed orchestrated to annoy her, but this…

She nervously fingers the lace choker around her neck, blushing under his adoring gaze. She opens her mouth to thank him, but then he goes and ruins everything.

“Your hair looks gorgeous in a chignon like that,” he whispers, as if it’s their own private joke.

It is Chat and Marinette’s private joke, and her brain has finally decided that this is definitely just Adrien Agreste screwing with her.

“You should wear it like that more often,” he adds in a voice so low, she’s the only one who can hear it.

He reaches out and takes the chin-length bang that is always out of place, pressing a reverent kiss to it.

That is it.

Marinette emits a high-pitched noise akin to a boiling teapot, causing Adrien to jerk back in concern.

“Princess? I’m sorry. I—”

“—I’m going to kick you in the shin,” Marinette announces coolly.

Adrien only has enough time to blink in confusion and get out half a “Wha—?” before she makes good on her threat.

Adrien yelps as her foot makes contact with his shin. “What the hell?!” he squawks.

“You don’t get to say ‘what the hell’!” Marinette snaps. “I get to say ‘what the hell’! What the hell, Adrien Agreste?!” She punctuates the question with a one-handed shove to his chest.

“Princess,” he attempts to placate, but she’s having none of it.

“Don’t call me that!” she squeaks. “There’s only one person allowed to call me that, and you’re NOT him, Adrien Agreste, so just cut it the hell out! I’m so sick of you two!” She shoves him again, and he takes it. “I’m sick of this game!”

“It’s not a game!” Adrien snaps back, the frustration finally coming to a head. He steps forward. “Maybe I’m sick of you. Maybe I’m fed up with the way you smile and laugh with him and burst into tears with me. Maybe I’m jealous.” He steps forward again, forcing her either to retreat or come chest to chest with him.

Marinette does not back down. She leans into him, hands going to her hips as she presses forward, the length of her body flush against his. It’s a tug of war she does not intend to lose. She will push him over before she allows herself to lose ground.

“Oh, you’re jealous?” she hisses. “What? Do you want me to scratch behind your ear and call you pet names too?”

She reaches up and does just that, and she feels his body soften, some of the tension evaporating at her touch.

“Hmm? How’s that, Minou?” She says it gently, but there are obviously barbs in her words. “Does that sooth your bruised ego?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath as she trails a hand down his neck.

“Hmm?” she prompts. “Is that better, Minou? Is this what you want?”

“I want you to see me,” he mutters, feeling all kinds of confused. His brain is scrambled.

“Why? You’ve never seen me,” she retorts with another shove. “Where do you get off being jealous anyhow?” She’s snapping again. “Two weeks ago you had zero interest in me. Now, now that your friend or your brother or your cousin or whoever likes me, now I’m suddenly worth paying attention to? You’re not really interested in me, Adrien. You’re just throwing a childish fit, so kindly cut it the hell out.” She punctuates her words with a fourth shove.

He doesn’t budge. He presses harder, almost managing to knock her back. Despite his height and weight advantage, Marinette is strong, and she stands firm.

He grits his teeth. “Listen here, Beautiful. I—”

“—Okay, okay. Enough!” Nino shouts, physically picking Marinette up and moving her so that he can come between them.

Adrien nearly falls over, and Marinette gives an undignified squawk.

“Al, put your damn phone down and stop filming. The rest of you, stop gawking. There’s nothing to see here,” Nino instructs, bristling at the rubberneckers.

He turns back to Adrien and Marinette and glares. “Breathe. The both of you.”

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, but Nino cuts her off with a look and a warning finger in her face. “Don’t get akumatized.”

Marinette audibly begins to breathe deeply.

Nino turns to Adrien with a sympathetic look. “You too, Mec.”

Adrien gazes back miserably like a chastened puppy.

“It’s okay, Mec,” Nino coaxes. “She doesn’t hate you. We’ll fix this, so just breathe and don’t get akumatized. That’s your job right now.”

Adrien nods and forces himself to keep inhaling and exhaling in a steady rhythm. He doesn’t dare look at Marinette.

“Okay,” Nino interrupts the breathing exercise a minute later, resting one hand on Marinette’s arm and the other on Adrien’s. “I think the lady gets an apology first. Adrien, please apologize to Marinette for this stunt.”

Adrien crumples, voice low, soft, and thoroughly beaten. “I’m sorry, Marinette. This was stupid. I should have known you wouldn’t react positively. I was just kidding myself thinking this would end well.”

Nino nods, satisfied. “Marinette, Adrien is sorry that he upset you. What do you say?”

She looks dumbly at one of her oldest friends. This feels like a test she hasn’t studied for. “…I…What do you want me to say? I’m still mad. He’s being childish and objectifying me. I’m not some prize for him to fight Chat over. I deserve more consideration than that, and he wasn’t remotely interested in me before a week ago. I’m…I’m still mad.”

Nino takes a long inhale, trying to be patient. “Pot.” He pokes her on the cheek. “Kettle.” He indicates Adrien. “Marinette, look at him.”

Adrien tries to melt through the floor. He wants to escape because he can feel her eyes on him, and they burn.

Nino lowers his voice even further so that only the three of them can hear. “Marinette, give him a break. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He wants your attention. He wants you not to hate him. He spent the first thirteen years of his life locked up in a mansion with very little contact with people his own age. He’s dealing with a steep learning curve, and I’d say he’s doing pretty good. Can you imagine how hard it would be to act normal when you have very little conception of what normal is? You have a hard enough time in life with a supportive family and friends who love you. You’ve got to admit that Adrien’s playing with the deck stacked against him. Show a little mercy, will ya? He’s just trying to get you to like him, yeah?”

“I do like him,” Marinette grumbles, cheeks red as she looks away from Adrien’s cowering form. “I like him when he’s my friend Adrien, not when he’s badly imitating my friend Chat.”

Nino internally counts to three. “Okay. That’s fair. I’m in no way saying you don’t have any reason to be upset. I realize that it’s been a very emotional week, but I think right now that you’re not being fair to Adrien.”

Marinette cocks an eyebrow but waits patiently for Nino to continue.

“Let’s do a thought experiment,” Nino proposes as if talking to a room full of rowdy elementary school students. “Marinette, last week, Monday morning, if I had asked you, ‘Marinette, what do you think of Chat Noir romantically?’ what would you have said?”

Marinette’s face goes pale, and she steps back, away from Nino and closer to the lockers, crossing her arms. “I-I don’t know,” she answers cagily.

“I call bull,” Nino scoffs. “You know what you would have said. You would have told me, ‘Not in a thousand years’ and that there was someone else. And now, one week later, I hear from Alya that you two are already planning your wedding. If you can change your mind in one week, why can’t Adrien?”

“…Oh,” Marinette barely manages to meep out. All color has completely drained out of her cheeks, and she’s looking a little unsteady.

“Yes,” Nino laughs without mirth. “‘Oh’. Now, do you really think your friend Adrien would ever objectify you? Turn you into a trophy to fight some other guy over? Do you really think he’s just being childish right now?”

“No,” Marinette whispers down at her feet. “But if he isn’t…then I don’t know what to think at the moment.”

“Well then, it sounds like you have some thinking to do, don’t you?” Nino announces, voice going gentle. He doesn’t want to push her too hard and doom Paris because of it, so he’s backing off a little but not letting her completely off the hook yet.

She nods obediently, eyes wide and horrified at the discovery of her own hypocrisy. Helpfully, her mind calls up all the times she ever hurt Chat as Ladybug, adding on to the guilt pile.

“Now,” Nino coaxes. “You’re allowed to be sore about it in private, but Adrien just told you he was sorry for upsetting you. What do you say, Marinette?”

“Stop,” Adrien insists, firmly but kindly, as he steps between Nino and Marinette, shielding her. “Thanks, Nino, but she’s fine. You’re just upsetting her. She doesn’t have to apologize to me. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I mean, I’m the one who started it.”

“God, I’m such a witch,” Marinette mumbles, only half cognizant of what’s going on around her.

Adrien turns and takes her by the shoulders. “Princess, you are not. You are one of the most spectacular human beings I’ve ever met.”

She shakes her head sadly. “How can you say that when I’ve been nothing but awful to you for going on a week now? Why can’t you just be mad at me?”

“I am mad,” Adrien confesses. “I’m just more smitten than mad most of the time.”

Marinette lets out an enormous groan, bringing her head down to rest on his shoulder. “You two have got to be related; you sound just like him.”

She peeks up tentatively. “I need to sit you down and confess my sins against you at length sometime. You won’t find me nearly so wonderful after that.”

His hands slide down her arms to hold her hands loosely, careful not to damage the rose still gripped in her palm.

“Try me,” he dares her, words feather light in her ear.

She shakes her head. “Too much of a scaredy-cat right now. Maybe later today. Maybe tomorrow…. Maybe never.”

Marinette steps back, slowly pulling away from him. “I’m really sorry, Adrien. Thank you for the rose.”

He catches her hand and brings it to his lips. “I’ve already forgiven you, Marinette. Try to forgive yourself.”

She sighs loudly and pulls her hand away again. “How are you so good?” Tears begin to sting her eyes as she reaches out and rings the bell on his choker. “Stop being so good, Minou.”

His brain momentarily goes offline as he thinks that he’ll be just as bad as she wants him to be if she’ll only do that again.

“You’re such a lightweight, Agreste,” he mentally chides.

“You’re so good,” she repeats, the tears beginning to fall.

He reaches out in alarm to wipe at the tears, but she smiles and waves his hands away gently.

“And I can’t be around you right now, but that doesn’t mean I hate you, okay? Excuse me.”

She bolts across the locker room and yanks her locker open with a strange desperation.

The recording of the day starts up, and the tension abruptly leaves Marinette’s body. The tears dry up, and she smiles lovingly at the sound of Chat’s voice.

The scene makes Adrien feel weak at the knees because she’s making that face for him, because of him.

“Hey, Beautiful!” the Chat in the recording greets, and she perks up. “Good Morning.”

Chat does help. Chat does make a difference…and, maybe, if Adrien keeps working on it, maybe Adrien can too.

“It’s actually two in the morning right now, and guess what I’m doing?” the Chat recording continues.

“Not sleeping,” Marinette scoffs, grabbing her English text out of her locker.

“Right. Not sleeping,” Chat sighs.

Marinette giggles, and Alya comes over to join her. “Even though you said you were exhausted last night?”

“I know I was complaining about how exhausted I was, but now that I’m home, I’m wide awake.”

“Why?” Marinette inquires during the brief pause.

“…I’m actually kind of nervous about seeing you tomorrow,” Chat’s disembodied voice confesses, causing Marinette to pause and frown.

“You’re either going to know it’s me right away and probably hit me…or you’re not, and that’s going to suck…. But you’re all here for the music, not to stand around and listen to me talk. This one is super annoying. If you’ve seen me, you can hit me. If not, think of having this song stuck in your head all day as your punishment.”

Marinette winces.

“I’m just kidding, Marinette,” Chat laughs, and Adrien can definitely tell that he did this at two AM. “I love you.”

There is a collective gasp in the locker room, and many students begin to cheer. Rose is actually jumping up and down while Kim begrudgingly hands Alix ten euros, obviously having lost a bet concerning Marinette and Chat’s love life.

“This is Elle Me Dit by Mika,” Chat announces, and then the music starts.

Amid the general commotion, Nino turns to Adrien and gives him a funny look.

Adrien barely notices. He’s too busy watching Marinette.

“Mec?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Your voices are really similar,” Nino remarks, giving Adrien a thoughtful stare.

Adrien isn’t paying attention. “Whose?”

“Your voice and Chat’s voice,” Nino expounds upon his comment.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t hear my voice outside of my own skull often.” Adrien shrugs, throat beginning to tighten as Marinette slowly scans the room, obviously looking for him. “Is it bad that I sound like Chat?”

Nino shakes his head, letting go of the peculiar thought. “No. It’s just…an odd coincidence.”

Adrien hums thoughtfully starting to fidget as Marinette’s eyes come closer and closer to finding his own. “Would you still think it was odd if I told you we’re related?”

Nino blinks. “Oh. Like how Noël is supposedly starting to sound like me when he picks up the phone.”

Only Nino is not aware of Adrien having any relatives. In fact, Adrien has specifically told him before that his parents were both only children, so that rules out the possibility of cousins. This bothers Nino.

Marinette’s eyes finally come to rest upon Adrien, and they pause there for a second.

He gives her his best smile, hoping she notices how she makes him light up from within.

Marinette smiles fondly and gives a soft laugh before resuming her scan.

Adrien’s heart plummets.

It doesn’t look like it’s happening today.

He sighs, crestfallen.

Nino abandons his conspiracy theories to raise an eyebrow in concern at Adrien. “Everything okay, Dude?”

Adrien shakes his head. “This is Ladybug all over again. I’m going to wind up in the friend zone my entire life, and this is just me struggling futilely before giving up, resigning myself to my fate.”

Nino takes Adrien by the shoulders and forces Adrien to face him. “Mec…drama much? Don’t think that way. She…” Nino doesn’t know where he’s going with this, doesn’t know what to say to make it better for Adrien without outright lying. “…Wanna skip class and go get ice cream right now?”

Adrien laughs hollowly. “I’m actually partial to pastries over ice cream. I would live on Tom and Sabine’s pain au chocolat, given the opportunity.”

“Let’s go,” Nino prompts, slapping Adrien on the back. “Come on. Right now. It’s literally next door; we’ll be back before anyone misses us.”

Adrien shakes his head slowly. “Maybe some other time. I kind of just want to stand here and feel miserable watching her.”

Nino sighs, giving Adrien’s arm two condoling pats.

Marinette finishes her scan, looking about as disappointed as Adrien feels. She blows out a sigh as she pulls out her phone.

Adrien’s pocket vibrates, and his heart soars.

“Secret girlfriend?” Nino grumbles.

“Secret girlfriend,” Adrien giggles, suddenly feeling like he can walk on air.

“I love you too, Minou,” says Marinette’s first text. The others follow shortly: “I’m so sorry I’m disappointing you.” “Hang in there.” “I’ll find you soon.”

Adrien hurriedly types back, “You could never disappoint me, Princess. I’ll be waiting as long as it takes.”

He looks up to see her smile, seemingly reassured by his response.

“Are you texting Marinette?” Nino wonders, looking back and forth between the two.

“Didn’t we have this fight yesterday?” Adrien pouts.

Nino puts his hands up in surrender and lets it drop.

Adrien looks back down at his flip phone and adds, “Your hair looks gorgeous in a chignon like that.”

Marinette chuckles, touching her hair self-consciously. “Thank you!” she replies.

She glances up and looks around, giving the search another try.

Their gazes lock for a second once more, and Adrien takes the opportunity to smile and wave, betting he looks utterly ridiculous. He can’t bring himself to care.

She gives him a funny look, but she smiles and sends a petite wave right back at him.

“I am doomed,” Adrien sighs happily.

“I’ll say,” Nino groans, inwardly beginning to plot. He’s going to do his best to make things right for Adrien, even if he has to stoop to some Alya-level scheming to accomplish it.

Somehow, Nino doubts he is actually capable of accomplishing Alya-level anything.

He might need the real Alya’s help with this.

[winetae]

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic. 

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time. 

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her. 

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on. 

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting. 

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts. 

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

.

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits. 

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap. 

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either. 

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time. 

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list. 

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth. 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.” 

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull. 

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

.

[Day 24 of lockdown.] 

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

.

[Day 38 of lockdown.] 

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet. 

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity. 

Ugh. 

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never. 

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice. 

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage. 

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page. 

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive. 

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only. 

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet. 

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd. 

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry. 

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing. 

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion? 

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others. 

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject. 

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic. 

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back. 

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life. 

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money. 

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point. 

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances. 

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really? 

Fuck it. 

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now. 

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS! 

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE. 

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less). 

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a  Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

[nokomiss]

Gonna take this as an opportunity to request a rare pair. Either May/Tony or May/Rhodey for “volunteer chaperones”

It was a mistake. A complete, total, absolute mistake. May was never, ever doing this again.

She looked around, overwhelmed. Yep. She was still surrounded by teenagers armed with battle robots they’d built themselves.  Allegedly they were all to remain at their workstations with proper protective equipment, but they were teenagers. They were absolutely not going to wait until the competition to try out their lasers and saws on each other.  

“Peter, I’m gonna tap out,” May said, trying not to wince as Peter’s robot unfurled a whirring blade and attempted to cut a piece of lumber in half.  “I’ve gone through too much to watch you chop off a thumb now.”

“My thumb is nowhere near the blade,” Peter said, waving his hands in a manner she supposed was meant to be reassuring. “Besides, you never know, it could grow back.”  He gave her a shit-eating grin, and May nobly managed to refrain from calling her kid an asshole.

“Chaperones are allowed coffee breaks, right?” May looked longingly towards the exit. 

“You’re supposed to supervise me the whole time I am engaging the robot,” Peter recited, making air quotes with his fingers. “It’s in the Teen Battle Robot Competition handbook.”

May rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops. Cover for me.”

“May!” Peter hissed, adorably frazzled for someone who fought crime on the regular.  She ignored him and wove her way through the crowd, trying not to focus on the terrifying murder robots the children were creating all around her. This was so seriously not her thing. She slipped on her sunglasses and headed out the door, aiming for the nearest coffee shop.

She aimed to be gone for ten minutes, though thanks to the line and the fact that she really didn’t want to return to robot hell immediately, it stretched out past half an hour. She finally returned, iced coffee in hand, pushing through the door while scanning the room for Peter.

Instead she ran directly into someone.  Her hand holding the coffee bumped into her chest, covering her top with iced coffee.

“Shit!.” She shook droplets of coffee off her hand as she transferred the cup to her dry hand, and patted at her shirt with the napkin she’d had wrapped around the cup. 

“By all means, save the shirt, screw the bystander.”

It couldn’t be. May looked slowly up, still dabbing the napkin at her chest, to see Tony Stark standing there, grinning at her.

“What are you doing here?” Crap, that was rude. May tried not to be rude to Tony, because while he could be supremely irritating and smug, he had done things for her kid that she could never repay him for.  But… what was he doing here? And dressed like, well.. A farmer. She quietly chose not to question it too much. Besides, this was her time with Peter, as ill-suited to the outing as she might be.

“Same as you, I assume,” Tony said, flagging down someone who magically had a towel on hand. He offered it to her with a, “I can help if you want.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, thanks,” May said, but she accepted the towel. She dried up the worst of the spill -- it was sheer luck that she was wearing a dark top that wouldn’t stain, merely clung to her damply. Tony seemed to appreciate it, though she raised an eyebrow at him when she noticed him looking.  He had the decency to quit immediately. 

May didn’t love the idea of Tony popping in and taking over her time with Peter, though, no matter how little she was enjoying the killer robots. It was exactly up his alley, and she should bow gracefully out, but… “I hope you aren’t here to be Peter’s chaperone. I’ve got that covered.”

“And bless you for it, that kid is a disaster,” Tony said fondly. “I’m here for that sarcastic little bastard over there.”  He gestured towards a kid in a faded AC/DC shirt who was using a controller to aim what appeared to be a ray gun mounted atop his robot at the ceiling.

“You don’t have a kid,” May said with certainty.

“Nope,” Tony agreed. “But Harley’s a kid I watch out for, and he’s almost as bright as your kid.”

Pride laced his words, and he was watching the boy with a soft fondness that made May feel immediately guilty for her own possessiveness moments before. She of all people should understand the bond you could forge with a child not of your own blood, and know the legitimacy of such a bond. 

“He have superpowers too?”  

“Nope, and it’s probably a good thing,” Tony said cheerfully. “Think Peter will notice I’m here?”

“You think he hasn’t already?” May said. It was the right answer, Tony’s eyes lit up in a genuine way that made it clear to her how often she saw him playacting at happiness.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Harley,” Tony offered. “Unless you want me to get you out of those wet clothes first?” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so over-the-top that May just laughed.

“Shockingly I didn’t bring a wardrobe change to a day outing. It’ll dry.”  Hopefully she wouldn’t smell too awful when it did.  

“Here.” Tony shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders like a letterman’s jacket before she could think to protest.  Despite the rough material, it was warm and smelled like Tony  -- expensive and a little much -- but May didn’t take it off.

She didn’t even want to, which… was something she would have to examine more closely.  She was no stranger to gallant gestures, and she didn’t normally accept them from people she wasn’t interested in.  Tony was a force of nature, she told herself. He wouldn’t accept it back even if you tried.

Plus, there were way too many teenage boys in the room for her to really want to walk around in a cold, wet shirt that clung uncomfortably. 

Tony flung his arm over her shoulder, apparently deciding that if his jacket was allowed to do so, so was he, and he led her over to the kid he’d claimed.  

Harley was the polar opposite from Peter -- confident, sarcastic in a biting way, and treated Tony like he was any other human being. It was a sharp contrast to the hero worship Peter tended towards, and the shyness and sweetness that she was always worried was going to be worn away by the world they lived in.  But watching Harley and Tony together made it obvious that deep down Harley was another kid who had been given the short stick by life and was trying his best to carve his own path through it.  

Harley also kept giving her what could only kindly be called the stink eye. It took her a moment to work out why -- he’d watched Tony stroll up with his arm around her shoulder, she was wearing Tony’s jacket like they were going steady, and it was fairly obvious that her expertise was not in mechanical engineering.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the kid was assuming about her, and May couldn’t figure out a casual way to tell him how very wrong he was. Finally she settled on, “I gotta go see how Peter’s robot is coming along.”

“You know he’s actually lined up to battle Harley’s robot,” Tony said, and it was obvious from Harley’s confused expression that Tony had not divulged his connection with the competition. 

He looked back and forth between them. “Who’s this Peter kid?”

“An intern,” Tony replied smoothly.

Harley was clearly not satisfied with this answer. “You’ve never offered me an internship.”

“This is a different thing,” Tony replied. May winced; Tony was entirely too new to managing teenagers to understand what he’d just done.  Harley’s expression darkened and May knew without a doubt that Peter’s robot was a dead machine rolling.

“I’m just going to head back over there,” May said, gesturing vaguely towards Peter’s distant station and hurrying off before she got somehow wrapped up in the argument Harley was about to start.

She hustled off, and only realized she was still wearing Tony’s jacket with Peter raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I ran into Tony -- literally--  and dumped my coffee on myself,” she explained. 

“Very, uh, gentlemanly of him to offer his coat,” Peter said,. “And why was he even here? He hasn’t said hi to me.” He checked his phone, where she could only see messages from Ned bemoaning his parents for choosing this weekend for a family trip.

“Apparently,” May said, stretching out the word to show it was news to her, too, “he’s mentoring a kid in this competition. I didn’t get the details.”

May marvelled as Peter’s expression  became a mirror for one Harley had worn moments before. Tony really knew how to pick ‘em.

“What? What kid?” Peter stood on his tippy-toes, looking around to try to spot Tony. His expression darkened even more when he found him. “That kid? He’s the three-time champion! Last year his robot managed to freeze and set his opponent on fire simultaneously!”

May’s eyebrows raised. “You know him?”

“Some other kids were talking about him earlier,” Peter explained. “They somehow didn’t mention that Tony was with him.”

May thought back to Tony’s appearance and he had appeared more low-key than usual. The jacket she was still wearing was denim, which… she wouldn’t have thought was in Tony’s wardrobe at all, honestly. “I think he’s in disguise.”

“Huh,” Peter said. “I didn’t know he knew how to do that.”

“To be fair, I only realized it in retrospect.”  May shrugged. “I think the fact that he isn’t announcing his presence is doing most of the disguise work for him. No one would believe Tony Stark would show up at a battle robot competition and not try to win.”

“He is though,” Peter said darkly. “With that kid.”

“Well,” May said, looking at Peter’s robot, “guess we just have to kick that kid’s ass.”

Peter grinned. 

An hour later -- and the time seemed to magically fly by much faster than before, now that May had a goal in mind -- it was time for Peter’s first battle. He wasn’t up against Harley until the third round, and May felt a little proud that Tony had assumed Peter would make it through to the finals without any help. Her boy was brilliant, and it always gave her a warm feeling when others acknowledged it, too. 

Especially Tony, but she would never, ever tell him that.

Peter’s robot destroyed his competition in under a minute, and twenty minutes later, in his semifinal round, he took out a robot that seemed to be made entirely of buzzsaws in an agonizing three minute match.  

He won, though, and they settled in to watch the competition. Harley’s robot had destroyed his first competitor in thirty seconds, and in this battle, he revealed that he’d somehow installed a flame launcher on the underside that melted the wiring on the robot he was fighting in the semifinal.

Finally, it came down to Harley and Peter. Tony was beaming proudly, and May had no idea how anyone failed to notice it was him, flannel or no. 

“Kick his ass, kiddo,” May told Peter encouragingly. “You’ve got this.”

Peter gave her a double-thumbs up, and marched into battle.

May slid over to where Tony was watching, standing shoulder to shoulder with him as their kids prepared to destroy each other. “Hope you’re prepared for defeat.”

“You know I can’t pick favorites,” Tony said, “except for how there’s no chance in hell that Harley’s not gonna win this.”

“Wanna bet?” May said teasingly.

“Why, Ms. Parker, I wouldn’t have taken you for a gambling woman, but yes, yes I do,” Tony said. “My kid wins, I get to take you out for that dinner.”  

Tony had been threatening to take her out to dinner for months. “And if my kid wins?” she asked.

“Why, you have to take me out, of course. Terms have to be fair.”  Tony’s grin should make her want to smack him, but May had found that the bastard tended to grow on you. 

She considered it half a moment, but… what the hell. She held out her hand to shake on it.

When she turned back to the rink, she noticed that both Peter and Harley were giving them the stinkeye, even as the ref counted down for the battle to begin.

Once it did, there was absolute carnage. May saw a streak of fluid that looked alarmingly like blood arc through the air after a saw unfurled off Peter’s robot and surprise-attacked Harley’s. Then as Harley’s robot retaliated, there was fire and sparks. When the smoke cleared, both robots were incapacitated.

“A tie!” declared the ref, much to the disappointment of both boys.

May glanced over at Tony. “Guess it’s a draw.”

“So we have to do two dinners, obviously,” Tony said without skipping a beat. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harley and Peter turn towards each other, and she was proud to see Peter offer Harley a handshake. A moment’s hesitation, eyes cast towards Tony, but Harley shook firmly.  She had a feeling that was not going to turn out great for Tony.

“It’s a date.”  Tony continued, looking so overly confident that May knew that he was hoping that she’d agree.

May’s attention crashed back into focus on the man in front of her.  This could go so very badly, and there was Peter to think about, for when things inevitably crashed and burned, but…

May had made most of her best decisions in life on impulse, and she knew what she wanted to say. “Pick me up at seven.”

[bee-kathony]

“Your Nose is Blue” - Jamie and Claire 

This is my ‘One Quote, One Shot’ fic, thank you @balfeheughlywed and @notevenjokingfic for organizing this! nswf at the end 

My quote is: “Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.” He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?” 

Lallybroch December 8th, 1743

Snow had been falling every day since the first of December. Jamie and I had been at Lallybroch for almost two months, and it had been the happiest two months of our entire marriage. Granted, we hadn’t been married very long, but there was a simplicity with Jamie at his childhood home that we hadn’t found anywhere else.

I relished in every story that Jamie told me about growing up here. Even the ones that didn’t favor him in a good light — him and Ian sneaking away, getting into all kinds of mischief which led them to both be disciplined by Jamie’s father. I wondered what it would be like if both of Jamie’s parents were still alive, much in the same way I wondered the same about my own.

His sister, Jenny had been wary of me at first, and I didn’t blame her. I was a stranger who had come into her home, wed to her younger brother — I’d be cautious too. But over the past few weeks, we had grown close and I began to consider her my own sister.

I was still getting used to the idea of settling down and making a life here. There were still mornings when I would wake up and forget what century I was in. When I looked over to see Jamie, his hands folded across his stomach, and a small smile on his lips, I was grateful to be here — with him.

It was another chilly morning, much like it had been the past several days. My toes were ice cold and I turned over in bed to snuggle up to Jamie. I pressed my feet against him, warming them to his hot skin. He started to squirm, his eyes fluttering open and I felt him wrap his arm around me.

“Ah, Sassenach,” he said groggily. “Yer feet are freezin!”

“Sorry,” I started to pull them away, but he pulled me closer.

“Nah, tis alright,” he grinned, placing a kiss to my forehead. “Twas just a shock this early in the mornin’.”

“Would you be able to go and get some fresh wood for the fire later?” I asked him, resting my head on his chest. The heat radiated off of him, and he knew as well as I did that the fire was for my benefit only.

“Aye,” he said. “I’ll go chop some down after breakfast.”

“Get enough for the whole house if you can,” I looked up at him, tracing my finger along his chin. “I think everyone must be out as well. The whole damn place is freezing!”

“Och,” Jamie turned me in his arms, pressing my back to his chest. “They say a quick way to warm up is to take all yer clothes off and lay yer body next to another.”

“We can’t bloody walk around naked all day,” I laughed. “That only works when we’re in bed. What about the rest of the time?”

Jamie sighed, his hand settling over my stomach. “Hmm, well then I reckon I’ll have to keep ye in my bed all day.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I chuckled, turning my head to look at him, noticing his smug expression. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve seen you ever lay in bed all day. You’re constantly doing things around the stables or with Ian.”

“Aye, yer right about that.” His hand moved along my arm, fingers lightly tracing my skin. “There’s much to do, even wi’ the snow. Ah!” He suddenly shouted in my ear. “Ye can help Jenny wi’ the clickit. I saw her start a new scarf just yesterday.”

“Clickit?” I asked, turning back to look at him. His brows rose near his hairline and he rose to his perch himself on his elbow, staring down at me like I’d just cursed his mother’s grave.

“Claire,” he said incredulously. “Are ye tellin’ me ye canna clickit at all?”

I shook my head, twisting to lie flat on my back.

“And what did ye do for your winter stockings in yer time, then?”

“Bought them,” I said simply.

He looked from me and then out the window, “Well, I dinna see any shops about, I suppose ye’d best learn, aye?”

“I suppose so,” I eyed him dubiously.

“Tis no’ that hard, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head. “Once we go downstairs, I’ll show ye how to get ye started.”

“You can clickit?” I asked, surprised.

“Well of course I can,” he laughed. “I’ve known how to clickit wi’ needles since I was seven years old. Do they no’ teach bairns anythin’ in your time, Sassenach?”

I thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. “Sometimes they teach little girls to do needlework, but not the boys.”

“Tis no’ fine needlework, Sassenach,” Jamie sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up to his waist. “Just simple knitting.”

Muttering under his breath about raising children the proper way, he climbed out of bed, stark naked in search for his sark. Once he found it, he shrugged it over his shoulders, now grabbing his kilt.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” I asked, admiring him from bed, my arms stretched above my head.

Jamie came over to me, looking down with both hands on his hips, kilt still in one hand. “There’s no time to waste, Sassenach. Ye’ve gone this long w’out learnin’ how to clickit, tis time for yer teachin’ to begin.”

“But breakfast,” I said, rolling over in bed and then I felt something land on top of me — it was my shift. He was bloody serious about me learning how to clickit, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I got dressed, watching the puzzled looks that crossed his face every now and then. There were a handful of times that I wished it were possible for Jamie to travel through the stones — if only to see what my time was really like, how things were different.

Once we were both dressed, Jamie led us downstairs where he proceeded to tell the whole household about my clickit skills — or lack thereof.

“What do ye mean she canna clickit?” Jenny asked, pausing from serving bowls of porridge on the table.

“Claire was never taught it as bairn,” Jamie shook his head, taking his seat at the table. I followed, feeling embarrassed at my lack of knitting knowledge. It just wasn’t a skill I had ever needed. When I wanted to wear something warm, I would buy it — necessity was the mother of invention and in my time, shops were invented so we didn’t have to knit.

“Well, I ken what we’re doin’ today,” Jenny said and shoveled porridge into my bowl.

++++++

It was an hour later, and I was sitting with Jenny in the living room, my fingers cold and feeling strained. Both Jenny and Jamie had explained it to me — draw the thread out of the closed fist, make a loop around your thumb, slip it into the needle and you cast a row. It looked simple enough, but every time I tried, it all came apart.

After watching me fail again and again, Jamie had shrugged, and left me in Jenny’s capable hands while he went to fetch firewood.

“Maybe by next Christmas I’ll have managed a small scarf,” I said helplessly. “I’m quite skilled with a knife or needle, but only when it comes to flesh, not knitting.”

“Och, ye’ll get the hang of it, Claire,” Jenny smiled, her fingers working quickly on her own scarf. She had no trouble at all casting a row, and I tried to watch, but my brain and hands couldn’t work together in that way.

I set aside my mess of a scarf, and picked up a bit of yarn, rolling it into a neat ball. In the winter, there wasn’t so much to do outside of the house besides tending to the animals. My hands were itching to hold a real needle in them or dig up the earth for planting. It was no wonder so many babies were made in the winter months — there wasn’t anything else that could be done!

“I think I’m going to go and lie down for awhile,” I said and stood up. “Will you tell Jamie when he comes back that I’m upstairs?”

“Aye, of course,” she smiled. “I expect he’ll be back soon wi’ the fresh wood. We could use it, looks like it’ll be a cold one again tonight.”

I left Jenny in the living room, and rubbed my hands together for warmth as I walked up the stairs. I wanted Jamie to hurry up and come back, not only for the warmth of the fire, but for the warmth of holding him next to me.

Climbing into bed, I pulled up the layers of sheets and quilts to my neck to try and get warm. My teeth were chattering, and I pulled the quilt above my head, hoping sleep would take me under.

What felt like a minute later, my eyes opened to see the sun’s shadow in a different place. It must have been an hour or more since I’d come up for a nap. The room was quiet, and the fire wasn’t lit which meant Jamie hadn’t come back yet.

Brushing my hand across my face, I rose out of the bed and walked downstairs in search of Jamie. Jenny was gone, her knitting needles stored in the basket near the couch. The fire in the main room wasn’t lit either.

“Jamie?” I called out.

Noise came from the kitchen and I followed it.

“Has Jamie come back yet?” I asked Jenny as she poured herself a cup of hot tea.

“No, I was just startin’ to grow worrit for him myself. The wee numptie should have been back by now,” Jenny shook her head. “He kens this land like the back of his own hand, so I dinna think he would be gettin’ lost.”

“Do you know where he would have gone to cut the wood?” I asked, already looking around for my wool cloak.

“Tis just back behind the house, near the tree line.” Jenny looked up from her cup of tea to find me tying my cloak on, and stepping into my shoes. “Oh, Claire, ye canna be thinkin’ about goin’ to find him. Ye’ll freeze!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about with Jamie,” I said. “If I can’t find him, I’ll come back. And if I’m out there too long, come and find me.”  

I heard Jenny mutter something under her breath about being stubborn and I laughed — she was one to talk, the other half of the Fraser siblings.

It must have still been early afternoon, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t freezing. My breath puffed out in front of me and I began walking in the direction of the tree line behind the house. It was a ways back, and I hoped for Jamie’s sake he had thought to take his coat and gloves.

“Foolish man,” I muttered, stepping through the snow. There were a few possibilities of his lateness running through my head and none of them good. Looking up to the sky, I could tell that it would snow soon — I could practically smell it in the air.

I crossed through the trees, trying to keep an eye out for a mop of red hair. Jenny said he wouldn’t go too deep into the woods, and so I turned to my right, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Jamie?” I called out, placing both my hands to my mouth to make the sound carry.

There was no answer, and I couldn’t help but think of all the horrible things that could have happened to him. A sound came from my left and I looked to see a small grey rabbit hopping through the brush. For some reason, I decided to follow it.

“Are you going to lead me to my husband little rabbit?” I said out loud and immediately rolled my eyes. Talking to rabbits now, Beauchamp.

I continued to follow the rabbit, pausing when it would stop to munch on a leaf of grass or scratch behind its ear. Soon, it stopped and jumped behind a bush. My eyes traveled upwards and that’s when I saw him.

“Jamie!”

He was lying on his side, the ax near his hand and pile of wood at his feet. I ran to him, picking up my skirts so I wouldn’t trip and end up in the same state as him.

“Jamie,” I crouched down to my knees, both hands flying over his body. My fingers were at his neck, checking for a pulse and I sighed whenever I felt that steady beat. His cheeks were pale and his lips blue, much like the rest of him. I glanced down and saw that he’d taken his boots off and the tips of his toes were blue.

“Oh, please wake up,” I knelt over his body, pulling my cloak to cover him. When I pushed back my hand over his forehead, I saw blood congealed on the side of his head. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

I checked him for other injuries, and determined it was only his head that had received the brunt of it. Most likely, he’d knocked himself in the head with the ax, and that thought did make me grin, but only briefly.

Trying to recall all my knowledge about hypothermia, I remembered that body heat was one of the best ways to revive someone. I sat up, pulling off my cloak and started to undress, hastily pulling at the laces of my bodice — I needed to lie with him, to save him in any way I could.

Just as I was about to lift my dress off over my head, I heard a groan from the body underneath me.

“Sassenach,” he said groggily and my hands dropped, covering his cheeks. I pressed my head to his, catching my breath for the first time since I’d found him.

“Oh thank God!”

“Claire,” he said a little louder. “What the devil are ye doin’ wi’ yer laces undone?”

I looked down at myself, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. “Well, I was going to warm you up — body heat.”

“Aye,” he smirked and then winced as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t move,” I said and forced him back to lie on the ground. “You’ve hit your head and you might have a concussion - er, a blow to your head.”

As he laid back, his brows knitted in discomfort, I began to tie up my laces again, putting myself in order. Thank goodness he had woken when he did because I was ready to take it all off and cover his body with mine.

“Your nose is blue,” I remarked conversationally. I glanced downward. “And so are your feet.”

He grinned and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “So are my balls. Want to warm them for me?” Cold or not, he was plainly in good spirits.

“Perhaps when you aren’t lying in snow and sporting a head with blood,” I smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on the tip of his blue nose. “What we really need to do is get you inside and by a fire.”

“Christ,” he looked over at the pile of firewood. “I dinna think I can manage to make it back like this wi’ the wood.”

“Well, maybe Jenny or Ian could come and collect it,” I said. “I should have thought to bring out a horse, but who would have thought you’d hit yourself with an ax!”

“Is that what I did?” He rubbed at his head, pulling his hand back to look at the blood that covered it now. “I dinna remember it, but I do remember ’twas a bit loose sliding through my hands.”

I slid my hand under his back to help him up into a sitting position. The back of his head was wet with melted snow. Jamie groaned as he moved, placing his head into his hands.

“Are you dizzy?”

“Aye, a wee bit,” he said. “My head feels like it’s been split open.”

“You’ll need to get plenty of water and rest over the next few days,” I told him. “But first things first is getting you out of the snow.”

It took a few tries, but I managed to help him stand up. Swaying a bit on his own, he steadied himself by placing one hand on my shoulder.

“This will be a long journey back inside,” he said and looked down at me.

“It will be with that attitude,” I smirked. “And are you going to tell me what you were doing out here in the snow with your shoes off, hmm?”

As if he had just realized he was barefoot, he looked down. “Och, I guess my feet were gettin’ sweaty and I wanted to feel the cold between my toes.”

“You’re just lucky you didn’t get stuck out here for much longer or you might have caught something called hypothermia and lost both your feet!”

“Tis no’ my feet I’m worrit about losin’,” he touched his crotch, as if checking all the bits were still there.

“Come on,” I laughed, “Let’s go home.”

++++++

It had taken nearly twice as long to get back as it had taken for me to come and find him. Jamie was moving slow, and he was obviously much larger and heavier than me so I found it difficult to support his weight.

When we arrived back to Lallybroch, Jenny and Ian had been waiting.

“Ye hit yerself wi’ an ax?” Jenny asked and I could see a smile forming on her lips.

“Aye,” Jamie scowled. “I dinna want to hear a word about it either.”

“We had to leave the wood he chopped behind,” I told them. “Would someone be able to fetch it and bring it inside?”

“I’ll do it,” Ian said. “I can take Donas out. Ye’ll have left the cart to carry it, I suppose?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “I was just goin’ to pull it back myself, but ye can use a horse since yer no’ as strong as me.”

Ian flashed out his hand, lightly smacking Jamie on the side and laughed, limping away to the stables outside.

“Ye best be glad yer wife was concerned for ye,” Jenny said and came around to slide her arm around Jamie’s waist. “If it were up to me, I might have let ye stay out there all night so ye could learn yer lesson.”

We started to make our way slowly up the stairs, taking them on at a time.

“And what lesson is that?” Jamie asked.

“That ye keep as firm a grip on yer ax as ye would yer cock,” she snorted and I couldn’t help but burst into a laugh. The big heavy scot between us groaned, either in embarrassment or pain — possibly both.

Jamie landed in our bed with a thud, rolling onto his side to avoid the light from the window. Sensing his discomfort, I walked over and shut the blinds until only a sliver of light was left.

“I’ll have Mrs. Crook prepare some soup,” Jenny said. “And I’ll fetch ye another couple of quilts to keep him warm.”

“Could you see if she can make willow bark tea as well?” I asked and Jenny nodded before heading out of the room.

I looked over at Jamie, still shivering under the covers. Sitting down beside him, I ran my fingers over his cheek, which now was much warmer than before.

“You already don’t look so blue,” I commented. “How are those balls of yours?”

Jamie smirked and glanced down between his legs. “They could still do wi’ a bit of warming up.”

“That part of your anatomy is taking a bit longer to to get back to it’s normal body temperature,” I grinned, moving closer to him in bed. He was now rolling over onto his back, and his hair moved aside, showing the blood once again. “But first,” I reached out to touch his head.

Jenny came back with two more quilts and laid them on top of his body, tucking him in as any mother would do. I imagined this wasn’t the first time Jenny had to take care of Jamie after he hurt himself.

I scrounged up a bit of cloth and found my comfrey salve in a small medical chest I had brought from my days at Leoch. Jamie turned his head to the side, allowing me to cleanse his wound and spread the slave over it to help heal it.

“There,” I said and discarded the bloody cloths. “You don’t need any stitches. And I expect you’ll have a bloody good headache for a couple of days, but nothing you can’t handle.”

Jamie was looking up at me, almost innocently and childlike. So often since I’d met him, I had bandaged him and healed his wounds, and every time he had the same expression on his face.

“What?” I asked, moving to sit beside him again.

“I just love havin’ such a fine healer as my wife,” he smiled. “Tis quite useful.”

“You do seem to get into a lot of painful situations,” I laughed and leaned against him, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Sassenach?” He asked a moment later.

“Hmmm?”

“I wasna lyin’ when I said that my balls were still blue,” he said almost sheepishly. “Ever since I woke to find ye half dressed and ready to throw yerself on me, I’ve had half a cock stand.”

“So it’s my fault, hmm?” I glanced over at him, finding blue eyes gazing at me. He was already in such a delicate state — I would have done anything to make him feel better.

“Aye, tis always yer fault,” he admitted and pulled one hand out from under the covers, reaching up to cup my cheek.

Leaning in, I kissed him, tender and slow. He was laying on his back, his head propped up on two pillows. I shifted onto my side, pulling the covers up and over my legs so I could join him in the warmth and hopefully give him some of mine.

My hand settled on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat for a moment before sliding it to rest over his belly. I didn’t have to move my hand much further before I came in contact with his greedy length. Jamie moaned into my mouth, his tongue sliding over my bottom lip as I palmed his cock.

“Sassenach,” he muttered between kisses. He was only wearing a clean sark, having shed his wet clothes before climbing into bed earlier. I pulled the material up and took him fully in my hand. Jamie groaned, his mouth hovering just against mine.

“As your healer, I think it’s only right for me to check on the precise color of those blue balls,” I said against his lips and I felt him twitch in my hand.

“Oh, aye,” he smirked and he was already pushing back the cover to expose himself to me.

I slid down the bed, easily fitting in between his legs and sat on my knees. Gripping his pulsing length in my hand, I ran my fingers up and down twice, watching as his hips flexed. He was trying not to move, his hands gripping the sheets beside him.

“C-christ,” he stuttered as I pressed my thumb over the head, collecting the bit of seed.

“Try not to move,” I said softly. “You wouldn’t want to hurt your head any further.”

“Sassenach, yer tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered between his teeth and then after grazing his blue balls with my hand, I descended on him. I took him eagerly in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. I glanced up to see him watching me, and I felt my own belly light with a fire.

My hand worked in tandem with my mouth and I hollowed my cheeks, sucking deeply. Jamie was moaning, and his hips lifted off the bed, pushing his cock back against my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he was now panting, reaching his hand into my hair and I pulled my lips off of him, briefly licking the tip.

“Don’t apologize,” I smiled before placing a kiss to his head and swiping my tongue along his shaft. My hand slid down easily, pumping him and I twisted my grip, watching as his eyes shut tight. I knew he was close, so I kept my gaze on his face, waiting for that perfect moment.

I wrapped my lips over him, feeling swollen and needy. He tasted salty and whenever I met his gaze, Jamie jerked and came. I had no option but to drink him down, tasting him on my tongue, and lips and I released him with an audible ‘pop’.

Jamie wasted no time in pulling me up to lie on top of his body, his hands coming to grip my sides.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” I said, placing my hands on his chest. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself so soon.”

“Who said anything about me exertin’ myself?” He cocked a brow and reached one hand under my dress, finding my center and rubbing slowly. A few seconds later, I sank down on him, shifting until he was buried inside of me. I leaned over, pressing my lips to his and began to move. He felt so good and warm, filling me in a way that I would never tire of.

Jamie held me close to him, his hands roaming over my back, tugging at my dress. It was no use, my laces were still tied in the front and I began to push back harder on him, searching for a release of my own.

“Uhhh,” I moaned, placing a wet kiss to his cheek and jaw. Jamie’s hands found my arse under my dress, pressing me against him as he lifted his hips. And just so, he hit that spot inside of me and I came with a deep cry. I trembled in his arms, feeling his release inside me and I lay on top of him, knowing I should move to not hurt him.

Carefully, I rolled onto my side, sighing as my head hit the pillow and I lay one arm across his stomach.

“Did that take care of any blue balls?” I asked, biting my lip between my teeth.

Jamie looked over at me, running his finger over my cheek. “Aye, ye’ve taken good care of them, as ye always do.”

“It was my pleasure,” I smiled and leaned over to kiss him. Then I sat up in bed, tugging on my dress and climbed out. Jamie started to protest, but I shushed him, pulling the covers up around him. “Now, you really do need to rest. I’m going to go check on that willow bark tea, and when I come back, there will be no more funny business.”

“Aye, captain,” Jamie pressed his hand to his head and tried to wink. Laughing, I left him on his own to get the tea.

When I came back upstairs, his eyes were closed and his mouth was hung slightly open, a bit of drool dribbling down. I don’t know how he managed to possess all the qualities that made me want to claw at his back one minute and the next, tuck him up and sing him a lullaby.

I took a sip of the tea before sitting it on the bedside table and shed my clothes, crawling into bed naked with him. After all, body heat was the best way to warm up.

[jonsastan]

Jonsa: A Dream of Spring @jonsadreamofspring

Day 6:  Parallels / King and Queen / Memories Aka: Jonsa Homecoming King and Queen Au

If you looked up the term ‘golden child’ in the dictionary you would probably find a picture of Sansa Stark. She was a straight A student, she was considerate of others, she was responsible, she volunteered, and started the school’s composting initiative. She was clever and kind and beautiful. So it really didn’t surprise anyone when she was nominated for Homecoming Queen.

Jon Snow on the other hand wasn’t exactly your typical Homecoming King but he got nominated anyway. 

“It’s probably just some stupid underclassmen that think he has dreamy eyes.” Jeyne said as Sansa stood at her locker pulling out books for her next lesson. “He’s not going to win or anything.” Sansa made a non-committal sound. 

She didn’t really care who won Homecoming King. She didn’t really care if she won Homecoming Queen. It might look good on her applications to university, but it wasn’t like it was her only achievement at school. Jon was in some of her classes and was her brother’s best mate so they knew each other, but they weren’t really friends. Sansa seemed to be involved in every aspect of school life, volunteering, organising, studying, tutoring; but whenever she saw Jon he was either with Robb, Theon, or walking his dog. He wasn’t exactly typical Homecoming King stuff. 

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

“Did you see that you and Jon are in the lead for Homecoming King and Queen?” Robb asked, sitting on the bench next to where Sansa was cooking dinner. Both their parents were working tonight, so Sansa was on cooking duty and Robb on cleaning duty. Arya was on bedtime duty, which never ended well. She told scary stories and then Rickon couldn’t sleep unless he was curled up in Sansa’s bed. 

“Yeah I saw the poll.” She chopped carrots for a moment. “Did you nominate Jon?” She asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Nope, I think it was Theon.” Robb stole a carrot slice from the chopping board. “As a joke. You know Jon, he’s the most awkward introvert in the whole North, so Theon probably thought it would be a laugh to nominate him.”

“That’s kinda mean.”

“That’s Theon.” Robb shrugged and stole another carrot. “I don’t think he realised how much Jon helps people behind the scenes, didn’t realise how popular Jon was, in a quiet kind of way.” Sansa stopped chopping and looked at her twin brother. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, he tutors underclassmen pretty much every afternoon-”

“He’s not at the tuition program.” Sansa objected, her head tilted slightly. 

“He doesn’t like the program, says it’s too focused on ‘improving grades and not actual understanding of the subject’.” Robb made air quotes. “He also helps out at the vet, you know Davos’ vet?” Sansa nodded. “And the animal shelter. He’ll bring extra lunch to school because some kids don’t have any.” Robb shrugged. “And he’s got pretty okay grades.” 

“I didn’t know.” Sansa muttered. 

“Jon doesn’t brag about it.” Robb hopped off the bench and walked over to the fridge, opening it and perusing the contents. “How long ‘til dinner’s ready?” 

“About 20 minutes.” Sansa replied, finishing chopping the carrots. 

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

Sansa petted Lady as she waited in the small room of the vet. Lady needed her shots and Sansa had organised to walk her around alone so her mum and dad could watch Rickon’s lacrosse game. Of course being a lacrosse game for the under 7’s it mostly ended up in one kid hitting the other with the stick. 

Sansa heard the gentle tap at the door and held onto Lady’s leash as the vet nurse entered, even though Lady would never bolt for the door, or jump on someone. She did begin to wag her tail excessively and that’s when Sansa realised it was Jon Snow who seemed to be reading over Lady’s history.

“Hello Lady.” He said, kneeling down and ruffling the dog’s ears. “Hi Sansa.” She couldn’t help but smile slightly at Jon’s priorities. Dogs first, then people.  

“Hey Jon, how are you?” 

“Not bad. Working here a lot. How are you?” He asked, taking the lead from her hand and moving Lady to the fancy table that lowered to the floor then rose to be right height for the vet.

“I’m okay. Trying to get my dress sorted for Homecoming.” 

“Oh right. That’s soon, yeah?” 

“Two weeks.” There was an awkward pause as Jon examined Lady’s teeth and made notes for Davos, the vet. “You have a date?” She asked for want of something to ask. 

“Nope, flying solo. You?” He chuckled before lowering his pen. “Of course you have a date.” He shook his head and smiled slightly. 

“Actually, I don’t. I was thinking about just tagging along with Robb, but he’s got an actual date.” She said feeling a little annoyed at the way he’d said the last comment.

“Yeah, he told me.” 

“He didn’t tell me who!” Sansa exclaimed feeling slightly betrayed by her brother. Probably thought I’d tease him.

“Fryd.” 

“Football Fred or Lacrosse Fryd?” She asked. Jon turned to her. 

“Wynafryd Manderly.”  

“Lacrosse Fryd.” Sansa muttered, nodding her head. 

“She doesn’t play lacrosse.” 

“She’s Rickon’s coach. It’s why Robb has been attending the games with an almost religious fervor.” 

“What about football Fred?” 

“Robb’s been hanging out around the football team more often than usual and Fred Flint is fit.” 

“Makes sense.” Jon nodded and they lapsed into silence for a moment. “So do you maybe wanna go to Homecoming alone together?” He asked, running his hand through hair that was just long enough to tie into a half up style, avoiding looking at her. 

Sansa moved toward Jon and Lady, patting her dog. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiled at him. 

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

“What colour dress are you wearing to Homecoming?” Robb shouted making Sansa jump and her hand jerk causing a harsh black line across her, otherwise perfect, notes. 

“Pink!” She shouted back without much thought. It wasn’t until later, when she was getting ready for bed she wondered by Robb wanted to know. She crossed the hall and tapped on his door. 

“Oi! Why did you want to know what colour dress I’m wearing to Homecoming?” She lent against the doorframe, watching as Robb stuffed books into his school bag. 

“Theon, Jon, and I went to buy corsages and he asked me to stealthily find out your dress colour so he could match the corsage.”

“And shouting it at me is stealthy?” She raised a bemused eyebrow at him. He shrugged. 

“At least your corsage wont clash terribly with your dress.” She nodded in agreement before returning to her room. 

The was sweet of Jon.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa check the contents of her tiny clutch purse for the fourth time in the space of about 5 minutes. 

Phone? Check. Money, just in case? Check. Lipstick? Check. Keys? No! Wait, Jon is driving, you don’t need keys.

She let out a sigh and glanced at the clock. Jon should be arriving any moment. She lifted a leg and examined her sparkly pink shoe, smiling. She liked these shoes, they were bright, and girly, and thoroughly impractical. 

“You look lovely.” She turned and saw Jon standing in the doorway, an awed smile on his face. He wore an all black suit with a pink pocket square, the shade matching her dress exactly. She smiled. 

“Not too shabby yourself.” He reached out a hand to help her stand and she took it, enjoying the warmth of his palm. 

“My dad let me borrow his car for the night so we don’t have to ride in my shit box.” He said, walking her down to the fancy black car. She knew Jon’s dad was rich, he’d have to be to attend Winterfell Prep, but she also knew Jon wasn’t close to him. 

“That was kind.” She offered, not wanting to spark anything negative. 

He opened the passenger door for her. “It was nice.”

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

“Your Homecoming King, Jon Snow and your Homecoming Queen, Sansa Stark will now take the floor!”  The over excited MC announced. 

It was corny, and old fashioned, but a part of Sansa loved the fact that the King and Queen would have a dance as the rest of the class joined in. 

Jon lead her to the middle of the floor. He placed a hand gently on her waist and there was a moment of complete stillness and Sansa was sure Jon could hear the beating of her heart. Then the music began and Jon guided her around the dance floor. 

“You dance surprisingly well.” She commented after a while, noticing Fryd wince slightly as Robb trod on her toes. 

“Thanks.” He smiled gently at her. 

The song ended and was followed by energetic music, more suited to groups than couples. 

“Would you like some punch?” Jon said into her ear, his lips brushing her earlobe. She nodded. He took her hand and led her over to the punch stand, procured two glasses, and gestured to a quiet little alcove not far from them. 

“So how does it feel to be royalty?” She asked, sipping the overly sugary drink. Jon chuckled. “A privilege I neither sought nor wanted. What about you, your grace?” He said with a small bow. Sansa laughed. 

“It’ll look good when I apply for uni I suppose.”

“You didn’t want to be queen?” He asked looking surprised.

“No, it wasn’t exactly the ambition of my high school career.” She shrugged. “But my mother did say I have the perfect shaped head for a tiara.” Jon laughed at this before taking a sip of his own drink. She noticed a droplet of punch clinging to his lip and had an impulse to kiss it off. 

Jon was sweeter than she’d realised, kinder too. He thought of others first and was considerate of those around him. And he looked great in a suit. 

“So do you think people understand our whole ‘going alone together’ thing?” She asked as a means of distracting herself from Jon’s lips. He looked at his shoes before answering her. 

“I kinda think the whole matching corsage and pocket square might have suggested friends going together, at least.”

“At least?” She asked, taking a half a step toward him. 

“Some people, maybe some people who are here with a really clever and funny and beautiful girl, people who have trouble talking with other people, people who think said girl has a really cute dog and a nice brother but not as nice as her, might think that this was a date.” He suggested, staring at his shoes again. Sansa half smiled.

“Would these people also happen to have stupid plastic crowns on their heads?” He looked at her and smiled. 

“Yeah.” She moved closer again, reaching her free hand out to tangle her fingers with his. 

“I kinda think it’s a date too.” She whispered.

And then Jon was kissing her or maybe she was kissing Jon. Either way it was only a matter of moments before Theon wolf whistled loudly at them.