#considering i had BOX DYED BLACK in the begining of last year

[spideysatan]

BRAD MONDO I LOVE U THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME HOW TO DO THIS PROPERLY IT CAME OUT SO EVEN AND GOOD I CANT BELIEVE IT

its bleaching day

[queenmuzz]

So, anyways, I saw something @liulyam had posted for Spardaverse a while back I DON'T KNOW HOW I MISSED THEIR WONDERFUL ART FORGIVE ME! Anyways, I saw specifically THIS piece of art, and it sent the brain juices into overdrive....

So, the same thing plays out everyday. Nero gets off the school bus and runs in, backpack flying, and tells his uncle excitedly about his day at school, before racing up the stairs to tell his dad the same thing, in the same adorably animated manner. Unfortunately, Vergil doesn’t respond the same way as Dante, sitting still, not even acknowledging that the boy is talking to him. Initially, Nero doesn’t mind, understanding his recently rescued father has been through a lot, and needs time and patience to recover. But as the months pass by, Dante notices that his nephew doesn’t run up the front steps as eagerly, his descriptions of school become shorter, paler. And most worryingly of all, Nero spends less and less time with Vergil, preferring to peek his head in the man’s room, sigh, and slowly make his way to his own room, closing the door sullenly.

“What’s going on Nero?” Dante takes the plunge and asks him one day, before the boy trudges up the stairs. “You haven’t been that rambunctious ball of energy lately.”

Nero kicks the worn hardwood floor. “It’s dad… I know you told me I need to be patient,” his face scrunches up at the word, it’s a thing he’s never been able to truly do. He’s definitely a Sparda boy. “But he just keeps ignoring me. He won’t talk, won’t even look at me. It’s like I don’t even exist! Maybe...maybe he doesn’t want me to exist-”

“Hey now!” Dante needs to nip this train of thought in the bud. He knows first hand where it can lead to. Had he not found Nero nearly nine years ago, while wandering the world, drinking up every bar’s entire inventory in a vain attempt to fill a void in his chest, who knows where he would have ended up? “Your dad...well, even without the stuff he’s been through, he was never much of a talker. Always preferred to have his actions speak for him.” “But that’s the thing, Uncle Dante!” Nero blurts out, close to tears. “He DOESN’T DO ANYTHING!!! He doesn’t care!” And with that, Nero bolts up the stairs, past Vergil’s room, not even checking up on him, and slams his bedroom door with such force, Eva’s portrait wobbles on the desk and tips over. Dante sighs, sets his mom back up, and slowly makes his way up the stairs. Not to Nero’s room; Dante knows better than to provoke that tiger cub when he’s in an ornery mood. It’s time to talk to his dad.

Vergil, or what’s left of him, is sitting in an oversized chair, the only one that fits his giant frame, facing the window, the only one in the place with a view. If he’s heard the ruckus (and Dante knows he has), he makes no indication that it affects him.

“Verg,” he calls out, “I know it's been rough, I know I piled on a lot of shit on you, the whole thing about having a kid and everything these past nine years. I’m not expecting you to just snap back to normal, and start insulting me like in the good old days, but…” Dante’s not good at this sort of thing. He’d rather Royal Guard his emotional turmoil. It used to be with alcohol, but now it’s with a cheery smile. “The kid needs a sign that you’re still there, you’re still fighting. I know you are, hell, you’re the one that helped me take down that bastard Mundus on Mallet Island. But that’s the thing, Nero’s only heard things that you’ve done, not seen them. You need to show him yourself, otherwise…” Vergil makes no motion, and even Dante, stubborn as he is, knows it’s fruitless to continue much more, “you’re gonna lose him too.” And then Dante heads back downstairs, to see if he can whip up a snack to bribe his nephew to come out of his lair. Strange, he swears he hears the rustle of fabric from Vergil’s room, as if his brother had just moved.

--

Nero sits at Dante’s desk, working on his math homework. It’s his least favourite thing, fractions. Uncle Dante is a whiz at them, and usually would be able to help him, but he’s gone out on an ‘Really quick, won’t be more than a half hour’ errand run. It’s been nearly two hours, and the only other adult here is his dad… so Nero is practically by himself.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Nero’s neck prick up, and he hears scrabbling at the front door. He’s still not allowed to go out with Uncle Dante or Auntie Lady on their hunts, but he knows what a demon feels like, especially when there are a lot of them. ESPECIALLY when they’re really powerful Instinctively, he grabs a chair, and wedges it underneath the door knob, and looks around in a panic. He’s never had to deal with a demon attack by himself before. He remembers his uncle has a case of weapons that he was told to NEVER touch beside the jukebox, but Nero figures that he can say sorry to his uncle later. He smashes the lock with a billiard ball, and yanks open the lid. He’s disappointed. He thought there would be a treasure trove of swords and guns, but all there are two swords, one red and one blue. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and the whine of protesting wood ends with a thunderous CRASH, and demons pour through. “FIND THE HERETIC GOD SLAYER!” One says, before turning in Nero’s direction. Without much warning, it shrieks as it launches at him with razor sharp obsidian claws.

Nero might be little, but his uncle has trained him well. Whipping the two blades around, they connect the monster’s waist in a pincer move, and like a pair of scissors, bisect it in a shower of blood and ash. Nero swears he hears a voice (or is it two voices?) approvingly say, “Impressive!” but doesn’t have a chance to savour his very first demon kill as another demon comes at him, knocking him over. The reddish gold blade clatters away on the floor, way out of reach, not that it matters. Nero’s pinned to the ground by a skeletal foot, as the demon lifts a blade to impale him. He squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the end.

The final blow never comes. Instead, he hears shriek, and the pressure on his chest instantly subsides. He opens his eyes, to see it stagger back, its decapitated head clattering to the floor. Its brethren likewise are either dead or dying, their high pitched screams shattering the glass in the jukebox.

Nero’s first thought is that his Uncle has finally come home, Dante’s come to save me! But what’s odd is that there’s no sound of Dante’s beloved Ebony and Ivory. And last he checked, his uncle never was able to shoot out blue ghostly blades that now impale most of the horde. But it doesn’t matter, because his uncle is here to save the day! That is, until he yelps as he’s quickly, but not roughly picked up and held as whoever holds him spirits him out of the building, the blue blade still clutched in his hand. Nero begins to panic, but hears a voice, almost like a croak, as if the vocal cords had been in disuse for years…

Nero

And even though the voice is harsh sounding, it's one of the most comforting things Nero’s ever heard.

--

Of course that half hour errand run would turn out to be three hours. But when he was promised a free pizza for clearing out that demon nest on the West side, Dante couldn’t say no. Besides, he’d pick up some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the way home as a way of apologising to Nero. The kid might be cross with him, but he’d forgive him the moment he smelled those chewy biscuits. Dante might even let him have more than half of the package.

So when he gets home to find his front door smashed open, his office trashed, and worst of all his jukebox shattered-wait no, worst of all, his nephew missing, all thoughts of pizza and cookies vanish from his mind as he rushes in, guns drawn. There’s no sign of life, but the black splatters of demonic ichor painting the walls shows that some real bad mojo went down here. The strangest thing though, is Agni, a weapon Dante was definitely sure he had under lock and key, laying there on the ground, alone.

“Alright, time to spill your guts” he yanks the blade up so that he’s at eye level with the pommel, “What the hell happened here?” Agni makes the same response as Vergil. Which means silence.

“I swear to…” he pulls out ivory, and presses the muzzle into the (more troubled than usual looking face), “You’re gonna tell me what went down, or we’re gonna see how many bullets I can jam into your ugly mug.” “You told us to remain silent.” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, consider that rule temporarily relaxed.” “There was an attack.” Agni starts, its distorted voice unusually agitated, “The little one fought with great valour, but eventually even he was overwhelmed.” Dante’s blood goes cold. “But then a great bulk of a demon came out and slaughtered the attacking filth, and spirited the boy away, alongwith my brother.”

“Rudra’s still with Nero?” That’s odd, if they were trying to capture the kid, they’d disarm him first.

“Yes, they are not far, I think they’ve stopped moving.”

“Alright,” Dante makes his way out of the disfigured wood, “let’s go find the kid and your bro...and if he’s alright, maybe I’ll reconsider giving back your talking privileges.” “Oh, that would be wonderful, will you allow us to leave the dark box? It’s been so long since we’ve fought, we crave batt- ”

“I said IF, and I won’t guarantee anything if you keep jabbering on and on.”

--

Angi directs the demon hunter to a dark secluded alleyway, a few blocks from Devil May Cry. One hand on its hilt ready for attack, the other fingering the trigger of Ivory, he cautiously makes his way past the recently overturned garbage cans, to a shadow alcove, where a shadow crouches. Beside it is Rudra, glowing faintly, it’s turquoise blue light providing enough illumination for Dante to make out what has happened. There’s Nero, peacefully slumbering away, apparently unharmed, not even his shirt is torn. And holding him gently, stroking his downy white hair with a giant hand...is Vergil… And for once, even though he is still staring straight ahead, there’s a different look on his face, a sense of contentment.

Huh Dante thinks to himself as he holsters the weapons, I was right, actions DO speak louder than words.

[angryinternetduck]

When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine

It’s here! The Sweater Weather/Coast to Coast Spy AU has officially begun! Thanks to everyone who’s asked questions/thought of ideas/showed excitement for this!! As always, characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove! And thank you, @donttouchmycarrots​ for proofreading this!

Here’s the Clandestine Masterlist

Chapter One

.

Remus Lupin was being followed.

He hadn’t been out in the field for years now, but some habits would always stick with him. Surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder as he walked down the street towards his flat, listening for falling footsteps or sudden noises, and – most importantly – trusting his gut.

He could feel eyes on the back of his head and knew from experience that he wasn’t just being paranoid.

He took a few seconds to think about it, then grabbed his phone, pretending to be oblivious, and called Potter before slipping his phone back into his pocket and keeping his steps even and casual. Sure enough, his follower tried to take advantage of his supposed slip in focus and grabbed his arm. But Remus knew it was coming and caught the assailant by the forearm, using their forward momentum to pin him to a nearby wall.

“Why are you following me?” Remus demanded, breath clouding in the cool night air before he recognized his attacker. Dark curls, dove-gray eyes, high cheekbones.

Sirius Black, a prominent member of the Snakes, the Slytherin mafia. Sirius Black, who was actively being hunted down by the intelligence agency Remus worked for.

Sirius Black, who wasn’t even trying to fight back or break free. For some unknown reason, he was in Gryffindor - where an entire intelligence agency was trying to take him and the organization he was a part of down - and yet he seemed completely calm. Nonchalant, even. As if this were just a walk in the park on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Remus narrowed his eyes at Black. “What’s going on?”

Black reached into Remus’ pocket, pulled out his phone, and ended the call to Potter. “Not here. Do you have somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Yes, but I’ll need to call that guy back. If I don’t he’ll panic and he won’t hesitate to shoot on sight if he thinks I’m in trouble.”

That wasn’t necessarily true, but Black didn’t need to know that.

After quickly calling Potter back and explaining what was going on, he hung up and led the way back to his flat. He knew that was a better option that going back to Gryffindor Intelligence. If he felt like this put him in danger, he could move pretty easily. It’s not like he had many belongings to begin with. Uprooting the agency would be next to impossible.

“If people end up breaking into my house after this, I will hunt you down.”

“Yeah,” Black scoffed, kicking a rock farther down the sidewalk, then kicking it again when he caught up with it. “You’ve done a great job of that so far.”

“And yet you’re here for some reason. That can only mean two possible things.”

Black had to abandon the rock as they took the stairs up to Remus’ flat. “Oh? Do tell.”

“One, this is a crazy scheme to slowly kill off Gryffindor Intelligence one by one and, for whatever reason, you decided to start with me.” Remus fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his door. “Or two, which is more likely, you need our help. The only question I have left is why the great Sirius Black is stooping to ask us for help.”

He closed the door behind them and watched as Black took in his surroundings. It wasn’t much: a ratty old couch, a coffee table, warm brown-toned walls, and too many dying potted plants. 

He really needed to remember to water those.

“I ran away from the Snakes and I can help you take them down once and for all.”

Remus blinked at the suddenness of that statement. This… this could change everything. They might actually be able to take the Snakes down, after years of trying and failing. He had so many questions. What changed to make him want to leave? Why now? But none of those seemed to matter at that moment. There was only one question Remus needed to know the answer to immediately.

“What’s in it for you?”

Black shifted on his feet. “My brother…” He sighed, refusing to look at Remus. “He’s still there. And he’s innocent in all this – as innocent as he can be, in a situation like that. I need you to ensure that you can get him out safely before we take them down.”

“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Remus agreed. He knew of Regulus, of course. It was his job, after all. And he didn’t seem as innocent as his older brother was trying to paint him out to be. At the end of the day, though, it didn’t really matter. Letting Regulus go free, guilty or not, would be a small price to pay for taking down one of the biggest mafias in the country. “What’s your plan?”

For the first time Remus had ever seen, Black smiled. “It’s all in the flash drives.”

Remus called Pots and Moody over; this was too much for him to deal with on his own. James he trusted with everything - it didn’t even cross his mind not to call his friend. He was probably dying of curiosity after that phone call, anyways. Remus wouldn’t have been surprised if he was already on his way to Remus’ flat before he got the call. And Moody could sniff out a liar like no one Remus had ever seen. If Black was lying - about any of this - Moody would know.

James opened the door then, making a beeline for Remus and dragging him into the kitchen to talk to him in private. “Alright, Loops?”

“I’m fine.”

Pots relaxed, but only slightly. “So he just... showed up?”

“Tried to grab my arm on the way home.”

“So you brought him back to your flat? I mean, I know you voted for him as the most attractive in Criminal Choice Awards, but come on, Loops.” He said, referencing the game they’d played with the rest of Gryffindor Intelligence over New Year’s while outrageously drunk.

“First of all, we don’t talk about that game. That was a fiasco and should be considered top secret intel. Second of all, what else was I supposed to do? He said he could help us take down the Snakes. I couldn’t just let an opportunity like that pass us by.”

“Ok, fine.” James agreed reluctantly. “We’ll hear him out, but I can’t promise we’ll do anything else.” He then turned to walk back into the living room and glared at the stranger in the room. “Black.”

“Potter.” Black said with a taunting smile. “How’s the kid?”

“Don’t you dare – ”

Moody walked into his flat with his gun already drawn and aimed at Black. Remus sighed. “Is that really necessary?”

“You can never be too vigilant.” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off Black, who just grinned and sent Moody a sarcastic wave.

“If we’re going to get this done,” Remus interrupted, still clutching James’ arm in a firm grip to hold him back. “We need to work together. So stop antagonizing each other and let’s get to work. Black, you mentioned flash drives?”

Black nodded. “Riddle keeps all the information about the Snakes on seven separate flash drives. I could tell you some of the information, but there’s too many groups and people that I don’t have memorized. If you want to catch all the members and informants and organizations under the Snakes’ control, you need those flash drives. As soon as you try to take the Snakes down, they’ll all scatter and you’ll never find them again if you don’t already know who you’re looking for. Do you have coffee? It’s quite late and this is bound to be a long conversation.”

“I don’t drink coffee.” Remus lied, although he could tell Black saw right through him. “Keep talking.”

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, leaning back on the couch to get more comfortable and staring up at the ceiling as he continued in a bored tone, “He keeps the drives in different locations. One he keeps with him at all times. One’s in a safe in his office, and two are with his most-trusted men – Bellatrix and my brother.”

“And yet your brother is innocent?” Remus asked skeptically.

Black glared at him, all sense of nonchalance gone. When he spoke, his voice was deadly. “He’s done more in terms of taking the Snakes down than you have. We’ve been trying to destroy them from the inside for years, but there’s only so much two people can do.”

Remus understood now why people were so afraid of him. That piercing gray gaze was chilling.

“Ok, fine. Where are the rest of the drives?”

Like a flip had been switched, Black reverted back to casual as if nothing had happened. “There’s three in separate safes across the city – one’s in the police station, and two are in safety deposit boxes in different banks. That’s seven.”

James met Remus’ gaze. “Winter? He’s the best at cracking safes.”

Black grimaced. “And there’s our biggest roadblock. The Snakes know who you are.”

“What?”

“All of your active agents, the ones who have tried to take the Snakes down previously, they have files on.”

Moody looked like he was about to have a stroke. Black shrugged. “Their informants are no joke.”

“So what do you expect us to do, if we’ll be recognized as soon as we step foot into the city?” Remus demanded, running a list of their agents through his head and eliminating nearly all of them one by one. 

“Surely you have some agents who haven’t gone up against the Snakes yet.”

Remus blinked. “You’re joking. This is your grand plan? That eliminates about ninety-five percent of our candidates. And those five percent left? Maybe two percent are trained and ready to go out into the field. This is a huge op - we can’t just send anyone.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Hang on,” James said, and Remus groaned. He could see that glint in his eyes. The glint that meant he had an idea brewing.

Nothing good ever came from that glint. 

“We can send O’Hara.”

“See? We already have a candidate!” Black cheered, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. Remus bristled. “Who’s O’Hara?”

“We recruited him right after he graduated from Harvard last year. He’s got a near perfect memory, and he’s really good with people. He normally does stake outs or reconnaissance and the occasional honeypot.”

“He’d be good for this,” Moody gruffly added. “He can charm the pants off of just about anybody. Makes it easy to get what you want.”

“I think Tremblay would be a good fit, too.” Remus chimed in, thinking it through. They’d work well together. Finn might drive Logan insane, but they’d get the job done. Hopefully. “Bring in some extra muscle just in case things get dicey, which they always do with the Snakes.”

“He hasn’t worked a Snakes mission before?” James asked.

Remus shook his head. “He’s been back and forth between here and Beauxbatons, remember? Since he’s fluent in French.”

“Can he crack open safes?” Black asked impatiently.

“No,” James said, but he was still smiling. “But we know someone who can.”

Remus thought about it for a second, then turned to gape at James when he figured it out. “James, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? He’s a perfect fit! And the only other person besides Winter who can consistently crack a safe.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s not that much younger than O’Hara or Tremblay, and you’re fine with sending them.”

“He’s never even been out in the field before!”

“Winter says he’s almost as good as himself.”

“He’s inexperienced, and he’s going to get himself or one of the others killed.”

“Ok, so then what do you suggest?” James demanded, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Do you know anyone else who could do it?”

Remus stared at him at a loss, much to his chagrin. They’d never had to worry about this before - Winter did all their missions when they needed to break into something. They’d never needed anyone else before.

Now it seemed like their biggest operation to date would be in the hands of a rookie.

After a beat of silence, Moody spoke up. “I agree with Potter. He’s our only option, if the rest of our agents are compromised. We can talk to Winter in the morning, see if he’s ready for this.”

Remus sighed, but didn’t argue.

“I’m sorry,” Black said. “But who are we talking about?”

James grinned. “Nut.”

“That’s his name?”

“Oh my god.” Remus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

***

Leo Knut (it’s pronounced newt, thank you very much) sat at his work station with twelve different locks in front of him, along with his pick, rake, and tension wrench. He took a deep, steadying breath and started his timer before instantly getting his hands on his first lock.

Insert tension wrench. Use the pick to find the binding pin and set it. Set the rest of the pins. Turn the tension wrench and…

The lock clicked open.

Leo quickly set it down and picked the next one up, repeating the same steps and singing along quietly to the song playing on his phone.

“All I want, all I want is you, your violet disposition, my unsound intuit – aaah!” He shouted when someone suddenly sat down on the bench next to him. “Fuck, Winter.”

Kasey raised an eyebrow. “You need to pay more attention to your surroundings when you’re on the job. Also, you’re tone deaf.”

“Thanks.” Leo muttered, reaching over to stop his timer and turn his music off. “Why are you here so early? Aren’t you usually asleep right now?”

“Yeah, but I got a call from Loops.”

Leo, always one to keep his hands busy, began messing with another lock. “You got another job?”

“No,” Kasey said, drawing out the vowel. “But you might.”

Leo laughed. “You’re kidding.” After a few seconds of silence, he looked back up again. Kasey’s face was dead serious. Leo set his lock and tools down. “You’re not kidding. What the hell? What’s the job?”

“You’d be going after the Snakes.”

Normally, Leo appreciated being direct and straightforward. 

This was not one of those times.

“As in the mafia? Those Snakes?”

“Yup.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yup.”

Leo knew of the Snakes, of course. And he knew that Gryffindor had been after them for years, which meant it was a big deal. So why were they putting him on the job and not Winter? He had experience in pickpocketing tourists in the streets of New Orleans and opening locks. He’d only started cracking safes under Winter’s instructions eight months ago. Why him?

“Is Loops insane? This would be my first job!”

“It was technically Pots’ idea.”

“Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Nut – ”

“That’s not my name – ”

“This is big for a first job.”

Leo fiddled with another lock, listening to the soothingly repetitive sound of pins setting. It was familiar, solid ground.

This, though, would be uncharted territory.

“I know.” He said anyways, trying to settle his nerves. 

“You think you’re ready for it?”

Leo looked down, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “I’ve got to prove myself somehow, right? What better way to do that than by taking down one of the biggest gangs in the country?”

Kasey laughed. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m from Louisiana – it’s in our blood.”

“Okay, you crazy Cajun. You’ve got your first debriefing at 10:30. Please don’t be late your first day on the job.”

“Who am I working with?” Leo asked, tilting his head. “I mean, I’ve got to have partners, right?”

Kasey just smiled. “Trust me, Nut. You’re going to love them.”

***

Logan and Loops were the only ones in the briefing room so far.

And it was awkward. 

Obviously Logan knew who he was – everyone knew his story – but they weren’t talking. The briefing room with the almost-hilariously large table was completely silent besides the occasional rustling of paper or the sound of the air conditioning turning on again. Logan couldn’t remember ever talking to the handler before. Maybe briefly, at that disastrous New Year’s party.

God, that party.

Logan steadfastly refused to think of the New Year’s party.

That is, until a familiar face walked through the door.

The redhead looked up, doe-eyes widening as he recognized Logan. “It’s you!”

Fuck, he was even more attractive now that Logan was sober.

Logan forcefully pushed aside hazy memories of laughing too loud at a story the redhead was telling, cuddled up on the couch with red solo cups in their hands and an almost-kiss as the clock struck midnight that Logan had wanted more than anything. He smiled faintly instead. “It’s you!”

The agent sat down excitedly next to Logan, eager eyes peering out at him from behind tortoiseshell glasses. “How’ve you been? Guess we’re partners now, huh?”

“Guess so.” He said faintly, the word fuck rattling around in his brain on an endless loop.

“I don’t think I caught your name at the party.”

“Oh. Logan. Logan Tremblay.”

“Finn O’Hara.” He replied, holding a hand out for Logan to shake. He then looked over to Loops. “We’ve still got a few more coming, right?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Unless one of you knows how to crack a safe, by any chance.”

Logan snorted, then shook his head. He wasn’t good at small, delicate things like that. Bashing heads in and upper cuts, though... “Nope.” He said simply, leaving it at that.

“Absolutely not.” Finn agreed.

Loops sighed. “That’s what I – ”

The door slowly opened to reveal a tall, blond boy with messy hair and cornflower blue eyes. He looked at the three of them, seeming a little nervous. “Uh, hey. I’m Leo – is this the right room?” He asked in a softly-accented voice.

“Yeah, come on in.” Loops said, which made Leo smile and –

Dimples.

Logan quickly shifted his focus back to Loops as he began to talk again. “Knut, meet O’Hara and Tremblay. They’re your partners for this mission. We have one more person coming before we can get started,” He glanced down at his watch. “But apparently he’s running late.”

“Oh, Lupin, you almost sound concerned.”

Logan’s head shot up at the voice. Sirius Black strode through the door, giving Loops a flirty wink before looking at the three of them. He grinned. “So which one if you is unfortunate enough to have the last name Nut?”

Leo sighed, while the other two fought to keep their laughter at bay. “It’s pronounced newt.”

“Not anymore. You can’t expect people to pass up a nickname like that, kid.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“What? Nut or kid?”

“Both.”

Black just grinned again. “Not a chance.”

“Are you done harassing our operatives, Black?”

“Why? Are you feeling left out?”

Loops glared at him, but his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Why don’t you start debriefing them instead.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

“Buzzkill.” He muttered, but threw himself into one of the chairs. “You might want to write this down – I’m only saying it once and I don’t have any of it in files or anything.”

Logan couldn’t decide whether he should be impressed or repulsed by the lack of professionalism. He looked over at Nut, who was already waiting with a pen and notepad, clicking his pen repeatedly. Logan gritted his teeth and tried to tune out the noise. O’Hara was just sitting back in his chair, content to listen apparently. Logan settled for somewhere in the middle and grabbed one piece of paper and a pencil.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’m sure you know who I am: Sirius Black, ex-member of the Snakes, blah blah blah. You get it. Well, I’m here to help you take the Snakes down. All the evidence we need of importing drugs, trafficking, laundering, bribery, blackmail – Christ, this list is long. You get the picture. Everything illegal they’ve done, the evidence is on seven flash drives. We need you to get all seven and get my brother out safely before we can officially take them down. Easy enough, right?”

“This is going to be a long op,” Loops cut in, making meaningful eye contact with the three of them. “I’m talking weeks to months here. We’ve got a lot of intel we still need, a lot of planning to do. And it’s not going to be easy. If you don’t feel like you’re up for the task, speak up now.”

Logan sent a surreptitious glance at his new partners. O’Hara looked excited at the prospect of a mission like this. Nut still looked nervous, but his eyes were determined, focused.

They all stayed silent.

“Perfect. Then let’s get started.”

[dahniwitchoflight]

KHUX - Where’d they all go?

Alright so, first!

Who and what and where did everyone end up?

Maleficient: Took a pod to a specific point in the future, achieved this by also using her pet crow to force memories of her present self by having it fly her cloak to the great fairies and make them remember her

Ephemer: Brain from outside manages to send two pods back into the data Daybreak Town to rescue Ephemer and Skuld, (with the last Pod still in the Data meant for the Player, so all three could escape) Pops out of the pod to see the destroyed real Daybreak Town, goes back in with Skuld to escape the dying worldline along with the others, Gets flung forward in time just a tad from his own perspective to become the Founder of Scala Ad Caelum from the ruins of the destroyed Daybreak Town (Still doesn’t answer how or why he popped out in KH3 to help, but eh, guess that’s a question for Dark Road?)

Lauriam: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Gets flung to present KH Times in a flower field from Snow White’s world, most likely proceeds to become a nobody some time later

Elrena: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Gets flung to roughly the same time and place as Lauriam, but on the stormy mountain from the Witch’s area of Snow White’s world,  most likely proceeds to become a nobody some time later

Ventus: Hops into one of three Pods in the real Daybreak Town to escape, Ends up in the keyblade graveyard, roughly a few years before BBS and is found by Old Xehanort starting that story

Player: Tricks Ephemer into sealing them and the 4 darknesses into a piece of the Data Daybreak Town by pretending to have fallen to darkness, ends up dying from the 4 Darknesses, sacrificing themselves to save Ephemer and Skuld. In the realm between Death and Sleep, their dying heart then reincarnates eventually into a new young Heart (as they sometimes do), into that of newborn Young Xehanort, who is from Scala Ad Caelum in the time of Dark Road-ish, gets sent to Destiny Island’s by a mysterious old man who then dies, and then Young Xehanort begins his journey in Dark Road

Strelitzia: Her apparent Nobody gets sent to the future into the real world by Luxu, but it’s unknown where or when she ends up, last seen walking off in a white version of the Nobody Coat  (I suppose this is another question Dark Road will likely answer?)

Skuld: Brain from outside manages to send two pods back into the data daybreak town to rescue Emphemer and Skuld, Pops out of the pod to see the destroyed real Daybreak Town, goes back in with Ephemer to escape the dying worldline along with the others, We don’t find out her whereabouts, but the remaining theory is that she is Subject X from BBS, Lea and Isa’s friend with amnesia (I suppose this is another question Dark Road will likely answer?)

Rest of the Sleeping Dandelions/Fallen Keyblade Wielders: As their hearts fall asleep, the Chirithy that is bound to their hearts also takes on a sleeping form and become Dream Eaters, Spirit shaped by their wielders Dreams in order to protect them

Luxu: Last seen dragging along the box, holding the keyblade, and lifting up his hood to reveal that he looks exactly like Brain just without the hat

Brain: Gets flung forward roughly to the time of Dark Road-ish, last seen in Scala Ad Caelum that has been rebuilt for a while now by Ephemer the founder from a long time ago, just without his signature hat, and due to his conversation with a figure named Sigurd (who gives him his hat back), has likely fallen roughly into the times of KH Dark Road, and is perhaps a closer ancestor to Eraqus than first thought! maybe even a grandpa or great-grandpa

now the fun thing about Luxu and Brain and why they might look the same, cuz there’s a few options:

Is that before their final scenes, the 2nd last scene Luxu and Brain had was with eachother, right after Brain sent everyone on their merry way, Luxu pops up and says hey watcha doing, and Brain says he wants to stay behind to help free all the sleeping keyblade wielders, even if it takes him the rest of his life, and Luxu comments at him that it’d be a shame for him to waste his life like that or something to the effect before a fade to black

and the thing is, we don’t get to see their individual arrangements for how Both Luxu and Brain escape to the worldline along with the others. We just know that for sure he doesn’t stay and wake up the wielders, because all of their chirithy’s turn into the dream eaters. (And also that apparently he left his hat behind before he left as he picks it up in Scala when Sigurd gives it back to him)

And since there’s only one seemingly possible pod left to take, the one from the data world left for the Player (who never took it and instead dies), theres seem to be only one spot left on the ride out, and with Luxu’s body snatching tendencies, it seems to suggest that Luxu overtook Brain’s Heart and Body, grabbed the last pod from the data and adios’d

BUT the key here is in their apparent attitudes that we know this is likely not the case, and also the Hat, not only does it make it obviously clear who is who, the logistics of the Hat make it clear as well

In both cases, the boy who ends up in the graveyard with the box and the key, and the boy who appears in Scala, neither of them have Brain’s hat

But Brain IS last seen with his hat

If Luxu had overtaken Brain, there would be no reason for him to discard the hat, since the entire point of the body snatching is to be that person

Then, when Brain wakes up in Scala, Sigurd comes along and presents the hat saying “We’ve been waiting for you.” and Brain takes it back

Brain would neither remove his hat, nor would Luxu remove it if he had overtaken Brain

Instead, the likelier option is that Luxu forcibly put Brain into a pod and sent him to the future, saying it would be a shame if Brain were to die while Daybreak Town fell to darkness, because that’s what would’ve happened if Brain tried to stay behind

Where does that Leave Luxu though? How does he get back?

Well back in the data daybreak town, there are actually two Pods left, one meant for the Player who never used it, which Brain likely ended up taking, and a Destroyed Pod that got written off since who would know how to fix it?

Oh, Luxu would! And we know he does, because he specifically taunts Brain with that knowledge, asking him if he even knows how their supposed to work, And wouldn’t ya know, it’s in the Data Daybreak Town, meaning Luxu wouldn’t have even need to physically fix it, he could have easily reprogrammed it to be fixed from the computer side

So, two people, two pods, Luxu sends Brain on his merry way, in the scuffle because Brain would have resisted, the hat might’ve been removed, and Luxu could have easily set it up so that the hat could be preserved and in the future they would know to look and wait for Brain to appear

The only mystery remains then is why does Luxu looks like Brain?

appearances are tricky things in the KH series as well all know, and Luxu’s face has been hidden all this time, likely because his face would have been a spoiler or potentially confusing had it been shown from the beginning of KHX, not KHUX even

The one hint we have, is that in the Back Cover cinematic, which takes places during KHX, If you look closely, apparently you can see a shaggy lock of hair under his hood that matches Brain’s

which means Luxu has probably looked liked Brain all along from the start!

And before getting into the crazier reasons of why someone would look like someone else in the KH series (look at you Ventus/Roxas, Sora/Vanitas, Kairi/Namine/Xion) 

the one that makes the most sense to me personally, consideriong this fact, is that Luxu is a Replica of some sort, of Brain, made by the Master of Masters to fulfill a specific purpose for him, and considering Luxu’s purpose was easily the most important of MoM’s plans, and with how in his early appearances Luxu appears very withdrawn, shy, or dependant on MoM but also separate in some way from the rest of the 5 and with how we know that MoM has no qualms creating living things to do his bidding like the Chirithy’s, we know he’s aware of the replica technology at the very least since the pod system appears to be a workaround for this very issue of needing a medium for the flesh at the appropriate time and place

I think him being a replica with Brain’s appearance makes the most sense, Brain was certainly already on MoM’s radar as a special keyblade wielder, since he was one of the ones MoM chose to be a new union leader, and the way that Luxu’s appearance has always been hidden, how he always wore the black coat which in KH3 seems to be confirmed as what a “default” Replica body appears in when not in use, as we see when Riku Replica shunts out evil Repliku to have the body for Namine, it appears as a doll covered in the black coat

To me, I think it’s fitting, and I think that Luxu being comfortable with shunting from body to body and switching between forms is also part of that, his original form is a replica made to mimic another person, so why wouldn’t he continue that trend? Moving his heart from vessel to vessel, never getting attached to the flesh or identity itself? 

So yeah, I believe that Luxu taking over Brain is a red herring that KHUX ending presents, but I believe it will ultimately not be the case, and the rest of Dark Road/Verum Rex will go further into the reason why that is, with Luxu being a Replica of Brain from the very start coming out on top as the most likely series of events

[rubysunnday]

Hug

A/N: Here is the second piece of writing for Tuactober 2020! 

Tuactober 2020 Day 10: Hug

Prompts by @totallyevan​

The Hargreeves siblings weren’t really an affectionate family. Their father never gave them any affection - that came solely from their robot mother so it didn’t, really, count - and they as sibling had never been close enough to hug one another.

But after being separated and stranded in the 1960′s, things changed. 

People changed.

Y/N Hargreeves was considered the baby of the group - despite being the same age as her other siblings - and her other siblings were very protective of her.

But now she was three years older than the rest of them, bar Klaus who was older than her by two months, and their relationship had shifted. 

Everyone was suddenly showing their emotions more and showing how much they truly cared for one another. 

Y/N first noticed the shift when she found Allison, completely by accident. 

She’d been walking down the street of South Dallas, heading back to the apartment she was sharing with some friends, when she passed a beauty parlour. 

Y/N wasn’t sure why she looked in through the window. Naturally curious, she guessed. But one look had her halting in the middle of the street. 

“It can’t be,” Y/N muttered, staring at the woman the other side of the glass. 

She pushed open the door to the parlour and instantly the room fell silent. The black woman who worked there all looked up at her, ready to defend themselves against yet another racist person in the city.

Y/N stared at Allison as she hung the broom back on a hook on the wall. “Allison?”

Allison whirled around, newly dyed and straightened hair bouncing slightly as she did so. She stared at her sister, eyes wide. 

“Y/N?” Allison asked, gaping.

Y/N giggled and stepped forward as Allison practically ran at her, the two meeting in the middle of the room in a hug. Y/N clung to her sister tightly, standing on her tip toes slightly (Allison had always been taller) and buried her face in Allison’s hair.

Allison clung onto Y/N, taking in her sister’s perfume, the feeling of her hair and the fact she was alive and in front of her.

“I thought you were dead,” Allison said, stepping back and putting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Same here, I thought I was the only one left,” Y/N replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. Suddenly aware of the numerous women staring at them as if they were insane, Y/N gave them a meek wave. “Oh, hi.”

Allison looked up at smiled slightly awkwardly. “Ah, this is my... adopted sister, Y/N. We haven’t seen each other in...”

“A while,” Y/N finished, nodding. 

“We’ll be in the back,” Allison added, grabbing Y/N’s hand and dragging her out to the back of the parlour.

Allison shut the back door behind her and turned back to face Y/N. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Y/N smiled slightly. “Yeah... when did you get here?”

“1961,” Allison replied, sighing. “It’s been... a long time. What about you?”

“April, 1960,” Y/N said. Allison raised a shocked eyebrow at her and she shrugged, rocking back on the heels of her shoes.  “Guess I’m older than you now.”

Allison chuckled softly and brought Y/N in for another hug. Y/N didn’t complain, hugging her sister back tightly and breathing in the smell of her perfume and hairspray. 

The next sibling Y/N hugged was Klaus. 

And she wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find he’d started a cult. 

Because what else was Klaus supposed to do when he got stranded in the 1960′s?

Allison had given her the address of his mansion - said mansion wasn’t, technically, his but Y/N chose to overlook that bit of the story - and Y/N had driven her car out to it.

She sighed despairingly, shaking her head as she turned the engine off and stepped out of the car. Knowing Klaus, it was unlikely that he’d answer the doorbell so Y/N, with the lock picking skills she certainly did not have, broke into the mansion, shutting the front door behind her as quietly as she could.

There were white sheets covering almost everything inside - presumably this was to protect the furniture whilst Klaus had travelled the globe with his cult - and there were several rather... unflattering paintings of Klaus looking as religious as you could get when you ran a cult.

“Klaus?” Y/N called out, stepping around a pile of boxes on the floor. “You here?”

There was a loud bang followed by a curse and Y/N smiled to herself, recognising Klaus’ voice. 

Her brother emerged into the hallway, long hair tousled and shirt crumpled, and stared at her, his eyes wide.

“Y/N?” He asked, dropping his flask onto the floor in surprise. “Oh my god, you're alive?!” 

Y/ N laughed and ran up to Klaus, jumping up to hug him. Klaus lifted her off her feet and spun her around in a circle, clinging onto her tightly. 

“Hi,” Y/N giggled, resting her chin on her brothers shoulder. Her face was beginning to hurt from smiling.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” Klaus said, setting her down and pressing a kiss to her head. “You look stunning, little sister.”

Y/N’s smiled grew even more as she straightened her jumper. “Thank you. I like the hair,” she said, nodding to Klaus’ long locks.

“Oh,” Klaus said, tucking a piece behind his ear and trying not to look to touched by the compliment. “Thank you.”

Y/N shook her head and launched herself at him again, hugging him once more. He smelt different to the last time she’d hugged him. Less tobacco and weed and more... well, more Klaus.

“I missed you too,” Klaus said softly, kissing her head once more.

Vanya was the next sibling Y/N got a hug from. 

Y/N had stepped into the electronics store and looked up at the balcony and immediately spotted her sister. Her heart had stopped for a second as Vanya smiled at her and Allison.

“I can’t believe I’ve got two sisters!” Vanya exclaimed, smiling as she walked down the stairs.

Y/N nodded slowly as Vanya approached them, standing in front of them awkwardly. It took the three of them a few seconds of staring at one another before it all clicked into place.

Allison opened her arms and Vanya came forward into the hug, pulling Y/N in with her. Y/N smiled to herself as she became sandwiched between Allison and Vanya. She rested her head on Allison’s shoulder, still smiling.

“Oh, god,” Y/N moaned as Klaus suddenly appeared behind her, latching onto her and Vanya.

“Hi,” Vanya said, her voice muffled by the three of them.

Y/N burst out laughing as she let go slightly, still holding onto Vanya.

“Hi, Vanny,” Klaus said, kissing her head as he let go. 

Y/N, taking advantage of Klaus stepping away, hugged Vanya once more, clinging onto her sister. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“Thank god someone did,” Vanya replied, hugging her back just as tightly. 

When they were younger, Y/N and Diego struggled to get along. They didn’t hate each other, they were just polar opposites and struggled to find something in common.

Not to mention the fact Diego was really annoying as a brother.

Y/N had been making herself a cup of tea in Elliot’s kitchen, minding her own business. It’d just been her and Diego - everyone else had disappeared off to deal with their lives - and they’d stayed there to wait for Five. 

She walked back from the kitchen and set her mug of tea down on the table and sat down on the sofa opposite Diego.

Neither sibling said anything for a while, both content with their own company. 

Y/N looked up at Diego and sighed to herself. “Diego... I... I missed you,” she said quietly, looking directly at her cup of tea in the hopes it would somehow make the conversation easier. 

Diego stared at Y/N in surprise. He smiled slightly and leant forward. “I missed you too, Y/N.”

Y/N looked up from the tea and looked at Diego. Diego smiled at her and Y/N suddenly felt her eyes burn. “No, don’t give me those eyes, Diego, I’ll start crying,” she warned, shaking her head.

Diego scoffed and stood up. He sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, bringing her into his side. “Oh, shut up,” he said, leaning down and kissing her head softly. 

Y/N sniffed and wrapped an arm around Diego’s middle, holding onto him tightly as he returned the hug. 

Before now, Y/N had only hugged Diego three times before. The first time was when they’d gotten their tattoos, the second had been when Ben had died and the third was when she and Klaus had ‘saved’ him from the giant piece of ceiling that almost killed him.

But this hug was different. It was a genuine one. A hug that was wanted from both parties and was, more importantly, needed by both of them.

Diego would never admit this to his sister, but even though he’d only been in Dallas for a few months, he’d missed her the most. 

He just hoped the hug was saying what he wanted to because god knew how he’d be able to get the words out without stuttering. 

/

Five had disappeared before Y/N had really gotten a chance to properly form a bond with him. They’d known each other for years  and had grown up together but they’d never really... spoken. 

Obviously they'd sneak out to Griddy’s occasionally and Y/N would help Five with his equations, but they’d never really gotten to bond with one another because one day he’d been there, the next he’d gone. 

Y/N knew that Five had been through hell. Out of all of them he’d been through the most. 

But even though it was Five’s fault they were in 1960 Dallas in the first place, it’d been Five she’d been worried about the most. And Five she’d wanted to suddenly find the most.

Because Five always had a plan. And always made things better.

“Hey, Five,” Y/N said suddenly.

They were sitting in a diner, waiting for Vanya. Five had a giant pot of coffee in front of him and Y/N had a fairly large cup of tea and a plate of waffles.

Five raised an eyebrow and looked at her. “Yeah?”

Y/N give him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, unsure of what else to say. “I missed you.”

Five returned her smile, only this smile was a true one, not a forced one. “I’m glad you’re here too, sis.”

Out of all her siblings, Luther was the one Y/N had never really been close to. They were polar opposites and she’d often been kept apart from her father’s precious ‘Number One’. 

So, it was no surprise that Y/N had never hugged Luther. In all her years of knowing him, not once had they hugged or shared a sibling moment.

Because their relationship just wasn’t like that. 

But here they were, being shot at by what felt like the entirety of the commission. 

Luther had as arms around Y/N, Allison and Klaus, shielding all three of them from the storm of bullets flying around them. Y/N didn’t register it at the time, but she was holding on to Luther; holding onto him in the hopes he’d protect her.

And then the bullets stopped. 

And then Y/N suddenly found herself been thrown through the air, into the farmhouse. 

She hit the wall of the house with a significant amount of force, splintering the wood. Y/N hit her head on the window frame and fell down into the snow, dazed, confused, and on the verge of passing out.

Y/N closed her eyes for what felt like a few seconds but, judging from how much the house around her had change, was more like a few minutes. 

“Y/N!”

Y/N groaned softly, rolling onto her side as Luther ran over to her. “Oh, hey Luther,” she mumbled, clumsily sitting up and practically falling into her brother. 

Luther caught her and grabbed her shoulders, his eyes frantically checking her over. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nodded, patting his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I will be,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her head. 

Luther sighed and pulled her in against him, holding Y/N tightly against him. Y/N froze, eyes growing slightly wider as Luther hugged her. 

Luther was hugging her.

Y/N slowly returned the hug, wrapping her arms around Luther and resting her head on his shoulder. 

Luther’s hugs were the best ones, she decided. 

“What’s wrong, Klaus?” Y/N asked, frowning at him as he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“Nothing,” Klaus said, still staring at her. “Just... can I have a hug?”

Y/N frowned even more but, now used to her brothers sometimes weird requests, stepped forward and hugged him.

Klaus hugged her back tightly, resting his head on top of hers. Y/N chuckled softly, but didn’t complain about the hug.

Ben, who was currently in possession of Klaus, sighed sadly as he hugged his sister for the first time in 17 years. He kissed her head as he let go and smiled at her. 

“I love you, sis,” he said, meaning it even though it was Klaus who said it. 

Y/N smiled back at him. “I love you too. 

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps - Volume 8 “War”

Hello, everyone! Story time.

Yesterday food was delivered for my two idiot dogs (they’re thrilled about it) but, because it was delivered by Fed Ex, shenanigans were bound to ensue. These particular shenanigans involved realizing that the food had not been left at the front door like tracking said it had. Instead, it was down the very long driveway by the mailbox. Specifically, it was on a low wall beside the mailbox, currently inaccessible due to a mound of plowed snow.

Now, how the delivery guy managed to get it there I’ll never know, but given that our postal system is currently killing itself to get us our Amazon orders for Christmas, I shrugged, let it go, and resigned myself to lifting an 18 pound bag plus box over that snow without dying. Which meant that in reality I just dragged it, uncaring what bumps the bag might accumulate along the way. What are the dogs gonna do? Complain about presentation?

Snow successfully circumvented; I was home free!

… until I was lifting the box into the car, hit a patch of black ice, and was suddenly looking up at the sky, my right hip and leg screaming.

I’m fine. Bruised, but fine. It’s 2020. Did I expect to not fall? C’mon, Clyde. Be sensible.

The reason I'm telling you all this is because falling on ice at 10:00pm with an oversized bag of dog food was less painful than watching this episode. 

I jest... but only a little. To be fair to RWBY, it admittedly wasn't painful in any new way. Everything that's a problem this week has been a problem for years now: confusing motivations, changing semblances, unpersuasive character beats, etc. So in some ways this episode — especially as a hiatus episode — is rather underwhelming. I expected RWBY to do something big before taking six weeks off, but this episode simply set the (unstable) stage for what's to come. With the exception of Ren, nothing changed this episode, which makes for a rather "Okay..." note to end on. It's not inherently bad, it's just a bit of a letdown after hyping ourselves up over the expectation that something even crazier than grimm soup will happen. Which, to again be fair, is on us as opposed to the writers. But that feeling of, "If this was last week, what in the world will we get right before an unpredicted hiatus?" was palpable. Turns out the answer was, "A pretty tame episode." 

As always though, let's start at the beginning. This episode is titled "War" — straight to the point — and it's actually a little shorter than our last three episodes, adding to that "Okay..." feeling overall. We open on the outskirts of Atlas, amidst what appears to be a wheat field, or something similar. Upon reflection, it makes sense that the bubbled city would be able to grow things not normally growable in the tundra. This might also explain Cinder's strange beginning. Perhaps her orphanage existed on these rural outskirts and then she was brought into the city proper? We'll probably never know for sure, but at least this is a simpler answer than, "The Madame went off to an entirely different Kingdom to secure her child slave." Occam's Razor and all that.

Ironwood's army has assembled to hold off Salem's army. Wow, aren't we glad Ironwood invested in thousands of trained professionals rather than a handful of independent fighters? Seriously though, this is now a battle of numbers. May says later in the episode that Ironwood's forces are doing their best to assist Atlas, so they should go help Mantle... but that help only exists because years ago he recognized that the tiny class sizes of the Academies, this 

wasn't going to be enough if grimm attacks suddenly increased. Sure enough, now they're in a situation where Ironwood needs even more men to keep up with Salem's creation magic. The fact that he has any at all is crucial to what little hope is left. How do Jaune, Yang, and Ren think they're going to get the time to look for Oscar without everyone dying while they're gone? Because Ironwood's army is keeping the attack at bay. I love how the story keeps angling for the "Military people are evil" message while actively showing us how much a military is needed in this world. If Ironwood had been a generic Good Guy who dismantled his armed forces because others wanted to ignore that they've always been at war against objectively evil creatures — both the grimm and Salem — then there would have been nothing to hold Salem off until small team rescue/bomb plans could be implemented. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. As usual. The army is on the front lines and one guy is scared enough that he's shaking. Can't say I blame him. As always, RWBY functions best when it leans towards horror, with skeletons rising alongside the normal grimm and intense music playing to convey the stakes. Ironwood watches the onslaught and immediately calls for a civilian evacuation into the subway system. Get people below ground, behind a few, defendable entrances, rather than wandering about the city where land or sky grimm can pick them off easy-peasy. Makes sense. Yet I'm already seeing fans make snide comments about how Ironwood is "still running," which just demonstrates how many viewers take the emotions of the show at face value — who is Good and who is Bad — rather than considering the situation and deciding for themselves. What's far more egregious than viewers enjoying a story however they'd like on a Saturday before the holiday though (seriously, my salt aside, no one has to enjoy RWBY any one way) is that RT again tries to paint Ironwood as crazy when he's... just not? Beyond the choice to animate him with scary expressions 

once he gives the order the soldier starts to say, "But sir — " and Ironwood yells for him to obey right now. The scene makes it look like Ironwood is doing something shady again. Here's this goon balking at the order, but we're not told why. What's bad about getting the people to (relative) safety? Why is this order treated like something to question at all? We're not told and, from what we do know, it's not something that would be questioned, so unless we learn something new post-hiatus, that line exists only to make Ironwood look bad. It's a (nonsensical) excuse to have another ally turning against him (slightly) and to give Ironwood the chance to look scary and violent again. Nevermind that his city is under attack and if a subordinate started questioning a completely sensible and time-sensitive order? I might yell too. 

So we're off to a great start. The above looks particularly stupid given that we immediately see the flying grimm arriving in a populated area, terrifying all the civilians there. Everyone bolts for the subway and we cut away from a man trying desperately to reach his daughter, unsure if either of them survive. But people want Ironwood to not use what few resources he has? See, this is why generic messages like, "You have to stand your ground" don't work. Sometimes there are situations where you should run and that doesn't automatically equal being a coward. It means you're smart enough to take the actions necessary to save as many lives as possible. 

Later on we'll have a similar issue with the message, "You have to trust people" when my darling Oscar briefly loses his mind.  

Now though, we see that the "fugitives" Yang, Jaune, and Ren have been taken into custody. Of course they have. Look, when the preview dropped yesterday I saw a number of takes along the lines of, "How dare the Ace Ops do this. They need to put aside their differences until the attack is over!" but no, they really don't, because it's no longer their responsibility to extend trust towards this group. Especially when doing so, to their mind, has a high chance of making a horrific situation that much worse. What are they going to do if, in the middle of a Salem attack, the kids they decided to trust betray them, attack them, and leave them knocked out somewhere while the world burns? 

...Oh wait, they already did that. 

See, the group broke trust first. Numerous times. The Ace Ops listened to Yang admit that she and Blake had betrayed Ironwood days ago. Then they watched Ruby betray him again by alerting the rest of the team, turning them against him. They swore they wouldn't attack, so Team RWBY attacked them first. They learn that Qrow had a hand in murdering their leader. They encounter the group again and Weiss gleefully asks if they want a second defeat. They watch Ruby tell the entire world to dismiss Ironwood because he’s the one who can’t be trusted. Outside of JYR not immediately attacking them when they arrived to help (something I praised them for), this group has never put their trust in the Ace Ops. So why do they — and we — expect the Ace Ops to do so now? Imagine for just a moment that it was reversed. We find out that someone betrayed the group for no good reason, set themselves against them, continued to do so as everything fell apart, told the rest of the world they’re the enemy, and then a close associate is involved in Ruby's murder. How many people would expect the group to just shrug all that off? Would they put their differences aside and embrace these people because blind trust is (supposedly) the right thing to do? Of course not! Yang would punch their lights out and everyone would cheer, but that's because they're the established heroes. Outside of that role, no one else is allowed to mistrust those who have proven themselves untrustworthy and take precautions against getting betrayed again. To say nothing of how these characters don’t have our meta perspective. Meaning, they live in a world where this trio is not a part of a protagonist group destined to remain a part of the plot because that’s how story conventions work. They’re three random teens who were promoted to huntsmen early. They’re three soldiers out of many who can, at any time, be taken out of the fight. No one on the Ace Ops is working under the belief that they “have” to be a part of this fight. From their in-world perspective, you could toss them in jail for the rest of the battle and that’s that. Outside of their fugitive status they are entirely unimportant. 

So yes, Jaune, Ren, and Yang are in handcuffs. They deserve to be. Don't worry though, they get out very soon. 

Yang makes a snide comment about Winter "Still just following orders" and honestly? I've lost the love I used to have for her as a character. Yang is just an exercise in frustration whenever she speaks now. Thus far she's blamed Ruby for everything that's gone wrong (ignoring her own choices there), did a 180 to yell at Ren for acknowledging how bad things are, worried nonsensically about Blake being disappointed in her even though Ruby is the one she fought with, and is now back to the "You just follow orders" shtick. Yang will label anything she personally doesn't like as evil order following, but conveniently ignores how following Ruby's orders helped get them into this mess, and how the one time she went AWOL made things even worse. These characters don't actually have  beliefs they stand behind, they just say whatever is currently necessary to make themselves look good, even if that contradicts previous statements or actions. 

She also gets mad at Vine for saying that grimm don't take prisoners, ignoring that she only found this out a few hours ago. No one in the group is equipped to navigate the emotional minefield that is this war because they can't even take two seconds to put themselves in another’s shoes. Weiss doesn't bother to consider Whitley's situation. Jaune points at the snow and gets frustrated that Harriet doesn't magically know there's grimm soup flowing nearby. Yang snaps at Vine for stating what she also knew to be a basic fact about grimm up until Oscar's kidnapping. It's all framed as, "How can you be this stupid?" rather than, "Oh yeah, these people haven't had the experiences I have. If I was randomly told this I'd doubt it too. I should try to explain this in a way that will make sense to them and increase my chances of being believed." 

This is the group who decided it was a good idea to tell the whole world about Salem and did it just as badly as I suspected they would. The story has shoved a delicate, information-based war into the hands of punch-happy teenagers and refuses to grapple with how that's a bad thing. 

Anyway, Ironwood comes on the radio to say that the whale is pretty indestructible on the outside, but it might be vulnerable from the inside, so let's get a bomb in there. Seems like a good enough plan as any, especially given that the grimm is currently on the very outskirts of the city, away from the civilians if/when it's blown up. What kind of bomb might this be though? 

Could it, perhaps, end up being a now severely damaged android who is based off of Pinocchio? 

Time will tell. For now, the group is quite obviously upset that Ironwood is planning a big BOOM while Oscar (and Ozpin! Tellingly, no one mentions Ozpin...) is still inside. Here's the thing: Both sides are right here. YJR are right to be worried about their friend, while the Ace Ops — who have no emotional ties to Oscar and, as just established, are questioning whether or not a grimm really kidnapped him — are right that they cannot prioritize a single life over the entirety of Atlas. They just can't! And any hero worth their salt is going to recognize this. You cannot knowingly sacrifice thousands of people (if not more) for one (admittedly awesome) farm boy. It would be a different situation if the people of Atlas volunteered to remain in danger to give Oscar a chance at escape, but that obviously isn't the situation here. If someone told me, "Sorry, Clyde, we can't get you out because the place you're in is super dangerous and attempting to extract you would likely cause the rescue party to die. Also, the longer we don't blow this location up the longer lots of other people die" I'd be like, "Fair enough. Have a nice life!" I mean, obviously anyone would be terrified and devastated by the news, but if you're still thinking straight and have even an ounce of compassion for others, you don't trade all those lives for your own. Spock does not open the door to flood the whole Enterprise with radiation!

And notably, neither does Kirk. Oscar isn't given the chance to sacrifice himself — ignoring his choice to try and undermine Salem's forces rather than escaping — so Jaune, Ren, and Yang are deciding that for him. Which, again, makes sense for them emotionally, but it's still a selfish choice. They're prioritizing their family over everyone else's. If someone ever told me they’d risked a whole city for my sake I’d be touched, but also pissed as hell. Because what were you thinking? 

Which is really my biggest issue with this divide. It would have been nice if the show had done more to make me believe these three are that ride and die for Oscar. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that they are and I'll take this characterization over the apathy we had in the past, but let's be real, it kind of came out of nowhere. The group as a whole pretty much ignored Oscar up until the movie invite and two of these characters — Yang and Jaune — have actively hurt him in the name of getting at Ozpin. Now suddenly they're willing to toss aside their huntsmen duties — protect the people — in order to save him? Nice sentiment, it's just that, as always, we have very little development for it, especially given the level of emotion shown. Particularly when it comes to Ren. The prospect of someone sacrificing Nora? I 100% believe that he draws a hard line and this kick-starts a change in his semblance. Ren is shown to be thinking about how he lost his teammate Pyrrha? Totally believe it! Someone is sacrificing the kid I'm not sure he's ever had a conversation with? That's less persuasive. At the very least, it would have been nice to have the trio grapple with whether they can or should prioritize Oscar over everyone else, rather than taking such a black and white stance of, "Of course taking the time to save this one guy while everyone else dies is worth it. You're evil for thinking otherwise." 

We even get a shot of Winter's hand shaking and clenching like Yang's used to, just to hammer home who the correct party is. 

While they begin this argument we cut to Salem who is literally conducting her grimm in their attack against Atlas. 

Very nice. I love when a villain has 

Emerald watches her, clearly freaked out, and then sneaks off to where Oscar is held. In the hallway she encounters one of the jellyfish grimm, so she casually makes it not see her until it has passed. 

Her semblance works on grimm, but not “real girl” androids? Okay. 

We all realize how crazy powerful Emerald is though, right? The stuff that she could do in a fight is staggering and I'll be forever salty that all she managed in the Penny battle was to create a couple different Cinders. Emerald, Marrow, Salem herself... RWBY has a real problem of having the antagonists conveniently not use the power at their disposal when the heroes need to win. 

So Emerald starts listening in on Ozpin's torture. We learn that Hazel was recruited when he tried to kill Salem numerous times and had to watch her keep reforming. Which, if I remember correctly, is a technique she used back when she and Ozma were playing at Gods. It worked and now Hazel believes that they "share a vision. She's going to create a new world order," one without Kingdoms or Huntsmen Academies. No, says Ozpin, she's going to divide humanity past reform, summon the Gods, and hopefully die when they take out all of Remnant. 

...My god, did we finally get Salem's motivations after seven years? 

Seriously though: seven years. It's way too late, especially when we now have so many questions attached to this supposed goal. If Salem always wanted to divide the world irrevocably, why didn't she attack, oh, say, a thousand years ago? Why has she kept to the sidelines until now? None of this answers why she held off until our simple soul was conveniently ready to fight her. We also have the issue of Salem's knowledge, or lack thereof. So she obviously knows about the Relics and that they'll summon the Gods, but not how to work them? How did that come about? Even Ozpin's motivations are murky now. He repeats Salem's curse word-for-word — though notably, minus the "You must learn the importance of life and death. Only then may you rest" part — yet unless Salem told him this herself when they first reunited — and we know they both hid things from the other — Ozpin could have only gotten this line from the lore episode, something he witnessed along with us just a few weeks/months back. So is he only now realizing that this is what Salem wants the Relics for? Might he be wrong? Or did he somehow figure this out lifetimes ago and we're just not told how? If this is the case, why haven’t Salem’s motivations come up before now? 

This sudden, "Oh yeah, she's always wanted to die" feels pretty tacked on. Like RT had Salem arrive last Volume because that's ~cool~ and then suddenly realized that they have to deal with her motivations now, so they hastily cobbled this together. But, as said at the start, this is entirely expected for RWBY nowadays. A problem to be sure, though one we've been putting up with for a couple of years now. 

During all this, Hazel shouts that this is what Ozpin deserves and the first word out of his mouth is, "Yes." 

But Oscar and the rest of Remnant don't deserve it, so make the right choice for them. How did RT think they were going to make this guy an antagonist? Ozpin has so much self-hatred and yet is still trying SO HARD that he makes Ruby Drinking Tea While The World Burns Rose look laughable. 

Oh yeah, we'll be getting to that scene in just a second, but for now I just want us all to appreciate Ozpin as a character, even if the story won't. 

....

.......

..............

...Okay, moment done lol. Sorry, Oz, there's a lot to cover this episode. 

We cut to a semi-conscious Nora who asks Weiss, "Now what am I good for?" So that’s a double serving of oof. That's when Ruby arrives with fine china steaming with tea. Or coffee. Or hot chocolate. Whatever it is these girls are drinking. What comes next is accompanied by a strange kind of vindication for me. I mean, the fandom dragged me so hard for taking issue with their snuggly smiles during Ruby's message, yet now we literally have the girls sitting back in a mansion as everything goes to shit around them. I know the knee jerk reaction to this will be, "They have to watch over Nora" and “They deserve a break” but really? All three of them need to watch her? And a break during the height of the action? Blake says she hopes everyone else is okay, but who is actually out looking for information about the rest of their team? May. Who's going to do something to get Nora help? Whitley. These characters are so good at telling us they're the heroes while rarely ever displaying those traits. They all (somehow) saw the attack on Atlas and have the ability to get out there and defend people — the job they wanted — yet Ruby looks out the window and asks, "What can we even do?" while taking a long sip of tea. The people of Mantle are (supposedly) freezing to death, yet one of the few with aura, Weiss, sits by a roaring fire going, "Do we just wait for someone to come? If they even come.” I'm sorry, you didn't consider this before you told the whole world about Salem? No one questioned whether asking for potentially non-existent help was worth the risk and what they'd do if it never came? Or even just what they’d do in the meantime? I’m not saying the girls can’t have basic necessities like drinks, or that it can’t be done in style when that’s conveniently available. I’m saying them enjoying the food, warmth, and relative safety of the Schnee household (built on racism) while casually talking about what, if anything, they should do for the people dying outside looks a bit Not Good. "Should we wait for the fire department?" Asks the character as their kitchen burns, sitting beside a number of water buckets that could help slow things down. "If they even come," they sigh, taking another sip of tea. This is ridiculous! The city is currently under attack by the series' Big Bad and half our heroes are just sitting around, watching the evil lightning, wondering if they should try to do anything about it. 

"How did it all get like this?" Ruby asks her cup, ignoring the many steps she took to make things this bad. It continually boggles my mind that Ironwood is out here trying to keep people safe in the subway, coming up with a plan to blow up this whale, sending out an army to kill countless grimm... yet "What can we even do?" Ruby is supposed to be the hero here. You know, the one who has silver eyes and could one-shot huge numbers of Salem's army if she actually went out there and tried to help.  

Ironwood is taking action... and so is May. As said, she's the one out looking for info on their teammates and when she returns says that they should all get back down to Mantle. Why? Because, as mentioned earlier, Atlas at least has an army to help with things. Mantle only has them. 

Yet suddenly, Weiss doesn't want to leave. 

Where did this come from? They succeeded in their preferred plan of telling the world what's going on over Ren and Yang's plan of helping what people they could, and now they're looking for something to do. Why wouldn't they head back to help? (Especially now that the shields are down.) Weiss yells that there are people dying in Atlas too but, as established, Atlas has the army. And where was this concern when they refused to let Atlas leave? After a Volume and a half of pro-Mantle content, this seems to come out of nowhere. Worse, Weiss tries to guilt May by asking if she has family in Atlas, which leads to the reveal that she's trans. Her family rejected their daughter. 

I want to be clear that I'm very happy RT made this canon. For what she is — a side character we know incredibly little about — I really like May and the fact that they were clear in her identity rather than keeping it to twitter deserves recognition. Yet I'm not going to pretend that the reveal didn't leave a bit of a sour taste in my mouth, simply because we have this incredibly privileged cis girl, who knows a great deal about shitty families, hearing how horrible May's was and still trying to tell her she needs to suck it up and help Atlas over Mantle. When May angrily asks whose side she's on, Blake makes a comment about hearing that before, comparing her to Ironwood. May is painted as the misguided one here, but can you imagine if someone told Weiss to go help Jacques over her found family, Team RWBY, regardless of what he's done to her? The fandom would explode, and rightly so. There's something to be said for realism here, showing us Weiss and Blake's inability to see where May is coming from... but it doesn't feel like a commentary on that. It feels like another Penny situation: May is put in her place for being inconsiderate, even though this time it's her choosing to help people who are ALSO in danger over the people who represent family she's broken with. 

I wanted conflict this Volume and I absolutely got it, but damn if it isn’t badly thought out at times. 

Because rather than grappling with these personal motivations, Ruby brushes them aside by yelling, "There are no sides! We want to help everyone." 

Does that extend to Ironwood? Ruby's speeches started falling flat when she betrayed Ozpin, attacked Cordovin, betrayed Ironwood, attacked the Ace Ops... This girl does not want to "help everyone." She wants to help those who agree with her. 

Yet her rock solid optimism generates the question, “So how exactly do we get out of it?” which, as expected, Ruby has no answer to. The story keeps showing us how bad a leader Ruby has become, yet no one is actively responding to that. They kinda disagree about lying to Ironwood, but still go along with it. Yang kinda criticizes her sister, but that's then lost to general worry as they split (on Ruby's end, anyway). They want to know how she'll lead them next and are seemingly fine when Ruby continually says, "I don't know." At this point I'd be like, "Well... you didn't like May's plan of going back to Mantle, but apparently can't come up with a plan yourself... so I'm going to go with her." 

This is the same conflict we had last Volume: Ruby spoke optimistically about saving everyone, yet was unable to come up with a way to do that. Ironwood had a plan that, while horrific, might save a lot of lives. Yet Ruby is presented as the one to back. Now here she is, hours later, still unable to figure out a way to achieve her perfect outcome. Ruby wanting things to be a certain way is not going to make them so and I’m wondering when someone within the group is going to recognize and act on that. 

As Ruby fails to answer this crucial question, we pull back to see Whitley listening in at the door. 

Cutting back to Ozpin and Oscar, Hazel has listened to all this craziness about Gods, immortality, the destruction of Remnant... and literally goes, "Cool story, bro." 

Okay, he says "Nice story" but the emotion is the same. Which I'm really happy about! I mentioned in a recent post that, as far as we know, Hazel hasn't been told anything about the Gods up until now. What Ozpin is telling him sounds like gibberish at worst, incredibly hard to believe craziness at best. Now chuck in Mercury's point that as a tortured prisoner he'll say anything to get free, as well as the fact that this is Ozpin talking to Hazel... and I'm really glad Hazel just ignored his speech (for now at least). It wouldn't make sense otherwise. Granted, this means that the plan literally amounted to, “Let’s info dump a bunch of nonsense-sounding lore on our enemy in the hope that he’ll believe us and betray Salem.” It’s something to try, certainly, and it admittedly is a much better plan than what Oscar is about to cook up. 

So since Hazel won't listen to Ozpin, Oscar wants to try instead. Why did you two switch in the first place? It's really obvious that RT is having the characters do weird things in order to stretch out the plot. 

Either way, our farm boy is in control again. What new strategy will he try? 

"Her name is Jinn." 

This is BEYOND stupid. No, none of this "You have to trust people" nonsense. This is not “people,” this is Hazel. There is a Grand Canyon's width of difference between learning to trust your allies and blindly trusting an active villain who just rejected your "Please defect :(" speech. Even if we remove Hazel from the equation, this is still a monumentally foolish move. I mean, has Oscar considered where he is? This isn't some random warehouse he's been taken to, this is a semi-sentient grimm, a creature creating other creatures out of its ceiling

and whose doors automatically open when people need them to (Mercury). This is a living being created by and connected to Salem herself. How does Oscar know Salem can't hear everything he says? Or that the whale can't relay information to her? That the grimm in the walls won't pop out and run to their master? Or even that a normal person isn't listening in at the door — like Emerald is. If that had been Tyrian instead, that's it. They're done. Game over. 

Someone: "Wow. Salem got the Lamp and managed to ask where the Beacon Relic is. Since the school is still overrun by her army, she snatched it up quick, finished destroying Atlas, and is now on her way to Vacuo. She's nearly completed her plan in days! How did all this happen? 

Oscar: I, um... told her what she wanted to know?

Someone: You what?

Oscar: But not Salem! I just told Hazel! ... and then the information somehow got back to her. 

Someone: "Somehow?" You deliberately told one of Salem's henchmen this crucial piece of information, in a place where there was a good chance you would be overheard by conventional or magical means, and you're surprised that she "somehow" learned it and used that information to doom us all? 

Oscar: ...Yes? 

This is so staggeringly stupid it... well, it could only have been done by a kid. So at least that fits lol. Oscar, I love you, but Ozpin should have been screaming in horror the second those words left your mouth. Generations of precautions undone because a kid wants to believe the best of the guy currently pummeling him. Sweet, but stupid. I’m all for optimistic characters, they just can’t risk the whole world on that optimism. Oscar risking himself on the seemingly doomed plan to turn Hazel is one thing, Oscar risking all of Remnant on the seemingly doomed plan to turn Hazel is another thing entirely. 

Even though you know this is precisely how the story will go. Oscar willingly hands over Jinn's name to Salem's forces, but happily none of the THREE who hear about it will tell her. The story's unwillingness to follow through on consequences doesn't change what a bad move this was. I mean, Oscar himself accused Ironwood of playing into Salem's hands by disagreeing with them about how to not die, yet a few hours later he will willingly give Hazel the one piece of information Salem needs to move closer to world-wide destruction? That's uh... well, that's something. 

They should have just had the poor boy be tortured, spill the beans to make it stop, and start an arc of self-forgiveness. Oscar can be awesome without coming up with world-dooming plans. 

So yeah, Oscar is hoping that Hazel will use the Lamp himself and find out the truth. He wants Hazel to trust him and the man he despises most in the world enough to go against the immortal woman he's terrified of, get the Lamp away from her somehow to use for himself, wasting a once in a generation question to confirm all this, so that Salem will lose a guy with muscle who, to be frank, is absolute insignificant in the grand scheme of her power. Fantastic. 

As said, Emerald overhears all this and immediately runs to Mercury, who is less than convinced by her "Salem wants to destroy the world" talk. Just as he's expressing doubt, Tyrian appears to confirm that this is exactly what she wants to do — and he's loving it. 

“Of course she is! You’re surprised? Salem is destruction incarnate!” 

It's a legit point. Are our villains so dense they never considered that Salem might do something to the world they didn't like? It's like the group not thinking about how Salem is still around if Ozpin has been fighting her for a thousand years. RWBY continually gives the impression that these characters don't think about their situation past what they're doing at any given moment. 

Tyrian maintains his title as best villain though, simply because I understand what he's doing, why he's doing it, and he's so damn good at it. 

Also, can we appreciate Mercury's face here? 

Amazing. This is the kind of humor we should be getting in such a tragedy-laden Volume. 

The two of them, Tyrian and Mercury, head off to Vacuo for the Secret Mission, despite Mercury's newfound hesitation. I quite liked these quiet moments between him and Emerald. It has a very "Do what you've gotta do" vibe while showcasing their care for one another, something we haven't seen in a while. 

Back with the airship group. YJR are still horrified that Ironwood would blow up Oscar (even though he has no idea Oscar is there), begging the Ace Ops to give them "a chance to try to rescue him first.” Ren goes pretty hard on the "no one is replaceable" bit, which is frustrating not being what he’s saying is inaccurate (it’s not), but because that's not the issue here. The writing has Harriet start yelling about Marrow replacing her old teammate and Winter replacing Clover, but the question is not whether you'll just forget a teammate and move on with someone new, but whether you're willing to sacrifice them for the greater good. That's the stance: Should we sacrifice one life to save thousands? Will you, as a protector of the people, put those people before your own found family? Yet what RT has Harriet say is: Oscar is replaceable. Which obviously makes her come across as an ass. Like the random soldier questioning Ironwood — or making Elm about to punch a defenseless Ren in her anger — it exists solely to show how bad these character are... even as they say pretty persuasive things. 

The writing also continues to be confused about whether the Ace Ops are friends or not. Yang certainly didn't think so... up until she asks (rhetorically) whether Marrow would sacrifice himself for Elm, Harriet, and Vine. Since their introduction, the story has loudly insisted that the Ace Ops aren't friends... up until it's revealed ("revealed") that Harriet is actually gutted about Clover. So which is it? Are we supposed to believe that these are cold soldiers who only work together out of duty, or that they're a team who clearly love one another? I'd say that show has shown us the latter, but it doesn't seem to understand what point it's trying to make. Does this look like a soldier who doesn’t care? 

It’s especially weird when Ren again makes the claim that this is why they lost to Team RWBY. Because they're not a team.

...So is this why they did such a fantastic job fighting the geist, demonstrating such perfect teamwork that the group was open-mouthed impressed? Is this why they nearly took down a Maiden together? Is this why Ren, while furious at Yang and Jaune, was still able to work seamlessly with them to try and rescue Oscar? Do we think if Yang was suddenly beside Ruby again that the two would fail spectacularly in a fight because they had a minor disagreement? 

This is now the third time RT has tried to excuse nerfing the Ace Ops with, "They disagree about things and are thus not friends and thus can't fight well together" — despite all evidence to the contrary — and it's getting really old. 

At one point Harriet tells Ren, "I had you pegged as the most level-headed of the bunch, but I guess you’re just as naïve" which, ignoring her then random claim that people are replaceable, is correct. I also pegged Ren as the most level-headed of the bunch considering he was just yelling at Yang for how much damage they've caused, all the mistakes they've made, and that maybe — just maybe — they should have tried harder to work with Ironwood. Yet now here he is, in a position to start that process, and the Ren we got in the snow is simply gone. He's fully Team Yang and Jaune again, facing off against the evil Ace Ops. 

I knew this was going to happen, but it's still disappointing. The story gave Ren a great speech to appease those of us frustrated with the direction the story has taken... and now we’re back to ignoring that. Ren was told off for daring to question how great the group is, apparently thought it over in the snow, and is now of the opinion that yes, they are that great. People are going to die because of us? Who cares about that anymore! We will absolutely, single-handedly rescue Oscar and there's no reason why this might be a questionable choice when an entire city is on the line. Again, emotionally understandable (if we buy into the group suddenly loving Oscar this much), but it rings hollow right after making Ren the one person who was willing to look at the big picture. 

Good news though: Jaune got the braincell this week! He suggests that they go in to try and rescue Oscar/provide intel, but won't stop the Ace Ops from launching the bomb when necessary. 

See, this is heroic. This is what the group should have done during the Mantle conflict: Volunteering to take the personal risk of facing off against Salem while letting Atlas try to escape. Basically, not forcing everyone else to risk their lives for their pipe dream, which is what Ren and Yang want by rejecting the bomb entirely. Jaune recognizes here that they can't prioritize Oscar over an entire city, but also that they may still be able to save him before the bomb is complete and ready to go. So they compromise, with JYR the only ones at risk. 

Good job, Jaune! 

Winter agrees to this plan with a firm, "I outrank you" to Harriet. People are going to love that. 

Oh, but in his anger Ren's semblance suddenly changes. So we're back to the ridiculous. 

Truthfully, I like this direction. Granted, I would have liked some buildup to it, especially since this is the second time this Volume that RWBY has dropped a major semblance change on us, but the idea itself is really cool. Ren can now see emotions! Awesome! And I don't mean that sarcastically. I actually think that’s a neat extension of his original semblance. 

Too bad the story seems to think he's a mind reader. 

Seriously, take a look back at the dialogue. What Ren sees are confetti-like petals floating around a person, their color seeming to determine their emotional state. Red means Harriet is mad, blue is sadness for Marrow, etc. But what Ren ends up saying is a great deal closer to mind reading. Harriet is angry about Clover and is gutted at his loss. Marrow is questioning his place here and wants to leave. These aren't base emotions, they're targeted thoughts and feelings about situations not immediately apparent from the verbal conversation. “In fact, you don’t want to be a part of it at all anymore." How does Ren know that? They just gave him telepathy instead of the cool power with firm limitations that the imagery suggests. 

There are also some, uh... iffy implications in all this. For example, Ren allows Yang privacy by not reading her mind emotional state, but has no qualms about reading every one of the Ace Ops’. So privacy is only for the people you care about, huh? 

We could also say something about RT perpetuating unfortunate racial stereotypes: the two women of color are pure anger, the marginalized man is pure sadness, the Asian coded character is pure calm... and the white woman set to turn against the others gets a mix of all emotions. AKA, human complexity. 

To be clear, I don't think RT is doing this deliberately. Rather, they’re writers who have demonstrated time and time again that they don't have a good handle on depicting the sort of sensitive material that RWBY is infused with, and that extends to the mild, but still unfortunate, implications in scenes like this. Even if we ignore the iffy details — a benefit of the doubt that, at this point, many fans aren’t willing to grant — we're still left with the continuity errors. Visually, we're presented with a woman who is experiencing multiple emotions at once and is, therefore, torn. Yet Ren reads Winter definitively: "I know you [don't want this] either." It's yet another moment that makes me wonder how much communication there is between the writers and the animators, because too often the two seem to be at odds with each other. 

As the group prepares to go into the belly of the beast (literally!) we return to Ruby who is, once again, failing to make me believe she's this super compassionate person. 

“Wait! What about Qrow and Robyn? Maybe if we get them out of wherever they’re held—”

Please tell me I'm not the only one who took issue with this? Ruby doesn't express an ounce of worry for her uncle, not even when she learns he's been arrested, and the one time she brings him up it's in the context of what he can do for them in this fight? Ruby doesn't grapple with whether to rescue her uncle (personal desire), or get the message to the world (her version of the heroic action) and then realize that, now that her duty is done, she can finally turn to the more selfish act of helping her immediate family. Instead, Ruby seems perfectly happy to let Qrow stay in prison up until she's unsure what to do next and thinks that maybe he has the answer. Heaven forbid Ruby think about rescuing him because she loves him.

Sadly, this Ruby is long gone. 

In recent years she's expressed no gratitude for him saving her life, no respect for him as her teacher, demonstrated incredibly little compassion for his own struggles, and outright told him that if he wasn't going to listen to her then he doesn't need to be part of the team. Then he's arrested and she doesn't care until she deems him useful again. Like the fandom wondering where the sisterly bond between Ruby and Yang went, I'm likewise wondering where the bond between Ruby and Qrow went. 

May outright rejects this though, yelling that they still don't get it. “This is not a situation where everyone wins!" 

She tells the trio they have to choose for once: Are you going to help Mantle, or Atlas? 

...which means there's immediately a knock at the door, interrupting the moment where they have to decide. 

See, this is just like Ren. The story keeps giving us moments where characters speak absolute truth, dangling the potential for the group to grow from these realizations... only to pull back before it goes anywhere. Ren is once again aligned with Yang and Jaune in their desire to save Oscar. May's demand is interrupted by the plot. If means nothing to give us these moments unless the story acts on them. 

It's Klein at the door. Whitley called him to help with Nora because I guess he's a doctor now, as well as a butler? Fine. Let’s run with it. Weiss is super pleased to see him and hugs Whitley for the good deed. 

Why so shocked that Whitley would look out for another, Weiss? Could it be because he's had so little reason to be kind when everyone, including you, has treated him horribly? If Klein always had these medical skills — if you’ve grown up with a doctor — why didn’t you talk to your brother and ask if he knew how to contact him? And of course, she apologizes to Klein for her father’s actions, but not to Whitley for her own. Whitley's surprise isn't cute to me. 

Weiss stuck a weapon in his face, insulted him, sent him to his room like a toddler... and now is randomly hugging him because he did something she liked. The context of this scene doesn't paint Weiss in a good light. Like the rest of her friends, she only extends basic respect and kindness towards others when they're assisting her. Whitley was nothing to her until he suddenly proved himself useful. That's not cute sibling love, it's a love that's going to run out the moment Whitley puts a toe out of line, according to Weiss' unspoken list of what behavior keeps him in her good graces. 

I believe that Klein cares for Whitley because he greets him kindly and gives him that shoulder pat on the way up. Whitley didn't need to first prove himself to Klein somehow and Klein didn't start this interaction by shoving a gun in Whitley's face, just in case he wouldn't let him through the door. They feel more like family than this hug does. 

So yeah, Whitley and May have done more good this episode than our entire main cast. How about we just make this story about the side characters instead? 

We then hear a massive boom and the group runs out to find a crater. Penny has landed in front of the manor, which is pretty convenient considering we saw her pass out as she fell. 

She's somehow still in control despite the hack and apologizes to Ruby, then falls unconscious (again). 

And that's where we end! Definitely a cliffhanger, though a rather underwhelming one considering we already knew Penny was in serious trouble. As said at the start, this episode felt rather underwhelming to me, especially as a halfway point before a hiatus, and compared to some of the stuff we've seen previously. It's not bad per-se — especially if we ignore the issues that have been around for an age now, which is most of what this recap deals with — it's just not terribly exciting either. Everything of importance — Salem's attack, Oscar's rescue, Penny's demise, subordinates turning, Nora's condition, etc. — had already been established in previous episodes and very little of it moved forward. Ren's semblance is the only thing the episode gave us that we couldn't have (generically) guessed for ourselves between last Saturday and now. 

So yeah, underwhelmed is the mood of the day, with a hefty dose of salt for everything that continues to be a story-breaking problem in this show. I will say though that, as has become the trend for this Volume, all the establishing shots are gorgeous. RWBY is, at the very least, pretty to look at. 

As a final note, in lieu of the Bingo board (since, again, not a whole happens plot-wise) I want to point out something mentioned by a friend: how absolutely bonkers our timeline is now. We began the second day last episode with the sun rising (recall that Jaune had tried to sleep that night at the outpost. So it’s definitely sunrise as opposed to sunset).

And we re-confirm that it’s sunrise at the start of this episode.

Yet throughout the episode many of our shots take place at night (note the stars behind the trio).

These moments with Ruby can't take place in the past because they're talking about the attack, an attack that only happened after Jaune's group met up with the Ace Ops and the geyser attacked — during early morning. I doubt I'm supposed to believe that it has been another full day of Salem starting an attack, a full day for the group to fly to the whale, a full day for Penny to fall, a full day which would put us at the end of the Volume’s timeline at only the halfway point... so I think RT is just going for the aesthetic of night shots without thinking about what that does to the continuity. It's a mess. 

Not the highest praise to end on, but I’m working with what I’ve got lol. I feel as naïve as Oscar when I say that maybe Part II will be better. 

I will, of course, see you all in six weeks. Until then, I'll do my best to catch up on asks. Another doomed endeavor, but one can try!

A very Happy Holidays to all of you who celebrate and, as always, thanks so much for reading! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

[bugsandchatons]

when you weren’t mine to lose (7)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

A/N: So sorry this took an extra week to get out! I wanted to make it as good as I could get it, since it’s all the Talking and Hugging and that good stuff. Thank you to @emsylcatac for looking over it!!

[[AO3]] {from the beginning}

****

 [seven: will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful]

As abruptly as it started, the battle ends, leaving pure chaos behind.

There’s ice in her veins. It’s crystallizing under her skin, freezing her to where she stands.

Ladybug drags air into her lungs and tries to find it within herself to take a step - the movement is slow, sluggish, and forced. It’s not until the distinct sound of an animal in pain reaches her ears that she can process the scene before her and move. 

Her partner is on his knees, hands flying over a person on the ground, but never once making contact. Chat’s nearly hyperventilating as the girl before him is consumed, so slowly by the black, unforgiving touch of his Cataclysm.

Ladybug blinks. Just beyond them is Félix, one hand raised to his temple. A purple butterfly struggles free from the speared face of his watch, several feet away.

She stumbles over to Chat and rubs a hand on his back, sliding it up his spine to squeeze his shoulder, the touch as grounding for her as she hopes it is for him. He glances up at her, something uncomprehending in his gaze before his attention snaps back to the girl before him.

Ladybug’s still not sure where she came from. One minute it was just her, Chat, and Mirror Image on the rooftop. Then, between seconds, it wasn’t.

Something more is happening here, she’s sure. She bends down, mind racing, grappling for an explanation.

When the stranger’s glazed blue eyes meet Ladybug’s, they sharpen. She reaches out with a surprisingly strong hand, grabs Ladybug by the shoulder, and jerks her in close. 

“Don’t wait,” she gasps. “Don’t throw it away.”

“What?” Ladybug asks, startled. The girl’s eyes flick to the hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, and she drops her own gaze to follow. There, dangling from her wrist is an unactivated Black Cat Miraculous and a shadowed version of the charm she’d last seen in her purse. That paralyzing ice is back, spreading through her blood until all she feels is cold. “You-”

The black rot of Chat’s magic spreads up her arm. An Akuma peels out of the charm as it crumbles to dust and, between blinks, the girl dying on the ground changes. Her hood falls away, and what’s still visible of her suit morphs from black to red. It’s unmistakably her. 

Ladybug.

“Cast our cure,” she whispers, and closes her eyes.

Chat makes a horrible broken sound and rears back, falling on his splayed hands. His eyes dart rapidly between the two of them, something manic in his expression, and it spurs her into motion. Ladybug grabs for her yoyo and snaps it out to catch the two fluttering Akumas before reaching for her Lucky Charm. In the red and black spotted mirror, she meets her own eyes in the reflection for just a second before tossing it high and calling for her Miraculous cure.

“Don’t cry, mon rêve,” the other Ladybug whispers. Her voice is lost in a ragged sound as the black tide climbs her throat. Chat lets out a low whine and as the Miraculous magic flows over them, the Ladybug that lies prone on the rooftop vanishes.

Ladybug blinks and the world flashes white.

��******

When she opens her eyes her vision swims, and she gasps for air. Chat kneels in front of her, calling her name. He has tear tracks on his cheeks and soot on his hands, but he’s alive. 

Her heart skips a beat before picking back up, double time. Something broken inside knits back together.

“Chat,” she gasps. Her fingers grope for his wrist and find the racing pulse there before she presses her palm flat over his beating heart. She breathes when he does, and it’s the lightest she’s ever felt. “Chaton,” her trembling hand finally finds his cheek as tears stream down her own. “You’re okay.”

She lifts her gaze to his and realizes he’s not, not entirely. His gaze darts frantically from her face to the spot where she’d lain as Ouroboros, and there’s something very fragile on the verge of breaking in his expression.

“Okay,” she says softly as she takes his chin in her hands and coaxes him to look at her, only at her. “Stay with me, Kitty.” 

He blinks rapidly, but nods. She nods back. Her earrings beep, nearly in perfect time with his ring. With a herculean effort, she looks away from Chat and turns to glance at Félix. “Are you injured?”

He looks pale but otherwise unscathed. “I - no, Ladybug.”

She rises to her feet and, reluctant to pull her hands from Chat, simply tugs him up with her and keeps her fingers twined with his. She crosses the rooftop to the fire escape. “You can get down from here,” she says to Félix, before scanning the crowd. “Alya,” she shouts when she finds the face she’s looking for, “will you make sure Félix gets back to the Agrestes?” 

The girl in question makes her way to the front of the crowd, her cell phone gripped tight in hand, and nods. “Of course.”

With that, Ladybug turns her full attention back to Chat. She lifts both of his hands in hers and holds them to her cheeks until he meets her eyes. “Come with me?”

Both Miraculous beep a second warning. Chat’s eyes widen as her meaning lands, but he nods, his hands trembling against her skin.

Ladybug offers a weary smile before wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him in close, and swinging them both away.

 *****

When her feet touch down onto the rooftop of Master Fu’s old apartment, Ladybug lets go of Chat only long enough to drop her arm from his waist and take his hand instead. She slides her fingers into the gaps between his and presses their palms together, leading him down the fire escape and into the vacant rooms through the window. He follows along in her silent footsteps, as pliant as a newborn kitten.

The dusty apartment has been undisturbed for at least a year and empty even longer. Dust clothes drape over the few pieces of furniture that were left behind when their owner fled. Cobwebs gather in the corners. Ladybug wrinkles her nose. All things considered, it’s been forgotten, and forgotten places make the best spots to hide.

Her earrings beep a loud warning and she turns to face Chat Noir, her mouth going dry. There are so many things she has to tell him, and she can’t imagine where to start.

He isn’t looking at her. Instead, his gaze roams the dim room, perhaps noting the same things she has or nothing at all. Only one way to find out.

“Hey,” she says, barely more than a whisper. Slowly, he tilts his head in her direction, before his gaze slowly follows. He meets her eyes, searches hers, and then his stoic expression crumbles.

“Oh, Kitty, no,” Ladybug hurries to soothe. Her hands find his shoulders and tug him into a tight hug. She feels his gasp more than she hears it when their chests bump together, and then he’s clinging - his hands grip her hips with the slightest bite of claws before sliding around to her back to clutch her in an embrace that might have crushed bones, were it not for her suit.

“I hurt you,” he chokes on the words, his body trembling in her arms. A sob rips through him and tears out of his throat in a tattered breath. “I killed you, my lady, how -”

“No, you-” she stops and holds him tighter. She’d known, hadn’t she? She knew what stopping his Cataclysm would do to both of them, and she’d been the one to make him do it. Lying about it would do nothing to benefit either of them now. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I’m okay.” She presses her cheek to his, murmuring beside his ear. “I’m right here. I’ll explain everything, but I need you to breathe with me first, okay?”

Chat tucks his face into her neck. She can feel the dampness on his cheeks against her skin and the way his heart pounds in time with hers, frantic but alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

The relief brings with it the release of every bitter, horrible thing they’ve been through, the stress of two terrible days forced into one. It floods through her and knocks her to her knees, and he goes down with her. She tangles her fingers in his hair and presses her face into his collarbone until it hurts, until she can chase away the burnt scent of ashes and soot with his sunshine and leather, until all she can smell is something like home. 

“It’s okay, mon chaton, everything will be okay,” she whispers the promise into his skin and feels the slightest bit of tension slide away.

He shakes his head against hers but doesn’t draw back. “We’re about to-”

The final, wild beeping in her ear drowns out the rest of his warning. “I know,” Ladybug says softly, pulling away just enough to see his face. She plants one of her hands flat against his chest, wanting to hold on to the feeling of his heartbeats. With her other, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and guides his hand to where he can count hers. “We’re okay.” She lets her forehead come to rest against his. “I’m right here, and so are you. Breathe with me, Chat.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, and she does the same.

Her transformation wears off in a bright pink flash that mingles with the green light of his. It illuminates the room briefly before fading away. There’s soft cotton under her touch instead of worn leather and his racing heart is even more apparent, pounding into her bare hand as though it’d like to break free and make a home there.

She opens her eyes and sees Tikki barrel into a surprised Plagg with a squeak before the kwamis disappear into the shadows. She looks at Chat’s unmasked face to find his eyes screwed shut. Her lips curve into a soft smile and she whispers, “You can open your eyes, Adrien.”

Either the sound of his name or the invitation startles him into obeying. She sees wide green eyes before he leans back, only far enough to see her. 

“Marinette,” he breathes, and finally, he breaks into a small smile.

The sight of it takes a massive weight off her shoulders. She holds fast to his hand like a lifeline for fear she might float away. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

His gaze darts over her face with something endlessly soft in his expression that warms her from the inside out. “I’m not. Of course it’s you,” he says, the way one might announce the rising sun - a sure, indisputable thing. He lifts his free hand to her face and traces her cheek with his thumb, following the curve of where her mask usually rests. “My Everyday Ladybug.”

The admission steals her breath and her face flushes with heat. Just as quickly as it’d come, his smile fades. “I cataclysmed you,” he murmurs. 

He draws his hand back, but Marinette reaches out to catch it. “No, listen,” she starts. “You did, and you didn’t. But - it was my fault?”

He blinks and tilts his head. “You’re not making much sense, my lady.”

Tikki phases through Marinette’s purse with a pink macaroon in hand. She settles onto Marinette’s shoulder, suggesting, “Start at the beginning.”

“If only I knew what that was,” Marinette says, watching as Adrien pulls a piece of cheese out of his shirt pocket and automatically offers it into Plagg’s waiting paws. The sight would make her laugh, were it not for the concerned furrow of his brow and the weight of his unwavering attention. She swallows her nerves and straightens her spine. “Okay. So, you remember Timebreaker, right?”

“Yeah. There were two Ladybugs,” Adrien says immediately.

Marinette’s mouth twitches up into a smirk. “That is what you’d remember best, isn’t it, minou?” 

The small smile he offers is all Chat Noir, unabashed and mischievous. Reconciling her partner with Adrien is somehow as implausible as it is simple - a paradox she can only hope will grow easier with time. She continues on. “Well, this story is a little like that one. I’ve lived today twice, and the first time-” her fingers tighten reflexively around his, and he squeezes back. “The first time we fought Mirror Image, it went horribly wrong.”

Adrien frowns. “Did he hurt you? Did he get your Miraculous?” he fires off questions concerned only for her, and something bitter rises in Marinette’s throat.

“No, Adrien, he killed you,” Marinette murmurs, watching as the tight line of his shoulders relaxed. She feels the perplexing urge to punch him for it. “He reflected your Cataclysm and you died right in front of me.”

“Oh,” he says, dropping his gaze to their tangled fingers. “Well, I mean. I’ve died before. You always bring me back though, right?”

She can hear what he means but doesn’t put words to. Why does it matter now?

Marinette lets out a slow breath, blinking back the burning tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t this time. My Lucky Charm didn’t work and you were gone.” He opens his mouth, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to give him a chance to chime in with a protest that might break her heart. “So I went home, got the Snake Miraculous, and went back in time.”

He raises his eyebrows. “How-” he blinks, and she sees it when the horrifying revelation hits him. “You were akumatized,” he whispers. “On the roof, that was the akumatized Ladybug.” Adrien looks up with anguish in his eyes. “You got akumatized because of me?” 

She wants to shake him. “Adrien,” Marinette starts, her heart aching. “The only reason I had time to come up with a plan and run home instead of being akumatized immediately is that Hawkmoth was too distracted to try it right away. You’re my partner, Chaton, mon coeur, of course losing you was enough to akumatize me.” 

He looks devastated by the prospect. “But you...you shouldn’t have-”

“I let him,” Marinette says fiercely. “I knew what I was doing. I knew an Akuma would make the Miraculous limitless, I knew I could restart the day, and don’t you dare say I shouldn’t have done everything I could to save you, because I refuse to hear it.” 

Adrien snaps his mouth shut, meeting her glare for a moment before glancing away, his free hand rising to the back of his neck. In the silence that follows, Tikki nudges Marinette’s cheek. “Tell him everything, Marinette. There’s no point in keeping secrets now.”

She hesitates, but slowly meets Adrien’s eye when he looks back up. “It gets worse. I know who Hawkmoth is.”

“Why would that be worse?” he perks up for just a moment before he picks up on the heaviness of her words, the solemnity of her expression. He deflates, then takes a deep breath. “Tell me.”

She bites down on her lower lip. “Not long after the battle, I was still with you. He...Hawkmoth came. He said he’d suspected Chat Noir might be his son before -” at that, Plagg gasps. Adrien goes rigid and shuts his eyes. Marinette holds tight to his hand. “But Adrien disappearing the same night that Chat died seemed to confirm it for him.”

For several minutes, Adrien sits perfectly still and stays silent but for the whistle of his ragged breathing, in and out of his nose. Then, he lets go of her hand, stands up, and crosses to the window. His fingers curl into fists. He pounds them into the window sill with one loud thud, before tapping his knuckles to the glass, careful and controlled once more, even while turmoil crackles through him like a livewire. When he turns around, he doesn’t look at her. “I suppose you’ll be wanting my ring back, then.”

Plagg drifts close to him, his ears pressed flat to his head. “Adrien?”

Adrien doesn’t look at him, either. He keeps his gaze resolute on the wall somewhere over her head.

Marinette blinks once, twice. When she finds her voice, it’s strained. “Excuse me?”

His face is blank, but she can see the way his fists tremble. She wonders if he’s ever once been able to let go, or if everything he keeps locked inside is just going to keep rising until it hits a boiling point. “My Miraculous. You’ll want a new Chat Noir, one who’s not the son of a supervillain, of a terrorist.” His voice starts to shake. “One who couldn’t possibly have missed what goes on inside his own house, and-”

Marinette crosses the room and grabs onto his shoulders. He flinches, his expression twisting. “Chat,” she begs, “Stop.” 

“He hurt you!” Finally, his mask breaks, and a tear streaks down his cheek, followed by another, then a stream. “Over and over. He’s hurt so many people.” He shakes his head. “He’s a monster, and god, did he even care when I died?” Adrien’s voice cracks and Marinette pulls him in. One hand sifts through his hair and pulls his head down so he can hide his face in her neck, and the other fists in the back of his shirt.

“None of this is your fault,” she tells him, her voice thick with tears of her own. “Not one thing. You are my Chat Noir, no one else could take your place. We’re going to get you out of that house, and we’re going to figure this out together, okay? You and me.”

He crumbles into her, boneless in her arms, and she holds him steady through the storm. Tikki nestles into her hair while Plagg curls into Adrien’s collarbone.

When the rain passes and Adrien calms down to the soft rumble of Plagg’s purring and the murmur of Marinette’s soothing, he slumps back against the wall and sinks to the floor, bringing Marinette down with him. He sighs, his eyes red-rimmed. “Tell me the rest?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

She nods and tucks herself under his arm, lifting her hand to rest over his heart. “Okay. I restarted the day. I already had a clue you might be Chat, so I followed you -” at this, Adrien huffs a short laugh. “What?”

He shakes his head before leaning it on top of hers. “All day, I had the weirdest feeling I was being watched, but I never did see you, that’s all. Go on.”

Adrien stays silent through Marinette’s retelling, nodding along as she goes through the day. He stiffens when she tells him about Bunnyx and her ominous warning, but still, he doesn’t interrupt again. When Marinette reaches the battle, the parts he remembers, she glances up to find him frowning, his blond brows furrowed. 

“So I knew I had to be the one to catch your Cataclysm, or else it could have rebounded again, or you could’ve hurt Félix, and well, you were there for the rest. So you didn’t kill anyone, not really. I...I knew that once the other me got a real Lucky Charm, this time everything would be fixed,” she says, her own mouth curving down when his expression remains one of displeasure. Marinette folds her hands, tangling and untangling her fingers as nerves turn her stomach into knots. “So...that’s it.”

Adrien’s quiet for several moments, his severe demeanor unabating. When she squirms against his side, he finally says, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could try thank you,” Marinette says, aiming for lightness as she stretches her aching legs out in front of her.

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t…” he trails off and swipes a hand through his hair in one frustrated stroke before trying again. “The last thing I want is for you to risk your life for me - to die for me. Marinette, you can’t...you just can’t do that, okay?” 

Her stomach drops and her throat starts to burn. She pulls away from Adrien and fixes him with a glare that has him shifting in place. “I did what I had to do, and saying I can’t is a little ridiculous coming from you, don’t you think? You throw yourself in danger for me all the time for much less!”

“That’s different,” he says, his frown settling into a stubbornness she’s rarely seen on Chat and never on Adrien. He crosses his arms and lifts his chin. “Ladybug is more important.”

“That’s bullshit,” she cuts in, startling him. “You know it is. Sure, I’m the one who purifies the akumas and repairs the damage, so I have to make it to the end of the fight. But Chat, you take hits for me constantly, sometimes when it’s not necessary at all. You’re reckless.”

“So what? You can bring me back,” he insists.

But she hadn’t, not this time - she’d only fixed a failure with an extra Miraculous and a lot of Ladybug luck. That was the point, wasn’t it? Her partner believed her to be infallible and himself expendable; and while from a purely tactical standpoint, he might be technically correct, the thought made her sick. 

She’s always told herself that a great superhero only listened to her head, but it was messier, now; the heart that had shattered upon watching him turn to dust had only grown louder and louder. “You act like your life is just something to throw away.”

The minuscule shrug he offers is enough to have her eyes stinging. “LB, you know Paris doesn’t need me as much as they need you. It’s different. You just can’t die for me,” he says again, rising to his feet and brushing dust off his knees.

The cold logic in his voice, the finality, has Marinette pushing to her feet, suddenly more furious with him than she’s ever been. In seconds, she’s back in his space, nearly nose to nose with him. “Don’t you get it? I need you. There is no Ladybug without you!”

He shifts his gaze away from hers. “Don’t say that,” he argues, losing some of his steam. “You would be okay, my lady, you-”

“I wouldn’t be,” she snaps. She may be a hero, but if she’s learned anything at all from the past twenty-four hours, it’s that she’s only human. “I’ve lived it, and I was not okay! I would do exactly what I did today all over again if it meant saving you.”

Adrien lets out a breath that could have been a laugh, if it had any humor to it and none of the desperation. “Why?” 

“Because I love you!”

Marinette’s confession, loud and sudden as a thunderclap, seems to startle them both. It echoes through the empty room and leaves only silence to rain down upon them in its wake.

Adrien’s lips part as his mouth drops open, a disbelieving sort of fragility wiping away any remaining traces of the will to fight. “You-” he blinks. Something like hope tugs up the corner of his mouth, the beginnings of an incredulous smile. “You love me?”

She softens at his smile even as part of her still wants to cry. She lifts a hand to his cheek and he draws in a sharp breath, his eyes going wider still. “I didn’t really want to yell it at you, but yeah. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages. It’s what I’ve been so scared of, but when I lost you...I couldn’t just do nothing.” Her eyes tighten and her smile slips. “I would have given anything to have told you every single day, Kitty.” 

Adrien takes both of her hands in his and brings them to his face until he can press a kiss to each of her knuckles, his gaze on hers warm enough to make her melt. “This must be a dream,” he murmurs, sounding dazed.

Marinette’s knees threaten to give out, unwilling to hold her up much longer. Breathlessly, she asks, “If it were, what would happen next?” 

His eyes drop so quickly to her mouth she might have missed it, if she weren’t hanging on his every move. His chest hitches before his stare snaps back to hers, drowning her in green. He turns her hand over in his and brings her palm back to his mouth, then kisses the inside of her wrist. His throat works as he swallows, then, with his lips moving ever so slightly against the sensitive skin there, he says, “Something like this.” He kisses her wrist again before continuing, his voice low, “What do you dream of, my lady?”

She’s forgotten what oxygen is for, to say nothing of remembering what happens once she closes her eyes for the night. She’s lived through a nightmare, but this - this feels like sweet relief upon waking; of Chat Noir’s tender fingers brushing hair off her cheek, of sleepy smiles and muted sunlight in their eyes. Now, Marinette feels like her every nerve is wide awake.

Adrien waits, endlessly patient, and finally, she puts words to the truth. “You, Adrien. You.” 

His answering smile is radiant. His hands come up to cradle her cheeks and she meets him halfway in a kiss impossibly soft. Her fingers find their way into his hair and a small, helpless noise catches in his throat. Marinette sighs, thinking only of the dawn after night breaks, of the sun bursting through the clouds with daylight so strong not even time can put it out for long.

Adrien’s ragged breath plays across her cheek as he rests his forehead against hers. Marinette’s about to dive back in for more of him when a loud, dramatic sigh hits her ear. 

“Are you not done yet?” Plagg demands. Marinette feels the slight weight of him on the crown of her head, his little paws in her hair.

“Plagg!” Tikki scolds him, and the sound of Adrien’s laugh sinks into Marinette’s bones and floods her with peace.

Adrien rubs his cheek against hers, so much like a cat that her mouth quirks up in an unstoppable grin. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, don’t,” Marinette coos, scooping the kwami into her hand and rubbing his ears with her finger while Adrien looks on with a pout. “We lost him too, you know.”

At that, Adrien pulls her back into a hug, squishing Plagg in between them while Tikki settles onto Adrien’s shoulder. He tucks his face into Marinette’s hair and asks, “What are we going to do now?”

For a moment, Marinette says nothing. Outside, the night waits - there’s a city on the verge of sleep that trusts their heroes to keep them safe, and a villain looming larger than ever as the shadows close in. She shuts her eyes, listens to the sound of them both still breathing, and leans into Adrien. “I’m not sure,” she says, “but we’ll figure something out together.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

losing my mind

pairing: endings, beginnings! frank x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, sex, drugs, cheating, creative liberties with endings, beginnings plot, time jumps, angst, accidents, wounds

based off “losing my mind” from bernadette peters/or follies 

sequel to “always hate me”

The sun comes up, I think about you. The coffee cup, I think about you. I want you so it’s like I’m losing my mind. The morning ends I think about you, I talk to friends I think about you and no one knows it’s like I’m losing my mind. All afternoon doing every little chore, the thought of you stays bright, sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor not going left not going right ...

The sounds of the night infiltrated Frank’s mind like a drug, probably the only one he could take. Life seemed bleaker and this time he just couldn’t deal with it the was he normally did. Somehow drinking seemed to have no effect on him, drugs were just childish things and girls didn’t matter to him. He just roamed the Earth like a doomed soul with heavy metal spheres shackled to his ankle. Even his house no longer felt like home, every small thing reminding him of Y/N. From the little Beanie baby in the fireplace to the lingering scent of the laundry detergent she had swore to him was the best thing he could ever get and would make his clothes as soft as ever. It hurt him more not to have her on his side rather than Jack, Jack who he had known since he was a kid. No, he missed her and how she would drag him to watch Gossip Girl with her as Jack merely sneered at the idea or how she would eat only sweet and salty popcorn believing it tasted better.

The only thing that seemed to take his mind off was driving. He couldn’t sleep so driving was the only thing he could do. Just drive. Anywhere, for hours and hours on end with sleep weighting his eyelids and regret on his mind.

     - Where are we going? - he turned his head to the side, Y/N sat on the passenger seat, burgundy dress on and feet up on the car console. She had a sassy look to her, hair pushed back with a gaze that almost mocked him. Slowly, he blinked his eyes wondering if his mind was playing a trick on him, which it definitely was. - Don’t worry, darling. I’m just a personification of guilt and lack of sleep. 

      - Go away. - he steered the wheel of his car, hoping the hallucination of Y/N would just disappear. 

      - I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel so guilty. - the corners of her lips were pushed upwards. - How long did you think I took to sleep with Jack, huh? Think we’re doing it right now?

      - Shut up. 

      - He was always much more interesting than you. Smarter, sophisticated, the type of guy I’d take to my parents. You know my parents, right? You know they love Jack, they’re always talking about him and how smart he is. Do you wanna know what they say about you?

     - Shut up. - he screamed but what was he screaming at? His own guilt, screaming at the personification, the realisation of his guilt standing there in that damned burgundy dress, the same dress he had met her. She was not there, she was not real, she was just a vision. Guilt and regret personified. - Go away. 

     - I can go away whenever you want, darling. Go on and do what you always do, go get high, overdose even and maybe I’ll disappear or maybe I won’t. We all know you’re gonna end up like that, dead, just a bit too much and I’m not gonna be there. Jack’s not gonna be there when you’re gone and we won’t care. You wanna know why? Because you push people away, you push them away because you know you’re a mess and being next to you is like dying from radiation poisoning. Slow and painful, side effects lasting forever.

    - SHUT UP! - the lights of his car got brighter and brighter until he realised it wasn’t the light of his car that were shining at him. In a flash of second, his forehead hit the wheel of the thud and everything went black. The last thing he heard, his heart still beating and seemingly breaking out.

I dim the lights and think about you spent sleepless nights to think about you. You said you loved me or where you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind? I want you so it’s like I’m losing my mind. Does no one know? It’s like I’m losing my mind.

The sizzling of the pan was everything that was heard on Y/N’s very small apartment just on the outskirts of town yet still with an unbelievable rent price tag. As she moved the pan, she looked up to the clock shining 4:04 AM. She sensed something was wrong yet she couldn’t pin point what is was. Had she forgotten rent? No, rent was surely paid. Were all bills paid? She didn’t know but something was deeply unsettling to her and as Jack, who had come over for a small dinner and catch up, spoke to her the tragedy-like feeling just rose out of her chest.

    - Y/N? - he touched her wrist, noticing how still she was. - Hey, are you alright? 

    - Something’s wrong. 

    - What? Do you feel a disturbance in the Force? - he joked, trying to lighten the mood but Y/N was much to distressed to even get the joke. - Please tell me it’s not about Frank. It’s been two months.

    - Frank? No. I’m just .. I’m just tired. - she sighed, grabbing the pan from the stove and placing it on the table, a perfect frittata. Jack merely raised an eyebrow, setting down his cutlery as she sat. - What?

    - Normally if you don’t sleep that’s what happens. At this point I’m not entirely sure if stopping communication with Frank is hurting him or you more.

    - It’s not about Frank, Jack. Cut it off, please. - she rolled her eyes, slicing half the dish for her and half for Jack. Of course that deep down she knew she was lying to herself, of course it was about Frank. Half of her didn’t want to admit it that she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep ever since Frank professed himself to her as that half knew what he was. She knew the type of guy he was, she had picked him up from one night stands houses, from the curb of sleazy bars and strip clubs. He wasn’t exactly what one would consider a partner yet at the same time she knew he could be good. He would always make sure to buy some sweet and salty popcorn despite hating them, even having a quarter of a shelf filled with them. Or when her engagement broke off and he sent her a care basket with the whole box collection of Friends and Gossip Girl. 

    - C’mon, Y/N. Spit it out, what is it? Have you also been in love with Frank for all these years? - it came out as more of a joke, a tiny yet full laugh coming from his throat yet Y/N remained still. - Oh my god. You’re in love with Frank.

10 YEARS AGO

Y/N walked into the Valentines’ Day party thrown by Jack, barely holding herself up in her pair of new heels and burgundy long sleeve fit and flare dress which at the time she had thought was very appropriate. The mood was mellow with low lights and pink and red helium balloons suspended into the air while a very slow and almost melodic version of “Can’t Take my Eyes off You” played. 

Jack quickly noticed her, waving at her to come join him and his friends. In all honesty, she didn’t know any of the people here. She knew Jack from her English class as they had been paired together at the beginning but other than that it was mostly frat boys and their boyfriends. 

     - Hey, Y/N. I’m so happy you came. - he gave her a friendly hug before turning to his friends, or rather, one friend as the other men around seemed much more interested with their dates than him. His friend however quickly caught her attention. He was much more casually dressed than the other boys, wearing a button up shirt with a worn out coat and slightly ripped jeans. - This is my friend, Frank. Frank this is Y/N, we go to English class together. 

     - Nice to meet you Y/N from English class. - he raised his glass at her as she took a seat in the middle of the two boys. - What’s your poison?

     - Oh, I’m really not in the mood for alcohol tonight. - she gave him a shy smile, feeling like a school girl talking to the jock. 

     - Ah, that bad? - he questioned, bringing the cup up to his lips. - Don’t feel bad. Valentine’s is a commercial invention and the break up rate is usually higher around it. 

     - Sounds like you’re the one who’s not dealing well with it. - he raised an eyebrow at her statement, amused look in his face. - Statistics quotes and all? Who broke your heart?

     - No one breaks my heart, I don’t have one. 

    - Everyone has a heart no matter how hidden it is. That is just how anatomy works and you can choose to ignore that you have one or you can chose to accept you have one. 

    - You speak like an English student.

    - You speak like a Law student. - she noted.

    - How did you know? - he was amused by her, mostly how cut throat yet somehow soft she was about the information she was giving out. 

    - Law is reason free from passion. - she quoted, leaning her head against her own shoulder. - You seem to be void of it.

PRESENT

   - You know Jack just because you’re very happy in a new relationship doesn’t mean I need one. - she was protective but she knew. She knew she loved Frank, she had loved him from the very moment they had known each other, she loved him through the recounts of his night stands, she loved him when she accepted a marriage proposal and she loved him when she left his life months ago. However, just because you love someone doesn’t mean you should be together. 

   - I’m gonna ask you this only one time and whatever answer you give we won’t speak about it ever again. - his hand went to rest on top of hers, a caring look of that of a parent that Jack somehow always carried. She just stared at his hand, softly and safely on top of hers as he let the question go. - Are you in love with Frank?

The truth is not always kind or reassuring, it’s not always soft or climatic and in this case it was just ... freeing in a painful sort of way. The pain of holding it in for ages, pretending it would just disappear, the pain of leaning her head against his shoulder whenever they had show marathons and knowing it was just that, just a momentaneously second of paradise which would never come to fruition. The truth that she knew, that she had always known, coming out scared her more than her words could ever describe them. There’s knowing and there’s saying and sometimes speaking is harder that acknowledging. 

    - Yes and I really don’t ... - her phone ring interrupted her. Her gaze moved slowly across the room, sensing something in the air that felt like tragedy in the end. Without much thought, she grabbed her phone from the kitchen island, putting it up to her ears.

There are moments that the words don’t reach, you hear something but it just doesn’t register, it just doesn’t reach your senses and for Y/N this was one of those moments. The grip on her phone grew lose causing the device to slide off her hand and into the ground which in turn made Jack get up to notice how every single thread of joy seemed to have left her face. Before he could even question what was happening, she rushed up to her door, grabbing her jacket and keys. Jack followed behind the crazed woman who pretty much pulled the door of her car open. 

     - Where are we going? - Jack asked her but she continued to drive. The short ten minute drive seemed to take hours and hours and as the emergency unit of the hospital became clear to Jack, he understood what that call was about. 

She parked the car like a crazy person, immediately jumping off the car, still wearing her pyjamas and slippers which were hidden by her black trench coat. Her heart was beating like a drum as she hit the front desk where a less than bothered nurse was filling her nails and having small talk with her colleagues. 

    - Hi? Sorry, hi. - Y/N knew she sounded desperate but she was. - I got a call about a car crash. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. 

    - Follow me. 

All afternoon doing every little chore the thought of you stays bright. Sometimes I stand in the middle of the floor not going left, not going right. I dim the lights and think about you, spend sleepless nights to think about you. You said you loved me or were you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind?

The small noise of beeping woke him from his transe. All around white, nothing but white and if people were right than maybe he was in heaven however as his eyes got accustomed he could see the machines but more than machines, what really frightened him was the vision of Y/N.

   - Hey, darling. - her hand came to caress his face making him wonder if he was seeing her or if she was one of his tired mind’s inventions. 

   - Are you real? - his words were slow and droopy, caused by the high amount of morphine they had injected him with. 

   - Yeah, I’m afraid so. - she gave him a kind smile, hand pushing his messy hair away from his forehead. - Me and Jack were so worried. 

   - I wasn’t high, Y/N. I promise. - he didn’t know what was wrong with him, maybe he didn’t want her to be even more disappointed than she already was with him. 

   - I know, you just had a car crash, darling. You probably have enough morphine in you to put down an elephant. 

   - No, Y/N. I, I got distracted in the road I wasn’t using or drinking or with a girl, you have to believe me. 

   - Frank, darling, I know. You’re in the hospital, you don’t need to apologise to me. I was so worried about you and so was Jack.

   - Jack’s here? 

The girl nodded, pushing the hair away from his forehead once again, leaning to kiss his forehead. He was covered in small cuts caused by small shards of his car’s broken windows and a few gashes which she just couldn’t look at without feeling the tears submerge to her eyes. A sea of guilt was storming in her chest and although her subconcious kept telling her this would never be her fault, it was merely a car crash, her heart told her something else. Friday night. Gossip Girl night when Frank would bake the only thing he could without setting the kitchen on fire, mozarella and tomato pesto salad, and the two of them would sit down and watch two seasons in one night. If she hadn’t ... She didn’t even wanted to think about it.

Frank on the other hand could see the distinct pain on her features. The pressure of her muscles creasing her soft features, lines by her eyes and lips quivering. It hurt, it just hurt more than he could phantom something would hurt, it hurt more than his wounds, it hurt more than knowing he’d hurt her several times, it hurt to see her so hurt and being able to do absolutely nothing yet that seemed to be a pattern. Frank always did nothing. 

9 YEARS AGO

Valentine’s Day. Again. And Y/N was once again at the same party, the same decorations, the same slow version of “Can’t Take my Eyes off You” playing in the background, the only thing missing being Jack and Frank. Jack was on a date with a girl named Catherine whom he gushed about all the way through first until last period and Frank, well, Frank was out with a girl named Mandy. Oh Mandy, where to start with Mandy? Y/N hated Mandy. They had been housemates during the first year of university and if there was someone who could get her on her last nerve and consider murder it was her. Not only had she been a nightmare to live with, constantly refusing to clean or do any house chores, eating the food Y/N bought for herself. God, she was an absolute nightmare but Frank was interested in her and therefore Y/N held herself back. 

She sighed ordering a virgin mojito, wanting to remain sober and not get drunk and end up in bed with one of the various frat boys around. Looking at her phone she noticed the hour, 23:20, only forty more minutes of this painful holiday and she could be free from her feeling of loneliness. As she was about to turn off her phone to enjoy her drink, a message fell. Frank. 

“How’s commercial holiday? Found a suitable partner yet?” 

She smiled faintly at the text, finger lingering over his name on the phone.  

“I guess it’s alone commercial holiday for me once again”

She turned off her phone, not wanting to see another text from him, afraid it would be about how well his date was going with the housemate from Hell. Staring at her glass, she mixed the drink using the little heart shaped wood pick. As she took the first sip, the slow version of the song ceased to play and in its place “At Last” started to play because why play actual upbeat songs on a holiday where 50% of the population was miserable.

On that moment she decided she was better off alone in her room rather than in the middle of various single people expecting their fantasy of coupleness to occur. As she picked her clutch and looked for the door, she found Frank coming him, same old beat jacket that had become a trademark over the years. He gave her a little grin, walking towards her. 

      - Couldn’t let you spend Valentine’s alone. - he said before she could even question his appearence at this party. - C’mon, I have some red velvet cupcakes, wine and a blanket. Let’s go to the beach. 

PRESENT

Y/N had remained at the hospital for the two days he had been in, barely catching a second of sleep until tiredness finally beat her and had her sleeping against the uncomfortable hospital chair. The moment she went to sleep was the moment he woke up from his morphine induced sleep, eyes immediately focusing on her and how her hair fell in front of her face as she rested for the first time in two days. He moved slightly in his bed to better stare at her which led her to wake her up with the noise, moving her head upright immediately.

      - You’re awake. - she gave him a sleepy grin, straightening her back. - The doctor said you should be free to go home today. 

     - You should go home, Y/N. - his voice was still somewhat raspy from all the medication they’d been giving him. - I’m really not worth this. 

     - I have nothing better to do besides my neighbours are renovating, so it’s awfully noisy. 

     - Y/N, you really don’t need to be here. 

     - I think that’s the thing, Frank. - she gave him a soft smile, raising from her couch to go stand near him. - I think ... no, I know, I know I’m always gonna be here.

You said you loved me or were you just being kind or am I losing my ... mind?

everything taglist: @connie326​​ @lookiamtrying​

[funnywiccan]

Night at Black’s Manor (a Father Brown fanfiction) - Chapter I

-Can you explain me the meaning of this circus?-

Agatha looked at her daughter before answering, huffing after she have deposited a big carton with some vases in one of the moving vans: -It explains itself, if you think that after thirteen years living here in London we’ve collected a lot of stuff, Rosie. And I have no intention to leave something behind, since we will not come back here again.-

The young woman peeked inside another van: -Even that useless tennis equipment? Dad hadn’t played in years.-

-Maybe country air will give him the desire to, you can’t know.-

Rosie loaded the carton in her arms that contained some of her books, not so convinced of her mother motivations.

When the leaders of the bank where her father Albert worked as deputy manager told him that they wanted to open a branch in the British country, not only the man was ready to take the reins of the situation, not to mention to guarantee himself a promotion, but also for the opening he suggested the place where Rosie was born. In that way the whole family find itself, in the two weeks between the end of April and the beginning of May, to demob the whole content of their big house in London.

The three members of said family wouldn’t had been more different. Agatha Black, the mother, was a woman around 40 years old, short, with a sturdy body, some would have said a little manly and not so feminine, with tanned skin, brown eyes, with pointy face traits that inspired everything else than calm. After all, she was a boxing instructor. But her appearance could deceive, since in fact she was a very sweet and kind person. Her long black hair was tied up in a simple ponytail that day, though she liked to wear them in a lot of different ways. Usually she didn’t wear make up and earrings, only in special occasions.

Albert Black, the father, had a few years more than the wife. High, with greying brown hair kept short and a little messed up, eyes of an emerald green on a face perfectly oval, pale skin and thin, he looked like the opposite of Agatha. And in fact it was like that: he spent so much time behind a lot of desks, one for every promotion, that he wasn’t exactly a sporty person, but with her he shared a good and happy personality. He didn’t consider himself as an elegant man but he had a certain care of his appearance, judging from his perfect shave and the everlasting bergamot soap perfume that fluttered around him.

Finally their only daughter, Rosamunde “Rosie” Black, in the full bloom of her 20 years; she stood out for her punk look: her hair, naturally black, were dyed half dark red and she kept them medium short, she was high and thin like her father, maybe more, and equally pale. She shared with him even the colour of the eyes, always encircled by a few layers of black eyeliner and eye shadow. She wore two steel earrings on the right and one on the left lobe; around her neck she wore a little soft plastic chocker and a long steel chain with an empty military plate. And while her parents were dressed comfortably with tracksuits and tennis shoes, to be more free in movements while loading the vans, Rosie was dressed in dark blue jeans, black commando boots, a red t-shirt without sleeves and a lighter blue jeans jacket.

About her personality, Rosie was definitely a “quiet water”: she appeared calm and gentle like her parents, and for most of the time she was, but she didn’t had any kind of respect for any kind of authority, and in a picket she would have been the first in the group. She ended up in prison as well a couple of times, the last one for had break a policeman nose with a headbutt.

Despite this rebel nature she was a good university student with high grades, but she never bonded too much with her classmates. So she wasn’t so sorry to leave London and continue her lessons online to take her exams and end her first year at the King’s College.

Once everybody loaded their last baggage Albert talked with the vans drivers, that would have followed the family’s small car forming a curios caravan.

Agatha settled on the passenger sit next to the driver, while Rosie get in the back with the essential in a black backpack of stiff cloth: her cellphone, her loyal digital camera, two or three books, the wallet and a little lavender foldable umbrella.

-I hope this moving didn’t overturned some of your plans, Rosie.-

-Which? You know I live day by day, mom.-

-You know what I mean.-

-Relax. I’ve already settled everything with my teachers, and after we’ll get our new Wi-Fi at home I will follow the lessons again.-

-What about Lory?-

-… I didn’t heard from her in a while. It’s really over now.- Her eyes clouded in melancholy for a moment: -But it was her fault. She is the one that ruined everything.-

Her mother, turning back, placed a hand on her daughter’s knee, gently: -Maybe after all this moving come at the right moment. Take a break will help you, or so I hope.-

-Me too. Just pack everything up already helped me not to think.-

Albert opened the car’s door and literally jumped in the sit: -Lace up your safety belts, girls, we are leaving! Next stop: Kembleford’s village!-

Rosie started to record on her camera everything interesting she could caught during the trip. They were following the M40 highway, and passed next the Oxygen Freejumping Trampoline Park of Acton, where you can had fun jumping on the elastic trampolines in every season and where themed events were holds. Then they crossed Perivale, Greenford, Northolt (running along the Northala Fields park) and Uxbridge, leaving behind London’s outskirts. Rosie happily started joking with her parents, filming them and then herself to comment. She then decided to save some battery and paused the camera.

-You’re going to publish it on your channel?- asked Albert, -Like a trip diary?-

-Once I edited it, yes.-

Agatha snickered: what once was a hobby, a few years ago transformed in a proper YouTube channel created by Rosie, where she uploaded urban exploration’s videos and a few video blogs. She had a good number of followers, and had a lot of fun in making others knew about unusual places, maybe unknown to many inhabitants of London. The only condition the woman imposed to her daughter is that she never had to be alone, after all wander in abandoned places can be dangerous in many ways.

-You will be happy- continued her father, -Kembleford is rich of hidden places, ruined and that come with ghost stories, perfect for your videos!-

-That’s why I can’t wait to be there! It’s true that there’s a forest where in recent times someone celebrated pagan magical rituals?-

-Uh… I think so. There was a Wiccan community near the village, right honey?-

-Yes, but they abandoned the area in the middle of the Seventies. Said area is still inhabited, though wild animals sometimes came out of the woods and walk in the middle of the village.-

The girl made a funny sulky face: -Pity, I was hoping for some creepy manors. But from some pictures on the net, Kembleford looks promising anyway!-

They proceeded along the highway, passing the joint after Iver Heat. From that point the trip lasted for almost two hours.

Rosie enjoyed the landscape change: the urbanization signs vanished gradually, leaving the place to extended fields and green areas. They ran into a couple of roadworks and deviations on the way, but it didn’t slowed down the family and the moving vans, that remained efficiently behind their car without get lost. It did happened that the last van of the troop ended up with another car in front of it, but the separation didn’t lasted for too long.

The one that risked to get lost after the crossroad next to Wendlebury was Albert Black: while cursing the GPS of his cellphone he decided to try another road, thinking it would have been better. Then they run in another roadwork, that kept them stuck for fifteen minutes. At another crossroad they risked to end up at Oxford, headquarter of the namesake university.

In the end (after another risk to came back because of a branch of the highway) they finally reached their destination.

[viastro]

sweet chaos | jeon wonwoo

ミ★ synopsis: you and wonwoo are the best assassins in south korea. however, underneath it all, the two of you fell in love. what will you do when you’re hired to kill him?

ミ★ genre: assassin!wonwoo, angst, suspense, slight fluff + humor

ミ★ warnings: mentions of murder, minor character death, suggestive

ミ★ word count: 3,405

ミ★ pairings: wonwoo x female reader

ミ★ notes: hi guys! this one is kinda uhh different ?? from what I usually write cause i like writing crack and fluff lmao. this prompt has been in my head for awhile after watching killing eve so i decided it was TIME. i hope you guys like this one! 

“Did you come to kill me, my love?” Wonwoo asks as you open up the champagne bottle in the kitchen. You don’t let the question phase you, taking a sip of the expensive champagne that you brought over. Instead of answering you respond with,

“Want some?” 

Wonwoo stares at your all black attire, as if you were attending a funeral for a loved one. However, in your line of work, the both of you should not have any loved ones. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

It was in the winter of last year when the two of you met. You were attending a gala for the largest mafia boss in South Korea, Kim Hyunwoo. You weren’t there to make any friends or scope out any opportunities by any means, for you were hired to send a bullet straight through Kim Hyunwoo’s head. There was a large bounty on him from the opposing mafia in Gangnam, and that’s when you were hired. YN YLN, the only female assassin South Korea has come to know. 

“Would you like a crab cake?” You turn to glance at the voice, giving your attention to the waiter who is serving the hors d'oeuvres. Looking down at the plate, you feel yourself immediately turned off by the seafood.

“No thank you.” He bows, before turning away and heading over to the next table. You smoothen out the silk of your white dress, gazing boredly at the groups around you holding discussions. Your interest only peaks once you hear the familiar voice of your target boom through the speakers.

“Thank you all for coming to tonight’s event.” Kim Hyunwoo’s voice booms through the mic, and you raise an eyebrow, smirk forming on your lips. After taking a sip of your white wine, you sneak off towards the restroom to prepare. 

“Going somewhere?” A hand is now wrapped around your wrist, and you turn to glance at who may in fact be your next victim of the night. You give him a fake smile, trying to get out of his grasp, only for him to tighten his hold.

“What is it?” You ask boredly, trying your best not to reach out and snap his neck.

“Had my eyes on you all night, you look absolutely stunning.” He compliments, and you finally recognize the man. Park Joowon, the owner of Seoul’s biggest underground boxing ring. He’s known to have been the best back in the day, later creating his own… fight club if you will.

“Park Joowon, what a pleasure.” He smirks at his name leaving your mouth, and you give him a  grin of your own.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks you, his grip tightening even more, showing that it’s a command rather than an offer.

“Is that really a question? Considering the grip you have on my wrist.” Joowon chuckles at that, giving you an open mouthed smirk.

“Smart girl, now keep that up when I take you out of here.” He mutters, suddenly trying to yank you away. You’re about to pull out the silencer from the slit of your dress, only for another man to rest his hand on Joowon’s arm. You and Joowon glance at the man who stepped in, and you feel yourself in awe for the first time in a long time. 

His hair is black, parted off to the side, showing off a sliver of his forehead and bold eyebrows. He’s dressed in a white turtleneck with form-fitting black pants, a silver dangle earring decorating his ear. You stare into his eyes, those that have a similarity to a cat, a glint within them. 

“Who are you?” Joowon asks, glaring at the handsome man. 

“You’re needed by Mr.Kim right after his speech, which should be ending soon.” The man answers instead, and Joowon rolls his eyes, letting go of your wrist.

“I’ll find you later.” He hisses to you, turning around and walking towards the mafia boss. Once he’s far enough, the mystery man turns to you, giving you a small smile.

“Kim Hyunwoo doesn’t need to talk to him, right?” He shrugs in response, running a hand through his hair. 

“Perhaps.” 

“You know I had it under control right?” 

“I know, just thought this could leave a good impression on the pretty girl.” He says with a cocky smile, and you find a grin appearing on your lips as well.

“I’m yn.” You tell him, holding out your hand for him to shake. Instead, he grasps it softly, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss onto the back of your hand.

“I’m Wonwoo.” You slowly retract your hand, the feeling of his lips remaining as you let your arm rest to your side. 

“Well, Wonwoo, if you’d excuse me.” You turn around and walk off in the direction of the restrooms, and Wonwoo stays in his spot, staring at your back until you turn the corner. He lets out a small chuckle at your abrupt exit, feeling himself strangely intrigued by you. 

His mind stays on you for a second longer, before he takes notice of Kim Hyunwoo now moving to a table to initiate conversation. Wonwoo remembers the whole reason he’s even here, and heads over to make his move.

meanwhile…

You’re making your move towards one of the interior balconies the ballroom has, taking out your silencer and hiding behind the curtain. You peek past the wall, seeing Hyunwoo in the perfect spot. You let out a small chuckle, getting ready to aim when he suddenly starts... choking?

He falls to the floor and everyone surrounds the man as he starts spasming. You feel anger fill your chest at the fact that he’s fucking dying before you could’ve made a move on the bastard. Which means you won’t be getting paid, unless your employer looks at it like, “Oh, I guess he died at the event anyways. Let’s just pay her!” 

You know for a fact that this isn’t him having a stroke or a heart attack. No, you know this method. Only another person who would know how to poison another human would be able to do this, so this is when you start looking around the room, trying to find who it could be.

Only to lock eyes with Wonwoo, who’s giving you the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. You don’t know how he noticed you among the chaos surrounding him on the level below you, but he has a look of challenge in his eye.

“You’re an assassin.” You breathe out, and he turns and walks out of the ballroom. You dash out of the balcony, running towards the entrance to catch up with Wonwoo and give him a piece of your mind, only to stop by the vibration of your phone on your thigh. You huff, reaching into the slit of your dress and taking out your phone, answering it on the third ring.

“What.”

“Meet me at the cafe the street over, sweetheart.” You pause at the similarity of the voice, and you find yourself chuckling once you put two and two together. 

“So you’re a hacker too, handsome?” Wonwoo smiles at the other end, already crossing the street.

“What can I say? I’ve got a lot on my resume.” 

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you love, you took my job for tonight. Now I won’t be getting paid.” You say, heading out of the lobby at a brisk pace to meet up with Wonwoo.

“You were too slow, I had to make a move before you did. Besides, my method was cleaner than what you would’ve done.” Wonwoo responds as he stops in front of the cafe. He turns and faces the direction you should be coming in.

“You saw the gun through my dress when you were checking out my ass?” You tease, crossing the street once the light turns green.

“No, I just know your methods of killing people aren’t the cleanest. Your ass is rather nice though.”

“So you’ve done your research on me?” You ask, rubbing your arms with your free hand to offer some warmth as you had forgotten to grab your coat as you left the building.

“YN YLN, only female assassin in Seoul. Best of the best, never failed a job.” Wonwoo explains, and he looks up to see you heading over in that silk white dress. Everyone around you is doing a double take as you pass them, and he raises an eyebrow at one man whose eyes linger far too low on your body for his liking.

“Sounds like you’ve been interested in me for awhile.”

“Guess you could say that.”

“While I’m flattered, that was a lot of money I lost tonight by you taking over my gig.” You breathe, looking up and seeing Wonwoo waiting outside of the cute cafe.

“We can split it.” Wonwoo suggests, smirking at you once you two lock eyes.

“If we split it, that means we’d have to see each other again.” You finally reach Wonwoo, taking a peek inside the heart themed cafe. You hang up the phone, placing it back through the slit of your dress, causing Wonwoo to laugh at the action.

“Why would seeing each other again be so bad?” He asks, and you give him a look that basically means, you should know exactly why that would be bad.

“Have any other ways you could pay me back?” You ask, rubbing your arms once again from the gush of cold. You look up at the sky and see snowflakes beginning to fall on the cold winter night. 

“Are you suggesting something, yn?” You look back at Wonwoo, letting a smirk come over your mouth.

“Aren’t you?” You challenge, and Wonwoo smiles. He leans in to whisper in your ear, lips brushing against it as he mutters, “I’ll pay you back in more ways than one tonight, pretty.”

“It’s been a month since I last saw you.” Wonwoo says quietly, staring at your delicate features with adoration. You don’t dare to look at his face, knowing you’d get pulled back in easily. 

“You’re still as gorgeous as the time we went to see the cherry blossoms together.” He mumbles, reaching out to rest his hand on your cheek. You shut your eyes, feeling his warm breath hit your face.

“You know that I came here to kill you Wonwoo.” You mutter, opening your eyes and finally looking back at him. You feel your breath get taken away at the close proximity between you two, realizing you’ve missed this warmth he brought in the time you forced yourself to stay away for the sake of your jobs.

You two are the best assassins in South Korea, but underneath that title, you’re both just murderers. You’re undeserving of love from the number of lives you’ve taken without as much of a blink of an eye. In your line of work, there’s no such thing as loving another when all you do is kill, and kill, and kill. 

Love doesn’t exist for the two of you, so that’s why you stayed away from him no matter how much you may have missed him. No matter how badly you wanted to run to his house and envelop yourself within his arms, being engulfed in the scent of something akin to vanilla and lavender, to mask the smell of blood that is so encompassed within your brain. 

You were becoming vulnerable, soft, and your boss sensed it. He knew that if he asked you to kill Wonwoo, you wouldn’t be able to. That’s why he suggested for you to kill Wonwoo, thinking that it would make you focus better, but he did it with the lingering thought that you wouldn’t be able to. And he was right, because you decided to just stay away for a month instead of going and killing him on the spot.

The only reason you came was because someone hired you to kill Wonwoo, writing that he murdered his family in cold blood and he wants to avenge them. The man was offering a large amount of money, so it was a job that couldn't have been turned down. Your boss told you to take the job or else he would, and you knew it was no longer up for debate.

“I know.” Wonwoo whispers, leaning down and resting his forehead on yours, staring hard into your eyes.

“Aren’t you afraid?” You ask quietly, eyes trailing down to his lips when his tongue pokes out to wet them.

“No, because I know you won’t kill me.” He answers, before pulling away and sitting down at his dining table. You feel as if you can finally breathe once again, but there’s a foot just pressing into your chest, knowing that he’s right.

“How can you say that so confidently?” 

“Because yn, I know you. You’re just like me.” You walk over and sit down across from him, feeling the unfamiliar prickling sensation behind your eyes, “How?” 

“Because I could never kill you. Me, the man who’s known to kill any person without an ounce of remorse or second thought, could never kill you. And you, the woman who was trained to be an assassin from the moment she could walk on her own, could never kill me.” You bite your lip at the truth he holds to those words, taking a swig from the champagne bottle instead of saying a proper response.

“Did I hit the nail right on the coffin, yn?” Wonwoo asks after a moment, taking notice of the drop of alcohol on your lips from drinking the champagne right from the bottle.

“I don’t know, did you?” 

“So, yn, are you still going to say that you’re going to kill me, or can we go upstairs and cuddle?” Wonwoo suggests, and you finally feel the first tear fall past your eye at the thought of how desperately you want to do that.

“We can’t, we can’t keep doing this Woo.” You say, looking up at his face. He’s staring at you with an expression you’re unable to decipher. 

“Why not? Because we’re assassins?”

“Yes! We’re not- we can’t have weaknesses Wonwoo.” You hiss, staring directly into his eyes to prove your point. He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his fluffy black hair.

“You keep trying to blame our job, but it sounds like you’re just afraid of love, having a relationship with someone. You know fully well that us being together would be beneficial for not only us, but for our employers.” Wonwoo responds, taking the champagne bottle out of your hand and pouring himself a glass, leaving you flabbergasted. You try to come up with a retort, only to fall empty handed.

“I love you, yn.” You shut your eyes at the words, not wanting to look at the man.

“I love you with everything in me.”

“Stop.”

“I want to be with you.” Wonwoo says as you stand up from the dining table, hands going up to cover your ears in an attempt to no longer have to hear the words that are tearing your resolve bit by bit. 

“Stop it Woo.” Wonwoo stands up after you, walking over to where you are and removing your hands from your ears gently. 

“I love you.” You lose it.

You shove him backwards, taking out your gun from your holster and aiming it directly at his head. He stares at you, expression having not changed a bit from when you first entered his house. He’s still looking at you with pure love and affection in his eyes.

“I’m going to kill you.” You threaten, hand shaking as you hold the gun towards his head. Wonwoo gives you a small smile, tilting his head to the side as he watches you have an internal conflict within your brain for a minute.

“Are you?”

You stare at the man you love, wanting nothing more than to just go back into his arms. Knowing fully well that he’s right, and that the two of you dating would be beneficial to your bosses. However, you’re so, so, afraid.

“I’m scared.” You mutter so quietly, and Wonwoo nods his head. He reaches out and takes the gun out of your shaking hands, turning on the safety and placing it onto the dining table. You fall to your knees, watching your hands quiver as thought, after thought, after thought, runs through your brain.

“What if they send someone else after you because I didn’t complete the job?” You panic, and Wonwoo kneels down so that you’re face to face.

“They won’t.”

“But how do you know that? How can you be so confident that it won’t happen-”

“I trust that I’m efficient enough at my job to not get killed. It’d be embarrassing for the both of us anyways.” Wonwoo jokes, and you wonder how he can be so easygoing in a situation like this.

“Let’s go cuddle, hm?” He asks, resting his hand on your cheek once again. You lean into the touch, and Wonwoo smiles at you. 

“Why did you let me in, Woo? When you knew I was going to kill you?” 

You both stare at each other in silence, serious expressions on both of your faces. You’re conflicted, knowing that killing comes second nature to you, but you can’t bring yourself to kill him. While Wonwoo wants nothing more than to just be with you.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, my emails. I even wrote a letter to you as if it was the 18th century. So I did what I had to do, I hacked into your database and basically wrote in the system that you need to kill me.” Wonwoo responds with a smile, and you gape at him.

“It was you?!” You sputter, slapping his hand away from your cheek. He gives you a cheeky grin as your eyes bulge out of their sockets at the realization that he was the one who hired the hit on himself.

“Well yeah? I knew it’d be the only thing to work.”

“Are you stupid?! I could’ve killed you!” You screech, and Wonwoo flinches at your raised voice, one that he hasn’t heard in awhile. 

“You wouldn’t have.”

“But I could’ve! I could’ve went and hit you with a fucking truck, poisoned you, shot a bullet through your head-”

Wonwoo cuts you off from your scolding by leaning in and capturing your lips with his. It’s easy to get distracted by Wonwoo’s lips, as he’s not only a skilled assassin and hacker, but also a fantastic kisser. However, you’re not done yelling at him. You bite his lip, making him pull away and pout at you.

“I’m not done scolding your bitchass!” 

“You were so angry! I wanted to try and calm you down.” 

“Calm me down? You just wanted to makeout you horny bitch.” 

“Okay… so maybe I wanted to kill two birds with one stone.” You roll your eyes, hitting his shoulder. He smiles and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, causing warmth to rush up your face, making you look down at your hands.

“Don’t do that ever again alright? Don’t go and order a hit on yourself in order to get my attention.” Wonwoo shrugs, resting his head on his hand to stare at you adoringly. You scoff at the expression on his face, wondering how the hell he can still look at you with all that love even after you pointed a gun at his head. 

“I’m crazy sweetheart, I’d do whatever it takes to get you back in my arms.” You glare at him and he gives you that stupid, endearing smile of his. 

“Can we go cuddle now?” He asks, giving you puppy dog eyes to try and convince you. You sigh, rubbing your cheeks to get rid of any more leftover tears. 

“We’re not done with this talk.” You stress and Wonwoo nods his head, knowing fully well that once you start scolding you don’t stop.

“I know yn, I know.” You stare at him, biting the inside of your cheek. You reach up and rest your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to place a quick kiss to his lips. 

With your lips brushing against his, you whisper in between kisses, “I love you.” 

Wonwoo smiles, squeezing your hips with his hands he responds, “I love you too.”

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from @bi-readytobakepie-cry-and-die, @walkinoxymoron,  @mysticalflowerroadprune, @thenocturnalsyren  and two anons. I have an order here, chips with extra fluff? Anyone? You asked for fluff, you’re getting fluff—and the chips, too. 🍟

Words: 2975 Warnings: pure fluff, sleep paralysis

You spun around when your attacker lunged, acting surprised. He had you cornered, with no way to run—or so he thought. It was a devilish smirk that curled your lips upwards when he aimed to stab the thin air surrounding your illusion as it disappeared right before his eyes. He screamed, anger and frustration getting the better of him. It was his last mistake before you pierced his head with an arrow. You used a small crossbow attached to your right wrist to shoot your enemies, usually refrained from fighting up close. You were simply not the type. Besides, you hated the feeling of blood that was not your own on your skin.

You had been hunting these people all the way to New York now. Cleopatra would be truly proud of you. But those artefacts were not only of personal value for you and your heritage but also extremely dangerous which in the wrong hands could cause a lot of damage—and the most selfish part of you, so you knew, wanted to keep them all to yourself.

There was only one of them left now and quite apparently, you had received some unknown help. You were not the only one hunting the man who was quite likely aiming to have Assassin’s Creed come to life as he climbed over every rock and piece of debris he could find to get away. Although you were grateful for their aid, you couldn’t help but wonder what it was they wanted from him.

Stopping dead in your tracks when he came to a sudden halt, you moved behind a metal barrel and observed how a woman with ginger hair and a black suit fired three shots. Not a single one missed its target. Dead. The spook was finally over. Now all you still needed was that contract hidden in one of his pockets.

“Hey, there’s another one!” The mechanical voice was coming from above you when you emerged from your hiding spot and attempted to approach the corpse. Looking up to find a man wearing a red and gold suit, you barely had the time to spin back around when another man on their team—short hair, with a bow and arrow as his weapon of choice—unceremoniously aimed at you.

“No, stop!” Your eyes widened, reflexes kicking in. You felt the familiar tingling in your body whenever you teleported, leaving an illusion behind and letting the archer’s arrow hurtling through the empty spot you had stood in less than a second ago. Rude… “I believe we are on the same side.” They jumped when you reappeared behind them.

-

You struggled to remember their names, purpose and story. The woman with the red hair was called Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow for short. Former assassin, she now worked with this secret organisation called SHIELD. There was Tony Stark—billionaire and Iron Man and Steve Rogers aka Captain America who spent seventy years frozen in the sea. The man who had almost killed you had you not been supernaturally gifted was called Clint Barton and sometimes Hawkeye. You were familiar with Thor of course. How could you not be? You had grown up reading about gods and goddesses… being one yourself.

“The question is… who are you?” Tony Stark had removed his suit by now and revealed an average-sized man.

“My name is (Y/N)—not a fancy superhero name, I know.”

“And you practice magic,” Thor tossed in with crossed arms.

“Magic? No. I cast illusions. My father was human, like most of you. My mother on the other end… are you familiar with the tale of Persephone and Hades?”

Tony Stark raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you’re a Greek goddess?”

“Half-goddess. I prefer the term hybrid.” You usually wore contacts to hide your true eye colour. It was much more saturated than others.

Alarmed, you turned when someone else entered the room. They had taken your crossbow from you just to be sure but to be fair, you could bring it back into your possession in the twinkling of an eye.

“Where have you been, Reindeer Games? We could have needed you out there.”

“Urgent matters.” A smooth, mysterious and dark voice stated simply—mockingly almost. While you sincerely doubted that his name really was Reindeer Games, for some peculiar reason you were dying to learn who he was. Raven hair, blue eyes and those sharp cheekbones… his clothing looked Asgardian, too. He was definitely not human. Neither were you, depending on how you looked at it.

Electricity rippled through you when your eyes met. The strange Asgardian made no move, whatsoever though, to introduce himself.

“You will be…?” You asked with a polite smile.

Natasha frowned suspiciously. “He is…”

“Loki,” he interrupted her hurriedly, dashing you a smile as he did. “Thor’s brother, I am afraid to say.” You laughed when the God of Thunder shot him a playfully hurt glance.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Loki.”

“She lived on the moon, didn’t she?” Clint murmured.

Tony pursed his lips. “Where did you come from?”

“Egypt. I spent the last six years in Egypt.”

“Right… and what is a Greek goddess doing in Egypt?”

“Half-goddess—and I told I don’t like being called that. I was working with archaeologists and securing sacred artefacts. You know… objects like the box of Pandora.” You winked at him.

The Avengers, so they called themselves, exchanged puzzled looks—almost as if they were in on a secret you were yet to learn about.

“I see. You best stay away from… well. (Y/N), Loki is…” Clint started.

“…determined to show you around.” The God of Mischief interrupted him sharply, directing all of his attention to you. “What is it you can do then?”

“I cast illusions.”

You smirked when his eyebrows rose in an impressed manner and he offered you his arm to make you decide in that moment that you liked him.

-

By now, around three months had passed since you more or less joined the Avengers. They had helped you return the artefacts to Egypt and Loki… Loki and you had found yourselves spending a lot of time together and getting to know one another. He was wonderful. Intelligent, witty, mischievous and thoughtful and even quite introverted when it came to talking about his inner thoughts and feelings. There was something he was not telling you though—something that Thor too was making the Avengers keep silent about.

Whatever it was… perhaps one day, he would be ready to tell you. You were not going to pressure him into anything. You had your own skeletons in your closet—which was why you were beginning to fall in love with him—and the reason your heart almost leaped out of your chest when Steve and Thor returned without him from one of their latest missions which had entailed the words venom, dwarves and drinking water.

You had been against them wandering off on their own and without any backup, especially if something otherworldly was involved. Thor was quite megalomaniac, so you had figured. His ‘that’s what heroes do’ attitude made you want to slap him every now and then. Loki never considered himself as a hero and for some peculiar reason the Avengers never bothered to treat him as such either.

“Where is Loki?!”

They were bruised, injured and covered in blood. You did not even want to imagine what they must have dealt with. The book you had been reading flew over the sofa as you hurried to confront them.

Thor shook his head. He was still out of breath.

“We don’t know,” Steve answered you instead. “He disappeared shortly before the explosion. He might still have been in the building.”

“The explosion?!” You shrieked. “Well, why didn’t you look for him?”

“The dwarves were still there.” Dwarves. If only they were harmless. They certainly looked the part—right until they tried to scratch your eyes out with their tiny and venomous claws.

“Okay, you two, into my lab. Bruce just got back from England concerning the venom, (Y/N), you calm down. Loki goes to ground all the time.”

“Why are you all acting like he does not matter? What is wrong with you, Stark?”

“What’s wrong? He is a fucking crim—“

“Stark!” Thor roared. Indignantly, you shook your head as they hurried out of the room. “Don’t worry too much about him, (Y/N)!” You heard him yell to you. “You don’t know Loki like I do!”

This was starting to get ridiculous. But you had no time to ponder over this—you were way too worried for him, right until something crashed into the living room and broke the glass table in front of the sofa. No, not something. Someone.

“Loki!” Thank the stars. He must have teleported himself out of there. He was covered in dirt and dust, a laceration on his forehead. His blue eyes met yours for only a brief second before the adrenaline in his body died down and he fell unconscious.

The venom. Loki was an Asgardian god. If the dwarves’ venom affected him so strongly… he was sweating, too. With all your strength, you heaved him on the sofa and slid a cushion under his head. None of the other Avengers would be back anytime soon anyway.

You left for only a brief moment, returning with a wet cloth to cool his skin and clean his wound. There was nothing else you could do for him except for watching over him to make sure he healed.

“Loki… get well soon, my king.” He had told you about his desire to claim the throne, to be the first choice for once. He certainly was your king. “Get well soon so I can kiss you.”

Smiling, you gripped his hand tighter, leaning against the sofa. You had always slept like this back in Egypt. You had worked with a young archaeologist only a few years younger than yourself. Your sleep paralysis—something you had not even told Loki about just yet made it hard to restfully slumber at night. She on the other hand had had nyctophobia—fear of the dark. It had been hard to leave her behind, knowing she had become something like a sister. Since then, sleep had rarely come to you… until you had met Loki and now knew you could always spend the entire night talking to him instead.

Holding his hand now and feeling his warmth and his presence filled you with joy. Before you even knew it, you had fallen asleep next to him, kneeling on the ground. Unbeknownst to you, however, the God of Mischief had still been awake the entire time and heard every single word you had said. Kiss me? He thought—the last one before he slid back into unconsciousness.

When he woke again, you were still there, holding his hand. He smiled. It was nice, knowing that somebody cared for him. It made the pain the venom caused as it cursed through his veins a lot more bearable. Tomorrow, he figured, he would be over the worst. And then his smile suddenly disappeared. She only cares for you because she doesn’t know what you’ve done, a scornful voice in his mind whispered.

Loki clenched his fists. He rolled his eyes when he discovered Thor sneakily peeking into the room.

“What happened?” He croaked. It was an unnecessary question, really. He knew what had happened. He was just too weak to nag ‘What do you want’.

“She fell asleep over three hours ago, Loki. I tried to wake her but she refuses to leave your side.”

Loki looked him directly in the eye, his heart skipping a beat. She refuses to leave your side. “Why have you been so keen on keeping a secret from her what I did in New York?” He asked, taking his chance now that they were alone. For once, there was honest curiosity in his voice.

Thor hesitated. Then, he shrugged. “Because you were.” It was all he replied. He understood then. Just this one time, his brainless brother understood why it was so important to him to keep from you what had made him, in the Avengers’ eyes, a villain. He just wondered for how much longer he could keep up the act.

With a gentle smile, Thor turned to leave the room. “I knew you would make it out.” He added before he disappeared. Loki rolled his eyes yet again, albeit amused.

Perhaps it was wrong. He would never find peace living in constant fear that you would find out on your own and hate him like all the other Avengers did. He took a deep breath when you opened your eyes—and for the first time in a long while, he was at loss for words. What should he first say to you? Should he thank you? Ask if you had had pleasant dreams?

“Good morning, my dear.” He eventually opted; to his utter shock, however, your eyes widened. You did not move, not a single inch and yet, your eyes proved you were awake. Did you already know? Had he scared you somehow, or done something in his half-unconscious state?

-

Anytime now they would appear—those pitch black monsters with the long claws and the terrifying red glowing eyes. You had seen them in a film as a child and ever since then, they had become the personification of your fear. Rejection, repulsion, hatred, loneliness… they all meant to grab you. Falling asleep, you had been holding Loki’s hand, so why had your sleep paralysis returned?

The sorrow, you answered yourself. You were worrying for Loki when you fell asleep. Was he still here with you, on the sofa? You could not see him. Instead, over the backrest, crawled the first monster. It stared at you darkly, making your eyes widen in fear and then, out of the blue, another one reached for you from behind, beginning to shake you. Shake you? That was new. They usually never managed to actually touch you, you always brought yourself to wake up in time.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), are you alright?” Loki. Blinking frantically, you fought hard to move your limbs, to tense and relax your muscles repeatedly to fully wake up. When you finally did, you were met with a very concerned Loki. “What is happening to you? You started screaming at me.”

“I did? I’m sorry…” One deep breath, then two, then three. “I was… nightmare. Never mind. Are you feeling better?”

“A nightmare? That did not look like a simple nightmare.” Loki knew what nightmares looked like. He had them all the time, after all.

“Maybe not. But I don’t want to burden you with that. You seem to be having your own problems.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He spat, sitting up and putting his feet on the ground fast.

“Loki, there is obviously something you are trying to keep a secret from me.”

“So you mistrust me?” He responded with a quiet voice.

“I don’t mistrust you,” you insisted, cupping his cheek. “I just feel like there is something you are not ready to tell me about yet and until then… it would be unfair to rant about my problems instead.”

Loki looked up. Regret was sparkling in his blue eyes—regret along with remorse. You do not even deserve her, the voice whispered.

“I am a criminal.” He suddenly said, the word murderer not quite leaving his lips.

“What? What are you saying?”

“A little over five years ago, I invaded this planet in an attempt to rule it. I was blinded by a promise which could never be held and betrayed not only Thor but also myself.”

“You did… what?” Your lips parted. I invaded this planet.

“It matters not. Thanos is dead now.”

“Thanos? Thanos made you do this?”

“No,” he snapped. “The sceptre, it… I killed many innocent people, (Y/N). It was only a small price to pay for the recognition I sought.” He looked you dead in the eye. “I regret making these sacrifices but at the same time… I do not.” He was torn. You could feel it burning in his stunning eyes.

“Why did you never tell me that?”

Loki scoffed scornfully. “I assumed you would despise me like everyone else if you knew. I took lives, (Y/N). I took lives for my own gain. I am not a hero, I never will be.” And he did not want to be, so you figured. You did not despise him. Quite on the contrary… you were only falling for him more and more. The pain that Thanos had inflicted on him still sat deep. He blamed himself, assuming it was no one else but him who deserved to be called evil and a villain.

Actions might comfort him more than your words could now. So you leaned in, placing your palms on his thighs for balance and tenderly pressed your lips against his. If anything, the God of Mischief was taken aback, still, the moment you joined for a hesitant kiss, his eyes fell shut. With a sigh, he cupped your face and pulled you closer, his tongue asking for entrance almost timidly. For now, explaining to him what sleep paralysis was and how it tormented you at night could wait.

“I don’t hate you,” you breathed out once you parted again, desperate for oxygen. Your lips were swollen—his were too, a little. “I think I am falling for you, Loki Odinson.”

His expression was hopeful, vulnerable even—so unlike his usual cool and confident demeanour. His smile, honest and raw, was contagious.

“I heard you,” he admitted. “I heard you promising to kiss me once I woke up.”

Biting back a joyful laugh, you kissed him once more.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Your Hand - (aka Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader meet up three years post RotS (AU oneshot))

“It is too late.”

Ahsoka shook her head vehemently, refusing to accept the montone delivery of what was doubtless the truth. He sounded nothing like the Anakin she’d known, even as she reached out with the Force, searching for him - sensing only cold; a juxtaposition between the burning hatred and the freezing tendrils of the Dark Side coiling around him like treacherous, lethal serpents, ready to strike and deliver their venom straight into her bloodstream. Ready to watch her writhe, screaming in pain, pleading for mercy. She should be terrified, yet all she felt was numbness. Empty, null, void. 

Palpative, making her throat burn and her eyes water. Refusing to budge, she took a tentative step towards the man she had once called master, the man who had taught her all she knew; all she cared to remember, harkening back to a past too painful to hold on to. Her older brother, her best friend, her anchor to her family.

“It’s not,” she persisted, ragged hands balled into tight fists; her face displaying what she hoped to be a determinate defiance.

He had taught her to fight back, taught her to be stubborn, to be relentless. Perhaps it may be the end of her, but if so, at least she would suffer no more. Besides, dying by his hand would be an honour. Swallowing hard; she locked her eyes onto the beeping red and green lights of his chest box. Monitoring his respiratory system mechanically, sustaining the suit keeping him alive. With his reputation, she should be terrified of him. Still, she felt an odd, eerie calm. No dread, no unease. No jittery nerves, only a solemn serenity. Only understanding, and a foreboding acceptance. Without thinking, she raised her left hand. She tugged with an invisible extension of her graceful fingers, manipulating the Force carrying her unspoken plea his way as a silent whisper; a demand. He flinched, and she knew he received it.

“You do not comprehend the things I have done,” he stated; but despite his resolute, booming profession that came off as more machine than human - enhanced by the vocoder aiding his feeble, scarred vocal cords - Ahsoka sensed his hesitance, his wavering emotions; his conflict.

Frowning, she doubled down on her efforts; scowling as she poured all her good will and intent into what had once been a powerful connection between them. She understood now that Anakin had severed it willingly, perhaps to spare himself from any painful reminders of the past. Perhaps, believing her dead but refusing to obtain concrete proof of his suspicion. Perhaps, he had simply wished to shield her if she were alive; despite all odds. Perhaps, he had known even through the foggy haze of the Dark Side that his fall would destroy her. Ahsoka held onto that thought, however wistful it may be. It reinvigorated her hope.

“I know what you’ve done,” she said; barely realizing she had spoken until he turned to face her.

She could not see his face; the familiar boyish features she knew so well concealed by a skullesque face plate. Jetblack, with large, hollow eye holes covered by semi opaque, red tinted lenses. She met those dead sockets without hesitation; unable to glimpse his pale blue eyes, but feeling them on hers. Unyielding. Were they even blue anymore? She remembered Maul’s eyes, and their sickly, yellowish glow - the bloodshot, crazed stare. If Anakin removed his mask, would he too sport the golden eyes of a predator; out for blood? 

Ahsoka would not relent, she would not give in. He had believed in her when no one else had, and she felt indebted to him - obliged to offer him the same benefit of doubt. Her hand was still hovering mid air; slender fingers outstretched; trembling with the effort as each second of rejection dragged on. She felt the buzzing tingles of his aura, of his Force signature. So different. Maimed, twisted, tormented and warped. Both decimated and accentuated at once. Less powerful than she remembered it, and yet more powerful than she could ever recall it. He was a riddle, a contradiction. Part of him seemed to want to tear her to pieces, the other more inclined to dive into her open embrace.

“Then you understand what I must do,” Anakin stated.

Ahsoka shuddered; sensing his malicious intent, and the blame. His spite, his envy, his hatred; his rage. But there was more. Sorrow, confusion, fear, guilt. A guilt so raw, so heavy, so thorough it made her bones ache; settling like a sodden weight at the pit of her stomach. Churning; gnawing, weary, sullen. 

Nodding, she shut her eyes with a soft sigh. For a moment her fingers trembled, and she considered giving up. Perhaps he was too far gone, perhaps there was no salvation. She shouldn’t offer him forgiveness, it was a selfish wish for a long since forsaken reconciliation. Still, when she once again met his stare; her resolve returned full throttle. She clenched her jaw and held her head high with a stern vigor; sending another compelling plea his way. She noted his shoulders were quivering, and realized he was beginning to buckle under the pressure of her quiet request.

“You don’t have to. You still have a choice.”

Anakin did not reply; the heavy cloth of his black cape, his robes dancing in the soft twilight breeze. Three years ago, he had left to save the Chancellor from General Grievous. Three years ago, she had been sent to liberate Mandalore from Maul’s puppet regime. Three years ago, the Republic had fallen. Three years now felt like a lifetime. 

Ahsoka had thought him dead - suspecting Maul’s cryptic prophecy may carry more weight than she cared to admit. He had sewn the seeds of doubt, and though she’d proclaimed him a liar - that uneasy, bitter feeling had never waned. Now, that she knew every word was true, she wasn’t sure what scared her more - the fact that she was so willing to blindly forgive Anakin for his crimes, or the fact that it mattered little to her at all what he had done. He was her brother, and she would not abandon him. Somewhere deep down, a small voice at the back of her mind nagged that this was her fault. If she had stayed behind, perhaps his undoing could have been prevented. If she had stayed, perhaps she could have done more for him.

“No, not anymore,” he shook his helmeted head; large gloved hands falling slack to his sides but he made no attempt to back away when Ahsoka took another slow, cautious step towards him. 

He smelled of synthetic materials, of bacta fluids, of sanitizers, of durasteel, of ashes and smoke and the cool, piercing winter air. The sound of his breathing was rhythmic; slow, and manufactured, and beyond his control. 

Ahsoka pitied him; and she knew he could sense it. He deserved the punishment he had brought upon himself; they both acknowledged that. Still, she wished to see him freed from his makeshift shackles. She took a deep breath, her now limp hand lingering between them. As soon as it fell, his time was up. She felt the lump grow in her throat, the telltale burning of tears prickling behind her eyes. She would not lose him again, he needed her as she needed him. She felt as if an invisible wall stood erected between them, preventing her from closing the figurative distance. She was already resigning herself to a reality in which she had failed. A reality in which Anakin was truly lost. 

He would never renege, never accept defeat, never admit his guilt. The power, Palpatine, the Empire. The Dark Side. It all had gone to his head. Ahsoka licked her lips, mouth dry, and spoke one last time.

“You always have a choice, but you’ve never made one for yourself. You’ve always allowed everyone around you to make up your mind for you. You’re only here, because of Palpatine’s choices. His lies. But his decisions don’t have to be yours. What does your heart tell you, Anakin?”

At the sound of his long since discarded name; he once more closed his large hands into tight fists - the power of the utterance, of those three syllables, immeasurable. Ahsoka feared she had made a mistake; that she had crossed the final line. That she had banished the remnants of the man she’d known, rather than saving him. Her arm trembled, remembering how Maul had offered her his tutelage with a similar, grand gesture. She, too, had made a choice then. Anakin was beyond her reach, the vicious; sneering jeers of her doubt taunted - and as tears blurred her vision, she almost believed it. 

Then, rough leather covered fingers brushed hers. Feigning off her tears; eyes stinging, Ahsoka stared at the large, gloved hand whose fingertips brushed hers in a shy; wary greeting. Wavering, uncertain, frightened. Unable to quite allow her to fully touch it; even as she turned her hand over, the palm facing downwards. She was offering him the chance to rebuild their relationship, to rebuild what semblance of his past he may. To make himself a new name, a new future, a new identity. Far away from the Emperor, out of sight and mind - free. Liberated from his chains, from his torments. 

Anakin’s shoulders trembled; his steadfast mechanical breathing and the chirping crickets the only noise in the early evening - apart from her stilted, sniffling hiccups. In the end, Ahsoka gasped as he finally grasped her hand tight; making the choice she had prayed but never dared hope for. His grip was firm, and harsh, and awkward - as if he’d forgotten how to be tender or gentle, how to nurture. He clung desperately to her; her own joints winging and protesting from the painful grip. Still, she held on as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. 

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ahsoka felt scalding tears trickle down her smudged, ashen cheeks, but was unable to restrain the wide warm smile that spread across her face - tugging at the corners of her scabbed lips. Relief flooded her soul; and she poured it into Anakin’s end of their Force bond. It came back cautious, weary - but genuine. 

"Thank you," somebody said - be it Anakin, or herself, Ahsoka couldn't tell. Either way, it meant the same thing. It was all the reassurance she needed.

--------------

Just an idea I had, because it’s been nagging at the back of my mind - and I’m a sucker for Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader angst. So, here, at least it has a nicer ending that canon does for the two of them! Hope you enjoy. :3

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979074

[sunshinelikesavatar]

Here We Are

In which Zuko crashes a ship, ends up very far from home, and meets a Water Tribe woman and her firebending son.

AO3 Link

Lightning blinded Zuko as he scrambled across the small deck of his ship, desperately trying to tie everything down. It would have been hard enough with the storm raging (seemingly out of nowhere), tossing his ship around and threatening to send him to the bottom of the sea, but now—now—

He wished his uncle were here. He wished he was far from this ship, curled up with a scroll as he listened to a storm rage outside, dry and warm. That his mother was alive, that his father wasn’t cruel and callous, that his country wasn’t fighting a pointless war—that he could secure his belongings before he lost them to the waves that crashed over the deck—

The rope that tied him to the ship had saved him at least twice already, and as his feet were swept out from under him again, he clung to it as he was thrown against the mast. He gasped as the breath was knocked out of him and desperately tried to stand. Another wave filled his mouth with saltwater and he coughed and hacked and tried to brace himself against the wood behind him. As the ship tilted, though, he lost his footing and crashed to the ground, clipping his temple on something as he went down.

His last thought before unconsciousness took him was somewhat nonsensical, all things considered:

I hope the tea set doesn’t break.

-

With a sigh, Zuko nuzzled down into the pillow. What a strange dream that had been, so violent. It felt so real, though. His body hurt and ached like he’d really been thrown around in a storm, and his throat even felt raw, like he’d been coughing up water.

Which is when he started coughing, coughing until the muscles of his chest were spasming and involuntary tears from the pain were leaking down his cheeks and sparks flew between his teeth. Trying to stand to get a drink or something didn’t work—he got as far as kneeling before he had to curl forward, forehead pressed into the pillow. He wondered if he’d die like this, alone and hacking out a lung.

A cool hand rested on his shoulder, incredibly soothing. As it moved, rubbing up and down his back, the urge to cough subsided. That hand should have frightened him, but he was so relieved and distracted from his diaphragm no longer attempting to eject itself from his body that he just focused on breathing, gasping in deep gulps of air.

Exhausted and realizing that he had no idea what was going on, he turned his face on the pillow to blearily blink up at the person kneeling next to him with his good eye. There was a fire lit behind them, though, leaving him only with a person-shaped silhouette. They had been kind, though—this was obviously not his room nor his cabin on the ship, and he was laid out on something comfortable. Warm and dry and not clinging to rope hoping the sea wouldn’t swallow him whole.

He tried to say thank you, but all that came out was a hum. The cool hand on his back moved up to his face, brushing back his hair. “Do you want water?” a woman’s voice asked him and he managed a nod. It took a bit of effort, but between the two of them they managed to get him sitting back on his feet as a cup of cold water was held to his lips.

It was not any easier to see the face of the woman helping him, but he supposed it didn’t matter too much. He cleared his throat, wincing at the burn of it, and rasped out, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he reveled in the ease of his breaths before shifting around to lay down again, bracing himself with his arm as he went. Curling into the warmth of—were they furs? It felt like furs, soft and fluffy—he told himself he would just rest a little while, just for a few minutes.

-

Katara watched the man as he slept, considering his face.

He was much more relaxed than he had been when she rescued him from the crashed remains of his boat. She was glad he’d woken up for a little bit to cough the water out of his lungs, even if it had left him crying (and breathing out sparks, and hadn’t that been a surprise?). Gently, she brushed her thumb against his unscarred cheek, wiping the tears away.

This was not a circumstance she could have foreseen. The only Fire Nation ships that came down to the South Pole were navy ships, armed and threatening if not outright invading. This man’s boat had been much smaller, made of wood and not metal. The broken boxes of supplies showed only the normal things one would expect to see on a personal boat: food, clothes (no armor), some trinkets and weapons, an oddly extensive collection of play scrolls, and a carefully packed tea set.

She had sent Kallik to gather up all the things he could and leave them just outside their hut so he wouldn’t disturb the man’s rest. In this particular case, she thought with a frown, perhaps it was for the best that her hut was on the outskirts of the village.

Because it was indeed a Fire Nation man currently sprawled on her bedding, a firebender, nuzzling cutely into the pillow. Pale skin and black hair could be Earth Kingdom or Fire Nation, but those brilliant gold eyes only came from one archipelago, and it wasn’t like earthbenders went around spitting sparks. So here he was, a Fire Nation man, horribly scarred and burned but born of fire nonetheless. The other villagers would not have dragged his limp form from the wreckage to save him, would not have healed his obvious head wound with waterbending or given him comfort as he cleared his lungs, but she had the beginnings of a very, very stupid plan stirring in her mind, and it required the cooperation of a Fire Nation man such as this.

Satisfied that he would rest easy, she turned her attention to his clothes drying by the fire. They were nicely made and no doubt the thin and light fabric was practical near the equator, but the weather further south required wools and furs. Shaking her head, she pulled out an old parka that had recently been given to her from one of the kinder grandmothers of the village and started to mend the obvious problems. If her plan was to work, this man would need a parka, sturdy boots, thicker pants and tunics—all the necessities, really. Even if all signs pointed to him not trying to end up here in the first place.

It was a while before Kallik poked his head through the door and grinned at her before turning his gaze to the sleeping man. He tiptoed over to her and settled by her side. “I got all the stuff I could and put it in the boxes by the door, like you said,” he whispered. “But Mom, who is he?”

She smiled at his impatience, smoothing a hand over his black hair and kissing his forehead. “It’s a surprise, sweetie.”

Kallik rolled his golden eyes and flopped against her. “Ugh, mom, I’m seven now. I’m too old for surprises!”

“Now that is just completely untrue.” She held the fur of the parka a little closer and pursed her lips. She’d probably need to patch the next tear…she set it aside for now, though. “Come on, help me with the bigger things in the wreckage and let him sleep.” Kallik pouted but followed her out.

-

The next time Zuko woke up, he was feeling much more alert. He could feel the sun’s energy zipping through his blood, high in the sky, calling him to wake and move and get on with the day.

A woman sat by the fire, stirring a pot of something. She turned to him as he pushed himself to a sitting position and smiled. “Hello,” she said, her voice kind and open. “Are you feeling hungry?”

To say he was confused would be to understate the situation. She was...Water Tribe. Very obviously Water Tribe, with dark skin and hair, bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed clothes that looked to be made of thick wool. The hut they were in was lined with hides, with Water Tribe decorations and stylings. And as far as he was aware, people of the Water Tribe didn’t exactly get along with the people of the Fire Nation.

His uncle had told him before to never look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth, though, so he merely nodded and took the bowl of stew and hunk of bread she passed him. It may have been the effect of surviving the worst storm of his life (he was pretty sure that hadn’t been a dream), but the food was absolutely delicious and he did his best to eat every drop, balancing the bowl on his legs as he used the bread to sop up the soup.

She let him eat in silence, putting a lid on the pot and pulling out some sewing. He watched her work, apparently unconcerned with the strange man sitting no more than four feet away. She was patching the knees of a small pair of pants and making tiny, precise stitches with a smile on her face. When he finished, putting his bowl on the ground by the fire, she put aside her sewing and turned to face him.

“My name is Katara,” she started. “You’re in one of the Southern Water Tribe villages at the South Pole.”

He couldn’t help the incredulous “What?” that burst out of him. What was he doing so far south? Had the storm really blown him so far?

She bit her lip and continued, “Also, your ship is completely wrecked.”

Dismayed, Zuko spluttered. That ship...that ship had taken up all his savings for the past six years to buy, and the first time he took it out for more than a day, he wrecked it?

“No one here knows how to fix a boat like yours,” she was saying, “So even if it wasn’t just firewood at this point, you probably couldn’t leave in it.”

He couldn’t help the slump of his shoulders. This had been his great escape, his plan to start a new life far from his father and sister. A truly inauspicious beginning, he thought with a scowl.

The woman, Katara, got to her feet and brushed off her tunic. “I have a canoe, though, and could take you to a nearby island if you wanted.” And he was baffled by her generosity, to do so much to help a stranger from a nation at war with hers. Before he could thank her, though, she said, “But I do have an alternative proposition for you.”

He leaned back, narrowing his eyes at her. It had been too good to be true after all.

Holding her hands out to the sides, she simply said, “You could stay here.”

And that was...not what he had expected. He cleared his throat, sure he’d misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”

She sighed and pulled her braid over her shoulder to tug at it. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how to sell this to you. To make a long story short—”

Which is when the door to the hut burst open. Years of instinct had him jumping to his feet, arms in ready position. He let them drop as he saw it was a child. “Mom, Mom, Mom, I figured it out, you have to see what I did, I—” The child—a boy—turned to him with—

Golden eyes.

Oh.

He felt a bit sick. He wondered if his conclusions were hasty, though. Maybe...maybe she had happily married a Fire Nation man, who just happened to be out on a trip or something. During a war. In which he knew that there had been several raids on the Southern Water Tribe around the time of this boy’s likely birth date.

Katara’s smile was warm, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she steadied her son from his rush inside. “Kallik, I told you, play outside until I call for you.”

That seemed to startle the boy out of staring at him (at his face, at his arm, and people always seemed to stare) with wide eyes. “Oh! But Mom, I had to show you right away—” He held out his palms, cupped together, and furrowed his brow. A tiny flame popped into existence above his hands. It was, objectively speaking, a sad and flickering little thing, nearly entirely red with lack of heat and threatening to go out with each puff of air as the boy said, “Look, I figured it out! I made it on purpose!”

Which implied that there wasn’t a firebender around to teach him the most basic of firebending skills, such as, say, a loving father figure.

And Katara smiled and hugged her firebending son, kissing his hair. “Sweetie, great job! I knew you could do it! You’ve been practicing so hard. I’m so proud of you.” The boy beamed bright as a sunbeam. Then she laughed and gently pushed the boy out of the hut. “But I was serious about you playing outside! We’ve got some boring grown-up things to talk about.” Kallik groaned and whined but made his way out the door.

It was pretty easy to fit together the few pieces he had. He’d heard about this sort of thing, of soldiers who had so little honor that they would...would…Swallowing (his throat still hurt but he tried to ignore it), he looked at Katara again.

She shrugged and gave him a small smile. “Well, um, that’s my son. He’s...he’s just turned seven and he started...well, firebending.” Biting her lip, she looked towards the door. “There have been a few accidents recently. Nothing deadly or anything, but he gets so excited, and, well…” Here she mimed an expanding fire. “You know.”

He did know. It was something every new little firebender had to learn to deal with, how to temper the flame in your heart so it didn’t burn the world around you. Usually, there were family members, neighbors, teachers, friends, all sorts of people to support them.

Not here, though.

“I’m not...there’s no one here to help him. And I do want to help him, but I don’t know how.”

He almost asked about the boy’s father before he decided that was a terrible ideaand he should not ever bring that up ever, what’s wrong with me? “And you think I could?”

She wiggled her hand in a so-so kind of way. “If you were just here as a teacher, that would be easiest, but the village would hardly accept that. They almost turned me away just because of Kallik.”

Which also implied that this was not her home village, which meant she had either run away, been sent away, or her family was dead and she was alone. All of those options were heartbreaking.

“But...they don’t know the circumstances of Kallik’s, um...of Kallik.” Her face started flushing as she continued, “If I could pass you off as, um, my h-husband, only just able to join us here, that would p-probably work.”

There was already one glaring hole in the plan, though. “Most firebending teachers have both arms,” he managed to get out, turning his gaze to the central fire pit. As it often did whenever it came up, the space where his left arm had once been felt overly conspicuous.

Her hands were wrapped tightly around her braid now as she steadfastly focused on something on the floor. “That might actually, uh, help. You wouldn’t seem as...threatening, that way. And I don’t mean for you to teach him to fight, just to help him control his bending.”

He wondered how he would have reacted to that as a teenager, angry and desperate to prove himself to a father that didn’t care, that he didn’t seem threatening to a village of peasants. And he tried to remember and hold on to his uncle’s words of support, that losing an arm didn’t make him less of a man or a firebender, no matter what people thought. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. “So you want me to live here with you? Pretend to be your husband while I teach your son?” And was he actually considering this as a serious possibility? He hadn’t really had a plan besides “leave the Fire Nation,” after all.

“It sounds so dumb when you put it like that,” she muttered, “but yes, basically.”

And wow, there must be something fundamentally wrong with him as a person, because he didn’t even think before saying, “And it won’t bother you to have a...a Fire Nation man around all the time? With...with how Kallik, um…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Actually, he was fairly sure he should just burn up into ashes on the spot for bringing up the thing that was probably the most traumatic experience of this woman’s life.

Katara was looking at him with eyebrows scrunched together before she gasped and her eyebrows flew up. “Oh! Oh, um, no, that’s...ugh. I’m just so used to talking around it.” She took a deep breath. “Kallik isn’t my biological son. His, uh, real mom, she saw his eyes and decided she didn’t want him. I don’t blame her for that, the situation was terrible. I was supposed to...I don’t know, I don’t really want to think about it. But I...I couldn’t just...leavehim somewhere, and I knew no one in my tribe would want anything to do with raising him after everything, so I...left, I guess. Just sorta packed up and…” She gestured around them at the hut. “Here we are.”

Here she was. A woman who’d left her home and family to raise a son that she hadn’t birthed, a son that had Fire Nation blood singing in his veins.

“That’s what moms do,” he heard his mother say, softly laughing by a pond of baby turtleducklings.

“I think of you as my own,” he heard his uncle say, his hand warm and heavy and comforting on his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. “Can I think about it?” Because yes, he would actually be considering this as a life path. “Maybe take a walk or something?”

Katara bit her lip and moved to one of the chests lining the walls, opening it and rummaging around. “I would like to say yes, absolutely, but people are going to ask who you are as soon as you or I go outside. I’d rather have the story straight right from the start, whether you’re my, um, my husband or just a stranded sailor or something.”

Which made sense. So instead of standing in the sun like he wanted to, he sat next to the fire and stared into the coals. And then he thought and thought and thought.

-

Katara was almost giddy. He was considering it! He was considering her sort-of silly plan to teach Kallik firebending!

As she sorted through clothes, putting together a pile for the man—

Oh, wait. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

The man blinked up at her, startled. “Hm? Oh, my name.” He sighed. “Okay, I’m going to be honest with you too. Just so, you know, no misunderstandings.”

Her stomach started to sink. Was he a criminal or something? Her hand went to the lid of her waterskin, ready to pull out water to defend herself. She hardly knew this man, what had she been thinking?

“I’m running from my family. My dad, he, uh, he did...this.” He gestured to his whole left side and Katara had to swallow back bile. “But he’s been pretty clear that as long as I don’t draw attention to myself or try to mess with anything about the war, he’ll let me...you know, live. So I can’t use my real name.”

She almost asked who his father was before thinking better of it. A powerful (terribly, horribly powerful) bender, apparently connected with the war—likely a general. The “who” didn’t matter so much. Instead, she nodded. “That makes sense. Do you have a name in mind?”

The still-nameless man groaned and rubbed his face. “Maybe Li? There’s a million Li’s…”

Katara laughed. “Well, you might as well pick a name you like. Do you like ‘Li’?”

His grumpy glare very clearly said ‘no.’ He sighed and let his eyes wander around the hut, long fingers tapping on his knee. “How about...Kuzon. Yeah, that’ll work.” He met her eyes and bowed with fist held in front of him. “My name is Kuzon.”

Feeling a bit like she was playing a game, she bowed as well, hands braced against her thighs in Water Tribe fashion. “A pleasure to meet you, Kuzon.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile before he returned to staring at the fire.

At length, after she had straightened up most of the hut and started the non-essential mending, he groaned and twisted around, cracking his neck and stretching. He was like a seal-cat stretching in the sun, she thought with a grin.

With a gusty sigh, he turned to her. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She blinked in surprise. “You will?”

Nodding, Kuzon got to his feet. “Yeah. I didn’t really have much of a plan besides ‘get away from my psycho family’ to start with anyways, and I like kids. I wouldn’t mind helping you and Kallik out here for a while.”

Certain her grin was a bit too gleeful, she bowed in thanks. “Thank you! And once Kallik has been trained, I’ll help you get wherever you’d like to go, okay?”

He bowed as well. “Sounds like a plan.”

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed Kuzon’s hand and ran out the door. “Let’s go tell Kallik the good news!” She heard an incredulous laugh from behind her, but he ran with her.

They found him on the rocky beach by the wreckage of the ship. “Kallik!” she called, waving him over. “Kallik, I want you to meet Kuzon, he’s—”

Three figures came around the side of the wreck, other villagers. Katara felt her words catch in her throat as she saw their eyes watching with interest. Whatever she said would certainly spread like wildfire throughout their little village. And she realized, as she felt the warmth of Kuzon’s hand still in hers, that she hadn’t really thought this all through.”

“Um, he’s...he’s your f-father.”

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I posted this Booker/Joe/Nicky prompt on the TOG kink meme originally. No one claimed it, so I thought I might try asking you, if that is okay. Here:

"Porn with feelings is one of my favorite things, so: Five Times Joe and Nicky invited Booker into their bed and the one time they told him to stay.

You do not need to be explicit with the smut if you do not want to, although that would be lovely and much appreciated.

Just give me Joe&Nicky and Booker catching feelings throughout centuries worth of hookups while thinking that the other party is only interested in friendship and sex.

Angst With A Happy Ending, please.

Bonus for Bottom!Booker, but it is not a must.

Double Bonus for Exasperated!Andy dropping hints that they are too oblivious to understand."

Thank you for reopening your Ask Box and for considering my prompt. Have a great weekend!

A/N: Hope you’re well too, friend and thank you for the trust in my abilities! 😁 Feel free to consider your prompt filled if you’d like? It’s not as porny or as angsty as I think you were looking for but I hope it still satisfies.

--

one.

“I’m telling you guys,” Andy hisses, fingers digging into the soft dirt under her palms. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“And I’m telling you, Boss. We’ll be fine,” Booker grins sunnily, peering over the ridge to spy the military convoy transporting black-market arms and munitions. At the sight of the gleaming trucks and the stern-faced men with their faces focused on the road, the mischief dims a little.

Joe slaps him in the arm with a warm laugh. “If you get shot in the ass, you’re bunking with me and Nicky tonight. Let Andy have the big bed all to herself.” The man waggles his brows, brown eyes winking in devilish delight. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get front row seats to how Nicky makes love to me.”

Seeing that there were only two tiny Queen sized beds in their latest digs, Booker’s eyes blink in alarm, turning to her as if to ask, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you? He’s been with the family long enough that that was one knowledge he already has a too intimate familiarity with and not one he is keen to revisit.

If his reasoning hides the way his eyes always seek them out in a crowded room, that’s for him to know and only him.

Her only answer is the unsheathing of her hunting knife and the pulling of her scarf over her nose and mouth. “Better watch your ass, kid.”

two.

Nicky’s hand in his is what pulls him out of his thoughts. He must have been staring at the sea for longer than he had thought because stars dance in his eyes and he has to squeeze them shut to block out the sudden spinning of the world around him. 

Slipping away from Nicky’s touch, he sighs as he slowly feels himself come back to his stiff joints and sun-beaten face. He’s lost track of time again.

Booker feels Nicky take a seat on the sand next to him and instinctively looks around for Joe, before raising an inquiring eyebrow at him. “He has run out of his favourite colour again,” Nicky chuckles, kicking out his legs and burying his bare feet in the warm sand. 

“Ah.”

“Ah,” Nicky echoes with a smile. Their sympathies are immediate and resting solely with the poor salesperson who has to deal with Joe’s charm as he convinces them that one brand cannot be a substitute for another. They sit together, watching the tides kissing the shores in companionable silence before Nicky turns onto his side. “Are you okay?”

 Booker considers the question, still keeping his eyes on the way the sunlight dances on the waves. This beach is too warm for this time of the year and the air is the wrong tang of brine. Next to him, in the space where his wife should be with her wild laughter and her windswept hair, is nothing but empty, foot trodden sand. His heart sticks in his throat when he opens his mouth to speak and only the sound of unspeakable grief steals out past his lips. 

When Nicky wraps his arms around him, he doesn’t try to pull away. When he asks if Booker wants to come with him, unmistakeably to bring him to their bed - the one where he and Joe sleep in and not the comfortable guest bed in the spare room - he merely sighs, sinking into the warmth and strength of Nicky’s arms around him, and allows himself to be cared for.

three.

The camaraderie he feels amongst this new family is one he never thought he could have. He appreciates every new memory he builds with them and every new layer of life he lays down even if he cannot help looking behind him and long for what is no longer his.

Friendship and brotherhood are easy to grasp. What confuses him, however, is the way Joe, Nicky, and Booker have somehow developed something more than that. He isn’t unaware of the pleasures that brothers in arms share on a battlefront. Any shred of comfort and warmth to be shared in those moments of relief in finding yourself escaping Death’s embrace is one that was somehow tolerated when he had been conscripted to march for a madman. 

What Joe and Nicky have is more than that, and Booker knows it, is in awe of it, and can hardly stop admiring it. 

What they have in the moments where Nicky’s warm breath tickles against his neck as Joe presses in between his trembling thighs is one he cannot divine.

The easy way they three have fallen into the rhythm of kisses and touches, of shared quiet moments, lulled to sleep with the smell of sex on their skins confuses him and calming heartbeats. How, when he builds his first safehouse, he puts out a room for Andy but leaves the little touches for them in his own. The way he feels no jealousy when they go off on their own and nothing but elation when they fold him into the fabric of their being. And yet.

Yet, when they are together, Booker feels like his heart could stop from the guilty happiness he has coursing through his veins. When he is in the space between wakefulness and sleep held in their arms and sharing their space, it is the calmest, the safest he has ever felt since the day he walked away from Marseille. 

And Booker can’t stop but to wonder. What does it all mean?

four.

Joe stops mid-sentence and it doesn’t go unnoticed. The sounds of the other guests in the hotel percolate into their room and he has to take a moment to look at the bed where just an hour before, they’d languidly been tangled under the covers. They had arrived two days earlier just to take advantage of the privacy of the room and the luxury of a King-sized bed where Joe had pressed kisses into the quivering corner of Nicky’s lips as he tries not to laugh while Booker is playfully nipping at his jaw. 

God, has it just been an hour since he had to wrangle them all into some semblance of order so that Booker can catch Andy before she gets here? 

“What’s wrong?” Nicky asks, clear eyes catching in the light when they gaze at him. His beloved’s hands move methodically as they make the bed. The same sheets that still carried the scent that he is sure now permeate every shared space the three of them occupies on a regular basis. 

A whirlpool of emotions snake around his chest and all he is able to do is to reach out to Nicky; to the anchor in the storms of this strange life they live, to his true North. It speaks to the bond they share that Nicky comes to his side, kissing their clasped hands, patiently waiting for him to speak.

Joe thinks he can burst with all the love he has in him for this man. Then the quiet flicker of his mind to another face, another smile that he holds just as dear and he swallows down the maelstrom of words bubbling up because he knows that whatever he says now matters.

Love is not a finite source. Joe has seen enough and been through just as much to know that that is true not just for himself, but for Nicky too. Smiling at Nicky, he feels his shoulders relax, leaning into him. 

“My love, I think we need to talk.”

five.

“Come here.”

Booker hesitates but Nicky does not allow him any room to escape. Taking him by the wrist, he drags him to the quiet of an out of the way spare room in Copley’s home, eyes cataloguing every scrape, bloodstain, and healed over wounds.   

Sitting him down on the bed, Nicky begins to methodically push his fingers through Booker’s hair, brushing out flecks of dried blood and grime, bits of glass and debris. Neither one speaks for a long moment and the familiar silence is heavy between them. From this room, Nicky can pick out the quiet murmur of Copley and Nile speaking while Andy is being tended to by Joe. This moment won’t last and Nicky has to speak his peace.

“He’s hurt. We both are.”

Booker flinches but Nicky doesn’t allow him to rise from the chair, pressing him back into position, feeling some small relish when Booker obeys. “Why, Booker? Why couldn’t you come to us if you were hurting? Why did you hide from us?”

Blue eyes look away from him and down to where his leg is shaking. 

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” Nicky asks finally, softly and feels his heart break a little at all the possibilities that are slipping away with every moment they leave this unresolved. He sighs when Booker doesn’t speak, fingers moving to cup him by the jaw. 

“We love you,” He says. “But maybe that’s not enough just yet.”

“Maybe,” Booker murmurs. Moving to stand only for Nicky to take him by the hand, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“One day it will be.”

and the one.

Joe can smell the sea on Booker from the other side of the room.

Andy had levelled him a heavy look, telling him not to fuck this up with a soft smile on her lips as she leaves with Quynh in the first cab they could hail down. Nile had laughed when they asked if she was staying, telling them that she’ll be in the next city over if they needed her for anything.

Which now leaves Joe, Nicky, and Booker in a small motel room with the dying sunlight stealing through the gaps in the curtains. Nicky’s knee knocks against his and Joe has to sigh. Looking over to Booker, it is clear that the man is in the middle of some fight or flee reaction and he is tamping it down to fidget in the chair by the television set. 

Picking up one of the scratchy towels that came with the room, he tosses it at Booker, jerking his head at the bathroom door.

“Get cleaned up. We can talk after.”

Booker gapes rather unattractively at them and his look of incredulity grows into a frown when Nicky sighs around a snort. Joe can’t help but mirror Nicky’s amusement and feels his lips curl into a smile. Exhaustion clings to the way Booker looks from the towel between his hands and to them at the bed.

Joe feels a swell of affection cut through the need to clear the air before they go any further into this. He won’t make the mistake of not talking this through again. Walking over to him, he nudges Booker to his feet, pulling him into the bathroom. Brushing his thumb in an arc under his tired eyes, Joe says, “Maybe we can leave the talk for after we sleep.”

[fluorescentpipedream]

Updated a few of my characters’ pictures last night when I was having an ADHD moment while playing WoW. 

So...

Daryl “Mason” Knox - This version of Daryl is part of our Zombie storyline (the premise of which I barely remember) and currently in the mountains above Colorado. He is a survivalist already, tanner, taxidermist and wicked good shot and when the virus began circulating, he packed up his pickup truck and headed as far into the mountains as he could. He had been in Tennessee for a little while but left there when the area started to fall as well, moving around a lot for a while before settling high in the mountains where it’s coldest, realizing the undead have a hard time moving through the snow and it seems to make their bodies more brittle. He stumbles upon Ryki and Kristy’s group (shortly after they get Mikael back from the roaming motorcycle gang (see Widower/Simon). Daryl was under the assumption that most of his family had died when the virus first took hold and started using his middle name, Mason, instead of his last name. 

Daryl Knox - Daryl is the survivalist of the Knox men, the youngest but the one who has his fingers the most in the various family businesses and also the one who discovers that a good portion of the Knox family land that backs the Blue Ridge Mountain range actually belonged to the Cherokee tribe and gives it back to them, only asking if they can continue to use the land as the hunting area he currently has it set up as. Daryl and his brothers also took a portion of the money made from the Knox Lodge (a small series of cabins built closest to the Chattahoochee National Park people can rent and go fishing and hunting for deer, quail and even armadillos) and give it back to the slave families that their great great grandfather had working for them. Daryl is quieter than the rest of his brothers, sticking to living away from nearly everyone and only coming down from the mountains when he is dropping off supplies at the Knox Family General Store in Jasper, Georgia where the family is primarily from. The general store is very rustic looking, with the old fashioned candy jars behind the counter and a small restaurant in the back where the family sells their homemade pies. (They also sell locally made and sourced jellies and jams, as well as jerky and unique gifts. Think trading post for the interior) A skilled taxidermist, Daryl has a special he runs through the Lodge that if you shoot it, he’ll stuff it (for a fee of course). 

Schyler Lewis - A former Scorpion and currently a Slayer in Los Angeles, Schyler is quiet but loving and loyal. He’s also one hell of a shot with pretty much anything, though he prefers knives over everything. He has a deep respect for RJ Jamison, as well as the former leader, BP and keeps a protective/big brother kind of watch on Queenie. He and Simon are pretty good friends, he often tries to keep an eye on the older man to keep him from going crazy.

Trevor Phillips (nothing changed, just both versions of him are going to use the same picture)

Simon Knox - Simon is the middle Knox brother, only a few years older than Daryl though he’s not particularly close to most of his family anymore. He and Jericho had once been vying for the same girl’s attention, but when he was sent to prison for a bar fight/blackout he missed the chance to be with her, even though he does very much still love her. When Simon was released from prison, Jericho gave him the chance to come home and get back on his feet again (the courts and mental health professionals released him on account of him having absolutely no memory of the bar fight other than some kid pushing him too hard and spitting on him. His anger flared up and he didn’t remember anything that had happened after that point. It wasn’t until an officer hit him on the back of the head did he come around again) and while he’s there, he and Maggie ended up in bed together after he told her what had happened. He had a ring and had been going out with a few friends the night before coming to see her. He is actually Ryder’s father, and Jericho does know. Following Ryder’s first outburst and slamming his head into the wall, tearing a stuffed animal and general unprovoked rage, Jericho had come to bed with a few scratches on his arms and gently kissed Maggie’s forehead, not coming right out and saying anything about the possibility but just telling her that whatever thing that’s weighing on her heart right now, it’s okay and he forgives her.  (Ryder has similar violent outbursts like his father, though recognizing it as was what going on with Simon, Jericho instead got his son therapy to deal with the outbursts as well as getting him involved in boxing.)

Following Ryder’s birth (and Simon getting to hold his son), Simon leaves and joins the Outlaw motorcycle gang though moves around a lot after that, winding up “settling” with Haven for a while before finally establishing a place with the Scorpions. He made quick friends with Schyler, despite a several year age gap, and when the Scorpions were assimilated into the Slayers in LA, he stayed on with them. He is prone to blackouts and violent outbursts and unfortunately does not possess much in the way of empathy toward nearly anyone. He does very much like children, and wouldn’t mind finally getting to have a family of his own. He is pansexual and it doesn’t seem to matter to him who he’s with, as long as they’re over a certain age. He’s not overly thrilled with the relationship RJ has with Jamie but she’s safe and not in any danger so he doesn’t say much about it either way. He and Floki of the Vikings have rolled around a few times, but generally speaking he is still very much in love with Maggie. Part of the reason he stays away from his family is because of how Jericho has been treating his “dying” wife. (Jericho is having an affair with a younger nurse/friend of his daughter Lorelei, while his wife is presumed to be dying from stage 4 cancer. She does make a rather miraculous recovery though, leaving him and going out to the man who has always loved her) 

Simon has some seriously reckless traits and has actually had to be sedated by members of his own gang because his anger will flare up and he goes berserk. He has NO control over his actions whenever he blacks out either. Following BP and his wife’s untimely death, Simon is taken by the Slayers along with several others and thrown into the Pit, basically an abandoned warehouse near the docks that has been hollowed out and made into a fight arena. Because of his anger issues there’s a few that believe he could have been pushed to a breaking point and lashed out, though BP never pushed his buttons and he has no desire to take the gang over. When Rollo and a handful of the Vikings reveal themselves as the masterminds (and hired by Marcone to do the deed), Simon is the one who takes an axe off of Floki’s hip, throwing it into the back of Rollo’s head before kneeling down in front of Queenie and telling her he’s always been loyal to BP and subsequently, to her.

Widower (Simon Knox) - This version of Simon is for our zombie alt world and currently in Tennessee with the Savior gang run by a Negan type. In this world, Simon was able to remarry Maggie and the two of them were living quiet happily, considering starting their family when her cancer makes a return and is incredible aggressive. As the virus starts to spread through Atlanta and they begin seeing how it eats away at the host’s body only to reanimate them, Maggie begs Simon to shoot her so she doesn’t have to suffer through her cancer and the possibility of getting the virus. At first he refuses to do it but after the hospitals shut down due to too many people contracting the virus, he takes her up to one his brother’s hunting cabins and shoots her, burying her in the backyard. He had attempted to shoot himself as well but the gun jammed and he ended up throwing it into the river instead. After Atlanta falls and the zombie virus appears to be spreading through the small towns, taking the Knox family out as far as he can tell. He and Daryl were traveling together for a little while but were separated and Simon lost track of his little brother. Assuming that his family is dead (since there’s no trace of any of them and the communications network was the first thing to go down) he gets on the back of his motorcycle and leaves. He first meets Morgan (Negan) and his group, Haven, when they stumble upon one another trying to refuel and get supplies. Simon is unhinged and no longer even trying to hide his homicidal side, since no one is there to hold him back any longer he’s completely off his rocker. He initially told Morgan and the rest to call him Widower, as he didn’t even want to link himself to the man he used to be. If the virus is ever contained, he isn’t sure there’s going to be much of a world left for him. 

Widower, Morgan and I think there’s an NPC version of Schyler with them as well find 5 yr old Mikael after the little boy panicked and ran from his aunt and uncle’s convoy during one of the zombie attacks. Morgan grabbed the boy as he was crying by the back of his jacket and puts him onto his motorcycle leading Kristy and Ryki and their group to give chase to get him back. Morgan had a son once and may have done this in order to protect him, not initially seeing the small group of survivors on the road. Widower takes over kind of protecting the little boy when their group stops at an old warehouse they use as a base. 

Morgan Caldwell - I haven’t actually decided if I’m going to make Morgan but he is Sam Caldwell’s older brother and Martin & Lynn’s uncle. He is the leader of the Haven motorcycle gang which moves around a lot and Simon was part of for a while. He is incredibly disappointed in how his little brother acts and very much wants to meet his estranged niece and nephew. 

Morgan “Negan” Caldwell - The zombie-verse version of Morgan, I know little about the man other than Widower is his right hand man and fiercely loyal to him. He genuinely seems to be concerned for Mikael and after meeting Kristy and finding out she’s pregnant while going through the virus, he may offer their services to them, as protection (or he may try to keep Kristy with him and his group masking using the air of wanting to protect her until she gives birth) There’s a lot of ways this guy can go. He isn’t particularly trustworthy, and has said one thing only to do the direct opposite of that less than a few minutes later. 

Kevin Reynolds - the oldest Reynolds brother and also the only one that’s biological to the Reynolds family. Kevin was 10 when Matt was adopted and 12 when Vartan came to live with them as well. The family typically fosters children, and seeks to give them a better life than the one they had. Kevin is currently in his later 40s, and lives in Chicago where he owns an old-fashioned record store (with actual records on the upstairs level) called Empire Records, or just The Empire by his teen/20-something staff. Kevin is gay and actually just lost his husband Jimmy to AIDS. Jimmy was the drummer for his brothers’ band Silex, and actually younger than Kevin was as well. He is currently having issues with depression following the loss of the only love in his life (up til now, obviously), though he actually has clinical depression as well. He and Matt absolutely cannot stand one another, mostly due to Matt’s homophobia, though Kevin has always been out so he’s not sure exactly where that stems from. He and Vartan are close, despite the 12 year age gap. Empire Records is a somewhat failing business, though is eventually brought under the wing of Revolver Records for its vintage, throwback to the late 80s/90s music scene and often becomes the site of the Revolver bands’ signings, which boosts their sales quite a bit too. 

Ryder Knox is getting a new picture, I just need to figure out who he actually looks like, taking his dad into a bit more consideration right now. The Knox men also all have a very distinct smile, so gotta find someone that fits. I’m stuck between these two: 

Ryder is 22 years old and lives in an apartment on his own which he pays for by an OnlyFans account. With close to 1000 subscribers, he makes money selling pictures of anything from his feet to being shirtless (sometimes in his underwear) on parts of the Knox farmland. Very gay but not very out about it. 

@musesnotebook​