#it's important to know how to do to fix clothes; fast fashion is largely a social mentality issue but it would definitely be better

[eyrieofsynapses]

If you have/can afford/otherwise get hold of a sewing machine, check out the types of stitches it has, and for the love of gods make sure you use the right one for your project. (This also applies to hand-sewing! Learn some different stitch types, you'll need them.) Don't forget to learn about thread tension and stitch length, too, and how to adjust them. It can make the difference between a nice flat seam and a very messy rumpled one.

For example: the basic running stitch is great, but if you're working with something that's going to stretch a lot, you'll probably need something else. I learned this the hard way when I made cosplay gloves with a running stitch on stretchy fabric; the seams broke the second I put them on. I used a stretch stitch the next time around and it worked wonders.

It's worth brushing up on hand-sewing occasionally, too, because you still often need it for projects that rely on sewing machines. Practice is how you get small neat stitches. I also hand-sew small stuffies, because it lets me get teeny complex curves down that are difficult on a sewing machine.

Things I wish I had read in "beginner" sewing tutorials/people had told me before I started getting into sewing

You have to hem *everything* eventually. Hemming isn't optional. (If you don't hem your cloth, it will start to thread. There are exceptions to this, like felt, but most cloth will.)

The type of cloth you choose for your project matters very much. Your clothing won't "fall right" if it's not the kind of stretchy/heavy/stiff as the one the tutorial assumes you will use.

Some types of cloth are very chill about threading, some are very much not. Linen doesn't really give a fuck as long as you don't, like, throw it into the washing machine unhemmed (see below), whereas brocade yearns for entropy so, so much.

On that note: if you get new cloth: 1. hem its borders (or use a ripple stitch) 2. throw it in the washing machine on the setting that you plan to wash it going forward 3. iron it. You'll regret it, if you don't do it. If you don't hem, it'll thread. If you don't wash beforehand, the finished piece might warp in the first wash. If you don't iron it, it won't be nice and flat and all of your measuring and sewing will be off.

Sewing's first virtue is diligence, followed closely by patience. Measure three times before cutting. Check the symmetry every once in a while. If you can't concentrate anymore, stop. Yes, even if you're almost done.

The order in which you sew your garment's parts matters very much. Stick to the plan, but think ahead.

You'll probably be fine if you sew something on wrong - you can undo it with a seam ripper (get a seam ripper, they're cheap!)

You can use chalk to draw and write on the cloth.

Pick something made out of rectangles for your first project.

I recommend making something out of linen as a beginner project. It's nearly indestructible, barely threads and folds very neatly.

Collars are going to suck.

The sewing machine can't hurt you (probably). There is a guard for a reason and while the needle is very scary at first, if you do it right, your hands will be away from it at least 5 cm at any given time. Also the spoils of learning machine sewing are not to be underestimated. You will be SO fast.

I believe that's all - feel free to add unto it.

[foesofthefemme]

Shein and hyperconsumerism: who's to blame?

By now, we all know and either love or hate the newest fast-fashion giant, Shein. The Chinese-owned retailer sells clothing for women, men, and children, as well as home décor and beauty products, all for unbelievably low prices. When the website first gained popularity on TikTok in 2020, everyone was asking themselves, “how are they selling clothing for as low as $1?” 

As if fast fashion wasn’t unsustainable enough, Shein has adopted an ultra-fast-fashion approach using AI algorithms and unethical labor practices. The retailer produces hundreds of new designs and styles a day through AI to keep up with fashion trends and fads. Employees at Shein’s factories work up to 18-hour days and make up to 500 pieces of clothing a day, earning approximately 4 cents per item.

Underpaying employees and using cheap materials for their clothing is what allows them to keep their prices so low. However, Shein’s success can be attributed to more than just their insanely low prices and large selection of trendy clothing; their popularity is a testament to how determined people are to keep up with fashion trends in the age of social media and fast fashion. This is especially prevalent among young women, who face the most pressure to be “fashionable.” If you use TikTok, you might have an idea of what I’m referring to. Influencers and other young women on the app post “Shein hauls,” or “unboxing videos,” sharing the shockingly large amounts of clothing they purchased for under $100. 

At its core, Shein provides a cheap and accessible way for women to keep up with fashion trends that will go out of style in a month or two, maybe less. But if these trends die out so fast, what’s the point in participating in them? Normally, there would be no point in spending money on clothes that will go out of style that quickly. However, the intensifying pressure to be “trendy” and Shein’s low prices make participating in microtrends both feasible and necessary. Recently, I spoke to a friend who frequently shops at Shein; the reasons for the retailer’s success became obvious after our conversation.

Maddie, a fellow Rutgers student, informed me that she first started shopping at Shein because “everyone else was.” She went on to tell me that the ability to buy new, trendy clothes for so cheap is what sucked her in, which didn’t surprise me. What interested me more, though, was that she described her purchasing habits at Shein as a “vicious cycle.”  She said, “I buy trendy clothes from there because it is cheap, and I know that the trends will die soon so it is not worth buying it elsewhere for a higher price. But then the clothes I bought go out of style again. I feel so embarrassed wearing it out to the bars or wherever, so I buy more clothes and the cycle repeats.” This cycle repeats regularly, according to her. 

When Maddie shared that she feels embarrassed wearing her “outdated” clothes on a night out, I realized that for many women (including myself) the tendency to hyperconsume “trendy” clothing may lie in their fear of being perceived as “unfashionable.” Women bear a multitude of societal expectations and gender roles regarding their physical appearance, but the fashion aspect is often overlooked. Unfortunately, the standard that women should be stylish and trendy is becoming more prevalent as Shein and the increased rate at which trends die and evolve is normalized. In the process of trying to fit in and therefore avoid judgement, we only make things worse for ourselves and the environment. 

So, how do we fix this? How do we deconstruct the expectation that young women must follow trends to avoid social ostracism? I wish I knew, but I think that reinstating the importance of personal style, sustainability, and high-quality clothing is a start. There is no simple solution to deconstructing gender roles, especially one as rigid as fashion. However, it is my opinion that we need to take it upon ourselves to rediscover our own personal style aside from what TikTok trends tell us to wear and support other women in their decision to do so. 

References

IMPACT x Nightline: Unboxing Shein

[grimppleather]

Do you have the ability to clean the leather jacket?

This is the most frequently asked concern of women's leather bomber jacket. In order to keep your jacket in good shape it is essential to take care of your leather. As with other kinds of clothing, you'll not be in a position put your jacket in washing machines because this could make it shrink and crack as well as be washed. But yes, you can clean your garment made of leather. Simply wipe the dirt from the jacket using a soft piece of cloth and drying it off by hand. If your coat is filthy or dirty it is easy and easy ways to wash it and wear it to make it look fresh for a long period of duration. Leather bomber jacket women can be quite expensive compared to ordinary fabrics jackets. Always be cautious when taking care to wash your garment. If you decide in your mind to purchase leather jackets, you must first know their protection measures and ways to stop the jackets from being destroyed. Always inquire with your seller regarding the cleaning and washing of the jacket the place you purchased it. Don't try the standard methods for leather jacket washing. Here, I'll explain a few steps to follow, following these steps, you will be able to clean the leather garment at your own home.

Mix the solution using hot water as well as dish soap.

It is also possible to create a cleaning solution using one part of vinegar to the form of one-third water.

Use a soft cloth to apply the solution, then bend it and then wipe the coat.

Make use of a clean damp cloth to clean the solution of cleaning.

Dry the jacket using an absorbent towel.

Do you have the ability to dry leather jackets with a dryer?

There are numerous opinions regarding whether or not it is necessary to wear dry coats. It is generally accepted that you should keep any leather clothing in a dry location. Certain people believe this however, others claim it damages their most cherished motorcycle jacket and that they'll never repeat this ever again. But there's no way to know for certain without testing it with the specific garment you own. In the end, drying leather clothing using a dryer is not advised. The following are arguments against it.

A leather jacket may be kept in a dry location however, high temperatures and dry periods that last longer than 30 minutes aren't ideal for skin health and can cause fast damage to skin's fibers.

It's not a great idea to drying any skin type in an environment with high temperatures. Even faux leather shouldn't be dried in high temperatures. The high temperatures could cause the fabric to shrink or crack. Dry leather items that are wet to dry out in the air away from direct sun or heat.

After washing the leather jacket with the low-temperature drying set men's bomber jacket might not dry fully, but the odds of being damaged are less. The jacket may appear stiff and thin however, it is easily fixed by wearing it just a few times.

How do I soften the leather jacket of a tough person?

It is a strong and gorgeous material well-known for its long time. But, it's an extremely durable material that may sometimes be challenging in the real world. However it is true that a leather jacket is liked by a large number of people. In this respect it is important to discover how to soften the leather jacket without sacrificing its quality, and also without damaging it.

The majority of the skin does not originate from cows, as you might imagine. The majority of skins are found in animals like lambs and goats, pigs, buffalo and deer. Its shape makes it ideal to be used for protective clothing such as motorcycle suits and jackets.

The combination of firmness and softness of goat skins make it a great alternative to cow or the calfskin. Additionally, the skin of a goat absorbs water to a degree, which makes it a unique and valuable item. Lambskin leather is one that fashion and high-end designer brands think is of the most valuable.

Here, we provide the top eight ways that will help you make your leather jacket more comfortable.

Apply Vaseline or alcohol

Cleanse the jacket clean.

Apply skin conditioner

Use olive oil

The jacket was wet

You can wear a jacket over it

Include mink oil

Coconut Oil

If you imagine a brown genuine leather coat for fashionable men typically, you'll see photos from Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher as well as Brad Pitt as Fight Clubber.

[sourholland]

Idk if you’ve heard of Corpus Christi but I think it would be good w either tom or even pete 👀

I’m Sure || Tom Holland

a/n: based off corpus christi - PRETTYMUCH

“Y/N!”

Cameras flashing. Click. Click. Click. Smile. Wave. Click. Smile. Squint. Stay close. Click. Smile. Flashing. Keep smiling. Wave.

“Y/N! Is it true you’re here at Paris Fashion Week with Tom Holland? Is he here with you tonight? Y/N, can you tell us about your relationship with Tom Holland?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you laughed, waving off the paparazzi. “I’m here to model for Versace. You know, if you care any about that.”

Entering a venue for a large scale fashion show is always nerve wracking, it doesn’t matter how many you’ve done. Nothing compares to the adrenaline rush when security escorts you to the back, sunglasses over your eyes. Makeup artists and designers scurry around, product caked with germs that have seen at least a third of the models about to walk the runway.

For PR purposes, you’re rumored to be dating several people in the industry. It’s good for publicity, plus it promotes whoever you’re “dating.” Most of the time you aren’t even ever spotted together, your team leaks something from “sources close to Y/N.”

Unfortunately, Tom Holland was not included in this abundance of people you were okay to be spotted or seen with.

He was a misstep, a moment of lacking judgment when you’d gotten a little too close. Well, a little too close is an understatement. Someone took a very blurry, zoomed in, and distorted photo of you both fucking on a private yacht. However, neither of your faces got into the picture and it wasn’t clearly identifiable. So you both ran with this. It wasn’t you, but whoever it was seemed to be having a really good time.

Your makeup artist, Jess, pushed you down into the small black chair and immediately began caking on the dewy foundation. Her hands were steady, fast, and hard to follow. Your phone dinged, eyes closed as she applied the light shadow.

Made it in xx

So maybe he wasn’t a total misstep, perhaps you hadn’t stopped seeing him after the boat incident. In your defense, he was much more entertaining than any of the guys your team set you up with. Of course, it was all a complete secret. Nobody could know the two of you were seeing each other. Not confirmed anyway.

Tom benefited off of remaining single in the public eye, at least for the moment. And you benefited off of whatever ‘keeps you relevant and doted upon.’ Except there were rules, stupid directives that had been explained to you. The most important one being that said person you are seeing should impact both of your careers mutually and positively.

“Pout your lips,” she commanded. “Take a look and go get dressed.”

“Thanks,” you responded.

Pulled away by another woman with a measuring tape and a bagged piece of clothing, you began dressing and readying yourself to walk. It wasn’t long, but the train of the outfit was and the heels were much bigger than you were used to. Every step counts, and every move matters.

She slipped the extravagant piece of fabric over you, handing over the white matching bag and fixing any fly away hairs. Then you were rushed to do any touch ups on your makeup, poked in the eye twice with a mascara wand.

“You walk in less than three minutes, go get in line,” one of the staff told you curtly.

Inhale. Stand up straight. Relax your face. Exhale. Shake it out.

Unless you’ve been next to walk in one of the world’s most notorious fashion shows, you don’t know the feeling of your heart dropping and the churn of your stomach when the woman holding the curtain motions you to go. For a moment, everything stops and nothing matters. Time is frozen, yet moving a millions seconds a minute.

Keep going.

Eyes up.

Don’t fall.

The cameras click ferociously, people sitting at the edges of the runway. Cameras held high in the air, all trying to snap a clear shot of you. Fixating on a panel in the wall, you stopped at the front and posed. Pivoting, you headed back and gave a small smile to the next girl coming down the same path.

It’s over. All of that worry for a few quick seconds of total vulnerability. Coming off of the runway, you turned to where you were out of the eyes of everyone and felt yourself being engulfed in an embrace. Arms wrapping themselves around your waist, you immediately recognized Tom’s lips on your own.

Stumbling a moment, you felt yourself being pressed into the opposite wall. Hand coming up at the nape of his neck, you pulled at his curls a minute and broke away.

“Are you sure no one saw you come in?”

“I’m sure,” he replied.

Unfortunately, between drawn out kisses and suppressed laughter—neither of you had noticed the man sticking his black lens through the slit in the curtain about fifteen feet away. The soft clicks were almost inaudible. Both of you completely oblivious.

[pterodactylterrace]

Beautiful

Title: Beautiful

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: I'll take just a moment with you, rather than a lifetime without.

Rating: T

Warnings: Drinking, fluff, death, pregnancy. Definitely not my greatest work, but it makes me feel some kinda way, so I thought I’d share anyway. 

When his Ma used to tell him about when she first met his Pop, Syverson always thought it was a dramatic, romanticized version of events. How could you possibly know someone is right for you the second you meet them? You need time to get to know them, to see if you can tolerate living with all the fucked up parts of them before you decide they're the one you'll stick with for the rest of your life.

Now though, his blue eyes catching on a pair of green ones from across the bar, Syverson was beginning to think she may have been onto something. Something about that girl felt... right. A little voice in the back of his mind told him 'yup, she's the one we're gonna marry'.

Being a little old fashioned, he'd asked her for a dance, clumsily moving to some sort of made up rhythm that most definitely wasn't the song that was playing. Her laugh. Oh God her laugh. He swore his heart beat to the sound of her laughter, so pure and carefree. It was a sound he wanted to keep hearing for as long as he could.

He'd spent most of his night with her after that. They shared many rounds and found themselves lost in conversation. Before either one knew it, it was last call. Syverson offered to walk her home, willing to do almost anything to prolong his time with her. After all, he never knew when he would see her again.

They had barely gotten out of the bar when she'd stumbled off to the bushes, violently throwing up the last several rounds of drinks. Syverson dutifully held her long brunette strands from her face, his large hand gently rubbing her back, his callouses catching on the soft material of her dress.

In spite of that, he'd still managed to get her number. He didn't bother waiting the 'required' three days before calling. Games were for boys, and he wasn't about to waste time he could be spending with her. They had their first official date later on that week. Syverson broke out his 'good' shirt and everything, no matter how ridiculous he felt in it. Dress clothes and Syverson just didn't mix, but he couldn't just take a pretty girl like her out wearing one of his usual t-shirts.

She'd been delighted by the flowers he'd bought her on their first date. Surprised when he got more for their second, and downright shocked when he continued the tradition for their third. For some reason, he absolutely refused to show up at her door without flowers for her. The first one had been from a store. She could tell from the cellophane wrapping. The other two, she suspected he picked himself. The image of such a burly man delicately trying to pick flowers was both silly, and endearing.

She'd been reluctant when Syverson mentioned wanting to introduce her to his parents. His meeting with hers had gone off without a hitch, her father commandeering him to the study for most of the night, luring him in with scotch, and promises of framed pictures from when she was growing up. The two men were fast friends, and her mother was delighted with how well mannered he was. She just wasn't sure what she would do if his mother didn't like him. He was definitely a mama's boy, though he'd probably kill any man that dared to say that to his face.

He'd reassured her over and over that she was going to love her. He was almost desperate for the two most important women in his life to like each other. Thankfully, they had hit it off almost as well as Syverson had with her father. He was almost a little jealous (fine, he was definitely a lot jealous) when his mother offered her the spatula to lick when they were making cookies. He was the chief cookie dough spoon licker, and he had a t-shirt form his childhood that proved it. If it meant they liked each other, however, Syverson was willing to relinquish his title. This time.

He was gobsmacked when his mother handed him a pillow and a spare blanket that night, shooing him off toward the couch. It only took one stern, raised eyebrow from his mother to keep him from protesting. He knew she expected him to wait for marriage. She also knew that he hadn't. He was well aware she knew of that fact as well, but that didn't mean had to put up with it under her roof. She had raised him to be a gentleman, after all.

The pair of them found a beautiful home out in the country, a ton of property for kids to play on and for Aika to run freely. There were even a few apple trees in the far back of the property. That's where they got married, under those trees, who's fruit was the same color as her eyes. It took a few years of work to turn it into their dream home, but it was their labor of love. They had ripped the inside down to studs and rebuilt everything just how they wanted it. Syverson put in a fence around the property, a project that took over a year to complete.

It was just a week after they had finally finished the last of their renovations that her water broke, all over the brand new tile floor in the kitchen. It was also two months before her due date. Syverson had done his best to stay calm for her. He was just as terrified as she was, but she needed him to be strong. The most terrifying moment of his life was when she gave her final push and the doctor began wiping off the baby. The silence was like a knife to the heart. A team of people were rushed in and began working on the tiny infant.

"What's going on?" She had whispered, turning tearful eyes up to her husband, her heart dropping more and more with every passing second. Syverson had slid around the bed, peering over the nurses heads at the little girl that had just been brought into the world. They were sucking out her nose and mouth, vigorously rubbing her with a towel, trying to get her to take a breath.

His world started spinning again when he heard her first tiny cries, steadily growing louder and louder as she made her unhappiness known. He was sure to wipe the tears from his eyes before he turned to his wife, carefully taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. "She's ok. She's ok."

Walking his daughter down the aisle was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He was a good guy, sure enough. He treated his baby right. That didn't make it any easier to give her away to her new life. That day was only the second time his wife had seen Syverson cry.

He could tell he was getting older, and that the years hadn't been kind. His knees clicked whenever he moved, his back was in constant pain, and he developed tremors in his arms. His wife had aged beautifully, however. The lines around her bright green eyes only underlined their beauty, and grey had been threaded gracefully through her hair. Now, though, was the most difficult time of his life. They had found the cause of the tremors. A tumor, deep in his brain, and an aggressively growing one at that. The risk of operating on someone his age was too high. It was getting closer and closer to his time to go, and he never felt so powerless in his life. All he had ever been able to promise his wife before was that he would be there for her. What could he tell her now? He was leaving her all one. There wasn't going to be anyone at home to take care of her anymore.

Her small, delicate hand found it's way into his palm, still rough even after all the years. She didn't want him to go, but they both knew his time was coming. "Don't cry for me, darling. I had a good life. The Lord blessed me with a little girl and a beautiful wife. I promise, I'll see you again one day."

"Where's Teddy?" The most heart wrenching words that had ever left her mother's mouth. Her mind had started to go in the years following her father's passing, and lately she'd been forgetting more and more. Telling her mother that her father had passed years ago was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. She watched her mother break all over again. She vowed to never tell her again. Every time after that she had told her mother "he's in the garden".

"Teddy." Her mother's weak voice broke through the monotonous beep of the monitor.

"He's in the garden, Mama."

"Teddy." She repeated, her eyes fixed just beyond her daughter's face.

"I told you I'd see you again, darling. What do you say we go home, beautiful?"

Taglist: @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay

[rebel-pogue]

Stretch Marks

JJ Maybank X plussize!Reader

request: kinda...?

warnings: cussing, issues with body image, angst, fluff

summary: After a fight with your parents about your health, you plan to spend the rest of your day to yourself until a certain blue eyed blonde finds you on your deck.

a/n: from @maybanktho​ they made a wonderful list of imagine ideas and I had to jump onto this one... tho I do have a couple others from the list im working on as well! I hope you guys enjoy! This one was enjoyable bc it felt really personable but idk... let me know what you think and if you’d like any specific imagine!!

wc: 1.5k

There were plenty of things in the world that you never understood. One, why bras were so insanely expensive. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they were conditioned into wearing one to be presentable to the public. They were uncomfortable, no matter how “high quality” they were, broke way too easily for anyone’s own well being, and even if you bought one to look cute for someone else, it’s not like it stayed on your body very long in those instances. Another thing you just didn’t get was why or how anybody could be interested in you or your body. Emphasis on the latter.

You’ve always been bigger than everyone else, in size and height. You never knew what it was like to be able to just pull something off the shelf at a store and it fit, nor to have something fit perfectly without it being too loose on your waist, or not fit over your hips and butt at all. Growing up you were constantly surrounded by smaller, prettier girls, magazines that glorified a specific body type, and TV shows and movies that were never inclusive to plus size women. Even if they had one character who was plus size, they were always the butt of the joke. You didn’t know what it was like to love the body you lived in growing up.

As you got older, it got easier. A lot of it was thanks to yourself just generally being tired of being told you didn’t fit “a look”, though more appearances of plus sized characters in TV shows, movies, and magazines helped as well. Instead of feeling that separation between the women who ran the world, you felt a connection finally. However, it didn’t take much for a single comment to plummet your confidence. Then you met the one boy you never realized you needed in your life, JJ Maybank.

“Hey gorgeous.” The smooth drawl gained all of your attention away from the music you were listening to as you relaxed on the deck from your house. Your eyes landed on the smooth-talking blonde who stood at the steps, leaning against one of the wooden posts that lined the short pier that you often escaped to when life was too much to handle.

You couldn’t help the natural smile that came to your lips as you lifted the sunglasses from your eyes to greet the insanely attractive male, “Well, hello to you too. I thought you had work today?” You questioned, watching his movements as he stepped closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

He rested into a seated position beside you, and his eyes travelled your body. You loved and hated when he did this. Your conflicted emotions could never fully convince you if he actually enjoyed what he saw or not, but today he couldn’t see much anyways, which you were thankful for.

“Got out early, Pogues were thinking about taking a ride out to swim...” he slowed his words his eyes finally matching back up with yours again, “Why are you wearing sweatpants? It’s hot as balls outside!”

Your hands instantly found their way to the hem of your shirt, toying with it nervously, “Haven’t had the best morning so far.” You commented casually, not wanting to continue much of the conversation. You hadn’t planned on doing anything with your day after the conversation you’d had with your shitty parents that morning.

JJ tilted his head slightly, reaching up and brushing some loose strands of hair that had whipped to the front of your face. You flinched slightly at his touch, not because you were scared of him but because the small gesture of affection was hard for you to accept sometimes. He frowned slightly, but didn’t bring attention to it.

“Was it your parents again?” He asked, averting his eyes from yours so he wasn’t putting too much pressure on you to answer. You could never fully explain how or why JJ always knew what to say or ask.

Sighing heavily, you pushed your body up, pulling your knees to your chest, instinctively covering your stomach with your arms, “They made their usual comments about how I needed to take better care of myself, how I shouldn’t be wearing such ‘revealing’ clothes, that I should use my money for gym memberships instead of, oh I don’t know, saving money for COLLEGE?!” Your voice grew in intensity and volume as the anger returned to your mind, tears stinging the edges of your eyes. “I mean, it’s like I can’t do anything in life if I look like this.” You gestured towards your body, regaining eye contact with JJ and regretted it immediately.

His bright cerulean eyes were too soft, too concerned, and too focused on everything you had just said. His normally striking and strong features relaxed into an empathic position causing you to involuntarily take a sharp inhale.

“Never-mind, JJ. Don’t worry about it, it’s not your problem.” You said quickly, trying to deescalate the situation and make it seem less important. You stretched your legs out in front of you, the bright sun disappearing into the black sweatpants that hung on your legs. Your mind began to spiral as the memories from that morning circled back and how you had just complained to JJ about something he could never understand.

Pushing yourself off of the old wooden deck, you stood fast, keeping your eyes away from his. Today had started off horrible, and it seemed it was just going to continue in that fashion no matter what you did. You couldn’t fix your body, you couldn’t fix your parents, you couldn’t fix you. As you began to step over JJ, his hand reached out for you, clasping onto your wrist where your hand still clung tightly to the hem of your shirt.

“I don’t get it, like, I really don’t…” You were waiting for the usual ‘I understand how you’re feeling but it’s not that serious’ comment to spill from his lips. You kept your eyes on the ground, not wanting to watch him crush your mentality anymore than it already was.

“JJ I don’t need your sympathy-“ You began, a small tear rolling down your cheek.

JJ stood quickly, grabbing your shoulders to bring your attention back to him, “It’s not sympathy (y/n)! I don’t get how people can look at you and not be blown away! How they can’t just look at every inch of you and fall completely head over heels for you, how they couldn’t fall in love by just seeing how beautiful you are!!” He was breathing heavily, his eyes wide and honest.

Your breath hitched in your throat as more tears fell from your eyes, this gorgeous, beautiful, fit boy just confessed to you right? Is that what just happened?? You didn’t know what or how to process what was coming from his mouth, but he continued, “The first time I saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Your smile was just… nothing like I had ever seen before. Hell yeah I noticed your body, I noticed your hips, your chest…your ass! It’s because I saw one glance and I knew I needed you in my life… and I couldn’t have been more right, for once in my life.”

His hand landed on your waist, resting easily and comfortable above your hip. Your shirt lifted slightly and you could feel the heat from his hand on your side. “…are you sure? Are you sure you want this?” You asked quietly, still not able to tear your eyes away from his beautiful blue ones.

He scoffed loudly, his eyebrows knitting together almost angrily at what you had said, “I don’t want anyone or anything else.” You stated matter of factly and slammed his lips into yours.

It was rough at first, but the passion overtook the both of you and you lost yourself in him. Your hands found their way to his blonde locks, his hands reaching behind you, grabbing onto you and holding you tight. Your lips moved together in motion, his tongue easily making its way through your lips and dancing with yours. You didn’t know how long the two of you stood there in each others embrace, but when you finally broke you both had to catch your breaths. Resting his forehead against yours, he pressed one more quick kiss to you.

“Do you really think my ass looks good?” You asked, looking up into his eyes curiously.

The grin that landed on his face made you swoon, “Oh baby, I would throw away everything if I could just hold onto your ass.” You both chuckled softly, falling comfortably into silence.

A small while later you found yourselves making the short walk towards your house, your hands grasped in his own large ones. “So, you said we’re going swimming right?” You asked, glancing sideways towards him.

“Maybe later, no offense but after talking about you I’m so fucking horny right now and you gotta take responsibility.” He pulled you after him, rushing into your house and towards your room.

[arse-crack-thistle]

quality time

rwrb and the five love languages | part four

in which bea nearly crashes from the stress of party-planning (aroace rep)

Princess Beatrice buzzes around The Masquerade, double-checking place cards, straightening table settings, and pulling dried rose petals from the centerpieces. She rented the concert venue for the night to throw a modern Valentine’s gala to benefit Henry’s queer youth center in London. He and Alex are around here somewhere, probably hooking up in a broom cupboard and definitely not nitpicking every detail like Bea is. Her assistant follows her with a clipboard and updates her on the schedule: t-minus three hours until guests arrive and, in the meantime, she needs to give final approval, soundcheck with the band, and get dressed up. Jeans and a blazer, while royal casual, are not party-appropriate, and tonight needs to be perfect.

She usually hates royal events like galas, but this one is special. Not because it’s Valentine’s Day—Bea could not give two fucks about the holiday—but because ever since coming out as asexual around Christmas, she’s been looking for an opportunity to help other queer people, or at least give them a public figure they could point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, she’s like me.” Henry and Alex got their chance, and now this time, it’s hers.

The stage lights up with pink and red; it’s cheesy, but Bea digs it. The concert was the one thing she would not budge on with her royal event planner. Did she want to reach into wealthy pockets? Yes. Did she still want to have a good time? Hell yes. And the band she’s joining for one night only happens to be just as queer as the charity they’re supporting.

Permanent Record, local to London, tune their instruments on stage. Bea has met them dozens of times over the last month and vibed with them instantly. Margot, the too-cool lead singer always decked out in a leather jacket and Docs, is ace like her, and as much as Bea has wanted to get to know them, there’s been no time. Turns out, party-planning and party-executing steals the host away from all meaningful human connection. She’s only been able to keep up with Henry because he’s partly responsible for this event.

The pit, full of tables covered in pink and gold, finally looks perfect enough for Bea to hand-off any other minute fixes to the planner and finally have her soundcheck with the band. But then, a large crash comes from the back of the venue, and she hears a loud shriek coming from a familiar voice, the one that’s been shrill and disapproving for the last month. When Bea runs up, she sees hundreds of shattered champaign flutes and her planner on the floor, blood oozing from her hands.

This cannot be happening. The only reason Bea kept this woman around was to take most of the day-of duties off her plate. But she’s in the back of an ambulance now, and Henry is nowhere to be found. Bea’s stress levels go from tolerable to unbearable as she orders her assistant to track down replacement flutes. The staff are quick to fill her other requests: a couple of people start sweeping, someone runs off to find her co-host, another tells the band Bea’s soundcheck will be postponed, and a brave soul steps up as a temporary assistant and follows her around the back tables to check for broken glass. Bea knows she doesn’t have to be the one to do this, but it seems like the success of this event lies solely one her shoulders. If something goes wrongs, it’s her face—not Henry’s—in the papers the next day. Powder Princess Crashes and Burns at Gay Ball. Christ.

After an hour, everything is sorted. There’s no glass. The planner is getting stiches. Permanent Record has started their soundcheck and sound amazing. But even their chill indie tunes can’t calm the princess. She needs to get on stage, but her stylist specifically requested she have at least two hours to work his magic, which is not going to happen.

Bea tells her assistant to get her stylist and his team to the venue, because she won’t be able to leave, and warn him he’ll only have an hour at best. Henry and Alex have already taken off to get ready, and she has to remind herself to smack them later for abandoning her.

She tugs off her blazer, drapes it over a chair, and rolls up her sleeves. If she does get her hands on a guitar, she’ll explode. It’s all she can think of to stop her from raiding the bar at the back.

“Better late than never, eh, Princess?” Margot says as she huffs on stage.

One of the stagehands gives Bea her beautiful sleek, black Fender Stratocaster, and her anxiety reduces itself to a hum. Music can’t cure all, but it certainly keeps her from wrecking every good thing in her life.

“Let’s just play,” she says.

But it’s anything but perfect. Whatever chemistry she had with Permanent Record somehow jumped into the Thames between their last rehearsal and now because this is an absolute travesty and she’s only playing two songs with them tonight. She’s forgotten measures of one song and can’t find the chords fast enough in her solo of the other. Utter shit.

Why does she even fucking bother?

She always fucks everything up. Always. Why did she think she could put this on? Sure, she’s chaired these events before, but not ones she actually cares about, not ones she’s actually put her heart into. Christ, no wonder. She should’ve known it would turn out like this. She’s the anti-Midas; everything she touches turns to shit.

No kid will ever see her as a queer role model. She’s the girl they point to and say, “See Mum and Dad, what a waste.”

She needs a hit so fucking bad.

Which is why she has to get out of here ASAP. Before she does anything she’ll regret. She won’t slip again, and she won’t be the reason this gala fails. Henry can handle it without her.

So when Margot calls for a five-minute break, Bea excuses herself and hands off her guitar. On her way out the door, she tells the stagehand to find her assistant and tell her to have Henry take over. The hard part is over thanks to the planner actually being brilliant at her job, even if she and Bea would never get along.

No doubt, cameras are already lined up outside, so she hides in one of the green rooms and locks the door behind her. If she just takes a deep breath and calms down, she can bring herself back from the edge.

Five things she can see: The 1975, Arctic Monkeys, Oasis, Solange, and Fiona Apple’s signatures on the artist wall.

Four things she can feel: the worn leather on a crusty couch, the chipped-paint walls, her toes in her shoes, and her fingers through her light brown hair.

Three things she can hear: the ticking from the clock, the click of her heels as she paces, and a knock at the door.

Two things she can smell: decades-old musk from artists past—no doubt coming from the couch—and her light perfume on her wrist.

One thing she can taste: a hint of coffee from earlier.

She breathes in and out, and the knock on the door continues.

“Bea, are you in there? Could you let me in?” Margot. Essentially a stranger. She supposes it’s better than facing a disappointed Henry, so she opens the door and promptly relocks it as soon as they’re inside.

“Christ, this place is legendary, isn’t it? Everyone’s played here—is that Bob Dylan? Fucking nuts,” Margot says, pointing to the wall.

“I’ve seen loads of people here. Always wanted to play here myself,” Bea tells them. She traces Lizzo’s signature. That was a fun night; Nora and June flew out for a girls’ night, which was ultimately crashed by Pez.

“Me too, and the rest of band as well, I suppose.” Margot looks at Bea and smiles. They’re brown eyes crinkle in the corner, and it reminds her of Alex. “And now we get to, eh, Princess? Couldn’t’ve gotten here without you. The whole world knows Permanent Record now.”

“You could’ve done it without me,” she says. “You will tonight anyway.”

“Hey.” They reach for Bea’s hand. “Everyone has some hiccups before a big gig. It’ll be grand, but only if you’re there. This is your night as much as it is ours or the youth center’s. You have no idea how important it is for your lot to shine a light on causes people shy away from.”

That makes Bea smile. For so long she wanted to hide from her position. She wanted freedom to do whatever she pleased, but now she understands the power she has, even if people still see her as “The Powder Princess.” No matter what she wears, millions of fashion influencers share links to her clothes. If she walks into a restaurant, their yearly profits skyrocket. When she told the world she was ace, thousands of people messaged her and said the same. One of them was Margot, telling her about their undiscovered band from South London.

She tells Margot how that was one of the first times she really felt like herself. Completely at peace with who she is. How that peace got away from her and turned this gala into a near-panic-attack-inducing event, she doesn’t know.

“Have you let on how stressed you’ve been to anyone?” Margot asks. The two sit together on the couch after Margot bravely plopped themself down on the dirty, old thing.

“Hadn’t the time,” she says. Truthfully, Bea doesn’t think she’s had a genuine conversation with anyone since the gala’s conception.

Margot throws their hands in the air. “Well, there you go then! You’ve got to take the time! To take care of yourself. To hang out with your mates. Just to have some goddamn fun, Bea! Come on! You think I’d be a functioning human if I didn’t let loose with my mates every now and then? This—” They gesture to their body, covered in tattoos and tattered black clothing. “Doesn’t happen on its own.”

Bea laughs. It’s been so long since she’s laughed from anything other than stress. “Right, so how does this all happen then?” She swirls her hand in Margot’s direction.

As they chat, Bea relaxes. They talk about their families and uni and music and coming out. Bea tells Margot about the time she and the gang went to the karaoke bar where Henry got wasted and sang Queen horrifically. Margot tells her about the time in year twelve when they got dared to try out for the school play and ended up playing an old man in the most unbelievable bald cap.

Eventually, the two of them pull out their phones and play a few games of Among Us until Bea’s desperate assistant finds her and pleads for her to get ready though the door. They only have an hour before guests arrive.

“You all right?” Margot asks. “Want to go out there and try again?”

Funny how it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. How it only took a short break, a nice chat, and a little pink astronaut to put Bea at ease. She smiles. The notes come back to her fingertips.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part three, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

listen, my permanent headcanon is aroace bea and you will never convince me otherwise and i will never write her as anything else bc i love her so much!! (that being said, if you ship her with anyone, i totally understand). also, i reference a fic of mine i wrote for winterfest so if you want to check out my version of bea’s coming out, you can do that here! and finally, i know this wasn’t a romantic fic for romance week but like i said in part one, valentine’s day is different for everyone. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[writingblock101]

Magic Touch (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Finally wrote for Nightwing. I can’t believe it took me this long. Anyways, I don’t know how I am writing this much, I keep getting random inspiration. If you have something in mind, send me a message and I’ll see what I can do. Enjoy! 

Summary: After a bad fight with Deathstroke, all Nightwing wants to do is go to his apartment and be with you. 

Word Count: 2,200

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish​

Red Hood walks over to Nightwing and hauls him to his feet with an arm pulled over his shoulder. 

“Come on, Wing, we’ve got to get you back to the Cave.” 

“No,” Nightwing mumbles, stumbling over his own feet while his side bleeds profusely. “No Cave.” 

“You’re going to bleed out--” 

“No. Cave.” 

Red rolls his eyes. 

“You’re still arguing with Bruce, aren’t you?” 

He’s silent, answering Red’s question. 

“Of course you are. What did that moron say this time?” 

“It’s not important,” Nightwing mumbles, leaning heavier on Red as dark spots danced in his vision. “Take me to Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” Red asks. “Who the hell is that?” 

“Y/N can help me,” Nightwing says then sprouts off an address before losing consciousness. 

“Shit,” Red groans, pulling Nightwing over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Fine, we’ll go to… Whoever the hell you’re talking about.” 

. . . 

You always wrote it off as healing fast or a strong immune system. It never struck you that your fast healing was actually a metahuman ability until you started dating Dick who made a habit of showing up at your apartment battered beyond belief. 

At first, you thought he was being cheesy when he said cuddling with you always took the pain away until you both realized Dick was healing miraculously fast. After multiple experiments, you and Dick discovered that Dick was not miraculously healing by himself, but you were transferring the energy to him to heal him.

While the healing was not instantaneous, between your knowledge of medicine and your ability, you significantly speed up the process, so it wasn’t a huge shock when Red Hood knocked at your door with a bleeding, unconscious Nightwing thrown over his shoulder. 

“Are you Y/N?” He asks. 

“Um… Yeah,” You blink, opening the door further and allowing him inside. “What happened?” 

Before Red could answer, Nightwing seemed to regain consciousness and caught sight of you. 

“Y/N,” He mumbles, trying to worm his way out of Red Hood’s grip. 

“Woah, Wing, hold on,” Red grumbles, carefully putting Nightwing on the ground but supporting his body weight. 

Nightwing shrugs him off and stumbles over to you. Red tries to catch his arm so he wouldn’t tackle you, but Nightwing is faster and already has his arms around you, most of his body weight leaned against you. 

“Wing! Don’t--” 

“He’s okay,” You reassure Red Hood, staggering for a moment then shifting your feet to better hold up his body weight. 

You wrap your arms more securely around Nightwing, running your fingers through his sweat and blood-soaked hair. He sighs in relief, his body relaxing under your touch as energy flows between you two. You feel a few broken ribs through his suit, placing your hand on his side and slowly starting to mend them back together, then your hand touches something wet. You look down to see your hand is covered in blood. 

“Okay, let’s get you on the couch,” You say, Red coming over to help pull Nightwing off of you and settle him on the couch. “Can you get the top half of his suit off?” You ask, pushing Nightwing’s dark hair off his forehead. “I need to grab my supplies.” 

You stand to grab your med kit when Nightwing’s hand catches your arm. 

“No,” Nightwing mumbles in protest. “Stay.” 

You roll your eyes with a fond sigh. 

“You’re going to bleed out on my couch if I don’t stitch you up,” Then you lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back, Dick.” 

While you gather your medical supplies, Red helps Dick out of the top half of his suit and takes his helmet off, figuring if you knew who Dick is, you probably knew who Red Hood is. You come back and start prepping the medical supplies. Jason holds his hand out to you. 

“I’m Jason,” He introduces. “Dick’s brother.” 

“Y/N,” You shake his hand then chuckle. “But I guess you already knew that.” 

Jason shrugs while you frown at Dick’s side. You place a hand above the large gash, letting energy flow into Dick until his side stops bleeding then threaded your suture and begin stitching up his side. 

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Jason frowns. “Are you a meta?” 

You shrug, still focused on stitching up Dick. 

“Yeah, a little bit. Nothing instantaneous.”

While you stitched Dick up, you kept at least one hand on his chest, transferring energy to curve the pain. Dick mumbles something to you that you don’t catch. 

“What did you say?” You pause, leaning toward Dick’s head to hear him. 

“I said Deathstroke’s swords are sharp,” Dick mumbles. 

You chuckle, pulling tight on one of the stitches. 

“Yeah, babe. I’ve heard he’s known for that. I thought you and Slade were on good terms?” 

Dick shrugs. 

“I stopped him from completing a contract. He wasn’t happy.” 

Once you finish stitching Dick up, you check him over for any other dire injuries. Other than his side, everything else is fairly manageable: a handful of broken ribs, bruising, and a few smaller lacerations. 

“Alright, Dick, let’s get you in the shower so you can get all this blood off you,” You help him off the couch, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulder. 

He kisses your temple as a silent thank you then you both move down the hall to get the shower started. While Dick sits on the toilet, carefully peeling off the rest of his suit, you start the shower and grab Dick some fresh clothes. 

“Do you think you can shower?” You ask, running your fingers through Dick’s hair then cupping his cheeks. 

He looks up at you with a smile. 

“Yeah, but,” He pulls you closer to him by your belt loops. “It would be more efficient if you joined me,” Dick adds with a coy smile. 

You shake your head with a grin, running your hands down his shoulders. 

“Okay, first of all, shower sex wouldn’t be feasible right now because you have fifteen stitches in your side. Second of all, your brother is still standing in our living room.” 

“I could be quiet, babe,” Dick promises with a wink and presses a kiss to your stomach. “Besides, your touch always makes me feel better. Doctor’s orders and all,” He slips his hands under your shirt. 

“You’re ridiculous,” You tell him, then tilt his head up and kiss him. “Get in the shower, horndog. I’m going to go be a good host.” 

Dick whines when you leave the bathroom, but you ignore him, rolling your eyes before walking back out to the living room where Jason is looking at various framed pictures. 

“So, you guys are dating?” He asks, pointing at a picture of you and Dick. 

Dick at his arms wrapped around you from behind and was kissing your neck while you laughed. 

“Yep,” You nod. “Have been for a while now.” 

“Huh…” Jason trails off. “I didn’t know Dick was seeing anyone.” 

“We weren’t trying to keep it a secret, but with how swimmingly the whole family dynamic thing is going right now,” You gesture vaguely to the air. “News about our relationship went on the backburner.” 

“Yeah,” Jason chuckles. “It’s never easy.” 

“Siblings,” You roll your eyes, then walk to your kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? Maybe a sandwich?” 

“Yeah, a sandwich would be great,” Jason sits down at the island while you get out bread, ham, cheese, and mayo. “So… How did you two meet?” 

“Dick crashed through my window,” You point at the french doors that led to a Juliet balcony in your living room. “Or, well, Nightwing I guess. Anyways, in very Dick Grayson fashion, of course, once the threat was apprehended, he started flirting and got my number to “fix the window”,” You smile, thinking about the cheesy lines Dick fed you. “We’ve been dating for a little over a year now,” You hand Jason the sandwich.

He takes a large bite and chews for a minute before opening his mouth and asking: 

“So… the meta thing… You can heal?” 

“I can… Speed up the process,” You explain. “I can’t instantly make things heal, but I can do little things, like stop the bleeding and lessen pain. Over time, I can heal broken bones, so I’ll be able to heal Dick’s ribs over the next day or two.” 

“Where did it come from?” 

You shrug. 

“Dunno. Honestly, I didn’t know I could do it until I started dating Dick because I don’t get injured as much as him.” 

“Do you think you could um…” Jason shifts and grimaces as his body tweaks. 

“Oh!” Duh, of course, Jason probably sustained some injuries given Dick’s stab wound. 

You quickly round the island and place a hand on Jason’s side, feeling his broken ribs shift. Jason sighs with relief, pain melting out of him. 

“Shit, you weren’t kidding,” He chuckles. 

“Yeah, I’ve been getting better at it,” You tell him. “I don’t know if you have somewhere to go tonight, I know you don’t live in Bludhaven, but if you want to spend the night here, you’re more than welcome. We have an extra bed and bathroom and I’m sure I can dig up some clothes that will fit you.” 

Jason quirks an eyebrow. 

“How do you know I don’t live in Bludhaven?” 

“Dick talks about you guys a lot. I’ve heard about all of you.” 

Jason nods, not saying anything. You don’t pry for him to respond. Whatever issues Jason has with Dick or vice versa is not any of your business. 

“I think it would be better for you to stay the night,” You nod your head toward Jason’s ribs. “At least let these heal a little.” 

“Yeah, I probably will then,” He nods reluctantly. 

“The guest bedroom is to the left and the bathroom is across the hall. The towels are clean, and I’ll bring you fresh clothes.” 

Jason stands up and grabs his helmet off the coffee table, then turns back to you. 

“Thanks… for all of this,” He gestures to the room.  

“Of course,” You smile then he disappears around the corner and you go to yours and Dick’s room to dig up a pair of sweatpants Dick defiantly stole from Jason and an old t-shirt that has always been too big on you. 

After dropping off the clothes in the guest bedroom, you poke your head in your bathroom to find Dick brushing his teeth with a towel wrapped around his waist. You frown at the deep bruising across his chest and step into the bathroom, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back. 

“Everything okay with Jason?” Dick asks, toothbrush half hanging out of his mouth. 

“Yeah, he’s staying the night.” 

Dick spits in the sink, his eyebrows raised. 

“How did you manage to pull that one off?” 

“I partially healed his ribs,” You slide your hands up Dick’s chest, resting them over the deep bruising on his sides, transferring energy over to him. 

Dick chuckles, turning so that he’s leaning against the counter, his hands on your hips. 

“That’s what always gets them,” He kisses the tip of your nose. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, still holding your hands over Dick’s ribs. 

“I’m okay,” He pulls you into a close hug. “Especially now that I’m with you,” He quips and kisses the top of your head. 

You lean against him, running your fingers up and down his back. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” You admit into his chest. 

While Dick is a very skilled fighter and careful out in the field, his tendency to prioritize others over his own life always sends him home battered. Some nights were closer calls than others. Given the amount of blood Dick lost on the way to the apartment, tonight was one of those scary nights.

“Hey,” Dick tilted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ll always come home to you.” 

“I know,” You smile and you believe him. “I just worry.”

You know Dick will always come home to you, but you still can’t help but worry. He leans in and kisses you deeply, running his hands up your sides before breaking away and pulling your hands off him, forcing you to stop healing him. He presses a kiss to both of your hands. 

“I’m okay,” Dick promises. 

“Let’s go to bed,” You pull him into the bedroom and toss on one of his shirts. 

Dick changes into boxers then crawls into bed, laying on your chest. You kiss the top of his head, running your fingers through his hair and down his back, watching as the muscles relax under your touch. You send an extra surge of energy into Dick, easing the pain away enough for his eyes to flutter shut. 

While Dick claims to be okay, you know he has the tendency to hide his pain from you, but it’s okay because you’re always there to help him. As long as by the end of the night, you’re able to hold him, you’re okay. 

You look down at Dick fondly, running your fingers through his hair before kissing his head again and whispering: 

“I love you.” 

You feel his arms tighten around you then you drift off. 

I really like Deathstroke, he’s a cool villain. Also, if you want to be added or removed from my tag list, send me a message! And like I said at the top, if you have a request, hit me up. Until then, I’ll just be writing whatever random inspiration I get. 

[writingbymel]

Syndicate - Part 2

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the amazing support so far guys! Here’s part 2!! This ended up being so long lol I got a little carried away

Date Posted: 11/01/2019

Summary: Damon gets an idea to use Y/N to get Klaus to help him and the gang in Mystic Falls. Y/N and Klaus reunite and they all head to Mystic Falls to stop a mysterious hunter. 

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 2,300+

Parts: Part 1

SYNDICATE MASTERLIST

“What did you think was going to happen showing up here?” Damon asks ordering a drink from the bartender for me. I take a sip of the rum and let out a little sigh.

“I just wanted to see him,” I reply stirring the ice around in my drink. “I was hoping to see all of them, but someone blew my cover.” I glare at Leo.

“I knew it was a bad idea from the start,” Leo chimes in before taking a sip from his own drink. “Plus I’m not the one who’s obsessed with a bracelet from years ago and refuse to take it off.”

“What are you doing here anyways Damon? Shouldn’t you be back in Mystic Falls?” I ask Damon ignoring Leo’s snide comments. Even though I hated to admit it, Leo was right. I was obsessed with my past even if I tried to convince everyone otherwise.

“You shouldn’t be the one asking questions Y/N,” Damon replies. “You want to tell me how you look like this?” He gestures to my outer appearance, “And don’t tell me you’ve aged because you look like a completely different person.”

“I made a deal with a witch the night of my birthday,” I explain. “She promised to help me conceal my identity so I could run from Klaus if I was willing to help her.”

“What did you do?” asks Damon.

“I turned her daughter who was dying,” I reply sadly.

“So what happened to your actual body?” Damon questions.

“I take it everywhere with me,” I reply laughing. “I keep it in a coffin waiting for the day I could finally stop running.”

“What is with everyone in this city and keeping bodies in coffins,” Damon responds. I just shrug not really understanding what he was referring to.

“Well you’ve been caught by Klaus now Y/N,” Leo says. “The whole Mikaelson family probably knows you’re here now. You’re either running or staying here.”

“I think I’m going to be staying here for a bit,” I say. “I have unfinished business.”

“I was desperately hoping you weren’t going to say that,” Leo groans. Leo never did like the Mikaelsons and he hated the lively atmosphere of New Orleans. He was more of a small town countryside kind of guy. I get up dragging Leo and Damon by their arms.

“We’ve got a body to return to,” I say with a smile.

“How did I get dragged into this?” Damon asks rolling his eyes. “I have more important things to do than help you with a makeover Y/N.”

“I highly doubt that,” I respond not taking no for an answer.

Hours later I woke up from what felt like a deep sleep. My head hurt, yet again. I reach over to my nightstand and take a large gulp of water. I sit up looking at the vanity mirror across from my bed. I was myself again. My Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes almost foreign to me having not been myself the past few decades.

“The princess awakes,” Damon says tossing me a blood bag. I take a few sips feeling satisfied and energized. “You look great. Better than I remember.”

I roll my eyes ignoring Damon’s compliments, “Thank you for the blood, but shut up.”

He laughs as I push past him to the bathroom. My New Orleans apartment was one of the places I missed the most when I was on the run. Everything was still in place as if no one has stepped foot inside in ages. Dust collected on the bathroom sinks. I blow gently on the surface dust flowing into my mouth and nose. I cough a bit.

“That was extremely lame Y/N,” Leo says standing by the door frame. “Even for you, but you do look great, so I’ll let it slide.”

“This is why you’re my best friend,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah even when we both know what you’re doing is completely stupid,” Leo laughs.

“The heart wants what it wants Leo,” I tell him. I was joking, but I knew a part of me wasn’t.

Leo lowers his voice, knowing Damon could be listening, “Yeah and my heart wants Damon to love me.”

“Leo you’ve been obsessed with him for decades, plus he doesn’t swing that way” I tease fixing my hair a bit. “You know he’s obsessed with the doppelgänger.”

“A vampire can dream,” Leo points out.

I roll my eyes at Leo, pushing him out of the way, “You are always trying to make drama where there isn’t any.”

I make my way into the living room of my apartment only to see Damon raiding my liquor cabinet. Not surprising.

“That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you Y/N,” Damon says feeling my presence in the room, “You were never cheap with your liquor,” he turns around with a grin holding up some aged whiskey.

“So are you finally going to tell me what you’re doing here in New Orleans? With Klaus of all people?” I ask reaching into my cabinet to break out some whiskey glasses. He looks at me and pours us each a glass of whiskey.

“There’s a new vampire hunter in Mystic Falls,” Damon starts. “We’re convinced Klaus is the only one who can save us. For some reason this hunter is fast. Supernatural fast and they somehow have the help of a witch.”

“Are they a vampire?” I ask.

“That’s the thing,” Damon responds. “We’re not sure. Stefan is back investigating with everyone and I’m here trying to beg Klaus to come back to Mystic Falls. Somehow everyone was convinced I’m the one he hates the least.”

“Maybe you’re just the best at begging,” I joke. He laughs slightly.

“So what’s your big romance plan,” Damon asks. “Are you going to show up at Klaus’s door and beg for his forgiveness?”

“I didn’t come back to New Orleans to commit suicide,” I reply knowing that showing my face would anger Klaus more. Damon laughs. “How are you going to convince Klaus to go back and help you guys? Last I heard you guys tried to kill him and his whole family.”

“Details details Y/N,” Damon says setting down his empty glass in the sink. “While I love this reunion, I got an original to drag back to Mystic Falls.” He states before disappearing out the door with a flash.

Klaus’s POV

“People have really gone to drastic measures to provoke you brother,” Elijah says laughing out of disbelief.

“Honestly it’s impressive if anything,” I mention. “She looked nothing like Y/N.”

“What if it was Y/N?” Rebekah asks hopefully. I grow irritated with my younger sister.

“Tell me darling sister how would Y/N look completely different,” I retort. “The only way that would be possible is if she had the help of a powerful witch.” I walk out of the room not wanting to talk about the situation any longer. I go into my art room only to see Damon. So much for peace and quiet.

“I already told you Damon I’m not going back to Mystic Falls. I have no reason to help you. I thought I made myself clear,” I grab some of my spare paintbrushes dunking them in water to wash them.

“Can’t you find it in your tiny heart to help us?” Damon jokes. I turn my back to him rolling my eyes. All the Salvatore brothers and the children in Mystic Falls irritated me— one moment they would be trying to drive a stake through my heart, the next they would be finding ways to get me to help them. “What if I reunite you with Y/N?”

“You and I both know Y/N disappeared years ago,” I reply not believing the words I was hearing.

Damon reaches in his pocket for his phone and dials a number. “Hey Y/N can you help me conv—” Before Damon could finish I pushed him up against the wall.

“How dare you try to fool me,” I say angrily. Damon struggles against my grip.

“Jeez talk to her yourself why don’t you,” he squeaks shoving the phone against my ear.  

“Hello?” I ask.

I hear a familiar voice answer, “Hi Klaus.” A voice I fell in love with centuries ago. I slowly let Damon go.

“God I told you,” Damon says brushing off his clothes. “Do you Mikaelsons not trust anyone?”

“No not really,” I respond quietly.

“So are you going to help us or not,” Damon states.

“Bring Y/N here and I’ll consider helping,” I tell him.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Damon says excitedly. He quickly disappears out the door.

Y/N’s POV

Come to the compound, the only way the big bad hybrid will help if he sees you  - D

I sigh at the pressure now put on my shoulders. If I didn’t go face Klaus and the Mikaelsons, Damon wouldn’t get help and everyone in Mystic Falls would be put in more danger. I really didn’t want to confront them this soon, but it looked like I had no choice. I grab my bag and Leo raises his eyebrows at me.

“Were you really about to visit the Mikaelsons without me?” Leo asks.

“No way,” I reply. “I would not be able to handle all that drama alone.” I grab Leo’s arm and pull him out the door.

Walking down the streets of New Orleans felt like home to me. I remembered the path to the Mikaelson’s from my place like the back of my hand. Two rights and one left took me straight into the center of the Abattoir. Rebekah was outside drinking a cup of blood looking curiously at the latest fashion magazine.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” she asks. She speeds over and takes a closer look at me. “Wow it really is you,” she pulls me into a hug.  

“This isn’t the welcome I expected after staking your brother ages ago,” I say with a slight laugh. Rebekah pulls away.

“Y/N, I think all of us have tried to kill Klaus once. Plus that was ages ago,” Rebekah explains laughing. She looks over at Leo. “And you are?”

“Oh Rebekah this is Leo,” I explain. “I met him a few years ago when he just turned.”

She gives him a small smile, “Klaus is upstairs, but I’m sure he’s heard you by now knowing my nosy brother.” Damon makes his way into the courtyard.

“Y/N thanks for coming,” Damon says.

“You honestly didn’t give me much of a choice,” I reply. Damon begins to drag me up the stairs.

“Wait I’m not ready,” I state stopping in my tracks. Damon groans.

“Y/N,” I hear a voice at the top of the stairs. I look up to come face to face with Klaus. He had smudges of paint all over his clothes. I smile at myself a little bit. Even after centuries nothing has changed.

“Klaus,” I reply.

“Damon,” Damon says attempting to break the awkward tension. I would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the fact that I was staring at my ex-boyfriend who I thought I would never see again. Klaus extends his hand out to me.

“Let’s talk,” he says pulling me upstairs. I sit down on the couch in the living area as he hands me a glass of blood which I take graciously. Klaus stares at me, but I try to avoid eye contact as much as possible.

“Where did you disappear to all these years?” Klaus asks.

“I’ve sort of been jumping around everywhere,” I say staring at the thick red liquid in my cup. Normally I would be taking the opportunity to drink it, but I couldn’t stomach anything at the moment. I set the drink on the coffee table. He responds with a nod. “How are you not lashing out at me right now?” I ask. “I tried to kill you Klaus.”

“I was angry for years Y/N,” Klaus replies. “I never thought I would see you again.” He walks over to sit on the coffee table across from me. I hold my breath as he suddenly gets closer, “You really did hurt me Y/N.”

I stare at my hands in my lap, “I still regret it to this day.”

“Why did you do it?” Klaus asks.

“Someone threatened my family,” I reply sadly. “To this day I still don’t know who it was. The stake just showed up on my doorstep with a note.” Klaus remains silent. “I really am sorry Klaus.”

“I have a vampire hunter to kill,” Klaus sets his glass down before getting up and making his way towards the stairs. I reach out to grab his arm. He looks at me quietly.

“I’ve really missed you Klaus,” I tell him. He reaches out to push some of my hair out of my face.

“Me too,” Klaus whispers.

“I’m coming to Mystic Falls too,” I state.

“If you insist,” Klaus says making his way down the stairs. As I turned the corner I saw Damon, Rebekah, and Leo huddled at the bottom of the stairs attempting to listen to Klaus and I’s conversation.

“Don’t you all have supernatural hearing?” I say rolling my eyes at them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Y/N, we were just looking at the stairs,” Leo laughs.

“Sure you guys were,” I say pushing past them. “Mystic Falls here we come!”

Damon shakes his car keys, “I’ll drive.”

I look over at Klaus and he gives me a small smile. For someone I haven’t seen in centuries, I felt my feelings for Klaus wash over me all over again. We all piled into Damon’s car and headed to Mystic Falls.

PART 3

[dippedanddripped]

For more than a year, Los Angeles-based streetwear designer Tremaine Emory had been working with Converse on a red, green and black sneaker inspired by Jamaican political activist and Black nationalist Marcus Garvey’s Pan-African flag and artist David Hammons’ 1990 work “African-American Flag,” an original of which was acquired by the Broad museum in Los Angeles last year.

Emory’s brand, Denim Tears, tells the story of Black people in the United States starting in 1619, when the first documented enslaved Africans arrived in Virginia; according to the designer, the brand’s logo, a cotton plant, is a direct reference to slavery. That’s why the proposed packaging for his Converse sneaker collaboration depicts a coffin covered with Hammons’ flag and a cotton wreath, as a tribute to Black Americans who have died under unjust conditions. The image is based on an art installation, “A Proper Burial, Thanks America,” that Emory debuted in London last year.

However, in late May, as protests spread across the country after George Floyd’s death in police custody, Emory announced on Instagram that he and Denim Tears couldn’t go forward with the partnership until Converse’s parent company, Nike, went beyond its plan to donate $40 million over four years to support the Black community. (Michael Jordan, through his Nike subsidiary Jordan Brand, is donating an additional $100 million over 10 years.)

Emory called the move by Beaverton, Ore.,-based Nike, which reported $37.4 billion in revenue last fiscal year, a very expensive Band-Aid. He said he wanted to use his voice to push Nike to look inward at its own record on diversity and inclusion.

“It’s accountability,” Emory said in a phone interview. “It’s about Fortune 500 companies and how they are run under the guise of white supremacy and patriarchy and how I take accountability, that I need to see the steps — and brands that I work with dispensing that — or guys won’t work with me.”

In recent months, nearly all major industries, including entertainment, journalism and sports, have been forced to confront how closely their statements opposing systemic racism align with their treatment of Black and brown employees. The fashion industry, which has frequently been criticized for cultural appropriation, instances of blackface and a lack of diversity, is no different.

According to a count by trade publication Women’s Wear Daily, Black people make up only 4% — 19 out of 477 members — of the invitation-only Council of Fashion Designers of America, whose new chairman is Tom Ford. In an email to The Times, a CFDA spokesman said, “The CFDA does not record nor require members to state their race upon application, but it is estimated that members of color make up approximately 25% of the total membership.”

June 8, 2020

In anecdotal comments, Black streetwear designers from L.A. to New York told The Times that their subset of the fashion industry is no different.

“You can’t ignore the fact that there aren’t many Black brand owners in the streetwear space,” said Scott Sasso, who founded 10.Deep in 1995 while he was a student at Vassar. “And [at] some of the biggest companies, I don’t know if they’ve even had Black employees.”

Streetwear brands such as Denim Tears and 10.Deep offer casual clothing, primarily for men, that blend the styles of various subcultures, including hip-hop (as popularized in the 1990s by brands such as FUBU, Walker Wear and Phat Farm) as well as surf and skate motifs. It’s an identity that can be found in the clothing from brands such as Supreme and Stüssy. Instead of offering widely available, mass-produced products, streetwear brands tend to offer limited-edition drops for consumers who hear about companies through social media or by word of mouth.

Although Black style — from hip-hop to sneaker culture — has played a major role in shaping the fashion industry while bringing new designers and brands to prominence, Black fashion professionals and streetwear brand owners said in interviews with The Times that the clothing industry has failed to elevate and promote Black creatives in a way that reflects that influence.

Several designers also questioned the sincerity of corporations promising to invest in Black communities. They reflected on their own experiences trying to explain Black art to predominantly white company leaders.

Chicago-based designer Joe Freshgoods started selling T-shirts in high school and has been selling his designs out of Fat Tiger Workshop, the streetwear retail hub he co-owns, since 2013.

“I feel like a lot of these brands are in these boardrooms having these talks about how to fix this or how to just clean up their mistakes real fast, and it’s just like, ‘Hey, let’s just fill in the blanks real quick and see if this will make them happy,’” Freshgoods said.

He said he tried to include the logo of the Black Panther Party on a design for an Oakland-themed collaboration with an apparel brand last year. The company’s legal department rejected his proposal. At the time he went along with it, but now he’d push back, he said.

“A lot of Black collaborators are the reason why a lot of brands are super successful right now, so that’s a lot of power to have,” Freshgoods said.

Emory, who has partnered with New Balance and Levi’s, called on Nike to stop supporting Republicans while President Trump is the party’s leader. He also wants the company to release more information on its record of hiring Black employees and assist in “the defunding and total reform of all the police departments across America.”

Since his initial Instagram post in June, Emory has spoken to Converse Chief Executive G. Scott Uzzell or Uzzell’s team about a half dozen times over the phone or in video-conference meetings. In those discussions, Emory said the company acknowledged it hasn’t done everything it could in terms of creating a diverse corporate structure and laid out its hiring plan, especially in its executive suite. The designer said he discussed current initiatives at Nike to invest in Black communities and to address systemic racism and police brutality. “They want to get involved in all that, and we will see,” he said.

The release date for his red, black and green Converse sneaker has been moved up from February to October, ahead of the November election. Emory said the marketing for the shoe will focus on promoting voting. The shoe will be available in North America, Europe and online for $95 to $100.

“We respect and encourage the efforts of any collaborator or athlete we work with to raise their voice against racial injustice,” a Converse spokesperson said in a statement to The Times. “We have spoken with Tremaine and look forward to working through these issues together.”

At its core, streetwear is about authenticity and the personal connection between consumers and the designers and labels they love.

The push by larger brands and corporations — specifically in the fashion industry — to meet the current moment with statements, donations and new initiatives is in direct contrast to what many Black streetwear designers have been doing since the inception of their brands. Those designers have been hiring diverse staff, speaking up about political issues and infusing their works with references to Black culture.

“Now I feel like everybody’s rushing to make some type of relevant shirt or make some relevant message on their Instagram,” said Zac Clark, a Black designer who started his brand, FTP, while in high school in Los Angeles. “To me, a lot of this stuff right now seems very unnatural and just forced from a lot of these brands, so they won’t get ‘canceled.’”

Olivia Anthony, the designer behind the Livstreetwear brand, said the turning point for her New York-based company was her 2017 My Love Letter to Our Culture collection, which paid tribute to Black trends of the ’90s — think long nails, grills and slicked-down baby hairs — that were largely considered unfashionable until they were adopted by other races.

“It was so beautiful, but it was looked down upon,” said Anthony, adding that she wanted her brand to reflect how those Black trends, now featured in magazines including Vogue, have been “shown in a different light.”

Kacey Lynch said he created his South L.A.-based streetwear company, Bricks & Wood, after years of working at streetwear brands where he felt Black representation was missing.

“They wanted a lot from us, but they didn’t want to do the work, what it took to understand us,” Lynch said of his past employers. “Whether that’s Black culture, South-Central, minorities … wherever the cool came from, they all wanted it but they didn’t really know how to identify with it.”

In May 2019, fashion website Hypebeast and Strategy&, a consulting firm in the PwC network, released its Streetwear Impact Report, based on interviews with more than 40,000 Hypebeast readers and 700 global industry insiders. The survey found that 70% of respondents said they care about social issues, 59% said brand activism is important and 47% said they would stop shopping from a brand because of inappropriate behavior.

“It’s fine as a starting point for corporations to say, ‘This is what we stand for and this is what we believe,’” said Elena Romero, a fashion journalist and author of 2012’s “Free Stylin’: How Hip Hop Changed the Fashion Industry.”“But that’s not going to be enough.”

Romero, an assistant professor at New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology, said companies likely will face questions over where they invest their profits, the diversity of their staff and how they’ve helped build the communities from which their dollars are coming. She said many companies will realize they’ve fallen short because the answers to those questions weren’t a priority until their profits were at risk.

“Now the consumer is saying, ‘You can’t fool us anymore,’” she said. “If you’re not authentic and truly supporting the very same things that these young people believe, your business will suffer.”

The result has been an industrywide push to make those investments now but also to make amends for past inaction. After Black Adidas employees criticized the company’s response to racism, Adidas announced June 9 that it would add more diverse staff, start a scholarship program for Black employees and invest an additional $20 million over four years in programs that serve the Black community. A day later, Adidas upped its $20 million pledge to $120 million. (In addition to those changes at Adidas, the company’s global head of human resources, Karen Parkin, resigned at the end of June after facing criticism for her handling of racial discrimination.)

Adidas also apologized for its past silence. “For most of you, this message is too little, too late,” a tweet from the Adidas account read. “We’ve celebrated athletes and artists in the Black community and used their image to define ourselves culturally as a brand but missed the message in reflecting such little representation within our walls.”

In the broader fashion community, various organizations and members of the industry have offered different strategies for creating a more inclusive environment. Aurora James, a New York-based creative director, started the Fifteen Percent Pledge, which calls on companies to provide at least 15% of their shelf space or contracts to Black-owned businesses.

After the CFDA announced its plan to promote diversity, a group called the Kelly Initiative called for the CFDA to adopt its proposal to conduct and publish a census of diversity in the industry, audit its recruitment practices and release an annual list of top Black talent, the Kelly List. The initiative is named after the late Patrick Kelly, a Black fashion designer who rose to prominence in the 1980s with work that played with Black cultural symbols and racial stereotypes.

April Walker, whose New York brand Walker Wear was worn by ’90s hip-hop stars including Method Man, Tupac Shakur and the Notorious B.I.G., stressed that Black designers need to look outside the fashion industry for success by collaborating, mentoring and sharing resources with their counterparts.

“We just need to not look for the fashion industry, as it’s been very oppressive for the last 30 years, to be the end-all, be-all for our opportunities,” she said, “but to create our own.”

Among streetwear companies, the effort to fight systemic racism in the country and the fashion industry has been on an individual basis, with brand owners of all races deciding how much they’re willing to give back and how comfortable they are using their platforms to discuss and condemn racism.

For some, that means speaking up in solidarity with the Black community. Bobby Kim, cofounder of the Hundreds, a Vernon-based clothing brand, teamed with Pharrell Williams’ brand Billionaire Boys Club to raise money for Black Lives Matter and the Black Mental Health Alliance with a shirt that was available for 48 hours. After the Fairfax shopping district where his shop is located was vandalized in late May, Kim, who’s Korean American, defended the right to protest.

In an interview, Kim said, “If you have been given a lot of money, and especially if that money has come by way of participating, contributing, or even stealing or borrowing from Black culture, then you — more than anybody else right now — need to tithe, need to pay up, in a sense, in order to reflect how influential Black culture has been in your career and your profitability as a company.”

Sasso’s 10.Deep stopped selling its regular collection for most of June and instead offered a new line of 10.Deep products to draw attention to activism against racial injustice and police brutality. The profits went to national bail funds for protesters.

“Streetwear, in its truest form, is about shooting yourself in the foot as often as possible but also just doing what you think is right,” Sasso said.

He said he was drawn to streetwear because it was a multiethnic community of different countercultures, a blend of the skate, surf, hip-hop and graffiti scenes, with a dash of punk rock, united by an exclusive knowledge of where to find and buy certain brands.

However, he has noticed a shift among streetwear consumers. For some shoppers, it’s not about the community. It’s just about the clothes.

He said he lost “several thousand” social media followers after he posted about Black Lives Matter and has received comments asking him to just stick to fashion.

“My thought is: If you want just some regular clothes, go buy Banana Republic, go buy Levi’s,” he said. “Those are companies that aren’t gonna take political stances. They’re providing basic stuff. This space is about a culture. If you want to participate in it, this is what it’s about.”

[smartguyreviewed]

1x7 - A Little Knowledge

Original air date: May 7, 1997

Hello there, friends. How are we holding up during these “unprecedented times?” I am currently holding up by pretty much being high 18/7, not sleeping and obsessing over a show that pretty much nobody talks about because I am that bored.

Really, I do want to thank anyone who takes the time to read this blog and/or drop a like. I started this blog because I enjoyed reading reviews of Lizzie McGuire and Boy Meets World. And then I thought of how not that many black sitcoms are pretty much ever really discussed. I watched Smart Guy so much when I was a kid but didn’t realize how important it was to even be watching it because we had so many other black television shows during my childhood, the complete opposite of how it is now. I always thought about even making a YouTube channel reviewing that black ass nostalgia that I love so much, but since I’m in the ugly phase of growing my starter locs, I figured I’d blog for now. 

Alright! There’s my intro. I really did mean it, but I had no idea how else to segue into the opening for this episode. By the way, if anyone is a super meticulous asshole and thinks the numbering of the episodes is off, I was honestly confused because Disney omitted a whole ass episode of the show, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the numbering of the episodes is different here but nowhere else on the web. The first season is already less than 10 episodes, so whatever.

Okay, so we open to Floyd about to do his books but he needs the little precocious calculator to help him out. This triggers me because I still have not done my taxes even though the deadline was extended. Luckily, it doesn’t appear that the Hendersons have any timely bills due but they are broke. After TJ adds up all the numbers, Floyd sees he is definitely not in the black. 

Because the episode is about money, naturally, both of Floyd’s grown children need pricey things all of a sudden. Yvette comes down and asks for a coat to replace this...thing that she’s wearing because it’s clearly ill-fitting. Floyd says he can buy her a new coat, as long as she’s not particular as to which winter she gets it in.

Up next is our Marcus, asking for something totally egregious. At least Yvette was asking for weather appropriate clothing. Marcus is asking Floyd for a $1500 bike. And now I’m confused. Why the hell would Marcus of all people need a bike? If he’s really trying his damndest to get the girls, I thought the band alone served that purpose. Regardless, Marcus needs it and he’s a teenager so the world is going to end tomorrow if he doesn’t get this deathcycle of his. He even tries to manipulate his dad by showing him a photo of Floyd on his bike. I actually think it’s cute how Floyd lights up at the sight of younger him. Maybe he met his deceased wife during these years? 

Floyd breaks out of memory lane and reminds Marcus that he, a human parent, wants the finer things also, including the chance to see his old friends at his high school reunion but that doesn’t seem to have a snowball’s chance in hell of happening. Yeah, because Floyd has to put food on the table for a woman and three guys (yes, I’m including Mo and guys eat a lot and I don’t wanna hear shit about how girls eat a lot too because guys just eat more and that’s a fact) and school all of his children. No room for the finer things.

He then says that Yvette and Marcus can buy what they want but simply have to get jobs. Marcus balks at the idea and says he wouldn’t want work to interrupt his studies. Yvette and TJ have a nice little kii over this since hahaha “Marcus is dumb,” hahaha.

We cut to TJ in his room attempting to strategize ways for the Henderson clan to save money while watching a bootleg version of Jeopardy!. Marcus comes in on the phone with Craig, the guy selling the bike, and convinces him to not sell it, even though Marcus only has 4.2% of the funds. Yvette barges in and is pissed at her annoying little brothers for not unlocking her door when they’re done with the bathroom. See, they share a bathroom in this episode. In another episode, Yvette gets her own bathroom built...somewhere because she’s tired of sharing with them. This bathroom is never mentioned again. In another episode, Marcus temporarily moves to the attic. I just wonder exactly how the Henderson house is built because it seems like there’s so much space yet so little space? 

The boys aren’t listening to Yvette however, because she stank. She credits this funk to the job she just got at the Cluck Bucket, “yanking the gushy stuff out of chickens,” as Marcus eloquently puts it. She brags, saying she makes $100 a week, which is obviously $1000 a week in 90s money. 

After TJ proposes that Yvette cut Marcus’s hair, Marcus realizes TJ is attempting to optimize their family’s finances. TJ really is doing a lot for a 10 year old here. Normally, he’s being extremely rude to them, but in this episode, he’s trying to use his intelligence to fix a problem that he has no business worrying about. Clearly, this intelligence is a gift and a curse. I’m about to be 29 and I worry all the time about things I can’t even control along with the things I can. Imagine being 10, gifted AF and stressing only about adult things you can’t control.

Marcus actually delivers good advice this episode, most likely unbeknownst to him. He commands TJ to turn off his brain and stop worrying because this is something he can’t fix. And Marcus is right. A 10 year old has zero reasons to be trying to balance the family checkbook. It would have been better if he threw a Gameboy at him and told him that’s his homework instead.

But this is TJ and he is the determinator AKA hard-headed. Bootleg Jeopardy! is about to end but the host announces a junior version of the show. TJ checks all the boxes. Youngster? Check. Living in the D.C. area? Check. In desperate need of $25k? Double check!

TJ and Marcus are back home and go over how they’re going to break the news to Floyd since obviously he wouldn’t have given TJ permission to audition if they asked. Floyd seems pissed at first when they tell him but Marcus makes sure to place emphasis on how TJ kicked ass. Floyd is proud now, even though a few moments ago, he was about to go full Papa Bear.

The next day, Piedmont is buzzing about TJ’s television debut but he’s confused because he only told his fam. We then cut to Marcus blabbing to some girl about how he can get her a seat next to him so she can give him a handjob on the sly. (Of course, we don’t even see said girl at the show.) TJ tells Marcus he didn’t want everyone to know because, understandably, now there’s more pressure on him. Marcus responds to this by putting even more pressure on him, telling Craig that TJ is going to win him the bike. Then he puts a damn anvil on it by telling Craig to raise the price to $1700 and he’ll just take the bike now. This will end well.

TJ, under immense pressure because the show is filming in 6 hours at this point (film/TV people, if you’re reading, feel free to say if this is even normal for it to move this quickly especially for an underage guest?), is up late at night studying his ass off and high off legal coke. He’s awoken Marcus who is wondering why on earth TJ would be up this early studying for a quiz television show that has a large monetary prize and they’re broke. He wants TJ to get some sleep by he’s in the zone because he had 20 cups of coffee. After a drug fueled rant, he just passes out. 

6 hours later and TJ is still high. Floyd chalks it up to nerves before TJ starts sprinting around the set. Marcus shows up, announcing he just chained up his new bike to a dumpster. This will end well. He checks in on TJ who is still coked up and not coming down anytime soon. His dad calls him over to meet the other contestants which include Dylan Roof and Yung Sharpay.

After the kids are ushered onto set, Floyd goes to the other hoity toity parents, bragging about their kids’ accomplishments. He dismisses them and says TJ actually has a life. Floyd, you dick! Afterwards, the show begins. The host is opening and says he believes that children are our future. Floyd and Marcus are backstage and in true black parent fashion, once TJ is announced, they lose their shit!

The game is now underway and Yung Sharpay and TJ are caught up. Dylan Roof is pretty much just there because he’s so far behind that it doesn’t even matter. Amy loudly tells TJ that he has a broken leg and they’re loading the shotgun because she just caught up to him. Of course, nobody heard this even though she was loud as hell. Also, racial implications much?

Yvette comes late in her work uniform and is hurriedly trying to tell Marcus a bit of info he’ll want to act fast on, but naturally, he shushes her to listen to the game that TJ is about to possibly lose. Yvette is also a petty asshole, so she doesn’t even try to tell him again. They cut to break and Yvette announces then that Marcus’s bike is gone. Turns out, locking it to a dumpster isn’t the best idea because some guy in a garbage truck stole it dragged the dumpster away. Marcus is pissed and lets slip that he paid $1700 for it which gets him in trouble because he just told Floyd that he was taking it on a test drive. Then the rest of the truth spews out. Marcus says he wanted something from the money TJ was going to win and oh mama is Floyd pissed because he naturally expects the worst from Marcus always and thinks he forced TJ to be in the competition which wasn’t even the case. Floyd tells Marcus he’s going to talk to TJ and warns him to “brace himself” for when he gets back. Yvette gleefully says she’s going to get chalk for his body outline. What did Marcus do to everyone to make them hate him so much? TJ does way shittier things than him and he’s still held in high regard. Hmm.

Floyd comes over to TJ to check in and lets him know that he’s aware of what’s going on. TJ, who has only consumed coffee and chocolate for the past few hours, is now dizzy. Floyd has to remind TJ that he has plenty of time to worry about rent and bills and student loans and credit card debt and finding a therapist and the pressure to have it “together” by the time you’re 30 which is crazy unrealistic. Good lesson and one of the few times I don’t wanna strangle TJ. Understandably, with the pressure off, TJ wants to dipset. The host, while seeing TJ and Floyd leaving, says they signed a contract so somebody needs to fill in for TJ. Cut to one of the funniest scenes in the show, hands down.

The question is how much did Thomas Jefferson, another TJ, pay for the Louisiana Purchase? This is word for word what Marcus-as-TJ says.

“Well uh, let’s see. In DC, the most you can take out of the ATM is $300 and you would wanna hold back a $20 in case something comes up, so I’m gonna say $280, Hugh.”

Yvette’s reaction says it all.

In the end, we see Yvette at the Cluck Bucket, putting on her functional gray pea coat that she probably got from Contempo Casuals or something. Marcus is the janitor now because he has to work off his debt to Craig and because remember, Marcus is a dark-skinned buffoon and couldn’t get the same job as Yvette for some reason. Whatever. I wonder what Yung Sharpay did with her prize money.

Stuff I Noticed:

- Yvette’s jacket. What is this?

- Marcus’s face for Lil’ Dylan and Yung Sharpay versus TJ. I love black families.

White lady on the left does not approve.

- No Mo this episode! :(

[pessimisticlatte]

Glass Roses - Chapter 6

Marichat ~ Adrienette ~ Platonic Marigami ~ Lukagami ~ Chlobrina ~ Nathalie x Emilie ~ DJWifi/Rougapace/Alynino

-Eventual Reveal-

Bit of a reveal in here, my wonderful readers! I love making things a bit complicated so that’s exactly what I’ve done! Enjoy my explanation as to why I described Lila as being ‘strawberry blonde’ in the last chapter! It’s going to be very important very, very soon :P

~~~~~~~~ Gabriel could feel Nathalie’s disdain toward him radiating off her. He was unsure of what he’d done to turn her against him but he didn’t have much reason to care, she was a means to an end and a way of bringing Emilie back to him. She didn’t have to like him anymore, she just had to obey his orders.

~~~~~~~

School had been active for a month. There hadn’t been a single akuma attack just yet, Marinette didn’t exactly understand the full extent of Hawkmoth’s powers but Master Fu had explained that he chose his victims by judging the strength of their emotions. Mari couldn’t grasp how that worked. Chat hadn’t come to see her since school had started and she could feel a deep, jittery worry sludging through her veins. He was on her mind near constantly, so much so that her anxiety around Adrien had almost completely diminished. 

Mari stood on her balcony with a light cardigan wrapped around her slim shoulders, if Chat didn’t appear in the next twenty or so minutes, she’d decided that she was going to head out on a patrol as Ladybug. Rena Rouge, Carapace, Chat Noir and Ladybug had formed a roster for patrolling so that it wasn’t a responsibility placed solely on Ladybug and Chat’s shoulders and everyone had the chance to get a full night’s sleep. Mari had been meaning to raise the idea of adding another to their slowly growing band, she’d taken the Dragon miraculous back off Kagami before Kagami had gone away. The Bee miraculous, Snake miraculous, Horse, Monkey and the others were all still in the Guardian Box. She wouldn’t mind adding Ryuko to the roster or Viperion, maybe both, but tonight wasn’t her night to patrol. It was Chat’s.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lila stood in front of the dimly lit washbasin in her ensuite, looking at herself in the grimy mirror above it. All the lies she’d told the students at school about her mother always ran with an undercurrent of truth. Yes, her mother was absent, and yes, they hadn’t spent proper time together in years but it wasn’t because she was a super-spy or world-famous model, it was because of something far more sad.

Unwrapping the towel from around her head, Lila remembered the last time she’d seen her mother. The tanned skin of her mother’s face was stretched across the frame of her face, the meat of her cheeks created cliffs under her round cheekbones from the extent that it had withered away, once lively brown eyes now hollow and sunken, glassy and unseeing. The tangled, waist length strands of Lila’s hair came free from the towel and fell in damp clumps around her pyjama clad hips. Lila’s mother was a housemaid, a migrant one at that, who worked herself to the bone to keep Lila in school and clothed as best she could. The clothes on Lila’s back had been painstakingly hand-sewn by Lila herself to replicate the fashions she saw daily. Chloe Bourgeois didn’t know how lucky she was, her father was alive and her mother made time for her. She had money to throw around on stupid things like manicures she’d get redone in a different colour the very next day, while Lila didn’t even have enough spare to buy new bobby pins when she really needed them.

Brushing her hand through her limp, newly re-bleached hair, Lila sighed through her nose. Even Dupain-Cheng had it good. Her mother and father adored her, they always made time for her and never left her completely, utterly alone. A large chunk of Lila’s hair came off in her hand, the damp blonde ball tangled around her fingers caused a sob to rise in her throat. The tips of her butter yellow acrylic fingernails shone within the hairball, the manicure that she’d stolen money to get. The manicure that now held knotted bundles of her once magnificent brunette mane. Lila felt a hairy clump whisper against the skin of her back as she moved her head slightly, the weight of her drying hair was now pulling the dead, chemically destroyed roots directly out of her scalp.

She’d worked herself to the bone over the holidays to afford the hair bleach, the make up, jewellery, even her criminally paid for manicure. The family her mother worked for rarely let her go home and her wage scarcely covered their rent, not to mention school, so Lila worked when she could, as much as she could. She cleaned, she cooked, she sewed things, all so she could afford groceries, when she’d come up short of her calculations on how much she’d need to spend on her new appearance, she’d stolen cash from the till at the fast food restaurant she took the graveyard shift at. The manager had been none the wiser as Lila swiped petty change and other employee’s tips as well as bills and coins from the register.

Tears stinging her eyes as she tied what remained of her once thick, soft, glistening hair into a straggly, thin plait and repeated the mantra she told herself daily.

“When you marry Adrien Agreste, you will never go hungry again, you will be the daughter Gabriel Agreste never had, and you will make Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Chloe Bourgeois, Alya Cesaire and Kagami Tsurugi pay for everything they have done to you. You will rule Paris one day with Adrien and his wealth by your side, and you will make them know how to feels to have nothing, to have no one, to be nothing. You will destroy their families and serve justice for them not helping your mother.”

Lila and her mother had lived in Paris for longer than Marinette and her family. The Dupain Bakery had been run by a cantankerous old man before Tom Dupain and his new wife, Sabine Cheng, returned from China with their young daughter and took over the business. Lila’s mother had asked the old man to take her on as a baker or even as a waitress but he’d spat slurs at her until she’d fled the bakery with her damaged pride and worry for the young mouth she had to feed. Her mother never went back to the bakery but every time Lila saw the smiling faces of Tom and Sabine at an event they were catering, she thought of a time when her mother wasn’t too exhausted to function.

Alya’s mother, Marlena, was the head chef at Le Grande Paris restaurant and had been kind to Lila’s mother for as long as she worked there. Marlena and her husband were born in France but had Creole heritage, Marlena understood some of the disdain Lila’s mother endured and tried to make her feel welcome. Lila never had the chance to meet Alya before she started at College Francoise Dupont but after Marlena had been forced to fire her mother, Lila had vowed to make the other girl pay. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that a patron had assaulted her and she’d accidentally spilled hot soup on him, the man who grabbed her ass should have been punished, not her mother who was working to feed her. Alya had two parents and wouldn’t ever have to worry about her next meal, Alya’s mother had taken a woman who was supporting a sick child with what she had and left her in the gutter to die.

Kagami had taken Adrien’s focus off her. He no longer worried about settling Lila into the school and helping keep her caught up on work. He’d barely spoken to her today when he sat next to her in class. She’d spent quite a few painstaking hours forging her mother’s signature on a letter to the school to ensure Adrien would have to spend as much time as possible with her but he hadn’t deigned to say more than a few words, instead looking around the room to avoid her gaze. He’d spent lunch with Kagami too, and Marinette, and Alya. Lila would make him love her. He had no choice.

She didn’t know where to begin when it came to the pain Chloe had caused her. Lila’s mother had applied for a job at the Bourgeois residence a year ago, after Lila had started at Francoise Dupont, and Chloe had mercilessly mocked her for it. Chloe had hired Lila’s mother for a week, and held her mother’s job over Lila like a carrot to a horse, ensuring that Lila did whatever she wanted. Lila had almost been akumatised but Ivan had been instead, his rage so much more susceptible to the butterfly than her frustration. Her mother had then been unceremoniously let go, leaving her bedridden as Lila scraped in what she could to afford doctors visits for her now raging cold. After her mother had finally gotten better, Mayor Bourgeois had hired her again, saying that she was lucky that Chloe had taken pity on her and convinced him to take her back on as a maid. Chloe had spun a false story that made it appear as if Lila’s mother had stolen a valuable necklace from her, Lila knew that Chloe had actually given that very necklace to Sabrina several weeks before; but that was where her mother worked now, doing all the jobs other servants didn’t want to do. Her mother worked longer hours than she should, did jobs damaging to her already fragile health, and her employers paid little attention. Every time something broke, which was awfully often, the cost of repair would be taken out of Lila’s mother’s paycheque. 

The cost of renting in Paris was ridiculously steep, meaning that pay that had once seemed generous barely kept them alive but after the deductions from every broken object, it was even less.

Looking at her face in the mirror, Lila vowed to make each of them pay and take from them what their families had denied her. Adrien was beautiful and kind but, most importantly, he was wealthy. He was the only person who could love Lila, who could fix the terrible life she came from. But Lila knew that there was no redemption for her, even if he loved her.

In her heart, she knew that she wouldn’t stop once she got everything she wanted. She was going to kill the man who sired her and leave his body in a gutter. She was going to completely isolate Adrien so he had no one and nothing but her, then she was going to use his family’s influence to become the most powerful person the world had ever seen. No matter how horrible the life she had was, she would never be happy unless everyone else was not. 

She would tear Chloe Bourgeois’ life apart and take it for herself, looking exactly like the girl who had caused her and her mother more pain than they already endured.

~~~~~~~~~

Dressed as Chat Noir, Adrien leaned against a chimney and watched Marinette standing on her balcony. She looked so serene but so tense and worried at the same time, her body like a tightly coiled wire. Her azure eyes flicked around the houses in front of her, a frown growing on her beautiful face. He knew that she was looking for him but he wanted to wait another minute before he skipped across the roof-tops to her. Adrien had let Rena Rouge and Carapace know that he had plans come up tonight, meaning that he was going to be unable to finish his patrol; the two had looked at each other, sharing a knowing glance, and agreed that Carapace would take over his patrol tonight. Rena had pulled him aside afterwards and asked him, not so subtly, if he had a date planned; he’d felt his cheeks flare red under the mask and the gleam in Rena’s eye told him that she hadn’t missed it, something about her multicoloured opal eyes reminded him of Alya and the stance she held before him echoed the reporter perfectly. 

It had been a while since Chat Noir and Rena Rogue had seen each other, just the two of them, and both had grown older and wiser over the summer holidays. Adrien was more perceptive since discovering Marinette was Ladybug, spending a lot of time analysing the way she walked, the way she talked and the way she stood. Alya had never stopped being perceptive but she’d always been so preoccupied when she dressed as Rena and she’d never taken the time to pick apart every aspect of who the boy in the black catsuit could be.

“Alya?” Adrien’s voice had softened. Carapace behind him was tapping a message to Ladybug to tell her of the patrol change tonight on his shell-phone (as he jokingly called it). The way he said her name had Alya’s eyes widening to saucers and her jaw dropping.

“Is that you behind that mask, Adrien Agreste?” Alya flicked her fingers against his forehead, Adrien batted her hand away.

“Who else could it be, you tricky fox?” He gave a devious smirk and winked.

“Somehow, you had been the last person I’d ever expected to be Chat Noir but I’d never expected Nino to be Carapace eithe-,” Alya slapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head, not looking at Adrien at all.

“N-Nino is Carapace?” Adrien’s eyes widened too, the black pupils shrinking to a pinprick. “That means Marin-, Lady-.”

“Marin? Do you mean Marinette?” Alya cut Adrien off with a quizzical look. She didn’t understand why he’d correlated Nino with Marinette and she was sure that she could dissect it but she didn’t have the mental space currently after discovering that Adrien ‘I live in a tower’ Agreste liked to dress in a skintight black cat suit and skip across Parisian rooftops, putting himself in near constant danger.

“Uh….,” Adrien paused awkwardly and shuffled his feet. “No?”

Alya’s eyes widened even further, the sclera fully haloing the glimmering rainbow of her eyes. “Marinette is Ladybug,” The words felt so weird but so right on her tongue. “Oh my god, Marinette is Ladybug and Ladybug is Marinette. How did I not notice earlier!”

“Shhhh, sh, sh, sh,” Adrien covered Alya’s mouth with his hand before she could call Cara- Nino’s attention to their discussion. “She doesn’t know that I know and she can’t know that you know.”

“It makes sense why she chose me now. It wasn’t because of the Ladyblog or just because Ella and Etta became the Sapotis, it was because I’m her best friend and there’s nothing like fighting crime with your bestie,” Adrien’s hand muffled Alya’s rambling, but he nodded.

“Oh shiiiiiit, what’d you do, Al?” Nino’s casual tone broke through the awkward air surrounding the position Alya and Adrien were in. “Wait, sorry, lemme try again, what’d you do, Nine-tails?”

Adrien took his hand off Alya’s mouth and sighed. Alya and Nino knew who each other were and if their superhero relationship was anything like their civilian one then secrets wouldn’t stay secret between them for long. 

“Well shit, Nino,” Adrien rubbed his fingers across his brow. “You blew her cover.”

“I’m not Nino, who is Nino?” Nino put on a fake accent, looking awkwardly around the rooftop as if that would erase the knowledge Adrien now had.

“Can I say it?” Alya looked at Adrien who gave a single nod. Placing her hand gently on Nino’s cheek, Alya turned his face so his eyes would meet hers. “Adrien is Chat Noir, Speilberg.”

“Uh, not a good time to be pulling my leg, Al,” Nino looked so confused, his eyes tearing from those of his girlfriend to assess Adrien. “Like, really not a good time. I’m about to head out on a patrol and this prank really isn’t gonna help me keep a level head if I have to spend the whole time freakin’ out about Adrien possibly lying to me.”

Something cold formed in the pit of Adrien’s stomach. “She’s not pranking you, Nino,” Adrien dropped the jovial tone he used specifically for Chat Noir and slipped into his usual restrained voice, the one Nino heard daily and would have no choice but to recognise. “It’s me.”

Alya’s hand still on his face, Nino’s head snapped between the two of them.

“You’re definitely pulling my leg, this isn’t funny, how’d you get Chat to copy Adrien’s voice so well, Nine-tails?” Nino shook his head vigorously, removing Alya’s hand from his face by her orange clad wrist. “This isn’t funny.”

“Plagg, claws in,” Adrien knew there was no other way to convince Nino that he was Chat Noir and if he didn’t show him the truth, Adrien might very well ruin his relationship with Alya. Marinette would skin him alive if he tore Nino and Alya apart, they had found each other when both of them were very lost and had found their way together, if he destroyed that she would never, ever forgive him. The Chat Noir suit melted off Adrien’s body and clotted together to form Plagg who promptly fell, groaning, to the floor of building the three were stood upon.

Nino’s eyes bugged out of his head, stretching further than should be humanly possible. He shook his head, eyes closed, before looking at Adrien again.

“Dude, you...you’re Chat Noir?” Nino looked at Alya as he confusedly questioned his best friend. Alya gave her boyfriend a reassuring half smile and nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-Ladybug said that I couldn’t tell you that I was Chat Noir because it could put you and your families in danger,” Adrien’s brow creased as he remembered Marinette insisting that their loved ones came first. “But, now that you’re Carapace, you and Alya should know who I am.”

“Does Ladybug know?” Nino went straight to the point. With an air of sadness, Adrien shook his head. “So, you don’t know who Ladybug is?”

“He didn’t say that, Speilberg,” Alya cut in over the top, reminding the two boys that she was still there and a part of the conversation.

“So you do know who Ladybug is?” Nino cocked his head. He was well aware of Adrien’s crush on Ladybug and if his best friend knew who the girl behind the mask was then surely he’d asked her out.

“Uuuuuuuh………,” Adrien bit his lip. “Plagg, claws out.”

The Chat Noir suit folded back around Adrien’s body, the Cat Kwami groaning as his form dispersed into the costume.

“You know who Ladybug is but she doesn’t know who you are?” Nino had taken Adrien’s sudden transformation as an avoidance tactic. “Is she someone we know?”

“Uh,” Adrien didn’t want to give Mari away to Nino like he did to Alya. Being Chat had been his best kept secret but only because he’d never interacted with anyone aside from Ladybug before Rena Rouge and Carapace had joined them. Marinette had never asked who he was under the mask and had actually insisted that he didn’t tell her, he wasn’t going to disobey her wishes. Especially after his interaction with Tikki.

“Nino,” Alya pinched his arm. 

“We definitely know her,” Nino rubbed his arm where Alya had pinched him. “Al knows who she is doesn’t she?”

Adrien opened and then closed his mouth, Nino bit his tongue to hold back making a joke about how good Adrien’s fish impression was.

“Imma start rifling off names cause I’m getting impatient and ya both know that I’m not a fan of puzzles. I’m a music man and filmmaker extraordinaire but puzzle maester I am not,” Alya pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, she loved his stubbornness but she wasn’t sure if this warranted another pinch or letting him continue to press Adrien. “Ahhhh...Chloe?”

Adrien shook his head. Why would Nino immediately go for Chloe?

“Good, even if she has changed, I couldn’t imagine her keeping being Ladybug a secret, plus she did fight with us as Queen Bee, didn’t she? So I should-a ruled her out immediately,” Alya grimaced. “Sabrina?”

Another head shake, this time Alya gave one too. Neither Adrien nor Alya realised it but in deciding to ask the name of every single girl Nino, Adrien and Alya knew, Nino was attempting to hold them up as long as possible before he went on patrol. It may be selfish but he wanted to spend more time with Alya and he was still getting used to the fact that Adrien, his best friend, was Chat Noir. He knew that he’d asked why Adrien would want to lie to him but after accepting that it was Adrien in front of him, he didn’t want to bring that back up; Nino didn’t like hurting people and he especially didn’t like hurting Adrien. The look on Adrien’s face after Nino had made the statement told him that his words had injured his best friend. 

“Ladybug has dark hair...dark hair...dark hair,” Nino tapped his chin and started to pace. Alya shot a look at Adrien and mouthed the words ‘I think all the thinking is hurting him’, Adrien sneezed out a chuckle. “Juleka?”

“Nope,” Alya responded this time, cocking her hip and gently folding her arms below her bust. The smile on her face was casual and loving.

“Am I getting warmer or colder?” Nino pursed his lips.

“You’re getting soup,” Adrien stuck his chin out and leaned forward, extending his baton and resting both his hands and chin on the top of it.

“I dunno what that means. It can’t be Marc, I know they could match the voice but I don’t think they’d fit the suit,” Nino paused. “The voice, Ladybug’s voice, Al, do you have a recording?”

“Of course I have a recording,” Alya whipped out the Illusion flute and flicked the cap on the end off, opening up the screen beneath. Running her glove covered finger across it, Alya started to play a recording of Ladybug’s voice through the flute. She’d hooked the computer in the flute up to her phone and now had access to all the recordings she had of her interviews with Ladybug.

“...don’t worry, I’ve got you,” The soft voice coming through the speaker cooed to whoever was on the other end. Alya had taken this recording last time she’d helped Marinette take down an Akuma, the victim had been a little toddler who had immediately started bawling as soon as the possession left her body.

“T-that sounds like Mari,” Nino pointed at the flute with a knowing grin. “That’s a recording of Mari. Mari is Ladybug.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Adrien wiggled his hips slightly, still balancing his chin on the baton. 

“Wait, I’m correct?” Nino actually looked very confused. He’d been playing to win but Mari was the last person he thought would be Ladybug. She was incredibly clumsy, not overly strong and very, very shy; Nino wasn’t sure that she could survive the stunts Ladybug did. Then he remembered that he’d seen Mari actually remained balanced during a gymnastics lesson at school, he’d seen her moving stacks of chairs heavier than she was, and she’d become more open, so much less shy. “Mari...Marinette is Ladybug.”

“Yes, she is,” Alya walked over to her boyfriend and placed her hands on his shoulders, her smaller frame melted into Nino’s as she hugged him. “I don’t think there could be anyone better to be Ladybug.”

“She’s selfless, caring, and so strong, that’s why I love her,” Adrien stood up fully and collapsed his baton, sticking it to the magnetic patch on the lower back of his suit. “When I discovered that Marinette was Ladybug, I realised that I was lucky to love someone so brave. Yeah, I was kinda mad at first that she hadn’t told me that she was Ladybug but she did it to protect me.”

“Mari is the perfect Ladybug,” Nino pressed a kiss to the top of Alya’s head, a grin breaking across his face. “You love her, eh?”

“Dammit, Speilberg, that’s what you take from this?” Alya rested her chin against his chest and looked up at him with round eyes. 

“It’s alright, Alya,” Adrien chuckled awkwardly. “I told Nino that I had a crush on Mari during the holidays and he’s been trying to get me to admit to it for weeks.”

“Hell yeah, I have,” Nino rested his arms on Alya’s shoulders and rubbed his chin against her forehead, drawing an annoyed groan from the red-head in his hold. “So you know that Mari is Buggaboo but she doesn’t know that you’re Kitty boy?”

“Yeah,” Adrien chewed his bottom lip, ripping a flake of skin off.

“We know that Mari is Buggaboo and that you’re Kitty boy but she doesn’t know that we know and she also doesn’t know that we know that she doesn’t know,” Nino nodded his head, rubbing his chin against Alya’s forehead again, she struggled to pull out of his grip.

“Basically,” Adrien watched Alya wriggle around in Nino’s grip, trying to make him let go of her. With a grin and a wink toward Adrien, Nino squeezed Alya tighter.

“You’re going to go see her tonight as Chat, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Adrien’s embarrassment flush painted his cheeks again, even Alya hadn’t asked that. 

“Do you do it often?” Alya stopped struggling and turned her head as much as she could to face Adrien, her half crushed smirk just as all knowing as she wanted it to be.

“I haven’t gone and seen her since school started. I haven’t really seen Ladybug either since we sorted out the patrol roster,” Nino loosened his hold on Alya, who simply spun around in his arms and leaned against him.

“Why’re you still here then? Go get her, tiger...cat….dude….Go get her, Kitty boy,” Adrien gave them a wide grin. “Nine-tails and I have got tonights patrol, we’re gonna get on the same page about all-a this.”

“Thanks, Nino, you’re the best,” Adrien walked over to Nino who fully let go of Alya and pulled Adrien into a tight hug. Adrien hugged his best friend back.

“I didn’t mean it, man. I understand that you didn’t tell me cause you wanted to keep Al and I safe. It means so much to me that you did it for us,” Nino’s voice was soft, a level that only Adrien was meant to hear but the enhanced hearing that came with Alya’s Fox miraculous meant that she’d heard them too. “I’d ask you to stay safe but that’s impossible in this line of work, so just...don’t get yourself killed. Love you, man.”

“Love you too, Speilberg,” Adrien squeezed a little tighter and lifted Nino off the ground slightly. Nino was taller than him so it wasn’t easy but it didn’t stop him. The two boys let each other go and engaged in their rather complicated handshake. Alya flung herself at Adrien and pulled him into a bone crushing hug before letting go and walking to stand beside Nino.

“Don’t hurt her, Agreste,” Alya’s voice was barbed as she gave him her warning. “I don’t care if you’re this jackasses best friend,” Alya pointed her thumb at Nino. “I will gut you, understand?”

“I understand,” Adrien swore with his hand over his heart. They walked across the roof to the edge, Nino glanced at Alya who nodded. Nino vaulted himself over the edge, leaving Alya lingering in the dimming sunlight, a halo of gold illuminating her orange and white costume.

“Please, let her tell you first,” Alya’s voice was soft and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. What she was crying about, Adrien didn’t know. “Don’t tell her that you’re Chat Noir until she asks, please don’t force her to come out as Ladybug to you either; you’ll stress the ever loving shit out of Mari if you do and it could send you both right into Hawkmoth’s clutches. She is the sweetest, strongest, most wonderful girl I have ever met but she carries her life on the head of a pin and the slightest wobble could send everything she has falling to the ground. She loves you, as Adrien and as Chat, but you need to let her tell you first.”

“Tikki said the same thing,” Alya gave him a confused look, her head tipping slightly. “The Ladybug Kwami.”

“Great minds think alike,” Alya laughed through her nose. “But give her time, Adrien, her heart is made of glass and we don’t want her to shatter. You might think that telling her that you know, that Nino and I know, would make things easier for her but rocking the boat before she has a lifejacket on will kill her. The work Mari does for Jagged Stone, her designs, her friendships, her grades, her job at her parent’s bakery, and her life as Ladybug are all on the line.”

“I promise you, Alya, I’ll take care of her and I won’t do anything to hurt her. You have my full permission to bury me in an unmarked grave if I do,” Alya slid her foot slightly over the edge of the roof, her heel planted on what was left of the roof beneath her.

“It’s laughable that you think I need your permission,” Alya leapt off the roof, leaving Adrien all alone, watching the space where she’d been until the forms of both her and Nino could be seen racing across the roofs through the glaring, setting sun.

Immediately after Alya and Nino had disappeared into Paris, Adrien had made his way to Marinette’s where he still stood, watching the now cooling wind pick up the wisps of her fringe. Exhaling his nervousness, Adrien started to move across the roofs into Marinette’s line of sight, he saw her head perk up as her eyes locked onto him. She had been waiting for him after all. Her smile set a blaze burning in his stomach, his chest, and his head, with a full and dimpled grin he catapulted onto her balcony and drew her into an embrace.

~~~~~~TAGLINE~~~~~~ @lady-charinette @katieykat513 @nifflerstorm @mochegato @aussie-lesbian @maniic-pixie-dream-girl

DM to be tagged :P

[elisaphoenix13]

A No Good, Very Bad Day

He wished he never got out of bed that morning. He should have gone right back to bed when he accidently gripped his glass of orange juice too hard and shattered the cup, cutting his hand. Tony cleaned the mess while Stephen tended to the teen's hand, and then Peter left for school without a word.

It only got worse.

He missed the subway, so he had to take the next one which made him late for school, and when he got to his locker he realized he forgot his book report at home. That was at least easy to fix. He could call Stephen and ask the man to portal it to him.

Ned was absent so getting through the day would be harder without his distraction, and he even managed to fall off the rope in gym glass. Very Spiderman like. He still wasn't sure how it happened.

He would have been able to brush all of that aside, but then Flash happened. Peter tried to leave as fast as possible as soon as the final bell rung, but he must have been waiting for him because he tripped Peter as he was walking around the corner to the main doors. Flash laughs when he swan dives to the floor and his next words shatter Peter's heart.

"Hey Penis! I'm surprised Tony Stark is still alive considering your curse." Peter pushes himself to his feet. "It's only a matter of time until you kill him too. Then you'll have no one. You're just a charity case Parker."

Tears spring to his eyes but he blinks them away. He wouldn't give Flash the satisfaction. It would only spur the other teen on and he didn't want to hear any more insults. So he rushes off and through the main doors and blindly climbs into the familiar Audi in silence. Peter ignores the concerned look Happy gives him through the rearview mirror and elects to look out his window to avoid conversation.

You're just a charity case.

That wasn't true was it? Tony and Stephen seemed to genuinely care about him...but maybe it really was for the public. Tony Stark taking in and caring for an orphan from Queens? It would definitely give a positive impression.

Or maybe it was because he was Spiderman. Maybe Tony wanted to keep him close in case he need his powers.

Even if all of that wasn't true, something else bothered Peter.

A curse.

The teen was inclined to agree with Flash in that regard. Peter had two sets of parents already and they all died. He was legitimately terrified of losing Tony and Stephen. They were the only parental figures he had left and if something happened to them...

Peter chokes on a sob as he jumps out of the car when Happy pulls up to the tower, and hangs his head when he steps into the elevator. He needed to push down his emotions and lock them away. It wouldn't do to worry Tony and Stephen anymore.

"Are you alright Peter? You seemed distressed." FRIDAY asks.

"Just tired."

The AI says nothing as the elevator doors open on the family floor and a trembling hand immediately grabs his chin as soon as he steps off. Stephen tilts Peter's chin up and to the side, and frowns.

"Did someone hit you?"

Peter pushed the sorcerer away. "I fell. I'm fine."

"Peter--"

"I said I'm fine!" The teen shouts. "I'm just a charity case anyway!"

Stephen narrows his eyes. "Charity case?! You are anything but! Where did that even come from?"

"So I'm here because of Spiderman?! Is that why Tony took me in?!"

"Spiderling what is going on? Do I need to get your father?" Stephen reaches out but Peter flinches away.

"He's not my dad...and neither are you." The sorcerer recoils and the teen looks away from the elder man's hurt expression. "Just leave me alone."

Peter rushes into his room before Stephen collects himself to react and he slumps against the wall after slamming the door. The hurt he saw in the sorcerer's eyes hurt him too but he decided pushing them away was the best decision. He'd rather they hate him and be alive than be dead because Peter cared about them. He couldn't lose another set of parents.

With another choked sob, he fumbles to take his watch off and he throws it, his phone, and his Spiderman suit into the closet. He was going to leave and didn't want his parents to track him. No. Not his parents anymore. He didn't deserve them. He wasn't going to take anything except the clothes on his back and whatever money he had, and maybe his web shooters. Peter wasn't about to risk another confrontation with Stephen or Tony, so his exit was going to have to be his bedroom window.

He would climb his way down.

_______________________

Tony whistles as he strolls into the living room and he pauses when he finds Stephen sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Scarred hands were very obviously shaking and that told the billionaire that his boyfriend was anxious, so he rushes to sit next to the sorcerer and rubs his back.

"You alright? Did you have a nightmare or something?"

Stephen laughs half-heartedly. "If only. I'm still waiting to wake up."

Ok. Now Tony was really worried. "Where's Peter?!"

"He's okay. Physically at least. He's in his room."

"What do you mean physically?"

Stephen takes a shuddering breath and lowers his hands into his lap. "Peter came home looking upset. I saw a bruise and asked him about it, and he told me that he just fell and he was fine. I was going to ask him if he wanted an ice pack...and he went off about being a charity case."

"Where the hell did he get that idea?"

"He didn't say. I asked if he wanted me to get you and...he said..." Strange swallows. "That you weren't his father...and neither was I."

Tony curses. "I bet you everything that Flash kid said something. Just give Peter some time to calm down. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Stephen nods and Tony gets up after pressing a kiss to his temple and makes his way into the kitchen. Peter must have had a terrible day if said something as hurtful as he did, and to Stephen no less. It made him wonder if there was more than what was said because his son was too nice for this world to say something so heartbreaking without a reason. Peter was hurting more than he let on and that also meant the kid was thinking too much. Tony didn't know what about though.

A few hours pass as the engineer plans and makes dinner, and when their meal is finished, Tony asks Stephen to get their son. The sorcerer does with some hesitation, before racing into the kitchen in a panic.

"Tony, Peter's gone."

Tony freezes. "What? Are you sure?"

Stephen holds up the Spiderman suit, cellphone, and watch, causing Tony to blanch. "When did Peter leave FRIDAY?"

"Shortly after his argument with the doctor. He told me he was getting some fresh air. Shall I check neighborhood surveillance?"

The billionaire swipes a hand through his hair. "Its too dark for that. Stephen did you check for hair?"

"He thought of that too."

"Okay...we'll just have to look the good old fashioned way. He won't be getting very far at this hour."

"I'll check bus stations and...alleys."

Tony nods. "I'll call Ned and look around Queens."

_________________

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when a thought came to Stephen. Tony had called to let him know that Peter wasn't at his friend's and that he was going to check his usual haunts, and Stephen had checked bus stations, subways, and any other place of transportation with no luck. When he recalled his rather one-sided argument with Peter he remembered the teen renouncing he and Tony as his parents.

Wasn't his family buried?

With that in mind, Stephen opens a portal to the graveyard they went to for May's funeral and immediately begins his search for Peter or specific graves. He found his parents graves first. Ben and May were right next to them but Peter was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps this was the last place Peter would want to go. It was, after all, a reminder that he was the last remaining Parker, and he probably thought he was alone if Stephen knew him well enough.

A sneeze from behind Richard's grave startles Stephen from his thoughts, and he steps around the large stone marker to find Peter huddled against it. The sorcerer falls to his knees in front of him and reaches out to brush away brown curls, waking the dozing boy.

"You're freezing." Levi moves from his shoulders and wraps around Peter's shivering form.

"What are you doing here?" Peter whispers.

Stephen grabs the boy's face and forces him to meet his gaze. "I'm here to take you home. You had us worried."

Peter pushes his hands away. "I don't want to be a charity case."

"I already told you, you are anything but. The moment you called us when May..." Stephen sighs at the younger's flinch. "Tony called his lawyers about adopting you. He...we...didn't want you to go anywhere else. You are important to us and even if we aren't your parents, you are our son. That will never change."

A tear falls down Peter's face and the sorcerer gently wipes it away. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me."

Stephen pulls the boy into his chest and gently strokes trembling fingers through his curls. The cold was starting to affect the pain in his hands but he would ignore it for now.

"Peter...no one died because of you. They were all terrible accidents."

Peter sobs. "You and Tony are all I have left. What if something happens?"

"You still have the rest of the Avengers, Happy, and even Pepper. But," Stephen pushes Peter away just enough to look at him. "Tony and I don't plan on dying anytime soon. At least Tony isn't. I've died thousands of times already."

Peter looks at him incredulously. "What?"

Stephen chuckles. "I annoyed an other-worldly being with a time loop." Peter actually laughed at that. "Now please, let me take you home."

Peter nods after a moment and the two move to their feet, but before Stephen can start opening a portal, strong arms wrap around his waist and the teen buries his face into the sorcerer's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Mom."

Strange sighs with relief at the familiar term as he returns the hug, and then adjusts Levi around Peter's shoulders when he finally pulls away. He turns and opens a portal, leading the teen through, and Peter sits at the table while Stephen heats up their dinner. It was halfway through their meal and the sorcerer was drinking his tea mid-sip when he remembered an important detail and spews his tea.

"I forgot about your father!"

[adposto1]

Latest Wardrobe Designs

Gulberg Greens

Latest Wardrobe Designs For Four House That Provide More StorageIt is said if the interior of house is beautiful and organized then house turns to look more magnificent. Wardrobes are the basic element for the uniqueness and glory of your house. Either your house contain 2 rooms or more rooms or it is a banglow wardrobes are necessary part. Usually we think if the size of wardrobe is large then it would be easy to safe clothes or needy things, that is why we select huge cupboard at the time of buying furniture. The placement become hard if you choose to buy a huge size closet and in case you buy small size closet it become difficult for you to manage where to kept clothes or store things. Experts and Interior Designers suggest to construct closet inside the wall. So innovative and creative ideas are introduced for wall wardrobes. These closets provide more storage and occupy less space. Lets talk about some latest and unique designs of wall closets.Wooden Wardrobes for Bedroom:Other than wood some traditional furniture can be construct by carpenter or construction experts. that increase the beauty of your bedroom, drawing room or TV lounge. Interior of your house look more elegant and attractive. If room is designed in awkward shape then extra shape can be covered with the help of wardrobes. Moreover wardrobes can be divided into two parts such as lower part can be use as closet and upper part can be use as cabinets. Same pattern of color or design is used for both parts so that it look alike and attractive.                                                               

Gulberg Islamabad

Wardrobes Fitted Beside Study Table:In this case half of the wall can be use as cupboard and half of it can be utilize to make study table. For this purpose two or more shelves are made, decorate some part with elegant decoration pieces, use small size study table and it will look as beautiful as you can imagine. Use of Wallpaper's in fix Cupboards:If you are thinking that wallpaper are used only for wall then you are wrong, wallpapers can also be used for cupboard that are fixed inside the wall. Fix Cupboard are simple as compare to furniture so they can be decorate with the help of wallpaper. The good selection of color and design can play an important role to enhance the attractiveness and freshness.Use of Mirror's: If you don't want to use wallpapers for cupboard then you can select mirrors for the doors of cupboards. You room look wider by using mirror in it. Elegant fixed mirrors on walls gave pleasant and nicer glance to your room and ultimately you can receive appreciation from others.

Wardrobes Designed by Bright or Dull Colors:Different combination of colors is a way to provide cool appearance to your room. Wall cupboards can also be design by special color combination. For inner part light colors are used and for outer part bright colors are used. Male small sections inside the cupboard that can be used to keep clothes, shoes, bags and other accessories.

STEPS INTO PROGRESS

Gulberg Islamabad is a project of Intelligence Bureau Employee's Cooperative Housing Society society (IBECHS), there are many housing societies in Rawalpindi and Islamabad. The project was inaugurated in 2005 and in 2009 its NOC from CDA was approved with Ref CDA/PLW-HS (127)/2009/257. The MOU with IESCO and SNGPL were also duly signed. Latest news on development in Gulberg Residentia is Sector A & B are in development phase. And major news on the project is IESCO started delivering the transformers at site. Now that something called boost into development. Source of picture is attached in cover of this news. (Advice Gulberg Islamabad) If you are interested to invest or built your home in Gulberg Islmabad, Feel free to contact us for booking and information about project.

Days on Market, A Guide for Every Property Seller

Advice Associates always keen to provide information for their value customers for their betterment and how they can boost their properties to gain maximum ROI (Return on Investment). This blog is for seller how when they should sell their properties Bread, Cake, Data & News Sooner or later, they all get stale. The same can be said of for property sale. When you are trying to sell, stale is one thing you dont want your home to be. While there is no hard-and-fast rule for when a Property becomes stale, there is a key metric that tells buyers how long your home has been for sale. Known as days on the market, or DOM, these metric counts up by one every day your home remains unsold. Low DOM, high DOM A related metric is the average DOM for property sold in a market during a specified period. A low average DOM indicates a strong market that favors sellers. A high average DOM signals a weak market that favors buyers. Seasonality can also be a factor. Properties generally sell faster in spring than winter, Ways to help reduce DOM If your property has been on the market for quite some time, you should consider taking action. Get the price right on day one of the listing, Price adjustment Another common strategy, as The Balance notes, is for your realtor to take your property off the market for a few weeks or months and then offer it again, possibly with a new, lower price. This might restart your DOM counter and give buyers the impression that your property just came on the market, although playing the system isn t considered the most ethical option. The other choice is to wait and hope that real estate market values rise to your asking price. If prices are stable or headed down, you might want to take your property off the market. But if prices are rising, patience might pay off. Follow these steps and idea of selling your property will might help you. For the future inquries and information you can just ask us on one click our consultant are available

If you are finding plots houses and apartments in islamabad click now.

Sellers and buyers ADVICE Know the state of your Mind

A balanced housing market is defined as one with an average inventory of 6.5 months, according to Texas A&M University Real Estate Center research and Real estate in Pakistan is an important and growing sector of the economy of Pakistan. Pakistan spends $5.2 billion on construction in a year. When inventory remains below equilibrium, sellers enjoy more control over prices and terms, and the area becomes a seller market. When inventory lingers well above stasis, you have a buyer market where sellers must get more serious about price reductions, credits and throw-ins. Of course, these averages dont necessarily reflect demand in certain desirable and undesirable sub-markets. Go to ADVICE ASSOCIATES for such market home sell & purchase, rent a house or buying of any property so your destination should be Advice Associates. Your investment is our priorities to be in superior place because superior are Gulberg Green Islmabad & Bahria Housing Authority. Catch us at 11:00 am to 07:00pm Monday to Saturday. Ask us on: https://adposto.com/ads/gulberg_9/Islamabad

If you are finding plots houses and apartments in islamabad click now.

Gulberg Islamabad Plots Open Transfer

IB Employers Cooperative Housing Society (Registered) Islamabad

Open Transfer of Plots:Society Management has decided to end the open transfer of plots immediately.Moreover those who have done open transfer of their plots, do complete transfer of plots before 20 Dec 2018. Otherwise society will automatically transfer those plots on the current owner name.

If you are finding plots houses and apartments in islamabad click now.

The future is in Past Land record of Rawalpindi

Rawalpindi (advice update) 20 September 2017:The computer records of the lands in Rawalpindi could not be completed even after four year till than the owner have to old manual process of property records. Rawalpindi s people are now depends on registrar (patwari process) again & facing huge problems due to outsider staff at registrar office. Its very unfortunate even after four year; computer system of record holding of lands could not be finish. On continues basis people are doing protest against registrar (patwari), according to source 20% of land record its not computerized because registrar is not cooperating with the owner. According to source this is system was introduced 4 years ago & government established many service center to help the people in the process of computerized record system. According to source 20% twin cities of Rawalpindi s land record could not be computerized. So they have to follow old fashioned process. For more information and updates please follow us or buying & selling of plot house with easy and smooth record system of Bahira Town Rawalpind & DHA Valley Islamabad

If you are finding plots houses and apartments in islamabad click now.

[elfiesink]

Here’s the next chapter of And Get Burned posted to tumblr first surprise

There are a lot of different kinds of love. Romantic. Familial. Platonic. There’s love that makes you want to go cliff diving and plunge into the cold ocean and love that makes the world feel steady. You didn’t know if you loved Reaper. You could, someday. Or maybe you loved him now and just didn’t want to admit it. Life seemed to love pulling the rug out from under your feet whenever you found any kind of comfort and stability. Wouldn’t it be the way of things if you decided that you loved him only for everything to come crashing down on you, the way it always did? It was easier to say that you didn’t know. That you appreciated him, that you liked his attention, that you liked his time, that you liked the way he found you only to pull you into his arms and stand like that for a few brief moments before letting you go on with your day. Maybe it was fear, then, that kept you from saying that you wanted him at your side at all times. Not just when you desperately needed it. But always. Even when things were okay.

Part of you was afraid to love him, afraid of that every interaction with him was the sea receding from the shore and preparing to drown you in a wave of whatever secrets he kept. The other part of you wanted to just love without fear consequences be damned. But you were scared. A lot of the time. All the time. You hadn’t been completely free from worry since… Well. Overwatch.

It was easier to double down on your hunt for overwatch’s traitors than it was to look at who you’d become, wasn’t it? Easier to take Sombra’s call and get onto another Talon jet and lean back with a glass of wine in one hand and a tablet in the other. The manor was a couple thousand square feet of unnecessary, all imported wood floors and hand laid mosaics. Situated just close enough to loom over their neighbors but with a tall brick fence trimmed in painfully sharp looking iron decorations. Cameras everywhere, a private security force, with a plentitude of incredibly nosy neighbors looking to get over on whoever they could.  It was a challenge. Not the sort of job you would regularly take for the sake of your reputation. But the woman in question was throwing a party, and you weren’t one to pass up the opportunity to spice up the parties of the rich and boring.

Getting in wasn’t a problem. Talon could provide false identities at the drop of a hat. Another new name on top of the thousand others you had put on and thrown away. Maybe you would throw away Wrath too. Be nothing more than a face and the lingering smell of charcoal. For now you were a bright smile, expensive clothes, and a glass of the most expensive chardonnay available. It was awfully nice of your host to provide you with good snacks before you murdered them and ruined their big social event. There’d been plenty of people who hadn’t even put out a bottle of water before you scorched them into the ground. The most you’d ever gotten is a half-stale bag of forgotten pita chips, and those just made good kindling.

You were relaxed. Comfortable. Confident. You were in her house. You knew where her car was, where her helicopter pad was, where her panic room was. You knew how long it would take you to disable all three if you were so inclined. A shame the back up generator was so very exposed. It would have been smart to tuck it away in the panic room but then it wouldn’t look like such a luxurious little lounge now would it? Can’t ruin the aesthetic.

A shame you were just here to murder and destroy. You somewhat craved the game of creeping right in front of someone’s face, stealing all of their little secrets. Craved the pleasure of smiling at someone while you walked right out the front door with an armful of everything they wanted to keep hidden. Maybe you could find something anyway. If you were just going to destroy it all there couldn’t be much harm in taking your pick of whatever made it through the fire. There was really a shortage of pretty things that could withstand being caught up in a raging inferno and that was a crime against you, specifically. 

You wandered down the hallways, smiling at passersby who were also passing judgement on the decor. It was sterile, bordering on artificial. Perfect modern walls in the lightest shade of blue they could get away with while still claiming the walls weren’t white. They were blue, of course, trimmed in white molding and dotted with paintings that bordered on monochrome themselves for a ‘splash of color’. Lots of vocal points with nothing to say. There was one piece that you liked, a glass sculpture in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Bittersweet and full of regrettable memories. But you liked it nonetheless. Lingered in front of it while you barely touched the still full glass that was starting to go a little warm. You sighed and took it down in a single drink, leaving the glass empty next to the little sculpture.

As you left a hand clasped around your mouth, and a much stronger hand gripped one of your arms, dragging you into a small storage closet. Which was bad for them. You calmly raised your hand to theirs, scorching them for just a second before they tore away from you with a muffled curse. You spun and slammed your hand into their throat. A ball of fire burst to life in your other had, revealing an unimpressed looking McCree pointing to his throat.

“Do we have to do this.”

“I dunno McCree. Did you have to drag me into a dark room?”

“I didn’t want to risk making a scene. What are you doing here?”

Oh yeah. Dragging someone into a room definitely wasn’t making a scene. He was lucky the hallway was empty and that you weren’t ready to spring your trap on the target just yet. You wanted to make sure she was caught in a corner when everything went up. You slowly released McCree’s neck and took a step back. He didn’t need to know that.

“Can’t I have a social life?”

“You don’t have to lie to me. You’re here for Talon, why?”

“What I do and why couldn’t be less your business. Why don’t you tell me why the fuck you’re here. This isn’t your scene.” You kept the fire dancing in your hand, staring more at the flames than him. You were curious. He was never a player who enjoyed dressing up and stealing with a smile. So if he was here than there was something interesting. Unless he was here to save this woman’s life, but why would he. She betrayed him as much as you. She sold out all of Overwatch for the sake of a life in the fast lane. There was nothing to gain in protecting a traitor.

“I need something. A key, looks like a flash drive. For Echo.”

“Echo… the omnic?” Needed a key? You’d never met her yourself. But the way McCree was looking, she was important.

“It’s… Can you help.”

“What? Like. How.”

McCree gave you a withering look, leaning against the wall of the closet with one arm crossed over the other. You immediately put up your hands to stop him. You knew what you said. You also knew what you meant by it. You didn’t need any of his sass.

“I mean. What do you need done.”

A smile. “I need to find out where it’s being kept, might need help getting it if it’s in a safe. You can burn through metal right.”

“I didn’t say I was going to help you!” You snapped. But he just grinned and you flicked a harmless spark his way. You were going to help him. Why not? You were going to burn this place down and kill a woman anyway, might as well get your fix of subterfuge by stealing from her first. But you really didn’t want your face tied to McCree. If you were going to end up on police watchlists it was going to be for your own selfish gain, not for another spontaneous outburst of charity.

“Thanks, I owe you one Smokes-”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll meet you in the office. Don’t want to ruin your reputation right?” He winked and opened the door to the closet, motioning you out. You fought to wipe the snarl from your face as you walked out into the hallway. Anger was just as good as wearing a spotlight at parties like this. You put on your calmest, most pleasant smile, found a glass of champagne, and began to wander your way towards the stairs.

There were guards everywhere. Just enough to make getting up the stairs in any kind of subtle fashion impossible. If you tried just burning them all to death you risked your actual target getting spooked and running away. You wanted her to run to the panic room if she was going to run anywhere and that was unlikely if her guards were piles of ash in her hallway. You knew from your prep work that climbing up the outside windows would get you unwanted attention from the guests in the gardens and the neighbors next door with their faces plastered to their bedroom windows, pretending to sneer at their neighbors frivolity while they desperately want to be invited.

A smile slowly spread over your face. You knew of a very easy way to lure the guards from the stairs. It would put McCree’s business on a time limit but he deserved that sort of stress. You could get an easy out, falling into the chaos.

Your target was in a large, open living area. She stood next to a fireplace, silly thing, a bottle of wine in her hand. Her dress close to the thin glass that sheltered her from the fire.

Was it subtle? No. Was it a brilliant flash of fire that swarmed over her and then down over the carpet? Yes. Could you, an innocent bystander, who screamed and ran for a fire extinguisher, be blamed? Well that would just be silly. The fire extinguisher was quickly ripped from your hands and you were sent out of the room with the rest of the guests as the screams died down and the fire began to spread. It was enough of a distraction to clear your way to the stairs and keep all eyes from you.

“That’s a lot of screaming.” McCree eyed you as you slipped into the office, content with yourself.

“I got my job done, now time for yours.” You shrugged, “Where’s the safe? Oh also I set the house on fire.”

“Oh? Really? That’s new.” McCree pushed a button beneath the desk, causing one of the bookshelves to swing wide. She couldn’t even hide it somewhere interesting. Like underneath the floor, or disguised in plain sight. You weren’t really one to talk though you wouldn’t pass up the chance for a hidden bookshelf safe. You slowly dragged your hand down along the keypad panel, a small line of white hot flame cutting into the metal. Luckily it wasn’t one of the trapped safes. You would’ve needed to call Sombra in if you saw the tell tale branding and the last thing you wanted was her smug face when you tried to pretend you weren’t helping Jesse Fucking McCree.

“You know… Winston put out a recall.”

You raised your eyebrow and glanced his way while you dragged your flame to complete the circle, popping the keypad out of place. “Did he? Isn’t that illegal.”

“You work for Talon.”

“Figured Winston was above breaking the law.” You shrugged, tossing the metal piece aside and holding a barely warm flame towards the opening. The safe was filled to the brim. McCree moved to your side and searched for just a second before immediately grabbing a small white box.

“That’s what we’re for, right?” McCree opened it, smiling warmly at the contents, “That’s why I’m rescuing Echo; Winston needs help.”

You frowned, “What, are you going to tell me he needs some firepower?”

“I figured I’d leave the puns to you. Talon aint you. This is you, doing the right thing, even if it’s the wrong way.”

“Like you ever knew me.” You were distracted. Part of you wanted to get angry and start throwing sparks his way. The other of you was aware of the way your other fire was growing, how easily it fed on the art and tapestries that filled the house. There wasn’t time for arguing, not really. The both of you should be moving. You shoved him towards the door, pointing to the smoke already slipping through the cracks.

“I always thought we were friends. The only thing we ever argued about was her.” McCree said it with venom. He raised his serape to cover his face and lead the way out of the office.

“Friends? You thought I was the mole!” You snapped, tunneling heat to give yourself some sort of protection from the smoke. You were fireproof, not airborn chemical proof. Moira would take care of it one day.

McCree paused on the stairs, giving you the first angry look you’d seen on his face since, since Overwatch really. But he said nothing. Instead he just lead the way outside, leading you through a small hole in the backyard fence that led out into the tiniest alleyway, right onto the street. You covered your face now. Smoke inhalation could be fixed but cameras seeing you would be a problem. The two of you slipped out of the neighborhood without a trace. Just like old times. You ended up in a small darkened park watching the night sky lit up by the rising flames of an uncontrolled fire. The houses being so close together was a poor decision in the end.

“I never thought it was you, that was bullshit and I argued against it.” McCree snarled, angry not at you but at… at your bosses. Old, bosses. 

“It didn’t make sense. You never lied, ever. About anything, except maybe your feelings about Reyes but even then your lies were weak. Your only contacts were internal. I tried Arson. I tried so damn hard and you know what, I left. There were a lot of reasons that I wrote down that day, and there’s stuff I can’t tell ya. But I know it wasn’t you.”

He had you speechless for a moment. All these years you were angry at your friends for not sticking up for you, but the one man you didn’t consider a friend was the one who did.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You leaned on a tree. Stared at your feet for a bit. For someone who worked in intelligence you were real damn wrong. At least being an asshole wasn’t a surprise to you; you were quite familiar with the role. McCree snorted and ruffled your hair.

“Don’t be, you were screwed over. But things are different now. The world’s on the brink and it needs us to do something about it. You could be a tide turner.”

“... What if Winston doesn’t agree with you though. What if he doesn’t want me involved. I mean. I’ve spent over a year working for Talon, if you don’t count everything I’ve done for Vishkar.” Not that you were considering it. You were comfortable where you were, not being the good guy. And even if Overwatch was reforming it would be Overwatch, not Blackwatch. There wouldn’t be a place for you unless they met to have you on barbeque duty. Sure they could put you in combat but, you weren’t an angel or a flash of blue light. You were roaring flame. And how long would it take to connect your powers with the underworld?

“He wants you there, trust me. I’ve got things to do but, I’ll meet up with you back at Gibraltar. We’ll see things fixed.”

“I didn’t say I was going.”

A smug smirk, a tip of his hat, and McCree started walking away. You built up a quick fireball that fizzled out as a thought hit you. One that was far more important than fucking with the people you knew contributed to Overwatch’s fall. One that was personal.

“McCree. Who do you think it was then.”

“Partner… You know who I think it was.” He kept walking, didn’t look back. He was wrong of course. Just the same old feelings coming back. There wasn’t evidence there… and you didn’t want to look. Because if you did you would be completely alone. Left to consume yourself to cinders with no one to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Or, rather, without anyone to shake her head calmly and make you drink water until you calmed down. To let you lay about in a lab while you whined about things that, to her, meant nothing. You needed your best friend.

McCree had to be wrong. He had to be.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Five → in which Nick gets to climb something again

“How do you know who we are?” Lilac asked, jumping to her feet. 

Her siblings also quickly stood, and the sweatered scout said, “I thought you might be headed this way. And, well, there are five of you. Where’s the other toddler?” 

“Sunny’s been captured by Count Olaf.” Violet said quickly. “Are you VFD?” 

“In a way.” the boy said. “But stay quiet. Bruce is a light sleeper, and if the kids catch us, they’ll either tattle or want to tag along. Come on.” 

He gestured, and Nick quickly said, “How do we know we can trust you?” 

Klaus and Soli both grabbed tightly onto his hands as they all looked to the scout. He watched them for a moment, and then said, “Xenial.” 

“I’m sorry?” Violet said. 

“Xenial is an adjective that starts with X,” he explained. “It means ‘being welcoming to strangers.’ Having a good vocabulary doesn’t guarantee that I’m a good person, but it does mean I’ve read a lot, and in my experience, well-read people are less likely to be evil.” 

Nick narrowed his eyes. “We may have had some different experiences.” 

“I’m very sorry,” the scout said, “But we don’t have time for this. We need to get to Headquarters quickly.” 

“Take your mask off.” Nick said, slowly picking up Solitude. 

“I can’t. If any of them wake up, I don’t want to be recognized.” 

“Why not?” 

“Nick,” Violet carefully said, “He knows the way to headquarters.” 

“Violet, we can’t-” 

“If he tries anything,” Klaus said, “We’ll protect you. Promise.” 

Nick took a deep breath, looking between all of his siblings. Then he approached the masked scout, stopping just short of him. 

“If you hurt my siblings,” he said, very darkly, “I will kill you, and it will not be fast.” 

“I understand.” the scout said, not even seeming very concerned, but maybe a little sympathetic. “Now follow me.” 

The Baudelaires glanced to each other, and then slowly followed. 

He led them to the center of the room, slowly stepping over sleeping scouts, before pointing a flashlight from his pocket. He gestured upwards, and the Baudelaires looked up to see a large hole in the ceiling of the cave, wisps of smoke disappearing into it. 

“The official name is Vertical Flame Diversion.” the scout whispered. “It serves as a chimney and secret passageway, running from his cave straight to the valley of four drafts. If we climb up there, we can reach headquarters within hours, instead of hiking up the mountain. There used to be a pole there so people could slide down and hide in this cave during an emergency, but it’s gone now. There should still be carved toeholds on the side.” 

“How do you know that?” Lilac asked, as Nick held tight onto Solitude. 

“I read it.” he said. “In The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations.” 

The Baudelaires jumped; most of them hadn’t thought of that book in a long time. Nick started to speak, but they heard a low whisper. They turned, to see Carmelita muttering in her sleep, “Give me those earrings…” 

“We’ll talk when we reach headquarters.” the scout said. “Can you all climb?” 

“Not well.” Klaus said. 

“A little.” Lilac said, while Violet and Nick nodded. “Soli might need help.” 

“There’s some extra rope in our supplies.” the scout said. “We can tie her to someone’s back.” 

“I can do that.” Nick volunteered, before running to find the rope. 

“You should also put your masks back on.” the scout said. “The air will be smokey, but the masks might be able to filter that.” 

“Copy that.” Lilac nodded, rushing to grab their masks. 

Violet walked over to the sweatered scout, putting a hand on his arm. Something about him seemed familiar, though she wasn’t sure what. “Can you really help us?” she asked. 

“Of course.” he said, sounding very soft. “It’s what Volunteers do.” 

Nick returned, and Violet helped him tie Solitude to his back, while the toddler whispered instructions on how to avoid Babbitt in her pocket. Lilac brought their masks over, which they put back on, as Solitude pulled the poncho over her face again. The Sweatered Scout went up first, cautiously climbing his way up to the Vertical Flame Diversion, and then Violet helped pull Klaus up before going up herself. Nick hesitantly followed, after making certain Solitude was very secure, and then Lilac. 

And then, quietly and carefully, they climbed. 

Sunny clambered out of the casserole dish, yawning to herself and pulling her coat over her. She’d just heard the adults yelling, and she’d much rather be prepared for whatever they were doing than hiding in her dish. 

Her former coworkers were chatting with the White-Faced Women, while the Hook-Handed Man tried to fix a fallen tent. Esme must’ve still been in her tent, because Sunny couldn’t see her, but Count Olaf was standing by his henchpeople, barking directions. He turned to see Sunny, and he called, “You! Orphan! You’ll cook breakfast for us! We’ll need the energy to do unspeakable crimes!” 

Sunny gave him a look. “Planka?” she asked, which meant, “How am I supposed to cook breakfast on the top of a freezing mountain?” 

“Too bad your brain isn’t as big as your teeth, you dentist’s nightmare.” Olaf said. “You’re talking nonsense, as usual.” 

Sunny paused, staring at him, and then she smiled. “Sneakitawc,” she said, which meant, “Of course, because you can’t understand me, I can say anything I want to you, and you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about.” 

The Hook-Handed Man jumped, giving her a look as she giggled and Olaf said, “I’m getting tired of your ridiculous speech impediment.” 

“Brummel,” Sunny said. “In my opinion, you desperately need a bath, and your clothing is in shambles.” 

The Hook-Handed Man waved his hooks to try and get her to stop, as Olaf ordered, “Be quiet this instant!” 

“Busheney,” Sunny said. “You’re an evil man with no concern whatsoever for other people.” 

“Shut up!” Olaf shouted, and he threw the car keys at her. “Get the groceries out of the trunk of the car and get to work!” 

Sunny paused, picking up the keys. She could probably drive the car herself, but… well, that mountain path looked dangerous. She wouldn’t want to miss a turn and go flying off a cliff. 

She toddled over to the trunk, unlocking the car and flipping it open, hoisting herself up to see what supplies she had. Unfortunately, a thin layer of frost seemed to cover every item, meaning she had to use her sleeves to wipe the ice away; everything was very frozen over. She found a bag of coffee beans and a frozen hunk of spinach, as well as a bag of mushrooms and a completely frozen jug of orange juice. Sunny pushed aside some cold cheese, a can of water chestnuts and an eggplant about her size, she found a jar of boysenberry jam and a loaf of bread. She hmmed, brushing her bangs out of her face as she considered what she could make with all of this. 

“Olaf!” Esme called, as Sunny pulled the bread to the edge of the trunk. “I need longer to choose what I’m going to wear! It is not In to burn own a headquarters without wearing a fashionable outfit!” 

“I can’t imagine why you need all this time.” Olaf huffed, as Sunny started dropping ingredients onto the ground. “I usually just wear one outfit for weeks at a time.” 

“Boss!” Hugo called. “I can’t find the soap!” 

“We don’t have any. Why would we?” 

Sunny slowly pulled some cups out, and started chopping the coffee beans with her teeth, combining it with snow to make iced coffee. She walked over to a blanket that had been laid out, presumably for the meal, and put the cups down, before ripping apart the loaf of bread and starting to spread jam. 

“What are you doing, baby?” 

Sunny looked up to see the Hook-Handed Man had stopped just short of her, watching curiously. “Breakfast.” she said. 

“That’s very smart of you.” he said. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t be able to make anything.” 

Sunny brightened, and then said, “Hamo!” which meant something like, “I know a way you can help!” 

“Oh, the boss wouldn’t like me to-” 

Sunny held out the mug of orange juice, and said, “Aurantiaco,” which meant, “Chip away at the juice until you have shavings, so I can make orange granita.” 

The Hook-Handed Man looked very impressed, and after glancing over his shoulder, he sat down and started chipping. “That’s a good idea.” 

Sunny smiled and shrugged, and once she’d finished with the bread, she ran back to the trunk, pulling out a bouquet of ivy and placing it in an empty cream dish, walking back and placing it down as a centerpiece. She took the orange shavings and started spreading them out. 

“You’re very good at preparing a meal.” the Hook-Handed Man complimented.

Sunny sighed, smiling a little, remembering once when she was small, and had been hanging out in the kitchen with her mother, who was throwing together a salad. Sunny had mostly busied herself dropping a fork onto the floor to see what it sounded like, but he remembered Beatrice Baudelaire saying, “This isn’t a very complicated recipe, Sunny, but if I arrange the salad very nicely on fancy plates, people will think I’ve been cooking all day.” 

“Defero,” Sunny said, repeating what her Mother had said next- “Often, when cooking, the presentation of the food can be as important as the food itself.” 

The Hook-Handed Man nodded seriously, and once Sunny had finished arranging, she stepped back and said, “Breakfast!” 

The rest of the troupe approached, and Sunny backed off, smiling slightly, but her face fell as Olaf picked up a cup and yelled, “What is this? It looks like coffee, but it’s freezing cold!” 

“What is this orange stuff?” Esme asked suspiciously. “I want fashionable, in food, not a handful of ice!” 

Colette picked up a piece of bread. “This toast feels raw. Is it safe to eat raw toast?” 

“Of course not.” Hugo said. 

“The baby is trying to poison us!” said a White-Faced Woman. 

“Actually, this coffee isn’t so bad.” Kevin said. “Though it’s a little bitter. Could someone pass the sugar?” 

“Sugar?” Esme screeched. 

Olaf grabbed onto one end of the blanket and pulled as hard as he could, and Sunny ducked as all of her hard work went flying into the air. 

“All the sugar in the world couldn’t save this terrible breakfast!” he shouted. “Orphan! I told you to make a nice, hot breakfast, and you gave me cold, disgusting nonsense! Do you realize how high up we are, you little shit? If I threw you off Mount Fraught, you’d never survive!” 

Sunny shrunk back, but she hissed, “Bull!”

“I don’t have time for your nonsense!” 

The Hook-Handed Man, who looked a little uncomfortable, spoke up. “She’s calling your bluff, boss. Says you can’t kill her without losing her fortune.” 

Olaf gave her a cruel look, and Sunny felt even colder than she had before. “Is that so? Well, little orphan,” he took a step forwards, and Sunny tried to move back, only tripping over herself and falling into the snow, “I don’t need to kill you to punish you. We have ways of making you behave. Didn’t your dear brother tell you what finally got him to shut up?” 

Sunny hissed, and the Hook-Handed Man said, “Boss, I really don’t think-” 

“I don’t pay you to think!” Olaf said. 

“You don’t pay me at all.” said the henchman. “But I was just saying, maybe it was difficult for the baby to prepare a hot breakfast without a fire-” 

“Oh,” said a deep, low voice behind them that caused everyone to jump, “But there is a fire.” 

Everybody turned to look behind them, and Sunny instantly detected an aura of menace from the two people now standing behind them, having somehow snuck up on the group without alerting them to their presence. One was a tall man with a beard, but no hair, and the other, who’d spoken, was a woman with hair, but no beard. 

“It’s good to see you, Olaf,” said the sinister woman, stepping forwards, and Sunny scooted back against the car. The woman pulled a wooden toboggan behind her, making an eerie scraping sound against the ground. “We were worried the authorities might have captured you.” 

“You look well,” said the man with a beard but no hair, with a hoarse voice. “It’s been a long time since we’ve laid eyes on one another.” He gave Olaf a wicked grin, and Sunny started to feel very, very scared. 

Olaf wouldn’t meet their eyes, which did not help Sunny’s anxiety; in fact, everyone seemed terrified. “Hello.” he said nervously. “Did you, um, say something about a fire?” 

The woman and man looked to each other and laughed, and Sunny covered her ears with her hands, trying to think about her siblings, and how Lilac and Klaus would be hugging her right now. “Haven’t you noticed that there are no snow gnats around?” the woman said. 

“I just assumed they were no longer in.” said Esme, who seemed to be trembling. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Esme,” said the man with a beard but no hair. “The gnats aren’t around because they can smell the smoke.” 

“I don’t smell anything.” said Hugo. 

“That’s because you’re not a snow gnat.” replied the woman with hair but no beard. “We did you a favor, Olaf. We… took care of the VFD Headquarters for you.” 

Sunny started, and before she could stop herself, she shouted, “No!” 

The two new adults turned to look at her, and Sunny straightened up then, and tried her best to look brave. 

She tried her best to not look like a baby. 

“The top’s up here.” said the masked scout. “We’re almost out of the woods.” 

The Baudelaires very much doubted that, but they managed to finally push themselves up and into a dark tunnel. It seemed to be some dim hallway with a small grate on the ceiling, but they could all clearly see the Eye etched into the grate. 

The scout helped Klaus up, and then Violet. Nick just pushed himself past him, before untying Solitude and making sure she was alright. Lilac climbed up, moving a bit awkwardly. 

“Are you okay, Li?” Violet asked. 

“Fine.” Lilac said. 

Violet moved to her sister, and then flinched. “Your sleeve’s torn- shit, what  happened to your arm?” 

“Just grazed something on the way up. Not a big deal.” 

Violet paused, and then said, “Well, um… we might have matching arm scars now, that’s pretty cool.” 

“Where are we?” Klaus asked, turning to the scout, who was sadly watching the sisters. 

The scout paused, and then gestured to the grate. “That’s where the smoke escapes. Leads to the very center of the Valley of Four Drafts, so the winds scatter the smoke before people can get suspicious and investigate. If a Volunteer needed help, they’d light one of these.” 

He pulled a box from his jacket, pulling out some green tubes. 

“Is that a cigarette?” Lilac asked. 

He shook his head. “Verdant Flammable Devices. It sets off a dark green smoke.” 

“I’ve seen that box before.” Klaus said, standing up and looking shocked. “In Father’s desk. Why would he-” 

Nick huffed. “He was hiding them from us, Klaus. Obviously. Keeping them secret, like everything else in this hellhole.” 

“Everything is secret in VFD.” the scout said sadly. 

“It makes things very difficult.” Lilac said, crossing her arms. “We had to learn the secret location of headquarters from a secret code on a map.” 

“I had to draw my own map.” the Scout reached into his pocket, pulling out a dark purple notebook. “In my commonplace book, I gathered information from The Incomplete History and other books from Dr Montgomery’s study.” 

The Baudelaires jumped. “Monty?” Solitude asked, and they could hear Babbitt let out a muffled, soft chirp from her pocket. 

“Long story.” the scout said. He held out the map and said, “Look here, this passageway branches off in two directions.” 

“This is a really well-drawn map.” Violet said, impressed. 

“Thank you.” the scout replied. “I’ve been interested in cartography for quite some time. But anyway, if we go left, there’s a small area for sled and snowsuit storage. If we go right, we’ll arrive at the Vernacularly Fastened Door, which opens to the Headquarters’ kitchen.” 

“Then let’s go.” Violet said. 

“No!” Nick grabbed Solitude, jumping to his feet. “No, we can’t just-” 

“Nick, one of our parents might be there.” Violet snapped. 

“So could anyone else!” 

“We’ll be careful.” Lilac put a hand on Nick’s arm. “We’ll be careful, I promise. But we don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

Nick shut his eyes tight, clutching onto Soli, who gave him a tight, comforting hug. Klaus put his arm around him, and then Violet turned to the scout and said, “Lead the way, mystery boy.”  

The scout hesitantly nodded, and then said, as they walked, “It’ll be safe, I’m sure.” 

Nick didn’t respond, instead just leaning onto Klaus’s shoulder. They started down the hallway, with the scout leading the way. It started to feel colder, and Solitude curled up against her brother and shivered a little, and Lilac grabbed onto Violet’s hand, and Klaus and Nick held each other for a while. And after a minute or two, Violet reached forwards and grabbed the scout’s hand, too, not wanting him to feel left out. The corridor was starting to give off an eerie, powerful feeling, and none of the children wanted to feel alone. 

At last, they reached a large metal door, with a strange device, looking a bit like a spider, where a doorknob should have been. Wires were spread from it, going in all directions, and at the head was a typewriter keyboard. Violet immediately broke away from the others and ran forwards, taking off her mask and pulling her hair back with a ribbon to inspect it. 

“Careful.” the scout said, as Lilac ran forwards to join her. “This is a coded lock. If we don’t operate it properly, we won’t be able to get into the headquarters.” 

“How does it work?” Violet asked, as her siblings also discarded their masks. 

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t read through the pages it had in The Incomplete History.” said the scout, taking out his commonplace book as the other Baudelaires crowded around the lock. “I was more interested in the maps, honestly, and then I lost the book.” 

“Well, it’s called the Vernacularly Fastened Door.” Klaus said. “So it operates on language. Vernacular means ‘a local language or dialect.’” 

“That makes sense.” Violet nodded. “Look how the wires are curled around the hinges. They’re locked in place, unless you type the right sequence of letters on the keyboard.” 

“I know you’re supposed to type out three specific phrases in a row.” the scout said, looking down at his commonplace book. “The phrases change every season, but for right now, the first is the scientist most widely credited with the discovery of gravity.” 

“That’s easy.” Lilac said, and she leaned forwards and typed in S-I-R-I-S-A-A-C-N-E-W-T-O-N, and when she was finished, there was a muted clicking sound, as if the device was warming up. 

“The second is the Latin name for the Volunteer Feline Detectives.” the scout said. “That’s Panthera leo.” 

Violet typed in P-A-N-T-H-E-R-A-L-E-O, and the wires near the hinges began to shake a little. 

“What’s the third phrase?” Klaus asked. 

“I don’t know.” the scout sighed. “Another volunteer told me it’s the central theme of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, but I haven’t read it.” 

“We did.” Klaus said, turning to smile at Nick. “Do you remember what Mother told us?” 

Nick stared very hard at the ground as he nodded. “A rural life of moral simplicity, despite its monotony, is the preferable personal narrative to a daring life of impulsive passion, which only leads to tragedy.” 

“That’s a long theme.” the scout said. 

“It’s a long book.” Klaus said, as he began to type. 

He worked very quickly, and as he did, the Baudelaires could see the wires begin to curl and uncurl very quickly, and the door start to quiver. When Klaus finally typed out T-R-A-G-E-D-Y, the children stepped back, waiting. 

The door stopped shaking, and the passageway fell dead quiet. 

“It’s not opening.” Lilac said. 

“Maybe that isn’t the central theme of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.” Violet said. 

“It seemed like it was working.” the scout said. 

“Maybe the mechanism is stuck.” Violet said. 

“Maybe a daring life of impulsive passion leads to something other than tragedy.” the scout said. 

“No.” Nick said quietly, and they heard a low rumble. “No, Violet was right. It was just stuck.” 

The door swung open, with a slow and eerie creek. The Baudelaires started up excitedly, only to immediately back up and cough, as smoke filtered into the tunnel. 

“No…” Lilac muttered, as Klaus rushed forwards into the remains of headquarters, and his siblings hastily followed. 

The entire headquarters had gone up in smoke, and as they stepped over ashy debris and burnt pages, they felt their hearts sink to the floor.  They had stepped into what used to be a kitchen, which they could only tell due to an overturned, singed table and the remains of what might have been cabinets or ovens, as well as a fridge in the corner. Violet let out a small cry, and Solitude started to wail, clinging to Nick, who stumbled back against what was left of a wall, shaking uncontrollably. 

“No, no, no…” Lilac said, looking around. They could see other rooms to the side- the remains of what might have been a library, what could have been a recreational room, or a study, or a dorm. 

“Mother!” Klaus shouted, his voice breaking. “Mother! Father!” 

“Mother!” Violet joined him. “Mother! Father!” 

“Dad?” Lilac shouted, hearing only their own voices echoing back. “Mom?” 

There was no response. 

“This headquarters is gone.” Klaus said, shaking. 

“And there’s no survivor.” Violet said, tears streaming down her face. 

“No.” Klaus shook his head. “No, that can’t be.” 

“Klaus-” Lilac began. 

“Jacques Snicket said there was a survivor of the fire.” Klaus cried. 

The sweatered scout, who’d been walking around the headquarters, seemingly just as in shock as the Baudelaires, stopped dead in his tracks. “Jacques Snicket said that?” 

The Baudelaires turned to him, and then Klaus nodded. 

The scout quietly said, “Then he was right. There is a survivor of the fire here.” 

“Where?” Nick asked. 

“Here.” said the scout, and then he took off his mask. 

The Baudelaires stepped back in shock, and Solitude whispered, “Duncan?” 

“I’m Quigley Quagmire,” said the scout, “And I was hoping to find my siblings here.”