#just the fact that I will chime in with a response to something that OP actually asked in the OG post and people will do this

[vampirecatprince]

I think one of my biggest pet peeves about the modern internet is the fact that everybody has to take anecdotes with a grain of salt, but as a result you will get people who will be incredibly defensive about someone chiming into a thread with a relevant anecdote?

Like- buddy... What do I stand to gain by lying about this? I'm just adding a relevant comment to the topic while providing enough information that someone could feasibly do the research themselves if they were really skeptical.

This isn't a video game where the internet has a Karma meter, my dude. You don't build fame by making average comments on people's posts.

[bookofmirth]

I saw your recent response to an anon where you mentioned the drama that occurred the other day based around bookprofessor’s post. Obviously you don’t have to respond to this or publish it if you do not wish but I just wanted to bring up that while it is important to focus on the real life issues at hand, the OP was hypocritical in her post which is why people were getting upset. She was preaching against ableism while simultaneously flaunting her IQ and degree which is a form of ableism. She was speaking out against racism while ending her post using the racial slur “cracker” when talking about the possibly Caucasian Twitter elriels.

Obviously she had some important points but it was completely overshadowed by her participation in the hate speech and prejudice that she was speaking out against.

This does not in any way justify the nasty messages she received but on the same hand, I do not blame anyone that called her out for her hypocrisy. I hope you can understand why her post was so negatively received and how flawed it was. My hope is that one day everyone can just ignore the negativity, report those who are being racist/prejudiced in any way, and block those who are just being loud and who you don’t wish to see content from. But unfortunately I do not see that happening any time soon.

There are a few things I want to address in this because I think it's a good moment for the fandom to step back and reflect on how we treat one another, how we react to such issues, and how we behave moving forward.

First off, thanks for explaining your point of view without being antagonistic. I do think that everyone's emotional reactions to the post were valid. I do NOT think their responses, in terms of words and actions, were valid. Now before I move forward, I want to clarify that when I use the word "you", I am referring to anyone who may have had the response I am describing - not you personally, anon. Also please don’t freak out about how long this is, as a majority of it is a response to the fandom in general, not you in particular.

What was - and wasn’t - said in the original post

In this post, there were completely valid criticisms of the way that people in this fandom behave, and it wasn’t “generalizing” a certain group, it was literal, actual proof of things that had been said, by multiple people. I’m not going to get too into what Alyssa argued because her critiques of those tweets was flawless. The original post had very valid criticisms of what was happening on Twitter. Alyssa exposed the actually racist, homophobic, and imperialistic underpinnings of those tweets.

However, a lot of people are stuck on the bits before and after those critiques. @bookprofessor apologized for different aspects of her post in a few different asks. There were perhaps better ways that some of those things could have been phrased, some things that could have been left out. And she apologized. People can accept that apology or not but we can’t act like it didn’t happen. Like she didn’t reflect and learn to do better.

However, the people she was calling out have not done the same thing, and if anything, comments that focus more on Alyssa’s tone than why she wrote the post in the first place lets those people off the hook.

On cracker - Using the word "cracker" is not racist in the same way that using racial slurs against POC is. Is it prejudiced? Yes. But you cannot say that it is the same thing when that is demonstrably untrue, given centuries of oppressive history. No one has been oppressed for being white. Those are not the same. Reverse racism is not a thing because a white person punching down on POC is NOT AT ALL the same thing as a POC punching up at white people. The actions look the same, but the impact is so unequal it’s not even funny.

Racism is a systemic, institutionalized problem. It is not defined by individual actions, though those actions can either support or challenge racism. When someone calls a white person a cracker, there isn’t centuries of oppression giving power to and reinforcing that statement. That is not a “gotcha” moment.

Saying “I have x IQ” or “I have X degrees” is not ableist. I’m sorry to whoever told you it was ableist (again, not you specifically anon but people who had read the “aw shucks guys” vagueblogs about it), but it’s not. Those are facts. I have no idea what my IQ is, but I have five degrees from institutions of higher education. Me saying that is in no way ableist. 

Often, people mention those things to be elitist, yes. Sometimes, they can be used to say “hey I know more about this than you”. They can be used in a way that tries to make themselves feel superior. I suspect that this is the impression that a lot of people got of the post. However, there is a fine line between saying “hey that’s elitist” and professing anti intellectualism. Which is perhaps a side issue so I’ll let that go for now.

Another reason that people mention their degrees or qualifications is to establish their background knowledge and credibility. If I were to say “hey y’all I have two MA degrees” (which is true) I am not being ableist! It is a fact! It is factual! And I worked my ass off for those, I will be in student loan debt until I die for those, I have every right to mention them if I want to, and often I do so in order to establish my credibility, to explain the position I am coming from. And my prior knowledge of these topics is relevant when we are talking about literature since that’s what my degrees were on - literature and linguistics. That is why Alyssa mentioned her background, though she did pair it with comments about other people, for which she has apologized.

My final point about this is that I 1000% understand feeling insecure or less than because of educational attainment. I dropped out of high school. I had a complex about that for a long, long time. But I also know that if I took offense at someone else saying they had a PhD, then that offense is about me, not them. Someone else’s inferiority complex is not reason for people to pretend to be less than they are.

If those two comments are what overshadowed the bigger, more important issue for a lot of the readers of that post, then y’all allowed them to overshadow those more important issues. I am 99% sure that someone right now is reading this and thinking “but Leslie, it was the way that she said it!” Boy have I got some news for you!

How we react

This next section is not specific to this ask; instead, it is a discussion of how the fandom responded. If it were only one person who had said “but her tone” then I wouldn’t need to make this point. The fact that multiple people are exhibiting the behavior explained below is what makes this a cultural problem within the acotar fandom.

The main argument I saw on the post itself, and indeed any time I see people bring up how nasty Twitter can be, is that “it was a joke” and “that’s how stan Twitter works”.

No.

Those responses were quite useful for this post, though! So buckle up everyone, because I am going to talk about gaslighting, racism, respectability politics, and tone policing. While I understand that some people might have taken personal offense to what was said, there is a much bigger issue at stake that has nothing to do with individual feelings, and everything to do with ensuring that POC stay silenced and white supremacy is upheld. 

Back to the “but it’s a joke” thing. Thanks for gaslighting! Great example of that, person I’m not going to tag! Gaslighting is when you make someone question their experiences, when you try to make them think “wait, did I really feel that way? Is my feeling about that valid? Do I need to re-evaluate my response to this?? Am I blowing this out of proportion???” And saying “it’s just a joke” is a perfect way to do that. Did I say something accidentally sexist? It’s just a joke, nbd! Now you’re the problem, because you didn’t understand my joke and laugh!!! 

Saying “it’s a joke” or “oh they are old/young/ignorant, they will learn” is not a good response to... anything. It takes the responsibility off the people who are doing the harm, and putting it onto the people who were hurt. And in this case, anyone who read those tweets and found them harmful (which should be everyone?) is completely valid. You aren’t lesser for being angry or emotional or for seeing a problem where other people saw a joke. The people who see those things as acceptable jokes are the ones in the wrong.

This is a tactic that is used against women all the time. Any time a woman is sexually harassed at work or online, for example, and she gets upset about it, and someone chimes in with “oh they weren’t serious, can’t you take a joke?” So you can imagine what this is like for women of color.

It is a very, very common tactic for people of color to be silenced via tone policing and respectability politics. Tone policing and respectability politics are very closely related, especially in this context. The idea is that if Alyssa had just written that post in just the right way, it would have been more palatable to white people, and therefore okay to write. The idea that if she had tried to be “understanding” or “see it from their perspective” or understand that it’s “just a joke” are all ways to silence and de-legitimize any accurate, valid criticisms that were made of those tweets. It effectively re-routes the conversation away from the real issues, and to the person trying to bring them up. It’s essentially an ad hominem attack in disguise. 

We see respectability politics in media when people of color who act or dress or speak like white people are afforded more respect. Or any time that a person of color is pulled over and people say, “well if they had just done what the police officer asked...” There is a pervasive idea that if people just “act” properly, aka if you act white, then the police won’t feel antagonized and try to kill arrest you. If we are nice enough, meek enough, smile enough, etc. then we will be accepted.

When we tone police, we refuse to allow marginalized people the right to be angry. We say that "hey, we can only have this discussion if you leave emotion, which you rightfully feel, at the door, and we can only continue this discussion if you behave in a way that makes me feel comfortable." But guess what? It isn’t about you! These discussions are often highly uncomfortable. There is no nice way to tell someone they are being racist. And yet somehow, that is the ever-moving goalpost. It seems reasonable, right? “Just be civil, be nice, don’t insult each other!” And there is that. But those criteria change constantly, to the point where anyone (white) at any time can say “WHOA WHOA THIS IS MAKE ME UNCOMFORTABLE???” Then we find ourselves at zero, and suddenly the focus of attention has shifted away from the actual problem.

Before we go further, I want to say this: people have a right to be angry. They do not need to make their anger palatable or tasteful for the consumption of others (read: white people). 

We saw this last summer, and I’m not sure how the message didn’t get across. But people are rightfully angry about racism. They are angry about the murder of people of color by police, they are angry about lack of quality education, or clean water, of centuries of oppression that have led to this very moment when all of that ceases to matter because a white woman’s feelings got hurt one time. 

And that is what pisses me off so much. There is no way in this world that we could criticize tweets like those that everyone would agree with, and that everyone would “approve” of, that would be “nice” enough and yet still be impactful and make the authors of those tweets understand the gravity of what they have done. 

The least we can do is allow one another to express our anger, our outrage, because it’s highly likely that those people know exactly what the fuck they are doing, and they do not fucking care. By criticizing a woman of color for the way in which she chose to engage with this topic, we are avoiding the issue and letting the people in those tweets off the hook. 

There were many responses to that post that were positive, that agreed with Alyssa. There are a ton of people who disagree with those tweets, who find them disgusting, who understand exactly how and why they are problematic. That should be what we are talking about. Getting to the core of the argument, on that post or any about racism or other problematic behavior in fandom, requires getting past our own egos. It requires us to be able to step back, say “hm this thing is frustrating but there is a bigger picture here”. It’s not easy, and I recognize that. 

The fact that it is a common tactic though? To say “hey this hurt me personally and so I’m going to ignore any valid points you made?” That feeds directly into centuries of white supremacy because it, once again, silences POC and makes them try to play a losing game. And they will always lose, because no matter how hard they try to play the white game, the goalposts are constantly shifting. So you know what? Fuck the game, and fuck respectability politics, and fuck tone policing and “uwu be nice guys” because when it comes to things like racism and sexism, I don’t expect the people who deserve to be criticized to be nice. In fact, trying to be nice only serves to fuck POC over in the end.

Indeed, in response to that post, certain blogs have taken the opportunity to position themselves as “the nice ones” or “the ones who would never” or “uwu let’s be nice guys” while completely ignoring the fact that a woman of color was attacked for calling out racism. And yes - that was the point of her post. People getting hung up on mentions of her degree are (intentionally or not, it doesn’t matter) completely obfuscating the fact that that is not what her post was about, which was to call out disgusting behavior. idk how many words the post actually was, but essentially, people are focusing on 5% of it to the detriment of the 95% that was actually really important shit. These types of vagueblog posts about the issue fall into exactly what I am talking about - these are people who have decided to look at this issue, see how Alyssa (and anyone else who dares speak up) has approached it, and intentionally try to act like they are “better” because they can be “rational” and “kind”. Newsflash, if you don’t have something to be angry about, then being “nice” about racism isn’t that much of a flex. If it didn’t bother you, then congratulations. That doesn’t make you better than people it did bother. You just got lucky this time, and decided to use that to your advantage to look like the good guy.

I am not saying that all calls for peace are doing this. Obviously it’s what we all want. This is the worst I have seen this fandom in the 4+ years I’ve been here. But we cannot have that by ignoring the real problems and pretending that if we are all just nice to each other, then we will solve racism and sexism and all bullying in the fandom will stop. 

So combining all of this - the gaslighting, the tone policing, and what do you get? You get a fandom that refuses to actually engage critically with its own problems and take accountability for them. You get a fandom that decides that it’s easier to be distracted by this one mean comment over here than it is to engage in the fact that you know what, the culture in this fandom has actually turned incredibly disgusting and a lot of people are just okay with it. You’ve got a fandom that is using the tools of white supremacy to avoid the discussions that should actually be taking place. Maybe people don’t realize that that’s what they are doing. But if someone still thinks that after reading this post, then godspeed my friend, I hope you enjoy Twitter.

Okay so my last thing I want to say is that I didn’t come to all of this knowledge fresh from the womb. I do a lot of work, in my personal life and my professional life, to be better. So here is a list of books that I have found particularly helpful:

How to Be An Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

Stamped From the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America also by Ibram X. Kendi

White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo (side note, I was kinda meh about this one but the chapter “White Women’s Tears” is particularly helpful)

So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo

Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment by Patricia Hill Collins

I’m not going to talk specifically about Alyssa’s post anymore, but if anyone wants to continue talking about these broader issues going on in the fandom, I am game. (I really should be grading papers though, so it might take a bit.)

[sofreddie]

High School Reunion 2

Summary: Someone at the reunion has a big mouth.

Characters: Jensen x Reader, Jared

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,087

A/N: Inspiration struck out of nowhere and this piece was born. I have a very rough outline for a small series, maybe about 6 parts? We'll see. It's gonna happen randomly, no planned schedule for this one.

PART 1

Y/N bit her lip in excitement and saw a message from Lana. She immediately opened Skype to call her best friend…and thank her.

"Hey you! How was the reunion?" Lana smiled as her face appeared on screen.

"Oh my fucking God I can't believe you!" Y/N screamed, though it was mostly excitement as she blushed profusely.

"So…I take it you had a good night then?" Lana grinned cheekily.

"How could you not tell me you met Jensen Freaking Ackles?! I thought we were friends?" Y/N pouted dramatically as she plopped back on her couch, phone still in hand.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep it from you?" Lana screeched in response, "You remember my last night at the convention, I went to that place for dinner that had the amazing burger?"

"Yeah, I remember. You said you loved the place, that it was a perfect ending to the trip," Y/N remembered, "Now I get why."

"Ok, yeah, so I'm sat at the bar with my burger and a beer and he comes in and sits with a chair between us. I instantly recognized him, but was trying to keep my cool, you know. But he remember me! From the photo op! So we just got to talking and you had just split with Chase and I was so worried about you-"

"Oh Lana, you didn't," Y/N groaned.

"I was just venting about how much I hated that douchebag and what he did to you and what you were going through and how I was so worried about the reunion but thought it could be a good thing for you after Chase-" she rambled on, her words quickly tumbling forth as she pleaded her case to her best friend.

"You're not mad, right?" Lana asked timidly.

"How can I be?" Y/N shouted, "He walked in there all suave and shut down my high school bullies - who were trying to start some shit let me tell you-"

"No!" Lana gasped, "Amanda?"

"And the others," Y/N sighed, "And they were trying to cut in on me and I was gonna run, I'm not gonna lie," Y/N chuckled lightly, "But then he was just there. And she introduced himself as my boyfriend….Oh my god, Lana! What if that gets out?" Y/N sat bolt upright on her couch in a panic.

"Whoa, Y/N, calm down," Lana insisted, "More important than that…he introduced himself as your boyfriend?!"

"Lana!"

"I'm just sayin'-"

Y/N sighed dreamily, "Then we danced. Then he took me for a drive and we parked up at the spot and ate burgers while chatting and watching stars," she sighed again, as if it were a scene from a romantic film she had just watched.

"That sounds like a date," Lana helpfully noted.

"I thought that too!" Y/N squealed, "But that's just the fangirl right? I mean, there's no way."

"How many times I gotta tell you you're a catch, woman?" Lana laughed, "I'm not surprised at all. In fact, I'm taking credit. You're welcome," Y/N groaned once more and Lana chuckled.

"Did I mention we exchanged numbers?" Y/N added with a grin.

"And now I hate you," Lana huffed.

"Yeah, love you too you meddler."

Y/N sighed happily to herself once more as they ended the call. She tossed her phone on the coffee table as she relaxed back into the couch. Her eyes fluttered closed as she replayed the evenings events in her mind.

She had to be dreaming. There was no way this was real, right?

Too tired and content to carry herself off to the bedroom, Y/N laid down on the couch, settling into the plush cushions and dragging the throw from the back of the couch to cover herself, falling asleep quickly and dreaming of shimmering green eyes.

Jensen groaned as he slowly came awake to the incessant ringing and chimes of his phone. He opened his eyes, grabbing for the phone and peeking at the time.

6am.

He and Y/N were out past midnight. After he made it back to the hotel, he had spent the better part of an hour sipping on a beer as he thought over the night he had with her.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to talk to Lana in the bar that night. He could tell she was a nervous fan, and he remembered her from the photo op, just as nervous and shy. But after a beer or two with her dinner, she relaxed and their conversation flowed. It was nice, to be chatting away with someone new, different.

When she went on about her best friend Y/N, Jensen felt something. Apparently the way if affected her friend was severe enough to have Lana in real turmoil over it. Jensen knew what that was like. He'd worried over Jared a time or two just the same.

When Lana gave him a picture, however, his heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful, with a charming smile. But he could see her eyes were sad and guarded.

When he realized the reunion was a few hours drive and a few days ahead of his schedule to be at another convention, he decided to make the stop to see Y/N at the reunion. At the very least he could chalk it up to a memorable fan moment.

Jensen rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he reluctantly sat against the headboard, checking to see why his phone was blowing up.

It took only a quick glance through the various calls and text and emails from various persons all talking about the same thing. Jensen opened the text thread from Jared, scrolling through the messages and clicking on a picture that was include.

It was him and Y/N dancing together at the reunion the night before. She looked as amazing as he remembered. Her smile was bright and genuine, but so was his. Apparently word had spread from the reunion that he and Y/N were together. That's when he remembered introducing himself to those girls as Y/N's boyfriend.

He wasn't so bothered by the turn of events, which surprised him. He had decided the night before that he wanted to ask her out on a date. Their chemistry was too intense to not pursue.

What bothered him was how she'd react. They'd literally just met and had a friendly, albeit great, evening and now she was possibly going to be bombarded with paparazzi and everyone in her business.

So much for that date.

He knew it was early, but he wanted Y/N to hear from him first. He opened the new message thread between them, seeing her text from the night before and smiling once more, before typing out his message.

Hey, Y/N. Hope you slept well. Was hoping to talk to you about something.

He sent the message, noting the time, and figured he'd give it some time. He didn't know her schedule, or anything about her really. With a groan, Jensen hit the green button to return one of Jared's missed calls.

"Dude!" Jared exclaimed as he answered after one ring, "I've been trying to get ahold of you for two hours!"

"Yes, Mom, I'm aware," Jensen said with a yawn.

"Did you see the picture?"

"Yeah."

"And?" Jared pressed for more, "Why aren't you freaking out about this?" Jared scoffed. Since his last major relationship ended, Jensen hadn't been with anyone really. An occasional date here and there for an event. But he hadn't seemed interested in anyone at all, and was quick to shut down any insuinuations to the contrary.

"I guess I should of seen it coming," Jensen shrugged, "I did introduce myself as her boyfriend after all."

"You what?" Jared was shocked, trying to wrap his head around it, "Why would you do that? Is there something you aren't telling me? Have you been dating her for a while? Who is she anyway?"

Jared fired off the questions in rapid succession like an excited puppy.

"I gotta talk to her first," Jensen said, "I'll see you at the convention in a couple days. You can interrogate me then."

"I want all the details."

"Don't you always?"

Jensen ended the call, taking a deep breath. He felt so stupid for what he did. He wasn't sure why he did that other than to shut those girls down. He really hated bullies.

He decided to get dressed and grab a couple of coffees on his way to Y/N's house. A quick look at his social media had told him that picture was blowing up. She was bound to find out sooner rather than later. He had to tell her first.

Y/N slowly roused from her deep sleep on the comfy couch, hearing an incessant rapping coming from her front door. She stretched, reaching for her phone on the coffee table and finding it dead.

She rolled her eyes as she threw off the throw, climbing from the couch and shuffling to the door and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

She flung open the door, the morning's cresting light just bright enough to assault her eyes. It took her a second to focus, but then she saw Jensen, a small smile on his face and two tall coffees in hand.

"Jensen?" she asked, so very confused and wondering if she was still asleep.

"Hey, uh, I know it's early. But I really needed to see you this morning."

The smile he gave was sweet, but she could tell something was up. Was he worried that maybe she'd go blabbing about their night together? She'd never do that. But she guessed he didn't know that.

"Sure, come in," she smiled warmly, stepping aside and gesturing him into her home. She accepted the coffee as Jensen passed it to her on his way in. She shut the door behind him, taking a whiff of her drink before taking a long gulp, closing her eyes and sighing at the flavor.

"So, what's up?" she asked, shuffling on her feet, "Thanks for the coffee, by the way."

"You're welcome," he smiled, now genuine and inviting and Y/N's heart stuttered slightly at the sight, "I was hoping to talk to you, about last night."

She shook her head, "I won't talk about it with anyone, I promise. Well, other then Lana. I had to call her last night. Yell at her a little," she blushed.

He laughed, nodding his head, "No, I get it. But I wasn't worried about that or anything," he was quick to correct, "Actually, someone else already did."

"Did what?"

"Someone got a picture of us on the dance floor last night and might have said I mentioned I was your boyfriend," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh," she responded, clearly shocked and not sure what to say.

"I just wanted you to hear it from me first, you know? Before seeing it online or whatever."

"Online-" she echoed, her eyes going wide, "So, you can just post a Tweet or something that it's a mistake."

"Okay, well, to be fair, I did introduce myself as your boyfriend to those other women last night."

"Yeah…why'd you do that again?" Y/N smirked despite herself.

He shrugged, "Seemed like the right thing to do. Shut 'em up didn't it?" he grinned, "Besides," he chanced, stepping closer to her," Feels like we had a date last night."

She blushed hard, ducking her head before meeting his eyes once again, "Yeah, it did."

"And I was hoping you'd like to do it again."

"Really?" she asked. She couldn't help the dreamy look in her eye. She still couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yeah. So if you say yes, then we'd be dating, which is practically boyfriend and girlfriend," he explained casually, "So I think we should just keep doing what we're doing and let it ride. What do you think?"

"I think you might be a little bit crazy," she nervously laughed, "Let's start with a second date," she grinned, seeing him brighten up, "And go from there."

"And the press?" Jensen chanced.

"Let them think what they wanna think," she shrugged.

"You're freakin' perfect," he chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, even though she still had bedhead. He smiled at the cuteness of it.

"I should go freshen up!" she realized, seeing him look over her disheveled state, "Uh…be right back." she rushed off down the hall and Jensen laughed to himself.

He had a good feeling about this.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN TAGS:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

@slamminmine

[mggssocks]

Followed- part 2

Not My Gif!

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Content Warnings: regular criminal minds stuff. (please let me know if i missed anything!)

Summary: Spencer makes an Instagram and stumbles across reader’s page.

Word Count: 2.2k +

A/N: Thank you so much for the love i have received on my last chapter!!! It means so much to me. Also i’m going to try to update chapters as much as i can but i’m graduating in a few weeks and i will have a lot going on. But again, thank you guys!!! xoxo

masterlist // part 1

Although he was only going off of a few hours of sleep, Spencer came to work with a pep in his step today. His interaction with this girl was very brief but he still got butterflies with the thought. He was early as usual so he made himself a cup of coffee and sat at his desk, settling in. He pulled out his phone and reread the text messages that the two of you shared. When he finished reading the short message thread, his thumb hovered over the letter G. He wanted to type “good morning” but he didn’t want to come off as too clingy or overbearing. That in fact was the last thing he wanted. 

“Hey Spence” he hears from behind him, causing him to jump and quickly lock his phone before shoving it into his coat pocket. 

“Hi” he turns around to see JJ and forms his mouth into a straight line. 

She eyes him weirdly. Something was up.

“Everything okay?” She asked. Knowing how Spencer was, she wasn’t expecting him to answer truthfully. Especially with him jumping startledly like he just did at a simple ‘hi’.

“No- yeah. Yeah I’m fine. What about you? Are you okay?” He asked to switch the conversation around. 

Yeah. Something was definitely up.

“I’m… fine?” She answers confused

He nods awkwardly. She was just about to ask him if he was sure that he was fine but everyone else started to walk in and she knew if he was being this secretive with her, he definitely wouldn’t want everyone else to be in his business. So she drops it… at least for now. 

Garcia speed walked into the bullpen with a file or two in her hand, not bothering to say anything to the team. She goes straight to the conference room.

“Looks like we have a case” Morgan declared as he walked past the desks and up the stairs. Everyone else followed.

“And from the looks of it, it’s bad,” says Emily. 

They settle in their seats as Garcia passes Spencer his case file while everyone else gets on their tablets.

“We’re going to Wichita, Kansas.” Hotch says as he was the last one to come into the conference room.

“This sicko stabs straight through the heart. They chop off as much hair as they can before shoving it in the victim’s mouths.” Garcia speaks, a little disturbed a little while avoiding her gaze from the screen.

“Four victims within one week. There’s no cooling off period at all” Morgan said, swiping through his tablet.

“Which is why we’re debriefing on the jet. Wheels up.”

——————

After the team debriefed on the jet, Garcia chimed in through the video chat.“Guys, A store owner just found another victim.” 

The team looks at one another. Hotch sighs momentarily before speaking.

“Alright, JJ, you and Reid to the M.E. Morgan and Rossi go to the latest crime scene and Prentiss and I will go and set up at the station.” 

Everyone nods their head at their temporary partners for confirmation.

————

“So on the first victim, the person hesitated.” The examiner spoke factually.

“-And on the other four he didn’t hesitate at all” spoke JJ, trying to get the bigger picture. 

“Exactly. Now with the new victim… I noticed something strange. “ She walked over to the newest victim from earlier that day and the agent and dr followed her.

She turned the woman’s head and revealed a cat-like scratch with three of them synchronized.

JJ and Spencer looked at each other. After they called the other team members to fill them in, they walked to the car in pure silence.

“So… this morning” says JJ, walking to the driver’s side.

Spencer gives her a questioning look as he takes the passenger seat.

“What about this morning?” He asked in a suspicious tone and avoided her gaze by looking out of the window.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Spence, but I know something’s going on. Just tell me that it’s nothing bad.” She put her seatbelt on.

Spencer didn’t dare to give in “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

——————- 

After three days, they finally caught the unsub. The man was purely a sick and twisted psychopath. Jeffery Magnum. A 30 year old man who was severely abused as a child. His mother would make him eat the cat’s fur balls for dinner and when he refused, she would shave him bald. His mother died and that was the stressor that made him begin to kill.

As they boarded the plane, Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ sat together in the four seats. Rossi and Hotch sat together in the seats across from each other behind them. Spencer sat on the couch, far away from everyone. He wasn’t trying to distance himself. He just wanted to sit alone.

He pulled his phone out. He hasn’t thought much about that girl since he’s obviously been busy but now he was thinking about her. When he opened the app, he saw that she had posted a story. Before he watched her story, he clicked on her account and scrolled a little. She posted a lot of books and her cat too. Spencer really liked this one in particular.

26 likes

Yourinstagram I looked up from my book and seen this. thought it was a great photo op. 

View all 11 comments

He comes across a picture that really catches his attention.

11 likes

Yourinstagram okay just finished these two Jung books. He’s officially my favorite psychology/ prolific author. Freud’s got nothing on this guy.

View 1 comment

Spencer nodded his head approvingly. He swiped back to look at her Instagram story. 

He swiped up, thinking of a way to start a conversation. He just wanted to talk. About what? He doesn’t know.

spencerreid what’s tomorrow?

As expected, she didn’t respond right away. Instead of waiting for a response, Spencer picks up a book to occupy his attention. About 15 minutes later, his phone vibrates and an Instagram notification pops up. It catches the attention of JJ and she looks from the corner of her eye.

Spencer let’s 3 minutes pass by before responding because he didn’t want to seem too eager to talk to her. Although he definitely was.

yourinstagram nothing special! I’m a pastry chef so I’m just preparing them for the week! 

spencerreid Do you have some sort of bakery?

yourinstagram yup :)

Spencer didn’t know what to text back. So he started a new conversation with her.

spencerreid By the way I was looking at your page and seen that you read Carl Jung books.

yourinstagram you were stalking my page??

He started to panic. He didn’t mean it like a weirdo.

spencerreid I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to see what you were about, I guess.

yourinstagram relax haha I was kidding. And yes I do like Carl Jung books. What about you? Jung or Freud?

spencerreid I’m a fan of both, though I feel as if Jung was more open minded.

yourinstagram you, my friend, have great taste.

Although he knew “my friend” was just a term, Spencer couldn’t help but let a smile spread across his face. 

JJ notices and nudges Morgan who was listening to music. Prentiss notices JJ’s act and she gives her a questioning look. JJ nods her head towards Reid who was smiling at his phone. Emily who was sitting next to the window across from Morgan leaned over the seat to get a peek at Spencer.

She looks back to JJ. “What?”

“He’s been acting weird since before we left for this case. Like… secretive.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “You think he’s got something going on?” 

JJ shrugs.

“Hey” Emily says to Spencer.

He doesn’t necessarily jump but he was obviously startled. 

“What are you smiling about?” She asked. JJ and Derek watched as he fumbled over his words.

“I- uh-just- just a joke” Spencer cringed internally, because not even he, himself was buying it.

“What’s the joke?” Derek asked.

“It’s… nothing you would find amusing.” 

The three pretended to believe him and gave each other subtle glances before continuing what they were doing. Spencer turned back to his phone.

yourinstagram I’m y/n by the way. Just thought I’d formally introduce myself.

spencerreid I’m Spencer.

yourinstagram It’s nice to meet you, Spencer.

spencerreid It’s nice to meet you as well, Y/N.

After the jet landed, it was only 3:00 in the afternoon. Hotch gave them the rest of the day off so Spencer decided to head home and catch up on some sleep that he’s missed these past few days. 

He knew that it’d be terrible traffic on his way home. But since he stupidly decided to drive to work a few days ago, he couldn’t take the subway. He had to drive home. After about 10 minutes of sitting in his car calculating the fastest route home during traffic hours, he decides to take a way that he’s never taken before.

It would take him about thirty minutes but on his normal route during traffic hours, it would take him an hour and twenty. 

While driving, he catches a glimpse of a bakery and his stomach automatically growls. He decided that he’d stop by. Spencer walked into the shop and it wasn’t very busy. He looked over all of the options while waiting for someone to come to the counter.

A girl soon trails around dusting her hands off on her yellow apron. Her hair tied back in a ponytail.

“Hi. How can I help you?” She gives a kind smile.

“Uh- can I have two of the Danish pastries And a water?” He asked.

“Of course! Will that be all?” She puts some clear gloves on and makes her way over to the pastries.

“Yes” Spencer answers, digging through his satchel for his wallet.

She puts the treats in an apricot colored box, closed with a sticker with the name of the bakery. 

She puts the order in and looks back up at him “That’ll be $5.37!” 

He’s finally able to get a feel for his wallet and pulls out his card, handing it to her. She swipes it and hands it back over to him after it was approved along with his box and a reusable water bottle. He murmurs a thank you before leaving and heading to his apartment, enjoying the delicious danishes and finishing up some case files.

*******

“Seriously, Y/n. There’s so many relationship opportunities in Virginia. And you’re thinking about someone from a social media platform. You’ve never even seen them.” Your older sister lectures you as you close up the shop.

“Woah woah woah. I never said anything about a relationship with him. He’s nice but I’m not going to date someone over the internet. For all I know, he could be from England. I just said we both have an understandable love for Carl Jung in common.” You explained.

“Mom is worried about you. You’re thirty and you haven’t even found someone you’re interested in.” She lifts her eyebrow.

“She doesn’t need to worry about me. And every single woman doesn’t need to get married and settle down in their thirties.” you argue back

“She wants grandchildren, y/n. And not just from one of her kids.” 

“Look. I’m fine. You guys need to stop with the pressuring. I’m happy and I have all that I can ask for right now. When that time comes then it comes but for right now, i’m content” You shrug as you lock up all of the treats in the display cases.

She gives up the argument. And there is a weight of silence that fell between the two of you.

“Alright. Dave and the kids are expecting me so I'm going to get some pizza and head home.” she says, breaking the silence.

“Okay. Love you. Be safe. Bye” you say to her. 

After locking up the shop, you head home and when you open your door, you are greeted by your cat, Luna. After locking the door, you kneel down to properly greet your baby.

“Hey, girl” you pick her up and make your way to the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what options you had to eat for dinner.

You decided on some grilled cheese and tomato soup so that’s what you made.

*****

You throw the crust down on your plate, flipping the page of the book you were almost done with. You were curled up on the side of the couch with Luna sleeping by your feet. After finishing the last page, you were bored enough to go onto twitter and then instagram. 

As you make your way to his dm, you bite your lip, hesitant to say something. You didn’t often speak to people through social media. But he’s already texted first so the least you can do is text something first this time. You were uncertain, but you did it anyway.

yourinstagram hey

You mentally smack yourself as you look at the time. He’s probably already slee-

spencerreid Hi.

yourinstagram i was thinking….

spencerreid About?

yourinstagram I told you what i do for a living. I figured it’s only right that you told me what you do..

spencerreid I’m in the FBI. I’m a profiler.

yourinstagram that’s pretty impressive.

You didn’t know it but Spencer was blushing.

spencerreid Thank you.

yourinstagram you’re based in D.C right?

spencerreid That would be correct.

yourinstagram That’s funny.

spencereid Why is it funny?

yourinstagram because I live in D.C too.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Ooohhhh look at me!! I have a heart boner for a creepy bug man who sucks as a security guard for royalty and shit! Not to mention his butterfly wings make him SO colorful and SOOO gay!!Imma smooch this poor little meow meow until he spontaneously combusts and I become him like in that Lil Nas X video “Call Me By Your Name”!!

(Nah but tbh you have awesome taste in f/os. I’m just messing with ya lol. Have a great day Rigel! -@rose-wine-selfships 🌹✨)

So. please allow me to tell a story. Some time ago, I reblogged a meme that said something akin to "put in my inbox 'op literally [whatever], but go off I guess", and I received this response:

You see where I said that ask was brutal? How that ask went directly to the core of the matter with no hesitation? This is what your ask did. You have succinctly described not only me but ALSO this character, and I would like to congratulate you on becoming a hall of fame member in the "asks that annihilated me on impact because I simply couldn't debate them" category, alongside the wonderful friend who sent me that ask. There is simply nothing I can counter.

Bonus points for calling pouf creepy bc I actually haven't seen that one yet! I've seen annoying, cringe, gross, and a memorable comment calling him a "sparkly fucking perv", but I think you've added a new adjective to the overall lexicon people use for him, so I congratulate you on that 👏

[With all that being said, @rose-wine-selfships you did nail it sjjdkfkffk he did in fact kinda suck at his job 😔 also the gay rainbow wings lmaooo you have NO idea, they weren't even open in his very first scene but there were fairy chimes and glitter, there's always glitter whenever his wings are open, take away the wings and like. no heterosexual man looks like that 😭 that man is going to super hell for many more crimes other than the flamboyant gay ones and I'll take a few days off every week to poke my head in and see how he's doing ksjdjfkkfk thank you for this ask it is beautiful 🙌]

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “With Friends Like These”

I was on a vine kick last night because what better way to waste your time and stay up horrendously late then by watching compilations of six-second absurdity? Which reminded me that this gem exists:

“Release all the sounds trapped in your mind” only for the grinch to let out this demonic, very relatable screech. That’s me right now, folks. That sound? It’s emanating from my soul.

I don’t even know how to provide a summary of my feelings unless you all are interested in watching this vine on a loop. So let’s just drop straight into the plot.

We start with a black screen, Ruby’s voice-over repeating the message she sent out at the end of last episode, then opening onto the airship with Qrow, Clover, Robyn, and Tyrian. The group doesn’t waste any time. They jump straight into making terrible, idiotic choices that go against their established characterizations. Despite the fact that Robyn announced she had seriously misjudged Ironwood mere hours ago, she immediately takes up Team RWBY’s simplistic stance of, “We can’t let him do this!” Granted, Robyn doesn’t have all the context information that the group does, such as precisely how depleted their tropes are and that the perimeter may have already been taken out. Nevertheless, she just went through an arc wherein she expected the worst of Ironwood---you’re doing something horrific with that tower!---only to be proven horrendously wrong and admit that she’d been wrong. Robyn just held his hand, semblance activated, while he asked Mantle to stand with him in this fight. Like when the group was heading back to Ironwood’s office, Robyn isn’t inclined to even consider that Ironwood might have a good reason for making these decisions. The group as a whole has a habit of jumping straight to, “He’s betraying us??” rather than, “Wow. Shit. Something must have happened back  there that I’m not aware of. Because Ironwood has absolutely demonstrated that he never does anything without good reason. I must be missing some crucial piece of this situation if he’s suddenly declaring Martial Law.” (Which, I’d like to point out, is a temporary situation in response to an emergency... which this very much is. Characters and fandom alike are acting as if Ironwood has declared himself King of Atlas or something.) It comes down to the issue of the whole volume: one of trust. No one but the Ace Ops has put any trust in Ironwood, despite Ironwood actually working to earn that trust. A sharp contrast to the Volume 5 group who demanded Ozpin’s secrets without proving their loyalty first. Ironwood does what they couldn’t, proving his loyalty to them time and time again, only to get none of it in return. These people aren’t even willing to consider the possibility that maybe he has a good reason for making these calls. It’s not the outcome they want and is, therefore, “proof” of his antagonist status. 

So all Robyn’s growth in regards to Ironwood is immediately erased. Literally in her first line. Despite the fact that Clover starts to remind her of this, defending this assumption that Ironwood is just a crazy doing evil, crazy things (that’s Tyrian btw), but of course he’s interrupted. His scroll chimes, revealing the arrest warrant out on RWBYJNROQ.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of people freaking out about this image since it dropped yesterday, using it as more evidence for how cruel and unfair Ironwood is. “What’s he got against Oscar? Or Qrow? See! He’s just gunning for all of them, regardless of whether they did anything wrong.” Except that Ironwood isn’t stupid. (When the writing remembers that he’s not, anyway.) He is well aware that this group is a unit. They’re joined at the hip. Once Ruby decides something that’s it, everyone follows. Ironwood’s goal coming into all this was never to arrest them. The only reason he decided on that course of action is because Team RWBY made it crystal clear that would work to keep him from saving Atlas at the expense of Mantle. Thus, what he’s aiming for is not truly “Arrest these people” but “Keep these people from standing in my way,” which Ironwood simply can’t accomplish if only Team RWBY is in custody. He knows very well that there are five other people out there who will immediately take up their cause. This might have been a different situation if Ruby herself hadn’t announced across all their scrolls that this is Ironwood’s plan and we have to stop him. That was unambiguously a call to arms: stop him like we’re trying to stop him now. So yes, Ironwood is absolutely going to put out an arrest for Qrow and Oscar as well. He doesn’t know Oscar’s situation with Neo. He doesn’t know that Qrow would be faithful to him---and indeed he’s absolutely not.  

As Qrow begins stoking his own anger, Robyn moves from a character I legitimately liked and rooted for to someone I wasn’t at all sad to cut out of the  episode via unconsciousness. She’s straight up arrogant here, labeling Ironwood’s choice as an “inhuman plan” despite not knowing what that plan is or why it’s necessary, following that up with, “Looks like he underestimated me again.” Look, I’m not inclined to be all polite and peace-keeping in this recap---RWBY hasn’t earned that---so there’s going to be a lot of salt this time around. I just want to give everyone fair warning in case that’s not your cup of tea. That established, I want to be blunt in saying: get over yourself, Robyn. This has nothing to do with you. She acts as if it’s a personal slight, as if rather than making the hard call to try and save as many people as he can, Ironwood spent last episode twirling his non-existent mustache and thinking up nefarious plans specifically to slight her. The fandom wants to talk about unstable characters? That’s Robyn here. Ironwood might shout and look terrified, but he’s taking the time to think through his actions before implementing them, considering each option before deciding on what he believes is the solution best suited to their survival. Robyn might seem calm and confident, but she’s jumping to conclusions and is the first to raise her weapon, threatening Clover while he’s attempting to approach this issue peacefully. It reminds me of that point in regards to arguments: just because someone is emotional doesn’t mean they’re wrong and just because someone can keep calm doesn’t mean they’re right. Robyn puts on a good show, but she’s more interested in maintaining her former, simplistic view of Ironwood---I knew he was out to get me!---and perceiving personal attacks against her, rather than grappling with what’s actually happening or, heaven forbid, getting more information before aiming an arrow at Clover’s head. 

As Qrow joins her in being pissed I have to ask... did he just forget who Salem is?

Because Ruby announced that. “Salem is coming.” I love how the writing just has all the characters ignore what is the most crucial part of this entire dilemma. Team RWBY doesn’t get to spout generic “We can do it!” without acknowledging, let alone finding a way to circumvent, the issue of an immortal sorceress bearing down on them. Same with Qrow here. If anything he should be the most inclined to prioritize what’s actually important in this situation, considering that he’s known about Salem for far longer and has an even better picture of what she’s capable of. But he just ignores it too. Rather then recognizing that Clover doesn’t want to arrest him but has a responsibility to, that Ironwood may well have very good reasons for doing this considering Qrow doesn’t know what the hell his kids have been up to while he’s away, that now is not the time to join in Robyn’s fight when Salem herself is approaching, that allowing himself to be arrested would likewise allow him to speak to Ironwood like he wants to, given how sympathetic Clover is to him and would no doubt take him straight to Ironwood if he asked... Qrow, like the rest of the RWBYJNR group, decides that fighting is the only answer.

It comes down to maturity, something our heroes simply don’t have. Regardless of literal ages they act like children throwing tantrums. The second they don’t get precisely what they want they jump to violence as their solution. If you don’t adhere to my whim then I will fight you until you either agree (Cordovin) or are too injured to stop me (the Ace Ops). No, Yang, you don’t have to fight every single battle that comes your way. Especially when this group is creating those battles in the first place. No one made them launch an attack on Argus in the form of first stealing military property and then choosing to attack Cordovin when she gave them the option of surrendering. No one made them plant themselves in front of Ironwood and give the verbal/body language equivalent of announcing that Ironwood will have to forcibly move them if he wants to succeed. And then when he does that the writing and the fandom act like Ironwood attacked out of the blue, rather than accepting the gauntlet that Team RWBY threw down. They’re violent. They’re callous. They’re arrogant. In two volumes we haven’t seen them display an ounce of compassion or humility towards those not in their little circle, from renouncing the adults in their lives, to ignoring Ozpin, to betraying Ironwood left and right and then acting like he still owes them anything. These people are not heroes and Qrow is very quickly joining them.

I find it hilariously ironic that last week people were screaming over how Ironwood is “Doing precisely what the villains want,” as if it’s possible to make hard, morally complex calls like this without creating division. Salem’s win there is inevitable. It is straight up impossible for Ironwood to do ANYTHING that doesn’t create some kind of discord among the people and his allies. He decides to leave Mantle? Team RWBY is upset. Stick around for a suicide mission? Ace Ops are upset. Refuse to make a decision and demand that someone else shoulder this weight for once? Everyone is upset because how dare you, you’re our leader. It’s a rigged setup---which is precisely why Salem is so hard to beat---so people need to stop acting like Ironwood had an out here that he simply refused to take. But I’m getting off track. That response is hilarious because you know who does do precisely what the villains want while actually having the option not to?

Robyn and Qrow.

Tyrian is literally sitting there laughing over this “show” and hoping that they’ll fight, giving him the chance to escape. He says as much. Please fight. To which Robyn responds, “He’s right. Let’s get this over with” and shoots at Clover.

“He’s right.”

“HE’S RIGHT.”

I don’t know how much more on-the-nose it can be. The villain clearly expresses what he wants to happen, a supposed hero verbally agrees with him, and then does that exact thing. But sure. Ironwood is the one playing into the villains’ hands. All of which doesn’t even touch on Qrow willingly teaming up with Tyrian later on, but we’ll get to that.

Obviously during the ensuing fight Tyrian does get free (who would have thought...) and kills the pilot of the ship. So congratulations, Robyn. Your supposed desire to defend the people just got one of them needlessly killed. That was entirely preventable and extending responsibility past the actual murderer, it’s on her that this guy died.

The airship begins to crash and Qrow... randomly freaks out about it? I’m endlessly confused by character strength in the show. Jumping out of airships is a repeated activity that’s treated as a game. We just watched the group nonchalantly leaving a burning, plummeting, also-had-a-grimm attached to it airship at the beginning of the Mantle battle, but now suddenly one crashing is this super big deal? That Qrow is going to panic about? That manages to take out Robyn? Okay...

Anyway they crash and we segue to Winter. And I just have to say: god bless Winter Schnee.

FINALLY someone with some common sense. As soon as Winter sees the arrest warrant she asks herself, “Weiss... what did you do?” Because yeah! They did do something! Winter is the only character who acknowledges that maybe, just possibly, our precious Team RWBY messed things up. That they’re capable of making mistakes. Unlike Robyn and Qrow she doesn’t jump to, “Oh my god you’re arresting my sister?” but rather keeps her head and acknowledges that if the general who has done nothing but treat her sister with respect and compassion since she arrived now wants her in custody... he probably has a damn good reason for that. This is a switch from the start of the volume when Winter reamed out the guards for putting Weiss in handcuffs rather than first seeing why she was chained up in the first place, but it’s a switch I’m here for.

She and Penny then get into a conversation about choices and demonstrations of grief. Winter points out what I’ve been arguing for the last week: just because someone doesn’t waste time sobbing over a hard decision doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt them to make it, and just because a decision is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right call under these circumstances. “The general is making hard choices so that we don’t have to. For the good of all, not just the few,” Winter says and I want to reach right through my computer screen and give her a kiss for being the one compassionate, level-headed character right now. Penny, however, isn’t convinced. “I do not see what is good about any of this,” she says, rejecting Winter holding her hands in a way she didn’t reject Ruby doing it (surprise, surprise). It’s notable though that Winter responds with, “On that we can agree.” That right there is the kicker. Just because you’ve chosen the best of two options doesn’t mean either option is good. It just means one is less shitty. Winter is perfectly willing to admit that there’s nothing actually good in this situation, but she likewise admits that Ironwood isn’t wrong for shouldering the lesser evil so that no one else has to. That’s the sort of nuanced perspective we deserved from Team RWBY.

Instead, they’re insisting on a perfect happy ending in a world that they know damn well doesn’t allow for that. There’s a difference between being hopeful and striving for an “impossible” outcome when feasible, vs. allowing that “It’s a perfect ending or nothing” perspective keep you from making any progress at all. Team RWBY would rather watch both Mantle and Atlas burn in their attempts to reach perfection than to admit that sometimes that’s just not possible. They’re Blake, telling Yang that she never ever wants to be put into a situation where she has to kill again while likewise refusing to take the steps---dropping out of the war, not being a huntress, etc.---that would allow for that. She wants impossible things built on a kinder world and while of course it’s completely understandable why she wants that and while it’s heroic to strive for that world in the long-term... none of that means anyone is going to get it right now. They have got to balance pragmatism with blind, hopeful naivety. Especially when there are so many lives on the line. The truly devastating things is we could have seen that this volume. If the story had allowed the group to talk about Salem, reconcile with Ozpin, pool his knowledge with what Ruby knows about her eyes hurting Cinder, allowed Maria to actually function as a mentor, training her, combining this psychologically-based weapon with Ruby’s fears and flaws, allowed for growth... then we could have gotten a fight where instead of the group just going, “We have to try!” they could counter with, “This is how we try. You prepare Atlas for evacuation if necessary. We’ll work on getting everyone in Mantle out, hopefully using my silver eyes as a last resort. If it comes to it? You can leave us behind. But we have to at least take a chance on this to save as many people as possible.” That would have been heroic and can you imagine the possibilities for the future? Salem actually attacking head on only to face the first Silver Eyed Warrior since Maria capable of doing damage. Being so shocked by that that she retreats, re-setting her status as a villain who prefers to keep her distance, immortality aside. The group getting definitive proof that there may be a way to win, even if it’s going to be a long, hard slog to beat Salem’s magic, her army, and her immortality in the long run. The hope is there though, supported through what we’ve seen on screen, and the group manages to save Mantle by working with Ironwood, rather than insisting that Ironwood work with them based on nothing. 

Obviously none of that happens. Rather, here Penny is adopting the exact same mindset of the group: hope based on nothing and therefore dangerous. Normally I would chalk this up to her being a robot and not understanding such complexities, but it’s clear she’s meant to be a stand-in for Team RWBY here, challenging Winter as she parallels Ironwood. Everything from the pissed-off tone to pulling her hands away demonstrates that Penny, like Team RWBY, isn’t even willing to entertain the idea of a hard choice. They’re all still Pyrrhas, preferring to kill themselves rather than retreat. Except that in this case they’re insisting that everyone else die with them.

While Penny coldly walks away from Winter the fight between RWBY and the Ace Ops starts... and it’s just as absurd as I knew it was going to be. Please note throughout that, like Clover, the actual adults in the room are the only ones willing to compromise. Harriet makes it clear that she will not start this fight. She emphasizes that an arrest is only “Until this is sorted out...” As established, the only reason why they’re being arrested at all is because RWBY made it clear that they would actively stand in the way of Ironwood doing his job. They betrayed him first---as Elm will later point out---and they all but announced that they will continue to betray him so long as they’re free. You created this situation. Here, that agency is repeated. “We’re not doing anything. They decide what happens next.” You can still walk away from this and accept that you’ve made a mistake. It’s another Cordovin situation. Ruby has the choice to attack an ally or act mature for once and not make things worse... she decides to make things worse.

(Also I despise Yang’s little, “Really?” when Harriet closes down the room like... please lose the attitude. Just for five seconds. I’m begging you.)

Marrow is hesitant as most assumed he would be but he nevertheless stands by his team. Especially once Harriet makes it clear that they’re not going to unduly attack these teenagers. They will only defend themselves. It’s Ruby blasting through the doors that kicks things off, but not before she sets up the “justification” for how these drop-out second years beat the best huntsmen in all of Atlas.

“You were... then you trained us.”

Really? That’s the explanation? A few training sessions beats full schooling and years more experience/practice? I knew the show was going to give us some BS reason for why the group was able to beat what’s quite possibly the most elite team in the entire world at this point, but this is still straight-up absurd. At this point I suppose Team RWBY really doesn’t need anyone else. Adults have never once helped them---we did it all ourselves!---everyone else is always wrong, and they’re the most powerful now, so obviously they don’t even have anything else to learn technique-wise. Good. Great. Thanks, I hate it.

Also, let’s just talk about manipulation for a second. Later on Qrow will accuse Clover of this, claiming he’s manipulating him by saying that he should surrender since Robyn needs help... even though that’s just a straight up fact. Robyn is injured. She does need help, and she won’t get it so long as Qrow insists on picking a fight with someone who does not want to fight him. Even if everyone agrees that Clover is 100% in the wrong for trying to arrest Qrow in the first place, someone’s life potentially being on the line kind of supersedes that. Idk about you all but if someone getting medical help rested on me turning myself in... I’d turn myself in. Clearly Qrow doesn’t give a damn about Robyn if he’s willing to place his freedom over her safety and Clover is right to point that out. What is manipulation though? Ruby’s talk with Harriet. Notice the staggering difference in tone. She’s pure cocky confidence when she announces that the Ace Ops are no longer the best huntsmen in Atlas and then the second Harriet manages to slam Ruby into the wall her entire presentation changes. “You know we need to be working together!” she cries. Her voice is childish again, the arrogance is gone, she’s putting the responsibility on Harriet to “work together” even though Ruby, all of three seconds ago, is the only who rejected Harriet’s offer that they didn’t need to fight. And this only happens when Ruby is in a position where it looks like she’s losing. Oh no, Harriet actually managed to catch me and slam me into the elevator hard enough to dent it? Clearly she won’t be as easy to beat as I thought, so let’s act like a vulnerable kid again begging you to do the “right” thing, instead of a confident huntress starting this fight in the first place... that’s manipulation. Ruby is deliberately changing how she portrays both herself and the situation depending on whether or not she’s getting what she wants, aka winning.

Harriet responds to that precisely as she should: “Don’t give me that crap.”

Really, the whole fight is an exercise in frustration as Team RWBY endlessly refuses to admit that they could ever do anything wrong. Elm shouts that they betrayed them first and all Blake cares about is how they’re betraying the people now. Just swipe our sins under the rug because clearly they don’t matter, to say nothing of the fact that those sins led to this conflict in the first place. Yang snidely announces that, “It’s not worth it, Blake. They’re just following orders” even though that is straight up not the case. You’ve been lying since Volume 5, Yang, so forgive me if I’m not about to take you at your word. Especially when I just watched a full ten minutes last week straight up proving you wrong.

Honestly does Rooster Teeth think we’re not watching the show? That they can just make new claims each week and have us not remember the blatant contrasts that came before it, stuff that they provided? It’s like this every episode now. Whatever we see happening on screen is quickly erased and replaced with whatever Team RWBY believes and I’m so completely over it.

The whole fight is just stupidity incarnate. Not the animation---beautiful there---but everything else is a chore to watch. I enjoy how we get not one, but TWO moments where the Ace Ops announce that they’re not going to hold back anymore... only to then have the group immediately beat them after that announcement. Marrow’s true power is hinted at with, “I’m trying to arrest her, not kill her” only for Weiss to take him out with one shot when he finally uses his semblance. Vine and Elm talk about how they’re going to take this fight seriously now, only for Yang to beat them both easy-peasy immediately afterward. It doesn’t get much more contrived than that. None of the group even needed to help one another, with the exception of Blake and Yang who are, of course, never ever separated (not even in a clear 4v4 battle). I could maybe buy one of the group getting lucky and then two or three teaming up to take out another Ace Op. If Ruby took advantage of Harriet’s exhaustion after the battle and then went to help Weiss take out Marrow together. But no. No one needs any assistance. I mean yeah, Weiss throws up an ice barrier, but it’s clear Ruby didn’t need the help. Especially after getting the cuffs around Harriet. Weiss just hurried things along.

Afterwards the group isn’t even winded and all their auras are intact. It’s insane. And you know what I kept thinking the whole time? Ironwood gave you all those armor and weapon upgrades. Yang relies heavily on Atlas bombs in this fight. Based on Ruby’s comment, their ability to go head-to-head with the Ace Ops at all lies in what they taught them. We’re talking about betrayals? It really hits home that the group’s victory is built on all the trust they were shown by others. The training and the weapons and the resources and the safety and the support and the time to improve their skills. Then Team RWBY turned around and attacked them with it.

We end that battle with Maria and Pietro showing up. Maria, oh so shockingly, turns it all into a joke. “This is the part where they ask us to help.” Team RWBY? Facing criticism, or even just suspicion when caught with a bunch of unconscious military personnel? Nah. Just give ‘em a hand!

The only part I liked in this fight was Weiss’ comment about Mantle being her home. That’s a motivation I could get behind, not just a general, “We can’t abandon the people!” but an emotional attachment to her kingdom that blinds her to the hard realities of the situation. It’s too bad that wasn’t explored further.

We then move onto JNR and honestly? I found this scene to be a bit underwhelming. Granted, I liked the setup between Nora, Neo, and Oscar. Seeing “Oscar” standing in the hallway and smiling in a way that we knew immediately was Neo made for a wonderfully creepy and briefly tense moment. Kudos there. 

What I like less is:

1. Not getting to see that initial fight between Oscar and Neo. All his characterization keeps happening off screen.

2. Still no Ozpin. By denying us that first encounter we likewise lost the presumed resolution of Ozpin providing aid, either by speaking to Oscar or taking over the fight.

3. Connected to 2... since when the hell can Oscar survive Neo for an undetermined length of time? I mean seriously. Which is it, Rooster Teeth? Is Oscar still so weak that it’s oh-so-obvious why he wouldn’t help a team of thirteen others fight a geist, or is he so strong he can 1v1 Neo until JNR shows up? Because the discrepancy between those is massive. There’s not even an implication that Oscar just successfully hid from her or something. When he appears he straight up lands a punch on her, despite telegraphing it in the most obvious way possible.

It’s just so, so messy. There’s no consistency at all anymore. Neo can take on a Maiden but gets blindsided by a barely-trained kid all but screaming, “I’m going to punch you now!”? Alright. Sure. I don’t know why I’m even surprised at this point. 

So it’s Team JNOR vs. Neo next episode. Obviously if Oscar can handle her himself then the four of them should take her out in an instant.

We return to Penny and Winter where she says, “I hope it’s painless for her,” referring to losing the Maiden during the transfer. Obviously this post is more salt than meta so here, have some more: Penny is an absolute brat here. “You said your personal feelings don’t matter.” I don’t care if she’s a robot, Penny knows enough to understand the situation and realize that a comment like that is just straight up cruel. If she fundamentally disagreed with what Winter said in the hallway then she would have left like Team RWBY. Instead she’s here, acknowledging that even if she doesn’t like this, they’re both making the right call in helping Winter gain the Maiden powers and then retreating from Salem. So don’t twist the knife by implying that Winter is so heartless she doesn’t even care about the Maiden’s comfort. You don’t get to assist in this and drag Winter for the same exact thing. 

Winter is astoundingly patient with her attitude, precisely how Ironwood was patient with the group criticizing and yelling at him all volume. She explains that of course she still feels badly. You can wrestle with your feelings while still taking action, something Team RWBY (and most of the fandom) clearly doesn’t get. Penny at least admits that she thinks she understands now, which is more growth in a sentence then we’ve gotten from Team RWBY in two volumes. We also see that Winter does intend to use the machine to transfer the power, something we’re not even sure works yet considering that Pyrrha never got to complete the process (the Volume 3 parallels aren’t at all subtle).

Which is when Cinder shows up. She obviously kills all the guards and blasts through the doors, demonstrating just a small sampling of her power. Penny recognizes her as the one who orchestrated her death and announces that she has “feelings” about it. So it’s a Penny and Winter vs. Cinder fight as well next week. For the record, this is a moment when you don’t back down from a fight. When standing your ground through violence is heroic rather than immature and dangerous. What I’m getting at is: Penny and Winter are best girls at the moment. Level-headed, heroic, compassionate, and when they’re not they learn from that. They grow. Thank god at least some characters are still marginally intact. 

All of which finally brings us back to Qrow and the others. 4,000 words in and my fingers are tired, but I’ll attempt to give this fight the attention it deserves lol.

The airship has crashed almost directly below Amity Arena---that’s some kind of setup. Could Watts still be inside?---and, as mentioned, Robyn is rendered unconscious during the crash and clearly needs help. Qrow goes so far as to check her pulse. We get that “manipulation” on Clover’s part which is really just him laying out precisely what the situation is: you can either fight me when neither of us want that, endangering Robyn in the process, or you can accept being arrested, get her help, and we’ll see if we can work things out back in Atlas. “We don’t have to fight, friend,” he says and Qrow scoffs at that. Because remember, he’s Yang’s uncle too. This family never backs down from a fight, even a needless one, and you’re only their “friend” if you do precisely what they want at all times. Otherwise you’re an enemy. Even when there are clearly real enemies standing right beside you. 

Now, I’m already seeing absolutely illogical posts claiming that Tyrian manipulated Qrow and... no. Just no. That’s not at all what happened. First off, it’s clear before Tyrian even gets involved again that Qrow is hell-bent on making bad decisions all on his own. As said, he’s prioritizing fighting Clover over getting Robyn help, or dealing with Salem, or literally anything else that’s a bigger issue right now. Qrow isn’t thinking. I mean, what does he even intend to do if he somehow manages to beat both Clover and Tyrian on his own (when he couldn’t even beat Tyrian solo in Volume 4)? Is he going to take Robyn back to Atlas himself? The city where he’s still a wanted man? The city Clover already wants to take him to, even if it’s in handcuffs? What’s he going to do with the serial killer exceptionally skilled at breaking out of his bonds? What’s he going to do with an exhausted or unconscious Clover? Leave him out there in the cold? The cold that both Weiss and our recent heating crisis insists can kill you very quickly without aura? Here is another, beautiful example of our “heroes” emphasizing fighting as the go-to answer without considering the repercussions of that. Qrow doesn’t need Tryian to manipulate him into bad decisions. He’s doing a great job of it all on his own.

When Tryian does arrive though---and for the record him dislocating his thumb was great. I have dislocated my thumb before, folks, and it’s a ride---Qrow WILLINGLY teams up with him. Just like Robyn going, “He’s right” there is precisely zero ambiguity here.

Tyrian offers to work with Qrow to take out Clover and Qrow agrees. Full stop. That’s what happened. He had all the information, all his own agency, and he made that decision all on his own. He literally teams up with the villain to take out an ally. “No wait,” I see posts saying, “Qrow never wanted to kill Clover! He just wanted to get him to stop fighting. It’s not his fault it ended like that...” Excuse me, but what do you think serial killers do? He NEVER could have IMAGINED that TYRIAN might BETRAY him people say, as if that’s not the entire basis of Tyrian’s character. He kills people and laughs about it. It’s his thing and thus there is no justification for trusting him, only stupidity. Which doesn’t even include Qrow just gunning for Clover in the first place. He needs Clover to beat someone like Tyrian---we proved that through a comparison of Volume 4 with last week’s battle---but yeah, sure, team up with Salem’s henchmen to take out your friend, banking on the fact that Tyrian won’t do a single naughty thing along the way and that you will somehow be able to take him out solo after it’s all done. This? This is on Qrow.

I mean it’s mostly on Tyrian for doing the actual killing, I hope people get that, but it’s also on Qrow. When Tyrian says, “You mean like how you just killed Clover?” he’s not just talking about a framing, Qrow left alone with airships landing and his own weapon covered in blood. He set up the scenario that led directly to Clover’s death. He attacked and willfully endangered an ally. He is culpable.

The fact that Qrow is screaming beforehand, “Why couldn’t you just do the right thing instead of the thing you were told?!” while Clover announces that, “I trust James with my life and I wanted to trust you” just makes it all the more worse. RWBYJNROQ has no trust for anyone outside of their own team. Ironwood and the Ace Ops all trusted them and had hopped that they could trust them in turn. Each and every time our “heroes” betrayed that trust horrifically. Qrow’s actions here are the ultimate demonstration of that. Rather than trusting Clover to take him in and working through this situation together, Qrow decides that he trusts Tyrian more. Literally that’s what it came down to. I trust Tyrian to have my back more than I trust you to help me through an arrest we don’t understand yet... and wow. That’s just one hell of a stance to take.

And Qrow then has the gall to blame Ironwood for this. Which just sets my blood on fire. Like full on, “Remember this is a fictional show, Clyde, and tone done the emotional investment” anger. Because it’s not just that Qrow is straight-up delusional here. I mean, I’m sorry, but did Ironwood force Robyn to take a shot at Clover? Was Ironwood out in this wasteland forcing you to put your trust in Tyrian over an ally you’ve spent weeks befriending? No, Qrow doesn’t get to let himself off the hook here. This is precisely the same absurd “logic” the fandom uses on Ozpin in regards to Pyrrha. He never got her killed. Pyrrha chose to go fight Cinder herself, expressly against Ozpin’s wishes. Here, Ironwood did not get Clover killed. Qrow decided to fight him and team up with Tyrian, expressly against Ironwood’s wishes of merely sidelining them until he can get Atlas to safety. So Qrow is lying to himself. Completely. Which could be a really compelling situation wherein Qrow must come to grips with his own guilt and learn not to blame Ironwood for his own choices, except...

The narrative supports it.

Again.

Because Qrow says, “James will take the fall” and Clover smiles a happy, serene smile up at him. Gone is the loyalty to Ironwood---something we saw just seconds ago---and in its place is the non-verbal agreement that Ironwood is at fault for this and yes, please make sure he pays for it.

I honestly stand amazed at how Rooster Teeth can take one of my favorite characters and so quickly screw him up, making me hate him in the process. Like I still love Qrow, but currently it’s in the same way I love the rest of the group: for who they were before Volume 6 and 7 slammed in to butcher everything good about them. 

Finally, we need to end on a note that goes beyond just frustration at a web series and into some real life implications: the bury your gays trope. While Rooster Teeth is clearly trying in regards to their queer representation, as of this episode they’ve ultimately done more harm than good. Ilia, as I wrote back in Volume 5, was a terrible introduction to queer characters in a story built around heroic women, drawing not just from aspects of the psycho lesbian trope but “redeeming” her in a matter of minutes to try and distance her sexuality from her status as a villain. Saphron and Terra, while absolutely lovely, are still just minor characters that the story has now entirely forgotten (which, notably, same with Ilia). Blake and Yang are the primary queer ship in the works... but they’re not canon yet. Oh, I believe wholeheartedly that Rooster Teeth is setting things up and that they’re not at all subtle about it---I’m not here to argue that they’re “just friends”---but until we’re given actual, on screen acknowledgment of their sexuality and/or relationship it remains in the realm of interpretation, no matter how “obvious” it may seem to some. Hinting at queerness is no longer an appropriate stand-in for clear representation. Meanwhile, in regards to the men, Rooster Teeth has taken their most queer coded character, Ozpin, and not only crafted his character around the fact that he is endlessly doomed to die, but then wrote him out of the story for nearly two whole volumes, potentially longer depending on how our finale goes. That’s a different kind of “death” in storytelling. Even if we can’t literally kill you off, we can orchestrate a situation wherein we just don’t have to deal with you.

Now, there’s Qrow and Clover. I’ve spoken elsewhere about how in their case I do think there’s a solid argument for “just friends,” but there’s an equal argument for more and the mere existence of that puts a really horrible taste in my mouth when I watch Clover get gutted on screen. Qrow has relationships with other men in the series and they’re not nearly as soft as what he had with Clover. Again, their setup isn’t in the realm of Blake/Yang with obvious hand-holding and massive blushes, but there’s a definite encouragement to at least think about reading them as flirting. Besides Ozpin---which we’ve discussed---Clover is the only one Qrow has quite, philosophical talks with. He’s the only one besides the kids who he teases and gets teased in turn. The final image of them, this one,

pulls from a number of romantic tropes. The partner kneeling by the body of their lover. The romantic colors in the setting sun. Qrow’s skyward scream and his vow of revenge, drawing parallels between other RWBY relationships like Jaune and Pyrrha. Rooster Teeth may not have queer baited with the same callous intensity as some shows, but they welcomed that perspective nonetheless and then killed Clover in a bloody, horrific fashion. That doesn’t leave me feeling like I can trust them as writers, even ignoring everything else the last two years. Especially when they butchered Qrow’s characterization to achieve this. Bad enough you kill off a potential gay, but you do it through a needless fight and one of our most street-smart characters putting his trust in Tryian, of all people? Honestly, shame on them.

The only good thing that came out of all this? The part of the fandom that saw Clover’s death coming a mile away. You all deserve to shout out a massive, “Told you so!” this week because I’ve seen the absolutely visceral hate you’ve received for a well-supported---and now proven---theory. Can’t say I’m surprised the fandom did that to you, but I am sorry. So grab hold of that flimsy sliver lining. I’m just likewise sorry the theory came about in such a dissatisfying, upsetting way.

And that’s it. Next week is the finale. I’m looking forward to it, if only so we can be done with the canon for another year. Because y i k e s. 

Until then 💜

[sustraiii]

TEAM ZRCN ARC 3 - CHAPTER 12

The team is taking a much needed rest after the battle in the previous chapter. Also, we’re introduced to another ZRCN family - the Oxfords!

Many thanks to @neopoliitan for proofreading again!

ZELDE

It had been a day since ZRCN and the Mob Ops had dealt with the herd of Karkadan and Krypterons threatening the town of Highpoint. Little had happened after the Grimm had been defeated, discounting three pages of paperwork the team were assigned to complete. In the early hours of the following morning the base was contacted by Councilman Oxford, extending an invitation for them to come speak with him about the attack and security measures that had previously been discussed with the Mob Ops.

The meeting proved to be a source of curiosity for ZRCN as Councilman Oxford was none other than Neela's father. Zelde had never met him in person, but had a rough idea of the sort of man he was based on the numerous calls Neela had often made to her family at the academy. 

Though the invitation had been extended to everyone at the base, not everyone would be attending. Team ZRCN was not required to attend in its entirety, but Neela had practically insisted as it meant she could formally introduce them to her family. Of the Mob Ops, only Wren and Elio would be attending, along with Helia.

Whilst waiting for some of the group to get ready, Zelde found herself sat with Cordovan in the comms room, fiddling with her gun; her weapon had taken a bit of a hit in the battle yesterday - and despite several attempts to fix the issue, it was still refusing to fire. 

"It's most likely going to be something internal." Cordovan advised politely, reiterating a point he had made the day before. Zelde grumbled in response, and continued to fiddle before setting it down with a huff, hiding her face in her hands.

"This is just what we need in a time like this," She sighed, lifting her head out of her hands. 

"I could take a look at it for you, if you'd like." 

A voice cut in from the opposite side of the room. The offer came from Morgan, who was sat with Calantha, inputting information into a file on the screen. Zelde hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have another pair of eyes take a look at it."

Morgan closed the screen and he and Calantha came over to join them. Morgan held out his hand, and Zelde gave her weapon to him. Cordovan and Zelde both watched as he examined the weapon carefully. “I think Cordovan is right...” He said after a moment, “Besides some minor scratches and general wear, the outside of your weapon appears to be fine, meaning the issue is something internal. Since you will be meeting with Councilman Oxford today, I could try and fix it for you if you like?”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Zelde smiled.

“If you like I could also look into adding an attachment for you too.” Morgan offered.

“You can do that? I didn’t even think my pistol was built to allow upgrades.”

“Of course.” Morgan nodded - Zelde could have swore the man seemed to puff his chest out proudly. “Your weapon was based off of a carcass produced by Hollyhock Weapons Manufacturing, they have a tendency to allow on-the-fly modular additions. Now, speaking of attachments, what do you think would benefit you most? Based on your fighting style, I feel like a scoped attachment would be useful.”

There was a pause for Zelde to respond, but  Calantha jumped in before she could. 

“I think a bladed attachment would be more beneficial, actually.” Although she had spoken confidently, she seemed to shrink back in on herself when the attention was shifted to her. Morgan gestured for her to continue, after which Calantha launched herself into a lengthy explanation as to why a bladed attachment would balance out the team, and be better suited for Zelde. 

Weapons and Shop class had never been Zelde’s favourite subject at the academy, and so a lot of the terminology Calantha used seemed to fly right over her head. Even Cordovan - who always seemed to fare much better in that class - was looking lost. Only Morgan seemed to truly understand what was being said, as he was the only one to engage her in further questioning. By the time the rest of their group had readied themselves to meet with Councilman Oxford, Morgan and Calantha were still in a hearty discussion, though they had come to an agreement that a bladed attachment would be best, they were now locked in a debate over which type of blade would be best.

--

After reuniting with those who would be attending the meeting, Wren led them from the base and towards the heart of the town. As they walked, Zelde noted that there were a surprising amount of shops, restaurants, and bars lining the streets, which she deduced was in part due to the high density of college students who made their home in the town during the school year.

The group continued to walk through the town until they came to a stop at a bandstand, where a man was addressing a small audience.

It wasn’t hard to realise that the man speaking was Councilman Oxford. Even without the traits he shared with Neela - the same pale skin, and sky blue eyes - the neatly tailored suit, and the presence of two guards flanking his side were a dead giveaway. 

It seemed the current topic of conversation was the Grimm attack that had occured the day before, with Councilman Oxford calmly alleviating the concerns of the gathered citizens, who were clearly worked up at the growing threat.

“The rise of Grimm attacks is, of course, as much a concern to me as it is to anyone else. With resources from Atlas few and far between in recent months, we must continue to operate as we have for weeks now. It is not a pleasant thing to hear, but we will be continuing to triage supplies and resources to the most vulnerable parts of the city, at least until the agreed upon support from our Mistrali allies arrive.” He would explain to the crowd. “If any of you are in need of any further support, I request that you do not hesitate to seek help from me or my family. We have set aside a considerable amount of funds to help those less fortunate in this difficult time.”

Councilman Oxford paused to arrange some papers on the podium in front of him. When he lifted his head, he seemed to take notice of the group among those gathered. “I’m afraid that is where we will be wrapping it up for today everyone,” He said with a shy smile, “I thank you for your patience and understanding. If you have any further queries, please feel free to reach out to me or my team. Thank you and goodbye.”

With a small wave, Councilman Oxford wrapped up the meeting and the crowds began to disperse. As he stepped down from the bandstand, a middle-aged woman hurried over to him, giving an affectionate kiss on the cheek. With the same blue hair as Neela, she was clearly the man’s wife and Neela’s mother.

The two of them walked hand-in-hand as they approached the group, only breaking apart when Neela rushed forward to be embraced by the two of them. It was touching seeing her teammate reunite with her parents, but Zelde couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy at the sight of them. 

When they broke apart, Wren stepped forward, offering out a hand in greeting. “That was a wonderful speech, Councilman Oxford.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be so formal,” Oxford grinned, as he returned the gesture, shaking her hand with vigour. “Gorman will do just fine.” Neela’s father then took the opportunity to introduce himself to the rest of the group, before introducing Neela’s mother, Nerissa to them.

In return, they all introduced themselves, save for Elio as they were already familiar with one another. When Cordovan introduced himself last and revealed he was Wren’s son, Gorman and his wife shared a surprised glance between themselves.

“I never would have guessed our children would be on the same team,” Gorman laughed after a moment. “I knew there was a reason I liked you when we first met. Besides, of course, the fact you are an excellent negotiator.”

“Please don’t mind my husband,” Nerissa said with a smile, giving her husband a playful smack on the arm. “He always was a charmer.”

“And my wife would know best, since we’ve been happily married nearly thirty years.”

Nerissa rolled her eyes playfully, earning another laugh. When he stopped laughing, he clapped his hands together. “So, shall we continue this conversation at my house?”

“If you wish,” Wren shrugged.

“What, did you think I would be conducting my business out in the cold?” He questioned.

“Doesn’t feel that cold to me,” Xanthos chimed in. “Which is surprising since you don’t appear to have any generators warming the town like Atlas does.”

“Highpoint was built over a giant fire dust mine,” Gorman explained. “So it’s naturally a bit warmer here. It’s been closed since I was a young boy as it couldn’t keep up with the competition from the Schnees. Not that it ever stopped teenagers from sneaking inside and trying to break off small crystals as a test of worth when I was growing up.”

“Not that you would know anything about that, right Gorman?” Nerissa prompted.

“No, of course not,” Gorman responded - but the sheepish expression he gave his wife told Zelde it was very likely that Gorman had taken part in such hazing.

Not long after, transport was hailed to their location, and everyone piled inside before heading out to the Oxford manor. Neela's home was an impressive, three storied building, sitting within the shadow of Astrolabe University - with which the Oxford family were so closely linked. Zelde had believed her own home was large and decadent, but Neela's home put her own to shame, being close to two or three times the size of hers.

Much like when they first arrived at Zelde's home, Xanthos was quick to exclaim his awe at the size of the place, a feeling that was shared by Elio. Unlike her own parents - or at the very least, her mother - the Oxfords found the comments quite amusing.

"You'd be surprised how many times we hear such things," Gorman explained, when Wren gave them an apologetic glance for Elio's outburst.

"Neela, dear, why don't you go and find your brother whilst we have some food and drinks prepared for all of you?" Nerissa suggested. "If he's anywhere, he'll be in the training room."

Neela nodded her head in agreement, and with a wave of her hand, gestured for ZRCN to follow her. As she led them through the house, Zelde took note of numerous portraits of blue haired individuals lining the walls, and the exquisitely decorated rooms.

Eventually they came to a pair of finely carved wooden doors, which opened into what could only be described as an indoor training room. It was a large and expansive room, with sparse decor, save for a small seating area opposite the entrance. The whole room was illuminated by natural light pouring in from a glass rooftop. 

Currently, a young man and woman were sparring on the floor. Both were wearing similarly designed athletic outfits, but were as different from each other in appearance wise as you could get. The man was very obviously Neela’s brother. He had choppy blue hair the same colour as Neela, as well as the same sky blue eyes. The woman sparring with him was tall and slender, with light brown skin, darker brown hair she wore in a long ponytail, and hazel coloured eyes. The woman fought with a sabre, whereas Neela’s brother fought with a pair of thin bladed weapons, which curved into hooks at the end. 

There was one other person in the room with them too. Although the resemblance was obvious, Zelde was certain she had to be Neela’s sister, based on the same dark blue-black she shared with Gorman. She appeared to be acting as a referee of sorts, judging by how intently she watched the two sparring. She was also the first to notice the group in the doorway and interrupted the fight by announcing their presence.

“It seems we have some guests.”

At her words, the two of them ceased their fighting and looked over in the group’s direction. Whilst the young woman appeared curious, she didn’t hurry to approach them. Neela’s brother practically darted across the room, and headed straight for Neela, who he proceeded to envelop her into a tight hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Oh, Harebell, it’s good to see you again!” He smiled warmly.

“Ugh, Cas, don’t call me ‘Harebell’, I’m not five anymore,” Neela said with a small groan. 

“Mhm, we’ll see,” He said with a wink, before letting her down and stepping aside. “So, are you going to introduce us all?”

Neela turned back to her team. “Everyone, this is my brother, Caspian Oxford.”

When Xanthos began to introduce himself, Caspian quickly waved him off, already explaining he knew who everyone was from the calls he had shared with Neela. Regrettably, Zelde did not know as much about Neela’s brother as he seemed to know about them. In fact, she hadn’t even known his name until now. The only thing she did know was that he had once aspired to be a huntsman himself before dropping out.

At that point, the two women had come over to join them, and from being this close to her, Zelde could see the girl she believed to Neela and Caspian’s sister had the same indigo coloured eyes as their mother.

She gave Neela a short hug, but it seemed less warm and inviting than Caspian’s had. She then offered out a hand for one of ZRCN to shake. “A pleasure to meet you all,” She began. “My name is Mirela Oxford, but everyone just calls me Mira. I’m Caspian and Neela’s elder sister.”

“And my name is Seraphina LeClair, but everyone calls me Sera!” The other woman loudly introduced, almost imitating yet mocking Mira’s introduction as she did so. 

“Sera’s not technically our sister, but mom and dad have practically raised her with us since she was little,” Caspian explained. “She’s certainly annoying like a sister though.”

“Thanks, Cas, I love you too,” Sera laughed, before hooking an arm over his shoulder.

Mira watched them with an unflinching gaze, before turning back to the group. “I hear you are supposed to be meeting with father, correct? "She asked, looking at Neela in particular.

“Yes, but he was just preparing some things for us,” Neela explained.

Mira made an unamused face. “Well, you would do well not to keep him waiting,” She advised. “As nice as this reunion has been, father took the time out of his busy schedule, you shouldn’t waste all that time speaking to Caspian when you can easily catch up on another day now that you're here.”

“I suppose,” Neela said with a shrug. “But I doubt we’d be able to offer much input about what’s being discussed, so there’s no real hurry.”

Mira didn’t seem particularly satisfied with that answer. So opted to take matters into her own hands. She ushered Caspian and Sera away from the group, encouraging them to continue their training, before gesturing the team to follow her through the doors they had entered. “Follow me,” She instructed, beckoning them with a wave of her hand. “I will take you to father myself.”

[orokin-made]

It’s Wednesday time for some proper introductions chummers

Name: Elehal

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gayyyy literally a flaming homosexual whoops

Race: Fire Godlike (aumaua body type)

Class: Chanter

Culture: Deadfire Huana

Background: Explorer, sailor, amateur ethnomusicologist

Highest Attributes: Intellect, Resolve

Highest Dispositions: Benevolent, Diplomatic

Preferred Weapons: Poleaxes, Quarterstaffs, and Pikes

Notable Physical Traits:

·        7 ft. tall

·        Skin has the texture and appearance of hammered bronze

·        Carries a lute slung across his back

·        Wears primarily warm colors

·        Most of his clothing has at least one scorch mark or tiny hole burned into it somewhere, because fire.

 Favored Gods:  Abydon, Wael - tentatively, Berath, Magran but in a complicated sort of way

Family: An only child, his parents were kuaru craftspeople for a small northern tribe

Fears: unintentionally hurting people while trying to do the right thing, disappointing his friends, also wizards, ironically

Hobbies: Singing, sailing, ruin diving, interviewing people about their local traditional folk songs/ballads, camping, reconstructing ancient Engwithian musical notation, getting chatty with random people in taverns, general music nerd shit

Alignment: Neutral Good with significant Lawful tendencies.

Sins: …Pride? Ambition? Plain old bull-headed stubbornness? Being physically unable to chill the fuck out.

Virtues: Charity, kindness, loyalty and dependability

S/O: Aloth groundbreaking, I know

BFFs: Kana, Tekēhu, Durance in some ways but again it’s complicated

  Pre-Game History: Godlike are generally well received among the Huana and the larger Deadfire, and while Elehal did experience his share of –mostly unconscious and unintentional—exclusion for Being Different, he was never feared or reviled by those around him. His village mostly just didn’t know what to actually do with one of Magran’s children, particularly one as disinclined to sit still or stay in one place as Elehal. After wandering off to go “exploring” and getting hurt one too many times, his parents approached the village stormspeaker about taking him on as an apprentice, in the hopes that ballads and legends would satisfy some of his curiosity and sate his wanderlust.  It did, to an extent, and it kept him busy and supervised if nothing else. Elehal turned out to have both a good ear and a good memory for music, as well as a nearly obsessive interest in the world beyond the island. He often spent entire days with his teacher, practicing vocal techniques, proper breathing, memorizing phrases, or simply listening to her tell stories, and the two of them developed a very close relationship.

When he came of age and finished his apprenticeship Elehal signed on with the first ship that would take him, eventually working his way from local trading and fishing vessels to larger foreign ships making longer, more exciting voyages. While he had no particular talent for wind or weather shaping, he was a capable and reliable sailor, and his singing boosted morale considerably. His ultimate ambition was to study at the Lore College of Rauatai, but he would need money first, and wanted to have something to show for himself when he arrived. He continued to work as a sailor, but also began to branch out into more land-based adventures and exploration, collecting as much information as he could on the musical traditions of the places he visited as he went. It was during one of these expeditions that he joined up with a particularly ill-fated caravan headed for Gilded Vale, throwing the world’s largest wrench into his plans for the future.

Personality/Demeanor: Elehal is an extremely gregarious and outgoing person, and a lifetime of living and working with a truly astounding variety of people during his sailing years has made him an expert at ingratiating himself with virtually everyone. He is, fundamentally, someone who likes people: talking to them, being around them, listening to them. Also, while he can hold his own in a fight simply by virtue of being Big and On Fire, he’s much better with words than with blades, so he tries to talk his way out of conflicts as much as possible. Many of the Huana cultural values he grew up with have stayed with him as well, a keen sense of civil responsibility and strong belief in cooperation chief among them. People should take responsibility for the well-being of their community and help those around them, dammit. (He would be a huge proponent of housing co-ops and mutual aid programs in a modern AU. Probably belongs to like six volunteer groups.)

He’s also very aware of the fact that he’s very large compared to most kith and also very on fire all the time. He feels things intensely, likes to get up in other people’s business, has a voice that’s loud and carries very well, and can be an overwhelming person to be around, in general. As a result he’s become hypervigilant of both his internal emotional state and how he presents himself to the world, leading to him often coming off as more stoic and reserved than he actually is. He’s particularly cautious in romantic relationships, being near constantly concerned about moving too quickly or coming on too strong.

Partly because of the influence of Magran’s chime and partially because he’s just… Like That, Elehal is loath to ask for help or admit to struggling with anything. He can take care of himself and solve his own problems his own way! Handling things very well thank you! He’s definitely not coming apart under the incredible weight of his own standards and expectations! Sleeping just fine thank you let’s move on!

His fear of wizards stems from the fact that he’s used to being able to easily navigate and steer the course of conversations, except with like, archmages, because he never knows what the fuck they’re thinking or if they’re going to suddenly get tired of talking and decide to turn him into a pig or open a gaping hole full of tentacles under his feet or WHAT. They’re constantly one step ahead of or in a completely different conversation than the one he thinks they’re in and he hates it. Also, they just… always getting up to some whack shit. Don’t trust like that.

[rhosyn-du]

Title: A Wonderful Institution Artist: @bidnezz​ Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, various background pairings Word Count: ~53k Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, discrimination against Downworlders, reference to rape, Clave-typical homophobia, implied character death, minor character death Summary: Magnus doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Warlocks are disappearing in New York City—five people in less than three months—and Magnus is determined to find them and protect the rest of his people from whatever took them. He doesn’t have time for politics, and he certainly doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense the Clave is proposing about marrying a Shadowhunter to a Downworlder as part of the new Accords. He doesn’t really have time for a pretty Shadowhunter who’s surprisingly kind to warlock children, either, but, well, he’s always been good at multitasking.

Alec always knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, but he’s spent the nearly four years since the newly-appointed Consul recalled his parents to Idris without explanation making the best of what he can have. When life suddenly offers up almost everything Alec actually wants on a silver platter, he can’t quite bring himself to trust it, especially when it comes with a million caveats and a side of impending disaster. But he knows how to handle disasters, even if the return of the Circle on top of Clave secrets that could destroy the Accords is way beyond the disasters he’s used to fielding. Hope, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver​​ Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter Seven

It took longer than Magnus would have liked to convince Ragnor to talk to the Shadowhunters. In the end, he had to point out that Ragnor would get to meet Alec (and then presumably tease Magnus mercilessly for the fact that he was still engaged) before he agreed. Still, the several trips Magnus had taken to London to cajole his friend were a great distraction from the wedding planning he and Alec had been trying to do via text, since they were both too busy with other things to meet in person.

One of those other things, in Magnus’s case, being tracking the missing warlocks. With Clary’s vision about the Circle having Dorothea, Magnus had begun to wonder if perhaps the Circle were responsible for the other warlock disappearances, as well. It was hard to know if the MO for Dot’s disappearance were the same, since it was unclear where she’d been taken, exactly, and the Circle had an obvious and clear reason for taking her when they didn’t for the other missing warlocks.

Just like with the other missing warlocks, Magnus could no longer feel Dot’s magic. Which meant that either his friend was dead, or the Circle had found some way of blocking her magic. It was a possibility Magnus had considered with the other missing warlocks, since no bodies had been found, but given that the Circle was involved, it was entirely possible that there were no bodies because those who committed the murders were keeping body parts as trophies. It wouldn’t have been the first time Magnus had seen it happen.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Ragnor complained as they stepped out of a portal in front of the New York Institute. “Do you know how long it’s been since I last set foot in a Shadowhunter Institute? Decades at least. Maybe a century. And now I’m mixed up in Shadowhunter business again, and it’s all because I let you talk me into it.”

“You’re mixed up in Shadowhunter business again because you agreed to brew a potion for Jocelyn Fairchild,” Magnus pointed out. “That was going to come back to bite you in the ass someday with or without my help.”

“I suppose,” Ragnor said with a philosophical shrug. “But she did offer to pay me a great deal of money, and the specifics she wanted for the potion were quite interesting, not something just any warlock could pull off.”

“Ah, so she appealed to your vanity,” Magnus said. “No wonder you couldn’t turn down the job.”

“You’re one to talk about vanity,” Ragnor said. “Do you remember that time in Sicily when—”

“Yes,” Magnus cut him off. “Far more clearly than I want to. Thank you for the reminder. I do not need a play-by-play.”

The one downside to having friends who had known you as long as Ragnor had was that they tended to remember your most embarrassing moments, not to mention bring them up with alarming frequency.

Alexander and Isabelle met the two of them in the entry of the Institute. Magnus hadn’t seen Alec in person since they’d summoned the memory demon, and he was troubled to see that Alec looked even more tired now than he had after the summoning. Magnus wondered if he’d managed to get a single full night of sleep since then.

“Alexander, Isabelle,” Magnus said, “I’d like you to meet my dear friend Ragnor Fell.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alec said, holding out a hand.

Ragnor shook it, saying, “Indeed. Magnus has told me a great deal about you.”

“You make that sound so ominous,” Izzy said, offering her own hand. “Maybe you and I can swap stories sometime. I can tell you embarrassing things about my brother and you can tell me embarrassing things about Magnus, and we can use them for leverage later.”

Ragnor beamed. “That is quite an offer. You and I should talk.” He leaned toward Magnus and said in a stage whisper, “I think I might get along with this one.”

“Thank you for coming,” Alec said, interrupting Ragnor and Izzy’s plotting. “Clary’s with Jace in the ops center. Still no leads on the Cup or on ways to track Jocelyn, but you said you might have something?”

“I believe so,” Ragnor said, following Alec and Izzy toward the ops center. “The potion I made for Jocelyn is intended to put someone in magically-induced stasis until the spell is removed. I suggested I also make a potion to counteract the one she requested, so she could reverse the effects herself if necessary, but she told me that it was safer not to have something like that on hand and that she or Dorothea would contact me if they ever needed to reverse the effects of the potion.”

“So, you know how to wake my mom up?” asked Clary, who had caught the end of Ragnor’s explanation.

“If Jocelyn is under the effects of the potion I created for her, then yes,” Ragnor said. “Although I never made the counter-potion, as per Jocelyn’s request, I did figure out how it could be done so that I would be able to create it if she ever had the need.”

“That’s great,” Jace said, “but we still need to find Jocelyn and rescue her before we can wake her up.”

“We might be able to help with that, too,” Magnus said.

“Every potion has a magical signature,” Ragnor explained. “A combination of the ingredients used in the potion and the magic provided by the warlock who created it. Most of the time, this isn’t terribly useful, since few potions are truly unique and those of us with enough skill in potion making to actually track a potion's signature tend to brew a great many of them.”

“But the potion Ragnor made for Jocelyn is unique,” Magnus chimed in. “Not only has he never made it before or since, but he developed the formula himself.”

��Which means,” Ragnor said, “that I should be able to track any person who has drunk the potion.”

“We already tried tracking,” Jace said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t work. Wherever the Circle is holding Jocelyn, she’s not trackable.”

“Ah, but this isn’t tracking in the technical sense,” Ragnor said. “When you track, you follow the energy signature of the person you’re tracking. In this case, it’s more of finding the resonance of my own energy signature within another person. You can’t block someone from finding the resonance of their own magic the same way you can block someone from tracking another person’s energy.”

Jace stared at him. “I literally have no idea what you just said.”

“But you’re saying you can find my mother,” Clary said. “Right?”

“With time and some effort, yes,” Ragnor said, “as long as she remains under the potion’s influence.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Clary demanded. “In my vision, they were trying to wake Mom. If they succeed, then we’ll lose our best chance of finding her.”

“What we’re waiting for, Biscuit, is to have an actual plan,” Magnus explained gently. “Finding Jocelyn in this way will take a lot of energy, and as a result, it isn’t something that can be repeated quickly. If the Circle isn't keeping Jocelyn in one place—and they’d be stupid to with as many people as are trying to find the Cup—then we don’t want to try to pinpoint Jocelyn’s location until we have a plan for rescuing her.”

“If rescuing her is even our top priority,” Alec said. “We need to find the Mortal Cup before the Circle does. Jocelyn is one way to do that and keeping the Circle from torturing the information out of her is important, but it would be even better if we could find the Cup ourselves.”

“How can you say that?” Clary demanded, turning on Alec. “We can’t just leave my mother with those people. Who knows what they’ll do to her? And if she knows the location of your Cup, then rescuing her is our best chance of finding it.”

“I don’t think Alexander is suggesting we leave Jocelyn in the Circle’s hands,” Magnus said. “Just that a rescue is dangerous, and if we fail, we might only make things worse, so we should pursue other avenues of finding the Cup at the same time we work on finding a way to rescue your mother.”

“Exactly,” Alec said.

“Biscuit,” Magnus continued, “can you tell me more about this vision you had of your mother? If we can recreate the circumstances, it might give us the information we need to plan a rescue.”

“There wasn’t much,” Clary said. “Just Mom, asleep and surrounded by a sort of greenish glow. Dot was there, but she didn’t look right. Something about her face was off, but it’s all fuzzy, like a dream. And then there was the man. He was standing over my mom, talking to her, but I can’t remember what he was saying. Or maybe I couldn't hear? And then, he turned to look straight at me. I think he knew I was watching.” She shrugged helplessly. “And then I woke up.”

“What can you tell us about the man?” Ragnor asked. “He could be important.”

Magnus looked at him. “You think he could be Valentine?” It was something he’d wondered since Clary had first mentioned a man in her vision, given Jocelyn’s fear that her husband was still alive.

“I think it’s a distinct possibility,” Ragnor said. “Given what we know about Jocelyn’s disappearance and Clarissa’s parentage.”

“I don’t remember much,” Clary admitted. “I didn’t even see his face until right at the end, just the back of his head. He’s taller than Dot, I remember that.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Alec interjected.

Magnus gave him a sharp look. “Biscuit, do you have any idea what triggered the vision?”

Clary chewed her lip, looking nervous.

“It’s all right,” Jace told her. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together.”

“I think it might have to do with my necklace,” Clary said finally. “When Mom gave it to me, she told me that if I needed her, I should hold it and think of her, and when I woke up from the dream, I’m pretty sure I was holding it.”

“You were,” Izzy told her. “It caught my attention, which is why I didn’t manage to move out of the way before you smacked into me.”

“Right,” Clary said, with a nervous smile. “Did I ever apologize for that?”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Izzy said, waving her off. “You can’t help what you do when you’re asleep, and anyway, I should have been paying better attention.”

“Biscuit, may I see your necklace?” Magnus asked.

Clary nodded, pulling the cord over her head and handing it to him.

Magnus could feel the pulse of the deep purple crystal in his hand, a very familiar sort of magic.

“This is a portal shard,” he announced. “These are rare, and this one doesn’t feel...right, exactly. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think it was from another world, but I can’t imagine where Jocelyn would have gotten her hands on such a thing.”

“Another world?” Clary asked, startled.

“There are many worlds, Biscuit,” Magnus answered distractedly, still wrapped up in examining the portal shard. “Some similar to ours, some quite different. It’s possible for some to travel between them.”

“Travel between the worlds is usually a seelie thing,” Izzy explained. “I don’t know much about it—they’re very secretive—but I’ve overheard some things.”

“It’s possible,” Magnus said slowly, “that if Jocelyn holds another shard of the same portal, the two can act as a sort of viewing portal between Clary and Jocelyn.”

“So I really did see my mother,” Clary said.

“Hold on,” Jace said. “If there are two of these things, and it goes both ways, does that mean that Valentine could be using the other shard to spy on Clary?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Magnus said. “But this shard is tied to Clary. I can’t use it on my own, for example. I expect the other shard is similarly tied to Jocelyn.”

“But a powerful enough warlock might be able to change that,” Ragnor said, “and we know that Valentine has Dorothea.”

Magnus shook his head. “Dot couldn’t do it. There are very few warlocks who could, alone. It would require both immense power and a comprehensive working knowledge of portals.”

“So, you’re saying that you’re the only one who could do it,” Ragnor said, grinning. “What was that you were saying earlier about vanity?”

“I did not ask for commentary,” Magnus said, scowling at his friend. He turned back to the Shadowhunters. “I think it might be best if I held onto this for the time being. I can keep it from being used to spy on us, and Clary and I can work together to do some reconnaissance of Jocelyn’s whereabouts using the portal shard.”

“What if Mom wakes up and needs to get a hold of me?” Clary asked. “Shouldn’t I have the portal shard then?”

“If Jocelyn wakes up while she’s still in the Circle’s custody, we don’t want her contacting you,” Alec said bluntly. “If that happens, the Circle is going to be using everything in their power to get Jocelyn to reveal the location of the Cup, and that includes you. It’s too risky.”

He turned to Magnus. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to keep it?”

Magnus gave him a soft smile. “I appreciate the concern, Alexander, but I won’t be in any danger. I intend to keep this highly warded when we aren’t using it.”

“As long as you’re sure it’s safe,” Alec said. “We could keep it here at the Institute, in a locked vault where there wouldn’t be anything for the Circle to spy on even if they did figure out a way to use it.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s entirely unnecessary. And I’d like to take a closer look at the portal shard before Clary starts actively working with it, anyway. The better we know how it works, the better our chances of using it to find the information we need.”

“All right,” Alec agreed. “In the meantime, we’ll keep looking for the Mortal Cup.” He looked at Clary. “If you remember anything at all—”

“I’ll tell you immediately,” Clary finished in a manner that made it clear they’d had this exchange many times already.

“While Magnus is working with the shard, I’ll start gathering the things I need to track Jocelyn’s potion,” Ragnor said. “As well as the ingredients for the counter-potion, as I assume we’ll want to wake her once we’ve rescued her.”

“We can do that together,” Magnus said quickly, ignoring Ragnor’s look of surprise. “If we were able to figure out you were the one who made the potion for Jocelyn, then Valentine could, as well, especially if Dorothea knew.” He ignored the stab of pain at the thought of Dot being tortured at the hands of the Circle, and continued, “You could be a target.”

“I’ve managed to keep myself alive this long, old friend,” Ragnor said dismissively. “I don’t think you need to worry about me.”

Need to or not, Magnus did. With warlocks missing and the Circle taking Dot, it was hard not to be protective of his friends.

“Have you found out anything else about the other missing warlocks?” Izzy asked, following his train of thought.

Magnus shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve shared what little I found with Alexander, and he’s returned the favor, but even between the two of us, there’s just been very little to find.”

“I want to take another look at the Clave files on the missing warlocks,” Alec said. “This time with Dot included. If the other warlocks were taken by the Circle, maybe we’ll find a common thread by including her that we missed before.”

“That’s a good thought,” Magnus said. “I’m hoping that perhaps if Clary can use the portal shard to see Jocelyn’s surroundings, she might be able to find out if the Circle is keeping any of the other missing warlocks there. I know it’s a long shot, but she saw Dot before, so there’s a chance the Circle is keeping warlocks close by, whatever they might be using them for.”

“And if the Circle is keeping the other missing warlocks in the same location they’re keeping Jocelyn and Dot,” Ragnor said, “we might be able to include them in our rescue plan. Depending on how Valentine has them restrained.”

Magnus nodded. “That was my thought, too. If we’re very lucky, we might be able to rescue more than just Jocelyn and Dot.”

“All right,” Alec said, “we’ve all got our assignments. Izzy, I’ll meet you in my office in a few minutes to go over those warlock files. Jace, can you take Clary through some more training with a blade? Her defense is still shaky, and if we’re mounting a rescue, it needs to be solid.”

“You got it,” Jace said, holding out a hand for Clary. She took it and followed him out of the ops center.

“Magnus,” Alec said, softer now. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced at Ragnor. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Fell.”

“Not at all, Mr. Lightwood,” Ragnor said, eyes dancing with amusement at the formality. “I actually haven’t had much chance to visit the New York Institute, and I was hoping to get a better look at some of the architecture. I can meet you outside when you’re done,” he told Magnus. 

“I won’t be long,” Magnus promised. He managed to refrain from telling Ragnor to be careful, but just barely. Obviously, the man wasn’t going to be abducted right outside an Institute full of Shadowhunters, well within range of their security cameras. Just from where he was standing, Magnus could see half the perimeter of the Institute on the screens that lined the room.

Magnus let Alec pull him into an empty corridor just off the ops room. It wasn’t entirely private, but it wasn’t exactly public either.

“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” Alec told him. “You look tired.”

Magnus chuckled. “Exactly what every man wants to hear from his intended. No,” he held up a hand as Alec opened his mouth, presumably to apologize, “I’m joking, Alexander. I am tired. Between the Circle and trying to track down missing warlocks, not to mention wedding planning, I haven’t had much time to myself lately.”

Alec watched him cautiously. “Well, I apologize for my part in that, for what it’s worth. If there’s anything I can do—”

“If you think you look less tired than I feel, you clearly haven’t stopped to look in a mirror lately,” Magnus told him.

“Oh, so it’s okay for you to comment on my looks, but not for me to comment on yours?” Alec teased.

“You may feel free to comment on my looks as often as you like, providing you limit yourself to compliments.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alec said drily. “At least you won’t have to worry about the wedding in a few days,” he added hesitantly.

“I suppose I won’t,” Magnus agreed with forced lightness. “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered your position on the matter?”

“I’ve reconsidered it a hundred times,” Alec admitted, sagging against the nearest wall, “but I keep coming to the same decision.” He caught Magnus’s eyes, held them in that way only he could. “But I don’t want to force you into anything. If you don’t want to marry me, then just say so.”

Magnus sighed. “You make it sound so easy. Like that wouldn’t cause a million other problems.” He smiled then, despite himself. “I suppose that means we’re getting married in two days.”

Alec relaxed then, for the first time since Magnus had arrived at the Institute. “I suppose we are. At least we’ll have each other to lean on if arguments during the rehearsal tomorrow get too heated.”

“Don’t remind me,” Magnus said. “I genuinely can’t think of anything worse than the prospect of spending an afternoon with a bunch of Clave and Downworld leaders arguing over my wedding.”

“Tell me about it,” Alec agreed. “But, really, you’re all right?” he asked, returning to the original topic of conversation.

“I’m fine, Alexander,” Magnus assured him, and it was almost true. Just knowing that Alec worried about him helped ease some of his stress. “I promise I’ll get some rest after the wedding. And after we find the Mortal Cup and rescue Dorothea and Jocelyn Fairchild,” he added. “And find the other missing warlocks and defeat the Circle.”

“So, you’re not planning to sleep this year, is what you’re saying,” Alec said with a chuckle.

“It feels like that,” Magnus agreed.

Magnus found Ragnor examining the series of flying buttresses on the east side of the Institute.

“Is there something special about these particular buttresses?” Magnus asked. “Or is this just your weird obsession with the things again.”

“They’re slightly uneven on this side,” Ragnor said. “They shouldn’t be, especially since this is a new world building and so can’t be more than a couple centuries old. Sloppy, really.”

“I’m sure the Clave would be happy to receive your critique on their building,” Magnus said drily.

“Just because you’re feeling tetchy doesn’t mean you need to belittle my hobbies,” Ragnor told him. “You’ve been brooding all day. Tell me what’s wrong. Is this about Dorothea?”

“That’s part of it,” Magnus admitted. “And just, everything.” He looked up, trying to find the unevenness in the flying buttresses, but couldn’t. He clearly didn’t have the kind of eye for architecture Ragnor did.

“I’m getting married,” Magnus said finally.

“Oh, are you?” Ragnor asked in mock surprise. “I hadn’t heard.”

“No, I mean I’m actually getting married,” Magnus said. “To Alexander. In two days.”

“There’s still time to get out of it,” Ragnor told him. “I know you. You’ve gotten yourself out of more dire situations with far less time to spare.”

“But I’m not going to,” Magnus said. “Not this time.”

“Ah,” Ragnor said, and really, that summed it up quite nicely didn’t it?

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Magnus admitted. “With any of this. I’m used to being at my best in the middle of a disaster, and here I find myself in the middle of multiple disasters piled on top of each other, and I feel completely off my game.”

Ragnor made a thoughtful noise, then said, “Well I can think of one solution to that.”

“What’s that?” Magnus asked warily.

“Obviously, what you need is a party,” Ragnor said, as though it were a silly thing for Magnus to even ask. “They always cheer you up.”

Magnus frowned. “I’m not sure this is the best time for—”

“No,” Ragnor interrupted. “No arguments. I’m throwing you a bachelor party, and that’s the end of it.”

“A bachelor party? Ragnor, I’m getting married in two days."”

“Then I’ll have to plan quickly,” Ragnor said. “Since I don’t have time to find another venue, we’ll have to use Pandemonium. And I can get Cat to help me send out invitations. She’s so much better at remembering who might currently hate you than I am.”

“I’m really not sure a bachelor party is the best idea,” Magnus said, unconvinced.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not planning it then,” Ragnor told him. “Now, come on. I’ve got too much to do to waste time staring at buttresses all day.”

“That,” Alec said, dropping into the softest chair in his office, “was an actual nightmare.” 

“I don’t know,” Magnus said leaning against the closest bookshelf, “at least we managed to keep that seelie knight from coming to blows with your mother over the symbology of flower arrangements.” 

Alec looked up at him. He suspected Magnus chose leaning over sitting because the leather pants he was wearing were too tight for sitting to be comfortable. Not that Alec had spent the entirety of their wedding rehearsal trying not to stare or anything.

“Considering how I feel about my mother right now, I’m not sure that goes into the plus column,” Alec said. 

“I’m pretty sure having a fight break out at your wedding rehearsal is some sort of terrible omen,” Magnus told him. “It seems like it should be an omen.” 

“If we really want to talk about luck,” Alec said, “I think the biggest win here is that I didn’t hit anyone.” 

Magnus laughed, head tilted back in a way that emphasized the open neckline of his shirt and the several necklaces that drew attention to his well-defined chest. Now that they weren’t surrounded by dignitaries and his entire family, Alec decided it was okay for him to stare just a little. 

“You can see why I had my reservations about a marriage as a means of solidifying the Accords now, though,” Magnus said. “What with the fact that we had to prevent at least three murders just at the rehearsal.” 

“That I can understand,” Alec said. “Obviously, not all the dignitaries are going to get along. That’s why the Clave and the Downworld took time to select their representatives so carefully, to avoid that kind of thing between the two people actually getting married. I spent hours talking to Consul Penhallow and the rest of the Council before they chose me. I’m sure you must have gone through a similar vetting process.” He allowed himself a small smile. “And they came up with the two of us, which tells me the selection process was pretty good. I never imagined I’d get matched with someone I get along with as well as I do with you.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” Magnus said, staring at something on the bookshelf, although what he could find interesting in a shelf full of books on the history of the Clave’s legal system, Alec couldn’t imagine.

“I have to admit, when I first heard about this idea, I certainly never imagined that I would be marrying someone like you.” 

“What did you imagine?” Alec couldn’t help asking. He’d wondered before, of course, but he’d never been brave enough to ask. 

“An unmitigated disaster involving people who were not me,” Magnus said with an exhausted smile. “I guess that just goes to show that my imagination can’t be trusted to predict the future.” 

“You’re not alone in that,” Alec agreed. Which was a shame, because his imagination was giving him some very lovely ideas about Magnus’s leather-clad thighs just at the moment.

It took Alec a few seconds to realize that Magnus had said something, and he’d missed it entirely. “Sorry, what? My mind was wandering.” 

“I can’t blame you after the afternoon we’ve both just had,” Magnus said, but there was a certain sharpness in his smile that made Alec wonder if Magnus suspected exactly where his mind had wandered. 

“I was just asking what you had imagined,” Magnus said. “You told me a bit about why you volunteered to be a part of this marriage and you did mention that I wasn’t what you expected, but I’m curious about how exactly I defy your expectations.” 

“I imagined a stranger,” Alec told him, deciding honesty was the best way to go. If this marriage was going to work, if there were any possibility that there could be more between the two of them than politics and the beginnings of friendship they already had, then he had to be as honest as possible. “And someone who believed that this union could be a genuine bridge of peace between the Clave and the Downworld. I imagined someone who had as little chance of marrying for love as I did. Someone who wouldn’t care if I could never love her.” 

“That’s...quite sad, actually,” Magnus said. “I can understand giving up on love. Obviously, since I did for so long. But to assume you were always destined for a loveless marriage is just... I don’t know.” He smiled wanly. “But perhaps that’s why I’ve never been married, despite living as long as I have.” 

“What, never?” Alec asked, surprised. 

Magnus shook his head. “Don’t sound so shocked. I know what the Clave thinks of me, but I’m not the sort of man who just gets married on a whim.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Alec said. “It’s just, I haven’t known you long, but I’ve seen you with your friends and with orphan children you barely know and... You have so much love to give, Magnus. I’m just surprised that you’ve never found someone to share your life with.” 

“Wait until you know me a little longer, Alexander,” Magnus said, and there was no mistaking the hint of bitterness and hurt under his smile. Alec wanted to find the people who put it there and punch every single one of them in the face. “I’m sure the reason why will become clear to you.”

Alec shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“But weren't we just discussing how none of this has gone the way you imagined?” Magnus countered.

“Yeah, but that's different,” Alec said. “You aren't at all what I imagined because you're more than I could have hoped for in every way.” He felt ridiculous even saying it out loud. Magnus had to know that already.

“Here I was thinking the same thing about you,” Magnus said. This smile, though small, was entirely genuine, and Alec didn't know what to do with it.

“Things will be different after tomorrow,” Magnus said.

“Some will,” Alec agreed. “But we'll still have all of the same problems to face that we do today. Well, minus the wedding planning, but I'm sure there will be disputes between Shadowhunters and Downworlders that will replace them.”

“Do you really think people will come to us with disputes?” Magnus asked in surprise.

“You don't?” Alec said. “I mean, they're supposed to already, with you being High Warlock and me as Head of the Institute. This is the kind of thing that should be falling on our plates already.”

“But it doesn't, for the most part,” Magnus pointed out. “And there's a reason for that. Downworlders don't trust Shadowhunters, and vice versa. Our marriage isn't going to change that.”

“Not immediately, no,” Alec agreed, “but we can work toward building that trust. Now that I'm officially Head of the Institute, I can even be more open about it. I have so many ideas— But those are problems for after the wedding.”

“I look forward to hearing them,” Magnus said. “But you're right. Let's just focus on getting through the wedding for now.”

Alec rose to set the stack of papers he'd be holding from the rehearsal on the desk. “This is all so surreal,” he said. “It's hard to believe that a day from now, we’ll be married.”

“Not just for us, either,” Magnus said. “I'm pretty sure half the Downworlders planning to attend are doing so just because they'd never believe I married a Shadowhunter unless they saw it with their own eyes.”

Alec grinned at him, leaning back against the desk. “I think it's probably the same for a lot of the Clave. And I think a few are coming just so they can be properly offended.”

“Now that gives me something to really look forward to,” Magnus said. “Offending uptight Shadowhunters is practically a hobby. Do you think they’re more offended that you're marrying a man or a warlock? I want to make sure I cause the maximum amount of offense with my existence.”

“I'm sure there are plenty of people who will be offended by both,” Alec assured him. He shook his head. “I can't believe the first time I ever kiss another man, it's going to be in front of half the Clave.”

Magnus went very still in that way that Alec was coming to realize meant he was genuinely surprised.

“But,” Magnus said slowly, “you've kissed women before.” It wasn't a question, although it really should have been.

“I've never had much interest in kissing women,” Alec told him. It was the closest he'd ever gotten to saying the words out loud, even if Izzy had guessed years ago.

“Alexander,” Magnus’s face was serious as he stepped away from the bookcase and into Alec's personal space, “we don't have to do this. There's still time to call off the wedding. I'm willing to take the blame. I can make up an excuse the Spiral Council will believe, and I'm sure the Clave would be more than happy to blame me. You don't have to do this.”

Alec felt like his insides were folding in on themselves. He'd known Magnus had reservations about their marriage. Magnus had been open about it from the beginning. But he'd never thought this was what would make Magnus decide to back out.

“My inexperience bothers you that much?” Alec managed to force out through the tightness that threatened to close his throat entirely. He realized in that moment just how invested he’d let himself become. In this marriage. In Magnus. Because right now he didn't care what any of this meant for the Accords or the future of the Shadow World. He only cared that Magnus didn't want him.

“It bothers me that you're willing to give up so much for the sake of the Clave,” Magnus said. “Alexander, look at me.”

When Alec didn't move, Magnus cupped Alec's jaw in his palm and tilted his face up to meet his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Alec said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice, “that I'm not what you expected when you agreed to this marriage. I should've told you sooner, but I didn't think—”

“You are exactly what I expected,” Magnus told him fiercely, “and everything I wanted when I volunteered.” And Alec didn't know how that could possibly be true, but there was no mistaking the absolute sincerity in Magnus's eyes.

“But you deserve better than to give away your first kiss as part of some political spectacle,” Magnus continued. “You’re so ready to give yourself away, for the Clave, for your ideals, for your family. But, Alexander, you deserve to keep some things for yourself.”

It was so close to what Izzy had said to him, but now, with Magnus's hand on his cheek and standing at close in those sinful leather pants, Alec could finally admit what he wanted for himself.

“Okay,” Alec breathed.

“Okay?”

Alec nodded, then leaned forward. He moved slowly, giving Magnus plenty of time to move away if he wanted to, and he saw the instant Magnus realized his intention, Magnus's eyes fluttering closed and lips parting.

Alec let his own eyes fall shut, one hand coming to rest on Magnus's waist as their lips brushed softly. It should have been awkward. Alec was acting entirely on instinct, and he was pretty sure kissing required actual skill, but Magnus's mouth moved against his own in perfect rhythm, like they'd done this a thousand times.

After a few seconds, Alec allowed himself to get bolder, deepening the kiss and flicking his tongue out to trace Magnus's lower lip. Magnus made a noise of approval, and Alec pulled him closer, reveling in the hard planes of Magnus's body against his, the heat of Magnus's skin through the silk beneath his thumb, the curve of Magnus's leather-clad hip beneath his fingers.

It wasn't until Alec realized he'd backed Magnus up against his desk and was about ten seconds from begging to find out if it was possible to remove those leather pants with his teeth that he broke the kiss. They stared at each other for a long moment, both breathing heavily, Alec’s hand curled into the silk of Magnus's shirt, Magnus's fingers tangled in Alec's hair.

“If you kiss me like that tomorrow,” Magnus said breathlessly, “I think we can offend a number of people.”

Alec shook his head. “That’s not for other people.”

Magnus grinned, disentangling his fingers from Alec’s hair and trailing them down his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure we can find another way to properly offend them.”

“I have faith in us,” Alec said with mock solemnity, causing Magnus to chuckle.

“As much as I hate to go,” Magnus said, moving back a step, “Ragnor will kill me if I miss my own bachelor party, and I’m already running late due to the necessity of not killing anyone during the rehearsal. Will you walk me out?”

Alec nodded. “A bachelor party?” he asked as they moved toward the front of the Institute. He supposed that would explain the leather pants. “Aren’t those more of a mundane thing?”

“Parties,” Magnus told him, “are a Downworlder thing. Surely you must have read that in all of those Clave files.”

“Sure,” Alec said, “but I’ve learned those aren’t always trustworthy when it comes to Downworlders. I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he added with mock sincerity, “but the Clave has a few prejudices when it comes to Downworlders.”

“That’s certainly news to me,” Magnus said.

Although he didn’t need to, Alec followed Magnus outside. He didn’t feel quite right saying goodbye with guards standing around listening.

“Have fun at your party,” he said, not quite sure what else to say, or where they even stood after that kiss.

“Oh, I intend to,” Magnus told him. Then he paused, giving Alec a considering look. “Would you like to join me?”

“At your bachelor party? Aren’t those traditionally supposed to be spent away from the person you’re marrying?”

Magnus smiled at him fondly. “I don’t think anything about our marriage could really be called traditional, do you?”

“I guess not.”

Magnus held out a hand. “What do you say?”

Alec stared at the offered hand a long moment. He should stay and make sure everything was ready for the wedding tomorrow, finish going over those patrol reports he hadn’t gotten to before the rehearsal, maybe even do some patrolling himself to clear his mind.

But.

With a shy smile, he took Magnus’s hand. The Institute would be fine without him for a few hours.

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Before That, And Colder

Chapter Four

AO3

Previous Chapter

Dick kicks his foot in the air repeatedly, inspecting the pink flowers on his white Oxfords. He’s pretending to ignore the people around him — possibly, he is actually ignoring them, as the outlines of their bodies blur around his fancy footwear. He leans farther back on Jason’s desk, conjuring the picture of ease. To his left rests Jason’s Red Hood helmet in a gargoyle-fashion. Everyone here knows Jason Todd is the Red Hood, but Dick is just Richie Grayson, D-list celebrity. The sleeves of his pretentiously silk bomber jacket, embroidered with colorful roosters, slip slightly down his shoulder. 

“Is this really the best time to be hiring people? Specifically this person?” This question comes from James — or “Wingman,” as Jason earlier informed him of. James is up-and-coming, bat-themed, Gotham-based vigilante who believes the Red Hood is absolutely critical to public safety. Dick has not yet shared this detail with Batman, having only received it an hour before this current meeting, but he’s hoping they’ll share a good laugh over that.

“No time like the present,” Jason says without much concern. He stands beside the desk, a few feet from Dick. 

Dick catches James crossing his arms from the corner of his eyes. The defensive body language convinces him to focus more on the arrangement of people. Suzie Su still sits on the recliner, seemingly indifferent. Her sisters, one of which Dick recognizes as the waitress who intercepted him and Miguel earlier, flock around Su either on the couch or near her armrest; all except for Night, Dick’s blackjack dealer yesterday, who now occupies a distant corner of the room by herself. Miguel sits in the recliner opposite Suzie Su, playing with his tie. James stands the closest to Dick and Jason and busies himself with looking like he eats nails for breakfast. 

“The son of Bruce Wayne is hardly a sound addition to the Outlaws,” James points out. 

Suzie Su’s head swivels towards Jason. “Oh, no,” she says, suddenly invested, “Whatever ‘the outlaws’ is, count me out of it. I’m going legit, you promised!”

Jason takes a page from Dick’s book and seats himself on the corner of his desk. He grips the edge, knees spread, so that he looks like he’s riding a horse. For an unstably diverse crowd, he’s rather at ease at the head of it, Dick notes. Jason holds up a silencing finger and begins his address, “Firstly, the Outlaws are too legit for any mere mortal to handle, that includes you, Su, so stuff it. Secondly, James, you can also stuff it because no one’s inviting Richie Rich onto the team except you, it would seem.”

So, does that mean I don’t get to see the Super Secret Clubhouse and make friendship bracelets? Dick almost says. Instead, he receives a text alert and checks his phone to see Bruce left him a message. 

What is your plan of action? it reads.

Dick quickly shoots back a non-committal text, wary of Jason sensing Batman’s concern through the phone. Luckily, Jason doesn’t pay Dick’s texting any mind, preoccupied with his stand-off against Wingman. 

James persists, undeterred by Jason’s skilled dismissal. “Batman isn’t exactly in your corner, Todd. He is, however, in Wayne’s pocket. As is Richie Grayson.”

Dick frowns; his current persona is apparently no longer a good fit. He will need to adjust accordingly. Dick sits up straighter on the desk and tucks his legs. “I have my own funds, as a matter of fact,” he speaks up. Jason’s eyes slice into him — oh, right, Dick’s not supposed to talk while meeting the in-laws. Oh, well. He continues, “I work for the Bludhaven Police Department.” 

Dick touches his jacket collar and inspects the interior fabrice. “I try to dress nice when there might be cameras so I don’t make Bruce look bad, but most of it’s bought off-price at Marshalls.” This last part is a lie as he rarely buys his own photo op clothes. Bruce has a personal stylist who keeps everyone’s wardrobe at the Manor stocked. Dick hit up his old bedroom on the way to the hotel. 

“You’re a cop,” James repeats. 

Dick holds back a wince. So much for Agent 37’s kick-ass undercover portfolio. “Every cop’s a little dirty in the ‘Haven,” he says, hopefully smoothly.

Unfortunately, James does not find this comforting. “So not only are you a cop who knows about the Iceberg’s business, but you’re not even a good cop?”

Dick points at Jason. “He murders people,” he deflects. 

Jason sighs obnoxiously loud. “Richie has information and contacts,” Jason increases his volume when James looks like he wants to say something else, “neither of which are anyone’s business at the moment but mine. Believe it or not, but I’m pretty attached to my life, in both a literal and figurative sense, and so if I say the guy from that one lady-service Pantene commercial is going to keep my organs safely inside my body, rest assured, I have done my research.”

This standing ovation inspires Dick to wonder whether Jason saw that commercial on cable or some other venue. He tries and fails to imagine Jason watching Friends reruns. Maybe he caught it off some gun review video on Youtube. This is the kind of media Dick assumes Jason consumes. 

“Great to know,” says Suzie Su flatly. “So, Richie, who’s trying to whack our boss?”

“No one yet. There have been no attempts on his life thus far,” Dick responds. Then, “Also, you can just call me Dick.”

“Shouldn’t be too tough,” Suzie Su remarks.

“The situation will escalate, though,” James states,  “There is no doubt that Red Hood is the final target.”

“Correct. Which is why it’s important that we trust each other,” Dick says. He levels a gaze at everyone in the room except for James, which should indicate to him that he’s the object of criticism without presenting Dick as outwardly hostile. “If we are too busy suspecting each other without any evidence, we allow for outside threats to slip past our radar.” Dick can only hope they will take this to heart; it will be harder for him to investigate Jason’s people if they’re also investigating him.  

“Truth,” Miguel agrees as he stands to his feet and walks towards Dick. “Although it kind of worked out for us this time, right? You following me, us following you?” As he approaches, he extends a hand and Dick dismounts from the desk. “Welcome to the team, Dick,” Miguel says, clapping Dick on the shoulder as they shake. His smile is warm and sincere. Dick feels an equally genuine grin spread across his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Jason says, leaning from his spot on the desk to bat an arm at them. “What did I just say about teams, dude,” he gripes. Miguel shrugs rather blithely before he returns to his chair. Dick appreciates what he hopes will be the one easy-going personality in this tense bunch. 

Jason claps his hands together and stands. “Okay, here’s the deal: I want someone always watching my vehicle for the next, fuck, two weeks, I guess? One week?” He looks to Dick for confirmation. Dick mouths, ‘longer.’ “One week to start, cool,” Jason locks in his answer. “I don’t mean from the cameras, as I really am hoping to catch this person ASAP and get back to my regularly scheduled gangbanging.”

Dick watches the crowd: Miguel gives a whoop, Suzie Su rolls her eyes, one of the sisters not standing in the corner laughs. 

“So, that means I need you,” Jason flourishes his arm in the air and brings it dramatically down like a hammer, finger pointing sharply at Miguel, “to physically be in the parking lot.”

Miguel looks around in bafflement. “I’m the owner. That would look weird,” he says, gesturing towards himself.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone is lining up for your autograph, too, now come off it. No one here is instantly recognizable except for me, and that’s mostly to do with the helmet,” Jason pats the helmet beside him emphatically, “giving me serious red Darth Vader vibes.”

Dick suppresses a laugh. Jason hears him anyway, but that turns out to be not so bad. Jason’s eyes flicker towards him but they’re absent of reproach, which is how Dick realizes he had expected to be growled at for his humor. But Jason made the joke, didn’t he? He goes so far as to smile, not threateningly, but pleasantly. Dick wants to call it soft even. 

Jason’s eyes are back on the ragtag team within the second. He explains properly his reasoning to Miguel. “The subject’s abilities and target range are unknown to us. You’re our safest bet for handling whatever he might be capable of. And you can wear whatever you want.” Dick assumes that last bit is weighted with the implication of a supersuit, although Miguel’s secret identity may very well be known considering the lack of visible confusion on anyone’s face. Of course, that could just be indifference; no one in this room seems particularly interested in each other. 

“If you see someone snooping, wait it out. If you see someone put something on my bike, apprehend them and bring them to me where I can then proceed to shoot their brains out,” Jason instructs. Dick tries to say something, but Jason says over his attempt, “If they’re guilty.”

“Not really the problem,” Dick mutters. 

“The Su Brigade can, I don’t know, keep doing what you’re doing, I guess? Keep an eye on suspicious figures.”

Dick chimes in, “This time, however, immediately report to Jason or myself. Don’t rush in unless the threat is urgent. Don’t,” he motions to James, “text James, or whatever it is you guys did. That was sloppy and uncoordinated.”

James shifts his weight more evenly. Dick instantly recognizes the implicit challenge and straightens his back. “Text you, huh? What, you the boss now?”

Dick files through his possible responses, weighs the best tone to take, the stance to adopt. Should he pick up the gauntlet and try to assert dominance, or go for diplomacy? He doubts this will come to blows, but the direction he takes this could have later consequences, could affect Jason’s safety even in the long-run. 

Dick almost misses the change in Jason’s posture, but it’s instantaneous. “He’s close enough,” Jason has already spoken, no longer leaning against the desk but standing with his hands deceptively plunged into his jeans pockets and his searing green eyes locked on James. “More the boss than you are, at any rate, so yeah, I’d text him.” He sounds almost casual, accent set in a lazy Gotham drawl, yet there’s an angered click to how he sets his teeth. He’s intimidating, alright, the sharp cut of his cheeks complementing his strong jaw. He’s quite Hollwood-esque actually, Dick thinks — at least before he realizes Jason is looking right back at him. Jason raises his eyebrows and spins his fingers in a prompting manner. “Well? Anything else you’d like to derail the meeting with, Dick?”

And just like that, Jason manages to personally undermine the power he just gave him. Dick is bordering on impressed, restrained only by his sudden irritation. Dick simply smiles and says, “You’re the boss.”

“Fantastic. James! How do you feel about interrogating people you can’t beat up?” Jason proposes to the next member of the non-team. 

Dick thinks James could question people without beating them up just fine, especially after the practice he got in while interrogating Dick. James doesn’t comment on whether he’s up to the task, however, but replies, “Who am I interrogating?”

Jason grins and quickly bows his body. “A witness. Exciting, right? Unfortunately, no, not exciting. This will suck for you. Daniel Garcia, the second victim, should be at Gotham General Hospital — fingers crossed he has insurance, because otherwise you’ll have to find out where he lives and talk to him there.”

Dick could be projecting, but he thinks James puffs up his chest at this. “I can find anyone anywhere,” vows James.

“I’ve no doubt, buddy. I just would prefer he not have to relive everything the second he gets home because a stranger wants to hear the gory details,” Jason explains. His tone is slightly scolding. There might be some decency in him yet. Dick immediately feels guilty for being surprised. Jason is a good guy. A good guy. He’s said as much to Bruce. Did he forget to tell himself the same thing?

“Bring some flowers to soften things,” Dick suggests.

“Flowers don’t soften a crowbar, Dick,” Jason disagrees. Still, he adds for James, “But yeah, bring flowers. The family won’t like you for it, but they’ll hate you even more if you don’t.”

“Do we have to do anything?” Suzie Su asks, a little unhappily, it would seem. Dick doesn’t trust her. Then again, would she be so openly disloyal if she was double-crossing? The only person in this room Dick trusts is Miguel — and even then, if there’s one thing Batman has been trying to drill into him for half his life, it’s that trust is a liability. Anyone here could logically be a mole. Anyone here could be loyal, too. 

“No, Suzie Su, I expect absolutely nothing from you and that’s why I dragged you to a staff meeting, so you could sit on your ass and pick at your nails,” Jason intones. Suzie Su drops her manicured nails to her lap and glares at him. Jason sticks his tongue out in response. “You and your lovely sisters of questionable bloodline are my ears to the ground.”

“So, same as before?”

Jason cocks his head, shakes it up and down as if weighing the question, and says, “K-i-i-i-i-nd of? It’s like what you were doing before, but not complete garbage. Need I remind you that you let this idiot into my office.” Jason jabs his thumb in Dick’s direction.

Miguel raises his finger. He’s properly relaxed in his cushiony recliner, legs crossed and arms spilling over the back. “Ah, but you let the idiot stay,” he reminds Jason. 

Dick twists his lips. “Thanks, Miguel. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Jason decides. “Alright, everyone out of my office and onto the things I demand of you. Dick, you’re coming with me.”

The crowd is already dispersing. Dick hops off the desk and pats the wrinkles from his pants. “Why’s that? I thought you didn’t want me breathing down your neck.”

Jason’s back is to Dick as he fastens his Red Hood helmet over his head, which tips Dick off that some of his people outside the office might still not know who’s under the mask. Jason’s response is rougher than before. “You saw the tapes, didn’t you?” The energy from only a minute ago has melted from his voice. The helmet lights up then and Jason’s next words are modulated, shrouded in static. “That makes you the expert.”

Dick does not miss the irony of this statement. 

  ___________

  Dick has Jason drive him to Bludhaven. Jason has many cars and not a single one is worth less than $80,000. “How do you blend in?” Dick asked on the way to his shitty apartment across the pond, Jason looking absolutely put-upon by the half-hour drive.  His Red Hood helmet has been stowed away in a personally customized, hidden compartment. “I don’t,” Jason simply replied. Dead guys, according to Jason, don’t need to feign poverty. Especially if those dead guys are better known for their underground empires and resort casinos. However, two rich men in a luxury vehicle don’t have much business commiserating with the family of boys like Terry Weind. So, the two stop by Bludhaven to pick up Dick’s Saturn and allow him to change into less flamboyant clothes. 

Dick chooses a threadbare BPD t-shirt and jeans. Jason stays in his signature ensemble of leather jacket and combat boots. He raises his brows at Dick’s outfit, but Dick insists it’s a good choice. Even if they don’t like the police, he’s still out of uniform and unarmed, and they’ll know this isn’t his territory. He’ll seem like a commuter, which might even win him some subconscious sympathy; many people in downtown Gotham have to commute to Bludhaven, albeit usually for a fishery job and not the police department. 

Jason waits in the car for Dick to come out. Dick invites him in, but secretly he’s relieved. The place is a mess. If how he keeps his office is a hint, Jason’s habits are immaculate. They would put Dick to shame. Dick taps Jason’s window to signal they’re switching to the Saturn. Jason takes an excessively long time to part with his car, all but cooing at it, but does eventually make it over. He settles into the passenger seat, looking Dick up and down.

“What?” Dick asks, perhaps defensively. He should’ve said something like, “Like what you see?” but it’s too late for that. 

Jason shrugs casually, but his eyes flicker to Dick’s hair. “Nothing. You just look normal now.” 

Dick jams his keys into the ignition, because he has to be rough for the car to start, and rolls his eyes. “You mean my hair’s not gay?”

“Eh. Less gay.” And then Jason is reaching out and ruffling his hair, fingers curling through the still-damp waves. Dick stuck his hair under the bathroom sink’s faucet before putting his shirt on. He got water everywhere, but he needed to get the product out. He weirdly hopes Jason doesn’t feel any lingering stickiness, that his hair is soft to touch. 

Jason’s face abruptly screws up in confusion as if he isn’t sure how he got here. Slowly, he retracts his hand and sits straight in his seat. Dick didn’t notice how open Jason’s body language was just a moment ago, but he notices how it closes. His knees no longer point towards Dick but to the windshield; his arms, once extended towards him, now fold across his chest. Dick stares at him for a moment, trying to piece together the puzzle he suspects they almost had. 

Jason’s presence always has that mystifying effect on him, however, like he’s a monument to all the almosts they’ve been. When Jason was Robin, they were almost friends. When he was the Red Hood, they were almost enemies. Then they might have been brothers, could have been, maybe. There had been that night on the rooftop when Dick had managed to slip through Spyral’s many fingers — when Barbara had run away and Damian had embraced him and Tim demanded why, why — Jason had drawn blood as his voice broke because you don’t do that to your. Almost.

They are always on the verge of some new meaning. 

“Well?” asks Jason. “Are you waiting for me to set up the GPS? You know the address, let’s go.”

Dick quickly recovers and begins edging out from his spot between two other parked cars on the street. “What are we, drag racing? Jeesh.” They avoid traffic for the drive over but do swing into a corner store once they’re in Gotham again. Jason buys the most expensive bouquet available while Dick fiddles with a rack of playing cards. Pokémon? Magic? Would Terry care about either of those games? He sees Jason head to the counter and grabs a random card pack to check out. His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he finishes counting off the dollar bills. He hands the cashier $16 and unlocks his phone. It’s from Bruce.

Any progress?

Dick begins typing out an answer when he remembers the boundaries he agreed on with Jason. He said he wouldn’t share any details with Bruce unless Jason okay’d it. He could let Jason know Bruce is asking, but even mentioning Bruce tends to sour him. Dick would rather get through this meeting with Terry Weind first. He makes a mental note to inform Jason later and give Bruce a non-answer if he says no. 

Ten minutes later and they’re standing on narrow porch steps. The wooden planks are dark and splintery and covered in cigarette butts where an ash tray has been knocked down. Dick squats down and picks it up; ceramic, woodsy-green and leaf-shaped. He sets it atop the paint-chipped banister while Jason knocks on the door. The walls are thin enough that Dick can trace the sound of someone walking down the stairs. It’s summery outside today, the earth baked through by the sun, but he’s thinking of winters down here. Even with a good furnace, these walls must let the chill in. 

A woman opens the door in her nightgown, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame. Her eyes are red and the skin beneath them sags. Her skin is almost ashen. She looks tired. She is tired, she’s exhausted, Dick can feel it when he looks at her. Her exhaustion is a heavy substance that spreads out and sinks into his flesh. 

“Are you Terry’s mom?” Jason asks. He has the flowers already at his chest. His voice is stiff with emotion. Dick recalls his comment about Daniel reliving trauma and wonders if that’s what Jason is doing right now. 

The woman nods and says that, yes, she is, but little changes in her expression. Dick had been expecting confusion, but she accepts the flowers without hesitation. Evidently, they are not remotely the first ones to share condolences. “My name’s Laura,” she says, touching the waxy petal of a calla lily. Her voice is soft and deep as if it’s been anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

“I’m Jason.”

“Dick,” Dick says after him. 

Laura opens her mouth silently for a few seconds before carefully telling them, “I appreciate you boys coming here and wishing us well. It’s been hard, but we’re grateful to the community’s response, it’s been wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me not inviting you in, it’s just that I work grave and don’t get much sleep, and Terry’s resting.”

“We understand. But actually, we’re not just here to offer our sympathy — though you do have it, of course,” Dick conveys. He rushes the words of each clause so his speech comes out in quick, nervous chunks. He’s dipping head, taking up as little room as possible while moving closer to her. Jason takes a step back to accommodate him. He wants to represent himself as sincere, perhaps too sincere to the point of being clumsy. People often think inept and trustworthy are the same thing; the logic goes, you can’t be hiding any tricks up your sleeve if you’re more likely to spill them on the floor. 

“If you turn us away, we get it, don’t worry,” assures Dick, “but this is our city and our kids are getting snatched.”

Laura begins shaking her head. “Oh, no, he’s not answering any questions — ”

“We won’t ask as many questions as the police,” Dick hurries to say. “We don’t need to. We,” here, Dick breaks off his speech and looks uncertainly at Jason, feigning hesitance. Then he takes a galvanizing breath, readying for his big leap, this information he’s sharing only with Laura. “I work part-time at the Park Row Memorial. I’m a guard, similar work to what I do with the Bludhaven Police. We have it monitored 24/7 so it doesn’t become a high-crime area again.” Dick sighs in frustration and bites his lips. “Laura,” he says firmly, staring into her eyes. Her pupils have dilated along his story. Good. “I saw Terry that night. The police haven’t even asked Park staff yet, they don’t care. But I saw it happen and I think I can do something about it.”

The best cover story is always based in reality. The best lies are true. 

Laura’s eyes drop the ground as she thinks. She’s also biting her lip. Dick ponders over whether she does that often and Dick got lucky, or if she’s mirroring him. Either way, he’s won her over. She shuffles to the side and waves them in, her movements less languid than before. 

She leads them to the stairwell and says, “If he doesn’t want to answer questions, he doesn’t have to. I’m not going to force him, you got it? Get what you can and hope it’s useful.” With this, she climbs the steps to the second floor, Jason and Dick following at an appropriate distance. They pause at the top step while she enters Terry’s room and explains in hushed tones his guests. She relates Dick’s reason for being here and then there’s a long pause before Dick detects a faint, “Sure.” 

Dick and Jason share a look that confirms: they’re in. Laura places a light hand on Jason’s bicep and guides them to the door. “I’ll stand right here,” she says firmly and waves them forward. Dick looks around for a chair, sees none, and settles on the windowsill facing Terry’s bed. He’s faired better than the next two kids, all injuries considered. He was out of the hospital in a month. He lies in his twin-sized mattress beneath a crisp sheet, a blue comforter shoved to the foot of his bed. A square bandage covers his right cheek, there’s stitching over his right eyebrow, and there’s more stitches on the right side of his skull. His right arm and knee have been set in casts. Dick remembers him curling onto his side at one point in the video. 

In the wake of the other victims’ hospital records (courtesy of Oracle), Terry’s assault had been carried out with perfunctory brutality. Dick recollects the scene but recalls no hesitation in the attacker’s swings, yet their violence has clearly increased. Perhaps they are doing someone else’s dirty work and the job has just now awakened a taste for pain in them. Or maybe it’s one guy after all and they’re adjusting to the role. 

“So, you know the fucker who did this?” Terry speaks up first. His voice is a little rough and definitely fatigued. Despite his current infirmity, Dick can tell he’s a sturdy kid. He’s got the same build Jason had at that age, youthfully broad with natural muscle in the absence of training. A body with room to grow in. 

Dick shrugs. “Not personally. But we hold out hope. What did his face look like? Any defining features?” he attempts, even knowing that Terry’s report claimed to make out nothing from the night of the attack.

Terry was looking at Jason beforehand, which Dick can’t blame him for. Jason takes up most of the room as he stands by Terry’s feet, stock straight with his massive arms folded. Dick has a habit of downsizing Jason in his head. In general, Dick’s guilty of subconsciously diminishing certain people’s threat levels, letting his familiarity with them obscure the danger they still pose. He does his best to put himself in Terry’s shoes and see what he might see; he accomplishes this by summoning the first night he encountered the Red Hood before he was also Jason Todd, fallen boy wonder. Even without the vigilante get-up, the man’s intimidating. 

Now that Dick has asked a question, however, Terry’s eyes appraise him. Dick once again folds in on himself, tucking his arms closer to his sides and leaning back so he’s as out of Terry’s space as he can be. Then Terry’s eyes stray to the floor and he mumbles, “Looked like nothing. It was dark.” But he doesn’t say it like it was nothing. 

“You saw something,” Dick contests. He’s not going to wheedle or coax, he decides, because that would just leave Terry room to equivocate. “You don’t know what you saw, but you saw something, and whatever that is will help us more than pretending there weren’t streetlamps.”

Terry grimaces. The twitch of his battered face reminds Dick of his age and his heart aches. There should be a grace period for children, an exception made for those still new to this earth. He hates that pain is one of the first things they learn. “He was white, I guess,” Terry supplies. His good fingers have found a loose thread on the hem of his pushed-down sheets. He picks at it. “He never said a word the whole time. It was quiet. He — I saw his hands. I thought, I thought the police would find his thumbprints or whatever, on me, but that’s not how it works, they said. They were all fucked up.”

“The hands or the police?” Jason interjects.

Terry doesn’t look up from his loose thread, but one half of his mouth pulls up into a faint, flickering smile. It manages to be bright even so. “The hands. There were old scars all over the knuckles. Dry, too, like he never heard of lotion.”

Dick supposes the attacker could work in manual labor, but it’s unlikely if there were truly that many scars and all old. “Just the knuckles?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Dick guesses he’s experienced with combat. The ugly, close-up kind. Still, just the knuckles, that sounds more like punishment than accident. And the dry skin? That could easily be eczema, although wouldn’t a seasoned killer think to cover up, prevent skin follicles from falling into a lab tech’s hands? It is summer, but Gotham runs more humid than dry, so perhaps they’re dealing with a foreigner. “And the face?” he prompts. 

Terry abruptly drops his hand from the nervous thread and sighs raggedly. “Nothing, man. I couldn’t see anything, okay, it was,” Terry falters, “confusing.”

“Confusing how?” Jason asks.

“I don’t know!” Terry’s voice pitches in frustration. “It was weird, all swirly and shit.”

Dick can hear the criticism leak into Jason’s tone when he curtly repeats, “Swirly.” 

Terry backpedals. “I said I don’t know,” he mutters. 

Swirly voices sound familiar to Dick. He used to have one for a time when he played James Bond for Spyral. “I think we might have a contact, Jay,” Dick muses. 

“Really?” Jason says with noticeable surprise. “Swirly’s our big break?”

“Emphasis on the might and ixnay on the big.” To Terry, he says, “Tell me, does tsuchigumo ring any bells?”

Terry’s face scrunches up. “Does what huh?”

Dick will take that as a no. “Oh, well. Still worth looking into,” he says. Dick stands and retrieves the card pack from his plastic bag. He holds it up for Terry to see before setting it down on the bed. Terry takes it immediately and brings it up to his face for inspection. “Your mom has the flowers. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but let me know if you need or want anything. Oh.” Dick swivels his head around the room. There’s not much to it aside from a bed, a dresser, and a box T.V. collecting dust. “Do you have something I can write my number on?”

Jason chooses that moment to step forward, sliding between Dick and where Terry lies. He leans across, a crisp, laminated paper balanced between his index and middle finger. “Here’s my card. Let me know if you have any more information or if either of you need help,” he explains. Terry sets Dick’s gift down and gingerly accepts the card. He flips it over: no logo, just a phone number.

“That’s it?” says Terry. “What contact? Who did this?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I wish I had more to give you two,” Dick says sympathetically to Terry and Laura, the latter of whom hasn’t left her post by the door. She rests her cheek on the frame and watches on.

Terry has more questions though and he’s edging on excited. “Are you P.I.’s? Why do you even care? I bet you fucking did this, or one of your boys — ”

“I understand your distrust,” Dick says over him. He glances nervously at Laura to gauge what she thinks of the accusation and if she’s about to step in. She’s a little straighter, body no longer depending on the wall, but her face is still impassive if alert. Dick hurries to smooth this over. “You don’t know us well enough to understand why we care. We have to prove ourselves, I get that. And we will. Until then, you’ve got nothing to lose, right? All we know is you didn’t see anything.”

Terry stares at him silently, suspicion darkening his eyes. There is risk in coming here, of course, depending on how well Terry’s attacker can trace Jason’s footsteps. But Dick has already weighed the risks and he’s betting that Terry’s part is done here insofar as the criminal is concerned. Luckily, Terry can’t identify what he’s got to lose or how much he has told them between the lines, so the charges drop like that. 

There’s a few beats of silence before Jason starts fidgeting. “Yea-a-a-h, we’re going to go now,” he announces, pointing over his shoulder towards the window. Dick could cringe, he’s so awkward. 

“Thanks to both of you,” Dick says and smiles as warmly as he can. He trails closely behind Jason who shuffles towards the door, his body too tall and too broad to fit comfortably in the modest room. Unthinking, the pads of Dick’s fingers feather over Jason’s back as if to guide him forward. As Jason moves, Dick lets his fingers linger in the air, covering up the touch with empty space. He curls his fingers in and tucks them behind his back. Laura follows them out. 

“Thank you again,” Dick says at the door. “We’ll be in touch if anything develops,” he promises. And he will be; if not as Dick then certainly as Nightwing. 

Laura thanks them half-heartedly. Dick suddenly feels self-conscious about the Pokémon cards. He may as well have given them a box with nothing inside it or a flashlight without a bulb. He heads back to the car, feeling Laura’s heavy gaze on his shoulders the whole way. 

Dick is buckling himself in when Jason opens the passenger door. “Mind sharing with the class what information was so decisive you had no further questions?” he asks as he climbs into the car. 

“No questions Terry could answer. This is the best we can do for a lead,” Dick explains. He needs to make a call, but that will have to wait until they’re on the road and not idling outside a victim’s house. Maybe he can take them to a restaurant, buy Jason a drink, a friendly gesture. Would Jason want to drink with him though?

“Yeah, about that,” Jason says as the car shoots off, “what lead?”

Scratch the drink; neither of them are lightweights, but on principle, they shouldn’t drink during an ongoing investigation. Still, he could buy them some sub sandwiches. He used to buy food for Tim all the time back in the day, as a reprieve from the typical Batman and Robin style of accidentally fasting until the case is resolved.

They reach a redlight almost immediately. Dick drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Spyral uses this tech called ‘Hypnos 2.0.’ They slide in kind of like contacts? They’re eye implants basically, but they transmit information between your brain and the brain of whoever’s looking at you. Their most common application was hiding your identity. If someone looked at you, they’d just see a scrambled mess instead of a face.”

Jason’s face scrunches up as he stares out the windshield. He scratches his head. “Scrambled like Picasso or.”

The light turns green. “More like a spiral,” Dick says lightly, nodding conversationally. 

“Thematic,” Jason comments. 

“Very. And the uniforms weren’t too shabby either.” He adds the joke more to test the waters than anything, gauge how delicate a topic Spyral is between them. Everyone in their family has a slightly different relationship with Dick’s double life. Bruce and Damian’s have been the easiest, marked by faint curiosity about his activities and begrudging acceptance of help from associated colleagues. The others have been noticeably more dodgy and uncomfortable regarding for Spyral. Dick’s stint as as Agent 37 has made everyone evasive, even for bats. 

If Jason would normally have an emotional reaction to Spyral, he’s too preoccupied for one now. Dick can practically see the gears in his mind turning as his eyes narrow and his chin falls to rest on his hand. Dick feels simultaneously relief and shame; of course, Spyral is just a lead. Spyral may have been Dick’s life at one point, but to Jason, it’s just an organization. At best, contacting Spyral could save his life. At worst, well, Dick’s not expecting Jason to unpack whatever baggage Dick left in Gotham. 

Dick resists the urge to grimace at his own thoughts. He’s overthinking. Can one overthink a ruthless spy agency that up until a year ago controlled his every movement? 

Jason’s voice, slow and thick with the sound of a city that’s always been his, reels Dick back to shore. “Dare I ask what the uniform entailed?”

“Cargo pants,” Dick answers simply. He’s watching the road ahead, but he can hear Jason make a pleasantly surprised noise. They pass a fire hydrant painted to look like a sunflower. Dick thinks it’d be nice for Bludhaven to do that and makes a note to push the idea at city hall after the case. 

“So, you think that this guy is from Spyral?” Jason asks. 

Dick shrugs. “That, or he’s connected enough to snag some tech. We should check first with the other two victims, see if their descriptions match up with Terry’s. If they do, it’s probably Spyral and not some low-grade black market street vendor. Nine of out ten optometrists do not recommend mind control contact lenses.”

Jason slams his hand down on the middle compartment. “Mind control?” he exclaims. When Dick glances at him, Jason’s expression is mostly shock with a sliver of what might be plain rage. But that would be an overreaction considering all the other crimes Spyral is guilty of. All the crimes they’re guilty of, especially Red Hood, although making that argument would be more trouble than it’s worth. 

Dick tries not to let Jason’s sheer judgment weigh on him. Dick has far more pressing guilt elsewhere to torture himself over. Still, it’s hard not to feel righteous rage on Jason’s behalf. He often forgets this part of Jason’s character, this abrupt sense of justice that powers him, but it’s no less prominent than it is in Bruce or himself. It might actually be stronger in Jason, a little left of center, but bleeding red nonetheless. Unfortunately, car safety dictates Dick not be on the receiving end of justice, so he replies as casually as possible, “Well, that’s what Hypnos is, essentially.”

“No way.” Jason points an accusatory finger that Dick sees from his peripheral. A street corner features a hot dog stand. Dick nearly pulls over, but the finger might kill whatever buzz a chili dog can offer. “Don’t ‘that’s-what-Hypnos-is-Jason- obviously ’ me. You just said it transmits info.”

Dick did not think his tone had come off condescending in the least. But if that’s what Jason got from it, then perhaps he missed casual and landed on dismissive. Bludhaven must be eroding his tact already. “Sorry. When I said it transmits information, I meant it as a blanket statement for everything it does. Hypnos can alter memories, which is more-or-less how the identity protection works, by modifying one’s memory of a face. It can send someone a location address or really anything you have stored in your own memory, which is helpful. It can also send orders.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s helpful, too,” Jason derides. He looks like he smelled something bad. Was Dick this perturbed by Hypnos when he first joined Spyral? He doesn’t think so. He had been so quickly embroiled in so many terrible things. What was a little crowd control in the face of cold, efficient, and constant murder? 

The guns. The feel of one is his hand like death itself, how they loomed in his bedroom and among his gear, beckoning him closer to an edge everyone wanted to push him off of. The guns had overshadowed all else for him. 

“Either way,” Dick carries on, “it’s unlikely this guy has his hands on Spyral tech without Spyral knowing something about him. They keep close enough watch over people that have nothing to do with them, let alone people that have access to their technology. He could be anywhere from an engineer to a passing contact, but he’s no ghost.”

“Terrific. Exactly what I need, a mind-controlling stalker from an quasi-omniscient spy organization hellbent running around on the streets of Gotham.”

Dick shrugs. “Gotham’s had it worse.”

“Have I?”

“I don’t know. Have you?” Dick retorts. 

Jason scowls. “Wouldn’t be my first assassination attempt, I suppose,” he concedes.

Dick perks up and offers him a grin. “And it won’t be your last!” he crows. 

Jason just stares at him, utterly perplexed. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is curled above his teeth in bewilderment. 

“Because you’ll be alive,” Dick hurriedly explains. “You know, like, woohoo!” He takes one hand off the wheel to pump the air triumphantly. 

“Woohoo,” Jason repeats hollowly. “Insanity.”

“What?” asks Dick. They will be coming up on the grinder shop soon. Should he suggest lunch to Jason or just drag him in? He’s leaning towards dragging. That seems more effective.

“That we’re all just living to hopefully get killed a day that’s not tomorrow,” Jason observes. 

It’s not more cynical than funny, but something in Jason’s tone — the utter resignation, perhaps — makes Dick laugh anyway. “Everyone on earth’s on borrowed time, really,” he says, not unhappily. Death hasn’t frightened him since he was young. Exposure therapy, he called it once during some Titans mission that feels a lot farther in the past than it is. “The reckless and foolhardy like us, we’re just more aware of it.”

Jason blows air out from his nose in a mix between a snort and a laugh. “And here I thought vigilante-types were less aware of their own mortality.”

“Are you kidding? You have to know you’re walking towards death to find that exact path each night. Snatched purses, drug rings, elitist assassins dressed as owls, fear gas and escaped convicts and murderous clowns — and we run right towards them with open arms,” Dick says, irony guiding his grin as Jason smirks back at him. 

“And open chest cavities, half the the time,” Jason tacks on. 

Dick nods fervently. “Yes, let’s not forget that,” he tries to say seriously, but laughter trips him on the last word. “I don’t know. I think it’s all very sane, actually, to see what’s going on and get involved, do what you can to make everything a little bit better. But too much sanity can look like insanity, for sure.”

Jason does snort this time. “Keep moralizing like that and you’ll sound straight out of a conversation between the Joker and B.”

Dick wrinkles his nose. “Ew. I hope not.”

“‘We’re the same, you and I,’” Jason croons in a wispy, sing-song voice. “‘Sane and in-sane.’”

Dick can make out the small, white-background-red-letters sign of Hester’s Grinders a few yards down the road. There’s just enough room before the fire hydrant — this one plain, chipped red — to safely park. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll keep my philosophies to myself. And so long as we’re changing the subject — hungry?”

Previous Chapter

[tahnex]

Road to Graduation

Hi, so this is the first chapter of a new RWBY fic. I’m stuck in quarantine with time on my hands, an idea, and decided screw it, let’s write a RWBY fic. A very quick bit of background, this is canon-compliant until after the Volume 7 finale, then it goes its own way. The first two chapters are mostly setting the scene and giving some background for the following story, so apologies if they’re a bit long, and a little heavy on dialogue and exposition, but there’s a fair bit that needs to be explained.

(Also the title is currently temporary, I’m pretty bad at titles and this was the first idea that came into my head that sounds decent enough).

Anybody who wants to be like a beta reader or give any reviews or anything is REALLY welcome to do so! I don’t have one at the minute, so it might be a little rough around the edges. Any, click below for the actual chapter!

It’s been a month since they fought Salem. A month since Ozpin had taken over Oscar’s body and, with a little help from Ruby’s silver eyes, wounded Salem enough to force her into the Winter Vault, with Penny sealing it, and Salem, away. Tyrian had been recaptured and, whilst in a fury at Salem being sealed, was goading the Ace Ops with how many people he had killed in the fight, and accidentally let slip he’d also killed Clover. Robyn Hill had used her semblance on both Qrow and, under heavy restraints, Tyrian, proving Qrow’s innocence and his release. The CCT towers are slowly being set up again, and a message was sent to Vacuo to make sure they didn’t try to open the Summer Vault, along with a promise to Beacon that the Atlesian Military would send help to rid Vale and Beacon of the Grimm that were plaguing the city and old Academy grounds, including the Wyvern Grimm clinging to Beacon Tower. Once the two kingdoms worked together, and nearly the full might of the Atlesian military was brought to bear, the Grimm surrounding Beacon were forced back and Beacon returned to the way it was two years or so ago.

 Following that, a rather awkward conversation took place in Atlas tower, involving the now General Winter Schnee, Team RWBY and JNR, and with Professor Goodwitch on call from Beacon.

 “What do you mean our licenses were revoked?!” Yang slammed her hands down on the table.

 Winter sighed, “Former General Ironwood revoked your licenses when you declined to support his plan to save Atlas. I’ve…”

 “You mean when we refused to let him sacrifice the whole of Mantle and the people in it.” Blake retorted, glaring at Winter.

 Winter met Blake’s stare for a beat before continuing, “As I was saying, I’ve tried to reinstate the licenses, as well as issue you new permanent ones, however when he revoked the licenses he blocked all seven of you from being granted a license by anyone with Atlesian authority, including military and the council.”

 Ruby turned to the scroll with Professor Goodwitch on, “Professor? Is there anything you can do?”

 Professor Goodwitch’s voice came through the scroll, slightly crackly as the CCT system was not back up to its prior strength, “Atlas is the only country who can produce Huntsmen licenses without graduating at an academy. Without returning to an academy, completing your education, and then graduating, we cannot grant you your licenses.”

 At this nearly everyone looked crestfallen. “So, despite everything that’s happened, there’s nothing you can do? We helped to defeat Salem! Surely that should count for SOMETHING!” Jaune yelled.

 Professor Goodwitch sighed, “I appreciate your frustration Mr Arc, and the whole of Vytal is thankful for your assistance in defeating Salem…”

 “Not that they’ll ever know about it” muttered Blake.

 “Thank you for your comments Miss Belladonna, but considering the panic you all saw in Mantle and the amount of Grimm it brought, would you really wish that on the rest of Vytal when they learned of an immortal Queen of the Grimm that is trying to destroy humanity?” Professor Goodwitch replied sharply, “Even if she is sealed away, it would still bring panic and Grimm, leading to loss of life.”

 Blake looked down embarrassed and Yang glared at the scroll.

 “Back to your point Mr Arc, I’ve spoken to the council members in Vale, and informed them that your absence from all of the Academies was approved by Professor Ozpin before his death, and your recent efforts were part of an extended mission, watched over by Qrow Branwen. Fortunately, news of his mistaken arrest, which I WILL be speaking to you about General, did not reach Vale. I have convinced them that due to the success of your highly secret mission, your entire second year, for all of you, was passed.”

 “Is that really all you can do?” Ruby said quietly.

 “Yes Miss Rose. That is all I can do.” Even to most of the people in the room Professor Goodwitch sounded tired, and possibly even a little sad.

 Everyone looked at each other, slightly unsure of what to do or say until Ren spoke up “So what happens now?”

 “If you all still wish to graduate and become professional Huntsmen and Huntresses, you are welcome to return to Beacon to complete your training there, starting in your third year. I’ll give you until 5pm tomorrow to decide. Since the disaster of the last Vytal Festival the council is trying to keep a much closer eye on Beacon, so I have to tell them what is happening with you seven at their next meeting tomorrow.”

 Ruby looked back to the scroll “And if we refuse?”

 “Then you will not become legal Huntsmen and Huntresses.”

 There were a few moments of silence before Winter spoke up, “You can go back to your rooms now to discuss this. It’s the best option you have.”

 Taking her not so subtle hint to leave, the two teams left the room, but not before hearing Professor Goodwitch turn her attention to Winter, “Now, would you please be so kind as to explain not only why the hell you put out a warrant for Qrow’s arrest, but also why you then followed through with it?” Any further words were cut off by the doors sealing behind them. Ruby and Yang glanced at each other grinning slightly, they’d been on the receiving end of one of Professor Goodwitch’s scolding, more than once for Yang, and knew how bad it could be.

 It wasn’t long before they reached their rooms and split into their respective teams.

 Ruby and Blake sat on the beds, with Weiss and Yang taking chairs opposite their respective partners, Yang spinning hers round to sit backwards.

 “Well Ruby? What do we do?” Blake asked.

 Ruby looked to them all in turn, “What do you guys WANT to do? I know I’m the leader of our team, but I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to…”

 Weiss was the first to reply, “Personally, my vote is to graduate and become a Huntress. My only other option would be to take over the Schnee Dust Company, but I don’t want to do that, in fact I want nothing to do with it. I’m done with Atlas; Ironwood was the last straw.”

 Yang looked to Blake before facing Ruby “I don’t know Rubes, to be honest I’m not happy with the whole situation, if they do this to us now, what’s to say something else won’t happen again in the future? I’m not sure about returning to Beacon, but I want us to stay together as a team.”

 Blake looked at Yang directly whilst saying “I want to stay as a team, so I’ll follow you guys.” Yang smiled in response.

 Ruby looked down at the ground for a moment, “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a Huntress. To help people. If the only way to do that is to go back to Beacon and graduate, then I would do that. But being together as a team is more important. We got split up once before, that’s not happening again.” She looked at the time on her scroll “It’s getting late, we’ll sleep on it and see what we think tomorrow.”

 The others nodded their agreement and got ready for bed. Across the hall, JNR was having a similar discussion.

 “What happens now Jaune?” Nora looked to her team leader.

 “I don’t know Nora, I don’t know.” Jaune sat down on his bed heavily.

 “Me and Ren have nowhere else to go, we don’t have a family or home to return to, it’s just us three now. So, we’ll follow you where you go.” Nora looked to Ren for reassurance, slipping her hand into his, and he nodded.

 “Thanks you guys,” Jaune smiled at them both, “To be honest, returning to some kind of, I don’t know, normal life would be good you know? Finishing school and actually having something to show for everything we’ve done would be good. Plus, I could kinda do with a bit more training,” he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

 “Then back to school we go,” Ren said quietly.

  The next day they all met up in Winter’s office. Professor Goodwitch was on call from Beacon again, “Well, have you all come to a decision?”

 Ruby and Jaune looked at each other and nodded. The two teams had discussed it over breakfast that morning. “Looks like you’re going to have to put up with our team again Professor,” Ruby smiled.

 “And ours.” Jaune chimed in after Ruby.

 “Good. Pack your things, you’ll be on the next flight to Vale, it leaves tonight.” Winter nodded at them all.

 “Mr Arc? If you, Miss Valkyrie and Mr Ren could all remain for a moment, there is something we need to discuss with you three.” Professor Goodwitch said.

 Jaune looked at Ruby and said, “Go on, we’ll catch up to you.” Ruby looked a little confused but nodded and led her team out the door. “Yes Professor? What is it?” Jaune turned back to the scroll.

 Team RWBY reached their room and packed their things, Weiss double checking to make sure they’d left nothing behind, before heading to the landing platform, finding someone waiting for them. “Hey kiddo, looks like you’re hitching a ride back to Vale with me.”

 “Uncle Qrow!” Ruby sprinted to give Qrow a tight hug. “I was worried about you” Ruby whispered into his coat. Yang came up behind Ruby and gave her uncle a hug as well, whilst Weiss and Blake stood back a little, not sure what they should do.

 “I’m alright, just tired of this cold.” Qrow said, looking to the door as it slid open to reveal Winter standing in the doorway.

 “Weiss. Come here.”

 Weiss breathed out before turning to walk to her older sister. “Yes Winter?”

 They walked to one side of the doorway and Winter stood awkwardly for a moment before replying, “I’m glad you decided to continue your education.” They were silent for a moment before she continued “Now that Father is in custody, and will never touch our family again, I will…see what I can do to help Mother,” she motioned to Qrow with her head, “If that alcoholic idiot over there can drag himself to sobriety, I will see what I can do to help Mother achieve the same.”

 Weiss almost couldn’t believe what she was about say considering how he had treated her but… ”And Whitley.”

 Winter looked a little surprised at Weiss.

 “He was always closer to Father than us or Mother. He will need support as well. Especially as he is now the heir and will take over the company.” Weiss swallowed hard, wanting to say the words before she changed her mind.

 Winter looked solemn for a moment, “Yes, we all neglected him, and Father took him completely under his influence. I will try to help him as well, but I suspect Klein will be better able to help Whitley than me.”

 Weiss smiled at the memory of her friend and former butler and, seeing the members of Team JNR come out into the air said, “This will be goodbye then sister.”

 “Yes, it will be.” Winter nodded, before Weiss grabbed her in an impromptu hug. Winter hesitated for a moment before smiling slightly and returning it. “Try to write or call more often too.”

 “I will” Weiss smiled at her sister, before turning and walking back to her team.

 Qrow looked up at her arrival, nodded curtly to Winter, then turned, slipped his hands in his pockets and walked up the ramp onto the aircraft. Winter sighed, shook her head, then stood to attention as the others waved goodbye and followed Qrow up the ramp and back to Vale.

 Ruby lingered slightly before continuing into the aircraft, a little upset Penny hadn’t come to see them off, but the ever-energetic girl had left on a mission from Winter a week ago and wouldn’t return for a few more days. Sitting down with the rest of her team opposite Qrow and JNR she heard Weiss ask Jaune “What did Professor Goodwitch want to speak with you about?”

 Jaune looked slightly awkward and Nora a little cross, whilst Ren remained relatively impassive as always. “She said when we arrive, we need to go to her office and speak with her straight away, just the three of us. She didn’t say anything else.” Weiss and Blake suspected something wasn’t being said but decided that the others would tell them in time, and for now, all they wanted to do was lean back and rest. Just before closing her eyes to sleep Ruby noticed Qrow leaning back, eyes closed trying to sleep, but with a glimmer of green in his right hand.

   After arriving at Beacon, they all wearily climbed out the aircraft, Yang and Ruby giving long hugs to Qrow, before he walked off, raising a hand to say goodbye. The seven climbed up the steps to the main doors, not noticing there was someone standing next to Professor Goodwitch.

 “Salutations friends!”

[arcenciel-par-une-larme]

Before anything else, I would like to ask my brothers and sisters in Christ, IN ALL HONESTY, whether I erred in any way in the reply which I offered to this original post (there was also an intermediate reply which I did not include into the screenshots; either way it was OP who replied to me). (@ignorant-against-christians @anscathmarcach @doctorbluesmanreturns @bagheadautist @a-quiche-in-med @anotherpointlessargument @strawberry-milktea and anybody else who might need to chime in, please feel free to PM me if you prefer that to reblogging all this mess.)

And while I'm awaiting that, let's dive right into the last reply and give OP a much-needed reality check. (Translation: let's try to set some things straight for anybody who is willing to listen, since OP has already declared themselves sinless, infallible and above reproach.)

Where are my children growing up that you think they’re not going to be interacting with Christians and being exposed to Christian theology on a daily basis? Hell, my children will have multiple Christian family members, as well as several queer Christian honorary aunts and uncles. Also, you know, a Catholic-educated mom.

It isn't all that much of a good sign when literally the first paragraph in your reply is a mile-long appeal to false authority.

First of all, it is completely inane to consider my response as personally addressed to you. I didn't even reblog it from you or tag you.

Secondly, please accept this PSA: Having Christian friends does not make you an authority on Scripture. Nor does having a Catholic-educated (not even practicing Catholic) mum. In fact, if the state of millennial liberal "Christianity" online is any indication, it is very much a possibility that your "Christian friends" might very well be teaching you that "Yeah, basically atheists are right in all that they say about Christianity, but I'm a good Christian and I love Christ and I don't believe any of that outdated stuff that's in the New Testament!" in which case, yeah, the fact of the matter is that you WON'T be getting an accurate image of orthodox Christian theology from your friends, or from your mother who might very well have prayed her latest Rosary when she graduated high school.

You have completely misunderstood the point of this post if you think the above beliefs (which are overwhelmingly held and spread by Christians and ex-Christian atheists, not Jews) have the same negative effects on Christians that harmful beliefs about Jews have on us.

Right. So, in other words, you didn't want to draw attention to and decry anti-[whatever religion] slander and, in the course of that, also spread awareness of common anti-Judaism lies. You just wanted to compete in Oppression Olympics, and to virtue-signal your victimhood. Yeah, how dare I assume that you wanted the former just like any virtuous human being! HOW DARE I assume that you're not an intellectually dishonest SJW! THE HORROR!!!

Also, nice job pretending that you're "fair" and "not bigoted" when you try to blame CHRISTIANS for the ANTI-CHRISTIAN bigoted lies which are commonly propagated.

And again, the only reason that you think I blamed these beliefs on Jews is, as it seems, because you want me to mean that. Because you want to score oppression points. In reality, I made it perfectly clear that it is of no importance whether the person peddling anti-Christian slander is Jewish, atheist or whatever else; but that is something which either you missed entirely or you deliberately refuse to acknowledge.

Christians might not be uniquely bigoted, but you damn well are uniquely powerful in western countries, and with that comes unique responsibility, to paraphrase Uncle Ben.

Why didn't you just go the full "Check your Christian privilege, we live in a Christian hegemony, one can't be bigoted against Christians, a minority cannot oppress a majority, PREJUDICE PLUS POWER!" route from the get-go so we can know where we are standing, then?

This is a perfect example of why I shall always insist that

At the Oppression Olympics, nobody wins.

Because you looked at my response and you immediately saw not a complementing opinion (which it is), but a competing one. You saw an opponent, and in your mind you cannot be anything short of 100% right a priori, because of course it's a competition. Of course oppression and injustice are a zero-sum game.

Only in real life, THEY ARE NOT.

Any rational Christian, and any rational Jew, is horrified both by anti-Christian and by anti-Jewish bigotry. You, on the other hand, insist upon trying to find the "bigger victim" at all costs. And from your reply, it seems fairly certain that you had no rational reason to do that. You just wanted to downplay the injustices and slander which is aimed against Christians. It almost reads as if you vehemently refuse to even remotely sympathise.

By the way, I think that Devin Kelley, Chris Mercer, and Floyd Corkins (among others) might be some names which ought to debunk your opinion that anti-Christian bigotry has no tangible real-life effects.

Oh, but I forgot. "Prejudice plus power"...

I have every intention of teaching my children about different religions, but this reply was obviously in bad faith and just about jacking off your persecution complex as part of the poor, downtrodden 80% majority.

THERE WE HAVE IT!!! THERE IT IS!!! I F***ING CALLED IT. HEAVEN FORFEND IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN ONCE. "A majority cannot be oppressed!!!! PERSECUTION COMPLEX!!!"

At this point, your rhetoric is barely distinguishable from an "AtheiSJW bingo" of sorts, or from the inane hate asks that we get at anti-christophobia...

I don't know why I expected any better. Maybe because I DARED to assume the best about you. Yeah, what a heinous thing to do...

And OF COURSE it must be true that I came into this in bad faith. Of course. Why? Because you say so. Because it's a JACKPOT for you. You've found before yourself the perfect chance to set the scene with me as "Le Mr. Evil Bigoted Christian" and score brownie points, and BY GOLLY you aren't going to let such an opportunity go to waste!! I mean, WHO EVEN CARES about such trivial technicalities such as TRUTH...

..........and in the wake of all this, you have the gall to accuse ME of playing Oppression Olympics???

Can your projection and intellectual dishonesty get any worse?

And the PERFECT FINALE of inimitable intellectual and moral superiority:

Do not interact with this post further.

Classic pigeon chess strategy. No comment needed.

-

Again, for what I have done amiss in this whole story, I apologise sincerely. My mistakes, however, do not bar me from calling out the errors of others and defending myself against unsubstantiated charges or pointing out their bigoted behaviour.

As for the potential few idiots who shall hasten to accuse of antisemitism (for whatever contrived BS reason their sick brains might conjure), do not even bother. Antisemitism is one of the many kinds of bigotry which I have decried in the past and shall continue to decry, and thus I do not automatically become guilty of the same bigotry just because I do not self-flagellate for being Christian and I refuse to bow down to your short-sighted, sociopathic cultural Marxist dogma of competitive victimhood.

God bless you all.

UPDATE: A few mere hours later and OF COURSE another Bingo square was checked off: I have been blocked. Should I pretend to be surprised?

[benscursedkid]

Are you still doing the prompts thingy? May I request Felix x MC + 1...? You’re really good at writing!

of course you can!! i really appareciate it and thank you for requesting!!

trust me

felix x slytherin!mc!reader

words: 7.5k

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: (mention of??) major character death

a/n: as i stated before, when concerning a prefect, someone you only interact with if you are in their house, the mc in the piece will be in the same house as the prefect!! also!! these prompts are specifically designed to break your heart... so hopefully you’re prepared and hopefully i did them justice!!

also: i did take some creative liberties with the rosier family tree. i’m not quite sure where felix fits into it all, but being a rosier canonically makes him closely related to some of the op series characters and i wanted to play around with that. hope you all don’t mind!!

"I promise you, just trust me.”

It’s what he said to you when you’d met him again after graduation. It wasn’t planned, quite honestly, you weren’t even sure you’d ever see him again. He was a school crush, a lone part of your childhood that wasn’t tainted with pain and regret. He was a small flicker, the timid burning of light in the midst of all that’s gone wrong in your life until that point. If you were honest with yourself, you were glad that you ended things— not that there was much to end —like you did, able to keep that memory and acknowledgment of him in tact.

So, it was a slight understatement to say you were surprised to see him again, a little older, barely wiser, and freshly twenty years old.

It was December and the wind had begun to kiss your skin harshly, hitting and nipping at your cheeks in earnest. You huddled deeper into the warmth of your heavy winter coat, cursing yourself for opting out of wearing a hat. It whistled vioently in your ears as you searched for your solace in the form of the cozy bookstore peeking into your vision.

You make a beeline for the doors, your entire body immediately shuddering in relief upon entrance. A gloved hand flies up to your cheek and rubs furiously in the hopes to warm them, even if only a little.

The store clerk welcomed you charitably, a soft smile on his face and you returned it as best you could with a face still half frozen. Then with a pleasant nod, you disappeared into the throngs of bookshelves at the display, raking your finger down the spines as you passed.

Each title and set of initials blurred together as you disregarded them, a specific book in mind. Looking briefly above you at the surprising height of the shelves, you took a moment to admire the expansion charm cast on the shop, thanking Rowan for reccommending this place. Christmas shopping had never really been your forte, but thankfully, your mother had dropped the mention of her need for a new copy of her favorite book, her own having been worn and torn for a good while now.

It was as a certain title caught your eye when you heard your name, the voice confused, barely above a whisper.

On instinct your head shot up, your brows already drawn together. And when your eyes realized what they were seeing, they squinted, as if unsure the vision in front of them was really something produced in reality.

He was wrapped in the most formal overcoat you’ve seen so far this winter, the intricate black velvet traveling all the way down the length of it. Underneath was the softest looking grey jumper you’d ever seen and you had to refrain from reaching out to feel for yourself. His hair, as you always remembered it being, was perfectly slicked back, not a single strand out of place.

He was also older, you noticed, which of course you knew but it was more so something you felt than saw. You felt it in the silence that captured you swiftly after, in the weight of it hanging off both your shoulders. You felt it in the way he stared at you, definitely wiser and with many more experiences and first-hand accounts. His curious brown eyes sincere as they take you in for the first time in years.

“Felix?” You queried, even if there was no mistaking the man in front of you, the hint of a smile teasing your lips, something born of fondness and reminiscence.

His own lips twitched, almost as if the action were something unfamiliar. He nodded.

A small breath, akin to a chuckle escapes and you have the urge to hug him, greet him as old friends would, but you stop yourself. You don’t quite know what you were back in school, or now, but whatever it was, seven years without any contact can surely dull the the faint connection. Even as you look at him now, the memory of what you felt for him is simply that, a thing of the past.

“Wow,” You allow, little shame in the way your eyes take him in in recognition, with a tiny dose of interest. “It’s been a while.”

“Seven,” He mumbles in reply, the hint of rose on his cheeks. “It’s been seven years.”

“That’s right...”

Your words trial off and the two of you are left standing in moderate silence, the air around you heavy with recollection from your teenage years, both of yours. When you dreamed of freedom and a family in tact and he all but survived off coffee and two hours of sleep, worries of the future persistent and prominent.

Idly, you notice the book forgotten in his hands. Les Misérables. You smile.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles you back to reality and your gaze snaps back to his.

“Are you holiday shopping?”

He swallows the strange lump in his throat and his stare bounces, refusing to settle in a single spot. You wonder if you should be concerned by how endearing you find the idle action.

Nodding, you gesture to the books around you, not quite sure what to do with your hands. “Mum needs a new copy of her favorite. I’m just trying to find it.”

This time he smirks, no longer withholding the twist of his lips, the kind that you remember used to always succeed in picking up your heart rate. It still has some effect on you, something you’re not certain you’re comfortable with, but it’s far less drastic than it was when you were thirteen.

“Do you still like that muggle author?” Comes his response, dripping from his lips like honey; slow, sweet and a secret to share between you. “Austen?”

You’re about to laugh, hardly able to believe the fact that he remembered something so trivial, when you realize you never told him. You frown.

His pretty brown orbs ask a silent question and you decide to join them. “How did you know I liked Jane Austen? I don’t think I ever told you, as far as I can remember at least.”

“Oh, well, you feel asleep reading Mansfield Park in the common room at least five times a month,” He laughed, a light, airy sound that rings nicely in your ears like wind chimes. “It wasn’t difficult to figure out.”

A laugh of your own tumbled from your lips, stiff and haphazard, but genuine all the same. “I’m just surprised you know Austen.”

Felix shrugged, his shoulders lolling lazily. “I didn’t at the time, but I thought if you loved it so much then it must have been worth a read.”

An eyebrow quirks. “You like Jane Austen?”

“I like Mansfield Park,” He corrects and you roll your eyes, but your smile still sticks to your skin.

You consider teasing him further, but your common sense stops you. Instead, you opt for something else.

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Me, too...”

For a moment, all is still. Felix’s eyes seem transfixed, charmed in a sense. A light mirth dances behind his iris, a look you like to think he doesn’t give out to just everyone. The way they gleam, stars reflected inside from the candles lighting the shelves running a shiver down your spine.

You open your mouth to say something else, you don’t know what, but you’re sure you’ll figure it out, when he adverts his gaze down to his watch. A sound of shock leaves him and his lips tug downward. He curses.

“Is something wrong?”

He glances back to you, a regretful quirk of features protrude. “No, I just— uh, should get going. I’ll be late for work, but it was... nice seeing you again, MC.”

You can’t help the upturn of your lips, no longer attempting to hide it. “You, too...”

He fidgets, his fingers twitching, his eyes skittering over to the door, the thought of arriving late obviously weighing heavily on his mind. Still, he bites his lip— an action you’ve never seen from him before —and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Will I, uh— will I see you again?” He ponders, gaze much more hopeful than it was a few minutes ago.

Without even needing time for thought, your head bobs of its own accord. “I hope so.”

A brilliant grin engulfs his face, his entire expression lighting up at the thought.

Your knees go a little weak.

“Then I’ll see you around...”

And he did.

It had taken him almost an entire month to ask you out on a proper date, one that consisted of a bit more than just stolen glances and poorly disguised smiles, on Christmas Day. It tumbled clumsily from his mouth in a subtle panic, the apples of his cheeks red, and this time not from the bitter cold, but instead the way you broke into a dazzling smile.

It was certainly unexpected, the chain of events that suddenly began when you ran into him that fateful day, but you suppose the best things never are.

It’s what he said to you when the rumors started.

You’d been together for a year now, your anniversary having just passed. You remembered why you fancied him back in school, though truth be told, you never really forgot.

Felix was just so different from anyone else you’d ever met, even back then. He wasn’t a man of grand gestures or romantic schemes, but a collector of smiles and little moments. Things you mention mindlessly in passing, jokes you manage to get out through heaps of laughter, and tiny, little infinitesimal insecurities muttered in the middle of the night; those are the things he stores away, remembers for safe-keeping.

Oh, yeah you suppose the fact that his little half-smile is the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen helps, too.

For the first time in years, you find that you couldn’t care less what the future looks like. So long as Felix is there beside you, whatever it is can’t be that bad. It’s something you didn’t think you could feel, not after Jacob at least.

You thought that trust would forever be an issue with you, something you just wouldn’t be able to get past, which is why it came as a shock to you to realize that all the walls and barriers you’ve built around yourself for years seem to simply bow to him. Just being near him causes them all to shiver, tremble in his wake, their exteriors much more brittle than you recall them to be. It’s incredible, to feel this way; lighter and complete and dizzy with happiness.

And it scares the hell out of you.

Though, you muse, isn’t that what love’s supposed to do?

Looking back, you should have known it wouldn’t last, nothing good ever does. You knew that. You knew that but you dared to hope, dared to ignore the voice in the back of your head, the one that screams from past experience and heartache to just… stay on guard. But you refused. You’ve already played the cynic, wasn’t it your turn to be the dreamer?

“You see the ‘prophet today?” Talbott asked, taking a sip of the coffee in front of him, putting down his half eaten lunch- a measly six inch sandwich he’d thrown together this morning before bolting out the door for work.

Swallowing your own food, you shake your head, the only other employee aside from the two of you taking their leave from the ministry’s break room.

The animagus frowned and pulled out his own copy from his overcoat, the page folded together in nine perfect squares. After successfully unfolding it, he slides it across the small table to you, rightside up for you to read. Your eyes catch on the title, everything else blurring into a jumble of illegible signs and symbols.

“DIGGORY BOY DEAD, “VOLDEMORT RETURNS!” — CLAIMS THE BOY WHO LIVED”

You glare at the print in front of you, as if the ink itself had offended you. The words stare back at you, unyielding.

Talbott reaches out to take the paper back, observing you carefully. Snapping back to reality, you shake your head.

It’s then that you notice the slight, almost unnoticeable shadow cast under his eyes and the anxious sag of his shoulders. He’s jittery, you realize, recalling his unsettled actions from earlier this morning.

You lick your lips hesitantly. “Talbott—”

“Do you think it’s true?” Frowning, your head tilts in confusion. Your friend sighs. “Do you think he’s really back?”

Taking a deep breath, your eyes wander back to the article. Supposedly penned by Rita Skeeter, you’re sure it’s a huge exaggeration to say the least, but she also seems to be on the ministry’s side, which happens to be against Harry Potter’s.

You decide to tell him the only thing you can.

“I don’t know,” You explain, Talbott’s face crumbling with worry. You know it’s not what oh wanted to hear, it’s not what you wanted to say, but it’s the truth. You can’t lie to him. “The ministry hasn’t exactly been the most reliable source these days, we both know that, but Harry’s just a kid, Tal. I mean, how old is he? fourteen?”

“You were fourteen,” He insists, his tone unsteady and uncertain. You’ve rarely seen him this way, you think, afraid and riddled with worry so heavy his cares go out the window.

You don’t like it. This kind of feeling never looks good on anyone.

“You were fourteen,” He repeats, a tired hand taking through his hair, causing the strands to tangle and tumble every which way. “When you entered the third cursed vault, having battled several boggarts, an ice knight, an acromantula, a cloaked figure who tried to kill you... so why is this so hard to believe?”

He’s right. You know he is. And for the second time today you wish you could give him the answer he wants, the answer he needs, and again you can’t. This friendship of yours, as slow as it started, has become one of the most important things in your life and it was built on honesty. So if you couldn’t give him what he wanted to hear, the least you could give him is the truth.

He’s staring at you when you finally relent and his eyes hold the most unlikely mix of dread and foolish hope.

“Because I don’t want to.”

That conversation sticks with you for the rest of the day, your attention stolen by all the possible things that could be happening out there in the current moment.

Is Voldemort sitting with his allies, his most loyal followers, and planning his revenge? Is Harry Potter at school, attending his classes with a pretty mouthful of secrets? Or maybe he’s at a funeral, with a heart full of regrets for a passed friend? And the rest of your friends, have they heard the news yet? Are they as afraid as you are? As guilt-ridden as Talbott?

Then a last thought crosses your mind.

Is Voldemort out rallying his followers?

It makes your blood run cold, the image flowing through your conscious not one you particularly enjoy. Would he come after Felix, the son of a known Death Eater?

It’s these questions that plague you when you return home, tired and stressed and oh so worried. You want to smile when you see Felix’s shoes in the entry, able to deduce that he’d got off early, but you can’t. Not today.

You maneuver your way around the half empty moving boxes, your place an utter mess. It looks like a tornado flew through here but at the moment, you had other things in your mind.

Like your boyfriend, sitting silently by the window, cold, abandoned coffee at his side.

He must have heard you come in, you decide, probably having heard the door open and close. Though, if he’s aware of your presence, he doesn’t show it. He simply stares out the window, small and withdrawn.

Growing restless in the quiet, you speak up first.

“You’re home early,” You announce your observation, putting your things down on the sole couch in this cluttered space. “How was work?”

A beat passes and he says nothing. You don’t make him, knowing that he’ll speak when he’s ready. You’re proven correct moments later when his deep voice responds, hoarse and heavy.

“They gave me the day off,” He replies easily, his eyes refusing to part from the view before him. “Said I could use it to get my thoughts together.”

It’s then you realize he must have been sitting there all day. No boxes have been unpacked, his shoes practically untouched and his coffee left forgotten. You wonder where his thoughts have been.

You stop to ponder your next move, contemplate which approach would get you closer. To him, and how he feels, and what he thinks will come.

However, he doesn’t give you the chance, tossing you a copy of the paper Talbott showed you earlier that you didn’t know he had. Its crumpled and torn, as if he’d been clutching it all day, wishing he’d read every word wrong. You know you do.

“I expect you’ve seen it then,” He declares, his voice low and even, calm despite what you know is probably weighing on him. It would unnerve you if you didn’t share the same habit. “You’d have said something by now if you hadn’t.”

You don’t try to deny it, there’d be no use. Instead, you ask what you’ve been dying to since you walked in.

“Do you think they’ll look for you?”

You blink. Once, twice.

“Yeah,” He still doesn’t face you. “Probably.”

You let out a shaky breath, but stumble over to him nonetheless. You take a seat next to him, slowly so as not to startle him. You skip a glance at his profile, slightly shadowed with the dull grey of the dripping sky which seems to reflect the day’s spirit.

Without a word, you look to the view. “What are we going to do?”

It’s only now that he turns his head, his brown hair a scattered mess and his drooping sad eyes fading no better. Your heart breaks just a little in your chest.

“I don’t know.”

You gulp, but nod along without much choice. There’s nothing one can say to that, not really. So, in lieu of coming up with some hearted variation of “we’re gonna be okay”, your palm finds his cheek, your thumb rubbing soft loving circles into the skin. Felix leans into the touch, his head gentle rolling onto your shoulder.

Together, the two of you sit like that for the remainder of the day, listening to the rain pitter patter against the window like tears, trying not to think of what’s to come.

And the morning after, once the sky has finished crying and the two of you have taken another step closer to accepting the today’s truth, he finally says it. Slow and sweet like honey in your ear, "I promise you, just trust me, MC. We’ll be okay.” You know he’s lying, but you choose to believe he’s not.

It’s easier that way.

It’s what he says when they come for him.

Harry Potter is fifteen now and things have only gotten worse. The ministry has taken over your old school, fired half the staff, and even managed to chase Dumbledore out. You never thought you’d see the day that man steps down, but you suppose nothing is inevitable.

Things at the ministry are much the same. Everyone is on edge, no matter whether they believe Harry’s claims or not, the place is a mess. Those that disagree are fighting regularly and everybody is becoming increasingly more paranoid, even you. Felix has made it his life’s mission to ignore it all, pretend all is as it used to be. He tells you it’s because he refuses to let another war ruin his life just as things started looking up, and quite frankly you agree.

So the two of you don’t talk about it. His family is never mentioned and especially not his parents. You don’t blame him for wanting to get away, if they were your family, you’d do the same. Instead, you go to work and act as if everyone else is just drunk on fire whiskey. You find the time to go out on dates, visit your friends and pretend everything isn’t falling to shit. It’s the only thing you know how to do at this point.

Currently, you’re busy cleaning the last of the mess left by your friends. Angelica had her birthday yesterday but insisted that it be held at your place. Felix wanted to decline, plan it at Chester’s or Penny’s, but you were able to convince him. Your place was the biggest, so it only made sense that you hold it there.

Still, you can see now why he was worried.

There are half eaten cupcakes and gift wrapping everywhere, frosting stuck to your counter and confetti in every nook and corner.

You pout, not looking forward to a morning of cleaning everyone else’s mess. Felix chuckles, amused. “C’mon, I’ll help.”

And with that you get to work. It takes a while, but you enjoy yourselves, a muggle radio playing music for you to listen to as you work, taking short breaks to laugh and mess around.

It’s just past noon when everything is clean, your dishes and rags all put away. Sharing a high five, Felix tells you to change and you can go out for lunch. Excited, you head over to get dressed.

Surpringly, you finish before he does, him needing extra time to fix his beloved hair. This leaves you to wait, twiddling your thumbs and tapping your foot impatiently. You’re about to shout, ask him what’s taking so long when there’s a knock on your door.

Curious and without much else to do, you stride over to the door. Glancing though the peep hole, you see something you never thought you would. Or, maybe you did, you just didn’t want to accept it.

Standing there behind your door is a man and a woman. A man and a woman whom you notice are entirely too familiar. A man with long white hair and stoney grey eyes and a woman with elegant black curls and lips dark and pursed.

“We know you’re home,” The woman drawls, rolling her eyes impatiently. “Just open up, dear.”

Realizing you don’t have a choice, that these are people you just can’t refuse, you steady your breathing. A hand rests on your chest for a beat.

You open the door, gingerly, cautiously.

Swinging the door open, you’re greater with the same sight, not that you expected anything else. The man smiles upon seeing your face, a twisted, charming smile that leaves bile in your mouth. The woman cocks her head, studying you for only a moment before grinning similarly, but with much more mirth and malice.

“Lucius,” You acknowledge with a curt nod, formal and cold. You refuse to to give your thoughts away. “Bellatrix.”

“MC,” Lucius greets customarily, his eyes appraising his surroundings. “Good to see you again.”

Briefly your mind wanders back to when you were introduced, fleetingly exchanging pleasantries at a dinner party for the ministry before being swept away by your respective company. you try your best not to grimace.

“You as well,” The lie drips easily from your mouth as if it were something you’ve always known. You think perhaps you have. “Pardon my blantance,” you lick your lips, never one to beat around the bush, drawing Bellatrix’s attention back to you. “But is there a reason for this particular visit?”

Lucius’ lips quirk, a smirk begging to settle on his face, silently impressed with your boldness. Meanwhile, Bellatrix refrains from scowling, but the way her eyes settle on you in dark disapproval is enough for.

Without wasting any more time for small talk, Lucius clears his throat. “Is Felix home?” He questions, growing tired with formalities himself.

Your heart drops, your blood runs cold, and you swear something in the house breaks. The security, the hopefulness, the dream, the unanswered wishes. Something that you haven’t realized you’ve been clinging to until now.

Squaring your shoulders back, your eyes steeling over and your expression hardening, you take a step back, allowing them entry. Bellatrix strolls ungracefully in, not even bothering to hide the way her face twists with dissatisfaction. Lucius’ brow arches before he, too, makes his way inside.

The woman strides past the shoes placed so obviously by the entryway, walking around to observe the minimal decoration you have set up around your abode. Malfoy, on the other hand, spares it a glance, a brief consideration, then takes a cautionary seat on the couch. With that settled, you excuse yourself to yours and Felix shared room.

You knock sagely on the door, waiting until he opens it with a grin, his hair finalized and his spirits high, completely unaware of the pressing situation accommodating itself in your living room.

Upon noticing your expression, he frowns in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“We have company,” You settle with, sharing with him a distrusting look.

Without further prompt, he takes your hand and leads you into the next room.

Two heads turn in your direction when you return, and you can feel the way Felix stiffens, his hand squeezing yours just that much tighter. You squeeze back, a subtle reminder that you’re still here and luckily it seems to calm him some. At the very least he’s able to nod respectfully to your company in greeting, a charming yet painfully artificial smile tugging at his mouth.

“Hello, Rosier,” Malfoy welcomes him, standing to offer your boyfriend his now outstretched hand. Felix takes it delicately, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has,” He agrees, nodding more so to himself than anyone else. You stare between them silently, your eyes fleeting over to Bellatrix still in the corner every so often. “And it’s not like I don’t adore your company, Lucius, but MC and I have prior arrangements.”

Malfoy hums in understanding, the baritone of his voice flowing smoothly between the empty space. It sends a shiver up your spine. “My apologies, regretfully we weren’t able to offer a notice of our arrival in advance but we were only given our orders this morning.”

Our orders.

Orders.

This was it, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been trying for so long to deny, what you’ve been ignoring since the start. They’ve come for him, haven’t they? That means the rumors aren’t just rumors anymore. Voldemort’s alive... a war is coming.

Coming.

You breathe in, your mask still held perfectly in place. You will not allow people like them to see through you, it simply isn’t an option. They won’t detect your fear or you be damned.

Felix seems to make the same assumption, an epiphany running haywire behind the dark hues of his chocolate irises. He chuckles.

“Oh really, is that so?” It’s a laugh this time, fuller than his minuscule chuckle, broader, coaxing. Challenging. He walks over to the counter in your kitchen, leaning coyly against the marble. He smirks. You wait. “I didn’t think Lucius Malfoy took orders from anyone.”

It’s a ploy, so arrogant and obvious, you’d have to be deaf to think otherwise. His tone is lilt and measured, calculated and dangerous. The deep rumble settles in his chest and briefly you wonder if he’d give the same tone to Voldemort.

Because that’s exactly what this is. The Malfoy’s haven’t visited Felix since the death of his cousin, Evan, upon Narcissa’s insistence. It’s a shame really, Felix rather liked her, far more than Bellatrix anyway. With Bella gone, Evan dead, Andromeda disowned and Narcissa tackling the challenge of motherhood, it’s been a while since he’d seen any of his cousins, really.

They all knew that. And they all knew why they were here now, it doesn’t take Occulmency to figure out. But he needs to hear him say it. He needs the words to leave his mouth, or he thinks he might go crazy. That way there’s no room doubt.

Lucius senses this, sparing a quick glance over to his companion who has just finished her tour– likely not without pickpocketing something of interest –he opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“Aw, really cousin?” She frowns, her tone scratchy and playful, punching. She smiles wickedly, barely any trace of sanity left in the crevices of her lips. A hand flies up to play with her hair. “You graduated top of your class, I thought you’d be smarter than that.”

You watch quietly as Felix shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “Perhaps,” He concedes calmly as you struggle not to bite your lip. “But I suppose caution and paranoia is a family trait, isn’t it Bella?”

A genuine grin breaks out across her face now, clearly amused, enjoying their banter much more than she had yours. “I prefer to think of it as... insurance.”

“Then you don’t mind me asking, Bella? For insurance?”

She giggles, low but manic, and a little bit out of it. It suits her, you think. “Clever boy.”

Lucius clears his throat, having finally gathered his wits and turns back to your boyfriend. “Excuse my vagueness, Felix, but as I’m sure you’re aware... the Dark Lord isn’t one you can just disobey.”

A silence sinks onto the four of you, nestling itself into your limbs, itching at your skin. It was what you’d been waiting for, but suddenly you wish you could take it back.

“I take it you’ve heard of his return,” Malfoy inquires, walking back to sit on the couch, nodding placatingly in your direction.

“...I thought they were rumors, if I’m being honest.”

“They’re true,” Bellatrix beams, stepping closer to her cousin, her similarly dark eyes wild. “He’s back.”

“We know you may be hesitant,” Malfoy drawls, his fingers drumming lowly on his walking stick, beating against the head of a silver snake. “With what happened to your cousin and all.”

Felix says nothing and somehow it’s you who finds words pushing past your teeth.

“Oh, you mean how he died?” You snark, all three sets of eyes snapping over to yours. Bellatrix takes you in as if she’d forgotten you were present while Felix hides any emotion behind his facade.

Bellatrix looks as if she wants to snap, bite something back at you, but she doesn’t. No, they need Felix to go with them, so she won’t risk angering him. You take a sense of pride in that.

“Yes, a rather unfortunate fate, but I assure you, Miss L/N, that won’t happen again this time.”

“How can you be so certain, Lucius?” Felix quips without missing a beat.

The white haired man back tracks, folding his words into himself in of fear saying too much. He looks on between the two of you with cold, dead eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m not at much liberty to say, Rosier,” He laments, clearly trying to bribe you, intrigue you with the curiosity that comes with a question in need of answering. “But I am certain that, should you accept it, there is a very respectable place for you among us.”

Felix looks to you in an obvious display of concern, not for your well-being, no he’s aware of your strength. They hold a concern, a question of where you stand in this arrangement of theirs.

The tired man catches this and corrects himself. “Both of you.”

It’s now that Bellatrix closes in on him, her pale hand reaching up to latch onto his shoulder. Her head tilts to reach his ear and you watch as her lips move, but the sound does not reach you. She whispers something soft in his ear, intimate and persuasive, as if they’d been close for years.

When she’s finally finished, Lucius raises an expectant eyebrow in Felix’s direction. “So?” The man queries, curiosity lacing his voice like sugar. “What do you say?”

You can practically see the cogs in his head turn as he runs through his options and you’re ashamed to admit it, but for a moment you’re unsure of what his answer will be. His parents will surely disown him for refusing, even if they’re not exactly on the best of terms at present. It’s his family... that’s bound to influence him even a little, right?

Exhaling, Felix blinks and observes them one last time before walking to his door and opening it with vigor.

He gestures to it, holding it open. “I’m afraid we can’t spare much more time as we’re already late. MC and I really must get going.”

No. He told them no. It’s as clear as if he’d said the words themselves. As invariable as the sun coming up in the morning and obvious as the color of the sky, Felix turned them down.

And they know it.

Admittedly stunned, Lucius and Bellatrix slowly make their way towards the exit held wide open for them. Bellatrix snorts in passing, leaving her cousin behind without a second thought, marching out of your home in earnest. But Lucius stops at the doorframe, looking back to Felix in a final chance for reconsideration.

“Are you sure?” He presses, eyes sliding past you, focused on who they really came here for.

Felix nods. “Quite.”

With nothing left to say, Lucius Malfoy disappears from sight, taking Felix’s last connection to his family with him. The door clicks minutely shut and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The silence that takes place in your house feels too big, like it stretches far beyond just these walls. You almost expect him to say something, the drown it out, but instead he takes big steps towards you and grabs your hand.

Before you know it, you’re outside. The sun is beating down on you feverishly, as if it were praising you, it’s favorite person in the world. Pale grass brushes up against your knees and the sky looks bluer than you last recall. But what really catches your attention is a house, towering above you unevenly, random windows doecorating the front that look strangely endearing and yet oh so out of place.

Your mind spins, nothing connecting, no thoughts formulating nor your surroundings making sense. You frown in utter confusion and look to Felix for help, but when your eyes meet his, what stares back at you a reflection, someone who is just as scared as you.

If anything it makes you more afraid.

Nonsensical sounds leave your mouth in broken fragments and sentences, words failing you completely. Felix shushes you softly, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

“Shh, it’s okay. Hey, don’t worry, everything is fine,” He coerces you into deep breaths, his fingers tracing random patterns on the apple of your cheeks. Your heartbeat calms but you still feel as if you’re at the bottom of a swimming pool.

“Where are we? What are we doing here?”

“It’s the Weasley estate,” Felix replies, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “We need their help now, MC.”

“Felix, what just happened? Did they–”

“Yes, they did,” It’s not what you wanted, but it’s all he has and a cold sweat sticks to your skin. “So we can’t go back there. They won’t be happy about my decision, MC, so we need somewhere else to go.”

“What about Chester? Or Tonks or Orion or–”

“We can’t put them in danger,” He rebuffs, shaking his head sorrowfully. He looks just as broken as you do, just as lost, and that terrifies you. “We need to lie low, okay? You can do that for me, right?”

You stutter, still processing the events of your day. Had you known this would happen when you woke up this morning, you would have stayed in bed. It all escalated so quickly, you’re not even sure it’s donned on you yet what exactly it is you’ve just done. The world spins around you.

“I promise you, just trust me.”

You look up at the sound of his voice and your eyes meet his. He’s scared, and lost, and worried and suddenly you realize that he doesn’t have all the answers.

But it’s okay.

You’re in this together now, and if you had to go to war with anyone by your side, you thank your lucky star that it happens to be him.

“I do.”

You wiggled the keys in the door, cursing under your breath until it finally opened. Releasing a sigh, you hauled the thing open, tossing the keys onto the nearby end table and removing your shoes, allowing it to click shut behind you.

You cast a dreadful look around the place.

It’s the same, you’re aware. Physically nothing has changed since you were here last; nothing moved or altered in any way. The hand-picked drapes are still hanging from the window, your shoes still sit by the door, your pictures decorate the walls just as they always have. It’s almost eerie how similar it looks, yet for the life of you you can’t recognize it.

It’s not your home anymore.

Not able to stand the silence much longer, you let your feet drag against the wooden floor as you make your way to your room. You’re not ready, not yet. You know that, but you also know that you can’t avoid it forever.

He wouldn’t want you to.

Your hand wraps carefully around the handle and you press your forehead against it, only for a moment, before you pull away and bite the bullet. A shaky inhale and another minute later, you finally push it open.

The first thing you notice is the quietness surrounding the room, like an aura. You could feel in your bones how empty it was, as if the air around you was weeping, crying out in isolation. You find you can’t relate, not these days when socializing of any kind seems to be more of a chore than a normalcy. Still, you sympathize with whatever the feeling is, knowing the pain first hand.

It’s weird, you think, how completely untouched by the pain and destruction of war and the time it took to finally end it. You’re almost angry, at how this was able to stay the same when everything else in your life was bent out of shape, played out of tune.

Your legs move mindlessly, eager to explore, to what what else slipped past the war’s watchful eye. They take you to your closet, the huge thing left to collect dust in your absence.

You and Felix had to leave pretty much everything behind when you joined the Order. It was too risky to come return to the house when Voldemort’s followers were watching you. Luckily, the Order was able to help provide you with things like clothes until you’d gotten settled in— Tonks in particular was very generous, but you were unfortunately unable to come back to retrieve the ones you left behind.

Reaching out, your grip latches onto a certain sweater all the way far in the back, buried underneath old t-shirts, worn button-ups, and mismatched gloves. You pull it out.

The stitching is a little loose around the hem and splitting by the neckline. The grey has faded and the thin green streaks around the cuffs are almost indistinguishable. You don’t think you’d be able to identify it were it not for the small pin resting by the right of the chest.

Under any other circumstances you’d probably smile, reminiscing on your school days and perhaps even tease him. Ask why he still has it and why he hasn’t kept up with it, why it’s just sitting in the darkest corner of the closet. Today though, all you can do is pull it into your chest, hugging it just long enough to collect yourself before you gingerly tuck it back into its place. You shut the closet and collapse into the bed.

It feels bigger without him in it.

You’re about ready to waste away the rest of the day exactly like this, your heart heavy and soul tired, but you attempt one last glance around first. You don’t know what you’re looking for, maybe something to convince you that this isn’t your life now, that the last few weeks never happened, but you find it.

There’s a hand wrapped package sitting on his desk, pushed into the corner so far you nearly missed it. It’s tied together with plain string, but you notice the familiar scrawl painted across it.

Jumping up from your spot on the bed, you bound over to it, tearing it open without a second thought.

Your vision is immediately flooded with words upon words etched into prestine white parchment in thick black ink. It’s in Felix’s handwriting, of course like you expected, but for a minute you debate not reading it. You’re not sure you can bare whatever thoughts he decided to write into tangible reality, regardless of the contents, but you quickly shut that down. You’re too curious for your own good, something he always loved to remind you.

So, trying to steady your hands long enough for you to read the script, you sit down to do just that.

05/01/98’

MC,

I’ve gone through probably a hundred pieces of parchment and yet I still can’t find a decent way to start this. You’d think with the war I’d have my wits about me, but I suppose everyone has to play the fool at some point, right?

To tell you the truth, I don’t even think I know what I’m trying to say here. There’s so many things going on both in my head and around us as I’m writing this, I was barely able to get this moment to myself. But I had to get away. I had to write this. With this war finally coming to a head, I fear what lies in tomorrow’s horizon. Fate, as I’ve come to realize, is so arbitrary. Perhaps there is nothing to it but odds and dumb luck. Either way, we can’t know what happens next, and as morbid as the thought is, there are some things I have to say before the day breaks. I don’t have a lot of time, so I will try to make it brief.

I love you. I know it’s nothing new, but I just thought you should hear it one last time.

Also, I suppose I wanted to say sorry. If you’re reading this then that means that my luck has run out. So I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t be there when you need me the most. I’m sorry that it had to be me who broke us and I’m sorry that you have to do this on your own. I’m sorry I left you.

Lastly, I wanted to marry you.

I know that’s it likely unfair of me to say this, seeing as it is now a dream that could never become reality, but it’s true. I think I’ve known this for a while now, but it’s just always been a thought, an idea, something to look forward to. And even if our time together was much shorter than I’d hoped, just know that it was worth it. I’ve left this earth a happy man, MC, for nothing on this earth, be it magical or otherwise, could ever compare to loving you. Not in a thousand lifetimes. Though a future together is something that we can’t have, I hope you’ll still persevere, like I know you can, to love the life you can still have. This world is on its knees, and it’s begging for someone like you to take advantage of it and all it has to offer.

So promise me you’ll try. For me.

Until Tomorrow,

Felix

You read it several times before it become illegible, the tears in your eyes splashing onto the paper and blurring your vision. You shake your head, unable to do anything else, and the parchment slips from between your fingers, floating softly to the ground.

You try to flick the tears away, but they just keep coming, unbidden. They continue to do so even after your eye catches on something hidden in the wrapping of the package and you pick it up with a trembling hand.

It’s a wedding ring, the kind you always imagined you’d have as a child; beautiful and sparkling and made just for you. This is made even more apparent when you see the inscription on the inside of the band, obviously something Felix had required.

“I promise you, just trust me.”

Without anything left to do, you slip it onto your finger and allow yourself to sob well into the night. You sob not only for the man you lost, but for the future that died with him.

[robinrunsfiction]

Irresistible - Chapter 1

Pairing: Pete Wentz x Female Reader Rating: Teen Requested By: None Author’s Note: Although not specifically requested by her, all my Pete Wentz stories are dedicated to @glittercupcakes-and-squats. Also this is written in first person because it felt right. I know I don’t do that a lot, but I hope you all enjoy!

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon as I busied myself organizing and straightening up the display cases of glittering diamonds and other gems set into gold and platinum. Working in one of the most high-end jewelry stores in Chicago was a unique experience, and I had been working there for long enough to know what I was doing.

You don’t become the top earning salesperson in a store like this by gossiping and being inattentive. I had worked hard to build up a reputation of trust and confidentiality. Men came in one day with their wives, then with their mistress the next, and I knew not to mix up the two. Trust fund kids came in and blew tons of cash on watches and earrings that they lost in no time but had to replace to maintain their social status, but I never scolded them or mentioned it when their parents came in. The nouveau riche came in to spend as much money as possible to show off, and as much as I wanted to call them out on their lack of taste, they tended to be the best customers, throwing around money like it was nothing. To the wealthy what mattered was what everyone else thought about them, the first impression they made without saying a word. Image was everything.

When the door opened, and a couple of men walked in, I instantly eyed them up. They were a little old and too nicely dressed to be trust fund kids, no rings on their fingers meant they were single, or at least acting like it that afternoon. I could stand to earn a healthy commission if I played my cards right. They browsed the displays for a moment before I approached them with my best customer service face on.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, can I help you find something in particular?”

“I’m looking for a birthday present,” the one with the dark brown hair and eyes replied. He looked familiar, I’m certain he’s been in here before, but not often enough that I know him by name. Not to mention he was good looking; the gift is probably for one of his many girlfriends. “Maybe some earrings?”

“Is this for a significant other, spouse, family?”

“Oh, just a friend,” he grinned. Yep, called it.

“How about these?” his friend asked pointing to a pair of studs down the way. He seemed nervous and a bit overwhelmed. He wasn’t the type to usually shop in a place like this, but it wouldn’t be surprising if he was back one day looking for an engagement ring to impress a girl with expensive taste.

I moved down the counter and bent down to retrieve them from the case. Standing back up, I leaned forward, making the low-cut neckline of my black dress help make the sale for me. “These are gorgeous, and they’re very classic. You have a good eye,” I replied while shooting a smile to the friend. He smiled back shyly. What a sweetheart.

“Yea Trick, those are nice, but what else do you have?” The first man asked with a million-dollar smile. I smiled back, if he was looking to drop some money, I was more than willing to oblige.

“I have some just down here that you may appreciate, just one moment,” I replied as I hurried down the row of counters. Just then Bernard, the owner of the store, came out from his office.

“Pete! So good to see you!” He greeted the dark-haired man warmly with a handshake.

“Bernard, how are you doing? I see business is still booming.”

“Of course, thanks to the likes of you and your father,” he said with a knowing laugh. “Come, I have brand new Rolex I want you to see. Come, come,” he said ushering him along to a different counter.

I was fuming. Bernard had personal relationships with so many of his customers, which was to be expected, but it meant he frequently stole sale from me. Old bastard.

I put away the earrings I had pulled to show them and stomped into the back office. One day I’d have my own store and I’d run Bernard out of business. He’d come crawling to me for a job, selling my designs instead of the same old Rolex every executive in the Chicagoland area already wore.

I glanced at my phone and saw Christine had texted me and Jennifer about going out for happy hour. After an afternoon like this, there was no way I wasn’t going out.

~

When I got to the club, the girls were already there, and had a drink waiting for me. They’re too good to me, honestly. Jennifer was an investment banker who worked too damn hard in my opinion, so the fact that Christine got her out of her apartment after work was a miracle unto itself. Christine was a walking good time. A professional photographer with a rock star boyfriend, honestly if I could be her, I would.

“Not a good day today?” Jennifer asked as I sat down.

“Just the same old bull, ya know?” I replied before taking a swig of my drink. The club was loud, and I vaguely felt like we were getting too old for this scene. “I get that Bernard knows these people, but I’m building my own client base, future clients, and they aren’t going to come to me when I get out on my own if they don’t remember me.”

“Well maybe if you focused on something besides your job, you wouldn’t worry about your job so much,” Christine suggested knowingly.

I rolled my eyes. “Easy for you to say, you got like the hottest man on earth, you work for yourself, and travel everywhere whenever you want.”

“Speaking of hot guys though,” Jennifer piped up. “That one keeps looking over at you, (YN).”

I tried to keep it cool and not obviously stare the direction she was looking, but I had to admit I was surprised when I saw who she was talking about.

Pete.

“Oh, I met him today in the store, he was buying a gift for a friend,” I said turning back to my friends. I could trust these two not to spread any gossip around. They were as discreet as me, ya know except for when I was telling them everything.

“That must be the lucky lady,” Christine said as a tiny blonde thing in a tiny dress opened gifts. “Ope, (YN), she’s all over your man, he must have got her something good.”

“He is not my man. He wouldn’t ever be my man, even if he was interested in me. I know how these rich playboys operate. I’m not looking to be cheated on, I’m not looking to be a side piece, I’m no fool. I gotta find someone sensible like Kingston.”

Christine scoffed. “Did you just call my man child of a boyfriend, a musical genius, but otherwise loveable idiot, sensible?”

“Ok, you know what I mean, he’s loyal, that’s rare these days.”

“That’s true,” Jennifer chimed in.

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but were you helping me at the jewelry store earlier?” I heard Pete ask. My friends were looking at me with wide eyes, wondering how I’d respond. I turned and looked up at him and he was flashing that with that same million-dollar smile.

I nodded in response. “Yea, hi. It’s Pete, right? Did Bernard get you what you needed?”

“That, and then some,” he laughed, adjusting the watch on his wrist. Subtle.

“Good I’m glad,” I smiled politely. Why was he over here talking to me when there were half a dozen girls waiting to fawn over him at his table. I spotted his friend from earlier, who still looked uncomfortable. Poor guy.

“I felt badly that Bernard interrupted, and I didn’t get your name,” he said with a soft look.

“Oh, right, I’m (YN),” I said extending my hand for a handshake, intending to keep things professional. “Yea, he does that sometimes, but he owns the place, so what can I do?”

“Well (YN), I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”

I could feel my friends’ eyes drilling in the back of my head, I could practically hear them yell ‘yes!’ for me, but I wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t you here with the girl you bought those earrings for? Or maybe another girl who you’ll be in buying earrings for eventually?”

“Don’t worry about it, they’re just friends,” he laughed.

“I don’t believe you,” I said shaking my head.

“(YN)!” I heard Jennifer scolding me.

“Why not?” Pete looked offended.

“I know your type. Always showing off with the expensive clothes, and cars and lavish gifts and parties to impress girls who just like the big bank account. But you don’t really mind, because you aren’t looking for something serious. You’re just having fun,” I shrugged.

“You should give me a chance,” he said with a look that almost made me believe him. But I wasn’t going to be swayed that easily.

“Why? I’m not looking to get my heart broken and an expensive necklace as a consolation prize.”

“I’m not like the other guys that come into your store,” he said sincerely. At this point he was crouching down to my level where I sat, looking in my eyes, but I willed myself to stay strong. There was absolutely no denying that he was gorgeous, but that wouldn’t keep the gold diggers away. Just the opposite.

“Sorry Pete, it’s late, and I gotta open up the shop tomorrow. I’ll see you the next time you stop by,” I said taking the last sips of my drink and turning back to my friends. “Either of you wanna share an Uber?”

“What is wrong with you?” Christine practically growled when Pete was out of earshot.

“I’m tired and I wanna go home, and like I said, I don’t wanna be a side piece! Now are we sharing an Uber or not?”

Chapter 2

[lacklusterswirl]

Ash x Ceil fic? I suggested it earlier in a different context :P

“Am I taking requests?” Kinda… if you send it in I’ll write it eventually… but I do prefer angst most of the time soooo :p

For those that don’t know, Ciel is an OC who’s technically from an original story of mine, but sometimes shows up in R6 stuff I write just cause he’s also JTF 2.

.

This time, it was Ciel who asked for help, and Rainbow answered. Ash hadn’t seen him since Buck and Frost were first recruited, and when they… well, just leave it the fact that they know each other. But for a budding romance that was already so slow to start, she doesn’t know if he would ever be interested in someone like her for more than just a one night stand. She was intense, stuck-up, and just had to be in control, and he was trying to keep himself from falling back into a similar pattern. And for good reason. Uncertainty tends to kill romance, and she thinks she sees that here too.

Warnings: Mentions of injuring, gunfights, cannon typical violence. (~2.4k words)

“You again?”

Ciel looked away from the blueprints of the building they were preparing to infiltrate. There were strings and pins around the map like he had spent hours on it, but they weren’t the focus of his attention anymore. “You’re part of a Canadian op. Who else were you expecting?”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” another man bumped into her as he went to stand by Ciel. No doubt, despite the impressive stripes on the newer man’s shoulder, Ciel was still higher rank. He always had to be on top, that bastard. He wasn’t even in his fucking uniform, the slob.

As if he read her mind, he looked up and smirked. “Do you plan on joining us anytime soon?”

Ash rolled her eyes and stepped in to take a closer look at the pins. “Sledge and Blitz will be here soon. They had to stop by and get some kind of special badge to walk around.”

“And you made it here first?” The stranger chimed in. His name tag said Millier though, so that must’ve been his last name.

Ciel smirked and looked back up at his own pins. “Ne sois pas méchant. She’s a guest.” Ash just rolled her eyes.

During the briefing, Ciel was calm and didn’t seem to make a big deal out of the op. It was simple. Go in, clear, and get out. No secondary objectives or anything. However, a simple op like that wasn’t why you called in an international org like Rainbow. All these thoughts were over ridden the entire time though because Ash swore that he was making fun of her for something. His eyes seemed to stay on her for a moment longer than the others, and it made her wonder if he was trying to tell her something more subtle. So, afterwards, she stayed behind.

“Something wrong, Ash?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I’ve never been better, thanks for asking.” He took a seat on the table so one leg was off the other ground, but the other was still touching the floor. Even now, he seemed in control. As he always was. From the moment she met him to now, this was always how he was.

“There’s nothing else?” She didn’t misread him. For how guarded he was, his patterns were quite simple. “I know you, you know?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come out around town with me and Millier tomorrow. Bring your team if you’d like. I know Millier wants to hear about your work.”

“So, this has nothing to do with Buck?”

Ciel gave that coy smile to show that she was right. “I figured that if you didn’t want to tell me, that it wouldn’t be an answer I wanted to hear. You do make the teams after all, eh?”

“Buck… well, he’s moved on.”

“And Frost?”

“She’s doing well, if that’s what you want to know. Knows her way around a mission, and is always a comfort to have on your side. She’s fine as well. They aren’t concerns of Rainbow.”

He made some vague agreeing sound. “And you?” Those green eyes settled on her, and she almost felt uncomfortable.

“I’m well. Nothing new has happened, though I was surprised to hear that you called in help this time. Pulling favours? Must be important. You didn’t sound so stressed when you were talking.”

“I can’t disclose much. But know that your organization’s presence here is very welcomed.”

And by the tone of his voice, he meant it.

You don’t send in two higher ranking officers, one of whom was a legend, and three Rainbow ops for just any mission. And so, this was about what Ash expected. They were engaged in heavy fire from the moment they were deployed. Ash looked over at where Sledge was taking shots through the side door and giving a short report every time one went down.

Blitz was with the Canadian ops while they were going straight through the front door, and from the sound of things, they already made their entry. This wasn’t good. They were meant to enter at the same time, but Ash and Sledge were still posted at their door, unable to set foot in the house.

“Lobby clear, but footsteps are approaching from upstairs— CONTACT!” Ciel’s breathy voice broke her away for a quick moment until bullets flew at her again. She nodded at Sledge, they couldn’t fall any further behind. Together, she and Sledge broke into the kitchen and started clearing enemies who were fleeing from Ciel’s team down the stairs and into their waiting crosshairs.

An explosion sounded from above them, and Ash had to take cover from the bullets raining from above. She glanced over at Sledge but saw him testing his left hand.

“Sledge?”

“Grazed my arm when I was breaking down the door. Starting to feel it now.”

“Shit… Stay safe, we’re almost done. Let me know if it gets too bad.”

He nodded and they turned around the corner to take out the last few terrorists in the room.

“This is Ash, we’re going downstairs.”

“Copy.” That was Millier. Why was he the one responding?

“Ash, what are you waiting for? Count me down,” Sledge hissed. Ash nodded and counted them down. The moment they landed, they immediately went back to back as they cleared out the room. Out the room and taking a corner put them in a good position to take out a few without direct engagement.

“This is Mil reporting, top floor is cleared, but Ciel got thrown in the blast from earlier.”

Ash’s heart stopped.

“He’ll be ok, just a little shaken.”

She sighed, relieved, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it mattered so much. It wasn’t like she could do anything about it now either. She and Sledge had to continue their assault.

When it was all done, and Ciel was safely extracted, there was a tense silence on the plane. Ciel had his eyes closed, trying to block out all sound, while Millier was preparing dressings and ice packs. As for Rainbow, Blitz and Sledge were staring at Ash, expecting an outburst. That was her reputation after all. She was intense, focused, too stuck-up, and hot-headed. However, she waited until debrief before demanding the whole story while Ciel was in the infirmary.

They were clearing out the master bedroom, and Ciel was about to push in when Blitz motioned that he would take point with the shield. As he moved forward though, Ciel must’ve caught something on his sensor because he lunged at the German operator while Millier covered them. It was unneeded though. The C4 killed the only terrorist in the room and Ciel had gotten thrown into a wall. Blitz was a little shocked, but fine otherwise.

“I don’t understand. I have a shield for a reason,” he complained the moment Ciel stepped into the briefing room.

“Your back was facing it, what else was I gonna do?” Ciel responded, taking a seat with a slight grimace. “It was calculated though. I knew the layout of the room, the number of enemies, and my own strength.”

“That… I—”

While Blitz stuttered a little trying to come up with a response, Ciel just smiled at Ash and Millier. “How was the rest of debrief?”

“Elle est trop—”

“Elle peut nous comprendre, Millier. Dis-le à moi plus tard.” Ciel gave Ash a small smile and nodded at the rest. “You are all dismissed. Thank you, Rainbow, for coming in. Things would’ve been a little hairier had that been just a two-man op.”

Blitz and Sledge both stood to leave the room, and after a moment – and a few seconds of unsure eye contact – Millier followed them. Ciel waited until the door was closed until he spoke to Ash.

“Millier interrupted earlier, but what did you think of the mission?”

“Why do you care? It’s over,” she helped him pack up the files, reaching for things that would otherwise hurt him to stretch and grasp for. “It’s a success. Congrats.”

“Oh, come on. I can tell you’re mad at me. And a little bit mad at yourself too?”

Well, since he asked for it. “You shouldn’t have gone upstairs. You shouldn’t have entered before I did.”

“The plan was set in motion. Millier and I are best suited to more enclosed spaces, and Blitz had a shield. It was the right team. And entering didn’t lead to any mistakes.”

“It desynced us.”

“It didn’t matter if we were in sync or not. That C4 was ready for us, and it would’ve been thrown whether or not we were synced.”

“The mission wasn’t perfect.” Ash slammed a stack of papers down on the desk in a perfect pile.

“No mission is.” Ciel grabbed them and packed them away haphazardly.

Ash glared at him. “Our reputation—”

“Will not be affected.” Ciel was counting photos, only looking up once to take in her expression.

She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, as she said the next line. “You almost died.”

There. That made him stop. “I didn’t… You know what? Stay here, I’ll be back.”

It took perhaps ten minutes and Ciel was back with a bottle of golden liquid and two glasses. “It’s to help you destress,” he said, offering the glass he just poured. “Drink it slowly though, I would like you to help me finish up here.”

“You aren’t in charge of me anymore,” she smiled around the glass, but complied anyways. God, she hated whiskey, but the soothing burn was a comfort.

Ciel paused as he was placing the next batch of papers in a box. “You know,” he placed his hands on the table and looked Ash directly in the eye. “Millier loves you. Not like… a romantic love, but he is obsessed with your skill and how you command your unit. He admires you. As do all the soldiers you work with, even the ones who don’t really show it. Cut yourself some slack.”

“Can’t get complacent. Not everyone can take ten years off from this work to raise a child then come back basically the same.”

“It’s not complacency, it’s called forgiveness. And everyone made sure to let me know that… gah, that I had… changed.” He made a motion to his general body, and Ash got the general idea. “Yet I had to forgive myself then too.”

She stopped moving her hands as she noticed he hadn’t done anything in the past few minutes. “Get your ass moving or else we’ll be stuck in here for hours.”

He chuckled, but went back to work. Another moment of silence passed before he spoke up again. “I know you still don’t like Buck because of me.”

Her eyes flew up to meet his. “I don’t hold anything against Buck.”

“Except the fact that I was engaged to him about fifteen years ago, and yet I still request regular check-ins with him and Frost, while I haven’t talked to you since… that night.” The way he looked at her while still organizing told her that he knew exactly what he was doing, and the reaction she wanted to give was what he was expecting.

“Is this how you work?” she asked him. There, he wasn’t expecting that.

He tilted his head slightly to the side and looked back down as he started scribbling on a new set of forms.

“Is my handwriting not neat enough?”

With Ciel, as she had learned the first time, it payed to be direct. He wasn’t one to be easily offended, especially if there was no intention. “Are you trying to get me to be one of those girls and boys for you?”

“… One of those girls and boys? You make me sound like I’m constantly hooking up with people.”

“…Aren’t you?” She gave him an even look. For how responsible he was in every endeavor he took, relationships were not one of them.

“Not constantly. No one can do it that often. I certainly can’t. I am getting older,” he smirked, finally standing up and placing the last pile in the box. “You know me. If you want something, it’s best just to ask.”

“I don’t want to be just another one-night stand for you again.”

“You don’t have to be, I mean, you’re already moving onto a two-night status, aren’t you?” He picked up the box with a quiet huff and started to turn away before freezing in place to face her once more.

“I think I get what’s wrong,” he murmured. “You think that I think that you’re easy. And that I don’t respect you.”

Ash stared back, refusing to give anything away, which, in itself, was a giveaway.

“Eliza…” Him saying her real name was… it was bringing back memories she’d rather leave alone. “I won’t judge you for who you sleep and don’t sleep with, and I know you like to stress over the things you don’t know, but… don’t think of me as someone you need to stress over. That’s the last thing I want to be to you.”

“Then how about tonight, Skye? I know you have to check with Iris first, but after… well, I haven’t been in Toronto before.”

He flashed her a smile that practically glowed. “It would be my pleasure. Just don’t make fun of me too much when I get stiff. Age is unpredictable. So are nitro’s.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop ignoring my requests to put operators in your missions?”

“Not a chance!” He spun and leaned against the door with his back. “Knowing you, you’ll outdo too many of my newer soldiers, and they’ll never gain any leadership experience working with you. Ask again when I’m in charge, then I’ll consider it.” Ash was shaking her head at him. “What? You’re too good for some of them!”

“What a jealous old man,” she shook her head.

“Oh, come off it now, I can’t be that much older than you, right?”

“Aren’t you like fifty?”

“F-” his eyebrows furrowed. “Fifty? What did Buck tell you? I’m the same age as him!” She chuckled, and he let the mock frown change into a more satisfied smile. “Come knock on my office when you’re ready.”

“See you then.”

The door closed behind him, and she turned to back her gadget. The bastard always tried to get her to fucking relax, and it worked every time. As long as she didn’t see her operators with this blush, she was sure she could save face. Or not. What were they going to say to her anyways?

[anonil88]

Needs a title

Chapter 1

Rated M, because it is a college story.

~so a heads up i am new to writing fan fiction, but not stories, also new to writing on an ipad so excuse my errors atm. This was an idea that was sparked by wayhaught but, i never intended on turning it into a fan fic of sorts. But here we are, there may be some terms you have to look up but, i can explain one thing. Sorority’s and fraternity’s in American universities have a big, like an older sibling, and littles that choose or are chosen to a big. Just a slight explanation, also this doesn’t have a title yet so suggestions are welcome. ~

Sitting at the desk of the security office she lost herself in her thoughts as the phone rang. Nicole was one of the officers on duty in the security office at Woodbridge Heights University. All of the other officers on duty were out doing rounds, unlocking doos, or something else. It was just her and student officer Owen Lonnie milling around the office waiting to har if anyone needed assistance or until their shifts were over.

The phone rang out breaking them both from the thoughts milling around in both of their heads. Lonnie picked up the line, “Campus security, Student officer Lonnie what can i help you with. Uh huh . Okay, i will dispatch an officer over to help with the lock. He hung up the phone and Nicole was already shrugging her jacket on. Lonnie filled her in on the situation, a locked shed on the football field containing some necessary equipment. She hopped into the dark green golf cart and made her way over to the football stadium. Her thoughts went to how grateful she was to have this job. She graduated with her bachelors and after four years of being a part of the Mountie security family they offered her a job. She figured while she was continuing her academy pursuits. Pulling into the storage area near the field she saw the group of athletes yanking on the padlock attached to the shed she skirted to a stop.

“Finally someone showed up,” stated a tattooed beef cake that she recognized as the recruited sophomore playing both lacrosse and football. He and his gaggle of friends some geared up and some barely chuckled at his remark. Nicole tried her best not to show the annoyance she felt on her face as she dug in her pocket for keys.

“Hi , Champ I’m sure coach Ricard would love to hear how you lost the storage keys....again.” she tried to keep her tone stoic as she opened the shed and heard the non-hardy players snickered and snided her into the shed. Moving out of the way she stepped back and looked back over at champ who was waiting for the others to pull out the pads for the sleds. Nicole decided she might as well make conversation with the kid, “So are you excited for the season.”

Champ sighed and looked over, “yea, but the pressure uh does it get any better?”

Nicole thought about the pressure to bring back another championship her senior year with the women’s basketball team. She also thought about the fact that Hardy and the team were coming off of last years shiny championship win,” no it does not”, she relented. Champ had grabbed the last of the gear and nodded toward Nicole as she pulled the shed shut. Following the team she made her way to the stands checking the time on her watch. While pulling off her jacket her eyes glazed over the field when she heard a loud yelp and a clamor of groans off to the side of her.

***

The cheer squad took advantage of the good weather and the fact that the football team’s practice was going to be more than slightly delayed due to a coach and equipment gone awol. The captain of the squad, Waverly Earp opted to her squad to practice some of their sideline routine including a less than clean torch stand and even worse arabesque. It never helped that a few of these flyers had no real interest in pre-stretching nor listening knowing they would have a chance to “inspect” the new players setting out gear. She knew that the only way to get some of their attention was to op in line with all of them, leaving he co captain Chrissy to watch from the side. With a count and a lunge waverly was lifted in the air one leg pointed.

She heard the quiet groan under her as some of the girls not being a base looked up at her and rolled their eyes. She thought about how hard she tried to get everyone on the squad to like her but there was one thing always disconnecting her and a few of the others. She wondered if it was the fact that she was in a rivaling sorority than the other or that they were envious of the many ups she had going for her at Woodbridge. Little did they or mostly anyone besides the admission committee knew of her circumstances at home. Her reluctance to tell anyone about the reason why she and her sister, Wy, had left their hometown or why she loved this campus the way she did was a loaded answer. It was part guilt, part fear or rejection, and maybe a bit of a wall. They didn’t know her history so she was free to create a new future or at least try to.

The sun slightly blinded her vision as she brought her leg down yet remaining in the air. Yelling down to the girls below she informed them of the proper procedures to the stunt she just performed. Chrissy and the cheer coach backing up her words in the distance. She tried her best to listen in on what the coach was stating to her and the rest of the squad, but her eyes noticed a flick of red hair making its way across the silver and black stands and then the faint outline of a tanned muscular bicep . So focused on the person that was drawing her attention in the stands she mindlessly signaled for dismount. The base crew were already bowing at her weight and the distraction of Waverly led to a crumpled mess of girls and a few bruises to Waverly’s arm. Some how in the all she had the fore thought to cover her head when coming down but , she was still a bit dazed as people were being pulled off of her and then her off of another girls body. The person holding her upright covered the sun that was blazing down on her. Regardless of this shadow she saw a bright light and her eyes followed despite the blurriness. Her ears registered a warm voice and then finally murmurs. The stars were wearing off and she felt less disoriented coming to the sight of her coach looking at the other girls and Chrissy staring at her along with a tall concerned red head. Waverly snapped out of whatever fog the fall had caused and stared straight at Chrissy. “I am fine but, can someone actually go to morning work out,” she yelled the last bit of her statement towards the girls next to her warranting a scoff or two. She knew she had some fault yet, needed to deflect a bit.

Chrissy laughed and roped her hand around Waverly’s shoulder,” stop before they mutiny on both of us.” The woman who was very obviously a security officer spoke into the walkie on her shoulder and smiled in both of the girls reaction. Waverly caught her eyes lingering a bit too long over the face of the officer and managed to laugh off th statement Chrissy had made. Chrissy chimed in noticing a slight change in the way Waverly’s eyes were grazing Nicole. “Okay then i think I’m going to take waverly to sit down then Nic....i mean Officer Haught,” Chrissy laughed off pulling Waverly by the arm.

***

Nicole rolled her eyes playfully and tapped Chrissy’s in the shoulder as the girl turned pulling her cute brunette friend with her. Nicole beamed at her little, “It’s fine Bunny i am still Nicole or Hops, outside of yaknow when other security is around.” She started walking back to the golf cart once she had checked that none of the other girls needed to be taken to the health center on campus. On the way back to the cart she waved at one of her friends who was now the defensive coach for the football team, who had now taken to the field practicing drill lines etc. Dolls stopped her before she completely walked passed him. “Officer hops saving the day one shed at a time or should i say one girl,” he chuckled lowly.

“Ha ha, now maybe if someone made sure that they arrived on time instead of taking some extra time with a certain bar tender, i could have stayed inside getting cabin fever,” she jeered toward the man who was the epitome of tall dark and handsome.

Dolls grimaced and shrugged, “what can i say i have a thing for a spitfire named Aphrodite. Which by the way i think that was her sister you helped out there.” Nicole rose her eyebrow prying for some more information. “The one that was in the air with the brown hair. I think that is her at least because, she is the head cheerleader from what Wynonna...” He groaned as the name of his secret fling slipped his lips and the smile on Nicole’s faced widened. “I am going to go back to work please do not mention this to Eliza or anyone else for that matter,” Xavier shook his head as he turned around dismissing any come back Nicole was sending his way.

All Nicole could do was pat her friend on the back and walk back to the forest green cart.

***

Pulling back into the parking lot of the security offices and jogging into through the door she checked the clock on the wall noticing that the student officers had rotated shifts. She had 20 minutes left on her shift and took the time to sit at her desk and begin filing out a short report on the shed situation. With the report handed in as well as, her keys she started to pack her bag and set her keys a fingers length away on her desk ready to joy what time she had left of the day to herself. Pulling out her phone to pass the remaining minutes she checked the group chat between her sorority siblings and her. Scrolling up a bit she noticed Chrissy recounting her actions to the rest of the chat and the responses of rabbit emojis and jokes about her saving the day including the name of a certain face that Nicole’s mind kept angering to. She texted the group wow you guys must have nothing new to talk about like recruitment week. The responses flooded and soon enough her nickname in the chat was now officer hops and her shift was over. Saying her goodbyes to the officers in the building and striding over to her car she contemplated sending a text that dolls had inspired. Her finger lingered over the send button before tapping it and sending it to the group chat, pulling out of the parking lot soon after.