#considering that most of the responses to that were made out of anger leveraged at the original fic

[sufferu]

Y'know I think this fic might start another craze like Lone Star, Re:Forgotten and WHDAAA. I, myself already have a few different scenarios involving this running through my head.

That is as long you don't mind me considering writing fics based on your own and that you don't mind reading from FF.Net. Lol.

I would be genuinely flattered if someone were to write something based on one of my fics or posts. I just have two requests: 1) please include some sort of “inspired by” note or w/e, and 2) PLEASE send me the link man, I’m GONNA want to read it.

[lyallblacklupin]

My Truth about you.

Remus has a tendency to practice self-deprecation after full moon when he gets new scars. This time it is a big one on his face. He thinks that he looks hideous, but Sirius is there to tell him otherwise. 

Remus smacks the book on the table so loudly that even students sitting at the ends of the table jerk from their seats.

The marauders are staring at him with hanging jaw and bulging eyes like hawks.

“You okay there, Moony?” James tentatively asks.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” Remus glares at him, aiming his index finger towards the bandaged wound on his cheek. It has been three days, and everyone is steering clear from Remus’ way. The last full moon was a disaster that mostly did damages to his face and neck. He hated facial injuries, not because they were difficult to heal but they made him look ugly—considering the fact, his boyfriend is ten times beautiful than he could possibly imagine himself to be.

The silence settles, tinged with discomfort.  The marauders go back to their lunch before they are running to their classes. Throughout the whole day including the supper, Remus’ mood was at the same foul place. Sirius is trying hard not to step on his nerve that might trigger and eventually cause Remus to curse and boycott everyone and everything. Remus can see it but pretends it to be unacknowledged. He knows that Sirius is the only person he can be himself with, but not with the others because, James and Peter included, everyone is eyeing him with weird looks on their faces that mostly blooms one thing: fear.

They all go to their dorm, and begrudgingly Remus flops on the first bed. He remains there with his chest glued to the soft sheets, his face buried too, sniffing a strongly familiar scent. Before he processes the picture of the person in his head, a voice calls him out.

“Moony?” It is soft like the petals of a fresh white flower and silky like chocolate. He doesn’t open his eyes. He can feel that the exhaustion of the day is dumping out of him, dissipating into thin air.

“Moons?” This voice is much clearer but he doesn’t dare open his eyes again because there is something on his head, brushing his hair. He can picture it. Long, slender white fingers are spreading and fisting his golden curls.

And then, a kiss. On the temple. So gentle that he wanted to sink into its holiness. He groans with the felicity of experiencing such celestial intimacy.

“Wake up, Moons. Just for a moment then you can go back to sleep, love.”

Remus opens his eyes because this time he is shaken by the figure that is intoxicating him with their presence. And there he is. Grey eyes like silver orbs staring at him with such solace and the rippling dark hair are let down. The sight is scenic. Remus asks himself why didn’t he just look at his boyfriend the whole day. He know if he had, his day would’ve been spent much better. The regret is not strong but sweetly painful because Sirius Black is the foremost person in his life and being ignorant to his presence is nothing but ungratefulness.

“Sirius…” And he smiles. Sirius Black smiles his delicate smile which is only reserved for him. He hums in response. “What are you doing here?”

“The question is, my dear Moony, what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is my bed.”

“So? This is my bed, too.”

“Okay, okay, this is your bed too, Mr. Grumpy.” He chuckles but Remus continues to glare at him, “What!? Okay at least get up and take off your school robes. I’ll lend you my pajamas.”

Remus doesn’t move from his position because he knows if he surrenders, he will lose the chance of Sirius undressing and caressing him. There is always something ethereal about Sirius’ touch. He touches Remus like he is made of delicate glass.

And then it starts happening, Sirius is getting him out his school robes and shoes. The moment is pure bliss and dreamy. Once Sirius was done, Remus looks up to witness him staring at his face with an intense yet unreadable expression. He reaches out to cup Remus’ cheek, and then suddenly Remus flinches away. He hasn’t forgotten it. The ugly feeling started assembling back to him, making him feel all blue and dejected instantly. Sirius has caught that look on his face.

“Hey, don’t…” He whispers.

“Why not!? I’m hideous!”

“You are not hideous! You’re not even close to hideous! You are very attractive and beautiful—“

“Stop! Just stop. I don’t want to hear this, Sirius.”

“Moony…why? Why do you think like that?”

“I-I never had a scar on my face…before it used to be like the tiny ones on my nose or jaws or my lip or eye or…dammit! Everywhere! They are everywhere!”

“Shh…” Sirius draw close to him and made him sit up. He laces his arms around Remus’ neck, forehead pressed together, breathing each other in.

“This one is the worst, Sirius…my life is the worst! I mean if I was meant to be cursed with this physical affliction, the least God could have done was to spare me with its brutality! I don’t just go through this physical pain, it is the mental pain too! Where I have to stand before this bitter truth that tells me that I have no future. No job, no living, no healthy relationships, fuck! No health at all! I can’t pursue my education because I’m not a human. I can’t have a family of my own. There’s nothing I can have that a normal person does.”

And then he feels lighter. His heart is not heavy anymore. But tears are streaming down his face, wetting his hands in his lap. The most remarkable thing is that Sirius is still breathing him in. They are in the same position. But he doesn’t look up to hold Sirius’ gaze. Sirius is quiet like an obedient cat.

Remus’ hands move, as if they are automatically functioning, and clutches the fabric of Sirius’ shirt on his chest. He still doesn’t meet his eyes. He just clings himself to him. His head resting on his shoulder, and Sirius holds him by his waist.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius whispers in his ear, “I’m sorry you have to go through all of this. I know you said that you don’t want to hear it but it's the truth and you deserve to know it. You are perfect to me. And I don’t think I can be more honest about that. Look, Moony,” He pulls away gently to meet Remus’ eyes.

“Do you care about others’ opinions about you?”

“No—“

“Do you care about our, me, James, Lily, and Peter’s opinion about you?”

Remus knows what answer Sirius expects, but today—at the moment—is Remus’ truth day, he cannot say things that he meant half-heartedly. The truth is and has always been this: He only cares about Sirius Black. It is a mad truth but it is what it is. He was mad. Madly in love with Sirius Black.

“Moony?” Sirius’ eyes narrow down on him skeptically.

“I care about what you think. I care about you, only. It’s strange and weird and insane but it is…it is my truth.” Remus has said it, and there is no turning back because Sirius is looking at him blankly. His face is flushing, his mouth is in a thin line. He presses harder. His lips become thinner, his jaws clenched and his nostrils flares slightly. It is not anger. Remus can tell. He knows him. More than he knows himself. He is trying not to cry but then there are tears floating in those eyes and then fell simultaneously. Then they are falling.

“I just…can’t see you like this…” Sirius says, and Remus knows he is struggling with his voice.

“I’m sorry—“

“Are you mad? No, you don’t have to say sorry, you idiot.” It makes Remus smile because they conversing in whispers and it feels so beautiful, “Of course, you can say all those things to me, you know vent out, don’t keep it inside you. I just…get you know, anxious. I want to make your pain easier for you. I know how much you suffer but I can’t feel exactly how you do. And it makes me feel indebted, I guess? I don’t know…I just want you to be happy.”

Remus tugs a lock of Sirius’ dark hair behind his ear. His index finger still lingering there.

“Remus,” Sirius continues, “I can’t promise to fix all of your problems, but I promise you that you will not be alone in dealing with them. I’m gonna be here as long as it takes, no matter what and how. I love you, you know that right?”

Remus nods at him, blinking away the tears. Sirius leans into Remus’ left and plants his lips on the cheek which has the long jagged scar. His lips are there for longer than they should have been. He is kissing the scar as if it is something sacred.

And just like that, he uses Remus’ position as leverage to make him fall on the bed. And Sirius lays his head on his chest as he grips his torso. Remus can smell the coconut shampoo from his hair.

“You’re beautiful. And that is my truth.”

Remus hears Sirius say before the sleep drifts so quickly by the aid of each other’s warmth and love.

[kyberphilosopher]

Oʀᴏᴛᴜɴᴅ

Requested?: Yes. Contains allusions to sex and illness, non graphic.

Word Count: 3301

Eren has disappeared beyond the walls, finding refuge with a sick ex-soldier. 

Orotund: (adj.*) speaking or singing with fullness, clarity, or strength of song or voice. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

 The sickness had spread slowly, but surely. 

You couldn’t tell where you had gotten it from. At first, you had assumed it was simply an intensified version of the flu. However, the longer you took care of yourself, the more you realized that this was far worse. 

Dividing the time into five stages, you began keeping note of what was happening to you during Stage Two. During Stage One, you began to experience relatively short periods of a fever. They’d usually last for days at a time, with you lying in bed draping a wet rag on your forehead. So intense, you could not even get up to urinate or eat, it was difficult not to feel pathetic. 

Stage Two had made the fever die down. You were more than thankful for this, of course, but it had come with it’s own crashing, crushing waves. Stage Two had begun to make you lose weight at a rapid and inexplicable pace. You often frowned at yourself in the mirror, observing how your torso was slimming and shaping around the form of your ribs. It came before the loss of appetite, which only made matters that much worse. 

Stage Three, during which you had met him, was strange. It didn’t directly cause any physical changes to you, but it did indirectly. You grew restless in the night, and exhausted during the day. Riddled with fatigue, the daily chores you relied on for life became troublesome. Drawing water from the well strained your back, and because of what Stage Two had done to your stomach, you lacked the energy needed to keep yourself upright. 

One day, in whatever season it had been, you returned to your cabin to find a stranger inside. Instantly on sight, your pail of drinking water fell from your fingers and splashed against the wooden floors. Your boots and socks were soaked. The knocking of wood against wood made your ears ring as if a bomb had gone off. 

The boy was still, but his eyes were somewhat wide as if he was also surprised. He must not have considered someone was already living in the cabin. Yet, he was sitting at your dining table, watching you with open eyes and open ears. 

Before you could scold, yelp, or simply say hello, you collapse over. The fatigue overpowers you and you crash against your counter in a heap. 

The boy leapt forward on instinct. His right arm wrapped around your back to steady you somewhat, his left hand gripping onto your other shoulder. It didn’t help you too much, as your ankle was already rolling out from under you, but it did keep you from hitting the floor completely. Thus, the boy had at least saved you a head injury. 

“My room,” you croaked with hazy eyes. The hand attached to the arm over his back weakly pointed in the direction of your bedroom. It wasn’t too far away.  You were lucky that he craned his head to see where you were gesturing to, and understood. “I have to get to... my room...”

“Right,” the boy replied.

He hoisted you up, the both of you grunt quietly in unison. And then he practically dragged you across the floorplan of your home, stumbling and groaning all the way. The boy let you drop into your bed on your own, partially kicking him in the process. 

You hum out a sigh of relief. Your head is immediately alleviating itself, and the room is ceasing to spin so quickly. The boy is confused as to the lack of yelling or anger. Instead, he is enthralled with the calm, tired, demeanor of your form. He’d broken into your cabin, eaten your food, and you hadn’t even looked mad. In fact, you looked almost sickly. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Stage Four brought depression. Yes, you already had that. But now your sickness was piling onto the chemical imbalances, adding to the lack of calories, nutrients, and sleep. Whatever strength you had before was dwindling away faster than before, although this time, things were different. 

The strangers name was Eren. Eren Jaeger. He had large, piercing teal eyes, bold eyebrows, and dark hair. At the time of your meeting, it was the length of his shoulders. His palms were wrapped in gauze at the time, but it wasn’t permanent. He’d since removed them, and helped you work. 

Eren was strong. He could repair things that were broken around the cabin and help you with the well upkeep. Sometimes he would go hunting and bring home venison or herbs for you, which was kind. He didn’t ask for much in return, other than you not tell anyone of his presence. Not like you had anyone to tell anyways. 

Eren gave you a ride on his Titan once or twice too. That was something you loved. You were scared at first, but Eren didn’t let anything happen to you. He would lift you up in the palm of his hand so you could reach the fruits at the top of the tallest of trees. Then you’d go home and slice the fruit up for him in a small bowl. 

He slept on the bench in the living room. You’d felt particularly guilty about that part, but your weak body needed all the relaxation it could get. Eren knew that, and he never forced you to share or give more than was even remotely necessary. Really, Eren was quiet most days. He seemed to do a great bit of brooding, but you’d grown accustomed to the presence of another human being, and thus, warmth. And Eren liked you. You weren’t obsessive, didn’t yell for the way he cleaned, didn’t rip up his clothes, or remind him of a fading dream. 

Time blurs together when you’re living on your own in the middle of nowhere, but the boy was with you for more than two months, at least. He figured out that you were sick in that span of time, including that you didn’t deserve to be. There wasn’t much around your cabin to suggest much of past life. Eren didn’t blame you. That’s why he stayed in the cabin as well- hoping to leave the past for a blank space. 

You took care of each other. Your favorite example was on a morning in Spring. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Eren wore a simple brown cloak. No shirt underneath, giving you a much appreciated view of the boys abdominal muscles. Though, you’d probably never get the opportunity to admit you found the boy physically appealing, you took it in. His hair was back in a bun today. The sun broke over the horizon, illuminating his eyes. 

Jaeger held your horse by the reigns. His right bare foot was rubbing against his left shin, tired as the horse began to excrete last nights meal. Eren must’ve gotten up earlier than usual this morning for chores, because the circles under his eyes seemed more prominent. Not that it specifically mattered. He looked handsome all the same. You appreciated the view for a few minutes before starting towards the well. 

First, you set the bucket on the earth where the water is sure to fall. Then, you place both hands on the pump, digging your feet into the ground for leverage. Stage Four has made you weaker than most people. This will take a lot out of you. 

Pushing down, it takes all of your strength to get a single pump of water into the pail. It’s not enough, and sweat is already beading at your forehead. It’s not even hot yet, and something mediocre is nearing you close to death. Your heart strains against your chest, but you ignore it. You have to get the water. 

You push down a second time. Now, the container is half full of the clear stuff. It ripples in the light of the sun like a rainbow. Your head feels like it’s on fire. A slow, dull fire. You have to push a third...

With a final great heave, your blistered hands scrape against the contraption. The water gushes out like a miracle, filling the bucket again. So crisp it makes your mouth water, you kneel to the ground to catch your breath. 

Stop, your heart begs. Stop. Rest. But the responsibility is staring you dead in the eyes, and you can’t ignore it. And you can’t ask Eren to go a day without water. He deserves it. For Eren’s sake, you must do this. 

Although your world is dizzy, you push yourself to your feet. Your blistered fingers wrap around the handle, ready to pick it off the ground without issue. However, water buckets are heavy. There is nothing you can do but struggle to raise it off the ground, tears and sweat pricking at the corners of your eyes and goosebumps appearing at your arms. It’s not even really that chilly. 

Eren was like a God sent. You didn’t fully hear what he said to you, but you felt his arms slide around you to lift you up. “Y/N, do you hear me? You have to stand, alright?” You hadn’t replied. 

Jaeger connected the dots. With one half of his body, he leveraged you up and to your feet. With the other, he grabbed the pail of water and began moving forward. 

It was slow with you practically slumped against him, but he was a soldier. Eren wasn’t about to just let you drop in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t let you succumb to your illness that easily, if he let you succumb to anything at all. 

Eren set you on your bed. You had a fever, so he laid a wet cloth across your forehead. He stripped you down to your undergarments as respectfully as one could, laying two more rags on your forearms for extra help. Then he drew you  a bath, knowing the water would be cold for your lingering fever. He never asked for anything in return. 

But, he had set a hand against your shoulder. His thumb ran in soft circles against your hot skin, a comforting, loving gesture. You could feel his long hair brush against your chest as he leaned down to make sure your heart was still beating. Aside from a slight palpitation, it seemed in working order. 

His brushing thumb lingered a moment longer before he let you rest. Even in sleep, you missed it. You wouldn’t forget this. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This leads us into the final Stage. Stage 5. The one where you die at the end. 

“Eren,” you call out softly, watching the curtain windows sheer in the sunlight. 

In response, the boy bows his head to look down at you. His eyes are calm, but bright as always. His hair is half up, half down. Laying between his thighs comfortably, your stomach rumbles from hunger. Despite this, things are quiet. 

“Yes?” he replies.

You swallow dryly. Then you reveal your desire. “Do you sing?”

His right hand comes to rest on your forehead. Yes, you have the fever again. But Eren knows you are in the right mind. His thumb strokes your temple, catching a few wisps of your hair as he does so. 

“Not well,” he answers with the ghost of a smile. “You want me to sing to you?”

You shift, and one of your hand grazes by his knee. “Maybe,” you tease back. Then you frown. “You seem tired today.”

Eren exhales. His right hand lays against your forehead, a mix of concern and something like affection.

“Is it the Attack Titan?” you continue, gazing up at him through soft lashes. 

It was. Eren’s history- the worlds history- was churning around his mind until it seemed like a bunch of mush. You were the only thing that was clear to him at this point. But you were silent. Calm, compared to everything else in the universe. 

“No,” Eren decides to assure light heartedly. His thumb begins to circle around your sticky skin in the little way that it does. “It’s nothing.”

Silence again. 

The warm breeze brushes against the window outside, but it’s not loud. It’s warm from the light of the sun, and the hills of emerald grass span for miles ahead. The sky is as blue as the birds that soar across it. Serene. That was how you would describe the life you currently lead. And blessed be you for leading it as peacefully and quietly as the loud and complicated world would allow. 

“I think I’m going to die soon.”

The quiet was broken with another fracture of quiet. Eren’s heart gave a great, vibrating beat, and then paused. In contrast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d heard your heart beat. 

All the violent death he’d seen, just for you to die of an unknown illness? 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You knew you were going to die at the end. You knew it for a fact. You’d just gotten lucky. 

Lucky, you think as you look up at the man above you. Yeah, I’m lucky. 

His pacing is held back for fear of hurting you. His long, dark hair sways back and forth in time with his thrusts. His face is contorted, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and determination. There’s a little clear, slick spot on the corner of his lips. It slips from between, drips down his chin, and onto your abdomen. Eren wants to apologize, but his teeth are gritted together and he doesn’t want to embarrass either of you with shaky words. 

You don’t mind. There’s no need for Eren to apologize. Eren is and always has been a sight for sore eyes, especially for you. And, blessings onto your own soul, you’re getting more butterflies from knowing he’s one of the last things you’ll see and feel than what he’s doing with you. 

Your eyes are glued to his. What color are they? Emerald, like the grass? Blue, like the sky? Could they be teal? Yes, that must be it. Though, sometimes you swear they’re gold instead. 

Lucky. 

You both end up finishing. He keeps himself from collapsing on top of you before asking if you’ll be alright if he bathes. You assure him it’s more than okay as he rubs his thumb over your temple. Some people might be upset at their partner for leaving after what you’ve done, but you understood. Physical contact is hard for soldiers. You know. But Eren promises he’ll be back silently, because he feels guilty about it. 

If you had a bit longer, maybe this wouldn’t be the only time you and the boy could do this. Actually, what had even led to it? What had taken it this long? You’d had dinner. The light from the candles came on, and you’d met his gaze. The rest was all steam and blurs. 

When your living mate returns, your back is facing from him. You’re watching the fresh drops of rain crash against the window, falling from under a dark grey cast. There will be a thunderstorm tonight. You wonder if Eren will want to stay in your bed tonight, or if he’ll insist on taking the bench. 

You feel his hands, previously burning hot, touch your shoulder, now ice cold. The mattress dips under his weight behind you, and then you feel his toned torso flush against you. 

His face brushes against your ear so you can hear him speak softly. “I’m sorry if I took too long,” Eren mutters. A few wisps of hair brush against your jaw, but he’s tied it back now. 

In one fluid motion, a hand of your own comes to stroke at his cheek. “You didn’t.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, before he pulls away to put his face in the back of your neck. His hand remains around you tight, so you know he wants you right where you are. 

You didn’t tell Eren that your time was practically numbered. Maybe it would be weeks, days, or hours. You should’ve told him before you let him inside you, but you’d been a bit distracted. Anxious, too. The moment was worth ruining with something so silly and small. But now it’s done. The only sounds echoing around the cabin is the pitter pattering of the rain, and the oncoming onslaught of booming thunder. 

You have to tell him, you say to yourself as his grip on you tightens. Before he tugs your body closer like a lover again.

Before you can speak, Eren mumbles something against the skin of your neck. “Follow my lead.”

What?

He hums for a few seconds. At first, you think it’s just the hum of insanity, random and undefined. The you realize the changes in pitch are too thought out to be random. It’s a song. 

“...always picking a fight with me...”

It feels hazy, far away. Sort of heavenly. Even with his low, muffled voice, it’s easy to hear the musical tones oozing from the whole thing. 

“...you know I’m bad, but you’re still spending the night with me.”

That line feels more like he’s speaking it into you. It’s personal. 

“...what do you want from my world?”

If you had it your way, or his way, there wouldn’t be anybody else but the two of you and your cabin. Still, this also feels like a genuine question. Maybe it is. 

There’s a dry kiss placed against your shoulder blade before Eren continues the tune. Humming. And then, “...every night I’m out... killin’, send everyone runnin'...”

Eren pulls you closer against him and inhales somewhat sharply. You crane your neck deeper into the pillow, silently wishing that you could feel his swollen lips against it.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” he sings, a bit clearer now. “I have demon eyes.”

Eren’s hand creeps up from your shoulder to your throat, able to choke you if he so wanted. His thumb strokes over your Adam’s apple instead. Eren grants your wish, raising his face so his lips brush over the skin by your jaw instead of the back of your head. A soft kiss is pressed to the area, almost as if he was nervous. 

“...they’re looking right through your anatomy...”, he seems to nuzzle against you lightly, though that feels somewhat out of character. “...your deepest fears, I’m not from here...”

Like before, he pushes his head back into your hair. He groans like he’s stretching before going on. 

“...to me, you’re clear... transparent. You have a thing for me... it’s apparent...”

The rain is falling harder now. 

“...you’re not so bad...”

Eren isn’t bad at all. He sighs against you, his fingers stroking your skin gently. 

“...it’s not something I have to try... oh, for the table, as long as I am able... I’m not trying to be bad.”

I’m going to die soon, Eren.

“No... different.”

He doesn’t continue. Only his thumb continues on, circling round and round in an unknowing attempt to express comfort.

“I thought you said you didn’t sing well,” you whisper into the darkness. 

“I don’t,” he speaks against you.

What a liar. And you, the lucky one for knowing the truth.

Eren doesn’t move positions until you’ve fallen asleep, at which point he eventually turns his back to you in his own slumber. And Eren knew that you were sick, but he also knew that you were capable. 

You weren’t breathing when he woke up. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I guess that’s that. I think I like it but I’m not sure about the ending. Mine aren’t usually so simple. Maybe I should’ve made it less depressing. Eh. 

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 22

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader      CW: Language, angst, violence, blood A/N: thanks for all the comments/asks xx

Chap 22 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 22: How I'm imaginin' You

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March 15th, 1976

It was just over ten past eleven when they called it a day.

“Night, Reg! I’ll see you later!” Y/N called. Regulus beamed, waving back before scurrying in the direction of the Slytherin common room. For the past week, she had brought him to the small hidden room by the library she found over the winter break. Red and green blankets clashed together on the old couch, pillows and candles, books and even his violin was there. It became their — or mostly his safe place.

She’s kept quiet about their secret meetings, mainly because Regulus seemed so skittish at the mention of other people and simply because he was a Slytherin. It put her into a tricky position considering not many Slytherins were like Regulus — they weren’t nice to those of her blood status. Besides, house rivalry was no joke and honestly, Y/N was confused. What did he mean that he couldn’t be seen with her?

The bitter cold began to subside as April neared. The full moon had risen, nearing its peak as she walked through the empty corridors, way past curfew. Distantly, she could hear footsteps becoming louder but made no move to hide once the student came into view with no prefect or Head Boy or Girl pass. That was until the hunched figure seemed to drift closer, coming into her direct line of view. Once they passed, the student knocked into shoulder roughly, making Y/N stagger back into the rough jagged wall.

Crinkles formed in her skin, frowning. They knocked into her purposely. The first thing she took notice of was their tie, a Slytherin. Of course. But when her eyes continued to drift up, she wasn’t surprised to see who it was: Snape.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says, a nasty leer on his face.

“You better watch yourself. Must be obsessed with me.”

“Is that a threat?” It wasn’t, not really, but Snape’s ego is a fragile, fickle thing.

Snape stands taller, his shoulders squaring to appear intimidating but it does nothing but make Y/N’s lip curl up before suppressing it.

“Seems like it to you.”

Seething, his skin becomes an angry blotchy pink. Greasy hair never mattered to her, some people even rocked it but on Snape — anything on him seemed to irk her. His hair seems to stick to his face and an intrusive thought wiggles in and suddenly, she wants to ring it out — see if enough grease would come out so she could cook with it.

But, she readjusted her vision, observing the tight grip he has on his and that he managed to draw without her noticing. On instinct, Y/N slips her out too, her other hand ready to use wandless magic.

She remembers a long time ago, her mother always told her to never start a fight, but to finish it. She guesses that there wasn’t another other option but to listen.

“You’re foul — wretched trollop —” “What did you just call me?!”

Snape jabs a nasty finger into her shoulder before she slaps it down, hard. “You heard me, trollop. Things were so much better when you weren’t around.” His voice drops low, dripping in venom.

“Could say the same thing. I wonder if Lily knows the way you treat women when she isn’t around.” Y/N dangles the threat above his head for leverage. “I bet she would be in for a real shock if I told her.”

There was an ugly pause.

Snape’s nose flares and she would have backed down but since she hadn’t gotten to defend herself last time around Lily, there was no way she wasn’t going to this time.

Snape steps closer in a challenging manner. Eyes burned strong in detest that she even feels it. His hand trembles, going white from how hard he’s gripping his wand. A wild look crosses; he looks feral — like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.

A spell is already forming on his tongue before she raises her wand, throwing up a shielding spell she learned. A bright blue sheet, in the shape of an invisible dome explodes from the tip of her wand just as Snape shoots a spell. The curse is powerful, making her knees buckle. It was at that moment she realized that maybe she should’ve just walked away. Y/N was good at defensive charms — great — but not at offence charms and clearly, they were among Snape’s specialties.

As shoots another spell, Y/N focuses and puts all of her concentration into the shielding charm — so strong that it pushes Snape back roughly and an item from his pocket slips out, plummeting to the floor. In strong silver letters that made her skin raise with goosebumps, it read: The Dark Arts. The overpowering sensation of revulsion and outrage fuels her, beginning to shake.

“You’re a fucking freak,” she blurts.

It touched a nerve. “Watch it, you dirty little mudbl —”

Most people (and Y/N would include herself with them) like to think of themselves as rational beings; civil, thoughtful, just, benevolent, humane. However, when things ripped at the seams without a given warning, people — we — are no better than wild animals. Even if you don’t know it, there’s an animal inside all of us, waiting to pounce and protect.

Without a beat, filled with pure adrenaline, hate and shock, the protective spell fell and Y/N stormed up to him, drawing her entire arm back as her fist curled into a ball. In a flurry, she delivered a sharp blow as hard as she could in the nose.

There was a loud cracking sound that ricocheted through the corridor, simultaneously, thick blood gushed out of Snape’s nose like a waterfall. It sprayed all over their robes, the ground and covered her hand.

She winced in pain, flicking her wrist a few times, noting the skin splitting around her knuckles deeply. Her ears rang like a whirling fan, radio static, a hissing radiator as Snape stumbled back, a hand shooting up to stop the bleeding. His eyes were filled with tears.

“Call… me that again…” her breathing was ragging and voice shaky, “And we’ll see what else happens.” Before Snape could retaliate, Y/N spun around and dashed off to the Gryffindor common room.

Her footsteps echoed around as she felt her eyes sting with tears but made sure to squeeze her eyes shut. Out of all people, she wasn’t going to cry because of Snape.

She wasn’t a mu — a mudl — she wasn’t that. She was more than that word.

She needed to tell Lily.

Tears were replaced with anger. There wasn’t a single coherent thought that seemed to force its way out.

Before the Fat Lady had time to ask for the password, Y/N shouted it out, nearly ripping the portrait door off. The force resulted in a large — BANG! — then slammed shut and Y/N distantly heard the portrait yell.

She took a deep breath, bending over while a hand clutched her knee. Distracted, it caused her to miss the familiar boy sitting on the opposite side of the room who stood up.

Her fist began to ache once the shock slowly wore off. A quiet, dejected groan slipped out as she stared at her clothes. She must’ve looked insane.

The sound of the wooden floorboards creaked and Y/N peered up. There, dressed in all black clothing was Sirius, staring at her bewildered. His eyes scanned her entire body, noticing the rusty blood staining her white blouse and hand.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” She gritted out defensively. She wasn’t in the mood to be anywhere near Sirius, let alone hear another insult. Without the ability to think rationally, Y/N wondered if she’d had the restraint to not punch him if he said something idiotic.

Sirius’ brow raised, not expecting that response but didn’t bite back. “I — Merlin — what happened to you? Are you okay?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, attempting to shield herself and moved towards the stairs. “Like you care.”

“I don’t,” he counters quickly. But he sighed, gravitating towards her and lightly grasped her elbow. Y/N turns around harshly, ripping away from him.

“Who do you think you are? Don’t touch me!”

Sirius’ hands raised, signalling submission; similar to a prey to its predator. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m certainly not going to let you bleed everywhere! Come, sit — I’ll patch you up.”

She eyed him warily, then closed her eyes. Y/N’s chest rose in irregular intervals, weighing out the pros and cons.

She’s heard that he’s gotten into fights and probably wasn’t lying about knowing how to patch up wounds.

He’s an asshole.

He didn’t like her.

She didn’t trust him

Why would he want to help her?

But the stinging sensation flooded in again. Y/N desperately sought to gauge for any underlying motive but Sirius was unreadable. If anything, his grey quartz eyes weren’t as hardened; more blue bleed in, looking brighter — her heart gave a little thump.

With a nod, Sirius gave a weak smile and led her to the couch closest to the fireplace for light. He told her to stay put, took his jacket, threw it on the couch opposite, then ran up to his dorm and grabbed a medical kit along with a bowl and cloth. Rushing back, Sirius set down his supplies and with a flick of his wand, the bowl was instantly filled with water, his hands sparkling clean.

Body angled to face her while sitting, Sirius gently took her hand and submerged the cloth in water, ringing it out, then diligently worked to clean off the blood.

Why didn’t he just use magic? He wouldn’t have to touch her then…

She burned more from his touch than the wounds themselves. When it came to James or Remus, there wasn’t anything that made her skin tingle or spike in sudden shyness when she touched them. But whenever Sirius was just near, she felt her heart speed up, palms start to sweat and brain go completely blank.

They sat in silence. Every now and then, Sirius would glance up. Only when he had a disinfectant, he flicked his hair out of his face, seeming to be in deep thought and spoke;

“What happened?”

Y/N remained quiet, a faraway look now settled in her eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she broke Snape’s nose. She’s seen what broken noses looked like — she grew up colouring nose and sinus anatomical charts in the O.R gallery while she waited for her mom to finish surgery. She was in deep, deep trouble if Snape were to rattle. Detention, house points, expulsion — a possible criminal assault charge.

Shit.

“Hey, Y/N.” He placed a hand on her knee, the cool metal of his rings seeped through her stockings. That caught her attention. That was the first time he’d ever said her first name. His voice was soft — the softest he’d ever spoken to her before. “It’s okay, you don’t need to tell me but I promise I won’t tell a soul. Not even Potter or Evans. It’ll be our little secret.”

She breathed, “I… um —” She stopped and Sirius gave an encouraging squeeze. “Snape, he… he called me a you-know-what and I…” The rest was self-explanatory.

Sirius’s body became stiff. There was a subtle change in his micro-expressions as his jaw tensed, sharpening his features even more. His eyes, which burned with a fiery rage contrasted greatly as he cradled her hand as if she were made out of glass. Sirius huffed, mumbling out ‘thank you for telling me’ and proceeding to clean the wounds. She winced as the cotton pad touched her knuckles, her free hand clutching onto his shirt.

“I know this part’s shit. I’m sorry, sorry…”

She bit down on her bottom lip to prevent pained noises from slipping out. Sirius applied a light magical cream that helps reduce scarring and wrapped gauze around her hand; holding it in place with a magical seal that made it into a light cast. He added a few magical seals along with waterproof charms.

“There.”

She marvelled at his work, he did an amazing job and whatever he did, her pain reduced drastically. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me…” His voice trailed off, a small smile appearing, “Anyone that hates Snviellus is… okay in my books. And what are co-parents for?” He tries to joke. At this, Y/N perks up, a sharp exhale of air forced its way from her lungs; emulating a half-light-hearted scoff.

But soon their smiles disappeared and something strange flashed in Sirius’ eyes. Suddenly, the air around them shifted, becoming tense and enclosed.

Sirius was oddly close to her — since when did they become that close?

Her heart pounded wildly in her ribcage and Y/N wondered if he could hear it over the crackling fire. He’s so close that she could feel his breath fanning her skin. She registered his thumb grazing over the bandage. The warm colour from the fire illuminated his face, different from his usual cool-toned skin. His face looked sharp, more refined than usual. He looked enchanting, so regal and otherworldly without trying to — like a painting.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something but he trails off, leaning closer. His hand trailed up, touching her arm lightly and moved to cup her cheek delicately. The entire time, his eyes trained on her for any glimmer of irritability or discomfort. His thumb began to stroke her skin and she lent into it. It’s large and warm and his touch feels so, so fucking good.

Sirius chooses his next words with caution. “Can I?” He murmurs but the question is clear — louder than any screaming match she had with him. His lips are millimetres away from hers.

In times like these, that Gryffindor bravery was nonexistent.

Y/N’s mind is vacant, internally freaking out but still manages to choke out, “Yes.”

Frozen in place, his eyes flicker from her eyes, then lips, and back to her eyes. He tilts her head back slightly using his hand before it travels to the back of her neck and leans in. But, there’s something in Sirius that hesitates.

The hesitation is too long because a voice could be heard from beyond the portrait and the sound of it swinging open causes them to break apart. She misses the contact already. Sirius stands hastily, wand swishing to clean up the mess around them in a daze. A beautiful blush settles on his face; a hand runs through his hair, rings catching the low light and widens the gap between them. He put his jacket back on.

Y/N’s brain hadn’t caught up yet. Too much happened too quickly. 

“Pads? Where have you’ve been? The moo —” the moment he sees her, his voice draws out, “— ooooony! Moony! He’s waiting for us. Whiskers! Ugh — h-hey!”

Peter fucking Pettigrew, in the flesh.

She makes sure to hide her hand and bloodied shirt from him. “Evening, Pete.”

Sirius coughs awkwardly and clears his throat, Peter doesn’t look suspicious. “Yeah, ugh — right. Sorry,” he takes a pause, eyes drifting momentarily to her and back to Peter, “Was busy with our Puffskein. Let’s go.”

“Night, L/N!” Peter acknowledges. He even sends finger guns.

Y/N is left stunned, watching Sirius leave. The door clicks and her body slackens.

In a haze, she padded into her dorm: quiet and dark, everyone fast asleep. She took a very cold shower, changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth and threw out her bloodied robes. Then, she pulls back the curtains around her bed. A floating candle burned brightly as Lily was there, writing in her journal.

“What took you so long?!” Lily chirped, sliding over to give her more room to slip in. Letting the drapes fall shut behind, she hummed in response.

“Puffskein. Oats.” She’ll talk to Lily about Snape another day — that is if Dumbledore doesn’t expel her.

Y/N rolled over to her side, facing away from Lily. The cool pillow did nothing to help chill her heated skin. It’s like she can feel the ghost of Sirius’ fingers graze her cheek still.

Lily babbled — something about Dorcas and Mary inviting them to skate one last time before the ice melted. But it all went in one ear and out the other.

God, she thought, mad at the realization. There was no point in denying it anymore; she’d been doing so for months and clearly, it was fruitless. I like Sirius Black. I really, really like Sirius Black.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

She didn’t get a wink of sleep. Her mind reeled the entire night, replacing the scenarios again and again, analyzing everything he said, his actions — that look on his face. All she thought about was Sirius: his eyes, his smile, his hair, his skin, his hands, his fucking lips — Argh! Sirius was the personification of Firewhiskey and all she wanted to do was drink more of him — and they hadn’t even kissed!

Sirius is arrogant, rude, cold, cat-called her — insulted her! A part of her felt disgusted — disgust how her heart raced wherever the mere thought of him appeared in her mind. Disgusted how her heart leaped whenever he was near. Out of all people, why him?!

She fucking hated Peter Pettigrew right now — or loved him, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he saved her from making a terrible mistake.

Okay, okay! First things first, she had to stop thinking about him! She forced herself to think about something else: Charms — Professor Flitwick — Peter’s grandma in her ‘purple knickers’ — Slughorn — Slughorn in his underwear — yes, that certainly stopped any more lewd thoughts. Her mind and body were at war.

“Rise n’shine, darlings!” Marlene sang in a high-pitched Victorian accent as she tripped the blinds back. Y/N peeked out from the small gap in her curtains, watching Marlene tiredly. Everyone groaned, Dorcas even threw a pillow at her. Y/N, unaffected, blinked and perched herself against the headboard, yawning. “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”

“Marls…” Dorcas groaned. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the clock that hung above their large window, quickly collapsing into bed and dove under the covers. “It’s six in the morning…”

Marlene hopped over and ripped off Lily’s covers only to realize she was with her. She skipped her way over, ripping the drapes back and jumped into her bed. Toulouse hissed, jumping off before Marlene snuggled up to Lily, proding her cheek.

She gave Y/N a once over, “Morning sugar.”

She continued to poke Lily who forced her eyes open, trying to swat at her. Lily flipped over, moving over to Y/N. Marlene rolled her eyes, but a hurt pang flashed her face before she covered it up. Instead, she bellowed, taking hold of Lily’s shoulders and shook.

“EVANS! EVANS — YOU TOO L/N, WAKE UP NOW!”

“McKinnon! What do you want?!”

She gave a triumphant smirk. “Quidditch! It’s Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff today!”

Marlene was already decked out in her tracksuit, ready to go on a jog around the castle with the rest of the Gryffindor team. Once everyone woke up, they all gave her one of many pep talks and ushered her off.

The morning was slow for everyone but Y/N. Her thoughts drifted away from Sirius, only to think about the next worst thing possible; Snape.

Damn… she had to tell Lily, but how? ‘Hey, Petals! One of your friends — if not your best friend, called me, a Muggleborn — which if you forgot, you are too —the cruellest word there is! And he was caught with a book about The Dark Arts!’

She would tell her, but not today, or at least until after the Quidditch game.

As Y/N got ready for the day, everyone noticed the bandage around her hand (which she lied and made an excuse using Oats), then headed down for breakfast. The Gryffindor team was huddled around Marlene and James. Mary and Alice sat close, giving her a small wave.

Downing coffee after coffee, the caffeine strangely made her sleepier as she listened to James and Marlene’s agonizing rambles. Lazily flicking through sections of the Daily Prophet, she waited for a letter from her mother. None — again. Until a hand came out of nowhere, snatching the paper from her grasp, leaving Y/N to huff out.

She didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Mornin’ Professor,” she mumbled, reaching over to grab it from him.

“You look like you’ve been shagging the whomping willow,” Remus jokes, shaking his head with a smile.

At this, Mary leans in and whispers into her ear, “Didn’t we suggest Remus —” “Or Black? Not a tree!” Marlene adds.

She ignored them but felt her stomach drop at the mention of Sirius. Remus wore his gold oversized glasses today. His curls were tousled, eyes slightly bloodshot and he seemed to be sluggish that morning. She scooted over making room as he took a seat next to her. She grinned back, “You look like shit too, Lupin.”

Remus’ smile turned brighter.

James floated two plates to them, filled with their favourite foods while Y/N poured Remus a mug of coffee, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in, handing it to him. From all the times they brought coffee or tea for each other, whether that be for study groups, lounging in the common room or walking past the kitchens while heading to class, they knew how they liked their beverages by heart.

He flashed a tired smile, humming as he took a sip. Their dating rumours hadn’t calmed down yet, so when a couple of students passed by, looking between them enviously, they both side-eyed each other humorously.

“We’re such catches,” she whispered to him.

“Abso-bloody-lutely — hey!” He randomly cuts in, pointing to her bandaged hand, “We’re matching.”

He raised his hand, showing a couple of his fingers taped together before a long bandage was wrapped around his palm and travelled down his wrist, disappearing beyond his red sweater.

Y/N mused at it before grabbing a quill from Marlene who’d been sketching out the Quidditch pitch and dipped it into an inkpot, handing it to Remus.

His head tilted, “Hmm?”

“Sign mine and I’ll sign yours?”

His long calloused fingers took the quill from her, doodling on the white bandage gently. He drew Dumbledore with pom-poms, cheering for the upcoming Quidditch game, along with a smiley face, his initials and a couple magical creatures. Then passed the quill back, placing his bandage hand on the table and flicked open the Daily Prophet. A few splotches of ink splattered around as she drew The Beatles on broomsticks, all chasing a Golden Snitch. She also drew Remus as David Bowie’s cover as Aladdin Sane, using his scars to make the lightning bolt and quickly signed her name.

Lily and Peter had come in, taking a seat and Y/N had become hyper-aware of Sirius sitting down directly across from her. Both of them stiffened and she continued to avoid his gaze as she drew on Remus.

“We’re going to be fine, it’s only Hufflepuff.”

“Nope, Hufflepuffs know how to get shit done,” Peter says, his mouth stuffed with food. “Never underestimate them — what the fuck?!”

Everyone in the Great Hall collectively held a breath, looking up at the Slytherin table. Lily’s eyes almost bugged out in rage, her ears becoming red as she got up and walked over.

It was Snape, but it wasn’t his nose that caught people’s attention. No — his nose was fine — he must’ve gone to the hospital wing that night.

“What happened to him! Ahah!” Peter cried out, “He looks like my house elf!”

There, Snape stood completely bald with no eyebrows and wearing Gryffindor robes.

Y/N slapped a hand to her mouth, desperately trying to calm her shrieking laughter but couldn’t. She and Remus lent on each other, trying to not tip over the hall bench. Everyone whopped loudly, James even whistled.

But as everyone was occupied with the sight, the person who she expected to be howling in laughter that most definitely should’ve been was Sirius. He simply drank from his goblet, his eyes peered over to her with a knowing look and bowed his head ever so slightly and looked away.

Oh.

Ohhh.

She was left with more unanswered questions than ever.

[wesawbears]

I am a simple AFTG fan. I love Andrew, I love Jeremy. I think they should be friends. I write that.

Here’s my other Andrew and Jeremy friendship post, but it’s not necessary to read that first: x

--

For the most part, Andrew paid his teammates as much attention as one would give to a road sign. Enough attention to keep his job, to do what they need him to do, but he’s still not a team player, and making friends with inconsequential people is not on his immediate to-do list. 

Jeremy Knox is slightly more interesting, if only for the fact that Kevin knows him, and according to him, he’s the only other person on Andrew’s team who has a chance of making Court. What’s more, Andrew likes to know who he’s dealing with, and the urge for leverage is one instinct he didn’t leave behind with his knives.

(Okay, so maybe he’s still a little bruised at just how many secrets Neil snuck past him.)

Still, he does his research on Knox. Raised in rural SoCal, captain of the Trojans for three years. Boring. Reputation for never getting a red card. Slightly more interesting. He hopes it isn’t insufferable morality, but that remains to be seen. He thought the same of Renee initially, and found something more substantive below. He was also a curiously private person, never indulging the press with his thoughts. He did know of the rumors that he was dating Jean Moreau, which was interesting if only because of Jean and Neil’s history. 

He may not be able to take his teammates to Columbia, but he would get the answers he sought.

Conveniently, Knox was the one who he ended up rooming with for away games, seeing as he was the only one who still made the effort to speak to Andrew. The rest had clearly decided it wasn’t worth the extra effort. The first night, he learned that Knox stayed behind in order to be available to Moreau, which was an interesting confirmation if nothing else. He was tight lipped about everything else, leading to many quiet nights, which suited Andrew fine.

His next sign that Jeremy Knox might be more interesting than he appeared came near the end of the regular season. Their game was against Dallas, notorious for having an egregious number of ex-Ravens. Andrew took slightly more enjoyment than usual blasting their shots across the court, something he knew he’d get an exuberant earful from Neil about later. For now though, his sights were on the game.

It was unusual for his teams’ strikers to find themselves anywhere near Andrew, but Jeremy and one of Dallas’ dealers had managed to stay in a lock past midfield, until a hard shove sent Jeremy sprawling across the field. Andrew could see but not hear heated words exchanged once Knox stood. Andrew watched something dark and interesting flash across Knox’s face before he reeled back and decked his mark across the face.

A hush fell over the field as one by one everyone realized that Jeremy Knox was given his first red card and left the field.

Andrew leaned against the goal, face cool and unaffected, but mind moving.

--

By the time Andrew got back to the room, Jeremy was already there, and Andrew could hear his voice through the door. He stayed quiet and opted to stay outside to listen for a bit.

“I understand that...Look, I’m sorry that I worried you, and I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m not sorry for what I did...No. I’m not going to let them say whatever they want about you. Not when I know how far you’ve-...” A deep sigh. “Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow….I love you too.”

Andrew took that as a sign of the conversation’s end and headed inside. When he did, he saw Knox sitting on his bed, looking uncharacteristically annoyed. He attempted to perk up a bit when he saw Andrew.

“Hey. Sorry to keep you out of your room.”

Andrew shrugged off the apology and set his things down before sitting and looking at him. “Moreau?”

Jeremy nodded slowly, apparently surprised that Andrew was speaking to him. “Um, yeah.He was just worried after seeing the game.”

“So it was something about him that got you to crack.”

Jeremy’s jaw worked as he tried to come up with an answer to that. “Is it that surprising?”

“Be more specific.”

“That I have a temper.”

Andrew drummed his fingers against his knees. “Not surprising. Just interesting.”

“I’m happy to amuse then,” Jeremy answered, starting to turn away.

“It just means you aren’t as boring as the rest of our teammates.”

Jeremy didn’t seem to have a response to that either, so Andrew continued. “So much for those anger management classes.”

Jeremy’s mouth twisted. “Kevin wasn’t kidding. You do your research.”

Andrew waved a hand.. “It’s important to know where to push when necessary.”

“You don’t need to push. You could try asking.”

“I don’t need to ask when your motivations are so annoyingly obvious.”

Jeremy sighed. “I meant what I said when you joined. We don’t need to be enemies. Especially considering all we have in common.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, we’re both on the wrong side of a deal we didn’t make.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched at that. “Surprised Moreau told you about that.”

“Of course he did. We’re together, so it affects me. I’d be naive to not know that I’m who they would come after if they wanted to hurt him.”

“Yet you chose him anyway.” Andrew heartily ignored the hypocrisy in his statement.

“I did. I’m too stubborn to let them tell us what we can and can’t do. At least this way I can say I didn’t run away.”

Andrew turned finally, satisfied with the answers he’d gotten tonight. He had plenty of time to learn more. 

Jeremy started turning away after a few moments of silence, only perking up when Andrew had one last thing to say.

“If you’re going to be any use, you need to learn to punch better than that.”

Jeremy smiled slightly. “Out of practice.”

Andrew hummed, effectively ending the evening’s conversation.

It was a fascinating experience for both parties.

[blackhatandfriends]

I absolutely love your writing (the villain bar owner story is 👌👌👌! May I request a doc where reader gets captured by a group who want to use them as "leverage" against Black Hat so he comes and wrecks shop, but accidentally scares reader because he's never been *that* level of wreck shop before?

A/N: Thanks for the request and the compliment Anon! I really liked writing the bar stories. :)& Anyways! Here’s your request, hopefully it’s what you were looking for!

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Torture...idk man this one is fairly violent.

Black Hat shot you a glance.

“Going out to that garden of yours?”

You nodded, “It’s coming along. We’ll see how fruitful it ends up being.”

“Indeed.” He said, going back to flipping through paperwork. You turned to leave, but Black Hat added, just before the door closed, “I’ll need to see you back in here in a few hours.”

“Okay.” you said, rolling your eyes. He didn’t need you for anything, you knew that. But you wouldn’t dare say no. Besides, spending time with him was nice as you’d grown to enjoy his company.

_________________________

You sat back, dusting your gloved hands off and admiring your work. Despite the constant dramatic weather on Hat Island, you’d managed to begin growing a small garden and your first flowers were starting to bloom.

However, while you were sitting there, triumphantly basking in your defiance of the island’s weather, something hit your neck.

You tried to stand, already woozy from whatever had just been shot into your system. You reached for the gun at your hip, but didn’t find the target in time. A few more rounds of darts shot out of multiple points in the trees. You tried to doge but two more planted themselves into your leg. A shot in the direction of one earned you a cry of pain, however the world went black shortly after.

__________________________

When you awoke, voices faded into your conscious. They were all to your left, faint at first but soon you were coherent enough to make out what they were saying.

“Are you sure you got the right one?” a gruff voice asked, “They don’t look all that special.”

“No, this is the one, for sure.” another, more articulate voice said, “Our spy network is fairly certain that this one is the most valuable asset out of all of his underlings.”

They were talking about Black Hat. You chided yourself for being so careless. He’d never let you hear the end of this. Or rather, he would have, if you ever saw him again.

You let your eyes open, quickly taking in the details of the space. Your kidnappers had you strapped onto a large metal table. There was an IV in your arm, which you decided not to look at for too long. You couldn’t tell what they were feeding you anyway, though you assumed it had something to do with how drained you felt.

“Ah,” that was the voice of the articulate man. You could now see that he looked the part, wearing a pristine button down shirt and slacks, even his tie seemed crisp, “You’re awake.”

You squinted at him, hoping that maybe if you did so hard enough, he would burst into flames. The other voice, wearing a similar outfit to his companion but with a suit jacket and no tie leaned into you.

“Oh I can’t wait to see what your boss forks over to get you back.” He smiled, you could smell smoke on his breath.

“You’ll never get anything out of him!” you spat, pulling away from him.

“Oh we don’t need to get anything out of him.” the other one smiled, “You’ll do all the work for us.”

___________________________

Flug could hardly stand to watch as they skewered your side on the tape, made even worse by the anger that radiated off of Black Hat in curling, twisted waves, like a black fire in slow motion. You were trying to keep yourself from crying out in pain, but the look on your face spoke volumes.

“Doctor.” the “r” of the word hung on his boss’s tongue, “Where is this signal coming from?”

_________________________

The abandoned warehouse sat on the edge of the city, an old and terribly cliche hideout. Not to mention that Black Hat could clearly see some of the modifications they had made to the building from the outside. That giant ray gun was poorly concealed at best.

He made his way past the perimeter with ease, killing the boy they had posted at the gate and both the men in the booth near the door. He didn’t bother to take a key from them, opting instead to slide through the wall, startling the two guards on the other side. He grabbed one by the shirt, holding him up and flashing his pointed teeth.

“Where..are...they?” the guard in his hands fainted at the question. Black Hat looked up to his partner, who simply pointed a shaking hand down the hall and mumbled out a nearly unintelligible, “Room 44”.

He killed them both of course, moving down the hall as more and more guardsmen poured into the hallways.

Fools. He smiled wickedly. Absolute fools.

__________________________

You heard the determined shouts of guardsmen outside the door, then you heard the hopeless screams. It was the first distraction from the pain in your side in a while, and you found yourself focusing more and more on it as the screams drew closer. The guards watching you, along with the few organization higher ups that were playing cards to your right started talking to one another. One of the leaders, the one with the suit but no tie, approached the door. But it opened with a bang just as he reached it.

Black Hat stood there, holding a disembodied arm with a key card. There was blood on his clothes and an unnerving smile on his face. His eyes moved to you for a moment, then to the man in front of him.

“What...What did you do?”

“Nothing you won’t soon know yourself.” his voice carried the wail of thousands behind it, “Bud Pine.”

“H-How do you know my-” but he never got the chance to finish that question. Instead, Black Hat all but disappeared, and left carnage in his wake.

He was terrifying, like a dark whirlwind of malice. You felt yourself push back into the metal slab in an effort to get away from the overwhelming feeling of pure evil that had overtaken the room.

Walls were coated in blood as he moved from person to person, their bullets were useless.

He wasn’t human.

You’d known this before, of course, but now...being confronted with it so blatantly...it scared you.

When he finally got near your slab of metal, you flinched. It was slight, but he noticed. He always noticed. There was a look to him, covered in blood yet seemingly unfazed, eyes lit up in a strange tangle of anger and excitement. It made you uncomfortable when struck against the feelings you had for him.

“I’m sorry.” you apologized as he released you from your restraints, slicing through them with ease.

“Did I...scare you, my dear?” he asked, waiting patiently with an outstretched hand. You could tell he noticed you wait just a moment longer than normal, but you did take it. He helped you up, but seeing the struggle it was, opted to lift you into his arms instead.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You said, looking up to him, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” he said voice stern, but there was something underneath the hard tone….something softer.

You opted to accept that response, and relaxed in his arms, feeling surprisingly safe as the darkness radiating off of him dissipated.

_______________________

Black Hat could see you were expecting to be reprimanded. It’s what he would have done if it were….if it were someone else he’d come to rescue.

You seemed to be over your fear of him. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to indulge in that much violence, let alone have anyone see him in such a state. He wondered if it hurt your opinion of him. But then you began to cuddle into his chest.

He let you do so grateful that you wouldn’t be seeing the corpses that lined the halls and dotted the building’s perimeter as he walked the both of you back home.

_____________________

Black Hat and Friends Master List

Hey! If you’d like to support me and the work that I do here and on my other blogs, please consider checking out my support page or consider buying me a coffee!

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 2

Neil x Reader

Chapter 2: What kind of man

(see chapter 1)

summary: the matchmaking trio changes their strategy, and you end up on a sparring mat with Neil

warnings: language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT

author’s note:  ...you know what? I don’t want to take any responsibility for where this chapter ended up going. Those characters have mind of their own and at this point I can just write it down and try not to die on the way. (I know it’s far from what we’ve discussed A, but it’s best I could do with what these two had given me, promise to do better next time)

The song for this chapter is Florence + The Machine - “What kind of man”  (changed from “Undisclosed desires”, don’t ask me, I don’t know either)

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“...and you really think this is a good idea?” 

“It sure beats yours,” said Ives and took a sip from his cup.

TP huffed and smacked his arm. “Hey, I thought it was our idea!”

“What matters is,” - Wheeler chimed in, fighting a losing battle to hide the annoyance in her voice - “it was a terrible one, and we have to do better if you want them to not get each other killed on the field.”

Ives pondered for a while. When he looked at Wheeler, his eyes were full of concern. “Honestly? This sounds like a recipe for someone getting hurt.”

She kept forgetting how protective he could be over his friend. Although this time, she thought, the one at risk was definitely Neil. 

Wheeler smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, it’s gonna work.”

_________________

There was a certain peace in the emptiness of the HQ’s shooting range in the early morning. It always helped you clear your head - there was no place for emotions while you were holding a gun. And you always knew when to come there to be alone. 

At least up until today.

Just as you finished your routine and grabbed your bag, the door opened and you were greeted by the smirk from under the messy blonde mane. 

Bloody perfect.

A week had passed since the bar encounter, seven long days filled with Neil’s tiresome presence during your work time. If it wasn’t a merged mission of your squads, there were training sessions. The shooting range was your last place free from the walking reminder of your recent failure. 

Not anymore, apparently. 

“Going out already? Too bad, I was hoping to get some tips from you.”

“Aim and pull the trigger. Repeat. It’s really that simple,” you said, shrugging.

The blue eyes narrowed behind yellow-tinted lenses of the safety glasses as Neil sent a forced smile your way. “Never would have guessed,” he deadpanned.

You passed by him, not willing to allow him to get under your skin. But then, just as you were about to exit the room, you stopped and cursed internally at yourself. Closing the door and turning around, you placed your bag quietly on the ground and leaned back against the wall. With your arms crossed, you watched Neil as he prepared his pistol and started the practice. 

You studied his posture, the way he held the gun in his gloved hands, trying to find any weak points in his technical side. There wasn’t too much to improve, his problem with shooting during the missions must have been elsewhere. You briefly glanced over the rolled sleeves of his navy blue shirt and the way his jaw tightened when he checked the target to grade his accuracy. 

“Look at that, you actually can hit a target,” you said and the corner of your lips twitched. “An easy one and not quite lethally but still, I’d call that a progress.”

Neil scoffed and glared at you over the shoulder. “I thought you were done for today.”

The subtle hints of frustration rang in his voice, catching you by surprise. You didn’t know why, but all of the sudden, the satisfaction you felt had a bitter aftertaste. 

You eyed him carefully before speaking again, this time easing up on the mocking tone. Just a bit. “Maybe you just need to train in a more stressful environment.”

A sardonic smile tainted Neil’s lips as he focused on the target again. 

“Keep talking then.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you left the shooting range. 

Fucking hell, he was just infuriating.

_________________

You stared at the bulletin board in disbelief. The new training lineup added one-on-one sparring sessions, and your name was all the way at the bottom of the list, which only meant more late evenings at the headquarters. And as for the choice of your sparring partner-...

With the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure, trying to sneak by you unnoticed. You turned around quickly. “Ives, why do you guys hate me so much?”

He sighed slowly and patted you on the arm. “It’s nothing personal,” he said, his voice almost sincere. But you knew better, and after the crap they’d pulled on you last time, you had every right to be suspicious. 

“You could have picked anyone else for him,” you complained, quite desperate to try anything to avoid spending more time with that blonde pain in the ass.

“I didn’t pick shit,” Ives scoffed. “Besides, it’s just the combat practice, the usual training rotation stays the same.”

“And it’s a coincidence-”

“It’s not,” TP’s voice rang from behind you. “It’s the result of your recent evaluation.”

You stifled a curse. 

_________________

Neil’s brows furrowed in fake concern while he looked you up and down as you kicked off your shoes and stepped on the mat. The fact that you accidentally matched your black tank top and shorts to his black t-shirt and sweatpants didn’t get lost on him.

“What’s with the frown, sweetheart?” he teased. “I thought you might enjoy it, I saw the way you look at me.”

You smacked your lips as you began to stretch your arms and sneered, “Good, so you know how much I want to punch your stupid face.”

Neil kept his features casual, but the taunting sparks in his eyes were saying plenty. 

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

You started circling each other slowly. After seeing him in combat, you knew that you were in his domain. You tapped into all your bottled anger to cover the lack of confidence you suddenly felt in his calm presence. 

“Ground rules?” you asked, putting your guard up.

Neil’s shoulders raised in a slight shrug as he mirrored your pose nonchalantly. 

“Just show me what you got.”

And that’s what you did. 

You always considered your close combat skills adequate. Good enough to let you get out of most of the situations you’d found yourselves into during missions. But after yet another blocked hit, you weren’t so sure about that anymore. 

Meanwhile, Neil was clearly having fun watching you struggle to break through his defense. “You don’t like hand-to-hand combat,” he rather stated the fact than asked as he dodged under swing aimed for his head and lunged forward, tapping your right side to mark the exposed area. 

“If you’re that close, it means I’ve failed to shoot you,” huffing in frustration, you spun around and kicked, missing him just barely. Neil didn’t give you too much time to regain your balance, making you jump out of the way of his flying knee. He flitted around you and grabbed your wrist, twisting it quickly and pressing it to your back, quickly adding your other one there before you could do anything about it. 

“You never let anyone near you, huh?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you tried to wriggle your way out. Neil was definitely too close for comfort, both literally and figuratively. “You’re not my therapist, blondie,” you uttered through gritted teeth, taking a sudden step back right into his arms, a change of direction finally allowing you to escape his grasp.

“Thank god, because I feel sorry for them already,” Neil laughed dryly. His eyes narrowed as he watched your mouth open in disbelief at his remark and a shit-eating grin crept on his face. 

You don’t know what pissed you off more - the fact that he was bent on driving you mad, or the sudden realization that the fucker was clearly holding back. It didn’t matter that you were struggling enough with the moderate effort from his side; to you, it was an insult worse than the comment. 

You brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead. “Aren’t you tired?” you snarled, shifting your balance back and forth. The question was vague enough, but from the way his expression changed, you knew he got the hint. The predatory flare in his eyes made the heart race in your chest. 

Neil sprung at you, faking a misstep on the way to throw you off balance. Your senses sharpened enough to predict his next move and you were there to deflect a lightning-quick hit to your abdomen. You returned with a strike at his side but to no luck. Neil ducked under your elbow and closed in on you, giving himself enough momentum to knock you down and pin you to the mat.

The self-satisfied stare just a few inches from your face was making the blood boil in your veins. Cursing internally at both his reach and flexibility, you squirmed under Neil and that only made him press his forearm to your chest even harder, a roguish smile tainting his lips. “See, there’s one thing you need to learn. You need to work smarter, not harder.”

An outraged cry built in your throat as you clenched your hands on his arms, trying to gain any leverage in your position. You glared into the blue eyes, the nauseating hate burning in every cell of your body.

Neil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh no, did I hit a nerve?”

You let out a frustrated groan. Of course, that son of a bitch hit a fucking bullseye. And to make matters worse - he had a point, too. 

Neil spotted a change in your expression a second too late. You swiftly moved your hands and sneaked them under his t-shirt, sliding them up his stomach. His eyes widened as he gasped, reducing the pressure on your chest. That gave you enough room to maneuver, rolling him off you and pinning him with his wrists above his head. 

With your faces again just inches away from each other, both of you panted heavily; a part of you enjoyed Neil’s amused gaze, his mouth slightly open as he tried to level his breath. And then - 

“Good girl. Just like that.”

...fuck.

You didn’t know what exactly made your brain short-circuit. Was it the hoarse voice combined with the praise? The way the blue eyes suddenly got darker? Or both together?

And you didn’t even know how you found yourself underneath Neil again, flipped on your stomach, your hands behind your back. With one cheek pressed against the cold mat, you shivered at the sudden warmth of his uneven breath on your neck. 

A throaty chuckle made your heart skip a bit. “Two can play the game, darling,” he purred as his lips brushed against your ear. 

Your mind went blank again. 

Somehow, you made your way back to the shared locker room.

You leaned your back against the wall, crossing your arms. The tension between the two of you was almost volatile, elevating your heartbeat with every second passed and every step Neil made your way. 

“You’re insufferable.”

You grinned slyly as your eyes flared up. 

“The feeling is mutual, blondie.”

The way his gaze got even darker made your breath hitch. The burning sensation inside of you was something more than hatred now, not caring if you were ready to admit it or not.

He smacked his tongue, a vicious smile dangled in the corner of his lips. 

“You really should stop calling me that.”

The hidden threat in his tone made your mouth dry. You raised a brow and held your breath. 

“Or?”

He closed in on you and grabbed your chin harshly.

“Or I’ll make you.” 

You flashed your teeth and taunted him again. 

“Can’t wait to see you try.”

Neil hummed and moved a pad of his thumb against your lips, making you gasp breathlessly and lose all the resolve you had left. A dry chuckle in response to your expression was enough to haze your mind. You tilted your head as Neil leaned in, drawing his attention just where you wanted him. It took all your willpower not to sigh when he sucked at the skin just below your ear and your fingers raked through blonde hair, pulling Neil even closer. 

His hands roamed your body hungrily while his mouth moved down your neck. When you felt his fingers going up your thigh, you tugged at his t-shirt, and as they moved even higher, your hips bucked involuntarily, so eager to feel him where you needed him the most.

A sharp chuckle against your collarbone as he palmed over the almost completely soaked-through fabric of your shorts sent a bolt of pleasure through your every nerve. You could feel your core pulsing even harder as his long fingers rubbed you just right.

Your hand flew back up and yanked at his hair, making him look at you just before you trailed his jawline with your mouth. Neil groaned and a laugh rattled in your chest. 

You reached for his waistband, but he was faster. Next thing you knew, your shorts and panties were gone and Neil lifted you and pinned you to the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he slid his arm around your lower back. You nearly cried out when he thrust into you mercilessly; instead, you dug your nails into his back and sank your teeth in your bottom lip. As Neil picked up the pace, you clung to him for dear life. The heat radiating from his body carried the musky smell mixed with the almost fade-out scent of his cologne, the combination so intoxicating it made you lightheaded. You felt yourself tighten around him as he ground into you relentlessly, and pathetic whine escaped your mouth. Hearing that, Neil slowed down, almost stopping and you groaned in frustration when you realized what he was doing. 

“I hate you,” you uttered through gritted teeth, panting heavily, rolling your hips, longing for the friction that son of a bitch was purposely denying you.

Neil pulled back enough so you could see the roguish sparks in his eyes accompanied by a mischievous grin. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You huffed, outraged by the audacity and he laughed, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he picked up where he’d left off. The fire he’d just fueled blazed in your veins, your heart raced in your chest and you felt yourself climbing the peak again. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling yourself closer, you frantically gasped for air and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone with a loud moan, the pleasure hitting every fiber of your body in violent shockwaves. That was enough to send Neil over the edge, a deep groan escaping his mouth as he came into you, tightening his grasp on you almost painfully. 

At that moment, you were nothing but a trembling mess in his arms. Coming down, you pressed your forehead to his, enjoying the way your breaths intertwined. 

When both of you regained your senses, you pushed him away and picked up your clothes. As you were both decent enough, you glared at Neil.

“This changes nothing,” you said. 

The self-satisfied look in his eyes made you realize your mistake. 

No nickname. 

You cursed internally, but it was already too late. He’d had it his way, in the end. 

Neil’s lips curled in a half-smile.

“How tragic.”

(next chapter ->)

[mccall-me-maurice]

Goddamn another long ass post, don’t ask me why

So as I’ve noticed, a lot of people have come to see or have even started shipping Mauram. And whether this is linked to me oR NOT i want to explain why I ship it, because apparently I haven’t done that yet. [Under the Cut]

okay so mauram is a ship name for maurice and sam. so canonically maurice is more of a jokester. he kicks sand in peoples faces and then acts like a fool to make them happy again. because while maurice may be a hunter and by technicality, a “savage”, he still feels empathy. he definitely follows jack, but clearly isn’t the smartest (ie the squid conversation) and while he enjoys being a hunter, he seems to be in it for more of the fun side of things and being a child. Sam is also more childish because he was younger at the time and is easily scared by stuff like the beastie or the fucken. man with a parachute. however, he joined the hunters by force and was tortured, and yet he still helped ralph, so he is by default, a less “savage” person canonically. however, if you jump into general headcanons regarding the two, the twins AND maurice are both very mischievous and pull pranks on people. their personalities are oddly similar to most people when creating traits for them because a) they’re not really described in the book all that much and b) when they are, their actions end up leading to a similar personality. usually the twins are considered smarter than maurice, seeing as in a lot of text posts hes the one cracking jokes that are pretty dumb or having a lack of knowledge. their headcanoned personalities match together so well because of their similarities and their differences, what maurice lacks, sam makes up for. theoretically it’s like two pieces of a puzzle if you dive into how people headcanon them.

CANONICALLY however, they have very limited to no interactions that are written but that’s because the book is from ralphs perspective, making ralph be the protagonist so you never really get to see any of the hunters interactions with the twins while they’re being tortured. Or even if maurice is there. but they were still alive and the question is why. because jack would gladly have them dead, two other people have died. and roger really doesn’t give a shit, let’s be real. he would gladly kill the twins AND they have enough hunters. so that means that theoretically, someone that jack trusted or at least would listen to had to speak up against killing them either because the hunters aren’t as mad as jack and roger or because there was an established relationship with the twins that made them feel sympathetic. and the only person who has nearly as much power over jack as roger is maurice, seen earlier in the book during hunting. maurice had to be the one to speak up about the twins because he’s the only one with enough leverage over jack to get him to convince roger that killing the twins is unnecessary, and they should be kept alive because they could be “useful” when in fact, they were not useful to the tribe because they helped ralph.

and in modern aus, the twins are usually still ralphs friends and maurice is jacks because there’s typically the split between the two as there was on the island. but most of the time, maurice isn’t really involved because it’s a jalph fic or a rogermon one and maurice just isn’t there. furthermore, maurice tends to be a second option to his friends canonically, most of them bothered by him unless he does something funny or is needed for work. guess what? so are the twins. and the boys played around a lot on the beach, so maurice and the twins more than likely had interactions that just weren’t mentioned.

Fics/ Headcanons

so the choir usually exists in modern/no island aus because they need simon to know the boys so he can be a good boy like simon usually does. the twins usually have some of the biggest vendettas against the choir in the fics i’ve read because the choir gets oddly physical with them. however when fights occur, jack gets ralph, roger gets simon ((if hes even being responsive)) and maurice usually takes the twins. also the twins are usually straight in the fics which i think is just a way of having internalised homophobia because they are. way too straight. nobody is that straight, you bring men up and they’re like HAHA ANYWAYS, WOMEN. in a lot of fics, eric is the one who has the worse anger for the choir and is like. super pissy at all of them. and to me it’s because sam sees himself in maurice a little bit due to their usual similarities and hes just more soft spoken and doesn’t want to confront anyone about it. which leads to the perfect setup for a crush on maurice that he doesn’t even realise is there because he was so caught up realising how similar they are and how much more popular and, in theory, better maurice is that instead of doing what he sees people like piggy or eric doing, which is saying “i wish i could be like the hunters and walk around like i own the place”, he doesn’t want to be like maurice, he wants to be with maurice. however, because of his usual internalised homophobia, he convinces himself that he wants to be maurice and talk like his friends do, but he doesn’t really use the same bitter language, as he’s usually written nicer and even though he’s mischievous, he’s the kinder hearted twin most times. so he obviously isn’t fond of the choir members, but he still wishes he was like them to an extent and everything just kind of falls into place logistically that he, at some point, has a crush on one of the choir members

so why maurice? why not ralph or someone else?

well because all of his friends had never displayed the amount of similarities to him that maurice had. and none of them had displayed the empathy maurice undoubtedly did in the scenarios where things got physical. maurice himself was canonically never as physical as everyone else. he never really hurt anyone that was serious and not a joke. while ralph was kind to him, ralph was very disinterested in people, which i don’t even need to delve into canon for that, he was bored of people like every other line. simon is very introverted and spends most time with ralph and the choir typically, not seen with the twins as often. and piggy himself is just whiny in an endearing way but doesn’t reflect sams own personality. and while people think “opposites attract” (ie ralph and jack or roger and simon), that isn’t always the case. and with how sam behaved and spent time around those who he matched up with personality wise, he would, in theory, only like people who have fragments of his mind in theirs. back to the pieces of a puzzle thing. they have to be pieces of the *same* puzzle, not different ones.

so what about maurice?

maurice’s decisions are influenced by the choir, because he follows them around a lot when it comes to making big choices. he’s less violent by nature and more joking so when his friends bully ralph’s, he probably doesn’t take it as seriously as he should. but he doesn’t really like being angry and that’s on canon, when he kicked sand into percival’s eyes then joked around to cheer him up. maurice doesn’t like other people feeling bad because of his own actions. so he’s probably nicer to ralph’s friends than anyone else just because he has a tough time handling consequences. which leads to his nicer personality meeting sams less aggressive to the choir vibe and even though he is less observant, he still notices how similar they are. and unlike sam, he wants to be *like* sam because he is less vibrant and less out there and blends into a crowd better. and deep down, he doesn’t want to be a “bully” because he still has a heart and empathy. however, the feeling of “i want to be him” switches over to “i want to be with him” once he starts really looking at sam’s actions more than he did before because of how much they could, and would, click with each other. but of course if he were to ever talk to anyone in the choir about it, he would face horrible consequences so he, in turn, gets worse with the teasing and while he doesn’t get physical, he gets meaner as a defence mechanism so nobody else finds out which is what could’ve happened canonically, as of his descent into savagery.

[blorbosexterminator]

Sergio's not gonna die, he is needed for a possible re-opening of the show. Palermo is too obvious (and that matters to pina), Raquel was already fake-killed. OTOH, Denver: has a lot more protagonism this season, with flashback and all, he is a universally beloved character (always a good candidate to kill), Jaime Lorente has been seen in some town with pedro and alba filming (prob flashback but why with those 2?). 90% sure he's the dead (if anyone).

Honestly, the only thing that would truly surprise me at this point if they indeed don't kill anyone next volume. Would be a move™, I'll give them that. But yes, I do think that they'll go with Denver too, and it has been foreshadowed to be honest. Doesn't change how much I dislike and genuinely disagree with that choice though. I don't think the actor would be up for a spin-off honestly, but anyway Sergio only has the element of surprise and the parallel with his father (the show is too fond of parallels lmfao) not much else to make his death a good choice.

And as you said, Palermo is predictable. And I imagine, with how politically aware™ the show is this season, they might also try to avoid the 'bury your gays' trope.

The thing is, most of what you and I just listed are just meta-textual reasons. I'm not saying those reasons have no place at all when considering writing choices, of course not, but I do disapprove, generally speaking, of writers taking this too much into account when writing their finales.

Sergio would be shocking to a more extent than the others, but that doesn't make him any more a good choice. Denver would guarantee as much of an angry and frustrated reaction as Nairobi (Although I honestly don't dislike Nairobi's death as much as everyone else. I thought it was well-played to an extent) and would have a strong emotional response plus parallels with Moscu, but to me it would be very misplayed.

I wasn't really talking about what I expect from the show as much as what I personally believe is a good writing choice. I most expect Denver to die, but I think Palermo is the most fitting choice.

Like sure, those things are subjective, and they change from one fan to the other as well as from one writer to the other. But just because the death of a character is predictable doesn't mean it's not the most fitting choice for the situation. Not really, I think it means the audience sees something there.

Look, before anyone starts assuming I just *want* Martín to die to see some afterlife scene for my ship, or even a parallel. Yeah, sure, preferablly as a fan of them I'd love this, but I don't think they are in any way necessar. To me, they would just be peppering that would make the death scene nicer stylistically speaking. I don't even think the show canonized the after-life or something of the sort, again I just think they are a mere stylistic choice. I wouldn't be at all actually bothered if we got nothing of the sort.

I just wholly believe the best choice to go with for both textual and meta-textual reasons is Palermo. First, the meta-textual ones, despite the fact that I disapprove of how they got there, I have to admit that the show managed to get him to be more likable this season. General audiences that have previously hated the hell out of him like him enough now. But at the same time Martín is still not Sergio, Raquel, or Denver. His death would cause some sadness and emotional response in the audience but not literal rage and feeling of betrayel, like say for example how GOT fans felt. Also, Martín now has enough alive characters that care about him that would make his death sad. It's unlikely an audience would give a shit about a character's death if none of the surrounding characters do. But now there is Helsinki, who incidentally Martín is also much nicer and caring towards this season, so Helsi would have "good reasons" to react strongly to his death, Sergio supposedly also cares for Martín, and we can say Raquel respects him. So the characters around him wouldn't be indifferent, especially if his death has value in the narrative, say an actual sacrifice for the rest of them. The show itself is VERY fond of the sort of arc that goes along the line 'Selfish character who caused harm and pain to all around them reaches selfishness and then sacrifices their life for the sake of the others.' It happened with Berlin, it happened with Tokyo. And it seems is effective enough. So if I were the writer and wanted a death that is effective but won't anger audience too much, I'd 100% go with him.

And again, a point is Martín even has something that neither Tokyo nor Andrés did, he had a very direct hand in the killing of a very beloved team member. Sure, you can say Tokyo had a hand in what happened to Moscu, but Tokyo legitimately had very little choice because she couldn't find Sergio and she had no intention to do harm, she didn't know her entrance would literally cost the man's life. Martín knew very, very well what Gandia was capable of and this is exactly why he did what he did.

Martín is narratively still responsible for Nairobi's death and took no hand in even avenging her from Gandia. That was Bogota and then Tokyo. And the character seems to be weighted by that guilt to a large extent. And I think the absolute best way for the narrative to resolve this point is by Martín dying directly to save Helsinki, who the show also made a point of also incapacitating, and I'd imagine that would have repercussions on how efficient getting out of the bank would be on him. Characters rarely get injured just for the sake of it, Nairobi's terrible injury from Alicia made her much more susceptible to Gandia, who had a huge leverage on her as she was physically incapable of resisting anything. (I imagine Monica's situation would also have repercussions--hopefully just not on Denver lmfao)

So despite generally not being a fan at all of the pairing in any way or form, and how they generally make no sense to me, with how the show is going now it's definitely best for Martín to die partially for his plan and partially for Helsinki.

Like ideally, what I'd personally most love to see and what I'd personally write a 2573 different fic versions of, is for Martín to die for his plan and for Sergio. I personally believe outside of the plan, Martín's most important relationship in his arc is with Sergio. But the show already ignored their relationship enough this volume as a first and Sergio already got the strong death scenes with Berlin and Tokyo as a second, it could be seen as an excess. But with Helsinki it's meaningful on a different level. The character Nairobi cared about the most is Helsinki (and he's also nearly as well-liked by the audience), so this would balance what he did to Nairobi in a pretty significant way, not completely out-do it, but the two acts would definitely balance each other. To both the audience and to the characters, Martín would be truly "redeemed." Which despite how much I dislike, and genuinely don't agree with it, the show is already putting a lot of focus on his 'redemption'. I don't like redemption arcs generally speaking, I don't think Martín is fit for it, and I don't think it's happening in an organic way at all, and I frankly believe it made him boring, but alas, it is what is is, the show is already half-way there, it already took that route, so the only end for it is to finish it and go all the way. It would be very useless if he ended up surviving lmfao.

And of course the other reason is for Martín's personal arc. The plan is his life's work, the thing he showed most loyality and love to from the moment he showed up 2 seasons ago, the end of his arc is with the end of his plan. Never mind how A LOT of scenes would be useless if Martín doesn't actually die for the success of the plan; the whole reason Sergio opposed it so strongly is because, in his own words, it was completely suicidal. Sure, you can say that they already proved the plan is dangerous by the army going in and all of this "war", but there was no Rio, Raquel, Plan Paris or Plan Roman in the original plan, so there would have been no reason for things to go that bad in that respect, all that happened in volume one is by direct consquence of the plan changing, so that still leaves the question why was Berlin and Palermo's plan so wrong and so suicidal if we don't take into account this war? If there is no answer and if there is no answer that is actually anchored by a death in canon, then those were really all just empty scenes. And of course it's Martín, the mastermind and engineer, the artist who crafted this poem, that has to die for its completion and overall success. Since day one, his arc has been tied intimately to this plan, we barely even know anything about him beyond it. And like, three people died for the mint heist and it was a plan made to work perfectly without a single flaw, where does this put a heist that was just full of romanticism and complete focus on the gold with disregard to the people? All of the scenes we saw of Sergio rejecting the bank heist in the flashbacks on that basis have to mean something now.

Against all of this, what does Denver have? What will his death signify? Nothing, in my opinion. The man didn't even want to be there. Also I guarantee you, if he does die for Monica the way he said, every single fan will turn against her and the hate the character will receive will be insane. Like why end the story of those two characters this way? What is there beyond edginess and grimness for their own sake?

Martín's death, even if it causes sadness, will be satisfying for his character. Besides, Martín as a character is too much like Tokyo, I don't imagine he himself would be very satisfied growing old and dying under the radar somewhere; going with a blaze now, sealing off his life's work and having his death mean something too is a much, much more satisfying ending for him.

Tldr; Palermo in a very balanced position to kill, especially that he is currently the actual leader, a position the show has given him with more space and better, much nicer spotlight now than in the third season. And I imagine with volume two focused more on extracting the gold, his role will get only bigger in that respect. He's still responsible for Nairobi's death. And he should 100% die for the Gold and the completion of his plan.

[k7l4d4]

A Steven Universe AU

Hello all! Today, I am going to document an AU I had for Steven Universe! I would like to personally thank my friend Flamestar50 for the help I received to build this AU. I am going to mark down the information for the AU I had discussed with Flame when discussing this AU, so here I go! To note, the information will be about the questions Flame asked me, and my responses.

Okay, I talked to Flame and they are okay with this. Enjoy fully.

ALRIGHT!! Basically, assuming you know who Doctor Priyanka is hopefully, before Canon starts, Greg accidentally says something to Rose while they are talking after she got back from a particularly stressful mission, and it causes all the repressed pain and guilt, along with a not so healthy dollop of self-loathing, to come surging to the forefront. 

To better process her feelings, Rose heads to the Beach and, well, ends up lamenting to herself, attracting the attention of a visiting Priyanka Maheswaran (Hope I spelled that right), who decided to approach the giant gem and get her to talk about her feelings.

Flame: huh, how does that go

Me: Well, because Rose has a LONG history of not thinking things all the way through and often not being able to see the full picture accurately, she ultimately decides to just spill it all. To vent every little thing about herself, all her actions, all her choices, all her mistakes, to a total stranger, because she genuinely cannot TAKE IT anymore! 

Surprisingly, or probably not, Priyanka is moved, and understandably worried, by Rose's pain, and makes a point of comforting her, with Rose herself having shapeshifted back into her Diamond Form for the first time in CENTURIES. 

Priyanka is genuinely in awe of all that Rose has done, and all that she has been through, and decides it is her duty as a medical professional, albeit not one licensed in psychology, to take on Rose as her patient, as the Gem is clearly not in a healthy or safe emotional state. Oh, and the other Gems and Greg all ended basically overhearing the whole thing while the two are none the wiser.

Flame: oh no, how did they react

Me: Well, shock for the most part. Amethyst and Garnet are, understandably, angry at being lied to, yet they can't bring themselves to be angry because, unless you've got a serious callousness to you, it is hard to be angry at someone who so clearly loathes themselves so completely and utterly. 

Pearl is mostly shocked, and a touch despondent, that Rose had withheld all this hurt and inner turmoil from her. Greg? He doesn't know how to process what is going on, but what he does understand is that Rose, the person he loves more than anything else in the world, the one who finally made him see his own value and worth and could never even try to judge him, is hurting, and in need of comfort. They basically decide to shift the discussion back to the Temple for the rest of the initial event.

Flame: How will this effect Steven in the future?

Me: Well, I haven't finished describing the set up just yet, but it will have its effects on his future (HA! Snuck in the reference!). After moving back to the Temple, Priyanka in tow, the Gems (and Greg) basically hash out everything they can. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl are all understandably distressed and hurt by the secrets Rose has been carrying, but the sheer pain and hurt she clearly feels about herself convince them to work through it together. 

For Amethyst, it partially convinces her to stop bottling up her insecurities, not after seeing what a wreck it made of Rose. Garnet knows she will have to fully confront her feelings on the subject later, but decides to be there for the others now. Pearl just wants to finally help Rose the way she feels Rose helped her. And Rose? She just feels such intense, unconditional joy and love at the fact that they don't see her as a monster, that they still love her, flaws and all, that she doesn't have to run away anymore. 

The revelation of her feelings acts as a catalyst that causes her to involuntarily shapeshift into a new default state that merges her Diamond and Quartz forms, a symbol of her finally accepting herself completely, taking the name Rose Diamond; she isn't going to pretend she is something she's not anymore, she's going to show the whole world the entirety of who she is, flaws and all, so she can finally start to grow. 

And then they realize that they never got Priyanka's name, and everyone starts cracking up at the sheer absurdity of it all, Rose included! I got more, but that is the initial intro to the AU.

Flame: what else ya got

Me: Well, because of her sense of obligation, and the fact that she honestly enjoys Rose's company, Priyanka more or less becomes the Gems' therapist, and often silently screams in her own head that she isn't trained for this. One of the things Rose does once she comes clean is to try and make amends for the things that came about due to her lies; for starters, she releases Bismuth, after she tracks down Lion that is (that crazy feline does whatever it wants, I swear). 

Much like in canon, Bismuth is snapped out of her hyper-blood-rage once she is exposed to the Corrupted Gems and figures out that the Corruption partially came about due to her giving the idea of faking her shattering to Rose. Bismuth is MASSIVELY uncomfortable around Rose, and often adopts a loose, battle-ready stance whenever around her, but, partially due to working with Priyanka to help treat her PTSD, is gradually coming around. 

Bismuth more or less does her own thing, but makes an effort to be there when needed, like when the Gems find an experimental Warp Pad. The Warp Pad, according to the notes Pearl finds, is supposed to be the ultimate escape system, allowing any being to enter the warp stream and proceed to a pre-determined Warp Pad across the Galaxy, and the next time that corresponding pad is used it will automatically bring them back. 

Upon discovering that information, and seeing that the Warp Pad hasn't been set yet and still can be, Rose, without actually explaining to the others, uses the warp to rescue Spinel. I'm gonna leave it here for you to process and ask questions before I proceed.

Flame: Oh god, how is spinel gonna react to this version

Me: Well, considering she is still near-totally innocent, she basically asks if she won the game. Yeah. Rose basically cries her eyes out, and tearfully says that, yes, Spinel, you're the winner, and gets an ecstatic hug that feels just a little too tight. 

Upon noticing that Spinel is subtly shying away from the plants, and that the roots of some have actually started growing over her, Rose carefully picks a weary Spinel up, and carries her over to the warp pad back to earth. When Spinel asks where they are going, Rose simply says they are going home, getting a content smile in return. Upon returning through the experimental warp, Rose is bombarded by a storm of panicked shouting from the other gems, only for them to calm down at the ragged Spinel in Rose's arms. 

Rose attempts to brush off the danger of using an untested piece of potentially lethal tech, only for the warp to blow up behind them; none of them were hurt, it was more like a collapse, but the implication that that could've happened while she and Spinel were in the warp stream causes all the gems to shoot Rose looks that scream "We told you so." I'll let you process this while I gather my thoughts.

Flame: oh dear

Me: Yeah, Rose doesn't like to think things through when there are people who need help she can give. After carefully explaining who Spinel was and the situation surrounding her, which involves Pearl face-palming, Garnet pinching the bridge of her nose, Amethyst a little shell-shocked, and Bismuth pummeling a concrete pillar into gravel in anger, they take the sweet gem back home. 

After making sure Spinel is situated comfortably, Rose breaks the news; she never planned on coming back. As Spinel freezes up, whether from shock or hurt is up to debate, Rose explains that she had never understood Spinel, always seeing her as a silly doll that the other Diamonds gave her to be a toy who couldn't take things seriously, with each word causing Spinel to slowly shake her head, shuddering more and more, before Rose apologizes for being a bad friend. 

Before Spinel can completely LOSE IT, Rose, tears of shame, regret, and heartbreak, pulls Spinel into an impromptu hug, begging, pleading, for the chance to let Spinel be happy. After calming down enough not to lash out in out of control pain, Spinel, shaken but not broken, asks as calmly as she can to be alone for a little while. They give her her space. And another pause point!

Flame: I thought she was gonna lose it, I sure would have.

Me: She came VERY CLOSE, but Rose's presence, which she still associates with good things and happier times, manages to keep her just stable enough to go off the deep end. Spinel quickly becomes a regular patient for Priyanka, who makes a point to try and help the child-like gem to grow and develop as an individual like it's her personal missions. 

Over time, Spinel gradually manages to come to terms with her situation. Spinel developed a phobia of plants due to her time in the garden, but also enjoys gardening, seeing it as a representation of her happiest memories, as well as a way to conquer her fear by leveraging control over the plants. 

With prompting from Priyanka for the both of them, Rose and Spinel make an effort to rebuild their old relationship into something healthy for the both of them; for Rose, it is a chance to finally befriend and learn about Spinel as a Gem, and not the toy she treated her as, and for Spinel, it is a way to come to terms with her past and start making new friends in the present and future. 

The two manage to reach a mostly amicable bond, but things occasionally get tense between them; Rose's past actions left deep scars on Spinel's heart, as while she still acts like her happy-go-nuts self, albeit tempered with proper emotional reading, she now holds a deep disdain for other gems and gemkind as a whole, making an exception only for those who've also been burned by Gem Culture and her friends, often acting similar to her initial debut self when communicating with gems who don't meet this small criteria. 

Spinel genuinely loathes the fact that she is a Gem now, and finds human company effortlessly more enjoyable than any time she spends with other gems, no matter how much she views said gems as friends and family (Spinel very much enjoys the concept of family, and sees it as one of the many ways organic beings are superior to Gems in her eyes).

Flame: awww,poor spinel

Me:Yeah, she's a sad bean, but she wouldn't change herself for anything in the universe! Did I ever give the name for this AU? If not, the name is Here For You. One of the biggest divergences from canon in this AU? Rose lives after giving birth!! 

How you may ask? When you are good friends with a doctor, and you suddenly spring on them that you, a non-human, non-organic alien plans to have a half-human child and you most likely won't survive the experience, you can expect them to put their foot down and help with the situation. 

Priyanka essentially grills Rose on everything she knows about her race's biology, such as it is, her understanding of human biology, and makes her research methods to create gemstones and such; Priyanka isn't willing to have Rose relapse into her suicidal impulses again, even if it is to bring a child into this world, and is dead set on finding a way for them both to survive. 

With Priyanka's help, and some scavenged Gem Tech from the Kindergartens, Rose manages to conceive (HA!) A method to have a fully half-gem-half-human child without killing herself. It largely involves artificially mixing her own gem essence with that harvested from old injectors and eating. SO much eating. Rose essentially is ingesting and absorbing the needed materials to build a human fetus and Diamond Proto-Gem together as one, without sacrificing her own gem in the process. And it works!! Mostly.

Flame: what do you mean mostly

Me: Well, the process was completely experimental, and they had no actual clue what they were doing, just making their best guess. The process worked, but it left Rose horrifically weakened. Her Gem's internal structure was dangerously demineralized, as in it lost a lot of minerals that compose its structure, and became insanely fragile and delicate as a result. 

Giving birth essentially permanently crippled Rose; she can no longer shapeshift at all, her bubbles have a high chance of popping after forming and she can no longer teleport them, and a lot, if not all, of her powers besides her healing tears have been hamstrung to near uselessness. 

She is now both weaker, and slower than any human, and constantly falls unconscious at random to conserve her compromised energy reserves. But it was worth it to bring her twins into the world!! ...Maybe that had something to do with it...

Flame: wait, twins!?!

Me: YES!! ULTIMATE SURPRISE REVEAL!! Yeah, in canon, before they settled on whether they were having a son or a daughter, Rose left two tapes behind for whichever gender her child ended up being, Steven Or Nora. So, in this one, she ended up giving birth to Twins!! Nora and Steven Diamond Universe!! 

To clarify, Rose would've been weakened no matter what happened, but giving birth to twins nearly shattered her and permanently affected her abilities, not that she'll ever regret it, though she grows frustrated with how frailly she is treated by the others. You wanna hear about the twins next? 

Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it, the twins were only partially an accident, as Rose didn't intend to have two kids, but is fine with it, she just overdid it on the eating and stuff needed to create the children and had just enough left over to jumpstart the development of a second child. Yeah.

Flame: go on and tell me about the twins!

Me: YES!! Due to Priyanka's influence, both twins end up actually, you know, GOING TO SCHOOL. Steven is, well, basically exactly the same, and still heavily takes after both his dad and Rose's Quartz form, but being around other kids his age has improved his social skills and given him a larger group of peers and pals. 

Nora is a bit of the opposite, polite, a little standoffish, neurotic, snarky when stressed, with a vicious temper towards anyone that hurts or messes with Steven, she basically looks like a miniature, human Pink Diamond in terms of appearance. Nora has a natural knack for her gem powers, and more easily manifests those powers more closely associated with Pink Diamond as opposed to Rose, with her Gem Weapon being a MASSIVE Two-Handed (Zweihander) sword whose foremost section resembles the shield everyone thought it would originally be, whilst still possessing her family's flower motif. 

Nora is the younger of the two by about five minutes, but is much more mature as compared to Steven, not helped by him still having his aging problem while she ages more normally, and people are often shocked at both her age, as her height and attitude give her an older feel, but that she is also both Steven's TWIN and the technical younger of the two!! 

It kinda mindblows people. (I was considering shifting some of Steven's personality, but I couldn't bring myself to do it)

Flame: any last points

Me: Well, Spinel basically becomes Beach City's premiere part-time employee, as she works on and off at literally every place in town at some time or another, and she bluntly refers to Greg as "The Deadbeat." 

Spinel adores the twins, often serving as their babysitter, as well as a babysitter to most of the other kids in town, and basically acts as their bodyguard whenever she goes on missions. Oh! I also have special plans for Lapis, as well as some other Homeworld Gems, but I'll save those for tomorrow. 

Due to their parents being friends, Connie basically grew up with Steven and Nora, and is currently entering the phase of life when people start to develop more mature crushes, and has shown signs of crushing on both of them. Yikes.

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 3

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 4,400 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Assault

Author’s Note: This part does contain mentions of sexual and physical assault, so if that’s a trigger for you, please be advised. -Thorne

***Set One Year After Part Two***

           The usual grouping of Templars gathered in the backroom of The Ethereal Crew Tavern, that grouping being Haytham, Shay, Gist, (Y/N) and a few others she didn’t care to name. Most of them had arrived on their own, but she and Haytham had taken the liberty of getting a carriage together. Rather scandalous given that neither were married nor courting the other, but personally, she could care less about social etiquette governed by the elite who had their heads shoved up their asses.

           She kept herself guarded, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers curled around the handle of the dagger in her jacket. Haytham probably knew, but he’d yet to let her know, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of his journal. It drove her up the wall how he seemed to place enough trust in (Y/N) to actually sit in a carriage with her, alone—she hated the feeling. Hated that he cared enough. Sometimes she’d wished she’d never accepted his offer to join the Templars. It was too late for regrets though as through a flurry of group missions and her own personal ones, she’d managed to climb the ladder of success within the Templars, coming to rest just below Lee. No doubt (Y/N) had certainly upset the chain of command, especially with pushing half the men of the group from their positions to claim them as her own, and as much as she hated it, she had to acknowledge that it gave her a sick sense of pride to take them down a few pegs—fragility of male pride, she decided.

           “Is something on your mind, (Y/N)?”

           She looked up from her boot laces and to him, though he’d yet to take his eyes off the pages. “Nothing that would make you happy, Grandmaster.”

           Haytham chuckled and snapped the journal shut before meeting her eyes. “You’re more than welcome to call me Haytham when we’re not with the rest of the Order.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Honestly, I’d rather stab myself in the thigh…twice…with a dull knife…but that’s just my personal opinion.”

           He let out a snort and stowed the notebook in his jacket before regarding her. “Why are you so adamant to keep people from being friendly with you?”

           “Why are you so nosey about my adamancy?” she retorted.

           “I’m simply curious.” His steel eyes narrowed. “Is that so wrong?”

           “Unhealthy, would be the better word.” (Y/N) shot back, but on a rare whim, she revealed, “I don’t trust you.”

           Haytham evidently hadn’t expected that because his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Truly? Even though we’ve served together for a full year?”

           She huffed and turned her gaze to the window. “Don’t take it personally, sir, I don’t trust anyone.”

           “Then what do you trust in?” he inquired.

           “Myself.” (Y/N) murmured with a deep breath.

           “And when you can’t trust in that?”

           She eyed him from the corners of her eyes. “Psychological warfare isn’t going to work on me, sir. Been there, done that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

           Haytham smirked and she instantly cursed herself at her carelessness. “So that’s your reason. You won’t allow yourself to be taken advantage of again by someone.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t help but glower at him and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead and buried. “You smug bastard.” He barked a laugh but didn’t respond, and the carriage began to slow.

           They climbed out, her first, still fuming, Haytham following in suit. She opened the door and walked inside, leaving him, but he wasn’t upset, far from it. By the time he got to the backroom, (Y/N) had already poured drinks and taken her seat between his and Shay’s, a glare still in her eye.

           They stood at his entry and when he sat, they did as well. “Thank you for readying the drinks, (Y/N).” he acknowledged, and her grunt of acceptance served as a reply. He looked to the others. “We’ve started with more practical pursuits of taking over the colonies.” Haytham gestured to Shay. “With Shay helping to claim New York, we’ve control over two major cities and ports of the Americas.”

           Shay tipped his head and took a sip of his beer.

           Haytham looked to (Y/N). “You’ve also been helpful to help claim the city too, taking out public menaces during the nights. It’s kept the people safe.” She looked in the other direction, feeling the warmth rise on her cheeks at the praise. “But I’d like to do more.” He waved a hand and Charles unraveled a map along the table and everyone leaned forward in their seats to gain a look. “We’ve most of the New England and Middle Colony territories, but I want to focus our attention to the South. Gaining leverage would give us control of the colonies and we can turn them any way we wish.”

           Shay raised a hand and the Grandmaster nodded at him. “Ports in North and South Carolina and Georgia could be decent routes to start with. If at least to get us a feeling of the locations.”

           Haytham tipped his head in agreement, then looked to (Y/N) who was busy dragging her eyes up and down the map. “Have you any ideas, (Y/N)?”

           She hummed. “I’d start with negotiations with Native tribes or go to Florida and start there.”

           Before anyone could ask, Charles snorted. “Why go to the natives for help? Do you doubt that we can’t do it ourselves?” His voice was haughty, full of arrogance, and it pissed her off.

           (Y/N) met his gaze and he audibly swallowed from the sheer anger in it. “Perhaps because they’re the ones who could help us further our goals farther than we could on our own considering the fact that they’ve lived in the Americas long before colonial intervention? Perhaps because this is their land we’re talking about controlling? Perhaps because colonists like you have your head shoved so far up your ass that asking for help from actual natives of the land is considered insane? Perhaps because you’re a stupid son of a bitch who thinks that that colonials are somehow placed high above natives because we’re ‘civilized’ solely based on the fact that we live in brick houses and speak the King’s English—which by the way isn’t even a universal language because more countries speak a multitude of other languages besides English—Spanish and French being two examples.” She leaned forward. “Have I got the point across or should I keep offering rhetoric about how idiotic your complaints are until it goes through your thick skull?”

           Charles face had turned at least six shades of red, each darker than the last and he fumbled for an answer but all he could sputter was nonsense. (Y/N) glanced at Shay beside her who’d long since put his face in his arms to keep from laughing hysterically. Only the shake of his shoulders told her, and she looked to Haytham. “Start negotiations for help with the Cherokee and the Creek or go to Saint Augustine and work up. That’s where I’d start.”

           Haytham merely wore a smile as he nodded. “Shay would you mind traveling down to Saint Augustine within the month?” The Irishman didn’t even raise his head, simply waving a hand in response. “Well then, we’ll start with finding someone who speaks the Cherokee and Cree—”

           His words were cut off by the door slamming into the wall, and immediately everyone grabbed either a gun or a sword to defend themselves with when they caught sight of a disheveled woman.

           (Y/N) let go of her dagger and stood from her seat, ignoring how it toppled over behind her. “Priscilla?” The woman ran over to her and upon closer inspection, she took in the sight of the torn dress and the blood and bruises along her skin. A breath of shock left her. “What happened to you?”

           Priscilla practically burst into tears and as if her strength suddenly failed, her knees gave out beneath her. (Y/N) caught her before she hit the ground. “(Y/N)!” she cried.

           The Templar yanked her gloves off and gently cradled the woman’s face in her hands. Bruises littered her amber skin, and (Y/N) saw handprints around her throat and arms. Anger welled inside her and she didn’t need to lift the woman’s dress to know what had happened. She opted for, “Who did this to you?”

           The woman sobbed and shook her head. “He’ll kill me.”

           (Y/N) removed her jacket and laid it around Priscilla’s shoulders, allowing her some decency in the presence of men. “Priscilla…give me his name.”

           “I can’t,” she whimpered, raising a hand to wipe her face. “He told me he’d kill my family.”

           She cradled the woman’s face once more. “Where is your family now?”

           “At home.”

           (Y/N) looked at Shay. “Shay.” Her voice was calm, quiet, and it made his blood run cold. “Just North-East of the gang headquarters in East Village there is a small home that stands on its own. You’ll recognize it by the blue painted door. I need you to go and collect the woman and young boy that live there and bring them back down here.” He didn’t move for a moment and she narrowed her eyes. “Now, Shay.” He rose and motioned for Gist to do the same, and the two of them disappeared from the backroom.

           She drew her eyes back to Priscilla. “Go to my room and look in the chest at the foot of my bed.” (Y/N) dipped so she could catch her eyes. “You remember the code?”

           “I do,” the woman whispered.

           (Y/N) nodded. “In the right corner there’s a little bundle of packages. Find the one labeled Queen Anne’s Lace. Open it and chew a handful up and wash it down with water.” She helped the woman to her feet. “I’ll tell Anita to draw a bath for you when I leave.”

           “Where are you—”

           “Give me his name, Priscilla.”

           The woman met (Y/N)’s gaze and her voice booked no room for any arguments this time. “It’s…it’s Lord Josiah.”

           “The one you’ve been providing maid services to for the last few weeks?”

           Priscilla nodded, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “I’ve been trying to avoid his advances but I wasn’t paying attention and he—and he—” she burst into tears once more and (Y/N) raised a hand to her own mouth clenching her jaw so tightly it began to hurt. “I should’ve listened to them!” She cried.

           After a moment she took a deep breath and rested her hands on Priscilla’s shoulders. “Go to my room and lock the door. Don’t open it unless it’s me or Anita, do you understand?” She nodded. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” (Y/N) gently guided her towards the door and out of the backroom. They came across the stairs when a younger woman was coming down the stairs. “Anita, there you are.”

           She looked between them but didn’t say anything, an unspoken conversation that she simply nodded to. (Y/N) tipped her head to Priscilla. “Get her a bath ready. Hottest water you can get.” Anita helped Priscilla up the stairs and in an ungodly rage, (Y/N) headed for the doors of the tavern.

***

           She sat in the brush just outside the manor of Josiah Galbraith, silently watching the armed Regulars patrol the perimeter. So far, she’d counted two pairs of Redcoats go around, telling her that they were going clockwise and counter to keep anyone out. The first pair appeared from the opposite side and she waited until they got to the next corner to begin a mental timer. A minute and a half later, the second patrol appeared and as they reached the corner, she readied herself when a hand snapped on her shoulder and pulled her back.

           (Y/N) swallowed her own scream of fear, opting to spin around and immediately throw a curled fist to whoever had grabbed her. They let out a grunt as her hand collided with their jaw and they yanked her harder, toppling her off balance. She landed on the ground and before she could move again, they had her hands pinned to the ground.

           She started to struggle when they hissed, “(Y/N)! It’s me!”

           Focusing on their features with only the light of the moon, they soon became clear and she seethed, “Haytham, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

           He released her and pointed to the opening at the brush. “Keeping you from getting shot by a guard on the rooftop!”

           (Y/N)’s brows furrowed and looked out. Sure enough, a lone guard appeared from the backside of the mansion, a musket in his hands, occasionally looking around. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

           “If you’re going to get at Josiah, you need to manage to not get shot trying to get in.” Haytham advised. “Let me help you.”

           She turned on him. “I don’t need your help. Get out of here.”

           “You need my help, (Y/N). Josiah has more training than you realize. You won’t stand a chance against him.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow. “You know this how?”

           Haytham let out a sigh, steel eyes watching the patrolling pair pass. “He used to be a Templar before I got here.”

           It did little to soothe her rage, but she managed, “He’s not anymore?”

           He shook his head. “The Templars of the colonies before I arrived had him removed. There wasn’t any reason I could find.” He met her eyes. “I know this is something you have to do but let me help you.”

           (Y/N) stared him down for a minute then nodded, and before he could breathe a sigh of relief, she had a dagger to his neck. “If you do anything to compromise the minute trust, I am placing in you right now, I will slit your throat. Do you understand me?”

           Haytham’s response was solemn, but it was trustworthy. “I understand.”

           She pulled away. “You help me take him down, but I’m delivering the final blow.”

           “Understood as well.”

           They sat next to one another in the brush and she quietly explained, “There’s two patrols that go around the manor. When this one hits the opposite corner, it takes a minute and a half for the next couple to show up.”

           Haytham nodded, eyeing the guards passing by them then up to the top. “There’s only one up top, but he goes back and forth every thirty seconds.” He looked down the street. “I’ll see about climbing the walls to take him out. When I come over the side, then you can move forward.”

           (Y/N) didn’t necessarily like the idea of being told to wait, but he had a point and she nodded. “Hurry then, the next couple will appear in a minute.”

           He was off at that, occasionally glancing up at the rooftop to make sure he was undiscovered. She watched as he disappeared around the side and when the lone gunman appeared, so did Haytham. He covered the man’s mouth to prevent any sound, then he fell over the side. When he hit the ground, (Y/N) couldn’t help but wince at whatever bones he’d broken, but he didn’t get up, and that was the important thing.

           She sprinted to the door and tried the doorknob, but when it clicked, she grunted and pulled the lockpick from her jacket. Softly she twisted the pick until it stayed, then she jiggled the lock a few times. Almost there. She thought. C’mon, hurry it up. Just a little mo—

           “Hey! What do you think you’re doing!”

           The sudden shout from behind followed by the bayonet pressed up against her backside made her blood run cold and she sucked in a breath, quickly stowing the lockpick in her sleeve. (Y/N) raised her hands beside her head and slowly turned, coming face to face with the pair of redcoats.

           She smiled. “I was trying the door, but it was locked, so I was knocking.”

           One of the guards sneered. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

           “And what did it look like?”

           “Like you were pickin’ the lock.”

           (Y/N) internally winced but kept a smile on her face. “Pfft, I would never break and enter. That’s illegal!” C’mon Haytham, where are you? She wiggled her fingers. “It just looked like I was picking the lock, but I promise I wasn’t.”

           “Well if you weren’t pickin’ the lock,” the other guard sneered, “then what are you doing here?”

           She met their gazes. “I’m the replacement for Priscilla.”

           “For whom?

           Her eyes narrowed and she explained, “Priscilla. The woman that you two probably laughed at when she stumbled from the front door with a torn dress, bruised and beaten.” Their faces fell at her words and she saw Haytham sneaking up behind them. “The woman that you’ll die for.” Before they could react to her promise, they went down, Haytham’s hands at the back of their necks.

           He stood straight and slung the excess blood from his hands before retracting the blades into his sleeves. He met her gaze and she said, “I don’t know where you and Shay got those, but I want some.”

           Haytham chuckled and nodded towards the door. “Break the lock while I hide the bodies in the brush. The second patrol will notice two dead bodies.” (Y/N) didn’t wait to be told twice, immediately spinning on her heel to pick the lock once more. It broke with a click and she pushed it open to slip inside, Haytham behind her.

           They stood in the entrance and she whispered, “Do you think there are more guards inside?”

           He shook his head. “It’s possible but not likely. He’s probably paying for perimeter check only.”

           She hummed. “Unfortunate for him.” He glanced at her. “But very fortunate for us.” (Y/N) nodded to the stairs. “His room is probably upstairs.”

           As they made their way to the staircase a door opened and a servant came out, freezing as they spotted the two. Haytham pulled his flintlock out and pointed it at him. “If you want to live, go back inside and stay quiet. You are not our target.”

           The servant blinked but turned right around and walked back into the room. (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “And you say I’m threatening to people.”

           Haytham stowed the pistol and climbed the staircase, keeping close to the wall. “You are. But I only threaten people when I need to get the point across.”

           The lock sounded from the door the servant had gone through and she quipped, “I guess he got the point.”

           He hummed. “I’ve heard Josiah is a bastard to his staff.” He glanced back at her. “From he did to your friend, that’s proven true. I doubt any of the servants will weep at his passing.”

           “Murder.” (Y/N) corrected, passing in front of him as they reached the top. “At his murder.” He said nothing, and with a quick glance down the hall, Haytham’s probability had proven true, there wasn’t a guard in sight.

           They crept down the hallway to the door at the end and took either side. She looked at him as she held the doorknob and he pulled out his flintlock and cocked it, nodding at her. (Y/N) took a deep breath and opened the door with as much silence as it would’ve allowed; Haytham went in first, her following and they were shocked to find Josiah waiting for them.

           He looked up from the foot of the bed, ignoring Haytham outright to stare at (Y/N). “I knew you were going to come,” he said. “I knew when she threatened me with your name you would.”

           “You know nothing of my name.” She hissed.

           A chuckle passed his lips. “I know more than you think.” His eyes drifted to Haytham. “You’re the new Grandmaster for the Order, aren’t you?”

           “I am.” Haytham responded, flintlock still poised and ready. “You’re lucky you left before I came, else I’d’ve killed you much earlier.”

           “I’ve no doubt.” He stood and held out two sabers. He tossed one to (Y/N) who caught it and then he unsheathed the blade and pointed it at her. “A duel, then.”

           She took a step forward, ignoring Haytham’s voice of complaint and pulled the sword from its scabbard. “You want to fight me.” Her eyes narrowed, yet she got in a defensive position. “Why?”

           Josiah raised his blade like a fencer, one hand behind his back. “Engaging in duels is honorable practice.”

           (Y/N) scowled. “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make you honorable again, you sick bastard.”

           “And yet, you still engage in a duel.”

           “So that I can cut your heart out of your chest!” She leaped forward and swung the sword at him with enough force that he grunted and faltered back. (Y/N) didn’t let up, strike after strike, she sent him, and with each blot of crimson appearing on his pristine white shirt, she knew her blows were landing.

           For some odd reason, he didn’t seem to be fighting back and while it was only a minor concern in her mind, it soon became a major one. She made the mistake of leaving herself open when he parried her blade, and she paid the price when his fist collided with her stomach, taking the air with it.

           (Y/N) gagged and felt the blade go slack in her grip but it was all the time he needed to yank the sword away and spin her around, one hand coming around to lock at her throat, the other pointing the sword at Haytham, who wore a stern look, but she could see the fear bleeding in his eyes.

           Josiah chuckled in her ear and it made her stomach churn. “Anger makes you predictable dear.” She struggled against him, but the hand at her throat tightened, cutting off her air and she gasped. “You think I didn’t know you were outside, learning the guard patterns?” (Y/N) reached for his hand and pulled, trying to gain air. “I let her leave alive because I knew you’d come after me.”

           “Why?” she gasped as best she could.

           “Why? Because you’ve been a thorn in the elite’s side for years.” He shifted the hand that held the sword and flipped open her jacket, pulling the dagger out. Josiah took a few steps back, taking her with him, and Haytham followed. He put the dagger against her side and hissed in her ear, “You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and mess up plans left and right. All in the name of vigilantism. And what good has it gotten you? Dead.”

           (Y/N) met Haytham’s eyes and she nodded at him. She swallowed and muttered, “You’ll die before I do, you sick fuck.” Her elbow jerked backwards into his gut and he cried out in pain, letting her go. She reached out. “Haytham!”

           Her fingertips brushed the barrel of the flintlock, but she closed them around it, pulling the gun to her. She found the handle and spun on Josiah. With how close they were, there was no space to flee and she pulled the trigger, watching as he stumbled backwards to the wall, a circle of crimson blooming larger with each second.

           He slid down the wall and chuckled, but it dissolved into a cough. “My death—wins you nothing.” (Y/N) stared at him and grabbed the handle of her dagger, yanking it from where he’d embedded it in her waist. Besides a grunt, she made no sound of pain. “I might die—but my legacy will still—stand.”

           She wiped the blood of the dagger and sheathed it, remarking, “No it won’t.” He met her eyes, fuzzy and growing dark. “I’ll run every trace of your name into the fucking ground. When I’m done, there won’t be a soul alive who’ll remember you. And if they do,” (Y/N) knelt down and whispered, “It’ll be because your crimes will outweigh it all.” He sucked in a breath and with a final gurgle, he went still.

She stood and pulled her jacket around her, stealthily pressing onto her wound to keep pressure. “We’re done here.” She handed Haytham his flintlock. “We should leave before the other patrol comes.”

           Haytham grabbed her arm. “Are you alright?”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “No.” Pulling from him she made her way to the door. “No, I’m not.”

***

           It was well past closing time when they got back to the tavern and (Y/N)’s wound felt like it was on fire, and she herself could barely stand on her own feet. Still, she pushed on, knowing she needed to at least see Priscilla and her family before she took care of it.

           Stepping inside, she was greeted by Priscilla’s screech of relief and a bear hug from the woman. “You’re okay!”

           (Y/N) weakly patted her arm. “Yeah…I’m good.”

           The girl stepped away and looked at her, eyes full of concern. “(Y/N), are you alright? You look ill.”

           Haytham appeared by her side and peered at her. “She’s right. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

           She shook her head and swallowed the sickness climbing her esophagus. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and need some rest.” She looked at Priscilla. “Since you and your family are here, take a guest room and get some sleep. We’ll talk about moving you tomorrow.”

           (Y/N) ignored their concerns as she made way to the stairs and she’d barely climbed two of them when she collapsed. Hands grasped her shoulders and while she wanted to struggle, she couldn’t find the energy to do so.

           She vaguely felt them turn her over and she groaned as her back hit the staircase. Shay and Haytham appeared in her vision, their faces contorted with apprehension. Haytham’s lips were moving but nothing was coming out that she could understand, and she felt cool air rise under her shirt, telling her that someone had opened her jacket. Haytham looked down and back at her, eyes wide.

           Someone’s hand touched the edge of her tunic and with a renewed burst of energy, she gripped their hand tightly and squeezed with all the strength she had left. “Don’t take—my clothes off.” She hissed.

           Haytham’s hand touched her cheek and with a slow intake of breath, her head lolled backwards, consciousness fading from her.

[booksandwords]

The Librarian's Vampire Assistant 2 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Series: The Librarian's Vampire Assistant #2 Read time: 2 Days Rating: 4.5/5

The quote: “Please. Try to stop squirming. This is supposed to be a family-friendly mystery novel.” “What?” “Never mind. We all knew it would turn R-rated at some point.” — Michael Vanderhorst & Miriam Murphy

This is a book with a hell of an ending. It concludes the storylines started in 2, lines up 3 with a bang. It definitely encourages people to keep going. I should have guessed at least some of the endgame but didn't, it's set up well. The players were al there, the signpost are there to be seen but will only make sense when everything comes together. There are some moments of serious darkness including Michael attempting suicide (look it makes perfect sense in context). That is a spoiler, I will not hide it because I need it where it can be seen.

This is a book for two kinds of people. Those who like supernatural fiction and booklovers. Both the main characters Miriam and Michael are booklovers, Miriam is an almost stereotypical librarian intelligent, shy, clumsy and with a hoard of books. This book adds to what is already known of their characters. Michael is a dichotomy. He is deadly, old and always put together but he as a streak of loyalty to those who show loyalty to him and a strong set of principles. All wrapped up in a mess of humour and slightly confused feelings about his librarian. As the pov for the reader, we get an idea of his personality he's slightly sarcastic and highly amusing. But the way he describes himself is funny... "The deed of a four-century-old vampire with the face of a twenty-year-old. And the body of an underwear model."; "athletic build, six feet one, thick dark hair, and charmer of a smile."; "crossing my muscled arms over my very muscled chest. I was a university student who enjoyed exercise and boxing on the side for money before Clive saved my life from the flu. To this day, I still enjoy working out.". I always forget how young he presents as and I can't get over that. Michaels coding feels at least initially like it is sitting somewhere on in the aroace spectrum. But it's not that simple and it is even more complicated by the end. Michael's confusion over the bond he has with Miriam is still unexplained it's something I guess we will find out at some point. I see Miriam as a booklovers protagonist, as a librarian she has what so many consider a dream job (which is mine), she has a house full of rare books and first editions. One of the best exchanges in this book is “Which was your favorite?” “That’s like asking a musician to tell you his or her favorite note. A true booklover doesn’t have one.”. That is such a booklover response and I'm pretty sure I've made a similar answer at some point. She is stronger and more perceptive than she appears. Her love and trust in people is fantastic.

Lula is just a straight-up badass woman. Smart and more than able to hold her own against the men. Viviana is far behind Lula in the badass stakes but where Lula is physical and very obvious, Viviana is the brilliant assistant/ lawyer to Michael, loyal and efficient. "While I cannot argue with Viviana’s rage, I am shocked by it. I have never seen her claws and teeth. Of course, Aspen had forced Viviana to become a vampire and then used her child as leverage." She may have been blackmailed into her vampiric state but she is determined to make the most of it. I never want to see her truly in anger.

It must be said that while The Librarian's Vampire Assistant books stand alone or at least Mimi Jean claims they do and she does reiterates the characters, circumstances and some of the lore. These are all built on through the books as necessary. I like Mimi Jean's lore, especially this quote about sunlight. "We simply hate the hell out of it, similar to how cats hate baths, children hate bedtime, and men hate listening. Vampires. Hate. Sunshine.". Book 2 does build heavily on book 1 even if the circumstances are explained it definitely makes more sense if you know what is going on coming in.

I'm finding this with an annotated quote dump.

“Oh really? How about story time, huh? I see that glint in your brown eyes when you think you’re about to scare the children. Of course, you end up boring them to sleep, which is why the moms all love you. I think they’ve started a fan club.” — I love this line. Michael and kids is one of the cutest things

"I am a man. On the rare occasion I do not know something, I wing it. Hasn’t failed me yet." — No comment I just need it in this review

"“Didn’t your parents leave cash reserves?” She shakes her head no. “They spent their money on books. Every last dime.” She shakes her head no. “They spent their money on books. Every last dime.” My kind of people." — I mean yeah mine too. But damn Miriam got a bit screwed on getting the ability to care for her amazeballs collection and her library.

"Mr. Nice is a giant ball of crazy wrapped in an impenetrable blanket of crazy and dipped in dazzling crazy sprinkles. — I mean this is a fair point. He is A LOT.

"As a collector of literature myself, I have never seen anything like the items in her home. It gives me a solid book-boner merely thinking about it. First. Editions. Mmmm…” — Michael... Micahel I love it.

"She is right. She never will be ready. This beautiful, delicate little flower would wither in my world. She is meant to live a human life filled with books, story times, and love." — This is so soft and pretty and loving. I like how Michael talks about Miriam.

[introvertguide]

The Apartment (1960); AFI #80

The next film on the list that we reviewed was the one of the last black and white films to win best picture, The Apartment (1960). The film actually held the title of last B&W Best Picture winner for 50 years until The Artist came along in in 2011. Along with Best Picture, the film was nominated for 10 Oscars and won Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Art Direction, and Best Editing. The film also won Best Picture from the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs, the Director’s Guild Awards, and the Critic’s Circle Awards. Truly a great synthesis of acting, directing, cinematography, music, and story, this movie is one of the lesser known greatest films of all time. I have more to say about this film, but I want to go over the story in all of its excellence. But first...

SPOILER ALERT!!! THIS COMEDY HAS LEGITIMATE SURPRISES AND SUBJECT MATTER THAT WOULDN’T FLY TODAY!!! TRULY A GREAT FILM THAT NEEDS TO BE SEEN!!! I STRONGLY SUGGEST WATCHING IT INSTEAD OF JUST READING THE STORY LINE!!!

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An opening run of establishing shots with a voice over by the main character lets the audience know that he is a drone accountant at a giant firm with little chance to move up in the world. C.C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is a lonely office drudge at a national insurance corporation in New York City. He has lucked out and found a way to leverage his home in order to climb the corporate ladder. Baxter allows four company managers to take turns borrowing his Upper West Side apartment for their extramarital liaisons, which he manages with a detailed schedule. Baxter has not seen any movement, but he is constantly offered the promise of a promotion since he is a “team player.” 

One of the serious down sides of this ploy is that his apartment is in constant use and the bosses are making a mess and drinking all his liquor. C.C. has no place to go some nights so he stays and works late. Because C.C. is constantly going in and out and people can hear women in his apartment, he is starting to develop a different kind of reputation with the other tenants. While unable to enter his own apartment when it is in use, his neighbors assume that their neighbor is a playboy bringing home a different woman every night.

C.C. is able to get glowing performance reports from his four managers and he is able to submit them to the personnel director, Jeff D. Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), in hope of a promotion. Sheldrake promises to promote him, but demands that he also receive use of the apartment for his own affairs, beginning that night. As compensation for such short notice, he gives Baxter two theater tickets to The Music Man. After work, C.C. asks Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), an elevator operator in the office building, to go to the musical with him. She agrees but goes first to meet with a "former fling," who turns out to be Sheldrake, and let him know there will be no more meetings. When Sheldrake dissuades her from breaking up with him and promising to divorce his wife for her, they go to the apartment as poor Baxter waits forlornly outside the theater.

Later, at the company's raucous Christmas party (there is dancing on the tables and the lamest strip tease of all time), Fran is told by Miss Olsen (Edie Adams), Sheldrake's secretary, that Sheldrake has also had affairs with her and other women employees. Later at Baxter’s apartment, Fran confronts Sheldrake with his lies. Sheldrake maintains that he genuinely loves her, but that he has no intention of splitting up with his wife. He then leaves to return to his suburban family as usual and Fran is so depressed that she finds sleeping pills in the apartment bathroom and attempts suicide.

Baxter learns through finding a dropped hand mirror that Fran is the woman Sheldrake has been taking to his apartment, so he goes to a bar and lets himself be picked up by a married woman. When they arrive at his apartment, he is shocked to find Fran in his bed, seemingly dead. He sends his pick-up away and enlists the help of his neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss (Jack Krushen), to revive Fran without notifying the authorities. I should not laugh, but it is pretty funny that the doctor goes straight to slapping Fran in the face to wake her up. The actors did not hold back; he is slapping her in the face really hard, so much so that you can tell her cheeks are reddening even in black and white. Baxter makes Dreyfuss believe that he was the cause of the incident and, scolding his neighbor for his apparent philandering, Dreyfuss advises him to "be a mensch, a human being."

As Fran spends two days recuperating in the apartment, C.C. takes care of her, and a bond develops between them, especially after he confesses to having attempted suicide himself over unrequited feelings for a woman who now sends him a fruitcake every Christmas. While they play a game of gin rummy, Fran reveals that she has always suffered bad luck in her love life. As Baxter prepares a romantic dinner, one of the managers arrives with a woman. Although Baxter persuades them to leave, the manager recognizes Fran and informs his colleagues. Later confronted by Fran's brother-in-law, Karl Matuschka, who is looking for her, the managers direct Karl to the apartment out of jealousy. At the apartment, Karl's anger at Fran for her behavior is deflected by Baxter, who again takes responsibility. Karl punches C.C. (and interviews with Lemmon revealed that the punch did land), but when Fran kisses him for protecting her, he just smiles and says it "didn't hurt a bit."

Sheldrake learns that Miss Olsen told Fran about his affairs, so he makes the poor choice of firing the woman who knows of all his dealings, and she retaliates by meeting with Sheldrake's wife, who promptly throws her husband out. Sheldrake believes that this situation just makes it easier to pursue his affair with Fran. Having promoted C.C. to an even higher position, which also gives him a key to the executive washroom, Sheldrake expects Baxter to loan out his apartment yet again. Baxter gives him back the washroom key instead, proclaiming that he has decided to become a mensch, and quits the firm.

That night at a New Year's Eve party, Sheldrake indignantly tells Fran what happened. Realizing she is in love with Baxter, Fran abandons Sheldrake and runs to the apartment. At the door, she hears what sounds like a gunshot. Fearing that Baxter has attempted suicide again, she frantically pounds on the door. Baxter answers, holding a bottle of champagne whose cork he had just popped in celebration of his plan to start anew. As the two settle down to resume their gin rummy game, Fran tells C.C. that she is now free too. When he asks about Sheldrake, she replies, "We'll send him a fruitcake every Christmas." He declares his love for her, and she replies, "Shut up and deal."

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This film is one of the most praised movies of all time, but it is not one of the most generally well known. This is probably due to the subject matter, although It’s A Wonderful Life also deals with suicide and is one of the America’s most popular family films. The problem is most likely that extra marital affairs by big company management as a normal thing was highly frowned upon. With the whole #MeToo movement, it seems that this kind of philandering culture might very well have been a known problem for decades. A movie based around the premise that office managers need a nice place to have sex with secretaries and elevator girls would not have been acceptable under the Hays Code. This is also the second film on the AFI list where Fred MacMurray plays a bad guy before being the understanding patriarch on My Three Sons and the first person honored as a Disney Legend in 1987. Fun fact, MacMurray was an uncredited extra in a film called Girls Gone Wild in 1929.

Billy Wilder knew that this was going to be a divisive film due to content, but he also had the confidence that everything would work out following the massive success of his previous film, Some Like It Hot. Wilder had considered a film based on adultery back in the 1940s but was unable to get funding at the time due to the Hays Code. The film was also based on a real life Hollywood drama in which an agent was shot by a producer over an affair (in which a low level employee apartment was used) as well as a friend of a co-writer who returned home to a dead ex-girlfriend following a break-up. 

It is amazing to think that this film is described as a comedy. There are office politics in which mid-level managers use local celeb status to take advantage of their subordinates. There are half a dozen cheating husbands that string along their affairs. There are characters so hurt that they would rather die than deal with what is done with them. There are raging parties at work where everyone gets massively drunk and dance on the desks. Women are treated like objects that either need to be protected with violence or thrown away. And yet the film is legitimately fun with characters that are worth rooting for.

Some of the success rides on the fabulous acting of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine and the witty dialogue written by I.A.L. Diamond. In fact, the dialogue and limited characters feels a lot like a stage play, which come to fruition in the form of Promises, Promises on Broadway by Burt Bacharach, Hal David, and Neil Simon. Dealing with real sets and locations, however, resulted in some colds and sickness since the actors were really out in the New York snow. Some other realism in the film came from both lead actors taking blows for the film: Shirley MacLaine got proper slapped by the doctor and Jack Lemmon was really punched by the brother-in-law.

A stand out aspect for me in this film which I talk up quite a bit is the cinematography. I have used many screen grabs from the film and used them as my avatar. I identify with the feeling of being used for something which made a mid manager look good while allowing them to do bad things. In fact, I am sure that everyone has felt like a Baxter at some point, and it is great to see him stand up for himself. Here are a couple of screen grabs (besides the top photo above) that I have used:

That lonely man in the middle of countless empty desks, that look of frustration when others are using your things to live a better life than you, and that time that love makes utility become fun and gadgets seem pretentious. It is very easy for me to get lost in how much I love this film. It has been far and away my favorite find from the AFI Top 100 between when I first saw the film in 2014 and now.

So, should the film be on the top 100 list? It has the awards and the history along with being a fantastic film. Of course it belongs on the list. Would I recommend it? Yes. This film is the type that makes people like me want to go through lists like this. I had never heard of the film in 2014 and it floored me how good it was. Each time I watch I appreciate it more, and the whole film project becomes well worth my time and effort. This film is so good, it affirms my life choices. I invite and implore you to check it out for yourself.

[melosjournal]

Full Circle

Happy 1 year anniversary to the Timewalker campaign’s finale! <3 back in 2019 I wrote a piece with Melos as she prepares to go on her Timewalkers mission. To celebrate this anniversary, I wanted to circle allll the way back to Melos’ original Dragonsworn mentor and her Stormwind apartment. :’)

-- 

“Miss Brassbell.”

“Priestess Starstalker.”

Melostra dips her head low. It looks entirely out of place - this long-limbed, strange creature bowing in reverence to such a small and stout gnomish woman. It spoke to Pippi Brassbell’s experience and seniority within the Bronze Dragonflight. The kaldorei respected a select few people - nearly all of them female kaldorei above her in station - but she would never question Pippi. She was an older gnome, weathered from the sun, her auburn hair streaked with silver. Her disposition was warm, welcoming and open, which made it all the more strange that she had been the one to recommend Melostra Starstalker to the Bronzes. Opposites attract, she supposed.

But Melos had neglected Pippi. She dare not lift her head for what she might see, be it disappointment or anger. She inhales deeply and straightens her back and, with her pink eyes still locked onto the worn wooden floor, she clasps her hands in front of herself. “Miss Brassbell, I’m-” “Melostra. Shame doesn’t suit you. Oh, come now -- raise your chin up.” A knot gathers between the kaldorei’s furrowed brows. Tentatively, hesitantly, she raises her gaze - not by a lot, admittedly - to look Pippi in the eyes for the first time. Large, green, brilliant. It was strange to hear her name spoken by anyone else that wasn’t Demitri or her auntie Lilenya. Priestess, yes. Sister, sometimes. But Melostra was a name that was seldomly spoken aloud. Even more rare was it for the kaldorei to not mind, as much.

“I heard all about your adventure. You did well, you did your job - completed the mission. But…” Pippi pauses, and so does Melos. She inhales deeply, casting her gaze aside again. The window is coated in a thin sheet of dust. Nobody has been in this room in months, and the more she looks around, the more she realizes that some corners are locked in time. An unfinished draft, an open book. Signs that at some point, Melos had lived here. Melos had called this her home. Even during her temporary stay, auntie Lilenya hadn’t dared disturb the traces her niece left behind.

“You left. Your first and your last mission.” Pippi has tilted her head as if trying to maintain eye contact with the much too tall kaldorei, and Melos grants it, meeting her gaze once more. “.... there’s no shame in that, Melostra. To see the things you’ve seen. To lose yourself in time… not everyone is going to be fine with that. Not everyone is going to survive that.”

Completely involuntarily, Melos starts breathing again, from surprise more than anything else. Was that it? Was that the reason for the knot in her chest, the way her lungs seemed to tighten whenever she looked into her mentors green eyes? The Priestess may be cold and distant, but she recognized Pippi’s attempt at comforting her. To heal a hurt she shouldn’t feel obliged to heal. 

It felt like a lifetime ago that Melos had received the summons. Dragonsworn and Watcher Melostra Starstalker was to join her first official mission as a Timewalker, to go back  in time. Thirteen years, to be exact. She had fought in Ashenvale, seen the rise and fall of C’thun, loved Darnassus, and now she was to do it all, all over again. She didn’t know that, then. Melos had been excited to finally prove herself - to who, she wasn’t certain. Maybe Pippi, maybe her auntie, maybe Elune. She had been gifted with a purpose. 

Melos’ responsibility as a Dragonsworn had been to fact check, double check, triple check. She would pour over historical events to compare them to anomalies in the true timeline, so that other Timewalkers may set things right. How ironic, then, that she now spent her days pouring over her diaries and notes, trying to find which of her memories were truly her own.

She had been good at what she did. Years of paperwork had led up to this mission. She wanted to prepare and then over-prepare, make sure she knew the ins and out. All of that knowledge went straight out the window when she and all of her companions were knocked off course and ended up stranded in time. Indeed, it felt like a lifetime ago. Someone else’s lifetime.

“No,” she finally speaks, shaking her head. Her voice is hoarse even when she’s barely spoken a word. “No. Miss…. Pippi, I am not ashamed that I left my duties as a Dragonsworn. I am ashamed that… that I left you. Without saying goodbye.” It’s painful, it’s uncomfortable, and clearly it’s not what Pippi had anticipated, because she jerks her head back and presses her lips into a thin line. Now, it’s awkward as well. Before the gnome has a chance to protest, Melos exhales a wheeze, leaning against her silver staff. It thuds against the woodwork floor as she steps towards the windows, her frame blocking out the sunlight and casting Pippi’s face in darkness. The rays stretch out the priestess’ shadows into something even more monstrous.

Under any other circumstance, it might have made a tense situation even worse - but whatever it was that made Melos appear so foreboding and uncomfortable, Pippi had grown used to - and moreover, the kaldorei seemed so very, painfully mortal, now.  “It was needlessly cruel, and it was thoughtless of me. What drives a person to cast someone aside, when they know what it is like to be discarded?” She had forgiven Demitri a thousand times over, so why could she not do the same for herself? Melos knows the answer. She’s known it for a while.

Because if push came to shove, she would do it all over again. For herself. For her love. For happiness. Her gentle features are fixed into a severe expression, and she is about to continue, but this time, Pippi is the quicker one. “You’re being dramatic.” “I don’t feel as if I am.” Finally, a smile. Lopsided and cheeky, the older gnomish woman puts her hands to her hips and shakes her head. “But you are. And you know? I think that’s okay, too. You…. thought you hurt me.” Melos’ gnarled claws tighten around the shaft of her silver staff, brows furrowed in confusion. “Well…. yes. Did I not?” Her eyes search the gnome’s sunny features for any sign that the woman might be holding back, but Pippi is an open book. “Melostra,” she answers, her voice surprisingly gentle now. “You’re not the first to ditch me, and you won’t be the last.”

Melos blinks and then blinks again, as if the gnome had brought sand all the way from Tanaris and into the small apartment. Her former mentor was neither hurt nor mad, not even disappointed. Her words sound as if they should hurt, as if Pippi should be worn out by this stage. But she’s not. What Melos had been toiling over, Pippi had already left in the past, and although she doesn’t smile, the Priestess does stand straighter. “Oh,” is all she can say for a few seconds. And then, more daring than she ought to be, she continues; “I think I would do it again.”

“I don’t doubt that you would.”

“Oh,” Melos repeats.

Pippi shakes her head with a smile so wide it seems to take up half her face. It doesn’t look disproportionate - in fact, Melos thinks it rather suits her. “The Bronzes live forever, and not at all. They’ve seen Dragonsworn come and go again and again. Melostra, you’re a star amongst a million. We’re inconsequential. By the time our light reaches them, they’ve long since moved on.” And then the truth that Melos had not considered, throughout all her careful watching and writing; “From the moment you met me, they already knew you would only last for one mission.” 

The relief is so tangible that it exits the kaldorei’s lungs in a sharp huff of air. She leans back against the windowsill, head tilted back. The sunlight crowns her silver hair in a halo. “But hey,” the gnome continues, watching her much taller companion with wide, green eyes. “Just because your starlight didn’t reach the Bronzes… that doesn’t mean it won’t shine brightly somewhere else.” To this, Melos hums, and then smiles. She caresses the silver staff with both hands, feeling the weight of it. Throughout every timeline she knew, this simple instrument was consistent. It was hers, it was the Moth of the Moon’s, it was the weapon of Melostra Starstalker. But this Melos, this timeline’s Melos, had something most of them did not. Somewhere to shine her light. Someone to share her rays with.

“I know,” the Priestess says, using her staff as leverage to push herself off the windowsill. “I have found such a place.”

“Why, Melostra,” Pippi muses, arms outstretched to the sides. “Then what on Azeroth are you doing here?”

To part on a hug would be ingenuine, but the deep bow that Melos offers is not enough to express her feelings. Pippi seems to agree, because she offers her hand, and the Priestess shakes it without hesitation. “Thank you, miss Brassbell,” she says with a tentative smile. “And good luck with your future Dragonsworn.” Pippi waves away both the thanks and the good luck with a smile. “If we ever meet again, call me Pippi.”

—

Stormwind is warming up, it’s trees turning green with springtime. The city is bustling with life, children laughing in the streets and vendors pushing their ware. The smell of saltwater and seaweed hangs in the air of Stormwind port, where merchant ships line up side by side with war galleys. It never suited Melos. She sets her sights on Winterspring, where Demitri sleeps in a warm lodge and starlight sparkles and dances across the freshly fallen snow. 

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How to be a Queen [Part 26]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

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Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I hated this.

She stared at me. My own staring had long turned to a steady glower; eyes squeezed almost shut as I tried to pick apart every stitch for some inkling of an answer. Maybe the real problem is that I didn’t have a coherent question.

The fire in my father’s mantle crackled to fill in my silence and illuminating my balled-up place on the carpet. I should be asleep right now, that was the plan anyway, but it was thwarted earlier in the day when my last bedroom was deemed a “risk”.

Still, I hated it all the more. The doll was in the same useless state where I placed it – a slightly slouched perch on the velvet loveseat. It intensely reminded me of when my tutors would make me find symbolism in a storybook where there obviously wasn’t, making me conjure some flowery explanation for why the author used this phrase or that description.

With my knees up to my chin, I fiddled with the hem of my night gown and wondered and wondered and wondered because a head full of pointless thoughts felt better than nothing at all.

There was commotion – arguing, then the door opened and I was met with the burning sight of Urbosa. In her hand was a page, crumpled by her fist, and I understood before she spoke.

“You can’t be serious!” she glowered. Urbosa was a woman who schooled her expressions masterfully yet now she was untamed.

My face reddened, embarrassment probably. “I can explain.”

“Explain what exactly? This man has threatened my life, my countrywomens’ lives, and now yours… and you want to give him a platform to speak on?”

She was outraged, flailing Ganondorf’s letter as she spoke. I pressed my lips together and let her rant on about what I had mentioned to Impa before. My toes pressed deep into the carpet.

“Your anger is something I can understand,” I finally said, frowning when she caught my gaze. “But I’m not a child and this is not an entirely irrational reaction.”

Urbosa watched me for a tense moment and stepped away to pace the room in an attempt to air out her feelings. When she did, I saw Impa accompanied her with a careful presence. I steeled myself for whatever it was she wanted to say.

My father’s quarters weren’t where I expected to be tonight, but at least he was in a safer (and more inconspicuous) part of the castle. If anything, the familiar setting was a slight comfort even if it wasn’t my own room. It was an airy space and not much had changed since the war started. I rose from my spot, trying to gracefully slip the doll into my gown’s deep pockets and perched myself where the toy once sat.

“Okay,” the Gerudo leader breathed again, sitting on the cushions with Impa across from me. “Okay, then explain it to me.”

I breathed in deeply. “No doubt you’ve read what he’s wrote, but I’ve read it more than you have. Let’s talk about it.”

The half impatient nod my way with born out of pure frustration. I could completely understand it, but it didn’t make the feeling of pressure any lighter.

“In his words, he wants to declare a form of parley,” I spoke, slowly choosing my words. “Meaning a temporary truce in war to sit down and discuss negotiation – or the start of them.”

I swallowed as I mentally scanned through the letter word-for-word in my head:

I doubt that my reputation holds well in your circles and it would be foolish to give a nobody’s word any weight.

“Traditionally, it would be held by one party sending an ambassador of sorts to the opposition. We would discuss terms at a distance, however he is willing to travel to Hyrule Castle himself.”

Urbosa scoffed, “That’s even worse.”

“It means he’s going in place of someone expendable. It was the whole point of ‘parley’ as a concept and he is willing to give us leverage to make this happen.”

I could tell there was more she wanted to say, but she chose not to. Impa spoke up instead.

“I realize that I haven’t told you this before,” she said. “But you should consider your image.”

My brow furrowed, “My image?”

“To history, Zelda, there has never been an enemy like this within the castle walls unless force was taken. No other ruler has offered an invitation like this before. Don’t you find that troubling?”

I felt my frown deepen. The fabric of my gown twisted around my fingers. I took another deep breath of the burning applewood in the hearth before saying, “The conflict we’re currently in has surpassed the amount of casualties in any other war I have lived through in half the time. Pray tell, do you find that troubling?”

They didn’t reply; they didn’t have to.

“I am afraid,” I spelled out. “I am afraid to see the country being torn with violence and bloodshed. To consider that I am assumed its leader is another type of fear I haven’t grasped yet, much less what historians will jot me down as. Better yet, let’s discuss how someone I know very dearly is out there; contingent to the choices I make.”

Roughly, I swallowed. My gaze went to the ceiling where engravings of old legends escaped the firelight.

“Let us discuss what I know will be his vehement disapproval of my consideration. My goal here is to mitigate as much as I can and if that means buying time at the cost of my reputation, then so be it,” I conceded. Impa stared at her hands and I could only feel shame, weak. I wonder if that’s what she had in mind. “Horrible rulers have preceded me and I don’t expect to be the last.”

There was a long moment of quiet that made it awful to resist squirming in my seat. I didn’t like our options either, but pride was my father’s forte. I wasn’t about to inherit it now that an opportunity like this is tangible, even if it came about through unconventional means. I’ll let them move me into the royal quarters and I’ll let them squander more of my personal time with increased security – I won’t let them pass this up without a single consideration.

Urbosa and Impa stood, I expected them to leave immediately but instead Urbosa said my name and took my hand in hers. Worry was in her eyes.

“You know I would never give you up,” I said softly. “I really hope you weren’t expecting me to abandon you so quickly.”

The sofa dipped slightly as she took a seat. “Tamen non obliviscar tui et filiae.”

At my slight confusion she merely smiled and said, “It means: Never forget your daughters. We say that when we underestimate our children after they’re grown. I am scared, Zelda.”

Our hand hold slipped into an embrace. She continued, “I worry constantly for you. As much as I want to, I don’t have all the answers. None of us do and maybe that’s why I reacted the way I did. I forgot that and, more importantly, I forgot you.”

  The next days brought sleepless nights. I wasn’t sure if I preferred them because in the darkness was the chilling vision of what Link had become. That dream wouldn’t fade as the days wore on, instead sharpening in the parts that struck me the most. In the mirror of my room, when Anju would prod at the dark circles under my eyes, I would see his eyes staring at me.

“It wasn’t real,” I muttered, almost angrily.

Anju grunted behind me with bobbypins caught between her teeth. “What wasn’t?”

“I had a dream,” I said. “And it wasn’t real, but I feel like it was and it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, ya look tired enough,” she replied with a nonchalant drawl, watching me in the mirror a moment before shrugging. “Everyone has nightmares, Zelda. Even Her Royal Grace Majesty Herself.”

The smile I tried to suppress fought hard. “It was about Link.”

“You’re worried! Welcome to the club. You already know the things Aryll writes to me, halfway between gloating and going stir crazy,” she laughed. “His next present to her has to be twice as shiny as the last.”

Her hands paused in their tugging. “If it’s bothering you, you should talk about it.”

I sighed, relenting quickly because she’d prod further if I hadn’t. I left out the odd parts about the strange man and the dancing and focused more on when I saw Link.

“It was probably me projecting…” I groaned. “But he seemed driven mad, Anju! And I caused that. The only reason why he isn’t with his family or living more peacefully is because of me.”

She considered it, seeming to weigh my words as she viewed me from the front. Her nose crinkled, “Zelda, you know that boy. I know that boy. When we were kids, he would always be the lead troublemaker leading the charges. Shocking, believe me I know, but you must be raving mad if you think he wouldn’t force himself into this mess regardless of your decisions.”

“With or without me?”

She hummed in thought, “Reckless is a word I would use  – no, wait – organized recklessness. But he has always needed help picking up the pieces. It used to be Aryll with scrapes and bruises.” Then, there was a glint in her eye that made me laugh, “I wonder who it’ll be now?”

  “There is no guarantee that the negotiations will come to anything,” Fierlin grimaced, reading through Ganondorf’s letter. “Though I won’t disagree that a truce, no matter how temporary, is a plus.”

He stroked his beard with a raised brow and met my eyes. “Do you… know how to send news to your right hand?”

We were in my father’s study with a long list of staff sitting on my desk, each with a detailed list of any possible connections to the opposition. I pushed it away.

“I have consulted every consultant at my fingertips at the moment; written out the pros and cons,” I said. My head rested on my fist in a dull way to help my sore neck.

“Well,” the man leaned back in his chair as old worn men tended to, “I know the tenacity and unwillingness to quit. I’ve gotten well acquainted with that side of him when he was my captain. Don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty, Link will follow any order you give him… but he will fight and kick every step of the way.”

“That’s only because Admiral Whitehurst is with him right now.”

He raised a hand to negate me. “Not necessarily. Link’s a fine remediator. He doesn’t show obvious favor to anyone under him and is constantly listening. He’ll tune out whatever sees fit. Any resistance you saw came from him alone.”

I glanced down at one of my desk drawers that contained some of Link’s letters and closed my eyes.

“I want him to travel back to the castle if we go through with it.” When, really, but it was hard to believe what was happening myself.

The look he gave me wasn’t remotely hopeful.

“I wouldn’t count on it. It’s not likely he would abandon his men because who is to say this truce lasts more than a day? We don’t know the temperament of this ‘Ganondorf’ and he is largely unpredictable in much else.”

“Will Link resent the idea that much?”

“I predict he will…” Fierlin stopped himself, then sighed. “He will have some complications with it.”

  That night, crumpled papers littered desk. They were filled with words that didn’t string together properly and thoughts that weren’t quite complete. The first letter was a formal inquiry of Ganondorf’s arrival. On the closed envelope, I pressed my father’s insignia with more pressure than necessary.

I kept it in a closed drawer because the second letter was both an order and request for counsel.

In this, my thoughts were far more frayed and there were countless drafts that kept the wick of my candle burning. It was a constant debate on whether I should even forgo pairing the first with it. I recalled his reluctance to retreat and the disappointment that came after. The ink pen felt heavier in my hand.

This was when I realized that this was what Impa was fearful of.

My hand dragged down my cheek and I forced myself to sit up straighter.

She has told me more than once, no matter how indirect, that whatever Link and I had would eventually conflict with my duties. Especially with the dynamic at play now, he was my Commander General and I was his Queen. I have asked the opinion of all my resources both past and present, why should my consideration of his opinion be so weighty?

It had grown to the point where I could barely put pen to paper.

An obstruction of my duties, that is a phrase Impa would say.

The words I ended up writing were addressing him formally. Though I was sure word had been sent about what had happened, I reiterated the events from what Lord Ibauna shouted about to the letter within my room. After that, in the most political way I could muster, I told him I was considering it with the counsel in mind. This time, I wouldn’t slip an additional note because I couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t me trying to influence him.

I bound the two letters and sent them the same night. Once I get the General’s counsel, I will make the final decision and either order him to send a messenger… or not.

  This is grossly miscalculated.

Urbosa was speaking, but it was difficult to truly listen to her. She was walking beside me. I want to say that her gentle suggestions to coax me off the ledge were helping, but it only pushed me to push my nails deeper into my palm. The sharp pain helped me more to keep my mouth shut.

“He was only trying to assert another option.”

Immature

I glanced to her and said through gritted teeth, “What he was trying to do was insult my integrity.”

My steps were heavier than they usually were when going to attend meetings with the admirals. On any other day, I would approach it with a cool head. It was a war room, I wanted to be as even keeled and level-headed as I could.

Rash

Now, I couldn’t stop seeing red.

Just barely, I turned my head towards her. “He acts as if he has had lifetimes of experience already,” I hissed, pausing briefly while passing a couple of maids with bowed heads. “Link is barely any older than I. Ridiculous.”

Urbosa and I bounded a set of stairs and before I entered the war room, I requested an ink pen and parchment as well as the awaiting messenger. It hadn’t been two days before I got a reply from Link. A set of officers stood when I entered the room.

I wasn’t exactly surprised to see Admiral Whitehurst return almost immediately after the letter arrived. His face was still red from his traveling and I politely acknowledged him.

“Your general isn’t happy,” he said. “He made the carriage ride through the night, gods willing my back is still intact.”

“Oh, no,” I uttered out, splaying the several pages Link had written me onto the table. “He surely is not.”

The admiral blinked considerably. I had never acted this way in front of them, but at this point I didn’t have the luxury to care. The only reason I took a seat was to keep them all from standing awkwardly.

“Groveling at the enemy’s feet, he says,” I glanced at the pages with a casted hand. “How, exactly, is he coming to these absurd conclusions?”

I feared that he would have tried to influence Link more in my disfavor, but I did trust what Fierlin had told me and the handwriting on the correspondence was unmistakably Link. Why he had sent John Whitehurst was a mystery to me altogether, perhaps in an effort to sway me even more?

Well, good, I thought. Maybe the one he is receiving will beat some sense into him.

Whitehurst grunted as he sat back in his chair and took a moment to adjust.

“General Forester is doing what he was appointed to do, fight to win. If we pause, especially in the terms he has relayed to me, I believe that he believes you have given up.”

I reeled back, “When has lessening the toll this war has taken meant ‘giving up’? Did he say those exact words?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Um, yes, perhaps, Your Grace.”

I breathed in deeply. Slowly, I counted from ten.

Tyrant was a bad look on anybody – more so me.

“Okay,” I said finally, calmer. “I think we can now say we have received all the insight we need to make a decision.”

A guard who was outside the door brought in a pot of ink, a pen and parchment. I thanked him quietly.

“I wanted to convene one more time before I decide to send this order,” I said, taking the pen between my fingers. The correspondence on the table, which Urbosa was now leafing through with Whitehurst, was missing the final page. It was burning in my dress pocket.

Reconsider, Zelda.

I caught Urbosa’s gaze while the officers and the sparse admirals had a last discussion about weighing the final options, or their lack of. She watched me with a solemn demeaner. Then, she nodded.

I will not be there to help you.

I don’t need his help.

“Is it decided, gentlemen?”

Delicately, I folded the paper twice just in time for the messenger to walk through.

My only words to him was an order to send my acquisition across enemy lines.

[tsuki-chibi]

Blackberries (Adrinette April) Day 24: Kwami visits

Or see it on AO3: Blackberries 

--------

“Okay, now I need to hear the whole story,” Chloé said.

Adrien glanced around automatically to make sure that no one else was within earshot, realizing that he should have expected that. He, Marinette and Chloé were sitting outside on the patio, which was technically closed right now – but of course, when you were the daughter of the man who owned the hotel, nothing was ever truly closed. But it did mean that there was no one else sitting around them. The rest of the tables were empty, and the waitress had closed the door to the hotel behind her when she went back in.

‘What do you think?’ Marinette thought. ‘How much should we tell her?’

‘I don’t know,’ Adrien thought back. His instinct was to tell Chloé the whole story, but he doubted that Marinette would be on board with that. And really, Master Fu was upset enough that Chloé knew who they were. He would no doubt strongly prefer it if the two of them didn’t tell Chloé anything else.

Marinette’s eyes sharpened, her mouth tugging down into a scowl, and she turned to Chloé and said, “The guardian chose two random people to be the new Ladybug and Chat Noir, but he didn’t give them any training or tell them what to do. So, Adrien and I had to step in using the Bee and Fox miraculous as Miel and Tromper. We used that as leverage this morning to make sure that we got our miraculous back from him. It turns out that he was just mad because he wanted to train me as the new guardian, but he didn’t want Adrien to know anything.”

“Marinette!” Adrien exclaimed, shocked.

“Marinette!” Tikki scolded at the same time. Chloé’s jaw dropped as Tikki flew up above the table, crossing her little paws and frowning at Marinette. Adrien clapped a hand to his face and groaned. So apparently they were also letting Chloé in on the existence of kwamis now.

Plagg cackled, poking his head out of Adrien’s shirt pocket, and said, “Nice going, Pigtails. I had no idea you could be so spiteful, but I like it.”

“Chloé’s not going to tell anyone. Right?” Marinette said, turning to Chloé.

Looking a bit shell-shocked, Chloé silently nodded.

“Still. I can’t believe you did that. Master Fu would be furious if he knew you’d just told someone all that,” Adrien said. They couldn’t even blame it on an accident this time.

"Pardon me if I don't really care what Master Fu thinks," Marinette said stiffly.

"Marinette," Tikki said again, this time with more exasperation. "I understand that you're upset with how Master Fu handled the situation, and you have every right to feel that way. But that doesn't mean you can go around spilling everything! Chloé is not a miraculous holder and -"

"Well, maybe it's good for Adrien and me to have someone to talk to who isn't," Marinette interrupted. "I know that Chloé found out by accident, but why shouldn't we tell her anything else? It's not like she's going to do anything with the information. Even if she was, she already knew the most important bits. So what difference does it make?" She set her jaw as Adrien stared at her. She was radiating frustration and hurt and anger, and he realized that the conversation with Master Fu had been bothering her a lot more than she had let on.

'No chance of that happening now,' Adrien thought, glancing at Chloé. She looked utterly fascinated by the conversation that was occurring in front of her.

Tikki sighed. "You shouldn't tell her anything else," she said, but with a tone of great resignation, as though she already knew that Marinette was going to ignore her advice.

"Um, so… what is that?" Chloé asked Adrien, pointing to Tikki. Tikki glanced up at Chloé but said nothing.

"We're called kwami," Plagg said lazily, jumping out of Adrien's pocket and floating down to inspect their plates. There was a piece of swiss cheese accompanying Adrien's crepe. Plagg grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth.

"Kwami," Chloé repeated, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar word. "Wait. That day you guys came to see me, you said you couldn't detransform because you were hiding the fact that you were soulmates. You were hiding it from them?" She gestured to Plagg and Tikki.

Adrien nodded, figuring they might as well tell her the rest. "Plagg and Tikki are how we transform," he explained. "They go inside of our miraculous and grant us our powers. As soon as we detransform, they appear. When they found out we were soulmates, and that you knew, they were obligated to tell the guardian that."

"And then he took away your miraculous and gave it to someone else," Chloé said, the awe fading from her expression to be replaced by a flat look. Suddenly, she turned to Marinette. "Wait, did you say that guardian didn't want Adrien to know anything?"

Marinette nodded furiously. "He had a whole bunch of reasons, but I think most of them were crap. The real reason he got so mad is because he wanted to train me as a replacement. Not that he actually asked me if I wanted that, mind you. He just decided that I would make a good one. But because Adrien and I don't have any shields, anything the guardian told me would automatically be known by Adrien as well."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Chloé demanded, looking ready to throw down with the guardian on Adrien's behalf.

"Thank you!" Marinette said, throwing her hands up.

"Adrikins would be make an excellent guardian!" Chloé exclaimed.

"Right?! I have no idea what the guardian's problem was! He kept going on about the balance of the team!" Marinette said.

"That's stupid," Chloé sneered. "How the hell is your team balanced if one of you knows way more than the other?"

"Exactly!" Marinette shouted, slamming her hand down on the table with such force that her water glass nearly fell over. Adrien's hand shot out and he grabbed it just in the nick of time.

"Is this really happening?" he whispered to Plagg as Chloé and Marinette continued to rant at each other.

Plagg snickered. "Apparently you have your own fan club."

"I already have a fan club. This... this is something completely different," Adrien muttered, feeling like his head was on a swivel as he looked from one girl to the other. They were both being so passionate in his defence! It was both touching and a little scary.

"It was just dumb!" Marinette said angrily. "He didn't even have a good reason for it! He just said it was "complicated"." She made finger quotes around that last word, wrinkling her nose.

"Pfft, yeah right," Chloé scoffed. "Complicated is what adults say when they don't know what else to say! It sounds more like he thought he could wrap you around his little finger, whereas Adrien is used to flouting authority."

"What?" Adrien broke in before he could consider whether that was a smart idea, and both girls turned to him like they’d forgotten he was there.

"What?" Marinette said, blinking.

"That's not true. I don't flout authority," Adrien objected.

"Adrien, honey, where exactly does your father think you are right now?" Chloé asked.

"Err… at basketball practice…" Adrien said. It hadn’t taken much convincing for his bodyguard to take him by Chloé’s instead.

Chloé shot him a knowing look. "You know, I thought this soul bond thing between you and Marinette was going to be a total bust, but I really like how it's brought out your rebellious side," she said.

"You can thank me for that too," Plagg piped up. "I'm always encouraging him to ignore his responsibilities."

"He really is," Adrien said with a resigned nod.

"Well then, I like you," Chloé said. "Feel free to visit me whenever you want, little kwami." She gently rubbed Plagg's head.

“If you have cheese around, I’ll visit you lots,” Plagg said.

“Umm, hang on,” Adrien said hastily, visions of the disasters that Chloé and Plagg could get up to together dancing through his head.

Marinette snorted at that and picked up her orange juice. “It was just disappointing,” she said quietly, and Plagg, Tikki, Adrien and Chloé all looked at her. “I thought Master Fu would be so much better than he was. He’s not much of a guardian at all.”

“He’s like everyone else. He tries his best,” Tikki said gently, patting Marinette’s arm. “In this case, he was completely off base. I’m really proud of both you and Adrien for negotiating with him the way you did.”

“You should’ve just threatened him,” Chloé said.

“Actually, Marinette almost did,” Adrien said.

Chloé smirked. “You’re moving upwards in my opinion,” she said to Marinette.

“Gee, thanks,” Marinette said sarcastically, but that meant more to her than she was letting on and Adrien knew it. He gently nudged her foot under the table and grinned at her. She just flushed and made a face back at him.

“Well,” Plagg said, rubbing his paws together. “How about some of that cheese?”

“And cookies!” Tikki said.

“I’ll get them,” Adrien said quickly, getting to his feet. As he walked away, he heard round two of defending his honor start up behind him and shook his head.

Forget Plagg and Chloé or Plagg and Trixx, Master Fu had better hope that Marinette and Chloé never teamed up.